Chapter 31 #2
I pull the curtain aside. The booth is deep, the bench seat curved, the lighting low enough that faces blur beyond arm's length. The sounds of the club filter through the curtain. Conversation. Music. The occasional sound from one of the exhibition rooms down the hall.
"Sit," I say.
She sits. Her breath catches, and her eyes flutter.
I sit beside her. My arm goes along the back of the booth behind her shoulders.
The heat of her body beside mine, the knowledge of what's under her skirt, and the faint scent of her arousal already mixing with her perfume make it hard to walk through the club like a civilized man.
My hand grips my thigh to keep from touching her before I'm ready.
"In here," I say, "the only rule is colors. Green means go. Yellow means slow down. Red means everything stops."
"What about the other rules? The room rules you mentioned?"
"Those start when we get to the room."
"So in here—"
"In here, you play."
The grin breaks across her face. Full, wicked, showing every tooth.
"You are going to regret saying that, Nashville Sutton."
"I won't."
Ruby moves before I finish the sentence. She swings her leg over me and straddles my lap. The skirt rides up around her thighs, and her bare pussy presses against the front of my jeans. The heat of her soaks through the denim. My hands go to her hips on instinct.
"Hi," she says. Her arms drape around my neck.
"Hi."
She rolls her hips. The friction of her clit grinding against my jeans makes her breath hitch, and she does it again, slower, watching my face while she rides the seam. My fingers dig into her hips.
"Ruby."
"You said play." She rolls again. Her eyes are bright. Her red lips are parted. "I'm playing."
She reaches between us and unbuttons my jeans. Then undoes the zipper. Her hand wraps around my cock and pulls it free, stroking once from base to tip, and my head drops back against the booth.
"Fuck." The word leaves me before I can contain it.
"There he is." She strokes again, twisting at the top. "There's the Nash who fought a man on a sidewalk today. I was wondering when he'd show up."
She lifts her hips, positions me at her entrance, and sinks down onto my cock in one slow drop.
The heat of her wraps around me, wet, tight, and my hands grip her hips hard enough to leave fingerprints on her skin.
She's so wet I slide in to the hilt without resistance, and I can feel the plug through the thin wall separating her pussy from her ass.
The pressure of it against my cock makes my vision blur.
"Jesus Christ, Ruby."
"I know." She's breathless. Her forehead drops against mine. "I can feel you and the plug at the same time. It's—Nash, it's so much. I feel so full."
She starts to move. Slow, grinding circles with her hips, her clit pressing against my pelvis on every rotation.
Her hands grip the back of the booth on either side of my head.
Her breasts sway in front of my face. I pull the neckline of her top down, take her nipple in my mouth, and suck hard.
She gasps, loud enough that the curtain feels thin.
"Quiet," I murmur against her breast.
"You're sucking on my nipple when I have a plug in my ass while sitting on your cock in a semi-public booth. Quiet is not a realistic expectation."
I bite down on her nipple. Her hips buck. She moans, low, broken, and the sound carries past the curtain. Someone laughs in the main room. The club keeps moving.
My hands slide from her hips to her ass. I grip both cheeks, spreading her, and the shift presses the base of the plug deeper. She whimpers against my neck.
"Nash. Nash, fuck."
"That's my girl." I press the base of the plug with my thumb while she rides me. Twist it a quarter turn. Her whole body seizes, her pussy clenching around me so tight my breath stops.
"Oh god." Her voice fractures. "Oh god, you're turning it. You're turning it while I'm—"
"While you're what?" I twist it again. She shudders from her shoulders to her thighs.
"While I'm trying to maintain any semblance of composure in a public establishment."
"Composure was never the goal."
I grip her ass and pull her down hard onto my cock, burying myself deep. The plug presses against me through her walls. She bites my shoulder to keep from screaming.
I fuck her from below. My hips drive up into her while my hands control the angle, tilting her pelvis forward so every thrust drags her clit against me.
The booth creaks. The curtain sways. Ruby's moans are pressed into my neck, muffled, desperate, and I can feel her building.
Her pussy tightens around me in rhythmic pulses.
"Come," I say against her ear. "No permission needed. Come on my cock."
She comes. Hard. Her whole body locks, her pussy clenches in waves, and her nails dig into the leather of the booth behind my head.
The orgasm ripples through her, and the clenching around my cock with the pressure of the plug behind it pulls me over.
I bury myself deep, grip her hips, and come inside her with my face in her neck.
