10. Samuel
There’s a knock on my door. A reluctant one, as if whoever knocked isn”t quite sure if it’s a good idea. I know for a fact that it’s not Mr. Barron who’s waiting in front of my door, because he said his goodbyes around an hour ago and told me he’d be gone for longer this time. Business meetings in Europe, or something like that. I pull my balaclava over my head and walk towards the door.
“What do you want?”
With a sigh, I look down at Ruby. She looks a bit off, fidgeting with the hair tie around her wrist.
“You wanna watch a movie with me?”
My first instinct is to firmly tell her no, but something about her standing there hits a weak spot inside of me.
“Only because you did a good job cleaning up. But for the love of God, please don’t sneak into my room at night ever again, or else I’ll really shoot you.”
Her typical smile is back on her face, and I don’t understand why this is even important to me.
“What kind of lunatic sleeps with a gun under his pillow,” she says as we walk down the stairs, hurrying behind me like a lost duckling.
I catch her trying to take two stairs at once just like I do and I want to tell her to stop because she seems to have trouble making it down safely, even if she takes them one by one.
“No more dumb comments, or else I’m back in my room before any kind of movie even starts. And you better not think that you get to choose something,” I say as I take the far left end of the big couch. She takes the right one and I’m glad I don’t have to remind her to keep her goddamn distance.
“Fine,” she says as she throws the remote over to me. It lands against my shoulder with a thud and I shoot her an angry glare before I pick out a movie.
It doesn’t take me long. It never does.
I’m not allowed to pick out movies for movie night back on base anymore. Logan also isn’t, but that’s because he brought tapes that left all of us traumatized more than once. The decision is usually between Max’s stuff, which is more suitable for children and Rockwells picks, which are either horribly complicated foreign movies, or documentaries. So unless Ruby holds a gun to my head, I’ll fight for my remote privilege in this house.
“James Bond, really?” she asks with a grin on her face. Blasphemy.
“Uncultured prick.” I shake my head, taking a big sip of whiskey from the bottle I brought back from my room. As if my subconsciousness already knew that I’d need it.
“What are you, some kind of James Bond fangirl?”
“I’m not a fangirl,” I defend myself before I realize that she just wants to provoke me. So much for giving her the benefit of the doubt and agreeing to come down here with her because she looked so sad. Where’s that goddamn sadness now?
“Another disrespectful word and I’ll leave.”
She holds her hands up again, just like two days ago, and this time I didn’t even have to point a gun at her.
Throughout the intro and then a bit; that’s how long Ruby sits still without annoying me, but then I feel her eyes on me again. She’s giving me a look, eyes trailing down towards the bottle in my hand over and over until I wordlessly hand it over to her. Fueling her mischievous attitude with booze is probably a bad idea, but arguing with her is also pointless.
“Didn’t expect you to share your booze with me.”
It’s obvious that she tries to hide the frown on her face as she takes a big sip and I almost want to laugh. She should stick to her sugary stuff if she can’t handle liquor for adults.
“Don’t make me regret being nice to you,” I grumble as I take the bottle away from her. I contemplate wiping over the bottleneck with my shirt, but after a minute of consideration, I decide against it. It’s enough that one person in this room acts like a preschooler most of the time.
Over the next hour, Ruby slides lower and lower on her side of the couch. I keep my eyes fixed on the TV, acting like I don’t notice how her feet touch the fabric of my sweatpants.
We had to take care of a puppy for a while on base, and every time the little thing started to bark while we ate our food, Rockwell told us to ignore him until he stopped. I had hoped that this would also work on Ruby.
It doesn’t.
Instead, her foot slides higher and higher, until it’s resting just inches away from my half-hard cock while I’m still acting like Moonraker has my undivided attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ruby is doing the same, albeit with a dirty grin flashing over her face from time to time.
I grab the armrest to my left so hard that I’m afraid that I’ll damage the fabric, trying not to shift in my seat. Because every time I do so, her foot slides over the bulge in my pants.
“Ouch!” she yelps as I grab her ankle. Instead of shoving her foot away, I hold it in place, because once again, there’s too little blood up where I need it.
