Page 202 of The Rules
Ben’s fingers curled into fists so tight his knuckles blanched white, nails carving crescents into his palms. He wouldn’t touch her. Not yet. This was about control—watching hers fracture while his remained unbroken, if barely. About dragging out the tension until she couldn’t take another second.
The fabric inched higher as she arched into her own caress, revealing the black lace he'd commanded her to wear. The sight of it—tangible proof of her submission, knowing she'd dressed her body according to his specifications—sent molten heat coursing through his veins.
“Good girl,” he murmured, low and lethal, the praise sharpened by restraint. “Don’t stop. Not until I say.”
The air between them thickened, charged with electricity. Every ragged breath she drew, every soft, broken sound that escaped her lips, tested the increasingly fragile borders of his self-control.
Ben watched as Kath's hand moved across her chest, her fingers tracing patterns that made her breath catch. He could see the effect it had on her—the way her skin flushed, the way her eyes grew heavy-lidded with desire.
"Keep one hand there," he instructed, voice low, threaded with anticipation. "The other one goes lower."
Her hesitation was brief, a breath caught in her throat—then she obeyed. Her hand slid down her torso with deliberate slowness, and Ben's entire frame tensed in response. Restraint clawed at him from the inside. He could feel it in the fire that lickedunder his skin. This wasn’t just control. It was worship—of power, of submission, of the devastating effect she had on him even from a distance.
"Show me more," he murmured, rougher than intended, the heat in his tone slipping through the cracks.
She lifted her shirt slowly, fingers curling beneath the fabric, revealing smooth, bare skin inch by agonizing inch. Ben exhaled sharply, the image searing itself into his memory. He'd touched that skin, tasted it. He’d memorized the sounds she made when she unraveled beneath him.
"Now," he said, his voice dropping into a dark command that vibrated low in his chest, "touch yourself over the panties."
Her hand obeyed without question, sliding down and pressing into the black lace. Her hips shifted subtly, a reflex chasing sensation.
"Massage it," he said, leaning in slightly, eyes locked on her hand. "Cup it. All of it. Press in like you know what you’re aching for."
A gasp broke from her lips, breathy and helpless.
"Yeah," he drawled, satisfaction bleeding into his tone.
"Now squeeze. Slow. Like you’re teasing yourself. Like you’d beg if you had to."
A moan followed, soft and raw. Her palm moved in slow, desperate rhythm.
Ben's voice dropped again, smoky and deliberate. "Circles. Right over your clit. Keep it slow—build it. Make it count."
He watched her come apart under his gaze, and every second of it was a brand seared into his nerves.
Her fingers obeyed, tracing slow, aching circles through the damp lace. Her eyes fluttered closed, breath catching as her hips began to roll in sync with the rhythm.
“Look at you,” Ben murmured, voice thick with dark satisfaction, a quiet growl humming beneath the words. “So wetalready. Fuck, you're beautiful like this. Keep going. I want to see you fall apart for me.”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, devouring the sight of her. “Touch yourself like it’s my hand there.
Like I’m the one making you moan.”
Ben watched as Kath's pleasure built, her body responding to her own touch under his command. It was a high like no other—control and lust, need and restraint all warring inside him.
His cock throbbed painfully against his pants, but he forced himself to stay still, to revel in her surrender.
"Now," he ordered, voice turning darker, rougher. "Slide your hand inside those panties. I want to see you feel it for real."
She hesitated for only a heartbeat before obeying, her fingers disappearing beneath the lace. "That's it. Fuck, yes."
"Two fingers," he said, voice low, guttural. "Deep. Slow. Make yourself take it."
She complied instantly. Her back arched as her fingers pushed inside, and the broken sound that escaped her lips was pure sin.
"Ben," she moaned, voice wrecked, head thrown back.
His name on her tongue made his control splinter. "That's my girl," he rasped. "Now take them out. I want you to feel just how much you want this."
