the cutting side

She wasn’t expecting a knife at her throat.

Standing behind her, with a firm grip in her hair to tilt her chin up, it was easy to keep her neck exposed. The curved blade kissed her skin and I drew her head back until it nestled against my shoulder. I spoke, face resting against her soft blond hair.

“My first. Did you think I would have my knife against anothers neck without first letting it taste your own?”

She didn’t answer. I tightened my grip in her hair.

“You are mine.” The blade fell away from her throat; I placed it on the bookcase beside me. I thought I knew how sharp the blade was, having tested it earlier on my own skin. But I had underestimated it; where the blade had graced her skin, there was a red scrape. I ran my finger over it and it came back crimson.