Ruin Box Set (8 page)

Isadore clutched her own bundle of clothes before him now. “I was hoping, yes.”

“And you saw everything tonight,” he said.

“I saw what I told you. Was that all of it?”

Ruin didn’t want to tell her she’d passed out before finishing. “Yes, I think so.”

“Well that’s good to know.” She gnawed briefly at her lower lip. “I was worried I had missed the main event.”

Ruin stared at her, feeling like she didn’t really mean what she said but not sure.

“It was a joke. And I was going to make a fresh gumbo and take some to Mr. Thibodeaux tomorrow. You’ll like him. You’ll come with me?”

“Yes.” Ruin watched her for signs of the mental instabilities he’d read about in the medical book. He needed to finish reading it, the more he understood the human body, the better off he was. She should definitely be hysterical after such an event and the way she behaved, still had him worried. It had certainly affected him.

“I’m going to take a shower.” She pointed to the clothes he still held to his stomach. “Those were for my dad,” she shrugged a little. “I hope they fit. I mean I hope they fit so you’re not stuck wearing my stuff. He was a good man. You remind me of him in a lot of ways.”

Agony began to stir in Ruin again at her words and the amount of emotions he sensed behind them, as well as the stupid idea she’d compare him to a man she clearly admired and…loved.

“I’m not good.” It was the only thing he could say.

“Yes you are,” she nodded with eyes closed, like she’d known this forever.

He shook his head, the agony getting worse. “And how do you know?”

“I just do,” she said with that same positive tone. “I have faith that you are.”

His anger flared now and he turned away from her. “That’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” She passed him and Ruin’s eyes were on her, particularly on those little black shorts that hugged her bottom, showing him what it looked like. She suddenly paused at the stairs. “I don’t remember going to bed.”

“You fell asleep,” he said. “I carried you up.” It was close enough to the truth, apparently.

“See? You’re good. You took care of me.”

“Because I carried you to bed when you were asleep?”

“You could have left me wherever I’d fallen asleep.” She narrowed her gaze briefly as though trying to remember that.

“I had to.”

She gave him a little smile. “Why did you
have
to?” Her tone scolded lightly as she headed down the stairs now and he followed. She went straight to the bathroom. “Taking that shower,” she said, shutting the door.

“Because I just do have to,” he called back, double checking that everything was still locked down, even though the things he feared weren’t bound entirely by natural laws.

He went back upstairs and fetched the medical book and then paused at seeing the bottom of a book on the lower shelf of a table next to her bed. He leaned his head and retrieved it. Bible. He set the medical book down and took it downstairs. He sat at the table and read, a little apprehensive and hopeful. From the moment he’d laid eyes on that word “Bible” the definition of it struck something in him. Maybe this was the information he lacked about himself. Maybe within these pages, his own supernatural identity would be discovered.

Chapter Eight

A little ways into reading the Bible, and Ruin was frustrated with how perfectly he didn’t understand what was there. Line upon line of puzzles presented itself to him and what wasn’t puzzling didn’t seem to pertain to him in any way that he could connect. How did she even read this? Why, would be the bigger question? The only place that had any kind of practical knowledge was in Proverbs and maybe Psalms, and even that was enshrouded in dense terminology.

The sound of her shower reached his ears and pictures of her breasts glistening from the water making his manhood instantly and unbearably hot and hard. He stood and paced, remembering his earlier intention before she’d passed out. To give her a massage. Mostly to relieve her stress and be able to touch her. He had to touch her one way or another in the same way he had to eat.  It wasn’t a matter of if, but when, and it may as well be for a dual justified cause. She needed the physical liberation.

He needed…the physical torment.

As much as he wanted to contemplate why he needed the torment, he couldn’t, because it amounted to ignorance and that amounted to weakness which only added to his need for punishment. Ruin went back to picking at the puzzle called the Bible, and continued reading. He sighed in relief at the sound of her getting done, saving him from the frustration mounting in him from the convoluted book. The word of God? Maybe it wasn’t the word of God, how would she be sure it was?

The sudden need to know what her privates looked like struck him again. He hadn’t seen any in a book, or anywhere else. Yet. And he found that he wanted that data, which she seemed to hold in high esteem and secrecy, to be the very first thing in his mind. 

“You’re welcome to take one next,” she gasped, coming out with a puff of steam and her head wrapped in a towel. “But you’ll need to wait until the hot water builds up. I’ll make us coffee while you wait.”

He eyed her as she went to the kettle, his gaze roaming over her robe in burning curiosity. “You like to mop.” He remembered how she danced, at least he thought that’s what it was called that first night he actually met her.

“Yes, I plan on doing that while you shower.”

