He grinned. He kept his teeth set against her neck, that mouthful of flesh, but he grinned. No need to ask him twice.

Now he grew rougher, gripping at her, pulling a little too hard, scratching at her skin, still holding on with his teeth. He pushed her legs wider and pushed into her harder, this bleeding woman.

If he had his way, she'd throw her legs over the edges of that altar and keep them there. If he had his way, she'd end up with bruises on her thighs and scrapes on her back. If he had his way, she'd stumble a little for a few days and both regret and remember this little encounter.

He might yet have his way.