Ruin Box Set 1-3

by Lucian Bane

  “I’m here,” she whispered.

  He stared at her lips until her heart fluttered hard in her chest. As though answering a magnetic pull, she leaned in and paused when he froze, almost seeming to wait for her. Unsure. Isadore closed the gap and pressed her lips carefully into his. He sat there and let her kiss him and Isadore thought that was a good thing, thought maybe this would help him remember whatever he’d forgotten. Help him remember the good things at least.

  She realized what she was doing and pulled back. “I’m sorry, you should rest. You need to rest. Sleep.” She stood and helped him lay down and he allowed her, watching her intently as she busied herself with straightening her clothes, then the blankets on the bed. “I’ll shower while you rest and then I’ll get you some food. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  Ruin grabbed her hand and pulled her back down until she laid on him. His erection pressed into her pelvis and he held her face and stared into her eyes. Again, she answered that magnetic pull to his lips and kissed him softly. This time he held her face and kissed her back, little curious nips with those perfect full lips. His hand slowly slid over her and found its way to her butt and he pressed her into his raging arousal. He seemed fully recovered.

  Then she remembered Caliber’s words to remain pure and clean.

  “I . . . need to shower. I’ll be right back.”

  She struggled out of his embrace and he let her go, not saying a word. Once in the confines of the shower, she allowed herself to breathe again. How was she going to resist him and live pure? And clean?

  If only he’d . . . love her, the kind you married for not just had sex for, then it’d all be fine.

  She again took as long as she could, feeling like she’d just done that an hour earlier. Wait, she kinda had. She needed to focus on getting him food. Getting them to their assignment. Yes. That’s what she needed to do.

  She opened the door slowly and jumped at finding him there. Waiting it seemed. Naked. “You’re okay,” he said, staring down at her.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her. Just like that. Having only a towel, it was hard to resist without losing her covering.

  His hunger was startling and overwhelming and . . . very contagious. Her towel fell and Ruins hands were gliding, gripping, exploring with an urgency familiar to her. He lifted her leg up on his hip and pressed his arousal into her lower stomach then he lifted her onto his waist. She wrapped her legs around him and he leaned against the bathroom counter, taking turns feasting on each of her breasts, his hands stroking up and down her back, his fingers latching into her hair, his hunger and passion coming in deep groans and hot breath all over her.

  Isadore pumped herself against his torso, unable to get good enough connection. “Ruin,” she cried, needing his touch there.

  He looked between them at her sex, his breathing harsh. He locked gazes with her, and again, it felt like she was staring at him for the first time, his look so brutally intense and penetrating and desperate. It only made her want him more, faster. “Touch me, please.”

  “Touch you,” he gasped, turning with her and sitting her on the marble top. He stood and stared down between her legs and Isadore touched herself, knowing he liked that. He gasped and knelt on the floor before her and watched as Isadore put on a show for him, sliding her finger inside herself, her clit throbbing with how close he got to watch. Knowing he liked her smell and taste, she slid her wet finger over his lower lip.

  With a growl, he grabbed her wrist and sucked her finger. Then he clamped his hands on her inner thighs, making her cry out as shoved her legs open and buried his mouth between her folds, his lips a perfect storm of hunger, his tongue lashing her clit until constant cries flew from her lips.

  “Suck me,” she cried, pulling his head tighter to her. His finger slid inside her and she bucked on it. “Fuck me yes, fuck me,” she let her head fall back. “Faster, fuck me faster, suck me.”

  Ruin stood and kissed her suddenly, lifting her back on his waist and walking with her to the bed. He laid her down and crawled over her body until his knees were on either side of her shoulders, his cock before her face. She stared at his length, and grabbed the base, sliding the head all over her lips and moaning on him. She licked his slit and ridge then sucked him into her mouth, watching the muscles in his torso heave and shudder, his head falling back then forward, to watch again in agony.

  He braced his hands against the wall at the headboard and Isadore opened her mouth wider, taking all of him, holding his hips, and moving him in and out of her mouth. His hard grunts and hisses made her so horny, made her want to bring him all the way. She moved him faster, sucking the head of his cock several times before letting him go deep and hit her throat.

  The hissing growls were incessant now and soon he locked up with a sharp roar and pumped his hips quickly, his seed hot against the back of her throat. Nothing had ever felt so good, tasted so right. At least in that second.

  He finally got off her and knelt on his haunches, staring at her. The look he had seemed . . . astonished.

  She sat up and kissed him, enjoying his labored breaths in her mouth as she did. “You liked it? Did it feel good?”

  He held her jaw and kissed her back with a startling hunger and she moaned in surprise. He pushed her down onto the bed and began a trail of kisses over her body, starting at her lips then moving to every inch of her neck then a full meal at her breasts before he paused and knelt between her legs. He grabbed hold of her hips and lifted her against his waist, his cock trapped in between. Need to finally have him inside her was unbearable.

  “Do it,” she whispered, reaching for him, moving the length of his cock between her folds, and sliding herself shamelessly on him with a seductive hiss. “Make love to me.”

