I hold the knife to my throat, staring at my pale naked body in the mirror. He gets up from the bed and presses himself close to me; the coolness of his skin makes me shiver with something close to delight.
Taking the knife from me, he runs the sharp tip over my skin, touching upon all sorts of nerves. Down my throat, over my collarbone, my breasts, skimming the ticklish skin of my stomach, swirling across my ass and back up again. My spine tingles as he brings it up slowly, finally reaching the back of my neck.
My eyes drift shut, the last thing I see is he and I, our bodies close; his bright green eyes not leaving the trail of the knife, my blank stare hungrily eating his reflection.
The knife moves to my throat once again, following the line of my jaw and across my cheek. He sends it gliding down my nose, caressing the skin of my temple and back down my jaw - finally coming to a rest at the centre of my heart. The blade lays flat, its cold unfeeling steel about to break the fragile barrier of my skin.
Then it's gone. No more unfeeling steel against my skin, no more tingling sensation. I feel his breath – warm in comparison to his skin and the weapon in his gentle hand – tickle my ear, sending strands of hair fluttering helplessly. Reaching behind me I place a hand on the back of his head, keeping him there.
I smile - a small, dry expression of my emotion – as I hear steel hitting carpet.
"Til death do us part my love."