Page 204 of The Rules
His fingers slid inside her—deep, relentless. Two at once, curling upward until her back arched clean off the couch.
He knew her body now. Knew exactly how to touch her. How to wreck her.
She cried out, the sound raw and broken, and Ben groaned at the way she clenched around him—tight, pulsing, drenched.
The slick heat of her soaked his hand, dragged him deeper into his own spiraling need.
"That's it," he growled, eyes fixed on her flushed, contorted face. "Show me how much you want this."
Then his mouth was on her.
No warning. No teasing. Just a man with a mission.
His tongue stroked upward—slow, deliberate passes, from the base of her entrance to the tip of her clit, pressing firm, savoring every taste. Now and then, he dipped lower, letting his tongue graze that sensitive spot just above her entrance, where nerves were sharpest and reactions most immediate.
Her hips jerked.
He pinned them down with one hand, holding her in place while his mouth returned to her clit with single-minded focus.
He sucked gently, lips sealing around the swollen bud, then dragged his lower lip slowly across it, back and forth, building her tension like it was a language only he could speak.
His fingers never stopped moving inside her—deeper, firmer, perfectly timed with every motion of his tongue.
She was trembling now, body straining, moaning like she was coming apart cell by cell beneath him.
Ben pulled back just enough to speak, his voice wrecked with need, rough and wild against her burning skin.
“You taste like fucking madness,” he growled, licking her off his lips like he needed the flavor to breathe.
Then he was back—devouring her like salvation and sin twisted into one unbearable craving. His mouth moved with raw purpose, and every moan she gave him only fed the fire, drove him deeper, darker, hungrier.
She was close. So close.
And Ben?
He wasn’t stopping until she shattered.
He watched, entranced, as Kath's hands moved to her breasts, fingers tugging and rolling her nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt. The sight of her pleasuring herself while he worked between her thighs sent a jolt of pure heat straight to his groin. Her self-touch wasn't tentative anymore—it was desperate, needy, matching the rhythm of his fingers driving into her.
Every sound she made—each gasp, each whimper, each broken moan—pushed him closer to the edge. The way she said his name, breathless and pleading, made his cock throb painfully against the confines of his pants. He’d never wanted anyone like this. Never felt this raw, consuming need to take, toclaim.
Ben moaned against her, the deep rumble vibrating through her clit as his tongue moved in slow, powerful strokes—up and down, deliberate,devouring. He wasn’t messy. He was methodical. Focused. Lips sealed around her, tongue flicking and pressing with just the right amount of pressure, just the right rhythm to keep her teetering at the edge.
His fingers curled inside her at the perfect angle, pressing into that spot that made her thighs tremble, her muscles lock.
She was shaking now, fighting the inevitable.
He sucked her clit between his lips, just once—firm and slow—then used his lower lip to drag across it with aching pressure. Her cry was immediate. Wild. Raw.
She was unraveling beneath him, her body trembling as pleasure tore through her. Her hips lifted again and again, chasing more—more pressure, more friction, more ofhim.
And Ben gave it.
Every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers, tuned to her body like he was playing her from the inside out.
"Ben," she gasped, voice breaking. "Please, I can't—I need—"
Her begging was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.
