He thought of guns, metal and blood. He thought of the crimson pleasure that was pain, and his fingers grabbed the pillow like they had grabbed a man's throat so many times before. The thoughts would not leave him alone. He kept writhing restlessly on the bed, but the Need did not leave him alone. Blood. Pain. Cold shivers shot down down his spine as Dante ran his fingers down his naked chest, over his muscular abdomen and on to the cold, steely buckle of his belt. Biting his lip he opened the buckle and began to undo his blood red jeans, which already were showing a distinct bulge. The Need had to be satisfied.