Page 24 of Ruined

Nico narrows his eyes. “Who is it? Someone at work?”

“No, uh… Just someone I know.”

“Uh-huh. It’s not one of us, I hope. Oh, fuck, is it Hunter?”

I wave a dismissive hand. “No, it’s not Hunter.”

Nico shrugs. “Well, if it’s him you’ve got the hots for, don’t bother. I’ve tried.”

“Hey!” Luca says. “What have I told you about not sleeping with roommates?”

“Rules are boring.” Nico grins. “But like I said, Hunter’s a lost cause. Dude’s depressed or something. No sex drive. Either that, or he’s straight.”

“Or maybe he just doesn’t like you,” Luca says.

Nico groans and squirms dramatically on the sofa. “I haven’t gotten laid in ages.”

“You mean since last week?”

Nico throws a pillow at him. “I’m bored. We should host a party.”

Luca rolls his eyes. “We can’t. The neighbors.”

“We’ll have a quiet party. No music, just sex. I know some people.”

“You’re not having an orgy in my apartment.”

“It’s our apartment, stronzo.” Nico smacks him with a pillow again. I decide it’s time to retreat to my room. As soon as I close the door behind me, my mind wanders inevitably back to Logan.

Nico said guys who like him touch him a lot, but Logan touches me for other reasons. Non-sexual reasons. I’m the one who reads into it and makes it weird by popping a boner every time.

I throw myself on the bed, groaning in frustration. I lie there for a long time, thinking about a lot of things, but Logan most of all. I tried to give him some hints over lunch, but either he didn’t catch on, or he got uncomfortable and changed the subject. Maybe I need to be more straightforward. Call him what I want him to be: a daddy, not a father. I’ll have to tread carefully, though. I’m sure he’ll push back if I push too hard.

Sighing, I grab my phone and navigate to my secret folder—the one where I put the screenshot of his dating profile. My breath quickens right away at the sight of his hairy arms, thick thighs, and the massive hand by his groin. I imagine crawling between his legs and putting my nose to his crotch. I imagine… what he’d taste like on my tongue. What he’d sound like when he comes.

Suddenly desperate, I unbutton my jeans and reach inside, squeezing my erection. When he held my hand at the café and stroked his thumb over my knuckles, his skin felt so rough. I imagine it’s his hand wrapping around my dick instead of my own, but my fingers are too smooth; they feel nothing like his.

I arch my back regardless, letting my fantasies run wild. I kick my jeans off along with my underwear, and soon enough, I’m lying on my side. One hand gripping my dick, I lick the index finger of my other hand and bring it to my ass. I’ve touched myself like this a few times, but I haven’t done more than push a finger inside. I want more. God, I want more.

In my fantasies, it’s Logan’s callused fingertip stroking my hole, and I don’t even need to press it past the rim before I shoot into my hand, gasping and moaning.

I roll onto my stomach, panting into the pillow, and a few tears trickle out of my eyes. Even if I told him, he doesn’t want me back. Or if he did, I’m not sure if he’d allow himself to take me the way I want him to take me. God, if only he knew… If only he knew how badly I want him.

I lie like that for a long time, breathing into the pillow. Deep down, I know I’m being ridiculous. I should be grateful that he’s back in my life and not think with my dick all the time. I am grateful; I just can’t help it. I love hugging him, but I want to kiss him as well. I want everything. I want my daddy. If only he’d want his Ollie, too.

9. NEED YOU

It’s Monday evening—dinner night with Oliver—and I might have gotten a little carried away.

I’ve dimmed the lights, put a playlist on low, and decorated my small kitchen table with a candle. I’ve even bought a special treat for dessert.

As I look over all of my preparations, the word “date” comes to mind, and once it’s there, I can’t let go of the thought, no matter how much I try to push it away. It’s not a date. Not in the traditional sense. It’s a dinner date, yes—a dinner date with my former stepson, because we want to reconnect and hang out like we used to.

Not a date date.

Despite that, I go all out on my appearance as well. I slick my hair back, apply cologne, and wear a dark blue dress shirt instead of one of my usual plain long sleeves. I tell myself it’s simply because I rarely get visits like this. Not from people I truly care about. My parents live on the other side of the country, and I’ve lost contact with any close friends I once had. The only other people who visit my home are people I have sex with. Not Oliver.

When he shows up—with windswept hair and a smile on his lips—I open my arms, and he throws himself into my embrace. As he burrows his face into my chest, I stroke his hair, holding him close.