She dried her face with the back of her hand. She really had no choice. If she didn't help him, he'd help himself, and she didn't even want to think about that.
She stayed outside for a few moments more, feeling safe in the shadows, and rubbed the last of the moisture from her face. Finally, ready to face Sean again, she took a deep breath and walked back into the house.
He had taken a shower. His hair was still wet and hung in tangles around his face. He was naked from the waist up, but wore pale blue flared jeans instead of the rumpled silk trousers. He looked a little better, but the dark circles around his eyes were still there and only served to accentuate his bright eyes.
"How do you feel?" she ventured.
"I was poisoned, Deni. It's not something a bloody hot shower can cure."
It apparently hadn't helped his mood any, either. But she couldn't be upset by his remark. He was no doubt in more agony than he'd ever admit to her. "Tell me what to do."
He stepped up to her. "Are you sure? Because if you get squeamish with the knife, I'll kill you."
She swallowed, and her doubt was like a palpable lump in her throat. She struggled to force it down. She had no choice in this. "I can do it."
"Once I start, count out loud for ten seconds. Don't wait any longer. When you reach ten, use the knife."
"Where?"
"It doesn't matter. Wherever you can get a good angle and a good grip." He left her side to retrieve the knife. When he returned, he pressed the wooden handle into her palm. "Deni, look at me."
Clutching the weapon, she stared into his eyes. Wide and gleaming, they showed a need, but she swore it wasn't just the hunger of a beast. From a place far away, or perhaps deep within, a man was struggling to communicate a need to her. "I can strengthen your will, if you want me to. To make it easier for you." His voice was almost a whisper.
"No. No, I can do it. Will it hurt? What you're going to do to me, I mean?"
The faintest smile curved his mouth. "A little, at first. But if it's any consolation, what you're going to do to me will hurt a lot more."
She tried to smile, too, but couldn't.
"Whenever you're ready," he said. "Just remember, don't wait longer than ten seconds."
She nodded and played with the knife, first holding it in a forward grip, then in a backward grip. Finally she settled on a backward grip and loosely held him around the waist, the tip of the knife at the small of his back. She looked up at him. "I'm ready."
He nodded, and his eyes rolled up and closed. He leaned forward, and his mouth found hers. She was unprepared for the kiss, but figured it was part of the ritual. His lips were soft, and she wished more than anything that it could be a real kiss. She opened her mouth under his, wanting more. But his lips slid downward, pressing silken kisses along her throat. The combination of his hot breath and slightly moist lips sent tingles racing along her skin, and when his mouth found a resting place below her ear, the sensations he wrought made her want to moan. But she suddenly felt a sharp sting, and she gasped instead. When he started to draw from her, the pleasure lulled her, and she almost forgot to start counting.
One thousand, two thousand, three thousand ... Late in starting her count, she stopped at eight, leaving her but one second to gather her resolve to use the knife. She tightened her grip, squeezed her eyes shut, gritted her teeth, and thrust the blade into his back as hard as she could.
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