The knife is soon flipped onto its spine, the duller, thicker edge that still rolls into a point at the apex.
That more softly glides down her center and across covered lips.
"Gettin' real shaky here, ain't'cha?"
The flat of his palms pushes against the other's hips, apply some pressure as he tries to ensure they stay steady.
Or he'll just nick her, whichever came first.
"Tremblin' is a look I would't've thought to expect, but it ain't so bad."
It isn't long before he's leaving her all but bare, but here he takes his time.
Slower moments as the cool of steel kisses it's flat and edge to her skin.
Way ahead of the little mechanical angel here, she ain't gotta fret none.
The blade's tip digs in and with a deft precision shreds at the fabric keeping her decent.