[a small sigh escapes her. he reminds her of the human children who beg for its mother's milk, whining and screaming. it's not their fault they can't speak and not the mother's fault for being exhausted.

only, this is a grown man.]

My, my, my. Is something wrong with you, can you not communicate properly?

[she releases his wrists. the emotion he's feeding on is curiosity over satisfaction - whole emotions that have her leaning down again.]

I am not your meal. You were mine.