Page 95 of The Rules
Tonight, he had been the anchor she hadn't asked for.
But she had needed him. And he had given her that, without even knowing.
Chapter 24
Katherine
Kath stood before the private room door, her hand trembling slightly as it rested on the handle. She could feel the vibrations of the club's music through the floor, a dull, rhythmic pulse that matched her heartbeat. Everything that had happened—the photograph, the threat, the fear—it all swirled inside her, threatening to pull her under.
But on the other side of this door was something else. Something she could control. Something that would make her forget, even if just for a little while.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The lock clicked loud in the quiet.
Intentional. Certain. A decision made, not taken lightly.
She hadn’t dressed to tempt—she’d chosen to reveal. To let truth settle where fabric once deceived.
No lace. No artifice. No barriers.
Only skin beneath silk. Honest. Unhidden.
Her breath stuttered. Her pulse was electric. Every nerve tuned to him, waiting for impact.
Erase it. Erase all of it. Crawford. The fear. The fight. Just—feel something else.
Ben was already there. Whiskey in hand. Legs spread like he owned this room.
No smirk. No taunt. Just something broken in his eyes.
And then—he looked up.
His gaze locked onto her with lethal precision. Unblinking. Slow. Possessive.
The air shifted, grew denser, taut with something unspoken. Her spine straightened, but her legs faltered beneath the weight of it.
"Come here," he said—quiet, guttural, as if the words had been carved out of restraint.
And she moved.
No tease. No pause. No games tonight.
Just obedience wrapped in need.
Kath moved toward him without hesitation, her body acting on instinct rather than thought. The world outside this room had disappeared—Crawford, the photograph, the threat against Lisa—all of it momentarily suspended in the gravity of his presence.
She reached him in three steps, her fingers already seeking the solid warmth of his shoulders. One knee pressed into the chair beside his thigh, then the other followed, her weight settling against him as she straddled his lap. The position was achingly familiar, yet entirely new—no performance tonight, no calculated moves designed to tease. Just raw need.
Her hands slid up his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath the fabric. She pressed closer, fingers curling into his shirt, anchoring herself to him as though he were the only solid thing in a world gone liquid with fear.
Ben's hands found her waist immediately. Firm. Possessive. His fingers dug into the silk covering her skin, holding her with a certainty that made her breath catch. Not restraining her—staking his place like he belonged there.
And for a heartbeat—they didn't move.
The air between them felt charged, electric with something neither dared name. His eyes locked onto hers, searching for answers to questions he hadn't asked. She stared back, refusing to look away even as her pulse hammered wildly in her throat.
They just stared.
Just breathed.
