Page 35 of Ruined

“I know you think I’m confused,” he says suddenly.

“What?”

“I know you think I don’t know what I want, but I do.”

My body grows hot all over at the way he’s looking at me and at the decisive tone of his voice. “Is this about the Daddy thing?”

“It’s about all of it.”

“All of it?”

He gets to his knees, and before I can stop him, he climbs into my lap, straddling my thighs.

“Oliver…” The warning in my voice doesn’t come out as sharp as the other times. “We’ve been over this.”

“No, we haven’t.” His face is impossibly close, his mouth inches from mine. “You haven’t let me make my own decision.” He inhales a shaky breath, and for the first time, he falters. I realize he’s been building up the courage to do this for hours, maybe days. “I don’t need you to…” He leans in even closer, his nose brushing mine. “I don’t need you to protect me from you.”

My heart beats wildly against my ribs. Oliver’s weight on me is making it hard to focus, and his eyes gazing into mine are full of determination and unmistakable want.

He brushes his lips over mine in a tilt of his head, coaxing me to respond and open up. “Daddy, please…”

I suck in a deep breath, my whole body thrumming with tension and maddening desire. “Oliver… we can’t.” I have no idea where to put my hands. They land on his hips, circling his small waist.

“Why not?”

“It’s wrong.”

“How can it be wrong? I want it so much.”

I feel his want—his arousal, his hard erection—pressing against mine, and my own dick can’t help but respond, thickening and reaching toward his body.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “You can let go.”

Let go… Deep down, I know I already have. My boy needs me; he wants me, and I want him too. I’m not saying it’s not wrong. I’m not saying I’m not a terrible person for giving in. I don’t even know if I’ll forgive myself for what I’m about to do. But for now, I allow myself to leave all my doubts behind and just feel.

The weight of his body, the small puffs of his breath against my mouth, his hand grasping my shirt as if he’s afraid I’ll push him away… I allow myself to feel it all, and as soon as I do, my hands tighten unconsciously around his hips.

“What do you want, Oliver?”

“You,” he breathes.

“No… tell me what you want.” If this is going to happen, there can be no doubts between us. No uncertainty. I need to know he’s on board with everything we’re doing.

He rocks his hips, gasping at the pressure. “I want… I want you to kiss me. Please.”

I lean in, hands clamping around his waist, and before I’ve even closed my eyes, he meets me halfway, and our mouths collide.

I’m kissing him. I’m kissing Oliver. My stepson, my sweet Ollie, the boy I swore to myself that I wasn’t going to touch. Even now, I should stop, but his mouth tastes so sweet, and he moans into the kiss as if it’s all he’s ever wanted. He rolls his hips harder against mine, his erection digging into my lower belly.

I can tell by the clumsy movements of his tongue and lips that he’s not an experienced kisser, but that’s okay. I guide the kiss like a lead guides a partner dance, tilting my head and allowing him to deepen our connection, which he does with unbridled enthusiasm. Our mouths move as one, and our tongues meet, his soft and warm and curious against mine.

More than the kiss, there’s the movement of his hips, and my hands guide him there, too, knowing what’s going to happen before it does. Moments later, his whole body tenses up, and he breaks the kiss in a gasp as his eyes squeeze shut.

“Oh.” His hips stop moving, and his cheeks turn bright pink. “S-sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I stroke his thighs, short of breath from the intensity of the kiss—the intensity of everything. “You needed this, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” A nod and a breathless smile.