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It’s simply part of me.

And he truly does not care.

His thumb moves the gusset of my panties aside as two of his fingers tug, slowly drawing the tampon out. I feel the faint pull first, then that weird little drag as the pressure shifts down and then disappears.

My breath erupts in broken bursts over my parted lips when I feel it glide out of me wetly.

My brain…stops.

No biting remark. No snarky comeback. No sarcastic comment.

My mouth opens and for possibly the first time in my life, nothing comes out.

Apparently, Damiano’s discovered the secret to shutting me the fuck up.

Slowly, as I stare at him in a mix of shock, confusion, and need, his hand slips from between my thighs and lifts. My blood is smeared across his fingertips and knuckles as he holds the little wad of cotton that’s spent the last hour and a half saving my underwear from complete ruin.

His hand raises toward his mouth.

Holy fuck.

Holy FUCK…

I watch, frozen, as he brings his bloodied fingers to his parted lips, never once breaking eye contact.

There’s no fucking way…

A hot, horrified and deeply inconveniently erotic feeling twists low inside me as I watch my husband slip my tampon into his mouth and wrap his lips around his sticky, wet fingers.

For a second, reality completely glitches. My eyes stare at the smear of blood on his lips as his fingers slide out, leaving my tampon inside his mouth.

This is the kind of thing sane people would bring directly to their therapist.

Why the fuck does it feel so intimate? Why does watching him take something messy and embarrassing and deeply private about me and treat it like it’s no big deal make my chest tighten?

Damiano’s jaw flexes as his lips thin. He’s sucking it.

A low groan rumbles in his chest. Then his jaw stops moving and he raises his hand to his mouth. He slips his fingers inside, and I watch in mute shock as he tugs my tampon out from between his lips by the string and casually drops it into his empty glass.

My eyes are still wide open as they lock with his dark, hooded, dangerous gaze. His hands drop to my knees, and I hear myself whimper when he abruptly shoves them apart. His gaze still never leaves mine as he teases a hand back up my inner thigh before it drifts back to my panties.

His fingers slide beneath them, and I bite down on my bottom lip to stifle my moan when he drags them up my seam.

Oh fuck…

Whatever part of me has managed to cling to sanity and normalcy over the years screams that this is beyond the pale even for me. That this is the sort of lunacy that comes from matching my insanity to someone else’s.

But that part of me melts into a puddle and drips through the floorboards when Damiano wordlessly glides two thick fingers into my pussy.

Holy SHIT.

A needy, broken hum builds low in my throat as his fingers curl into me.

Wetly.

My cheeks flame as he glides his fingers out and then plunges them back in, stroking the pads of his fingers against my front wall. He does it again, and I groan when I hear the lewd wet squelching sounds coming from my pussy.

“I think your blood might be the only reason I can even fit my fingers inside this tight hole, little nightmare,” he murmurs darkly.