Page 241 of The Rules
"You like giving a show, don't you?" His voice was low. Rough. Almost feral. She shivered beneath him, and he savored the reaction—the way her body responded to him without hesitation, without thought.
"Ben—" she started, breathless.
He didn’t let her finish.
His hand slid down, grazing over the tight line of her pencil skirt. The fabric resisted, snug against her thighs, but he pushed past it—slow, relentless—bunching it as he went. Inch by inch, he eased it higher, until the hem settled around her hips. The cool air hit the backs of her thighs, but they remained untouched by the wall—left bare, vulnerable, and open to him, not pressed to anything but the heat of his body behind her.
His palm smoothed over the swell of her ass, then dipped between her thighs.
He groaned—low, rough, laced with heat. "Dripping, and I’ve barely touched you."
But he wanted more.
His hand slipped beneath the band of lace, fingers gliding over her warm skin. He paused—just for a breath—as his fingertips skimmed the soft curve of her mound, the fine, downy hair that framed her heat.
He exhaled slowly.
Then he pressed lower.
The pad of his finger lingered—one slow pass across her clit, slick and agonizingly light. The contact sent a jolt through her, sharp and involuntary. Her gasp was immediate, hips rocking back into his hand in a silent plea she didn’t bother to voice.
Ben smiled—dark and full of promise—his mouth brushing the curve of her jaw, his breath hot against her skin.
And then he slid lower.
His fingers parted her with slow precision, glidingthrough wet, aching heat that clung to his touch like a secret. She was soaked—soaked and trembling and so perfectly, devastatingly open.
"And you want me to believe that wasn’t on purpose?"
he murmured.
Kath’s only answer was a choked sound—something between a moan and surrender.
He didn’t press for more.
He didn’t need to.
Ben moved with the intent of a man who’d waited long enough. His fingers stroked through her again, slick and unhurried, learning every shiver, every subtle flex of muscle as her body yielded to his. He circled her entrance with excruciating care, dragging out the moment until he felt her shudder, felt her hips twitch in search of more.
Her forehead dropped to the wall, a softthudswallowed by the tension in the air. Her stance shifted—barely—but he felt it. The instinctive widening of her legs, the tilt of her hips. A silent offering.
It undid him.
His breath turned to a growl against her skin, lips grazing her neck as he drank in the salt of her. She was melting for him.
And it was all his. Every sigh. Every quake.
"You want to be fucked like this, don't you?" he murmured, voice rough with desire. "Rough. Fast. Like you don't have a choice."
Her breath faltered. Her back arched. He felt her answer before she gave it.
A subtle nod.
Barely there.
But more than enough.
His fingers stilled. His body coiled, held back by a thread.
