Read Ruin Me for Free Online

“You’re fucking huge.”
    He pulls away an inch. “That good or bad?”
    “It’s phenomenal,” I say and yank his face back.
    He settles closer each minute, his chest grazing mine then his stomach then his hips. His thick thigh pushes the dress up my legs until the skirt’s gathered at my waist. Through his kisses I hear Patrick’s sounds—hungry little grunts and pants. They warm my skin and vibrate my nerve endings. The room felt cold before but now it’s sweltering.
    “Take this off,” I say, tugging at his sweater.
    He leans back on his haunches and tugs his sweater and shirt up and over his head. His body is even hotter than I’d let myself hope. He’s broad but lean, raw-looking like a wild animal.
    “Can I touch you?” I ask, probably looking possessed.
    He grabs my wrists and presses my palms against his skin. I feel his stomach, his hips, his arms. This is my new territory, his shapes and smells, the soft hair of his chest, the noises I’m coaxing from him. He puts his hands on mine and rubs them up and down his hard body. I can see him getting hot, the ridge of his cock growing behind his jeans. My mind wills him to force my hands onto it but he keeps them above his waist. I want him to unbuckle his belt and open his fly, take his cock out and make me see it and stroke it and suck it. I want his voice mean and loud, bossing me around.
    He gets both his knees between mine and lowers again, pushing his erection between my thighs.
    “Patrick.”
    “You gotta tell me to stop if I go too far,” he says in a scratchy voice I don’t recognize but adore.
    “If you stop I’ll kill you,” I say.
    He starts to thrust and I can’t tell you what’s hotter—how hard his cock is, how fierce his arms look or how deep the growl is, rising from his throat. Or maybe it’s the look on his face and those heavy-lidded eyes trained on me, predatory.
    My pussy’s hot and wet and in a couple minutes the friction of his fly against my panties is too much. Gosh, what a shame.
    “Take your pants off.”
    Patrick leans back again and I revise my command. I reach out and grasp his belt for him, jerking the buckle open and fumbling with the button of his fly. I lower the zipper over his erection. He pushes his jeans down his hard thighs and I touch him.
    I stroke his heavy cock through his straining underwear. “Jesus, Patrick.”
    “Touch me.” His head rolls back as he gives himself over to the pleasure. His hips thrust into my hands. I cup his swollen balls and give his cock slow pulls through the cotton. “Oh God, that feels so fucking good.”
    “You have no clue how much I’ve fantasized about this,” I say, in awe of him.
    His head comes back up and he watches me, mouth open, cheeks pink. “I think about you when I jerk.”
    “About what?”
    “About this.” He moans, eyes glued to my hands. “Sometimes I think about the day I got released. I think about finding you waiting for me when I got home that day, in my bed.”
    “Jesus, I wish I’d had the balls to. Back then.”
    If only I had done that. I know the day Patrick got released he came home to a cold, empty house, one that had been pretty badly vandalized while he was away. I want to make all that up to him tonight.
    “I need to see you,” I say.
    He moans and pushes the waistband of his shorts down, showing me an impressive measure of mouthwatering, rock-hard cock. I stroke him, tight and slow. When his slit starts to weep I rub the pre-come up and down his length, making him slick.
    “Let me watch you,” I beg.
    “Lemme watch you then,” he says.
    “Whatever you want.”
    He stands and gets his jeans and shorts all the way off and I yank my stretchy dress over my head. I don’t own any crazy-sexy underwear, like lacy thongs or push-up bras or any of that. My undies match, at least—blue with white stars. I feel silly in my cutesy get-up until I see the wicked gleam in Patrick’s eye.
    “You allowed in my bed?” he asks,