Ruin Me Gently

Chapter Seven

Zain POV

I push the door to the store open, and Scarlet immediately freezes. I don’t give her a chance to chicken out. Gripping her hand, I drag her in without mercy.

“I don’t understand why I need toys. It’s not like I’m asking a guy to use them on,” she hisses under her breath, glancing around like someone might recognize her.

“Darling, if you don’t accept this mission, I swear to God, I will strap on a dildo and chase you around the streets. Dare me. I f*ck*ng dare you,” I whisper back, loud enough to make a couple of browsers glance over. I kiss her cheek for good measure, just to make her squirm, and yank her toward the shelves of toys.

She stands there, wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open like a fish out of water.

Grinning, I pick up a box and toss it at her. She fumbles it against her chest and stares at the picture like it’s a live grenade.

“That’s...big,” she squeaks.

I laugh so hard my side hurts. “Honey, compared to Liam? That’s f*ck*ng small. You’re getting it.”

Her face flames so fast it’s almost impressive. “Okay. We have it. Great. Now we can leave, right?”

I stare at her like she’s lost her d*mn mind. “Hells to the no. That’s not happening.”

I grab her wrist and drag her deeper into the store before she can bolt. She stumbles after me, holding the box like it might explode if she squeezes too hard.

“We’re building you a starter kit,” I announce proudly, ignoring the way she tries to dig her heels in. “You need options. Different sizes. Different textures. c******l and internal stimulation. God, do you even know what edging is?”

“Please stop talking,” she mutters, mortified.

“Nope. Not stopping. You brought this on yourself,” I sing-song, grabbing a smaller, more intimidating-looking vibrator off the next shelf and tossing it into her arms. She juggles it awkwardly with the first one, looking like she might faint.

“Zain,” she hisses, glancing around. “There are people here!”

“Yeah, and half of them are getting ready to buy plugs bigger than my forearm. You’re fine, darling. You’re still at kindergarten level.”

She groans and tries to bury her face behind the boxes.

I smirk and keep going, adding a bottle of lube, a set of vibrating bullet eggs, and, just to really f*ck with her, a satin blindfold.

“Absolutely not,” she says when I hand it to her.

“Absolutely yes,” I chirp, tossing it onto the growing pile in her arms. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later when you finally stop acting like your v****a’s a museum artifact.”

“Can we please just leave before I die of shame?” she begs.

I pause, tapping my chin thoughtfully. “Mmm. No.”

She groans again, so loud this time an older woman down the aisle actually chuckles.

“Come on, Scarlet,” I say, slinging an arm around her shoulders and steering her toward the checkout. “One small step for man, one giant leap for your cl*t.”

“I hate you,” she mutters.

“I love you too, sweet cheeks,” I say brightly.

A worker with bright pink hair and a silver septum ring comes strolling over, grinning when she sees Scarlet struggling with the pile of boxes.

“You might want a basket,” she says kindly, handing one over before Scarlet’s arms give out.

“Bless you,” Scarlet mutters, dumping everything into the basket like she’s unloading explosives.

I take the basket from her before she can make a run for it and start tossing in a few more things for good measure. A sleek pink wand. A cl*t sucker. A set of glass plugs, because why the hell not?

Scarlet’s eyes practically fall out of her head. “Zain!”

“You’ll thank me later,” I say sweetly.

As she stands there vibrating with horror, I pick up a small rabbit vibrator off the shelf and hold it up like I’m presenting a sacred relic.

“Now, this baby right here,” I say loud enough for half the aisle to hear, “is a classic. Dual stimulation. One for your p*ssy, one for your cl*t. It’s like patting your head and rubbing your stomach, only better.”

Scarlet makes a wounded noise like she might actually start screaming.

But to my delight, two women nearby drift closer, pretending to browse while totally eavesdropping. Another one, tall, gorgeous, definitely not pretending, outright stops and listens.

I smirk and go full performance mode.

“You want to start slow,” I say, demonstrating in the air with the toy. “Let the cl*t stimmer warm you up. Then once you’re ready, slide the main shaft in. Angles are key, tilt toward the front wall for G-spot pressure. Add some lube, grind a little—”

“Please, stop,” Scarlet begs, her face buried in her hands.

