Ruin Me

by Cara McKenna

  The doorbell rings and I abandon my self-analysis.

  I open the door to find it’s started snowing again. Patrick has on his black knit cap and fat flakes are sticking to it. I see his truck parked in the driveway behind my Saab. Surreal.

  “Hey there.” I step aside to let him in.

  “Hey. Smells good.” He hands me a wine bottle shrouded in a paper bag. He glances at the carpet and my stocking-feet and pushes his boots off and leaves them on the front step.

  And then suddenly, Patrick Whelan is in my home, standing in his gray wool socks in my living room. In Jay’s living room.

  “Come on through,” I say.

  He follows me into the kitchen and I set the wine on the table. Jay puts the lasagna on the stovetop and takes off the oven mitts. He turns around and looks between us.

  I’ve only seen Jay and Patrick interact a handful of times. Usually it’s at the Tap, where Jay’s always made a point of offering to buy Patrick a beer, an unspoken debt for him possibly saving my life all those years ago. Except for that day Jay went to Patrick’s to talk about this arrangement, I don’t think they’ve ever exchanged more than a dozen polite words on a given occasion.

  “Hey.” Jay steps forward with perfect confidence to shake Patrick’s hand. “You can hang your coat by the door.”

  Soon enough, I’m pouring three glasses of wine as Patrick takes a seat at the table. Jay sets down three plates and the parmesan cheese shaker, two big forks and one small one, a roll of paper towels. He sits across the table from Patrick, me parked between them, apropos of farce.

  Patrick looks to each of us as I serve myself.

  “So,” he says. “Robin said you aren’t planning to murder me.”

  Jay smiles down at his empty plate a moment. “No. Although the idea has some appeal.”

  “I don’t see why I’m here,” Patrick says, stripping the veneer of sociability right off the entire evening.

  Jay shrugs. “Just a bit of a summit. Thought we could all use a little air-clearing.”

  “Am I here to have the law laid out about how you think this is going to work?” Patrick asks, looking openly impatient as he dishes out his food.

  “I don’t know how this is going to work,” Jay says. “If you think this is fucked up,” he says, waving around the serving spoon Patrick hands him, “try being on my side of it.”

  “I wouldn’t let my woman mess with some other man if I was you,” Patrick says, damn cold.

  My eyes volley between them and I gulp nearly all my wine before they’ve even touched theirs. Amid the squeaks of forks against plates, they continue their manly caucus.

  Jay nods at me. “I love her, and I’m going to marry her. You saved her life and now she wants you—she needs you—to fuck her brains out. For whatever reason. She seriously can’t control it. And I love her more than I love the idea of her being faithful to me, so I’m going to have to let you.” Jay digs into his food, having said what he needed to.

  Patrick eats, too, brow furrowed. I suspect he’s wondering the same thing I am. Does Jay mean Patrick should fuck my brains out tonight?

  “Pass the paper towels,” I say.

  Patrick does and he says to Jay, “Then what? What happens after me and her…” He trails off.

  “No clue.” Jay shrugs. “I don’t want to share her, trust me. We’ve been happy for four years. I’m hoping the more she gets to know you, the less she’ll need you. I think she’ll get bored with you and maybe realize how good she has it at home.”

  “I know how good I have it,” I say quietly, ignored.

  “But she’s mine,” Jay reiterates. “And if you want her, and she wants you, I’m going to be a part of it.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, mouth full.

  “I get to watch,” Jay says after a pause. “And you have to watch us,” he adds to Patrick.

  Patrick’s normally hooded eyes go wide, so wide you can see white all around his brown irises for a second. There’s a pouch of food in his cheek where he froze in mid-chew, and he swallows and sets down his fork. I wait for him to push his chair back and storm out of the house, but he reaches for his wine instead, downing half of it.

  “When?” he asks.

  I wouldn’t be more shocked if he’d challenged Jay to pistols at dawn.

  “Tonight,” Jay says.

  I think something insanely banal, just then. I think, Thank goodness my period’s not due for a couple days.

