Page 91 of Nash
"Rule three is CRUEL. It's inhumane. Rule three violates the Geneva Convention, which I have cited before and will cite again."
"Are you done?"
"I am NOT done. I have a LIST of complaints. A formal grievance. I'm filing a—"
The vibrator turns on.
The buzz is low, steady, and when he presses it against my clit every word in my mouth evaporates. My entire body jolts, my back bows off the mattress, and the moan that comes out of me fills the room.
"Oh fuck. Oh FUCK."
He holds the vibrator steady, the pressure constant, right against the swollen bud that's been teased and denied twice. The sensation after the denial is almost unbearable, too much and not enough at the same time. My nerves are so overstimulated that every vibration sends shockwaves through my pelvis, my thighs, my spine.
His mouth moves to my inner thigh, kissing, sucking, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. His free hand spreads across my stomach, holding me down, because my hips won't stop moving, grinding against the vibrator, chasing the rhythm I need.
"Stay still," he says against my thigh.
"I literally cannot stay still. My body has made a decision and my brain was not consulted."
He shifts the vibrator lower, pulling it away from my clit, dragging it through my folds. The vibration against my entrance makes me whimper; my pussy clenches, trying to pull it in. He circles my opening with the tip, slowly coating it in the wetness that's dripping down my thighs.
"Nash. Please. Put it inside me."
"Ask me again."
"Please put it inside me. Please. I need—I need to feel it."
He slides the vibrator inside me. The curved end presses against the spot his fingers found, the vibration hitting deep, relentless. My mouth falls open. No sound comes out for three full seconds, then the moan that escapes is guttural, raw, pulled from somewhere I didn't know existed.
His thumb replaces the vibrator on my clit, pressing in slow circles that match the frequency buzzing inside me. The dualsensation obliterates every thought in my head. My vision blurs. My toes curl. I can feel myself clenching around the vibrator in rhythmic waves, my body climbing toward an orgasm that feels bigger than anything I've experienced before.
"You wanted to know how this works," he says. His voice is calm, controlled, steady. The contrast between his composure and my complete destruction is doing something to me that I'll never be able to articulate. "This is how it works. I build you up. I bring you to the edge. You don't go over until I say."
"That's sadistic."
"That's trust." He adjusts the angle of the vibrator, pressing it harder against the spot, and my back arches so sharply my shoulder blades lift off the mattress. "You trust me to get you there. To know when you're ready. You stop trying to control it and you let me hold the structure."
"I can't—Nash, I can't hold it. It's too much. The vibrator and your thumb and I'm—I can feel it everywhere. It's building and I can't stop it—"
"You can."
"I CAN'T."
"Ruby." His free hand grips my hip, pinning me to the mattress, his thumb still circling my clit, the vibrator still buzzing inside me. "Look at me."
I look at him. His dark eyes locked on mine, his jaw set, every line of his body controlled and deliberate while mine is shaking apart underneath him. The vibrator pulses inside me. His thumb circles. My pussy is clenching so hard around the vibrator that I can feel my own pulse in the grip.
"You can," he says. "Because I'm telling you that you can. And you trust me."
My jaw clenches. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. My body is past the point of screaming, past the point of begging. I'm existing in a space where every nerve is alive. The orgasm isa wall I'm pressed against, trembling, held back by nothing but his voice and my willingness to listen.
"I trust you," I whisper.
"Good girl."
The words hit somewhere behind my sternum and detonate. My whole body shudders with a violent, full-body tremor that runs from my scalp to my toes. I grip the sheets so hard my knuckles go white, holding the edge, holding it because he told me to, because the holding is the point. Because the holding is the trust.
He watches me hold it. Watches my body tremble, my thighs shake, my stomach clench. He watches the tears slide down my temples into my hair. His eyes never leave mine. His thumb never stops.
