Chapter 21 #2
He lowers his mouth back to my pussy and starts again.
Slow. Patient. The same devastating circles around my clit, building the pressure, stoking the heat.
He slides one finger inside me and my walls grip him immediately, tight, clenching, my body trying to pull him deeper.
He curls the finger forward, pressing against the spot that made me scream the first time he found it, and my entire body rolls toward his mouth.
A second finger joins the first. He works them in slow, deep strokes, curling on every withdrawal, while his tongue maintains steady circles on my clit.
The rhythm is perfect, synchronized, the kind of deliberate focus that I associate with the way he runs a perimeter sweep, except right now the perimeter is my body and the sweep is destroying me.
I'm climbing again. Faster this time. The muscles in my thighs lock. My stomach clenches. My pussy tightens around his fingers in rhythmic pulses, and I can feel it building, building, the edge right there.
"Nash. Nash, I'm going to—I'm so close—"
"I know you are." He doesn't stop. His fingers keep moving. His tongue keeps circling. "Hold it."
"I can't hold it when you're doing THAT—"
"Hold it, Ruby."
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. I grip the sheets with both fists, my body screaming, every nerve firing, and the orgasm sitting right at the edge.
His voice is the only thing keeping me from going over.
My thighs are shaking, my back is arching, my pussy is clenching around his fingers in desperate pulses.
He pulls away. Fingers, mouth, everything. Gone.
The sob that comes out of me is involuntary. My body contracts, empty, aching, and my hips lift off the mattress, chasing contact that isn't there. I'm trembling from head to toe.
"NASH."
"Rule three."
"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 dual sensation 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 is a 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.
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.