Page 130 of Nash
Ruby glances at me across the room. The look is quick, warm, and different from the usual provocation. Softer. Whatever Olivia told her is sitting in her chest.
I push off the wall. Then I cross the room, lean down behind her chair, and press my mouth to her ear. "Hallway. Now."
Her breath catches. She stands without a word. I take her hand and walk her past the kitchen, down the short hallway, to the empty office at the end. Her fingers tighten around mine.
"Thank you," she says. Her back lands against the office door as her eyes find mine.
"For what?" My hand finds her hip. My thumb traces the strip of skin between her jeans and the hem of her top.
"For Greg. For replacing every piece of clothing he took from me with the public destruction of his identity." She reaches up, her fingers curling into the collar of my shirt. "That's not a prank, Nash. That's a love language."
"It's a correction." My hand slides under the back of her top. Her skin is warm. My fingers drag up her spine and find the clasp of her bra.
"It's a love language, and you know it. The fact that you won't call it that is part of the love language." Her breath catches as my fingers trace the lace edge across her back. Her other hand hooks into my belt loop. "I told you I was wearing pretty things underneath."
"I heard." I pull her hips against mine. Both hands on her ass, gripping, lifting her onto her toes. My mouth finds the side of her neck. She tilts her head to give me room.
"Lacy things. The kind that cost more than the jeans." Her voice is losing its composure. My teeth graze her neck, and her fingers tighten on my collar. "I bought them this morning. While I was replacing the last of what East destroyed. The entire time I was picking out lace, I was thinking about you taking it off."
"Ruby."
"You promised me every surface of this clubhouse." She glances at the desk behind me. "This is a surface."
I lock the door. Lift her onto the desk in one motion. She wraps her legs around me and pulls me between them as her mouth finds mine. Ruby's already working my shirt buttons from the bottom up. Her fingers spread across my stomach, nails dragging down my abs, and my cock pushes hard against my jeans.
I pull her top over her head. The lace is black. Sheer. Her nipples press against the fabric, dark and hard, visible through the mesh. I drag my thumb across one and watch her stomach contract.
"Worth the money?" she asks.
"Worth every dollar." I unclip the bra with one hand. The lace falls away and I take her breast in my mouth, sucking her nipple between my lips before flicking it with my tongue. Her headdrops back. Her fingers dig into my hair. The moan she makes vibrates through her closed lips.
"Quiet," I say against her skin.
"You're sucking on my nipple and telling me to be quiet. Those are conflicting instructions, Nash."
I bite down gently. She gasps, her hips bucking forward, then grinds her center against the bulge in my jeans. The friction makes me groan against her breast. I switch to the other side, pulling her nipple into my mouth, sucking harder. My hand squeezes the breast I just left, rolling the wet nipple between my fingers. Her thighs shake around my waist.
Her hands drop to my belt. She unbuckles it, pops the button, pulls the zipper, and wraps her hand around my cock. The first contact shoots heat up my spine. Her grip is tight, her thumb swiping the head, spreading the wetness down the shaft, and my hips jerk forward into her fist. She strokes me from base to tip, and my vision blurs.
"Ruby." Her name comes out wrecked.
"I've got you." She strokes again, twisting her wrist at the top, her thumb pressing the underside of the head, and the pressure there sends a pulse through my whole body. My hands grip the edge of the desk on either side of her thighs. "Let me thank you."
I pull her jeans down her hips. She lifts. The panties match the bra, black lace barely covering anything, and when I drag them down her thighs, the lace is soaked. I press two fingers against her pussy, sliding through the wetness, and she jerks against my hand. She's swollen, hot, the slickness coating my fingers as I spread her open.
"You've been like this since the meeting," I say. My fingers push inside her, curling, and the heat of her clenching around my fingers makes my cock throb. I find the spot that makes her thighs clamp around my hand.
"I've been like this since you called East 'Greg' with a straight face." Her voice fractures as my thumb presses her clit. "The composure while committing psychological warfare is the single most attractive thing you've ever done, and you once held me against a wall and told me I was yours."
I pull my fingers out. She whines at the loss. I drag her to the edge of the desk, her bare ass on the wood, her legs spread wide. I grip the base of my cock and press the head against her entrance, dragging it through her folds, coating myself in her wetness. She watches, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her chest heaving.
"Every surface," I say. I push inside her. One slow stroke, burying myself to the hilt. The heat of her swallows me. Tight, wet, her walls gripping me like she's trying to keep me there. My breath leaves my lungs in a rush.
"Every surface." Her voice is wrecked. Ruby's eyes roll shut as she leans back on the desk, bracing herself on her hands. Her knuckles go white against the edge, her back arching off the wood.
I pull out slow. The drag of her around me, the way her body resists letting me go, sends a shudder through my arms. I push back in deep and groan against her neck. The angle on the desk is everything. Her pussy grips me on every stroke, tight, wet, the sound of it filling the dark office. I grip her thighs to spread her wider, watching my cock slide in and out of her, slick, glistening. The visual pushes heat through my spine and pools low in my stomach.
She pulls me down by my shirt. Her mouth against my ear. "Harder."
