Page 184 of The Rules
It's the most intimate rule yet. And they both know it.
Ben watches the impact of his words sink in, savoring the way Kath’s composure crumbles before him. He can see her mind racing, trying to find a way out, a loophole, some semblance of control.
But there is none.
Not anymore.
“Not when you think of me,” he continues, voice lower, darker. “Not when you smell me on your skin. Not when you're lying in that bed, knowing I'm just a room away.”
Her pupils dilate. Her lips part.
Ben steps closer again. Not touching. Just invading.
The space between them shrinks to nothing, yet he maintains that final barrier—the one that would break them both if crossed.
“Not when you remember what my hands feel like on your body. Or when you wake up aching. Desperate. Needing.”
Her fingers twitch at her sides. Like she wants to move.
He watches her—every breath, every shift, every blink.
She's fighting it.
He’s letting her.
Just long enough.
“But you can always ask,” he says, voice dropping lower, slower.
She swallows.
Ben feels power course through him—not cruel, not petty, but absolute. This is what he’s wanted since the moment she betrayed him. Not just her body. Not just her submission.
But her acknowledgment. Her recognition that she belongs to him in ways neither of them can escape.
“And I’ll be more than happy…” he says, voice dipping into sin, “to grant permission.”
Her breath stutters again. And this time? She doesn’t say a word.
Because there’s nothing to say. They both know it.
She won’t fight this.
The archive room was still.
Her scent lingered—sweet and electric. Like something half-claimed.
Ben exhaled, slow and controlled.
He braced his palms against the cold metal shelf, grounding himself.
Just enough pressure to remind his body:
Not yet.
Her breath, the heat of her skin, the way she didn’t say no—
It all echoed louder in the silence.
