Never did he ever think he would see her like this. He leaned back and interlaced his hands behind his head and admired her heated beauty. She was glorious. Her eyes were dark and her lips curled in a sultry sneer. A loose curl brushed behind an ear. He watched, as her head tilted to the side, her long silky neck betrayed a quickening of her pulse. Her breath rapid, slightly ragged. She was intoxicating and intoxicated, but that didn't matter. He took advantage of all she had to offer him this evening. For tonight, she had given herself to him. Her memory of this would be foggy at best, with perhaps only a few prideful bruises to remind her of this conquest.

As she closed in on her crescendo, he knew he couldn't last much longer. Words he never thought she'd utter, spilled over her sweet lips. Oh, how she challenged his very soul. He did his level best to hide his brittle resistance from his face. She moved in such inviting rhythm that time itself seem to pause and hitch. He ached for her to finish. When he thought he could take no more she finally leaned in to him.

She whispered soft and low, "I think I've had about enough of this teasing, haven't you?"

He nodded mutely, afraid to open his mouth to speak, afraid he might confess his near breaking. He held his breath. Her smile became wicked. Did she know how close he was? Temptress. Witch.

She took a long, deep, steady breath. Where on earth did she develop such control? She closed her eyes. The edge, she was so close. She reached forward...

...raked

...clawed

...and finally grasped

...the edges of the table and flipped it up towards the patron who'd just called her a whore. Oghren snapped from his trance, vaulted off his chair and tackled the wingman of Isabelle's intent. She'd already boxed her target's ears, grabbed his shoulders, and rammed a knee to his crotch. Zevran intercepted the back-up rushing to the brawl and had him unconscious with a sap to the back of the head before he was ever even a threat.

The fight itself was brief, all things considered. By the time the last punch was thrown and the last of the trouble-makers thrown from the bar, Oghren lay in spent heap on the floor of the tavern. A satisfied smile splayed across his face.

Isabelle stood over top of him, a sly little grin traced the corners of her lips. Zevran walked over and put an arm around her shoulder and looked down to Oghren. He leaned to whisper in Isabelle's ear, "You're starting to enjoy this, no?"

Isabelle grinned wider. "Let's just say it works out some frustrations quite satisfyingly."

Oghren giggled gutturally from the floor. His eyes remained unfocused on the world.

"You're going to be the death of him if you keep stringing along the fight foreplay," Zevran tsk'ed.

"Well," She said thoughtfully, as the pair started walking to the exit of the establishment. "If I can't have my toes curled in foreplay, I may as well curl someone else's."

Zevran gave her a devious little grin. "I'm an excellent toe curler," he added with an eyebrow waggle.

Isabelle's elbow landed soundly to the elf's ribcage. "Let's just go get something to eat, I'm famished." She looked over her shoulder, Oghren still unmoving. "Should we take him with us?"

"Nope, you should let a man sleep it off after something like that." Zevran's free hand rubbed his ribs and he winced slightly. "You know, your trash talking is really improving. I admire your creativity with the spoken language."

Isabelle shrugged, pushing open the door that lead out to the street. "What can I say? I've learned all my best skills from you two."

Zevran opened his mouth to say something about other skills he could show her, but Isabelle's eyes lowered in a scowl. He shrugged and smiled, eyes shining. "Am I that predictable?"

She nodded. "You're lucky you don't expose yourself the same way when you fight. You'd be a dead man by now." The two stepped out into the street and Zevran chuckled about exposing himself.