Utter opposition to what she's loved before. No dewy, soft skin, just hard, male angles. Blunt, manicured fingernails, calluses along thumb and index finger that drag across her skin and catch in an accidental, incendiary touch.
Maybe it's the tone of his voice, all that oak and charcoal, coloring the cultured tones when he removes the leash of tweed-bound control that is his mask and their protection.
