Sharp cuts

Rowan wheeled into the bedroom, heart pounding with excitement. Their partner, Sage, stood by the bed, a quiet grin on their face. The small knife glinted in the low light, a reminder of the thrill they’d planned all week.

Rowan transferred onto the mattress with Sage’s help, feeling their body buzz in anticipation. Sage sat beside them and pulled the knife from its sheath. The cool metal touched Rowan’s arm, sending a shiver through both of them. Their eyes locked, silently confirming consent.

Sage slid the blade slowly across Rowan’s skin—just enough pressure to heighten every sense. Rowan’s breath caught, a rush of heat pooling low in their belly. Each drag of metal tingled, half pain, half ecstasy. When the blade finally bit, a thin line of blood appeared. Sage wiped it away gently, then pressed their lips to the fresh cut.

Rowan let out a soft moan, craving more. They guided Sage’s hand, urging a deeper press. The shared trust made the moment electric. Sage leaned in, kissing Rowan’s mouth with hungry relief, tasting adrenaline and desire on each other’s lips.

After a few more controlled cuts, Sage offered the knife to Rowan. Their touch was steady as Rowan replicated those careful lines, watching Sage’s muscles tense and relax in a slow rhythm of pleasure. Every hiss of breath felt like a silent yes.

When they were done, the knife was set aside. They fell into a messy, urgent embrace—skin buzzing, hearts pounding. Each mark stung in the best way, proof of how far they trusted each other. They lingered like that, sharing soft kisses and whispered praise, the tension between them finally released but still humming with possibility.

In the afterglow, Rowan rested in Sage’s arms, adrenaline fading into a deep, sweet warmth. The fresh cuts ached with an addictive throb, a reminder of their devotion and the thrill they found together.