Page 112 of Nash
I put my hands behind my back, lacing my fingers together. My mouth is full. I'm kneeling with my hands behind me. The vulnerability is total, absolute. Instead of panic, there is a stillness settling into my body that I've never felt before.
"Good." His voice is rough. "Take me deeper."
I lean forward, taking more of him, my lips stretching around his shaft. His hand tightens in my hair, guiding the depth, controlling the pace. My jaw aches. My eyes water. I breathe through my nose and push further. The sound he makes, low, guttural, from his chest, is worth every second of discomfort.
"That's it," he says. "That's my girl."
He sets the rhythm. Slow at first, his hand guiding my head forward and back, his cock sliding against my tongue with each stroke. I hollow my cheeks, suck harder, and his hips flex in the chair in an involuntary thrust that pushes him deeper. My throat opens around him and his head tips back.
"Fuck." The word comes out strangled. "Ruby."
I push further. Take him deeper. My nose brushes the skin at the base of his cock, and his hand fists in my hair, holding me there. My throat constricts around him with my eyes streaming. The control I'm giving him, the willingness to stay, to hold, to take whatever he gives me, makes my pussy clench so hard the wetness slides down my inner thigh.
He pulls me off. I gasp, spit connecting my lips to his cock, my chest heaving.
"Up," he says. "On the bed. Hands and knees."
I stand on shaking legs, cross to the bed, my heels clicking against the floor with each step. I kick them off at the edge of the mattress and position myself on my hands and knees. My back arches, my ass in the air, and I hear Nash behind me. His boots on the floor. The creak of leather as he strips off the belt, then the rustle of the button-up sliding off his shoulders. The thud of denim hitting the floor. Every sound sharpens the anticipation until my arms are trembling before he touches me.
His hand runs down my spine, from my neck to the curve of my lower back, slow, possessive. Then lower. Over the swell of my ass, his palm warm, his fingers spreading. He grips one cheek and squeezes, pulling me open, and the exposure in this position, in this room, in this place, makes my whole body flush.
"You're soaked," he says. His fingers trail through my folds from behind, sliding through the wetness. "You've been soaked since the supply closet."
"I've been soaked since I held Ethan's arm for four extra seconds and watched your jaw lock in the mirror. The supply closet just made it worse."
His thumb circles my clit from behind firmly, and my arms buckle. My forearms hit the mattress, my face pressing into the sheets, my ass higher in the air. He works me with his thumb, steady circles that build the pressure, while his other hand moves up my spine, pressing me flat, holding me down.
"Don't come," he says.
"You say that like it's easy. It's never easy. You're touching my—"
He slides two fingers inside my pussy, curling forward, and the sentence disappears into a moan. His thumb stays on my clit. His fingers work inside me, finding the spot, pressing. The orgasm starts building immediately because my body has been on the edge since the closet and four hours of anticipation has made every nerve raw.
"Nash, I can't—"
"You can."
"I've been edged ONCE today already. My body is a live wire. Asking me not to come is like asking a volcano not to—"
He withdraws his fingers. The denial sends a whimper out of me that I'll never admit to making.
"Volcanoes," he says. "You're comparing yourself to a volcano."
"I contain MAGMA, Nash."
His hand lands on my ass. A tap, sharp enough to sting, enough to send a shock through me that makes my pussy clench. My gasp echoes off the walls.
"Did you just SPANK me?"
"I corrected you."
"You SPANKED me."
"And your pussy just clenched. I felt it from here." His hand smooths over the spot, warm, soothing. "Do you want me to stop?"
The room goes quiet except for my ragged breaths. My ass is warm where his hand landed. My clit is throbbing, and my pussy is dripping.
"No," I whisper.
