Free Ruin Me by Cara McKenna

doing this, and I’m shocked by how amazing he is at it.
    “You’re so good, Patrick.”
    His face seems angelic from this vantage, eyes obscured by his dark lashes as if he were sleeping or praying. I admire the angle of his eyebrows and the shapes of his ears amid his chaotic, wavy black hair. The collection of grays at his temples makes him seem so…experienced. Intelligent. Something like that. Like someone who should know better but is here nonetheless, making terrible mistakes with me.
    His fingers fuck harder still and his tongue leaves me a moment. “Pretend it’s my cock,” he says.
    I close my eyes and focus on the impact of his hand as his fingers pound me. He makes it rough and frantic, makes me hear his skin slapping mine.
    “Patrick.” I imagine that dick, hammering me. “Fill me up, Patrick. Nice and deep. Make me feel how big and thick you are.”
    “I’ll give it all to you,” he whispers. “Think about it. What does it feel like?”
    “Huge. Like you’re splitting me open. Like you’re punishing me.”
    “I want it so bad,” he says. “I want you to come on my cock and milk it with your pussy.” Dear God, where did he learn to talk like this?
    “I want that too.”
    Patrick abandons his verbal torture to focus on my clit. I can feel my climax building. Usually when I come I’m edging myself forward, trying to keep up the momentum until I get myself over the edge. This time it’s as if I’m being pushed. No coaxing, just me grasping and struggling to make it last longer and failing. Patrick’s tongue laps with a steady, firm stroke, every lick driving me closer to the precipice. There’s no mental image in my head to help things as normal. Everything I could ever want to fantasize about is right there. That face, that strong, coarse hand on my thigh, those half-closed eyes, that voice. And when I come, I stammer his name.
    Patrick laps me as my legs twitch and relax. His fingers start to thrust again, deep. His eyes are on me, on whatever cruel invitation is spread out before him like a flapping red bullfighter’s cape.
    I tug at his hard shoulders, desperate. “Let me make you come.”
    Obediently he stands and ditches his shorts and joins me on the couch, hips settling between my thighs. I see his hand trembling when he guides his cock to my pussy and sweeps his head over my lips. The guttural sounds he makes intoxicate me all over again. He runs it up and down, over and over, and not just gentle strokes. Dangerous ones. His head is thick, shining with my juices, sliding and stroking and teasing and threatening. His stomach muscles clench in time with the motions, giving me a glimpse of how he’d look, really fucking me. Then his eyes meet mine and the gleam in them feels a hundred times more forbidden than what’s going on between our bodies.
    “Tell me to and I’ll do it.” His voice is gruff and tight and he means it.
    “I can’t.”
    “Why’d you come here tonight?” That question again, impossible to answer. The expression on his face is wounded and scared. It breaks my heart. He never wanted to be the kind of man who’d ever sleep with someone else’s girl, but I’m making him that way. I’m making him want that so hard it must ache. He pushes against me, just a little. Not quite penetrating, but showing me how it might feel if he did.
    “I don’t know why I came here,” I say. “I just had to.” I stare at his body, awed. It’s hard to explain, but when I look at him everything feels right. Everything feels like enough .
    “It’s terrible that I’m here,” I add, grasping at a little scrap of sanity. “We shouldn’t have sex…but let me suck you off. I’m allowed to do that.” In theory, anyhow. Not that I think Jay would be so keen right now, considering he’s surely pacing the kitchen, reaching my voicemail, wondering or worrying what’s happened to me while our dinner grows cold.
    Patrick stops teasing my pussy and settles back on his