“Ready to do this?” he breathes.

I kick down the covers and he reaches for his knife. It's about time.

Breathless and careful, he draws a stinging pink line along the curve of my ribs. Bright. Sparkling. Maddening.

“Try a little deeper?” He grins, eager and scared. “Faster?”

And I'm squirming and dizzy and hot, soft skin splitting into raw, red lips. “Kiss me,” I gasp, pushing his head down.

I grab his hand, plunge his blade between my ribs with a greedy moan.

He looks up in horror, mouth sticky with blood. And all I can do is laugh.