How come he still finds you so pretty?

He watches you, hearing you hum along to the slow bossa nova playing on the radio in the room. He'd quit struggling against the handcuffs a while ago, just following you happily with his eyes, arms suspended above his head in handcuffs to the headboard of the bed, sheets barely covering his hips.

He wasn't exactly angry.

His ego was slightly bruised, sure, but he certainly wouldn't miss any of the things you were taking. Material things to keep up the facade. Nothing of true value.

He still isn't thrilled to have fallen for it though.

"The cuffs really aren't necessary."

He sighs, looking at you from beneath his lashes, voice like smooth whiskey.