Read Online Ruin Me by Cara McKenna - Free Book Online

good he makes me feel, but I hate that I have the power to hurt him if I want to. I push him away after an excruciating minute and slide off the table.
    “I have to unlock the store,” I say and wipe my lips with the back of my wrist.
    Patrick doesn’t reply, just follows me when I open the door and head back to the front. I take the sign down and flip the bolt and find him pulling his hat on, dropping his half-eaten sandwich in its sack.
    “I’m sorry if this was a mistake,” he says evenly.
    “You probably shouldn’t come by here again for a while. Why don’t you let me come to you after I have some time to think?” I ask.
    He nods and heads for the door. “You have a nice holiday, Robin.”
    I watch him pull the door open and listen to the bell tinkle, watch him cross the street and climb into his truck and drive off. I glance back down at my unfinished soup and the smell of squash and ginger suddenly makes my stomach turn. I snap its lid back on and toss it in the trash.
    * * * * *

    It’s dark and damp and cold out when I lock the shop door behind me, five minutes early. During the drive across town, I make a mental list of pros and cons for leaving Jay to be with Patrick.
    Con; Jay is wonderful. I think I might want children with Jay.
    Pro; Patrick sets me on fire in a way I don’t think I ever want to live without.
    Con; Patrick spends a third of the year in New Hampshire.
    Pro; Patrick would kill a man to defend me.
    Con; I’d be a hugely self-serving bitch.
    Pro; Patrick built his own house, so that’s the mortgage taken care of.
    Con; what the fuck is wrong with me?
    I knock on Patrick’s door at six ten. When he appears I don’t even give him a chance to say hello. “I need to talk about what we started talking about.”
    But we don’t talk.
    He lets me in and when I get my coat off, I don’t stop there. He watches, wide-eyed, as I strip down to my underwear in his kitchen. He doesn’t say a word. I catch his dark eyes roam from my head to my toes and back in a breath, and then he’s on me. I feel every pound of muscle as that huge man lunges, pushing me against the refrigerator. I feel the fridge slide back an inch across the tile then two strong hands grasp my thighs and wrap them around his waist, holding me up with a hand under each ass cheek. Patrick’s belt buckle jabs my pubic bone but the pain feels so fucking perfect. I’ve never been screwed against a wall, never thought it really happened outside well-choreographed late-night movies, but feeling this man in control of my body, I know Patrick Whelan could do it. His mouth is rough, borderline violent. I run my hands through his messy hair, wanting to pull him so close and hard against me that our bodies fuse into one despicable whole.
    His hips push into mine, thrusting, and I hear magnets clatter to the floor and papers crumpling behind my back. Something on top of the fridge teeters and topples and rolls away. Patrick’s tongue is hot and aggressive, filling my mouth exactly how I want his cock to fill my pussy. Between my legs, he’s rock hard.
    I find a break in the kissing, enough to kiss him back, slide my tongue between his lips and take the lead for a few glorious seconds. A moan rises from his throat, hot and sharp like electricity. He tears his mouth from mine.
    “Why did you come here?” His voice is new, that baritone I thought I knew sounding deeper and darker and full of pain.
    “I thought I wanted to talk.”
    “This ain’t talking.” He pushes his hips into me a little harder, emphasizing exactly how far this is from talking.
    “I can’t stay away from you,” I say, truly accepting it myself for the first time.
    Patrick buries his face against my neck, sort of kissing, sort of just breathing, mainly suffering in some complex male way I’ll never fully understand. After a minute he pulls away and lowers me until I’m standing.
    “He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?” Patrick asks.
    I shake my