There's a regretful thought about where she'd shifted them to before the change of direction has her mind spinning - gravity already a struggle before she'd fucked this up. The grass is cold against her back, Cassie grasping at straws to stay herself. On the upside, she was about 90% it would hurt -- the feeding. Pritkin never hurt her when he'd fed during his declared "emergencies".

Unfortunately for him, if there was one thing she could use to keep from succumbing to the weightless feeling trying to drag her into a promise of bliss and peace, it was her stubbornness. As long as he kept calling her pet, unless he rolled her again, she might be able to hold onto a little piece of anger... Even if she can't stop her hips from rocking against the knee between her legs as she tries to free her hands.

"I'm... not your pet--" Oh god. "You motherfu--!" Oh shit. "Let me g--" She lets out a cry of pent up frustration, whether that frustration is sexual or just anger is open to interpretation. She practically screams "You're an ass" at the night sky, though it's partially unintelligible as her back arched off of the grass - eyes closing in horrified pleasure. If she put a time bubble around his head-- No. What if she-- Not gonna work. She could-- Cassie shakes her head in a hope to clear the fog, loose blonde curls partially covering her face. Maybe if the grass turned her hair green, he'd be turned off.