Page 45 of The Rules

The powerful frame beneath her palms trembles with barely leashed need, flooding her with savage triumph.

She wants to watch him fall apart. Wants to own it. All of it.

His question slices through the thick air between them, voice rough as sandpaper. "You don't do this often, do you?"

She stills, feeling him pulse against her tongue. A subtle shake of her head sends electricity crackling along her nerves, this confession making her blood sing beneath her skin.

Something fractures in his expression—primal recognition flooding his features, eclipsing all pretense. The mask slips, revealing the hunter beneath as understanding crystallizes between them. His lips part with deliberate slowness, each syllable that follows striking Katherine's core with devastating precision:

"Good girl."

The praise strikes deep, molten desire flooding her veins.

Her thighs squeeze together helplessly as pleasure coils tighter and tighter. She should despise how those syllables undo her - loathe how his approval makes her ache to deserve more.

But Christ, she craves hearing them again with an intensity that steals her breath.

She takes him deeper still. His strangled groan tears through the air as his fingers twitch, betraying his desperate urge to seize control, to direct her movements.

Each calculated sweep of her tongue draws fresh tremors through his frame, his composure dissolving beneath her merciless attention.

"You have no fucking idea what you're doing to me." he rasps, the words scraping raw from his throat.

His powerful thighs shudder against her exploring hands, each ragged breath tearing from his lungs like shards of glass. She wields her mouth like a weapon, precisely calibrated to shred his legendary discipline. Pulling back until just the whisper of contact remains, she traces that ultra-sensitive edge with lethal deliberation.

A sound like broken glass tears from his throat. "Fuck, Blondie-"

His control finally ruptures, chest heaving as need consumes the last shreds of his discipline. His voice emerges wrecked and graveled: "Want me to pull out?"

Her pulse surges molten as she meets that scorching emerald stare, her denial a silent challenge. His gaze devours her, igniting every cell until she’s drowning in liquid fire, need pounding through her veins in a primal rhythm that echoes in her most intimate places.

Then—he reaches for her.

For her head. His hand engulfs the crown of it, fingers splayed possessively against her scalp. A claiming touch.

Not cruel—but absolute. It's the moment he shatters his own boundary, the one she's goaded him to abandon since their first heated glance. And now, he surrenders. Not to dominate.

Not to command. But to experience her—raw and unfiltered.

Electricity arcs through her as his grip firms and when his release crashes over him, he doesn’t hold back. He presses down, just enough to guide her deeper.

His climax rips through him with a feral growl that vibrates straight to her core. She welcomes it—welcomeshim—reveling in the heavy throb of his need spilling across her tongue, claiming every last flicker of his unraveling.

His hand anchors her, sure and unshaking, until she’s taken all of it—every tremor, every pulse, every ounce of the control he finally gave up.

When his touch softens, she withdraws with calculated grace, her tongue sweeping to savor the lingering salt of his pleasure. Victory sings through her blood as she drinks in the wreckage before her—his head fallen back, throat bared in abandon, that magnificent chest rising on ragged breaths.

Raw power, melted to liquid grace.

And she made it happen.

She's unmade him completely.

The knowledge rushes through her like the finest champagne, a high more potent than any drug. Nothing compares to this exquisite thrill - methodically dismantling such rigid self-possession until it crumbles beneath her touch.

Katherine's heart is still pounding violently in her chest, her body shaking from what happened. The taste of him lingers on her tongue, salt and masculine and dangerous. She can't tear her eyes away from the sight of him.

Her fingers ghost over his thighs, tracing the lingering tremors beneath crisp fabric, warmth bleeding through. Satisfaction burns through her veins as she rocks back onto her heels, preparing to stand. To walk away victorious, leaving him wrecked and wanting in her wake. And yet—something in his stillness warns her: the power just shifted.