Page 226 of The Rules

She felt the words vibrate against her lips as Ben breathed them into her, his voice hoarse with need."You're mine,"he growled, the declaration as much a command as it was a confession."Don’t fucking run from this."

Her breath caught, spine arching as his grip branded into her skin. The heat in his voice lit something feral in her. "I'm not going anywhere," she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as her hips snapped forward, grinding down with raw, aching need. Every thrust, every roll of her body was a demand, not a request—Take me. Match me. Lose yourself with me.

She wasn’t just chasing her own pleasure now—she was daring him to keep up. Daring him to unravel with her. And from the guttural sound that tore from his throat, she knew he was right there, falling hard and fast into the fire she’d lit between them.

His grip tightened at her waist, fingers digging in, hips thrusting up to meet hers with unrelenting power. Their bodies collided in rhythm, like a current passing between them—fierce, consuming, all heat and hunger. This wasn't just need. It was everything they'd held back, finally unleashed.

Ben's mouth trailed down her throat, each kiss searing, each bite a brand. He suckled at her pulse, her collarbone, the slopeof her shoulder like he wanted to imprint himself on her skin. Each touch stoked the fire, each graze of his teeth made her clench tighter around him.

She moaned—a high, breathless sound—as her head dropped back. Her whole body pulsed, the pressure coiling tighter, unbearably tight. Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling, anchoring herself to him as the pleasure built.

"Look at me," Ben growled against her skin. "I need to see you."

She forced her eyes open, locking onto his. What she saw there undid her completely—desire, yes, but also something deeper. Fierce and terrified and open.

She broke with it.

Her orgasm hit like a wave crashing through her, thighs shaking, back arching, a strangled cry ripped from her throat as she shattered around him. Her body convulsed, every nerve on fire, her slick heat drawing him deeper as her walls fluttered around him.

Ben let go with a rough, broken sound, hips jerking up as he came hard, buried deep, clutching her to him like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth. The pulse of his release echoed through her, a warmth that made her eyes sting.

They stayed like that—locked together, drenched in sweat and breathless gasps, her forehead pressed to his, his hands cradling her like she was something breakable.

And maybe she was.

He kissed her again—slower this time, almost stunned.

As though he couldn’t believe any of this was real.

"I'm still here," she whispered against his lips, her voice shaking with promise.

As their breathing slowed and the world crept back in, with all its sharp edges and unfinished wars, they didn't move. They just held each other. Skin to skin, breath to breath, saying what they still hadn't spoken aloud.

Chapter 49

Benjamin

The penthouse is quiet.

But it's not peaceful.

Ben stands across from Julian, his body still taut with leftover adrenaline, his expression unreadable. He can feel Katherine's absence in the room—the lingering warmth of her skin against his still fresh in his mind, but her body now curled in his bed, exhausted from the night's events.

His gaze slides back to Julian, deliberate and unflinching.

The air between them doesn't sizzle—it cuts. Cold. Precise. Like the edge of something sharpened too long.

Ben studies his brother's face, searching for any hint of hesitation. There is none. He has always been comfortable in this darkness. Ben was the one who pretended to stand above it all, who maintained the illusion of clean hands while building his career.

Julian's gaze is steady. Measured. Dangerous. His posture relaxed in a way Ben's never could be—as if violence and retribution are simply tools to him, no different than a pen or a phone.

“We do this my way now,” Julian says—quiet, even. Not a threat. Just fact.

Ben doesn’t push back.

Doesn’t nod, either.

He just sits there, something shifting under the surface. Maybe he’s tired of waiting. Maybe he’s just tired.