Chapter 26 #2
My mouth opens against the sheets. My hands fist the fabric. He fills me completely, stretches me. The fullness after the denial, after the edging, after the supply closet, after the whole goddamn day of wanting, is so intense that tears leak from the corners of my eyes.
"Breathe," he says. His hand grips my hip, steadying me, giving my body time to adjust around him. I feel every thick inch of him deeply, and my walls clench in involuntary pulses.
He starts to move. Slow, grinding strokes that press his cock against the spot his fingers found earlier.
My arms tremble. He pulls back until only the head is inside me, then pushes back in, deep, stretching, and the rhythm is controlled.
Each thrust deliberate enough that I feel the drag of him along every wall.
"You took everything I gave you today," he says, his voice rough, the composure fraying at the edges. "The closet. The denial. The walk back to your station. Kneeling." His hips snap harder on the next stroke. "The spanking."
"I'll always push," I gasp into the sheets.
"I know."
His arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me upright, my back flush against his chest, his cock still buried inside me. The angle shifts, driving him deeper, and my head falls back against his shoulder. His skin is hot against my spine. His mouth is at my ear.
One hand slides up my stomach to my breast. His fingers find my nipple and pinch, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger; the pressure is sharp enough to make me cry out. The pain flares bright, immediate, then blooms into heat that travels straight down to my pussy, clenching around his cock.
His other hand wraps around my throat. Light, warm, his palm resting against my pulse, his fingers curling along the side of my neck. He holds me against him, pinned between his chest and his hands, one on my nipple and one on my throat, his cock grinding inside me from below.
"Oh fuck—"
He keeps the pressure on my nipple, rolling, tugging, while his hips rock up into me in measured, devastating thrusts.
The hand on my throat tightens one degree, enough to feel my pulse hammering against his palm.
My body is caught between three points of contact: his cock deep inside me, his fingers on my nipple, his hand on my throat, and my brain can't process all of it at once.
"More," I hear myself say. "Nash, more."
He switches to the other nipple. Pinches harder.
My back arches against his chest, pressing my ass down onto him, driving his cock deeper, and the sound that comes out of me echoes off the soundproofed walls.
His hand on my throat holds me steady, keeps me from collapsing forward, keeps me upright and open and completely at his mercy.
"You like that," he says against my ear. His teeth graze my earlobe.
"I like everything you do to me, and I hate that I like everything you do to me. If you stop, I will burn this entire club to the ground."
He pulls out. Before I can scream, he flips me onto my back.
My shoulders hit the mattress. He's over me, naked, the tattoos across his chest and ribs catching the low light, his cock wet from being inside me.
He pushes my knees apart with his hands, spreading me wide, and drives back inside me in a thrust so deep my back bows off the bed.
"I want to see your face," he says. "I want to watch you come apart."
His hand finds my breast again, palming it, his thumb dragging across the nipple in slow circles while his hips roll into mine. The other hand pins my hip to the mattress, holding me still, taking the movement away from me so he controls every angle, every depth, every stroke.
His hand leaves my hip. I hear the click of the vibrator turning on.
Then the vibrator presses against my clit.
My entire body jolts. The buzz is low, steady, and the combination of his cock inside me, his thumb on my nipple, and the vibrator on my clit sends my nervous system into a place I didn't know existed.
Three points of contact, three different rhythms, each one feeding the others until my whole body is vibrating in frequencies I can't separate.
"Nash, I can't. That's too much. It's everything at once, I—"
"You can take it." He adjusts the angle of the vibrator, pressing it harder against the left side of my clit, and my thighs clamp around his hips. "You're going to take all of it."
"I'm going to DIE. I'm going to die in a sex club from overstimulation and it's going to be your fault. My tombstone is going to say 'Death by Nashville Sutton and his ACCESSORIES'—"
He thrusts harder, cutting off my sentence, and his thumb pinches my nipple at the same time the vibrator shifts to a higher setting. My mouth opens but nothing comes out. My hands grab his shoulders, nails digging in, dragging down his chest.
"Don't come," he says.
"YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS."
"Hold it, Ruby."
