Page 142 of Nash
I reach around and find her clit. With two fingers, I rub in fast circles while I fuck her. She bucks under me, her whole body jolting.
"I'm going to come," she says. "Nash, I'm going to come again. I can't stop it."
"Don't stop it. Come on my cock. Let them hear you."
She comes screaming. Muffled by her arm, but not enough. The orgasm grips me, her pussy pulsing in waves, her body shaking, and the plug pushes tight against my cock through her walls. I bury myself deep and come for the second time, my hands bruising her hips, my forehead dropping against her spine. The sound that comes out of me is guttural and raw; beyond anything I've let anyone hear.
We stay bent over the table. Both breathing hard. My cock buried in her. Her arms trembling. The bass from the main room thumps through the walls.
"Nash."
"Yeah."
"I can't move my legs."
"You don't need to move your legs. I've got you."
I pull out slowly. She hisses at the withdrawal. More cum slides down her thighs, mixing with what was there from the first round, making her inner thighs slick and wet. I don't clean her up. I pull her skirt down over her ass, tuck myself back in, zip up, and turn her around.
Her face is wrecked. Mascara smudged. Lipstick gone. Her hair is stuck to her neck with sweat. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"I have updated notes," she says. Her voice is hoarse.
"Updated notes."
"The updated notes include a formal recommendation that the booth be renamed. I'm thinking the Ruby Leighton Memorial Booth. Because I died here. I died twice. In the best possible way."
I cup her jaw and kiss her. Tasting her, taking my time, the urgency spent, and something quieter settles in its place. She melts into the kiss, her hands resting on my chest, her body leaning into mine.
I pull back. "Stand up."
"My legs don't work."
"I'll hold you."
She stands. I grip her waist until her legs steady. The skirt falls into place. The cum is invisible under the fabric but she can feel it. Both rounds. I can see it in her face every time she shifts her weight.
I take her hand. Pull back the curtain. Walk her across the main floor toward the private rooms.
Ruby's heels click on the hardwood. Her fingers are tight in mine. She's flushed, wrecked, her lipstick gone, her hair stuck to her neck, and she walks through that room leaving a trail of heat behind her. A man at the bar turns on his stool to watch her pass.Then a couple near the exhibition hall stops mid-conversation. A woman's eyes track Ruby from the booth to the hallway, reading everything on her face: the flush, the swollen mouth, the particular looseness of a body that just got taken apart.
I put that look on her. Every head that turns is looking at what I did. The pride of it settles in my chest, heavy, warm, possessive. My hand tightens around hers.
"Nash," she whispers as we pass the bar.
"Yeah."
"Everyone is looking at me."
"I know." I squeeze her hand. "They're looking at my girl."
Chapter 32
Nash
Theprivateroomdoorcloses behind us. I lock it. The click of the lock changes the air.
Ruby stands in the center of the room. The spanking bench is against the wall. Leather restraints hang from the frame. There's a tray on the side table with a vibrator, lube, towels. Everything I requested when I booked the room.
