Ruin Me (MF)

When we met three years ago, the first thing I said to him was: “I will fucking ruin you.”

And I did. Three rounds of poker and I beat him and everyone on the table every single time. He thought it was funny the first time. The second time, he playfully accused me of cheating. The third, he barely said a word. He was so cute getting all upset.

“Chill, it’s not that serious,” I chuckle at him as I take all $50 of my winnings, $40 of it his. At that point I knew I was being mean. I’m a bitch, what do you want me to say? I saw him and decided, yep. That one. I’m picking on that one.

Not that he was a helpless little nerd. He’s actually not bad looking, if we’re being objective, and he can hold his own with all the ribbing. Not my type though, but I can understand how he’s almost never single. Never alone at least.

He like his girls sweet, with pearl earrings and diamond tennis bracelets so sparkly that it makes me want to hurl. I like how they side eye me behind his back, how they press a little closer to him when I’m around, how they shrink in their pretty little heels when I introduce myself as the best thing that’s ever happened to their boyfriend.

And him? Oh, he’s the worst. If his girlfriends are angels, he’s goddamn Jesus. He’ll let them cower into his arms, spoil them senseless with attention, and he’d chide me in private. *Can you please stop picking on my girlfriend?* he’ll say like he won’t have a new one in a few weeks, and there’s never any heat behind it. I roll my eyes and tell him to his face, “Get a better one then.”

I like to pick on him is when I catch him staring. It’s okay, I don’t mind. He’s not blind and at least he’s a gentleman about it. Never ogles, never lets his look linger too long. When I parade around in too-tight minidresses, his gaze follows me. Our eyes will meet and I can tell it’s more curiosity than want. Sure, he’ll look like a deer caught in headlights, but he’ll turn away as soon as I press my tongue against my cheek in a pantomime of a blow job. He’ll furrow his brows at me before I get any more ideas to fuck with him. I have to laugh. It’s so ripe for the picking. That longing. That mild, harmless hint of lust.

Again, it’s fine. I like to think I inspire lust in a lot of men, and I usually take advantage of it before they take advantage of me. But he’s too nice for that so where’s the fun in that for me?

In teasing him, that’s where.

When he’s not with a girl, because I’m not *that* kind of a bitch (most of the time), I’ll drape myself on him like I’m about to drag him and have my way with him in a closet, all while he’s in the middle of a conversation. I’d press my lips against his ear. If it makes the other person uncomfortable, too, all the better. Sometimes I’ll just sit on his lap when my skirt is so short nothing covers my panties against his pants. At first, he would do his best to get me to leave him alone, the propriety was so…proper that I couldn’t help but pick at it even more. But as familiarity bloomed into friendship, into playful teasing, sometimes he’d just let me.

There would be nights I’d wrap my arms around him, play with the crisp collars of his pressed shirts, dig my fingers through his hair, and this nerd will just keep talking to whoever he’s talking to like this was just normal things friends do, like a fist bump or an encouraging slap on the ass. Or I’ll sit on his lap and instead of pushing me off or getting up, he’ll drape his arm over my thighs to cover me up. Or he’ll use them as a coaster if he’s having something warm, especially if my skin’s raised in goosebumps from the cold. He’ll react in less obvious ways—a shift in his seat, his ears turning red. But for the most part, it just becomes part of our routine and the challenge of pushing his boundaries become a new fun game for me.

“Why do you always do this?” he asks me one evening.

The exasperation in his voice is evident. We’re at someone’s apartment that smells like cheap weed. I’m too sober for my own good and his new girlfriend, a lovely law student with the shiniest hair I’ve ever laid my eyes on, is getting us drinks. How sweet. It puts me in such a bad mood that I don’t even want to fuck with either of them. But I have a reputation to uphold so I plop my ass right on his lap. And I’m not shy about it. I plant myself right against his crotch. He shifts a little bit.

“Because it’s fun,” I say flatly.

“Is it?” He lays a hand on my back and starts rubbing in comforting patterns. It’s more consolation than anything. My hackles rise. “You don’t have to keep acting this way, you know. It’s not as if we stop being friends when I’m dating.”

“Oh, I live for your affection. You caught me. Whatever shall I do.”

His girlfriend returns with drinks, and I can tell that I just made the rest of his night a living hell. She has that expression of mild horror, that stab of jealousy. My god, it’s delicious. I wiggle my ass against him before I get up, take my drink, thank her (because I’m a lady), and head out to find someone else to fuck with. When I look back, he’s not even looking at her even when she’s trying to get his attention. He’s watching me. And he’s flushed. I wink at him. I’m in a better mood already.

The next time we see each other, the law student has dumped him and he is completely unbothered. Lately I’ve been noticing that his girlfriends have been getting better and better looking. Nicer, more well-kept, manicured, more grating on my nerves. And lately I notice that he doesn’t really dote on them as much as he did before. He’s still a kind man who opens car doors, who calls his girls “sweetie.” But the relationships last less and less, and even lovelier girls keep appearing at his arm.

I won’t lie, it annoys me. Mostly because that’s less chances to mess with him. To take his ear lobe between my teeth until he’s flushed all the way down to his neck. Sometimes he’ll have a girl wrapped around him and I’ll catch him eyeing me from across the room. He holds my gaze, like a challenge, and I respond with a middle finger. We’ll exchange a smirk and go on about our nights.

“No girlfriend today, lover boy?” I sneer at him at the next party. I’ve stepped out for a smoke on the rooftop and he’s up here to check that I haven’t jumped off or something. He just shakes his head and smiles to himself before handing me another bottle. He sips on his diet soda. “Lame.”