We breathe. Her forehead against mine. My cock still inside her. The sounds of the club float through the curtain.
"Round one," she whispers.
"Round one."
"I have notes."
"Notes."
"The notes are all positive. The notes are glowing. Five stars. The posterior plug situation combined with the booth situation and the possibility of being heard is a combination I did not know I needed, and I would like to subscribe to the newsletter."
My cock twitches inside her. She grins.
"Already?"
"Stay where you are."
Her grin widens. She shifts her hips, an unhurried, experimental grind, testing the twitch. My cock responds, hardening inside her again. The sensation of getting hard while I'm already buried in her wet heat sends electricity up my spine. She feels it. Her eyes go dark.
"Oh," she says. "Hello."
"Ruby."
"No no no, don't Ruby me. I felt that. You're getting hard again inside me, and it's been approximately forty-five seconds. That's—Nash, that is medically impressive. I should be taking notes for science."
I grip her hips and pull her down, grinding her against the base of my cock. She stops talking. Her mouth opens. Her head drops back.
"That's better," I say.
"You can't just—Oh god." I roll her hips for her, my hands controlling the motion, forcing her clit against me. "You can't just grind me into silence every time I—"
"I can." I do it again. Her words dissolve into a moan. "I will."
She braces her hands on my chest and starts riding me again.
Faster this time. Less teasing, more taking.
The wet sound of her pussy sliding on my cock fills the booth.
Her skirt is bunched around her waist. Her breasts bounce in the dark green top.
I pull the neckline down on both sides, freeing them, and grip one in each hand, rolling her nipples between my fingers while she rides.
"Fuck," she breathes. "Fuck, Nash, your hands."
"My hands what?"
"Your hands on me while I'm riding you with a plug in my ass in a public booth is making me lose my mind, and I need you to know that my mind was already in a fragile state before we got here."
Footsteps pass outside the curtain. Ruby freezes. Her pussy clenches around me. The footsteps continue past. She exhales.
"That almost—"
"Made you come? Someone walking past?"
"I am not answering that question."
"You just did."
I pull her forward by the back of her neck and kiss her. Hard. My tongue in her mouth while my hips drive up into her. She moans into the kiss, her hands gripping my shirt, pulling, and the sound of the booth creaking mixes with the muffled bass from the main room.
I need her closer. I need more of her. The control I brought into this booth is fraying at the edges, and I don't care. Breaking the kiss, I grip her waist and lift her off me. She whimpers at the loss.
"Turn around."
Her eyes widen. "What?"
"Turn around. Hands on the table."
She turns in my lap, her back to my chest. I push her forward, and her hands land flat on the booth table. The skirt is still around her waist. Her ass is in front of me, the base of the plug dark against her skin. Her pussy is swollen, glistening, and dripping with my cum from round one.
"Jesus Christ." The words come out rough. Wrecked. I grip both cheeks and spread her, looking at the plug seated in her ass, at my cum leaking from her pussy. At the flushed, swollen mess of a woman who just came on my cock and is about to do it again.
I press my thumb against the plug. Push it deeper. She drops her forehead onto the table.
"Nash. Please."
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me. Again. Right now. While I'm bent over a table in a booth where anyone could walk in."
I line my cock up and push into her from behind.
The angle is deeper than before. Her pussy is slick with her wetness and my cum; the heat of her is devastating.
My hands grip her hips and I pull her back onto me, burying myself to the hilt.
The groan that comes out of me is loud enough that the curtain might as well not exist.
"Fuck." I pull back and slam in. "Fuck, Ruby. You feel—" I can't finish the sentence. The plug pressing against my cock through the wall, the tightness, the wet grip of her. My hands shake on her hips.
"Tell me," she says. Breathless. Her fingers clawing at the table. "Tell me how I feel."
"Like you were made for this. Like every inch of you was built to take me.
" I pull the plug halfway out and push it back in, timing it with my thrusts.
She screams into her forearm. "Like you're mine.
Every part of you. This pussy." I thrust deep.
"This ass." I twist the plug. "This mouth that never stops talking.
" I lean forward and press my mouth to her ear. "Mine."
"Yours," she gasps. "All of it. Fuck, all of it, Nash."
I fuck her hard. The table scrapes against the booth wall.
The curtain sways with each thrust. Someone on the other side of the curtain pauses.
Moves on. Ruby doesn't care. She's pushing back against me, meeting each stroke.
She muffles her moans with her arm. Her body arches, and her pussy clenches every time I twist the plug.
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."