Ruin Me Read Online Free PDF Page A

happy chill.
    His hands clamp my waist. “God, fuck me.”
    There’s no one in my mind except Jay. I’m short and he’s fairly tall and I love how big he feels when I’m in his lap getting ordered around. I find my angles, giving him long pulls, ones that rub his shaft against my clit as I ride him.
    “That’s right. Nice and rough.” He pretends this is all about him, but I know better.
    I fuck him, hard and steady, hands on the back of the couch, smelling that wool sweater smell, that Jay smell, loving everything familiar and wonderful about this. He wants this to be about power so I keep my romantic feelings to myself.
    “Good,” he says. He always knows when I’m close from the way I move—short, greedy strokes, building all that heat and tension in my clit plus whatever intimate clues my pussy is giving him.
    “Fuck my cock, Robin.”
    I start to moan.
    “Tell me how I feel.”
    “You’re big,” I say. “Your cock’s so thick and hard.”
    “That’s right.”
    Technically I think Jay’s about average, but damn if I’ll let him think that when the flattery gets him so insanely hot.
    “You’re so big.” I say it again and again, right against his ear, an incantation guaranteed to make Jay lose his mind. I whisper it over and over until the friction drives me crazy and I surrender, riding him slow and deep as the climax rips through my body. He comes too, pushing all the way in and holding there, groaning into my neck as he shoots.
    I’m allowed to hold him now. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face against his skin. He makes a happy, dirty sound and I laugh. Knowing I haven’t managed to break us is the sweetest relief imaginable. I give him a last squeeze and kiss his temple and get up. When I come back from the bathroom Jay’s got the sound turned back up on the TV. I tug my pants and shirt on and flop down next to him.
    “What’s the score?” I ask.
    “We’re up, seventy-one to sixty-five.”
    “Nice.”
    “I love you, Robin.”
    I lean against him, glad he can’t see how broad my grin is. “I love you more, Jay Fleury.”

Chapter Three
     
    All through work on Friday, I’m useless.
    I own and manage a shop in Dereham’s little town center, selling stationery and bookbinding supplies and photo albums, upscale paper and calligraphy pens, those sorts of things. It’s called Roche Paper & Scissors, as my last name’s Roche, and if you’ve taken grade-school French you know what a terrible pun that is. I paid a local artist to paint the store’s name on the windows in an arch in gold and black, old-timey style. I’m here whenever it’s open, which is ten to six weekdays and noon to four Saturdays. On Fridays I do inventory and it takes me about ten times longer than usual today because I can’t keep any of the figures in my head for longer than a second.
    Carrie, my only full-time employee, can tell something’s up. For a twenty-year-old who’s going to develop carpal tunnel from her incessant texting, she’s exceedingly perceptive.
    “You want me to do any of that?” she asks.
    I’m staring blankly at spools of book cloth, clipboard and pen frozen in my hands as if I’m posing for a statue. The Catatonic Paper Merchant.
    “No, I’m cool.”
    There’s a laugh in Carrie’s tone. “You aren’t high, are you, Robin?”
    I walk over and set the board on the counter. “No, just distracted.”
    “Clearly. What are you up to tonight?”
    “Oh, just meeting an old friend for dinner,” I say. “I can’t figure out what to wear.”
    “Are you going anywhere fancy?” she asks.
    “No, just to their place.”
    “Just wear what you are now,” she says. “Friends don’t care.”
    I look down at my boring black pants, gray sweater, salt-bleached Chuck Taylors.
    “I want to look a bit more impressive than this,” I say.
    “Ohhh,” Carrie says. She’s insanely blonde, eyebrows so pale they’re translucent. One of them floats up, intrigued. “It’s not