"I have your cock inside me and a vibrator on my clit and your hand on my nipple and you want me to HOLD IT?"
"That's exactly what I want."
Nash leans down, replacing his thumb with his mouth, his lips closing around my nipple, sucking hard, his tongue flicking the tip.
The vibrator stays pressed against my clit.
His cock stays buried inside me, grinding in slow circles.
He slides his free hand up my body and wraps around my throat.
The pressure is gentle, his palm warm against my pulse.
The orgasm builds to a wall. I can feel it pressing against the inside of my body, trying to break through.
My pussy clenches around his cock in rhythmic waves I can't control.
My clit is swollen and throbbing against the vibrator as my nipple burns from his mouth.
Every nerve in my body is alive. Every cell is screaming.
"Nash." Tears streak down my temples. "Please."
He lifts his mouth from my breast. Looks at me. His eyes are dark, his jaw set, his composure cracked but holding. The hand on my throat tightens one degree.
"Tell me what you need."
"I need to come. Please let me come. Please. I can't hold it anymore, Nash. I can't. It's everywhere. It's in my chest and my thighs and my teeth. I—"
"Whose are you?"
"Yours."
"Say it again."
"I'm yours. I'm yours, Nash, I'm yours, please—"
He turns the vibrator to its highest setting, drives his cock deep, and says, "Now."
The orgasm splits me open. My back arches off the bed so hard that only my head and heels are touching.
My pussy clamps around his cock in contractions that come one after another relentlessly.
Each one pulls a sound from my throat that's raw, animal, shaking through my entire body.
The vibrator extends it, pushes it further, the waves cresting and cresting without breaking.
Nash fucks me through every single one, his rhythm hard, deep, his cock hitting the spot that makes each contraction sharper.
He comes with me. I feel his cock pulse inside me, thick, hot, and his groan against my neck is the first sound he's made all night that sounds broken. His hips stutter as his hand loosens on my throat and cradles my jaw. The vibrator clicks off. His body covers mine, heavy, warm, shaking.
The aftershocks roll for a long time. My pussy keeps clenching around his softening cock in diminishing pulses. At random intervals, my body twitches. My face is wet. My chest is heaving. His forehead is pressed against mine, his breath ragged.
"I can't move," I say. "Again. I can't move again. This is becoming a pattern. You've broken me. I am a broken woman. My legs don't work. My brain doesn't work. I think you've rewired my entire nervous system."
He pulls out slowly, and I feel every inch of the withdrawal.
"Your dick has magical powers," I say into the pillow. "I need you to understand that. Your cock is enchanted. It should be studied. Scientists should be involved. There should be a peer-reviewed journal dedicated exclusively to whatever you just did to me."
His chest shakes against my back.
"I'm serious. I am DEAD serious. This is not a bit. I am making a scientific observation. Your penis has supernatural properties. Frankie should investigate. Maybe it's witchcraft. Maybe that's why you got the membership here. Vesper is just a front for men with magical dicks."
He laughs. A real laugh, low and full, his face buried in my hair, his arms tightening around me. The sound rumbles through his chest into mine, and I feel it in my ribs, my stomach, my heart.
"I love you," he says.
The words are quiet. Pressed into my hair. Almost lost in the laugh, except they aren't lost at all because they land in my chest like a grenade that detonates into warmth instead of shrapnel.
I go still. My whole body goes still.
"What?" My voice comes out small.
"I love you, Ruby." He says it again, clearer this time, his mouth against the back of my neck. "I've loved you since before I knew what to do with it."
The tears come without warning. My face crumples against the pillow, and the sob that comes out of me is ugly, wet, graceless, nothing like the performance tears I deploy when I want attention.
These are the real ones. The ones I keep locked in a drawer labeled DO NOT OPEN because opening them means admitting I wanted this, I needed this, and I've been terrified that wanting it would make it disappear.
"I love you too," I say through the tears, snot and all.
My voice is wrecked. "I love you so much it scares me and I've loved you since the first time you flexed your jaw at me across a clubhouse yard.
I hate that I'm crying and I hate that I have snot on the pillow. I love you, Nash, I love you, I—"