I do not know what makes this man think that I require a lesson on how to fight. I have had my good amount of battles over the past two-hundred-and-eighty years, and even far greater when I was a mortal. There is no need for me to be taught how to handle myself or any such weapon of sorts. But I shall in all fairness do this as my beloved is no staring at me rather peculiarly because of my reluctance.
So we make our stance, my beloved who finds herself in front of me, is wearing what they appropriately call tights in a rather deep shade of red, it is only but peaking my arousal, the only lesson I wish to be taught is the one she teaches so well in between those soft satin sheets. Now if I think that my obsession has gone unnoticed, then I am somewhat mistaken, for Bobby has seen the direction of my attention.
"Sebastian, I believe you are dead already."
"Well do tell this vixen that she cannot wear that."
