The aggression is something she tends to press as many buttons as necessary to attain in men she likes--they all have this under the surface, although Mitchell is undeniably an unusually perilous breed; not all of her men, or even most, have actually been killers. She responds in kind, prone to pressing close and then drawing back to lure him closer, playing at coyness until she can't and doesn't even want to anymore: she pulls his hair, a little, and bites back, though not as strongly. It's a way of baiting the beast until she sees the claws.

Or, in this case, the black, black eyes, an alien indication of monstrosity in an otherwise human-looking face. It's not difficult for her to guess what that means. Her own widen, slightly, but though she's startled, she isn't stopped. Later, she might have questions, but Hasibe isn't thinking about consequences right now. She makes a little sound, kitteny, threadbare, painfully delicate in direct juxtaposition with his teeth on her skin, and with that provocation, she abandons the robe entirely.

"Mitchell--" Her voice is a bit fractured-sounding, and since she's given toward having a high, soft voice in general, it makes her barely audible. She tries again. "Mitchell, I don't want anyone to hear and come in, so just--keep your hand over my mouth if I get loud."

It's solid advice, all things considered.