Slow Agony (Assassins, #2)(91)

I unzip his pants to shut him up. “I don’t care.” And I don’t. Too much talking means there’s not enough warm tingly feelings. “Put the condom on.”

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re really something else, Calabrese.”

I bite my lip. “Call me Olivia.” For some reason, I don’t want him to think of me as tough right now.

“Sure,” he whispers. “Olivia.” He kisses me again but doesn’t touch me because he’s busy with the condom.

He’s done in a minute. I can feel him pressing against me. There’s nothing between us but the thin cotton of my panties and a piece of latex. My heart thuds in my chest. I feel frightened suddenly, unsure of whether getting myself into this situation has been a particularly great idea. There’s the whole fact that premarital sex is a sin, for one thing. But there are lots of sins. I’ve committed those too. This won’t be different.

I touch his face. “Brice,” I say.

“You okay?”

Can he tell that this is suddenly real to me? That I’m realizing exactly what I’m doing? “Yeah,” I whisper. I wriggle one leg out of my panties. I spread my legs.

Brice’s body settles against mine. It seems like he is wearing so many more clothes than I am. He puts his lips on mine.

I brace myself. Is this going to hurt? Don’t they say it hurts?

Then I feel it. Him. Pressing against me.

In completely the wrong place.

I wriggle my pelvis, trying to move him into the right spot.

It doesn’t work.

Should I reach down and, like, move him? I feel too shy to touch it. I wriggle again.

No dice.

Suddenly, Brice’s entire body spasms.

Jesus, I think. He didn’t even, like, get in me.

But then Brice shrieks, and I know he’s crying out in pain, not pleasure. In the distance, I can hear the clock downtown begin to strike midnight.

I look at his face, which is twisted in agony, his eyes squeezed shut. “Brice? Brice, what’s—”

And he opens his eyes. They’re glowing bright red.

I push him off me, screaming. Berserker. Brice is a berserker .

And I was going to have sex with him.