Page 137 of Nash
"Yeah?"
"For the record, my code name should have been Trouble. This will be revisited. Also, I'm going to need the rest of the day off."
Knox disconnects.
Frankie rolls her eyes at me. "Take her home, Nash. I have a client in ten minutes."
Ruby grabs her bag. She's out the door before Frankie finishes the sentence.
Chapter 31
Nash
Icallaheadforthe truck. The bike is not an option when Ruby's wearing what I'm about to put her in.
She's in the bathroom. Shower's running. I lay the outfit on the bed. A short, black skirt, the fabric thin enough that it moves when she walks. Dark green top, fitted, the color pulling the copper out of her hair and deepening her eyes. Heels. The red lipstick on the nightstand beside the earrings she wore last time.
No panties.
The small box sits beside the lipstick. Inside is the plug I chose for her: black silicone, tapered, smooth. She asked about the posterior exploration department at six this morning with coffee in her hand. Her voice was light. Her eyes weren't.
My blood is already running warm just from setting this up. The image of her in this skirt with the plug inside her, walking through Vesper beside me, sits behind my eyes and doesn't leave.
The shower shuts off. Ruby comes out in a towel, hair damp, and sees the bed. Her eyes move across the outfit piece by piece. They stop on the box.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"Open it."
She picks up the box. Opens it. Her cheeks flush. The towel shifts on her chest, the edge slipping below her collarbone, the swell of her breast visible above the fabric. She doesn't fix it. My eyes drop to the gap before I pull them back.
"Nash."
"You said you had questions and requests. This is step one."
"Step one." She turns the plug over in her fingers, careful and curious, turning it in the light. Heat slides down my spine. "Step one is wearing this. Under the skirt. In public. At Vesper."
"It gets your body ready for later."
"My body is having a conversation with my brain right now, and my brain is losing." She looks at me. The flush has spread from her cheeks to her neck and the tops of her breasts where the towel has slipped further. The pink on her skin against the white towel and her damp copper hair. My cock presses against my jeans. "How long do I wear it?"
"Until I take it out."
Her teeth catch her bottom lip. She exhales, and her chest rises with it, the towel shifting with each breath. Every small movement drags my attention lower until I'm eager to pull that towel off her and skip Vesper entirely.
"Okay." She picks up the skirt. "But if I walk funny, it's your fault."
"You won't walk funny."
"You don't know that. You've never worn one. Unless there's something you haven't told me, in which case I have follow-up questions."
I cross the room. Take the towel and pull it off her. She stands in front of me naked, damp, with the plug in her right hand and her chin tilted up. Water beads on her collarbone. A single drop runs between her breasts, down her stomach, past her navel. I follow it with my eyes, and my mouth goes dry.
"Turn around," I say. My voice comes out lower than I planned.
She turns. The line of her spine, the curve of her ass, the dimples at the base of her back, all of it pulls my focus until the room narrows to her body and the way she's trusting me with it. I open the lube from the nightstand drawer, take the plug from her hand and coat it. Then I move my left hand to rest on the small of her back. Her skin is warm and still damp from the shower. She braces her hands on the dresser.
"Breathe," I say.
