the clink of ice against glass stopped. ben turned, his gaze heavy and unimpressed, looking at you like you were a child complaining about a rainy day.

“late?” he huffed , a sharp, condescending laugh catching in his throat. “i was working, doll, unlike you. don’t spend my day picking out jewelry and looking at m'self in the mirror. i’m the one keeping this god damn country on its feet. y'should be thanking me for having a place to wait at all instead of whining like a brat.”

as he went on, his footsteps got closer to you. the sheer mass of his gear making him look twice his size as he loomed over you. “isn't that right?” ben reached down, his leather-clad fingers— rough and smelling of old tobacco and expensive bourbon , hooking under your chin to force your gaze up.

“let’s get one thing straight , angel. you stay in the condo, paid for with my money. you eat the food i buy, you wear the clothes i pick out, and you sleep in the bed i provide.” his grip on your chin tightened just enough to be a warning. eyes searching yours for a spark of defiance he could snuff out. “now i don’t ask for much, but it’s time to show a little fucking respect.”

the air in the penthouse felt suddenly thin. the gaslighting was effortless, the raw, antiquated authority of a man who truly believed your time was his to waste.

“'nd you were rude with that attitude , kid. don't appreciate being greeted with lip service when i get home from a long day,” he continued, his thumb pressing firmly into the dip beneath your lower lip. “s'only fair you make it up to me.”

ben , like usual , didn't wait for a response. he stepped back, the metallic clicks and rasps of his suit’s fastenings cutting through the silence as he began to undo the congested layers. peeling back the reinforced fabric until reaching into the opening of his boxers.

with a grunt, he freed himself. a cock you never got sick of. angry-looking, a heavy weight of salt-scented heat that looked almost as lethal as the shield he carried around all day. the shaft flushed a dark, bruised purple. veins standing out like jagged cords against the rigid length of him. a bead of pre-come sat at the blunt, swollen tip, glistening under the expensive chandelier light.

it was a vile, physical demand for the "respect" he’d just lectured you about.

ben gestured to the floor at his feet, his expression turning into something wilder. you moved, your silk robe whispering against the marble as you sank to your knees before him. hands clumsy as you reached for the meat of his thighs. your movements were hesitant, a bit too cautious for his liking.

ben let out a huff of dark amusement, his hand winding into your hair to tilt your head back, exposing your throat. he looked down at you, his thumb tracing the line of your plush lower lip with a deceptive tenderness while the tip of his cock twitched just inches from your face.

“i know you can do better than that,” ben murmured, his voice lowering into a gritty, commanding register that always made your knees weak. “now go on and show me.”