Mirella spat a wad of bloody spittle on the floor. "My dear governor, if you want me out of this dress, just ask." She pulled at the torn bodice until he could see her left breast. "See how you've ripped it?" she said mockingly.
This time he came at her with a storm of blows and curses. She quickly learned the difference between the smack of his hand and the sharp thud of his fist. With every hit he scratched an itch she'd never been able to reach. She'd wanted this for a very long time, she realized.
As the blood stung her eyes and she felt the dress falling away, she heard herself laughing. His rage coursed through her in tingling waves of hate, and the more he struck her, the more alive she felt. She wanted more. More punches. More kicks. More hate. She wanted to see just how much she could take.
Finally Carrock lifted her up by her tattered dress. Mirella's temple pulsed with fresh pain. Hair stuck to her face in sticky, bloody curls.
"What hell are you from?" he hissed.
Mirella smeared the blood out of her eye. It was already swelling shut. Yet she took in what the pain permitted. There. Underneath his rage, she sensed desire, like a caged lion poised to strike as soon as its master turned his back.
She decided to let the lion out.
"Are you ready for me now, my love?" She grabbed his crotch and squeezed.
Well, this is a page from the novel, not a hook.
And you've got a strange idea of what a caged lion is capable of doing (think about it).