Page 111 of Nash
Victor's structure didn't cage her. It gave her a foundation solid enough to stand on, then she grew into a woman who throws dinner rolls, laughs with her whole body, and wears a collar like a crown.
My hand finds Nash's. I squeeze.
Victor nods at Nash. They move on. We move on.
Nash's thumb traces circles on my back as we walk. "You okay?"
"I'm more than okay." I look back over my shoulder at Olivia's gold chain catching the light as they turn the corner. "I'm starting to understand."
Chapter 26
Ruby
Theprivateroomatthe end of the hall is exactly what I pictured and nothing like it at the same time. Warm lighting that's adjustable. A large bed with dark sheets. A leather chair in the corner. There's also a side table with bottles of water and towels. Clean, warm, intimate.
Nash closes the door behind us. The lock clicks. The room contracts to two people and a dress with nothing underneath it. Nash crosses to the leather chair and sits. Legs spread. Arms resting on the armrests. He looks at me standing by the door.
"Come here."
I walk to him. My heels click on the floor. Each step sends air against my bare thighs under the dress, a reminder of what I'mnot wearing, and by the time I stop in front of him my pulse is hammering.
"Turn around."
I turn. He finds the zipper at my side, hidden in the seam, and pulls it down slow, the fabric loosening around my ribs, my waist. His fingers hook the straps off my shoulders, then the dress slides down my body and pools at my feet.
I'm standing in front of him in nothing but heels and red lipstick.
"Turn back around."
I do. His eyes take their time moving over my body, and the hunger in his face makes my thighs clench. He takes his time. My nipples harden under his gaze, my skin flushing from my chest to my throat.
He reaches behind him, pulls a cushion from the chair, and sets it on the floor between his boots. The gesture is small, deliberate, and my chest tightens. He's about to command me to my knees, and his first thought is making sure my knees don't hurt.
"Kneel," he says.
My knees hit the cushion before my brain processes the command. My body responds to his voice before my mind catches up. His boots are on either side of me. I look up at him, and his hand comes down, fingers threading into my hair, gripping.
"This is where it starts," he says. "You on your knees. Me in the chair. You want to understand the dynamic? This is the foundation. You trust me enough to kneel, and I earn that trust by taking care of you while you're down here."
"I'm very much enjoying the view from down here," I say. "Your thighs in these jeans should be classified. There should be a government agency—"
"Ruby."
"Shutting up."
"No. You don't shut up. You never shut up. That's not what this is about." He tilts my chin up. "I told you, silence isn't the goal. Surrender is. You can talk. You can push. But when I give you a command, you follow it. And the talking stops when I decide it stops."
"How do you decide?"
He unbuckles his belt. The sound of leather sliding through loops fills the quiet room. He unbuttons his jeans, pulls the zipper down, and frees his cock. Hard, thick, the head slick.
"Open your mouth," he says.
I do.
He grips the back of my head and guides me forward. The head of his cock slides past my lips, heavy on my tongue, and I taste salt and skin. My hand comes up to wrap around the base.
"Hands behind your back."
