Lips On The Tips Of A Knife Novels & Stories

This position exposed her breasts to me further, making me want to take over where she left off. I stopped using the knife to tease her slit and raised it to my lips before I licked the handle clean, forcing her eyes to dilate with desire. As soon as it was clean enough, I threw the knife up in the air, catching it by the handle before I lowered it to her round breast. I flicked her nīpple with the sharp tip of the knife. Her eyes rolled back as she squirmed below me. “Careful, angel,” I growled in warning as I pressed the tip into the skin on the side of her boob.

His eyes held mine, the challenge clear in them. I tensed as he turned around and pressed the tip of the knife to her cheek. He let it rest there for a few seconds before he slipped it lower, down the side of her neck to her right breast where it lingered again before he moved it closer to her nipple. She screamed when it penetrated her skin and slid deeper. Pulling it out, he raised the knife to his lips and licked some of the blood from the tip. His action reminded me so much of Obsidian that it wasn’t hard to imagine him as the one standing in front of me.

A knife—slim, sharp, and glinting in the light of the lobby. "Let's end it here," she whispered. And then she lunged.

"You want to learn. I’m teaching you.” I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can only feel the heat and absolute presence of him pressed against my back. He adjusts my grip on the knife, guiding my fingers into a different angle, moving my thumb back from where it had been resting too close to the blade. His other hand comes around to guide the one holding the onion, curling my fingers under so my knuckles face forward. My skin burns where he touches. “Hold the knife like this," he says, close to my ear. "Not flat. The blade follows the knuckle."

The blade continues its journey, leaving a trail of heightened anticipation in its wake. Every subtle movement, every whispered word, adds to the intoxicating ambiance of the moment. As the knife caresses my skin, Liam's fingers follow its path, a gentle exploration that awakens senses I never knew existed. The room becomes a sanctuary for desire, a canvas where the delicate strokes of sensation create a masterpiece of shared intimacy. Liam cuts both sides of my nightgown with the pocket knife. His touch makes me feel like I am drowning, being pulled beneath waves of pleasure, where there's no liferaft to be found.

I closed the cupboard doors and moved on to the second cupboard. A large, second cupboard had a pair of leather gloves over the handle. Pulling open the doors, I found a selection of knives of various shapes and sizes. They all looked well-maintained. Wondering how sharp they were, I reached out and touched the smallest one, only to slice my finger. I immediately shoved it into my mouth. Fran would no doubt heal me immediately. But after a few seconds, my finger still stung. “What the hell, Fran?” “I can’t heal it. The knife has to be made of silver.” My jaw dropped when I figured all the shiny blades must be made of pure silver. That’s why there are leather gloves on the door. They are to p

Shadow shakes me out of my thoughts and I look up at him "Uhm I don't know I've never used any of these," I say and he chuckles. My memory takes me back to the flashback I had when I killed some of his men using the weapons displayed "Oh," I say out loud "I guess I don't know knives," I say looking back up at him "Good choice" he grins planting a kiss on my forehead. He guides me to the knife section. Looking at all of them displayed I picked the set of green knives that just seemed more deadly

I will not forgive myself if he has bad things. Elias wanted one punch to end the fight, but Lorne did a flip on the ground and jumped up. His speed was twice as fast as before; from inside his belt, he took out two specially designed knives. The shape is strange but extremely sharp; even a few hundred meters away, I can still see the blade glowing.

Luna’s breath hitched, and she sighed, her hand pressing against her temples as if trying to stave off a headache. “This isn’t right,” she murmured, but her voice faltered under Louve’s relentless gaze. With a swift motion, Louve dropped from her chair. She moved to a darkened corner, where shadows seemed to cling to her every step. When she returned, her hands were wrapped around a black knife, the blade gleaming ominously in the dim light, and a wooden bowl that seemed far too ordinary for what was about to unfold. Without a word, I extended my hand. Slowly, Louve pressed the blade against my arm. A sharp sting tore through me.

Something warm and sticky covered her hands. She looked down. Blood. Her fingers were covered in deep crimson. And in her right hand was a heavy eight-inch chef's knife. Her fingers were taped and wrapped tightly around the handle. The blade was dripping with blood. Luna stared at it. “No…” Her voice broke. “No, no, no…” Her eyes moved across the floor. Two feet away from her was Marcus. He lay on his back, his shirt soaked with blood. Two deep stab wounds marked his chest. His eyes were half-open.