[A smile spreads across her face when he tenses, and she idly runs her fingers from his abdomen up to his chest because she can. Lenalee always loved the feeling of holding prey still as a puppet with it's strings cut, juxtaposed against how the body would try to move; flexing, tensing, inconsequential little movements that achieved nothing but betrayed everything.]

But I would be happy to hurt them for you. Wouldn't you like that?