Page 60 of Ruined

“Daddy,” I whisper, both mortified and turned on beyond belief. I haven’t been able to stop my attraction to him ever since we reunited, and now, it’s running wilder than ever—even in a place where we definitely shouldn’t be doing this.

“Always so needy for Daddy, hmm?” He flips his hand over, his palm rubbing my erection over the linen pants.

I cast a glance at the mirror, and the outline of my dick is painfully obvious, along with my flushed cheeks and terrified gaze. Terrified not because of what’s happening, but because of where it’s happening. I can’t control my desire for him, not even in a fitting room.

There are people outside; I can hear them walking past and opening and shutting the doors. The doors have a gap at floor level, and they can’t even be locked. Any moment now, someone could walk in, and somehow, that only makes me harder.

“Daddy.” A heady moan slips from my throat when he squeezes my dick harder through the pants. There’s a wet patch forming from my precum, seeping through my boxers and into pants we haven’t even bought yet.

“Shh,” Daddy says, but I don’t think he knows how close I am. He kneads my cock and balls with his palm in delicious circles that have me gasping.

Biting my lip to keep from crying out, I lean into his touch and put both hands on his shoulders, desperate to come. It’s not like he can jerk me off properly over the pants, but I’m not sure he needs to. I just need more touch, more friction, more of Daddy and his steady, calm presence that makes my knees weak and my blood surge with need.

I don’t think about the consequences; I just feel. When Daddy grips my cock with his whole hand and strokes it gently, I explode. Into the pants. The pants that still have a price tag.

By some miracle, I manage to keep relatively quiet, and Logan’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, as if he didn’t know I was about to come so soon.

“Well.” He runs a thumb over the embarrassing patch of cum. “Now we definitely need to buy them.” He chuckles, and my cheeks burn hotter than ever before.

Gently, he tugs the pants off me and folds them in a way that hopefully will hide the stain. My underwear is still wet, though. He looks up at me for permission, and when I nod, he slides them off, uses them to wipe any residue off my groin, and stuffs them into the pocket of his pants.

I guess I’m going commando now. I pull my tattered old jeans on, and when I’m done, Logan puts both hands on my hips. Still seated, he pulls me into a hug, his head level with my stomach.

“Was that okay?” he asks. “I didn’t know I’d make you come so soon, sweet Ollie. You just looked so needy, and I couldn’t resist.”

“It was so good. I really liked it,” I say earnestly, even though it was pretty embarrassing, too. That’s part of why I liked it, I think.

He smiles. “Good. Now let’s go and buy those pants. You liked them, didn’t you?”

I nod. I’d want them anyway, regardless of whether I’d shot my load in them or not.

When we open the door, the fitting room area is full of people. They’re enough that we can slip away somewhat unnoticed, but I still see a couple of curious and disapproving looks as we make our way to the register.

I hand the linen pants to the cashier with Logan beside me like a comforting presence. The cashier—an older woman in her fifties maybe—looks at us with raised brows. I don’t think she’s noticed the stain, but the way I gravitate toward Logan and the way my hand closes around his arm probably gives the nature of our relationship away.

Her mouth tightens, and her movements become more aggressive as she flips the card reader toward me. Pulling out his card, Logan steps in front of me, and the cashier’s expression twists with disgust as he pays for the pants.

When we leave the store, Logan’s gone silent, his body language stiff as he takes large strides that I struggle to keep up with.

“Do you think she saw the stain?” I ask.

“No,” he mutters. “She only saw us.”

“Us?”

He doesn’t reply, and my chest tightens with worry. She disapproved of our relationship, that’s for sure, but she assumed things that aren’t true. She didn’t see us for who we really are. She didn’t see how well Logan takes care of me, how he always checks in and never does anything I don’t want to do. She doesn’t know what a good man he is.

He’s walking so fast that I can barely keep up, and I know where he’s going: home. Retreating to the apartment. I don’t want our date to be cut short, though. I want to stay with him, experience the world with him.

“I’m hungry,” I say loudly, and he slows down enough for me to grab onto his arm. “Can we go to the park? There’s a café I’ve always wanted to try.”

His jaw tightens, but when he sees my pleading eyes, his expression softens slightly. I can practically see the thoughts running through his mind. He wants to go home, but he wants to please me and feed me as well.

“Okay. Lunch.” While his tone is still clipped, his eyes are warmer now, and he lets me hold his arm as we walk toward South Waterfront Park.

I hold on to him a little too tightly, a little too desperately, my mind swirling with thoughts. The reaction of that cashier—and of the world in general—is not the truth of our relationship. I wish I could make him understand that, but I don’t know how.

Despite the chill in the air, the sun is shining, and the park is full of people. A few couples are holding hands, and I slide mine into Logan’s, trying to transfer my calm to his anxiety. No one will care. People are too busy with their own lives to send us more than a curious glance.