Page 25 of The Rules

But God, the way he reacted. The way his breathing changed, becoming deeper, more measured. The way his thighs tensed beneath her, his whole body going rigid with barely contained desire.

Kath watched his face, cataloging every micro-expression. The slight flare of his nostrils. The darkness spreading in his eyes. The way his lips parted just slightly before pressing into a hard line.

She saw it all. Every crack in his perfect control.

Every moment his resolve threatened to snap.

And something wild and reckless inside her wanted to push harder. Wanted to see just how far she could take this before he finally broke.

Kath's heart thundered in her chest as she leaned forward, letting her breath ghost across the shell of his ear. The scent of his cologne—expensive, masculine, devastatingly familiar—filled her lungs. Her body burned where it pressed against his, the thin barrier of lace doing nothing to hide how much she wanted this.

"You sure you don't want to touch, Mr. S?" The words dripped from her lips like honey, sweet poison meant to break his resolve.

She felt his sharp intake of breath, heard the way it caught in his throat. His control was slipping—not breaking, not yet, butfraying at the edges. The tension in his body spoke volumes about just how close he was to snapping.

"That would be a mistake." His voice was rough, darker than she'd ever heard it. The sound sent shivers racing down her spine, pooling hot and heavy between her thighs.

A mistake. The word echoed in her mind, carrying weight she couldn't quite process. Because if he touched her—if those hands finally claimed what they'd been denied—she knew neither of them would be able to stop.

Lips curve into a wicked smirk, taunting his restraint. Beneath her, he’s hard, every inch straining against the expensive fabric of his suit pants.

Then, because she couldn't resist pushing him further, testing just how far that legendary control could bend before it shattered completely, she rolled her hips. The movement was deliberate, calculated to drive him mad—a slow, sensuous grind that pressed her exactly where she wanted him most.

His fingers dug deeper into the leather armrests. But still, he didn't move. Didn't reach for her. Didn't break.

Not yet.

The sound he made pierced through her like lightning—raw and untamed, a growl that resonated through his chest and into her core. Every hard plane of his body turned to steel beneath her, his tension radiating into her thighs where they gripped him.

Leather protested as his fingers dug deeper. Katherine watched, transfixed, as his iron control began to fracture—caught the telltale hitch in his breath, felt the involuntary cant of his hips seeking her heat.

Desire slammed through her system like a drug, setting every nerve ending ablaze. Her body betrayed her, thighs clenching around him as need coiled tighter, demanding satisfaction.

This was madness. She'd meant to tease him, to prove a point. Hadn't expected her own defenses to crumble so completely, hadn't prepared for this bone-deep ache—

The sound spilled from her lips unbidden—soft, desperate, laying bare every ounce of her wanting.

The world suspended.

They froze, caught in the gravity of this moment.

Silence pressed against them like a physical weight, charged with ravenous hunger.

Then he exhales, rough and strained, and his cock twitches against her core. The sensation shoots through her like lightning—sharp, devastating.

Oh. Oh God.

Kath squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against the wave of pure need that threatened to drown her. This had to stop. Now. Before she crossed a line she couldn't come back from.

She shifted her weight, preparing to pull away—but something dark and reckless seized control. Her hips rolled down against him one last time, deliberate and cruel. Because after months of his demanding standards, his cutting remarks, his impossible expectations—she wanted him to break.

Wanted him to feel exactly what he did to her.

The sound that rips from his throat isn’t human. His thighs turn to stone beneath her, every muscle coiled with restraint. His legendary control? Fractured, splitting right down the middle.

And there it was. Not just desire. Not just tension. Power. Hers.

Benjamin Sinclair—the man who'd made her question every decision, who'd pushed her to her limits day after day—was completely undone. His breathing ragged, his body straining, his perfect composure shattered to pieces.