  Ruin stared down at what she did then locked gazes with her, looking tormented. She moved him to her entrance, her mouth opened as she waited for the feel of his cock inside her for the first time. She cried out when the thick head pushed at her entrance. He gritted his teeth with a growl while holding her waist in a deliciously hard grip.

  It suddenly seemed most important in that second, as he remained poised at the entrance that would change everything to her, that he confess it. “Do you love me, Ruin?” Surely he did by now?

  He jerked his gaze up to her, appearing confused. “Love you?”

  The amount of perplexity in his tone startled her. It wasn’t the kind you had when you weren’t sure of the answer, it was the kind you had when somebody spoke another language.

  Isadore removed herself off him, gasping in more shock, realizing for the first time why he was so speechless. “What is my name?”

  His mouth opened a little and stayed that way. “What . . . ” His forehead pinched hard as he seemed to struggle. “Your name?”

  “Oh my God,” she whispered, kneeling before him. “What is my name Ruin? Do you know where we are?”

  He shook his head, still not speaking, looking like . . . a person who couldn’t speak, because they didn’t know how!

  “Wait, right here, oh my God.” She led him to the bed and made him sit. “Wait right here. Don’t move. Stay.” She held him down on the bed firmly to make sure he understood.

  She threw on her jeans and red tank top, and hurried to her room and got one of the books she’d packed with them, and ran back.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped, finding him outside of the room, naked and looking around. She latched her arm in his and yanked him back inside. “Oh my God, oh my God,” she whispered in disbelief. “He really reset him, didn’t he! Why didn’t he tell me he meant back to factory setting!?”

  Chapter Twelve

  She sat him on the bed, opened the book and rapped her finger on the page for him to look. He did and immediately stood and began to walk and read, aloud. She let out a gasp of relief and sat as he continued to walk the room and orally recite what he saw. Soon his recital turned to mumblings as he turned page af
ter page while Isadore marveled. He was back to square one? The idea was disheartening. He didn’t remember her, which meant . . . he didn’t remember . . . anything they’d done?

  She put her head in her hands, surprised with the pain that brought to her chest. It’s not as if they had a whole lot of memories but . . . she liked their memories. They were so amazing and . . . unique, to her at least. The rescue, their . . . first intimacies. She prayed he’d get those back at least.

  Thirty minutes of silence and he finally said. “I can understand. I can read.” He sounded astonished and shut the book. “Do you have more? I don’t remember anything before today. That’s not normal.”

  She stood and blocked his path. “No, it’s not normal.” She put her hands on his chest and he looked down at them then back at her.

  “I know you.”

  She nodded, excited. “Yes. You do.”

  “I mean . . . I know your touch. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. “Yes, yes I understand. I think. Discriminative touch is a sensory modality that allows you to sense and localize touch and the form of touch where localization is not possible is known as crude touch, or a sensory modality which allows one to sense that something has touched them, but without being able to localize where they were touched. Does that make sense?”

  He angled his head and stepped closer to her. “It makes sense, yes. But . . . it’s not what I’m referring to.” His gaze roamed with open hunger over her face until her heart skittered in her chest. “I know that I very much like you. Those words you just said . . . ” he stroked along her cheek. “Has . . . me needing to taste you everywhere, until you make those sounds that . . . make my body hot and extremely hard and desperate to . . . put this in you.” She felt him stroking himself as he slid his thumb over her lower lip. “I want to touch your mouth with my . . . ” his brows narrowed as he struggled. “ . . . cock.”

  Isadore whimpered and swallowed. That was . . . some powerful memories.

  “It’s like . . . my body remembers things that I don’t recall.”

  Isadore fought to focus on his words and not the sweep of his tongue over his lower lip as he grew hungrier right before her eyes before mumbling, “Then . . . you’re talking about retrograde amnesia. It targets your most recent memories first. The more severe the case, the farther back in time the memory loss extends. This pattern of destroying newer memories before older ones is called Ribot’s law.”

  “Keep talking,” he whispered, roaming his hands along her arms as he stared into her eyes.

  “I-it happens because . . . because the neural pathways of newer memories are not as strong as older ones that have been strengthened by years of retrieval.” She realized that in his case, he didn’t have years of retrieval. She realized in fact that she wasn’t sure what he was experiencing but was sure whatever came out of her mouth next would make no sense whatsoever with his hands exploring her ass now.

  “You feel really good here. I remember this part of you. I like it very much. Can you undress so I can remember more?”

  She only managed a whimper as his lips asked nicely along her jaw in small kisses.

  “Why should I like eating you, I know that isn’t right either. But it seems I do—I want to literally taste you with my lips and tongue.” He held her face in his hands and studied every aspect of it. “But I don’t want to hurt you. This I know very well. Ever.” He continued kissing her softly, testing almost. “I know these lips. How long have I known these lips?”

  Isadore swam in dizziness as she surrendered to his exploratory needs. “I . . . ” she suddenly fought to remember a time when she didn’t know him. She realized in that moment how much a part of her he’d become. “I think . . . s-seven days.”

