Page 48 of Ruined

“I’m—I’m trying.” He’s breathing too fast. Hyperventilating.

“Shh, slow down. Breathe slowly. Big breath in, remember? Deeper.”

He struggles to do as I say, but eventually, he succeeds, and on his exhale, I push again. My cock strains against his opening, but it won’t let me inside—not easily, at any rate, and I refuse to push harder than I already am.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver gasps. “Just… just do it. Fuck me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

“You’re not. Please…” His voice turns into a whimper of pain when I try again, and the smallest “ow” falls from his lips.

You’re hurting him.

My stomach drops, and I try not to show the distress and guilt on my face as I pull back.

“No, it’s okay.” Oliver grabs my arm. “Try again, please.”

During all this, my cock has softened, and in the wake of his pain—even the slightest hint of it—I can’t bring myself to continue.

I should have insisted on the second dildo. I should have spent more time preparing him, used more lube. No… I shouldn’t have done this in the first place.

He’s not yours to take.

“Please,” he says again, and I shake my head.

It’s hard to even look at him through the guilt tightening my chest. I rise to my knees and get off the bed. “Bathroom,” I mutter, my heart twisting with regret and my mind overrun with thoughts of wrong, wrong, wrong.

In the bathroom, I try to gather myself enough to return to him. I know he’s all alone on the bed, devastated, thinking this was his fault when the fault is all mine. I stare at myself in the mirror, hands clenched on the sink, and think again of all the reasons why I’m wrong for being with him.

And yet, all those reasons aside, I know I can’t resist him. I can’t turn him down when he’s begging me like that; I can’t leave him alone to cry on the bed.

Oliver… My sweet Ollie… He’ll be my ruin.

18. IN TROUBLE

Why did he leave? Why did he stop? There was no need. He was so close to entering me and giving me what I’ve wanted for so long. I told him to continue; I begged him to… So why didn’t he?

Wrapping my arms around my legs, I sit naked on the bed, waiting for him while tears burn behind my eyes. It feels like… like before. It feels like he’s leaving again.

The garage. His car.

My thirteen-year-old self crying out, “Dad!”

The pain in his eyes as he disappeared from my reach.

He’s said this is not like before, and I get that. I just can’t help the cold feeling grabbing hold of my heart—an old wound threatening to open again.

I don’t know how long he’s in the bathroom. It feels like hours, though. When he returns, he’s still naked, but his cock is soft, and mine is too. He doesn’t look at me; he turns to his closet and puts on a pair of boxer briefs along with a dark blue shirt. Then he takes a deep breath and kneels on the bed, meeting my eyes.

I crawl to him, and he pulls me into a hug. I bury myself in his warm touch and his familiar scent while he strokes my hair.

“Do you want me to leave?” I sniffle, trying and failing to hold back my tears.

“What? No. Stay. Please stay. I’ll make dinner.”

“What are you making?” My voice is strained, but there’s hope there, too. He doesn’t want me to leave, at least. He’s not pushing me away.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into my hair. “I hurt you.”