  Patrick nods. “Fine. Where?”

  “Here,” Jay says. His territory, I think.

  “Fine,” Patrick says again.

  The men tuck into their food, me vibrating with adrenaline between them. My intuition is tugging frantically at my sleeve, demanding my attention, but I kick it away. The rest of the hurried meal passes in silence and Jay stands up first, taking his plate to the sink. When he comes back he pulls me to standing by the arm. I can sense Patrick’s hackles rise, perceptible as a dog growling.

  Jay takes hold of my shoulders, his eyes darting over my face. They look green tonight. His hands slide up to my neck and he kisses me. Regular kisses at first then deeper. Cinematic kisses—deep and smooth and meant for Patrick as much as they are for either of us. It takes me a few seconds to relax into it but when I do, I melt like butter.

  A chair squeaks against the floor and Jay breaks away from me as Patrick steps close. I see Patrick’s brown eyes staring into Jay’s hazel ones, posing a question. Jay glances to me then puts a palm on my back, gently urging me toward Patrick. If being literally passed back and forth between these two men wasn’t so incredibly hot I’d be insulted by their pushiness.

  I catch Patrick’s eyes for a second before his face lowers. He tastes just like Jay—same wine, same tomato sauce, acidic and salty. He tastes different too. Feels different. He’s just plain bigger, a bigger jaw under my fingers, bigger hands tangling in my hair. I want to see Jay’s face, to check that this is actually turning his crank as it did in theory. I don’t though. I surrender to Patrick’s mouth. His tongue delves deep and explicit, stroking mine, multiplying all the heat Jay roused in me.

  He breaks away. He keeps his head close, asks me something Jay’s not meant to hear. “Is this what you want?” he whispers.

  I breathe my answer against his cheek. “Yes.” Maybe.

  I hear him swallow before he replies, nearly too quiet even for me. “I’d never share you.”

  I lick my lips and stall a moment before I look at Jay. There’s a gleam in his eye, honest to God—there’s an actual brightness there like a tiny fire. It’s either anger or arousal or a hybrid of the two. He curls his finger to beckon me over.

  He puts his mouth to my ear. “Go to the bedroom and put on something sexy.”

  I nod, nervous, and cast a glance back at both of them as I leave the dining room.

  As I climb the stairs I wonder what they’re talking about. I bet Jay will be laying down some ground rules for Patrick. I push the dimmer switch up until the bedroom lights are barely on and I stare at our pillows and covers, unable to fathom that Patrick’s about to be here with us. Unable to fathom that Jay is inviting his sexual rival here to desanctify our bed with another man’s memory. Then I realize something incredibly obvious. I’m about to finally have sex with Patrick Whelan.

  And all at once, I know why Jay’s doing this. He’s not letting Patrick be a part of our sex life—Jay’s making sure he’s an inextricable part of my soon-to-be sex life with Patrick. He’s going to make sure that whatever happens after tonight, if there should ever be a me-and-Patrick, it’ll be haunted by Jay, just like he’s had to put up with Patrick haunting our twosome from the very beginning.

  I bet Jay trusts me exactly as much as I trust myself. Clever boy.

  The sexiest underwear I own is a matching silk bra and panties set, plum-colored. I look at myself in the full-length mirror when I’m changed and marvel that this is the woman who’s managed to corrupt and compromise the two intelligent a
nd attractive grown men currently circling each other in her kitchen. This must be how pretenders to the throne feel. Powerful and paranoid.

  I hear footsteps on the uncarpeted stairs. Jay enters carrying one of the dining room chairs. He sets it by the dresser, a stadium for a one-man audience with a perfect view of the action. Tomorrow morning one of us will probably eat breakfast sitting on that chair.

  “You look good,” Jay says, nodding at my underwear.

  I shiver and rub my palms together, though it’s probably perfectly warm in here. “Thanks. Are you sure about this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you think we’ll regret it?” I ask.

  Jay walks over and we sit together on the edge of the mattress. “Strong relationships survive way worse things than threesomes,” he says, running a blissfully familiar hand up and down my arm. “If you and I are supposed to stay together, we’ll get through this. And I’m okay with this, really.”

