Page 92 of Nash
Then he leans down, presses his lips to my hip bone, and says, "Now."
The orgasm doesn't build. It detonates. My back arches so far off the bed that only my shoulders and heels are touching. The vibrator is still inside me, still buzzing, and my pussy clamps around it so hard the vibration changes pitch. The waves come in pulses, each one harder than the last, rolling through my body in contractions that curl my toes, lock my jaw, and rip sounds from my throat that aren't words.
Nash moves over me, covering my body with his, his weight pressing me into the mattress, grounding me while the orgasm tears through. His mouth is on my neck, my jaw, my ear. Low, steady words I can't process carry me through the noise. One hand stays between my legs, the vibrator still inside me. His thumb is gentle now, easing the pressure on my clit, working me through the aftershocks as they roll through me and slowly begin to fade.
It goes on longer than I thought a human body was capable of sustaining. Each time I think it's over, another wave crests,smaller, softer, my pussy clenching around the vibrator in diminishing pulses that make me gasp against his neck.
When it finally ends, I'm boneless. Destroyed. My arms are around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, face pressed into the space between his jaw and his shoulder. Tiny aftershocks still fire through me at random intervals. Tears wet my cheeks. I might be crying. I'm definitely crying.
"I can't move," I say. My voice is wrecked. "I'm dead. You killed me. Cause of death: Nashville Sutton and a curved vibrator. Put it on my tombstone."
He eases the vibrator out slowly, so slowly I feel every inch of the withdrawal. My walls grip it, reluctant to let go. He turns it off. Sets it on the nightstand. Then he lies beside me and pulls me against his chest, tucking me into him, his arms wrapping around me until I'm surrounded.
My body is still shaking. They're small tremors that roll through me in waves. He absorbs every one of them against his ribs while his hand strokes my back and his lips rest against my temple.
"You did well," he says against my hair.
"I held it."
"You held it."
"I didn't think I could." My voice cracks on the last word.
"I know." His arms tighten. "That's the whole point, Ruby. You didn't think you could, but you trusted me enough to try. That's what this is."
I press my face into his chest. His heartbeat is steady under my ear. Mine is still racing, erratic, slowly finding its way back to a rhythm that resembles human.
"Nash."
"Yeah."
"I want to do that again."
"We will."
My hand slides down his chest, over his abs, and finds what I've been feeling pressed against my thigh since the first denial. He's hard. Straining against the sweatpants, thick, the heat of him burning through the fabric. I wrap my hand around him through the cotton, and his whole body goes rigid.
"You've been like this the whole time," I say.
"Yes."
"The whole time you were edging me and denying me and making me beg, you were this hard and you didn't—" I squeeze and his jaw clenches, the muscle jumping under his skin. "Nash. That's insane. That's genuinely insane levels of self-control."
"That's the job."
"Don't call it the job." I push up on my elbow, my body still trembling, and look at him. His eyes are dark, his breathing controlled but faster than he wants it to be, and his cock strains against my palm. "Can I—"
"Can you what?"
"Can I ride you?"
His eyes darken another shade even as his hand stills on my back.
"You just came so hard you cried," he says.
"And now I want to make you come so hard you forget your operational vocabulary." I push the waistband of his sweatpants down. He lifts his hips and I pull them off, dropping them on the floor. His cock is thick, hard, and the head slick. My pussy clenches at the sight of it. "Let me have this. You held all the control. Now let me."
He studies my face for a long moment. Then he leans back against the pillows and puts his hands behind his head.
