I pressed my legs together and felt the warmth rise in my face. His eyes moved up to mine slowly, unhurried, the bare hand coming to cup my jaw and draw me forward. He pressed a firm kiss to my forehead and held it there for longer than necessary, his lips warm against my skin.
When he pulled back his pupils were dark but he refocused on the knife wound with deliberate effort, prodding it gently with his gloved hand.
"Can you feel that?" he asked.
I shook my head. The antiseptic had done its work.
He smiled and reached for the needle and thread. My stomach dropped immediately.
"Do you have to?" I said, the anxiety arriving before I could stop it.
"I do," he said. "But you will not feel it. If at any point you want me to stop, tap my shoulder twice or just tell me and I will."
I exhaled. "Alright."
