Sadako wasn't sure how he'd look while in pain, and she watched with parted lips and a gasp. He was beautiful, arching into her touches, their eyes locked. She stopped her sense of smell, ceasing the firing of synapses that would trigger any sort of olfactory reaction and reached out to gently rub the blood on her lower lip. Even if it tore through the skin, she wanted to taste him.
She was groaning loudly at his furthered movements, tiny high-pitched whimpers that were in and of themselves made of wonderment (how on earth he could go so damn deep was something she didn't understand). The tip of the knife went into the wound and she worked to push it in and up. "I don't want to puncture your heart. A lung, fine, but not your heart. Where did they stab Jesus?" She met his eyes and beamed.