Chapter 57
Katherine
The door closes behind her with a soft click.
Julian is already there—in the hallway, framed by the golden spill of evening light, sliding his arms into a black coat like he’s stepping off a stage. His movements are unhurried, rehearsed. Effortless in that way only he can manage—danger dressed in elegance.
Katherine freezes.
It’s not fear. Not even surprise. It’s the way time seems to slow around him. The way the air rearranges itself to accommodate his presence.
He glances over his shoulder, like he already knew she was there. Like he’s been waiting. One hand smooths down the front of his coat, the other slides a leather glove into place.
Every gesture deliberate. Polished. Dangerous.
Their eyes meet.
And just like that, she forgets how to breathe.
There’s no smirk. Not yet. Just silence stretching between them, tight as wire, sharp at the edges. His eyes are steady—cool, unreadable—but not cruel. Not this time.
Then he steps forward. Not far. Just enough to enter her space. To make her feel it.
The scent of him hits first—dark amber, black pepper, and the faint bite of leather. Sophisticated. Commanding. It settles around her like heat, all sharp edges and slow-burning tension. Her skin prickles, hyper-aware, every nerve tuned to his proximity.
“Katherine,” he says. Not mocking. Not playful. Just… soft.
Her name, wrapped in velvet.
He leans in, and his voice brushes the shell of her ear.
“Be careful with him, sweetheart.”
A pause.
“You’re his whole world now.”
It lands like a blade slid between her ribs—quiet, clean, irrevocable. Her pulse skips, her breath catches.
And then—
He leans back just slightly. Smiles. That glint of mischief back in place.
“Try not to break him.”
Julian doesn’t linger.
He straightens, adjusts the collar of his coat, and winks—over her shoulder, toward Ben.
Then he’s gone.
The door whispers shut behind him.
And Katherine stands there, frozen in the echo of his voice.
She doesn’t turn.
Not yet.
Because the words are still sinking.
◆◆◆
The room hums with low light and lower intentions. A soft amber glow glistens off hardwood floors.
Kath steps back, the remote still in her hand. She presses play. The record whispers, then moans—jazz melting through the air like smoke through silk.
Then she moves.
Not with the brash rhythm of the club. This is slower. More dangerous. Every step, every sway is deliberate—burlesque seduction at its most intoxicating.
She lifts her arms above her head, hips rolling, wrists turning in slow, serpentine waves. The oversized shirt slides up—inch by delicious inch—as her hands trail over her body, palms dragging from her throat to her chest.
She lets the hem ride high on her thighs, revealing more of those bare legs.
Then she turns.
Back to him. A glance over her shoulder—wicked, playful, designed to ruin him.
She hooks a finger into the neckline of the tee, dragging it off one shoulder with a slow, teasing shimmy. Then the other.
Ben’s breath catches. His fingers dig into the couch cushions beside him, clinging to composure he doesn’t fucking have.
She peels the shirt off—tosses it aside.
Underneath?
A pale pink lace bralette, delicate and utterly obscene in how little it hides. Matching panties—barely there, soft ribbon at the sides.
She runs a hand down her side, cupping her breast through the lace. Her head tilts, lips parting on a breathy sigh as she dances for herself. For him. For the tension coiling in her core.
Kath is on fire.
But the real heat is behind her eyes.
Her own thighs press together as she gets closer. Every beat of the music pushing her toward him.
And then—she straddles him.
Ben doesn’t move. Can’t. His breath stutters when she settles on his lap, the weight of her over his cock—only separated by thin cotton and thinner lace.
Kath feels it. All of it.
The thick pressure beneath her. The burn of his skin against hers, electric and unrelenting. The way his arms flex, holding still like he’s seconds from grabbing her and destroying every inch of patience he’s clung to.
She’s so close, she can feel his heart pounding under her palm as she places one hand against his bare chest. Their eyes lock.
And everything stops.
No stage. No lights. No lies. Just her body, trembling with control she’s faking, and his, radiating tension he can’t hold much longer.
Kath whispers. “No more games.”
Ben’s hands finally rise—hot and steady, gripping her waist. Firm. Possessive. Dangerous. Like he knows this moment isn’t just about lust. It’s about claiming.
His voice scrapes from his throat, raw and unsteady at the edges—a man fighting for control that's already slipping away. "I've waited for this. For you." The confession vibrates through Katherine's skin, each syllable a physical touch.
"Then stop waiting."
It leaves her mouth without hesitation, a challenge and a promise wrapped in one. Her pulse thrums wild as she sees his eyes darken, pupils dilating like hunger let off its leash.
And then—he kisses her.
Fierce. Certain. Like he’s answering every question she never asked out loud.
He doesn’t break the kiss as he moves.
In one fluid motion, he rises—lifting her into his arms, her legs locking around his waist, her hands already buried in his hair.
He carries her through the dim hallway, her body pressed tight against him, every step a silent vow—
And when they reach the bedroom?
The door slams shut behind them.
Ben moved like a man unraveling—like something inside him had already broken, and only her body, wrapped around him, could keep the pieces from scattering.
Every thrust was deeper, rougher, more consuming than the last. Not rushed—but urgent. Desperate.
His mouth was everywhere—on her throat, her collarbone, her breast—kissing, biting, gasping like he needed her in his lungs, like oxygen wasn’t enough without her taste.
“You still don’t get it, do you,” he growled, breath hot against her skin, his voice cracked wide open.
