Page 24 of The Rules
"You always watch this closely, or am I just special?"
Blondie sinks onto his lap with calculated grace, letting her weight settle against him slowly. His breath catches—barely audible, but she feels it. A tiny crack in his perfect control.
Her heart hammers against her ribs, but she channels the adrenaline into movement. Into power. Her fingers trail up his chest, following the crisp lines of his shirt. She can feel the heat of him through the fabric, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
"You didn't answer my question." she purrs, letting her lips brush close to his ear. Close enough to feel him tense beneath her, his hands gripping the armrests tighter. "Am I special?"
His laugh is low, dangerous. "Fishing for compliments?"
"Just trying to figure out what makes a man like you come back for more." She rolls her hips, slow and deliberate.
Kath watches his jaw flex, a small victory that sends heat spiraling through her core. That telltale tension in his features feeds her growing sense of control, dark and delicious.
In the office, he held the power. Here? It was hers to wield. And right now, she wasn’t going to let him forget it.
"Maybe," he murmurs, voice rougher than before,
"I enjoy a good performance."
Kath lets her nail scrape lightly against his tie.
"Just the performance?"
A predatory darkness settles behind his eyes, muting the metallic glint. The air between them tightens—charged, watchful, alive with something unspoken.
The panic morphs—sharp, electric, laced with something far more dangerous. She should be terrified. Should be thinking about consequences, tomorrow, all the ways this could ruin her. But right now?
Instead, she feels powerful. Alive.
Because Benjamin Sinclair might be her boss, might be untouchable in the office, but right now? Right now, he's just another man under her spell. And she's going to make him remember this night for a very long time.
Kath shifts her weight, letting her body hover over his lap like a whisper of intention. Her fingertips trace the edge of his shirt, following the precise tailoring that probably cost more than her monthly rent. The fabric is smooth, expensive—just like everything else about him.
But right now, in this dimly lit room, none of that matters. This isn't about status or power or the hierarchy that exists beyond these walls. This is about something far more primal.
She watches his face as she moves, cataloging every micro-expression. The slight tightening of his chin. The way his pupils dilate when she lets her nails scrape ever so lightly against his chest. His breathing remains measured, controlled—but she can feel the tension radiating from him.
The mask sits secure against her face, a final barrier between who she is and who she needs to be. She tells herself it's enough. That as long as she keeps this one piece of armor, she's safe.
Then Kath lowers herself onto his lap.
The connection detonates through her nerves like wildfire. His rigid length throbs against her center, only gossamer fabric keeping them apart. Her body betrays her instantly, slick arousal coating her inner walls with treacherous need.
Control fractures, her carefully crafted dominance threatening to shatter. She'd planned to break him piece by piece, yet here she sits, muscles quivering with the desperate urge to rock against his cock, to surrender to the mounting pressure demanding release.
A tactical error of devastating proportions. His thickness pulses precisely where she's most sensitive, short-circuiting every calculated thought, replacing strategy with raw hunger.
Katherine's fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, grounding her. The delicate fabric between them might as well have been nothing at all.
She shifted, letting her weight settle more firmly against him. The hard length of his cock pressed exactly where she needed it, sending sparks of pleasure racing up her spine. Her breath caught, muscles tensing as she fought the urge to chase that friction.
Control. She needed control.
But then she rolled her hips—just slightly, just enough to test his resolve—and everything shattered. His fingers dug into the leather armrests, knuckles white with restraint.
Tension radiating from every line of his body.
He didn't move. Didn't reach for her. Didn't break the rules.