The idea of going without clothes seemed much more reasonable, but he’d respect her privacy wishes. He remembered what he’d learned in the medical encyclopedia, the one particular thing that stood out. Override memories with new ones. That meant creating new events in the brain could help override damaging ones.

His mind went to work contemplating a solution that would override the trauma she’d just seen, at least to a point that it didn’t adversely affect her, and while giving him the self-torment he craved.

****

Isadore had the water boiling and her Roux dissolved when the shower shut off.
Ruin.
What an awful name. And yet… there was something about it that appealed to her. Maybe that it was so sad to have that name. Did he like it? Want her to use it? She’d need to ask. She kind of liked calling him JD.

The door opened and Isadore’s stomach jolted. Amazing. She’d just spent fifteen minutes preparing for his exit. But it was pointless to pretend his presence didn’t shake her to her very core in every way. She’d accepted the reality of it and had settled for at least not humiliating herself with such
telling
reactions. Surely it’d get easier. “Ah, good, the clothes fit.” So much for thinking daddy’s memories would help her with her fixation. It was supposed to make her want him less, not more. But the simple blue jeans and black t-shirt made him devastating to look at with those green eyes and black matching hair. How was she supposed to not be affected? Impossible.

“Yes, they do.”

Isadore stared at him, confused. What did what do? She called up what they were talking about and remembered. The clothes. The clothes did fit.

“It smells amazing in here.” He glanced at the stove.

“Ah, nothing like Cajun gumbo.”

He went to the pot and sniffed. “I’m starving.”

“Well, I heated you some of the leftovers, this isn’t going to be ready for a while, still.”

He turned to the table and went straight to the large bowl of last week’s gumbo where he proceeded to devour it without stop until he was done. Isadore watched, amazed, and maybe concerned.

“You were starving?” She got a glass from the cabinet and filled it with milk.

“I was.” He took the milk and downed it with loud gulps.

“Wow,” she said, amazed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He looked up at her, licking his lips, drawing her rapt attention to his full mouth that suddenly held back a smile. She shot her gaze to his and he stood, holding her captive with those green eyes. She found herself looking up at him, defenseless as he continued to stare into her eyes. “I want to do something for you.”

Anything
seemed to be the logical response. “Like what? It’s not necessary.”

His warm fingers closed around her hand and he smiled. “Yes, it is.”

“Where are we going?” She let him pull her to the stairs, a bomb of excitement detonating in her stomach.

“You’ll see. Do you trust me?”

She’d sworn to try and be as brutally honest as he was with her. “Not entirely, no.”

He actually glanced back with a smile that arrested her heart. “You speak the truth.”

“I’m working on that.”

“You should. Given your Christianity.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I’m not perfect. It’s why I need God.”

He led her to the bed. “Would you… consider removing your robe?”

She gasped, her eyes popping. “Umm no?”

“Okay.” He rubbed his hands together slowly. “I had to ask.”

“I could… change maybe.” Dear God, she didn’t even know what he wanted to do and she was ready to accommodate him.

“Yes.” He sounded pleased with that.

She went to her dresser and dug through the items, her hand pausing on one of her thin nighties she’d kept. Mostly to not forget that she was a woman. She never wore it. “Turn around. No looking.”

“Turned.”

She looked over her shoulder and quickly slipped into the naughty sheer white that barely went over her butt. It didn’t match her boy looking briefs, but that was as daring as she dared to get. “What do I need to do in the bed?”

“Lay on it. On your stomach.”

“And what are you planning to do?”

“Help you relax. Can I look?”

“Not yet.” Oh if he only knew. Her every muscle was in knots of excitement. “Headed to the bed now.” She laid on her stomach and turned her face away from him. “Ready.”

Silence reigned in the seconds that Isadore laid with her eyes clenched tight at wondering what he was thinking.

“I’m going to touch you.” His voice was low and near and…threatening. Or maybe it only seemed like a threat with the way it rushed out on a breath.

“I’m ready,” she sang, trying her best to be brave.

She startled when his hot fingers stroked over a spot on the back of her thigh. “You were hurt.”

She remembered the bruise she’d forgotten all about. “Just a little.”

He took hold of her right foot then. “Starting from the bottom.”

“A foot massage. Nice.” Dear God,
starting
from the bottom. All what that might mean tingled in her body. How detailed would he get in his journey?

His touch was…phenomenal. It soon reminded her of what it might feel like to float safely in a warm ocean, gentle yet waves faithfully carrying… embracing… comforting… releasing.

He worked his miracle up to the knee on her left leg, then did the same to the right. He then took soft hold of her ankles and spread them about two feet apart. “You’re safe,” he whispered, before she could think to panic.

