Read Ruin Me for Free Online Page B

dream.
    “God, Patrick.”
    “You gonna come?”
    “Yes.” I tease my clit and watch the rough pulls he’s giving his dick, watch his stomach clenching with his thrusts, shining with sweat. I imagine him alone on his back, shooting his come right there across those gorgeous muscles. All the strings of my composure snap in quick succession and I’m there, climaxing around his curled fingers.
    “Oh good girl.”
    I say his name, how many times I don’t know. I go limp as the spasms fade, but he’s still in thrall. His fingers slip out of me and he tastes them, brown eyes staring me down for a long moment.
    “Spit in your hands,” he says.
    “What?”
    “Make your hands wet.” He’s begging now, desperate, all his earlier composure crumbled to dust.
    I get both my trembling hands slick and he wraps them around his cock, holding them still. He pumps his hips, fucking my fists, and I understand what he wants. I make them tight, as tight as I guess my pussy would be. He shuts his eyes and braces his arms beside my ribs, strong body above me.
    “Yeah.”
    “Patrick.”
    “Oh God. Say my name.”
    I say it again. I lift my hips, hug my thighs to his waist as if we’re fucking.
    “Robin. Robin.”
    My eyes are wide, unseen by his closed ones. I watch him, his chest and stomach and arms, watch what he’d look like if we were allowed to screw. I feel him faltering above me. His breaths come in harsh gasps, punctuating each thrust. His cock pumps fast and hard and I feel his balls smack the backs of my fingers. We need more spit, but I’m afraid to interrupt him and shatter the illusion.
    “Fuck me, Patrick.”
    “I am. I am.”
    “You’re so big. Give me your big cock, Patrick.”
    He’s falling apart—before my eyes, in my hands, all around me.
    “Oh God. Here I come, Robin.”
    “Give me what I want, Patrick. Give it to me.”
    His voice becomes a deep, mean groan. His hips clench and I feel his cock shudder, watch the hot cream lashing my belly until he’s empty.

Chapter Four
     
    For a long time Patrick and I lie on his bed, staring at the ceiling, catching our breath. I worry he might do the manly thing and fall asleep, leaving me in an awkward position where I’ll have to sneak out, stressed about Jay stuck waiting at home, chewing his fingers off, dying for me to get back.
    But Patrick gets up first, alleviating my worries. He tosses me a hand towel to clean myself up and I watch him wander into the living room. A clear and precise pang of guilt stabs me. It’s weird, in light of what I’ve just done, but I feel really shitty that I watched Jeopardy! with him. I watch it with Jay most nights. I push the feeling away as Patrick comes back in, dressed.
    I sit up and smile at him as he buckles his belt. “Thanks,” I say.
    He nods. “That scratch your itch?”
    “I couldn’t tell you for sure just yet, but I feel pretty fantastic right now.”
    He sits down on the edge of the bed, making me slump against him as the mattress tilts. He presses his lips to my temple. “When’s your man expecting you home?”
    “No particular time. But I should head out soon.” I feel him nod. “Thanks for having me over.”
    Patrick stands and I follow suit, suddenly shy. I find my panties then pad into the living room to get my dress and shoes back on.
    “You should keep the leftovers,” I say to him when he passes me to stoke the fire. “Practice for Thanksgiving.”
    He doesn’t reply. He finishes with the hearth and crosses the room, stopping right in front of me. He’s troubled in some way I can’t pinpoint.
    I start to say thanks again but his mouth shuts me up, covering mine, the kiss brief but deep.
    “I hope I wasn’t too rough or anything,” Patrick says when he steps back a pace. “Earlier, I mean.”
    “You were exactly how I’d hoped you’d be.” And more, I amend to myself, picturing his bare body.
    He smiles. “You talk a lot dirtier than I expected.”
    I offer a guilty grin and