Page 223 of The Rules

She gasped, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, the slide of skin on skin sending a bolt of heat through her spine. Breathless, she clung to him—not for support, but because his strength grounded her in a way nothing else could.

He carried her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like holding her was an instinct, not a choice.

The bedroom is dim, the sheets cool when her back hits them.

But Kath doesn't feel the cold.

All she feels ishim.

Ben settles between her legs, bracing himself above her.

His weight presses her into the mattress, solid and real in a way that makes her chest ache. His skin is still damp from the shower, droplets clinging to his shoulders, catching the faint light from the window.

And for a moment—they just breathe.

Kath watches his face, the sharp angles softened in the darkness. His eyes never leave hers, searching for somethingshe's not sure she knows how to give. But she wants to try.

God, she wants to try.

Water pools on the sheets around them, soaking in without protest. The fabric darkens beneath them, but Ben doesn't seem to care. Nothing exists outside this moment, this breath, this space between heartbeats.

His hands glide along her sides, slow, like he's memorizing the shape of her just in case she vanishes. His touch is gentle but certain, tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her ribs, the softness of her breasts. Katherine shivers from the intensity of his gaze as it follows his hands.

She lifts her arms, pulls him down to her again, and kisses him like she needs him to remember this. To rememberher.

Not Blondie. Not Winters. Just Katherine, bare and vulnerable beneath him.

And he does.

Not with words.

But with the way he holds her. The way his fingers thread through her hair, cradling her head. The way his mouth moves against hers—unhurried, deliberate, a conversation without sound.

The way hedoesn't rush. There's no frantic tearing at clothes, no desperate race to the finish. Just this slow, aching exploration that makes her heart pound harder than any urgent passion ever could.

The way he lets his weight rest on her, solid and warm, anchoring them both to the now. To the silence. To the skin.

To the ache that has nothing to do with pleasure, and everything to do withfinally not feeling alone.

His lips brushed her neck, not in quick kisses but in lingering, open-mouthed presses that sent heat spiraling through her body. Each touch was intentional, warm breath following the path of his mouth as he dragged it across her collarbone, dipping lower.

When his tongue flicked lightly between the curve of her breasts, Katherine arched beneath him, a gasp catching in her throat. Her body responded to him instinctively, craving more of his touch, more of his warmth.

His hands spread along her sides, large and steady, grounding her to the moment while holding her still as he sank lower.

Inch by aching inch, he moved down her body, his mouth never stopping its worship of her skin.

Each kiss felt like a prayer whispered into her flesh. And each time he pulled away, he left her burning, skin hypersensitive and yearning for his return.

Katherine trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the sensations he created. It was already too much—the tenderness, the care, the deliberate pace—and yet somehow not enough.

She needed more. Needed him.

"Please," she gasped, the word cracking on her tongue, heavy with desire and impatience.

Ben looked up at her, then, his eyes dark with something unspoken—something carved from need and love and restraint that seemed on the edge of collapse.

"Not yet," he said, his voice low and rough, the words muffled against her stomach.