  If we’re supposed to stay together…

  “I’d never do this for you,” I whisper. “With another woman, I mean. No chance in hell.”

  “I know,” he says and kisses my temple. “I love that about you.”

  “That I’m a hypocrite?”

  “No, just that you’re honest about how horrible you are.” He grins at me, bumps my shoulder with his. “I know how your brain works, Robin. You’re probably psychoanalyzing this sixty levels deeper than me or that asshole downstairs ever will.”

  “Probably. And don’t call him an asshole.”

  “I know you,” Jay says. “And that’s why I’m not worried about what’s going to happen after tonight.”

  I wish I were as confident as Jay.

  I pray to God Patrick Whelan is lousy in bed. That might make everything way simpler.

  More footsteps mount the stairs and Patrick appears at the door. I stare at his silhouette framed in the threshold, lit by the glow leaking up from the den. The fact that he’s here makes me realize I don’t know him that well. I wouldn’t have guessed he’d agree to this. I wonder if that makes him more horny than honorable or just more desperate to be with me than I ever imagined.

  “Take a seat,” Jay says.

  Patrick sits on my other side on the bed. I succumb to a moment of female insecurity and glance down to check how unflattering this posture is to my stomach. I feel Patrick scrutinizing my body too, but without any criticism. A broad, warm, half-familiar hand drifts up to cup one of my breasts, sucking the air from my lungs. Patrick leans in and kisses me again, softer than before. I feel Jay’s hand on my shoulder, urging me to lie down. I recline on my side, head on the pillow, and Patrick lies down to face me. Jay slides up behind me, warm mouth on the nape of my neck, palms on my waist. Smooth palms, way different from the coarse ones Patrick explores me with.

  “You can touch him,” Jay says, voice low just behind my ear. Then his fingers reach around to settle on my mound over the silk, knuckles surely touching Patrick’s stomach. He strokes my clit, light and teasing as I start to survey Patrick.

  He seems brand-new tonight, surrounded by so many familiar things. The bed feels predictable beneath me, as does Jay’s body behind me and his fingers between my legs. Patrick feels foreign. His smell stands out, and his voice when he clears his throat. I rub my hand over his chest, his arm, his neck.

  “Get him hot,” Jay whispers. “Then he can watch us.”

  My hand slides lower, passing by Jay’s, passing over Patrick’s thick belt, finding him already hard behind his jeans. He groans faintly at the contact. His hands slide from my belly to my collarbone and back, weighing my breasts with each pass. There’s a magic to Patrick when he’s turned-on, a teenage-boy quality that contradicts his steady façade. I cup my palm over the ridge of his erection and angle my head to kiss him, deep. He grunts against my mouth as our tongues tease and explore, igniting me.

  Between my legs, Jay strokes my clit with perfect mastery. We know each other so well, he’s better than I am at getting me off. I can feel him too, his hard cock pressed to my butt. The heat builds like a drug, changing everything. The room grows warm, as hot as the two male bodies against mine. Jay’s hand slips inside my panties, multiplying the pleasure threefold.

  He makes a happy noise behind my ear. “She’s already wet.”

  I hear Patrick suck in a breath through his nose. His tongue plunges deeper, sweeping against mine, making my hand tighten around his cock. His mouth leaves mine to whisper, “I want you so much.”

  Jay takes his hand away. “Go sit on that chair, Whelan.”

  Patrick gets up, walks obediently to the chair by the dresser and waits.

  “Sit on the edge of the bed,” Jay tells me.

  I do.

  He sits behind me, both of us facing Patrick. “Spread your legs,” he orders.

  I do.

  His hands stroke up and down my thighs, slow and rough, his short-nailed fingers curled into harmless claws. I gasp as his hand comes back to my center, stroking my lips through the silk. Patrick and I share a private, awkward dance, both our pairs of eyes meeting then moving to each other’s crotches, meeting again, fleeing again. Beneath the pleasure Jay’s giving me there’s a wide river of wrong running through this. Not just societal wrong, but intuitive, this-ain’t-right wrong. Part of me wants to tell Jay to stop, but it’s vetoed by the bossier parts that are throbbing against his fingers.

