“Fuck you,” she said, knowing that insults were the true mark of impotence. Of giving up. “Fuck me?” He made a low sound in his throat, leaned in slowly, and licked her neck. His tongue was wet and hot, and Elma closed her eyes in disgust. “Not now, you sick thing,” he said, pulling back, his eyes darkening. “Don’t you have a preference? There are so many ways I could kill you. Each one, unique and lovely. And no matter what death you pick, don’t worry. I’ll enjoy it.”
