And suddenly jerking his right hand to the side he grabbed hold of her wrist and brought her down hard onto his lap.

“I don’t like it,” he said in her ear, “and I shall snap your pretty neck if you don’t reach behind me and release the buckle now.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t do that to me, would you?” she said without a flicker of fear.

An alchemy was working in him. His mind was clearing as he looked at her, her perfect face, and yet his body was still hopelessly drunk. Dull pain was gathering itself in the front of his head. His arms were so tightly bound that with his left hand he could not possibly reach her neck. But he would break her arm in a moment if need be and force her down, and that would be the end of it. He had been too drunk for this. He should never have come.

“Take the belt from around me,” he said. “Now.”

She stared at him without answering and then she seemed to grow very soft. He felt her shifting on his lap, just as he saw that in the very center of her black eyes was the faintest glimmer of dark blue. Her face was closing out the light behind her. She was so near to him he felt her breath. It was fresh, untainted, and there rose in him that lust for her that would have existed no matter had she been plain because she was so very fresh, so very young.

Just flesh for an instant. Her lips touched his lips, and he found himself closing his eyes. His hand loosened on her wrist but she didn’t move it, and the kiss sent its shock down into him, summoning his passion almost to that point where nothing else was of importance.

But then he stirred, rolling his head on the back of the chair. “Take off the belt,” he said gently. “Come on, I want you! I want you…’‘he whispered. "You are a foolish woman to provoke me.”

“But I’m not a woman,” she whispered, just before he silenced her with his mouth.

“Hmn-mmm…” He made a small frown. Something dissonant, horridly dissonant in her little jest. His pleasure was sluggish, at war with his drunkenness, and he was vaguely aware that she had laid his hands down again on the arms of the chair, and with her palms she was pressing his hands to the arms of the chair. Gentle, playful, her very touch tantalizing him, but strange.

“Not a woman?” There was something unearthly about the texture of her skin, it was so sweet, so soft, and yet not… “Then what are you,” he whispered, his lips forming a smile even in his kissing her, “if you’re not a woman?”

“I’m Tonio,” she breathed into his lips, “your son.”