"It's okay. Since you said please, pet."

It's so much more than okay. He's heard the warning about his blood, but at this point he really doesn't care; it would have to be absolutely, unutterably foul to distract him from how good he's feeling.

He takes aim carefully and concentrates his strength into a short, deep stroke across one shoulder blade, then another, crossing it. His skin splits at the junction of the two, blood welling up and trickling from the wound.