Chapter 12 #2
Her nails skim up his thighs, slow and teasing. Beneath her touch, he's all stone and restraint—coiled tight, waiting to break. Every muscle beneath her touch is hard, yet he remains perfectly still, his discipline absolute.
His eyes are locked on her with such intensity. His restraint isn’t a barrier—it’s an invitation.
"What about your rules?" His voice carves through her like a blade, the dark warning in his tone sending liquid fire coursing through her veins, settling molten and heavy between her thighs.
She lets her lips curve into a dangerous smile. "What about them?"
A muscle tics low in his cheek, sharp and involuntary.
His fingers grip the armrests harder, and Katherine feels a thrill of satisfaction. He's fighting not to touch her—she can see it in every rigid line of his body.
"No touching unless you allow it," he reminds her, his voice rougher now. The way he watches, makes her skin tingle with anticipation.
She hums softly, letting her nails scrape against the fabric of his suit pants. "And yet," she murmurs, enjoying how his breath catches, "I haven't stopped you."
His breathing deepens, growing heavier. His legendary control is starting to crack.
"No explicit requests," he manages, though his voice has gone dark with want.
Katherine shifts closer, her hands moving to his belt.
The metal is cool against her fingers as she unfastens it with deliberate slowness. He remains still, but she feels the tension radiating from him—he's letting her lead, for now.
"Then what the fuck is this?" His voice strains under the weight of it—low, clipped, barely holding together.
Kath feels a rush of satisfaction as his words falter.
Her fingers trace along his waistband, feeling the heat of his skin beneath the fabric. The power has shifted - now she's the one in control.
She hooks her fingers into his slacks, tugging with deliberate slowness.
The fabric slides down his hips, revealing him inch by inch.
Her breath catches at the sight of his cock, already hard and straining against his briefs.
His raw need sets her core ablaze, molten desire flooding through her depths.
She works at his shirt next, the crisp fabric whispering as she untucks it from his waistband. Each new inch of skin revealed makes her pulse quicken - the defined muscles of his stomach, the sharp cut of his hipbones, the rigid tension in every line of his body.
She takes it all in.
Commits it to memory like she’s afraid she’ll never get this close again. Every contour, every flicker of restraint in his body—she wants to remember it.
His breathing grows ragged as her hands explore higher, skimming over his ribs. She could order him to strip, but there's something intoxicating about unwrapping him herself.
Her breath skates over his skin, teasing heat into muscle.
Her lips hover at his waistband, a whisper away. “You didn’t ask for this, Mr. S.”
He goes completely still beneath her touch as she lets her lips brush against the warm skin of his lower abdomen. His muscles are rigid, taut with tension. She presses an open-mouthed kiss just above his waistband, savoring the sharp exhale that escapes him.
His hands tighten around the armrests. The sight sends a thrill through her - the mighty Benjamin Sinclair, struggling to maintain his precious control.
"You don't need to," she breathes against his skin, her voice soft and taunting. The words are barely a whisper, but she feels the impact ripple through him.
His control shatters like glass striking marble.
His thighs become iron beneath her exploring palms, abdominal muscles rippling into tight ridges against her parted lips.
Katherine shifts higher between his spread legs, deliberately pressing her breasts against the rigid outline of his desire.
The unmistakable heat of him burns through the fabric, branding her skin with his need.
Benjamin inhales sharply through his nose, his legendary restraint hanging by a thread. She kisses his stomach again, dragging her lips downward with deliberate slowness. Though he remains still, she feels his desperate need to move, to touch, to take control.
His cock twitches against her where it's trapped between her breasts, and she can't help but smile at his reaction.
Her voice is velvet, devastating. "Let me."
And for the first time, Benjamin Sinclair stops fighting—
And lets himself fall.
Raw power courses beneath Katherine's skin as she watches his composure fracture, each sinew drawn taut beneath her calculated touch. His rigid control bleeds through every line of his body.
Her fingers trace sacred geometries across the carved planes of his abdomen, drinking in his measured gasps - desperate inhalations that betray the war raging beneath his skin.
