He may not be arrogant, but he knows full well how beautiful he is. Just as he does with everything else he has been given in life (including myself, I suppose), he uses his appearance to the fullest advantage to get what he desires. The way he walks, the way he moves, those could simply be his natural mannerisms. But the shameless way in which he presents himself, the way he wears his clothes, the low murmuring of his voice when he wants something... Those are all deliberate and well-practiced, as are the light caresses, laughter, and kisses he offers to those who follow him.
At times he reminds me of the witch from a story I heard when I was a child - doling out sweets to the children who ventured near her cottage, enticing them to trust in her with hints of more to come, then capturing and cooking them for her own dinner. A child's tale, yes, and one so absurd that it did not frighten me even in my youth, but now that I am grown, I know that such witches do exist. It seems to me as though they are everywhere.
When he looks into my eyes, when he offers me those sweet kisses and caresses, I'm never quite sure whether to feel grateful or insulted. After all, he offers the same to all those with him, and just as I do, they enjoy it. Like myself, they consider it a blessing.
Unlike myself, they do not seem to care what his motive is for offering these token blessings. Unlike myself, they seem not to become jealous if he offers the same to a number of them in the same breath.
He used to offer far more than kisses to a great deal of them, before he and I began to share a bed, and sometimes I wonder still if this has continued. I've never seen any evidence, aside from the way they continue to adore him exactly as they did before. Given the way he avoids making any definite statement about what I am to him, I would not have been surprised if he had not changed his ways, but once he suggested otherwise.
"They are content with a kiss," he told me dismissively. His dark eyes were fixed upon me, smirking at me as surely as his mouth. "In truth, no more was required of me to seal any man or woman's obedience until I met you, dear friend."
I suppose I should have pushed him aside and left the bedroom rather than allowing him to press the length of his body against my own. I did not.
"You're very greedy, Hardin," he murmured in that well-practiced tone as his hips brushed against mine and he gazed up at me hungrily. A witch, indulging a more stubborn child. "You require so much more than any of them."
Disgusted by his words and their implication, I only managed to mumble his name against his lips before I found myself pushed backwards against the wall, hopelessly trapped by a body so light that I could have lifted it out of my way easily. Indeed - I was hopelessly trapped regardless, as my hands instead stroked tattooed skin, fingertips digging into the leather of his leggings as I pulled him closer still. "What more do you give me than you give the rest of them?" I growled a moment later, when he allowed me to breathe again. "What more do I 'require'?"
The smirking eyes fixed upon mine again, and I felt the touch of cold metal resting upon my cheek - chilling, but by this time I'd come to find it soothing as well - as he offered a simple, short response which gave me pause. "Sincerity."
...To be honest, he was wrong. I may despise myself for it, but I require no more incentive for my obedience than the rest of them. Whatever else he chooses to give me, most especially the sincerity, is a gift.