  “Take these off,” he says, thumbs tugging at my waistband. I stand for a second and push my panties to the floor. I sit and Jay’s fingers resume their touch. Five feet in front of me, Patrick’s nostrils flare. His lips part when Jay slides two fingers inside me and the flush in his skin is ten times hotter than the penetration.

  “Take it out,” Jay says to Patrick. “Let her see.”

  As always, Patrick pauses before he acts but he eventually obeys, opening his belt and his fly and pushing down his shorts. He wraps a hand around his erection.

  “He’s big,” Jay whispers, right in my ear. “Is that what you fantasize about?”

  I nod, feeling intoxicated by the guilt of the lie. As I told Patrick, my attraction is to him, not his body.

  “Did you suck him yet?”

  I nod again. Patrick’s hand starts moving up and down his length.

  “You make him come?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you swallow?” Jay asks.

  Patrick breaks his silence to speak for me. “Yeah, she swallowed. She drank it right up.”

  I freeze, feeling Jay’s fingers do the same on my clit. I’ve never heard Patrick talk this way—dirty, sure, but not with an intent to incite. I hold my breath and wait for Jay to explode. Instead he puts his mouth to my temple and says, “Tell me about it, Robin.”

  I take a breath. “I begged him to let me. On his couch. I got him as big and hard as I could, and teased him while he told me how he wanted to fuck me.”

  “You want to fuck my girl?” Jay asks.

  Patrick’s eyes jump from my cunt to my shoulder—to Jay’s face. “It’s all I can think about.”

  “Did he eat you?” Jay asks me, fingertips circling my clit.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Come over here,” he says to Patrick. “I want to see you get on your knees and make her come.”

  Patrick tucks his cock back behind his shorts, slides off the chair and walks forward on his knees, settling between my thighs. I hold my breath. Jay’s fingers tease me, dipping inside, taunting Patrick.

  “She’s so wet already,” Jay says.

  I feel his slick fingertips stroke my lips, and the look in Patrick’s dark eyes deepens all the longing. Jay takes his hands away as Patrick brings his face close. Jay cups my breasts, tweaks my nipples through the fabric to spread heat through my chest. Patrick’s tongue flicks my clit and my thighs jerk. His strong hands hold them steady. He laps at me for a long minute, flicking his wet tongue against my lips before he pushes the tip inside. I whimper at the sensation and close m
y eyes, the sight of his face all at once too intense.

  “Taste her,” Jay says.

  Patrick makes a hungry noise, plunging his tongue deep. The pleasure is tearing me apart, so hot, so massively screwed up—this big man’s mouth on my pussy, Jay’s palms coaxing pleasure from my breasts as his breath steams against my neck. Two men. Jay’s fingers move to the front clasp of my bra, exposing my breasts, fondling them.

  “I get to fuck her bare,” Jay says. “I should have fucked her first and made you eat all my come out of her.”

  I gasp and my eyes pop open, unsure if what he said is utterly, insanely hot or completely fucked. But only Jay gets to decide what’s hot or fucked tonight. Patrick doesn’t protest the idea, just keeps doing what he’s been ordered to, fucking my pussy with his mouth.

  Jay lets one of my breasts go, reaching down to my mound. He makes a V with his fingers on either side of my lips, pulling the skin a bit tighter, exposing my clit more to Patrick. I know Jay must feel Patrick’s tongue and Patrick must be licking Jay’s fingers and the idea that they’re sharing the barest of sexual contact sends a crackling bolt of selfish pleasure through me. I think something evil as their hands and Patrick’s mouth pleasure me—about Jay’s ultimate revenge, making Patrick suck him. I don’t think there’s any chance of that happening but the thought makes me so hot I feel the climax reach boiling, the heat in my toes and the muscles of my legs, gathering and whirling in my pussy and breasts and my skin and my shaking hands.