  “Is that . . . a long time to know something?” he continued nipping softly at her mouth.

  Dear God no, it wasn’t. “You . . .somehow formed a molecular recognition connection to me . . . I think it may feel like a long time.”

  He slid his fingers behind her neck and attended to her lips like he’d just remembered exactly how to and why he needed to. “Feels like forever, I think.”

  As he kissed the hell out of her, she could only moan and forget. She surely couldn’t recall not knowing the feel of his lips on hers, his tongue probing inquisitively before turning hungry as though the answers he sought demanded that passion to get at is secrets.

  “Ruin,” she whispered.

  He pulled back, his brows narrowed. “You keep saying that word to me.”

  “It’s your name,” she gasped, feeling drunk.

  “My name?” He didn’t seem bothered with anything except helping her out of her pants.

  “Yes,” she said, letting him push her onto the bed as his kiss turned devouring.

  “Say it again,” he filled his hand with her breasts, looking at them. “Say it while I taste you.”

  His mouth covered the first nipple and Isadore arched her back, burying her fingers in his hair as she spun in a vortex of moaning desire, silly notions of love and marriage floating in another dimension outside of her reach, right along with staying pure and clean.

  Ruin wasted no time tasting every inch of her, holding her legs to the bed as he forced her to orgasm then asked very kindly when he realized she’d reached a climax, “May I do it again?”

  How could she deny the sincere look in his eyes, the hunger in his tone and fingers as he continued to hold her legs down? Even though she was the responsible adult that knew all the wrong they were doing and he was just . . . exploring. Like a child. And she was letting him, addicting him, even. Like a predator. But no amount of guilt—past, present, or future—could keep her from him. Keep her from giving him whatever he wanted. And especially whatever he needed. And it didn’t help one bit that he needed her nor did it help one bit that Isadore needed to be needed. Needed to be desired. It was the whys and whatnots and who-ever-fors of that, she could easily live without. And did. Until she couldn’t.

  ****

  “Have I ever driven?” Ruin regarded Isadore with a squinted eye as they loaded the truck with their bags, finally getting back to their “assignment”.

  “You have.” Isadore smiled and threw him the keys, which he caught easily. “But if I see you’re not as savvy at remembering it as you are with other things, I’m taking over.”

  “Agreed,” he said, climbing in like an eager teenager.

  Isadore climbed in as well, watching him study everything. He’d read every book she’d brought after she finally caught her head and denied him free access to her body parts to forever explore. How many times did he have to bring her to orgasm to say he remembered her?

  “I realize I remember you, but I haven’t quite memorized you.” Had been his answer.

  “And who said you need to memorize me?”

  “I think I’m supposed to.”

  “I think you just want to because you like to.”

  He’d thought about that before concluding, “I think I like to because I want to and need to.”

  She’d talked him into learning or remembering other things. But he’d only conceded when she pulled the I’m tired card. She’d caught him up on everything except what brought him to lose his memory. And “the ride to their first bloody assignment to wherever” was the committed time she’d tell him about it. She wasn’t looking forward to it, mostly because she didn’t like thinking about it. There were too many questions she had still, to be answering his.

  “I remember,” he smiled at her, starting the truck. “Now tell me about the last piece of my life that you dread telling me.”

  She glanced at him. “I don’t dread it.”

  He gave a gasp that sounded excited. “I just remembered something.”

  “What?”

  “That you lie a lot.” He put the truck in gear and checked his mirrors. “And that hasn’t changed.”

  But something had changed with him.

  “Why do you keep looking at me li
ke that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like . . . I’m doing things wrong.”

  “Not wrong just . . . different.”

  “How so?” He got to the speed limit as fast as ever.

  “I think you might be nicer.” She watched the sun-shiny, old timey town, passing through her window.

  “I wasn’t nice before? That doesn’t feel true.”

  “Well, you weren’t not nice you were just . . . you told the truth all the time.”

  “And that’s cruel and mean?”

  “It can be, but with you it was just who you were.” She eyed him briefly.

  “I still am that person. Individual.” He sounded a little unsure about what to refer to himself as.

  “Maybe it’s just that you learned everything so much faster and it’s all so odd for me to process.”

  “Yes. I can understand that.”

  “See, that, that’s what I mean. You’re . . . more . . . compassionate with me.”

  “Well that’s a good thing I’d think?”

  Isadore propped her booted foot on the dash. “I think maybe you remembered nuances and mannerisms you developed. Or . . . or maybe you have more of me in you this time around since you remembered me. I think you may have retained some of the repetitive skills one picks up along the way. You just seem . . . more comfortable.”

  “I do feel comfortable, if one can be that in general. And you can tell me about how I lost my memory over breakfast.”

  A knot formed in her stomach at the idea. “Okay,” she said lightly.

  “You don’t like that.”

  It was an observation. She didn’t like that his perception of her hadn’t lessened one bit. “I just . . . no, I don’t like it.”