Every involuntary shudder beneath her wandering touch reveals another crack in his fortress of control, and the knowledge of her dominance over him sets her blood singing with liquid fire.
His rigid length burns against the soft swell of her breasts. She lets her hands wander lower, ghosting over the steel of his thighs, trailing electricity along the cut of his hips.
He forces out a controlled exhale, but Katherine catches the telltale quiver threading through the sound.
She angles her head, positioning her parted lips a whisper above his fevered flesh. Her words dance across his skin like phantom caresses:
"Are you always this...restrained?"
The question drips with calculated provocation, a deliberate strike at the foundations of his control. She craves the sound of his surrender, yearns to watch that perfect discipline shatter.
She catches the flicker in his gaze at her challenge, but triumph twists into something sharper—a live current of tension as his expression shifts, revealing hunger honed into focus behind those dark eyes.
"Do you always talk this much?" he asks, voice low and tight, edged with frustration he doesn't bother to hide.
She doesn’t dignify it with a reply.
Just lifts her gaze, slow and sharp, and rolls her eyes—a silent, blistering fuck you delivered with perfect control.
Then she leans in.
Claims him with a slow, deliberate kiss at his root, savoring the harsh sound that tears from his throat—not surrender, not yet, but a crack in his armor that sends sparks dancing across her nerve endings.
His response ripples through his powerful frame, muscles coiling beneath her palms. His control clings to him like wet silk—elegant, suffocating, seconds from tearing.
Every minute tell - the stutter in his lungs, the white-knuckled grip on leather - speaks volumes in his silence: his need runs deeper than pride will ever let him voice.
Her tongue traces up his length with deliberate slowness, savoring the way his muscles tense beneath her touch.
His control fascinates her - the forced steadiness of his breathing.
She circles his crown with merciless precision, tasting the salt-sweet confession his body makes despite his silence.
Each subtle pulse and twitch of his flesh speaks volumes.
She envelops him in wet heat, relishing how his fingers bite into leather with barely contained desperation. Her movements remain achingly deliberate as she acclimates to his girth, muscles flexing as she draws him deeper into the velvet confines of her mouth.
His control finally shatters with a sound so raw it ignites her blood.
That broken groan awakens something feral within her depths, her pulse hammering violently against her skin.
Nails carve half-moons into his corded thighs as she claims more of him, maintaining that excruciating, deliberate rhythm designed to dismantle him piece by piece.
The powerful frame beneath her palms trembles with barely leashed need, flooding her with savage triumph.
She wants to watch him fall apart. Wants to own it. All of it.
His question slices through the thick air between them, voice rough as sandpaper. "You don't do this often, do you?"
She stills, feeling him pulse against her tongue. A subtle shake of her head sends electricity crackling along her nerves, this confession making her blood sing beneath her skin.
Something fractures in his expression—primal recognition flooding his features, eclipsing all pretense.
The mask slips, revealing the hunter beneath as understanding crystallizes between them.
His lips part with deliberate slowness, each syllable that follows striking Katherine's core with devastating precision:
"Good girl."
The praise strikes deep, molten desire flooding her veins.
Her thighs squeeze together helplessly as pleasure coils tighter and tighter. She should despise how those syllables undo her - loathe how his approval makes her ache to deserve more.
But Christ, she craves hearing them again with an intensity that steals her breath.
She takes him deeper still. His strangled groan tears through the air as his fingers twitch, betraying his desperate urge to seize control, to direct her movements.
Each calculated sweep of her tongue draws fresh tremors through his frame, his composure dissolving beneath her merciless attention.
"You have no fucking idea what you're doing to me." he rasps, the words scraping raw from his throat.
His powerful thighs shudder against her exploring hands, each ragged breath tearing from his lungs like shards of glass.
She wields her mouth like a weapon, precisely calibrated to shred his legendary discipline.
Pulling back until just the whisper of contact remains, she traces that ultra-sensitive edge with lethal deliberation.
A sound like broken glass tears from his throat. "Fuck, Blondie-"
His control finally ruptures, chest heaving as need consumes the last shreds of his discipline. His voice emerges wrecked and graveled: "Want me to pull out?"