She tried to relax again and he began that same glorious treatment to her upper thigh from the side of the bed it seemed.

She was suddenly tormented with not knowing what he thought of her body. She could feel his eyes staring, she just
knew.
He had said nothing. Did he realize how naughty it was for her to put that on? Did he see it as her way of compromising? Not entirely uninterested in the idea of him seeing her, but just not ready to go all nude?

****

Torment flowed through Ruin in staggering amounts. When he’d turned to find Isadore in sheer material, he’d barely managed to remain standing. The first thought was how long he’d have to be tormented before he saw her breasts? He’d let her set the pace. Her body would tell him. Even now, he was near her succulent bottom. The word
ass
was used to refer to that body part as well, and he decided it felt good on his tongue in that moment. And when he’d opened her legs, his heart nearly failed him at seeing her secrets filling and pushing against the soft material of her white panties. 

The question was, how would he manage to keep his lips and tongue off of her? Instinct screamed through him, to taste and lick places on her that his fingers travelled. Not to mention her
scent
. How could something as small as a scent threaten to unhinge his psyche? He wanted to suckle from every part of her body. Just before he devoured.

His gaze fixated on that perfect spot where her leg joined the full flesh of her ass. The line between those plump cheeks screamed for his slow exploration. He didn’t just feel her excitement in his fingers, he heard it in her breathing now, turning up his torment.

Ruin finally straddled one of her legs, angling his head again to gaze on those privates as she called them. He wanted to see her touch herself again. Wanted to watch her again. Only closer. Much closer.  He settled his hands at her lower back, working the muscles there, allowing his fingers to grip her waist. The feel of her in his hands that way, sent a spear of need through his manhood that was bound in far too constricting clothes. He needed to hold her this way. Control her body.

“May I undress?” he asked. He knew it was daring but the torment was not enough. To have his manhood near her, exposed and unable to touch, that would be true torment. And the need for it seemed to be getting worse.

A few seconds passed and he nearly retracted the question when her whisper reached him. “Yes.”

The sound of her desire had a lethal effect on him. He wasted not a second but tore off his clothes and resumed his straddled position, careful not to let his painful erection touch her as he went back to working those muscles. He soon allowed his thumbs to venture lower to her upper buttocks, pressing slow circles into the succulent muscles there. It awarded him with his first moan.

Ruin’s breath rushed out of him. The power in that one sound made him drunk and driven for more. He made his way slowly lower until he massaged at the juncture at her upper thighs. The sight of her moving her hips ever so slightly while her breaths turned shallow made his manhood jerk. The torment was heady. Exhilarating. He focused his thumbs lower between her thighs, getting at the inner muscles there, watching her body. Little moans accompanied the now constant rock of her hips, the constant thrust of her ass, begging him, yes, that’s what he needed, he needed her to beg him. And silently, with her body, worked fine for him. For now.

Answering her beg, he allowed his thumbs to now brush against that soft fullness between her legs. She gasped, and Ruin saw the slight opening of her thighs. Wider. More. That’s what she told him. Keeping his momentum, he allowed even more of his thumbs to come into contact with her
privates
. At feeling the warm wet heat on them, the fire and ice inside him engaged for the first time. He realized at that moment, they had been engaged the entire time, but now both roared in his veins. Not in contradiction, but
agreement.
They both hungered for this.

The idea concerned him but he was too drunk to care as he pushed his thumbs into those full folds between her beautiful legs and watched her now flick her hips in strain for more.

“Touch me,” she gasped. “Please.” Her frustration nearly undid him.

Kneeling between her legs, he opened her wider and she gasped, making his manhood jump again. “Touch yourself, Isadore,” he rasped.

She obeyed him without hesitation, sliding her hand beneath her. Ruin pulled her panties aside and a groan escaped him at seeing her secrets finally—and seeing her fingers on them that way. She rubbed what he guessed to be her clitoris then she cried out and lifted her ass, sliding her finger inside her body.

Ruin growled and grabbed her panties, yanking them down until he worked them off of her entirely. Returning to kneeling between her legs, he took hold of her hips and lowered so he could put her right on his lap. The idea to stroke his manhood on her was unbearable. But he wouldn’t. He just needed to see her this way. The position opened her completely to him and he stared, fascinated. Even the tight pucker of her ass made insane demands on him. Unable to resist, he passed the tip of his finger softly over it and she cried out with a little jerk. Ruin ran firm fingers along her spine as he angled his head, gliding his finger lower. His first stroke on the silky warm skin, so very wet with her desire, made her squirm and thrust her ass higher. A harsh groan blasted from him.