Chapter 20 #2
She felt the fabric slide down, Ben's fingers following with slow, deliberate precision. Her skin buzzed in the wake of his touch, every nerve alive and begging. She was soaking wet, throbbing with need, her body already wound so tight she could barely think.
When his mouth claimed her breast—hot, greedy, unrelenting—her breath snagged in her throat. His tongue circled her nipple with maddening control, every stroke calculated to undo her. The slick heat of him made her hips twitch, a helpless grind against nothing, chasing friction.
Her hands shot to his head, fingers tangling in his hair.
She held him there—firm, decisive. Not pleading. Possessing. The thrill of it—of holding him to her like that—sent a wicked pulse straight through her. She had him. And fuck, that power turned her on more than she could stand.
Ben’s other hand slid lower, down the curve of her spine and over the swell of her ass.
He grabbed it hard—no hesitation, no gentleness—just raw, claiming pressure.
The sharp jolt of sensation made her gasp and tighten her grip in his hair, fingers fisting just a little rougher, grounding herself in the wildness he coaxed from her.
He growled low against her skin, the sound vibrating into her chest as his mouth slowed. Then—he pulled back. Just enough.
Kath looked down through hazy lashes and saw his eyes fixed on her breast—her nipple flushed deep pink, swollen and glistening from his mouth. Ben’s gaze darkened, almost spellbound , almost smug. "Look at you," he murmured, voice hoarse, ruined. “Fucking perfect.”
And then he struck.
His mouth returned, fiercer this time. Teeth raked across tender flesh, then sank in—savage restraint holding just short of cruelty.
The lightning strike of pleasure edged with exquisite pain tore a moan from somewhere primal within her, a sound Katherine barely recognized as her own.
Her spine curved like a drawn bow, thighs clenching tight enough to tremble, her treasonous body confessing every secret her pride had fought to conceal.
Ben didn't stop. Didn't soften the assault.
He sealed his lips against her flesh and pulled harder, tongue working in merciless circles, drawing sensation from depths she hadn't known existed.
Her entire body strained beneath him, suspended in that excruciating space where surrender and annihilation became indistinguishable.
She was past pretending.
This wasn't careful.
Kath felt his fingers trail along her inner thigh, the light touch making her muscles tense in anticipation. Her breath caught as he traced patterns on her sensitive skin, each stroke deliberate and teasing. The heat of his touch seeped through her, making her pulse race faster.
When his fingers finally slipped beneath the lace, Kath couldn't hold back her reaction. Heat flooded through her at the intimate contact, her body already slick with need.
Her fingers clutched his shoulders tighter, her body trembling slightly as he explored her with devastating precision.
Each stroke of his fingers made her stomach clench, drawing involuntary shivers from her overwrought body.
She quivered beneath his touch, her frame coiled like a spring under exquisite tension, each nerve ending raw and exposed from his methodical attention. His fingers carved wicked, deliberate patterns against her flesh, each stroke claiming territory, marking responses.
When he pressed closer, his exhale scorching the delicate shell of her ear, and issued that single command—"Relax"—resistance crumbled.
His voice carried that particular timbre—the one that sliced through her carefully constructed defenses and plunged straight to her molten center.
Her body betrayed her mind's last protests, muscles surrendering without permission, melting beneath his touch as if he'd unlocked some primal code written into her bones.
The moment she surrendered, his fingers curled inside her with precise, calculated pressure. A sharp gasp tore from her throat as her body jerked in response. Her inner walls clenched around him, desperate and already fluttering on the edge of release.
Each stroke was devastating—slow, deep, deliberate.
And with every thrust of his fingers, the obscene wet sound of her arousal filled the space between them—slick, needy, unfiltered.
Ben groaned, low and guttural, the noise punched straight from his chest. “You sound so fucking good.” he ground out, his voice strained and rough against her throat. “You hear that? That’s how needy you are.”
Her breath stuttered, caught between embarrassment and pure, undiluted lust. But she couldn't answer—not with her body trembling, her thighs shaking, her hands clawing for something to hold on to.
Every slick stroke echoed between them, shameless, primal.
Her heartbeat hammered violently, drowning out everything but the mounting tension gripping her center. The degradation of it—her body's brazen response, those slick, telling sounds—shredded what remained of her composure.