I’d rather break this bottle on my head and swallow the shards than admit that puts me in a really good mood. That when he’s the one wrapping his arm around my shoulder when he sits on the concrete beside me, before I have the chance to start trying to be an asshole, I get a little…nauseated.

No. Maybe, it’s butterflies.

Well, you know what they say when you get butterflies: you digest that shit.

“You’re sweet today,” I mock him, my tone sickly saccharine. Instead of blushing like a dork and sputtering, he just adjusts his glasses and smiles at me. The way his pupils dilate makes me want to punch him in the face and break his glasses.

“Just happy to be here with you.”

*What. The. Fuck*. “What the fuck?”

“Why? Are you going to fall in love with me if I’m too sweet?”

*This little shit*. You can’t beat me at my own game. I invented this game. My heart doesn’t skip a beat. You need a heart for that shit. You want to play? Okay, let’s play.

I climb onto his lap and, in his surprise, he sprawls, barely catching himself with an arm behind him. I wrap my arms around him and touch my forehead to his, staring into those pretty blue eyes before nuzzling him by the ear, accidentally knocking his glasses askew. He looks more surprised than anything but still had the mind to hold me so we don’t topple over. His hand accidentally slides up my shirt and I shiver at the contact. His fingers are cold.

“Going to? Hmm. A little late for that, friend.”

Ah. There it is. That blush. That beginning of panic. That’s all I want. Is that too much to ask?

“Please don’t joke about that,” he says, and I almost feel bad for how serious and dejected that comes out of his juicy little mouth. I could just kiss it. And I almost do, or pretend to, because that sad look on his face just makes my night. “You think it’s fun to bully me?”

“What are we? Seven?” I laugh, noticing that his hand had fallen from my back to just above my ass. His fingers twitch, as if trying to decide where to place his touch. And I haven’t pulled away. If anything, we might be pressed a little closer now. I can smell his soap. He’s always smelled so clean. So perfect. “I’m just fucking with you. Come on, you know that.”

It might have been the beer (I’ve had a few), or that he doesn’t respond with a chiding retort, but he raises his eyes to me and suddenly that pout isn’t just a pout anymore. The expression he’s wearing is hurt. Not like he’s about to cry, but like I crossed a line.

“Hey, man. My bad. You’re right.” Because as much fun as this is, we’re friends, and there are still some lines I respect. Like feelings and shit. So, I move to get off his lap but his arms wrap around me, keeping me in place. “Wait. Are you—”

He is.

“Well, hello there.” My face splits in a grin. *I got you*. I can feel it, right against my slit. He’s hard. And large, might I add. “You need help with that?”

I expect him to fluster completely and scramble away but instead he holds me by the back of my neck, gently, almost lovingly, his fingers tangling in my hair. Then, he kisses me.

I’ve had my mouth on more than my fair share of men, and sometimes women, but the way he does this makes me hold my breath, makes my chest feel weird like there are bubbles erupting within. His lips are soft, moving slowly against mine. He lets me push myself into it as much as I want, lets me lick his lips open. He’s hesitating and it makes me want to hold him down. When he softly bucks his hips, it catches me by surprise and I moan into his mouth. He takes it and darts out his tongue, licks my teeth, tastes them. His hand on my back slides up my skirt, into my panties and he rubs my ass, kneading it without any rush, pulling me just that much harder against his cock. And just like that, I’m fucking wet.

I pull away in a gasp. He doesn’t even dignify the situation with an excuse. He just takes his glasses off, sets them a side, and dives in for another kiss that’s just a touch desperate. His lips travel down my neck until he’s biting, sucking on my collar bone. He’s bucking up more and I can’t even stop myself from grinding on him. It spurs him on and, goddamn, that feels good.

I’ve never seen him like this. Like he’s not afraid of me. Like he openly wants me. More importantly, I’ve never seen *me* like this. Soft like putty in his hands. I feel like I’m going to melt. For the first time in a while, I’m relaxed even with a body so close to mine. Fight or flight completely shut off. I’m not thinking of how to get out of this in the morning, not worried about some girlfriend or wife barging in. Not arching my back in imitation of some porn star in an attempt to one up all the other women that came before me.

I’m just here, and, fuck, am I having a good time.

I crane my neck and he kisses it, licks it. He presses his mouth against the vibration on my throat when I moan. I rock my hips in tandem with the smooth thrust of his hips, eager to feel his shape against my slit, growing more and more desperate to be rid of these fucking panties. I grab him by his hair, drag my nails against his scalp. He growls against my skin and when I take the soft fleshy part of his ear between my teeth, I think something snaps in him.

“Put your hand here,” he gasps. Suddenly, everything feels urgent. His breathing is labored. His hold a little tighter. He takes my hand and shoves it inside his pants. It’s a tight fit with his zip half undone (did I do that or did he?) and my cunt right against it, but my fingers easily find his hard cock.

Jesus fuck. No wonder he’s never single. It had no business being this thick. This hot. I wrap my fingers around him, and he throbs at my touch. My palm is wet from warm precum and my mouth waters.

“Mhmm,” he keens. “Mmm…Oh my god, right there.”

His mouth finds mine again as he fucks himself on my hand. The taste of soda fills my mouth, I swallow it along with his groans. Needy sounds. It would be embarrassing if they didn’t shoot straight to my cunt. My arm moves on its own, stroking him, pushing the zipper all way down with my wrist so I can pull him out of his underwear.

“Wait,” I mumble between those deeper kisses, between moans. “Wait, what is this? What are we doing? What am I doing?”

“What you said you’d always do,” he pants. “Ruin me.”

Look, I may be a mean bitch, but I’m a good friend. If he’d like me to ruin him, I’m happy to oblige.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/v0u7k2/ruin_me_mf