Razor.
I have the urge to cut open skin. There are razors sitting beside my desk that have spawned this urge. I want to slice intricate patterns of blood into her skin. I want to watch the blood pool in the curve at the small of her back. I want to watch her nails curl into her palms as each razor cuts a bloody path into her skin.
I want to blow my breath across the hot cuts and watch the goosebumps form in their wake. I want to smell and taste the blood that weeps from her - smear it across the elegance of her back.
I want to kiss her and know she tastes her blood on my mouth. I want my bloody hand prints on her thighs, arms, back, belly.
I need to go back to work.