“—and boom, fireworks,” I finish grandly, ignoring her.

The tall woman raises her hand like she’s in school. “Does it matter what size you start with?”

“Excellent question!” I beam at her. “Bigger is not better when you’re learning your body. Think more… fitting like a glove, not jamming a baseball bat up there. Comfort is s*xy.”

Another woman edges closer, holding up a vibrating bullet. “Is this good for first-timers?”

“Perfect!” I say, delighted. “External use only. Cute, discreet, packs a punch. Like Scarlet after two mimosas.”

Scarlet makes a tiny wounded sound and tries to shrink into the wall.

I lean into the moment, flipping the basket up onto my hip like a proud housewife showing off her shopping. “We’re building a full starter kit today. Virgin emergency pack. First-aid for neglected clits everywhere.”

A small ripple of laughter goes through the aisle.

Scarlet looks two seconds from collapsing into a pile of mortification, and honestly? I have never loved her more.

Best. Shopping trip. Ever. I load the last few things into the basket, ignoring Scarlet’s silent pleas for mercy.

“Okay, listen,” I say, steering her toward a quieter aisle where I can deliver my lecture properly. “You’re not just going to dive in with the biggest toy first, got it? You start with something small. Easy. Like that cute little bullet vibe. Focus on external first, cl*t stimulation only. No diving straight into your poor, neglected p*ssy like it’s a deep-sea expedition.”

She makes a horrified noise in the back of her throat.

I grin. “Then once you’re comfortable, and I mean actually comfortable, you can work your way up to penetration toys. Maybe that slim rabbit. Maybe the mini wand. No giant dildos until you stop looking at them like they’re a loaded gun.”

Scarlet mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “I hate you,” but I choose to believe it’s her way of saying “thank you for your invaluable wisdom, Zain.”

“And we’re not done,” I announce, grabbing her wrist before she can even think about escaping. “Lingerie time, baby.”

Her face is instant horror. “No! No, Zain, come on—”

I yank her along gleefully. “Yes! You’re doing this. It’s not just about getting f*ck*d. It’s about feeling s*xy. Even if no one’s seeing it right now, you need to look at yourself and say, ‘D*mn, I’d hit that.’ Confidence, darling. It changes everything.”

“I’m fine the way I am,” she mutters, sulking as I drag her toward the racks of lace and silk.

I stop dead, turn, and stare at her chest pointedly.

“Your bra,” I say flatly, “does nothing. Absolutely nothing. It’s like you’re trying to smuggle sad pancakes.”

She gasps in outrage. “It’s fine!”

“It’s tragic,” I declare.

Before she can slap me, I move behind her and yank her top tight across her chest, holding the fabric in place with a sharp tug. The difference is immediate, her boobs lift slightly but still sag like two sad little balloons.

“Look,” I say dramatically. “Sad puppies.”

Scarlet tries to spin away but I trap her in place, dropping the basket at our feet. Without hesitation, I cup her boobs, lift them properly in my hands, and push them up high under her chin.

“Happy puppies!” I announce proudly. “You need a bra that makes them jump up and scream ‘YES PLEASE’ when someone looks at you!”

Scarlet is making noises, strangled, humiliated, dying noises, but I ignore it completely. A woman walking past bursts out laughing and gives me a thumbs-up.

I wink at her over Scarlet’s shoulder. “She’s a work in progress. But when I’m done, she’s gonna be a d*mn masterpiece.”

Scarlet is bright red, trembling with the effort not to combust on the spot.

“And we,” I say, giving her boobs one last proud little push-up before releasing them, “are going shopping for real bras now. None of that sad department store sh*t. We are getting the good lace, the push-ups, the bras that turn you from ‘maybe I’ll text her’ to ‘f*ck, I need her now.’”

“I hate you so much,” she mumbles into her hands.

“I know, darling,” I say cheerfully, scooping the basket back up. “Now get ready. Because we’re about to find the bras that could start wars.”