Slow. So frustratingly slow. Samandriel gasped sharply with each press of the blade, breathing fluttering even more when the vampire's tongue followed. There was nothing but Carrick in those moments, nothing but the blade and the way it felt almost an extension of the Spartan.
"Please," he said, looking up at him once the vampire was in front of him again. "Please more, Erastes. Paint me in my own blood, please."