Kath began to shift her hips, rocking forward, then back—a slow, grinding rhythm, as if she were riding the edge of her own orgasm. Testing control. Testing him.
Ben’s hand slid to the small of her back, holding her in position, guiding her just enough to keep her locked in the rhythm he wanted.
“Yeah,” he rasped against her ear, his breath hot. “Just like that. Ride it out. Take what you need.”
His voice dropped lower, rough with approval. “Use me. Come on, darling—fuck yourself on my hand.”
The words detonated in her core, molten and commanding. Her body responded instantly—hips rolling harder, chasing the friction, chasing the crest. The wet sounds of his fingers moving inside her grew louder, filthier, syncing with the frantic pace of her breath.
Her head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut as she rode his hand in earnest now, grinding down with every thrust.
Her thighs trembled. Her moans turned shameless.
Ben kept her steady, his voice the only tether to reality. “That’s it, ride it. Come for me. Right fucking there.”
And she did. Hard, helpless, shattering around his hand.
Kath's body felt boneless, her muscles still quivering from the intensity of her release. She slumped against Ben's chest, her cheek pressing into the warm plane of his shoulder as aftershocks rippled through her in slow, relentless waves.
His fingers were still inside her.
He was still inside her—deep, unmoving, like a claim he hadn’t yet rescinded.
His palm cupped her with quiet finality, while his fingers rested where they’d wrecked her, warm and steady.
She was stretched around him, her body pulsing with aftershocks that rippled in slow, helpless waves.
Every breath she took felt too shallow. Every second she didn’t move only deepened the ache.
Ben’s other hand rested firmly on her hip, anchoring her in place across his lap.
Her mind scrambled to make sense of what had just happened—how utterly he’d unraveled her. How fast.
How easily.
When she finally lifted her gaze, she found his eyes already on her—calm, unwavering, as if her unraveling had been inevitable. There was no trace of surprise in his expression, only quiet possession, like he’d known all along that this moment would belong to him.
His voice, when it came, was low and lethal-soft. “Not so in control now, are you?”
The words slid through her with quiet precision—taunting, cutting, devastatingly accurate.
Kath tried to summon something sharp, something defiant. But her body still trembled around his fingers. Her breath was shallow. Her pride was in ruins.
All she could manage was a strained, breathless, “Fuck you, Ben.”
His grin was pure wickedness, dark and cruel and absolutely unrepentant. He didn’t move his hand. Didn’t pull out.
His fingers were still inside her, flexing slightly—a possessive little reminder that he hadn’t let her go. Not yet.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, mouth brushing her temple. “You already did.”
Kath's breath was still uneven, her body trembling with aftershocks as she tried—failed—to gather herself. But before she could fully recalibrate, Ben moved.
He shifted beneath her, and the slow, deliberate drag of his fingers pulling free made her gasp—a sharp, involuntary sound drawn from somewhere deep and unguarded.
Her body resisted the retreat, clenching instinctively, aching from the absence even before he was fully gone.
The emptiness bloomed in her, tender and raw, leaving behind a hollow ache that pulsed with memory.
Her thighs were slick. Her pulse, frantic.
And he knew it.
Still cradling her in his lap, Ben raised his hand to his mouth, casual and calculated all at once. His gaze found hers—locked her in place—and didn’t let go.
Her chest tightened.
Then his tongue flicked out—a slow, deliberate stroke—lapping at her slickness from his fingers.
Her heart stopped.
He didn’t rush it. Took his time, like he was tasting victory. One finger, then another, his mouth closing over them with obscene patience. He sucked his fingers clean—slow, thorough, deliberate—never taking his eyes off her. His eyes glinted, sharp and knowing. Devouring her reaction.
"I like how you taste," he murmured, voice dark silk and sin.
The words landed like a punch to the gut—low, intimate, unrepentant.
Kath’s stomach flipped violently. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to slap him or kiss him. Her whole body burned, and he just sat there, calm and devastating in his neatly buttoned shirt, not a hair out of place. The embodiment of control. While she—
She was still in his lap. Still trembling. Still open.
Still his.
The shift in power wasn’t just complete—it was branded into her now. He didn’t just take her apart—he marked her, and the worst part?
Her body craved the feeling of it again.