“Please,” she says after a few seconds, and I finally bring myself to let go of her foot. “No, I meant the whiskey,” she says with a laugh.
“Don’t you think you had enough?”
“You want me to come over there and grab the bottle myself?”
“God, no,” I say as I hand her the bottle.
Maybe that will distract her from torturing me further. I’d love to excuse myself to pathetically jerk off to the memory of Ruby at the pool, or Ruby in the changing room, or Ruby in general, but her foot on my thigh feels like it’s sealing me to the couch. When she pulls it away, I sigh in relief before I realize that she only pulled it away to come closer.
She’s kneeling next to me, her hand resting on my thigh. Slender fingers dance over the fabric of my pants, too high to call it cordial. Not to mention that we’re anything but friends. It seems like she’s playing “trace the outline of Sam’s cock without touching Sam’s fucking cock”.
“You want me to help you with that?” she purrs, and I don’t know why I let her manipulate me like this.
She could make a career in the military. Negotiations would end with her either arguing the enemy into the ground or making them think her plan was theirs all along. Well, that, or they’d shoot themselves because they couldn’t stand listening to her any longer.
“I hate you,” I say, and her smile gets even bigger.
“Is that a yes?” She asks as she puts her hand right on my cock and I shift my hips, but she pulls her hand away.
What a monster, I think as she straddles me, sitting down far enough from my crotch. Somehow, I want to bash her head, or better, my head, against the coffee table.
Her fingers slip under the waistband of my sweats and my body decides that it’s a wonderful idea to lift my hips so that she can pull them down slightly.
My cock springs free, rock hard, pre-cum glistening at the tip as it flops against my shirt. Great, now she really has to wash my stuff. I keep my eyes on my cock, because I don’t want to see the self-righteous grin she’s probably sporting.
But then she lifts her hand. I follow her movements with my eyes, only to see her licking over her palm and my cock pulses at the sight alone.
Another traitor.
As she wraps her warm hand around me, I finally manage to shake myself out of my haze.
“Ruby, stop that. We can’t—” My voice sounds raspy and strained. And desperate, Jesus, I don’t recognize myself.
The rational part of my brain tells me that this is a horrible idea, that I shouldn’t enjoy this. But the other part is solely focused on my rock-hard dick, screaming at me to tell her to keep going.
This one time, Ruby listens to what I tell her as she pulls her hand away, leaning back slightly. I can see in her eyes that she’s far from being done with me. At least she listened. The only problem is that I’m still sitting here with my cock out, unable to move.
And that’s not because I can’t physically overpower her. I could probably throw her through the room with one hand, but instead, I do something dumb. I put my hand on her thigh. Ruby takes that as a signal that I calmed down enough for her liking, but she’s still waiting for something.
“Use your words, tell me what you need,” she says, looking at me with that goddamn smile that gets me even harder; if that”s possible.
“Fuck you,” I say, adding a quiet, defeated, “Touch me, please,” a few seconds later.
This is a scene I’ll involuntarily replay in my head for the next few weeks, and not because I’m proud of it.
“Well, if you ask so nicely,” she says as she wraps her hand around me again.
No wonder she looks so happy now that she got exactly what she wanted. Me all pliant underneath her touch, fucking begging for it like a pathetic idiot. The sound that leaves me as she strokes me is something between a moan and a growl, and it’s not helping with hiding how much I want her right now.
“Pull up your shirt,” she says after a few minutes and I’m too far gone to argue with her. She stops stroking me and I needily buck up my hips, but then she pulls her hand away again and only puts it back where I need it as I finally pull my shirt up.
She leans closer, one hand on my cock while the other one rests on my bare chest.
“Good boy,” she whispers in my ear, even though I cut her words off as I grab her neck. She isn’t startled the slightest bit and I don’t know what I need to do for her to understand a few things about me.
“I could kill you in a matter of seconds,” I hiss, my grip on her tightening. “Could snap your neck like a fuckin’ twig.”
And, of course, Ruby moans in response. No sense of self-preservation at all. Unfortunately, that’s also all it takes for me to come.
“You like me too much to kill me,” she whispers, pulling softly on the chain of my dog tags. That should concern me, but I’m busy with coming so hard that I lose my focus for a few seconds.
