Page 79 of The Rules
Kath's body felt boneless, her muscles still quivering from the intensity of her release. She slumped against Ben's chest, her cheek pressing into the warm plane of his shoulder as aftershocks rippled through her in slow, relentless waves.
His fingers were still inside her.
He was still inside her—deep, unmoving, like a claim he hadn’t yet rescinded. His palm cupped her with quiet finality, while his fingers rested where they’d wrecked her, warm and steady. She was stretched around him, her body pulsing with aftershocks that rippled in slow, helpless waves. Every breath she took felt too shallow. Every second she didn’t move only deepened the ache.
Ben’s other hand rested firmly on her hip, anchoring her in place across his lap.
Her mind scrambled to make sense of what had just happened—how utterly he’d unraveled her. How fast.
How easily.
When she finally lifted her gaze, she found his eyes already on her—calm, unwavering, as if her unraveling had been inevitable. There was no trace of surprise in his expression, only quiet possession, like he’d known all along that this moment would belong to him.
His voice, when it came, was low and lethal-soft. “Not so in control now, are you?”
The words slid through her with quiet precision—taunting, cutting, devastatingly accurate.
Kath tried to summon something sharp, something defiant. But her body still trembled around his fingers. Her breath was shallow. Her pride was in ruins.
All she could manage was a strained, breathless, “Fuck you, Ben.”
His grin was pure wickedness, dark and cruel and absolutely unrepentant. He didn’t move his hand. Didn’t pull out.
His fingers were still inside her, flexing slightly—a possessive little reminder that he hadn’t let her go. Not yet.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, mouth brushing her temple. “You already did.”
Kath's breath was still uneven, her body trembling with aftershocks as she tried—failed—to gather herself. But before she could fully recalibrate, Ben moved.
He shifted beneath her, and the slow, deliberate drag of his fingers pulling free made her gasp—a sharp, involuntary sound drawn from somewhere deep and unguarded. Her body resisted the retreat, clenching instinctively, aching from the absence even before he was fully gone. The emptiness bloomed in her, tender and raw, leaving behind a hollow ache that pulsed with memory.
Her thighs were slick. Her pulse, frantic.
And he knew it.
Still cradling her in his lap, Ben raised his hand to his mouth, casual and calculated all at once. His gaze found hers—locked her in place—and didn’t let go.
Her chest tightened.
Then his tongue flicked out—a slow, deliberate stroke—lapping at her slickness from his fingers.
Her heart stopped.
He didn’t rush it. Took his time, like he wastasting victory. One finger, then another, his mouth closing over them with obscene patience. He sucked his fingers clean—slow, thorough, deliberate—never taking his eyes off her. His eyes glinted, sharp and knowing. Devouring her reaction.
"I like how you taste," he murmured, voice dark silk and sin.
The words landed like a punch to the gut—low, intimate, unrepentant.
Kath’s stomach flipped violently. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to slap him or kiss him. Her whole bodyburned, and he just sat there, calm and devastating in his neatly buttoned shirt, not a hair out of place. The embodiment of control. While she—
She was still in his lap. Still trembling. Still open.
Still his.
The shift in power wasn’t just complete—it was branded into her now. He didn’t just take her apart—he marked her, and the worst part?
Her body craved the feeling of it again.
