This man killed two people today. The thought should be sobering; it’s not.

“Bernadette, you have huge fucking tits. You must be kidding me? You were intended to read between the lines.” He bites my lower lip as his words settle over me. He said he liked bigger breasts; there aren’t many girls with bigger breasts around that don’t have implants.

Oscar is an asshole.

“I hate you,” I grind out between clenched teeth, but it’s impossible to maintain that caustic vitriol in my voice, not with him caressing my breasts the way he is, like he’s savoring the weight of them. My thumbs trace over his nipples, teasing the metal pieces and flicking them back and forth until Oscar responds the way I want him to by thrusting against me. “The blood …” I murmur, but he shushes me with another kiss, one that bites, one that cuts.

I’m wearing a loose pair of basketball shorts that I stole from Aaron. Oscar soon finds his way to them, pushing them over my hips. His fingers delve between my legs, finding that hot, wet heat.

Normally, I’m not one to get shy during sex, but I can’t seem to keep the flush off my face as Oscar slides two, long fingers into my cunt. His eyes meet mine, and my throat gets tight with emotion. I’m bleeding all over him and my body feels even more raw than usual, the ache between my thighs nearly painful.

With his other hand, Oscar shoves my shirt up so that he can see my bare breasts.

The way he exhales makes my body clamp down around his fingers in excitement.

“The devil take me,” he mutters, dropping his face down toward my chest. At the last second, he flicks gray eyes up to my face. I can tell he’s trying hard to maintain his usual coldness and biting wit, but it doesn’t work. His face is a mosaic of need and tenderness. Oscar’s sharp tongue flicks out, wrapping my nipple and sucking it into his mouth. Those lips of his are just as acerbic and deadly sucking on my breast as they are flinging witty repartee.

His thumb slips across my clit, nice and slippery, causing my hips to buck against his hand.

“Bernadette,” he growls out, moving his bloodied hand from my cunt to my hip. We’re making a huge mess here, but I don’t care. My heart is too full, my eyes stinging with strange tears. I have no idea why I feel like I’m about to cry, but it doesn’t matter. If I hold them back, Oscar shouldn’t be able to see them in the dark.

He adjusts himself, pushing his pants down his hips until his cock springs free. It’s impossible to see the ink in the low light, but the piercings on his dick glint in a stray shaft of moonlight. Not that he gives me long to examine them anyway.

Oscar lowers himself over me, rubbing his body against mine. For someone that hates to be touched, he sure does seem desperate to connect our bare flesh. It’s as if he’s a starving man who’s just finally found his way to a picnic.

He’s going to eat everything.

My fingers weave together behind his neck as he fits himself to my opening and then pushes inside. There’s a moment there where he freezes up, his body shuddering as we adjust to each other. The smell of blood is in the air, but it doesn’t bother me as much as it should. As weird as it sounds, it actually seems to suit us, having our first time with the scent of copper surrounding us.

Oscar moves his hips with long, slow, undulating strokes, the metal in his cock teasing me in strange places, making me squirm. Hael is pierced, too, but Oscar must have some unique metal because the sensations he’s giving me are new.

He kisses me again, but I find that I suddenly don’t recognize him at all.

He’s … kissing me softly, almost reverently. His body moves the same way, at complete odds with his personality.

Jesus fuck, Oscar Montauk is making love to me.

My entire body flushes hot as I press my cheek to his, closing my eyes and enjoying the way his lean form feels on top of mine. His hips push me into the couch cushions, staining us both with the red of my womanhood. It feels extra good, actually, to do it like this. Whenever I get my period, I always feel like my cunt is more swollen, more desperate than usual. The blood even gives us extra lube, adding to the slip and slide, the beautiful friction.

We spend, quite literally, over an hour on that couch, locked together, moving together, joined into one person. I come more than once, but it’s hard to say how many times, lost in a fever of pleasure and connection.

We have something here, me and Oscar. I didn’t expect that, not at all.

Things change as soon as he comes, shoving his cock deep and hitting the end of me, making me cry out as he fills me with hot seed. His muscles tighten, fingers digging into the sofa on either side of my head. But there’s no release after that, no collapse, no panting.

Instead, he just sort of … freezes.

Crap.

He’s panicking, isn’t he?

“Oscar,” I start, trying to head off whatever unhealthy emotional response he’s having. He pushes up on his forearms to look down at me like he’s never seen me before, like he isn’t even sure how he got here.

“What.” Just that one word, but really, there’s not even a question mark at the end of it.

I’m so stunned by the shift in attitude that I just stay where I am, heart thundering, my emotions twisted into a violent tangle.

Without a word, Oscar sits up and pulls out of me, looking down at the red on his pelvis, his lower belly, his upper thighs, and scowling fiercely.

He stands up, yanking his pants over his dick, and takes off.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I shout after him, struggling to get up. My body feels heavy, used, but in the best possible way. Whatever that just was, I want more. “You can’t leave me to clean this up by myself!”

Oscar acts like he can’t hear me, pounding up the steps and slamming the bathroom door behind him. My cheeks burn as I get up and pad to the downstairs bathroom, wiping myself down, and then leaning my palms on the countertop to look at my reflection in the mirror.

“God, that was weird,” I murmur to myself, but I can’t deny that it was incredible, too.

The question here is: what the hell is Oscar so freaked out about?

I decide I don’t care. But I am pissed. Royally fucking pissed.

He’s going to owe me for this, big time.

Only a total dick fucks a girl on her period and then doesn’t help clean up. I spend another hour scrubbing the couch cushions before Vic finally comes out of his room to stare at me.

“Jesus,” he murmurs, lighting up a cigarette before heading outside the sliding glass door to smoke.

“Thanks for the help,” I snap out through gritted teeth. That gets his attention, and he comes back in to look at me, leaning his big body against the inside of the sliding glass door.

“If you think I’m cleaning up a mess you made while fucking another guy, then you’ve seriously missed the boat on my personality. Who do you think I am, Bernadette?” I ignore Vic, but I know he’s right. Doesn’t rankle any less. “By the way, isn’t it like Thanksgiving next week or some shit?”

I pause in my scrubbing and then glance back at him in surprise.

Oh. Crap. It is, isn’t it? Well, in like a week and a half or something.

We’ve been so busy this month that I spaced it completely.