As soon as post-nut clarity hits me, I realize what a horrible mistake I made. She’s training my body to respond to her, like that guy with the dog and the bell, and I don’t like that I’m the one who”s being conditioned right now. But her little experiment is already working. Has me connecting pleasure with her face, with her smell and her touch.
This devil tries to rewire my brain so that I get hard as soon as she’s close, and the worst thing is that it’s working.
Before I can start lecturing her about how unethical that is and how she needs to stop with this bullshit immediately, I feel her tongue on my body. She laps over my stomach as if my cum is the best fucking thing she ever tasted and I have to keep myself together to not get hard again. After she’s done, she scoots back to her corner of the couch. She looks at me all innocently while I yank my pants back up.
“Don’t get used to that, it was an exception. Next time you try shit like that, I’ll really throw you through the room.”
I want to call it a slip-up, but that would mean that I lost my self-control around her and I don’t want to give her that satisfaction.
“Usually people say something like thank you after you make them come, but I know you have your difficulties with being polite.” The little prick laughs in my face and I hate her just a bit more.
“Anyway,” she says as she gets up from the couch and places a kiss on my cheek that feels as if her lips burn a hole right through my balaclava. “I’m tired. Thanks for the movie night. We should repeat that soon, there are 25 Bond movies, right?”
“Mhm,” I mumble while I don’t know if I should be frightened or aroused by the prospect of repeating this night in that form, or even worse, twenty-four times. On the other hand, I survived this evening without ending up buried balls deep inside her.
That’s a good thing. A success.
But I really need to get back at her for this.
I must have dozedoff on the couch. Either that or my brain finally left the orbit last night. This mission is more than bad for me. It messes with my tightly structured routine, not to mention Ruby, who is her own form of torture. The only habit I have kept so far is drinking too much. Funny, because that was one reason Rockwell told me that this would be good for me.
“A change of scenery, Sam.”
Now that I think about it, it kind of worked, but only because my usual demons are replaced by one made of flesh that is equally tormenting. I’m not sure if that was his intention.
My stomach growls, reminding me that the last things I ate were a protein shake and too much booze, if that even counts as food.
Eating is another problem in this house. It’s not that there’s nothing to eat here, because as soon as the first grocery delivery came, I took all things sweet and high in calories back to my room. But if I have to spend another day eating something prepackaged, cold, or unhealthy, I’m going to have a mental breakdown.
With a groan, I get up from the couch. This thing might be stylish, but it’s not made for sleeping on it. Maybe for people with Ruby’s size, but certainly not for people with mine. Bones that I didn’t know I have crack as I stand up and I’m just happy that Ruby is fast asleep in her bed because I can almost hear the chuckled “old man” that would have come from here if she witnessed this.
I decide on Greek yoghurt with cornflakes for breakfast. Initially, I wanted to turn off the TV and walk back upstairs to my room, but then I hear how the host of a morning show explains why his lasagna is the best one.
Lasagna.
I’m salivating at the thought alone and since it’s still early in the morning, according to Ruby, I decide to give the kitchen a second chance. Maybe the thing with the eggs a few days ago was really my fault.
Cooking the meat sauce goes well, not even a tiny fire, and I flop down on the couch with a proud grin after I put my beautiful lasagna in the oven.
I want to use the time the lasagna takes to cook wisely and fetch my laptop from my room to check what Mr. Barron is up to. His return two days ago almost ended in a tragedy, but it also allowed me to install spyware on his phones and put trackers on his car.
He drove straight to a small airport after he left the house, but just when I want to investigate further, I’m hit with a headache right from hell. It’s not really surprising. I guess the human body doesn’t enjoy thriving off of sugar and alcohol.
I close my laptop again and decide to take another nap. Just a short one. The lasagna takes a while to finish either way and in this state, I’m good for nothing. I sincerely hope that a nap will help, because I don’t want to ask Ruby for painkillers.
Forty minutes later, I’m woken up by the beeping of the fire alarm, a heft of smoke in the living room, and the smell of something burning.
“Not again,” I groan as I take big strides towards the kitchen to get rid of any evidence before Ruby wakes up and sees it.