Chapter 44 #2
Kath hesitated, the pause stretching between them like a thread pulled too tight. Then she looked up at him through her lashes, offering a casual shrug that was anything but.
"To take care of myself," she replied, the words hanging in the air between them.
Ben stilled. Completely. The silence that followed was not casual.
His pulse punched the inside of his throat.
He knew exactly what she meant.
And now?
So did she.
"You're joking," he said, voice low, unreadable.
"Obviously," Kath half-laughed, nervous now.
Ben tilted his head. Studied her. The way her fingers curled a little too tightly around her mug. The slight flush creeping up her neck. The way her eyes couldn't quite hold his.
She thought she was in control. She wasn't.
"Fine. You have permission," Ben said, calm and deliberate.
Her breath stuttered. Just a little.
"Wait. What?" Kath asked.
"Do it. Right here," Ben said, dead serious.
Kath blinked. Hard. Color flushed across her chest, spreading upward in a wave that fascinated him. He watched it bloom beneath her skin, marking her discomfort, her surprise—and something else entirely.
"I wasn't serious," she said.
His eyes dropped—slow, deliberate—to her legs. Then rose back up, locking on her mouth.
He moved to the weights, posture fluid but focused. Each lift cut the air with purpose, steel rising and falling in a cadence too smooth to be casual. Muscles flexed and stretched under the soft sheen of sweat that traced along the ridges of his back.
His breath stayed steady, precise—his rhythm unwavering. But the control was surface-level at best.
Because he could feel her.
Not just in the room—on him. Like pressure, like static, like a slow drag of heat over nerves that refused to quiet.
He didn’t need to look. He knew exactly where she was—curled on the couch like temptation wrapped in cotton, her bare legs tucked beneath her, her shirt riding high on her thighs.
That mug? Long since abandoned. Her focus? All on him.
She thought she was composed.
She wasn’t.
He felt the weight of her gaze like a hand on his spine—too curious, too charged to ignore. Like a secret she wasn’t ready to say out loud, but couldn’t stop whispering with her eyes.
And that flush in her cheeks, the way her breath changed—he noticed it all.
It stirred something primal in him.
And he didn’t mind one bit.
"Well?" he finally asked, voice cool and unreadable as he completed another set.
"I—" Kath's voice came out shaky, disbelieving, but with an undercurrent of curiosity that made his blood run hotter.
"You can't be serious."
Ben set the weight down with a controlled thud. Only then did he turn to face her, movements unhurried and commanding. His gaze was lazy at first, then deliberately dipped lower, taking in the sight of black lace peeking from beneath her shirt that she wore.
"You asked for permission," he said, his voice low, intent threading through every syllable. "Now take it."
He stepped closer, and the teasing was gone. What remained was control—undiluted, direct. The kind that made her breath hitch and her pupils darken.
"I could guide you," he continued, voice rough velvet, a promise wrapped in steel. His fingers brushed her chin, feather-light—just enough to make her shiver.
"If you want."
Her breath caught, resistance dissolving under his touch like sugar in heat.
"You just do what I say," Ben murmured, every word slow, measured, devastating. His gaze never left her. Watching. Reading. Waiting for her to give in completely.
Ben didn’t say a word. He stepped back and lowered himself onto the bench, hands closing around the weights with deliberate calm. His movements were slow, precise, calculated—like her presence hadn’t just lit him on fire.
He started curling the bar, biceps flexing under the strain, veins rising along his forearms. Every rep was control in motion. And through it all, he watched her.
Unblinking.
Tracking every shift, every breath, every flicker of hesitation in her eyes.
The space between them pulsed with tension—thick, electric. His pulse was pounding, but his expression stayed unreadable. Focused. Composed.
Let her feel it. The weight of his gaze.
"Start at your neck," he instructed, voice low and commanding.
Kath hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her face. For a moment, he thought she might refuse—walk away, end this dangerous game they'd started. But then her fingers rose, trembling slightly as they brushed against her throat.
The touch was tentative at first, barely there—just fingertips skimming over delicate skin. Ben's jaw tightened as he watched her explore herself, her movements growing bolder with each passing second.
Her head fell back, baring the vulnerable column of her throat as her hands descended to her collarbone.
Ben devoured each reaction with predatory focus—the sharp catch in her breathing when fingers found that tender spot beneath her ear, the unconscious parting of her lips as the first waves of pleasure rippled through her.
"Feel your breasts," he growled, voice scraped raw with restraint. "Touch your nipples. Make them ache for me. Look me in the eye while you do it."
The sound she surrendered—half-whimper, half-plea—slammed through him like a physical blow. Her thumbs circled then flicked over the peaks straining against her shirt, the thin barrier betraying exactly how they stiffened under her ministrations.
Ben’s voice came again, rougher now, more commanding. “Harder. I want to see you fall apart for me.”
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 licked under 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 wet already. 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."