She gasped, her fingers digging into his back, clutching, needing—because it wasn’t just what he said. It was the way he said it. Like the words had been buried inside him for too long and now they were clawing out, jagged and raw.
“This isn’t about wanting you,” he gritted, his hand sliding under her thigh, dragging her higher, tilting her hips so he could sink even deeper—so deep she cried out.
She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. Her body was shaking—his name breaking against her lips in breathless gasps—because he was still moving, still taking.
“I need your voice in the morning,” he rasped, dragging his mouth along her chin. “I need your temper, your goddamn laugh when you think I’m being an asshole."
She sobbed—quiet and sharp—because it was too much.
It was everything.
“I need every inch of you you think no one could ever want,” he said, quieter now—low and rough, like it scraped its way out of him from somewhere buried too deep to reach.
And something inside her shattered.
Not from the rhythm. Not from the friction.
From him.
From the way he said it like an oath, like he’d burn the world down just to mean it harder.
His hand framed her face now, thumb stroking her cheek like she was something holy. And his eyes—Christ, his eyes—held no mercy. Only fire. Possession. Need.
“You think I’d let you go?” he whispered, his voice splintering at the edges. “You think I’d survive a single fucking second without this? Without you?”
Kath couldn’t speak. Could barely hold herself together.
So she kissed him.
Hard. Desperate. Shaking.
And then it ripped out of him—violent, unrestrained. “I love you.”
The words weren’t spoken. They detonated. Guttural. Wrecked. Laid bare like a nerve.
“I fucking love you,” he snarled again, louder, fiercer—like saying it with force might cage the feeling that had already consumed him.
Kath gasped, the sound torn from her throat as if his confession struck something physical. Her hands flew to his shoulders, clutching like she needed to anchor herself to the moment—or drown in it.
He wasn’t finished. His mouth brushed her ear, hot breath trembling with all the fury and ache he could no longer contain.
“I wish I knew how to say this better,” he growled, voice ragged with frustration. “But I fucking don’t. I don’t know how to explain it—so you’ll have to settle for this.”
And just like that—everything inside her shattered.
Because there was no surviving a man who loved like that.
◆◆◆
The light filters in through half-open blinds, soft and golden, washing everything in a warm haze like the night before didn’t leave them bruised, breathless, and new.
Kath wakes first.
She doesn’t move—not at first. Just lies there, cheek pressed against Ben’s chest, her arm draped across his stomach, the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing anchoring her in the present.
He’s so still, so unlike the man the world sees. No steel.
No sharp edges. Just skin and breath and warmth.
She lifts her head, just enough to look at him.
His face is softer in sleep. Younger. Like time hasn't had a chance to harden him yet.His eyes are closed, lashes fanned low, mouth slightly parted. He looks… human. Breakable.
Hers.
She exhales through her nose, barely a sound, and lets her fingertips drift over his chest. A lazy, wandering touch. Tracing the shape of his collarbone, the slight dip between his ribs.
Ben shifts under her hand—barely. Then his arm tightens around her waist, slow and sure, like even asleep he knows exactly where she is and he’s not letting go.
His voice is rough when it comes, low and coated in sleep.
“Mm. You’re staring.”
Kath hums, her lips brushing his skin. “Just wondering how you ever convinced people you’re terrifying when you look like this.”
He lets out a soft laugh—a real laugh—that rumbles through his chest and into her. His eyes blink open, lazy and dark, and he stretches onto his back, pulling her with him like a blanket he refuses to give up.
She lands half on top of him, thigh hooked over his, her cheek resting against the edge of his jawline. He doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn’t either.
Ben shifts beneath her, one hand drifting over her bare back, lazy and possessive in the most casual, infuriatingly perfect way.
His voice comes quieter than before, like it’s been waiting. Measured. Meant.
“I didn’t get a chance to say it before,” he says, his fingers tracing the dip of her spine, “and maybe I should’ve said it the second you walked out the courtroom—”
He pauses, just long enough to make her look up.
“—but watching you in that room? Facing them like that?”
A quiet shift crosses his face—the memory sharpening his features. “You were calm. Precise. You didn’t flinch. You knew exactly what needed to be said, and you made them listen.”
There’s no teasing in his tone. No smirk.
Just pride. And something deeper. Something like awe.
“You were powerful,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss to her temple. “Unshakable. The kind of woman people don’t forget once she’s made up her mind.”
His hand settles over the curve of her hip, grounding her.
“You were incredible out there. Strong. Relentless…”
His voice drops, warm and firm. “Exactly what a Sinclair should be.”
Kath raises a brow, amused. “A Sinclair, huh? That’s a big title to live up to.”
Ben doesn’t laugh. His smirk softens into something more serious, more certain. His fingers trail down her spine, slow and steady, like he’s tracing her future.
“It would look good on you,” he says—quiet, but final.
Kath stills.
For a moment, she doesn’t speak. Just breathes.
Katherine Sinclair.
The name forms in her mind like a secret. A possibility.
It doesn’t sound strange. It doesn’t feel borrowed.
She lets it sit there, lets the weight of it unfurl through her chest—not just the sound, but everything that comes with it.
The steady calm in Ben’s eyes when he looks at her. The feeling of belonging. The life they’re building, not borrowed from anyone else, but carved out with their own hands.
And she likes it.
She leans in, presses a kiss to his jaw.
Then she murmurs, lips brushing his skin:
“Yeah. I think it would look good on me too.”