Lips On The Tips Of A Knife Romane & Geschichten

His lips were insistent, commanding, and when his tongue plunged into my mouth, it stole my breath away, claiming me with an intensity that made me feel as though I were suffocating under the weight of him. The kiss deepened, growing more aggressive as he tilted my head back to take full control. My fingers trembled as I reached for the bedside table, inching toward the pocketknife I knew was there. I needed to focus—needed to stay grounded despite the overwhelming sensation of his lips consuming mine. My fingers finally closed around the cool metal of the knife. I gripped it tightly and quickly slid it into the folds of my clothes, careful not to alert him.

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.

That new line is us. Vynetta glanced down at the knife and held the handle out so we could all see it. The crest was visible on both sides and the knife itself was clearly ancient. I could feel the power emanating off it as my mate gently moved it into her hand and held it against her other palm.

As if I could f*ck Satan in hell! “Point a knife on my throat...” She closed her eyes and brought her nose toward her knife’s handle, breathing in my scent then licked it. It’s a piece of cake. I’ll make sure not to just point it. I’ll dig it deep on your throat up to your soul. “That would be easy–” “In three seconds,” she added and licked her knife’s blade before putting it down on the table. I glanced behind me. How could I reach my knife? “3...”

"G-good...boy..." The knife finds my hip again and I bite the blood out of my lip in effort to contain myself. It sinks, agonizingly slow and I try to focus on anything. Creature. The moon. The movement of bats as the sky is almost completely dark. Stars. Trees. I ignore my own whimpers and moans as the blade slices downwards. One long, sluggish slice. My vision swims and I try again to go into my mind.

"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