The interrogation continues. He makes me confess everything—every fantasy, every desire, every time I imagined him doing what he's doing now. What he did on the table. Against the wall. In my drawings that I thought would stay private forever.
When I try to hold back, when I get too embarrassed to continue, his fingers slow. When I tell the truth, his mouth rewards me, bringing me right to the edge before pulling back at the last second.
I'm a mess. Begging. Incoherent. Confessing sins I never thought I'd say out loud.
"Final confession," he demands. "Tell me you're mine."
"Again?" I manage. "Haven't we established this?"
"I'll never get tired of hearing you say it."
"Fuck, yes, I'm yours. Only yours. Now, please, I need?—"
Finally—finally—he takes me. Still bound. Still blind. And somehow I've never felt freer despite the restraints. Or maybe because of them.
He's everywhere. Touching me. Spreading my legs around his shoulders. The pleasure shifts—rough to soft, fast to slow, overwhelming to precise. I can't see. Can't anticipate. Can only feel.
Every nerve ending is on fire. Every sensation amplified by the darkness.
It's perfect.
It's too much.
It's everything.
When we're done, I'm breathing hard, trembling, and slick with sweat. I can positively say I’ve never felt better in my entire life.
I wait for him to take off the blindfold and untie me. To end this so we can curl up together.
Instead, he enters me again.
Rough. Really rough. No warning. No buildup.
"Ivan—what?—"
"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing anymore." His voice breaks. Not the controlled Pakhan. Not the merciless captor. Just Ivan. Raw. Vulnerable. "I killed Boris today. I'm alienating all my men. Turning my back on everything my father built. For you. For this."
He's moving harder now. Desperate. Not playing anymore.
"I've never felt more alive," he says against my neck, his breath ragged. "But I'm also watching everything crumble."
Then he's over me, fully, and I can feel his weight. His presence. "I'm trading my empire for you. My father's connections. Everything he built. The Petrov legacy. It's all crumbling because I won't give you up."
His grip bruises, anchoring me to him. "Promise me," he says hoarsely. "Promise you’ll stay. Because when this all burns down—and it will—I’ll have nothing left but you. No empire. No name. Just... you."
He rips off the blindfold. The light stings, searing through the dark. My eyes adjust, and he’s there—hovering above me, face bare, eyes wrecked. There’s no distance, no mask, no power left to hide behind.
And I think—God, he’s terrified. Not of the world. Not of losing control. Of losing me.
What am I doing? Should I do this? Is this the right time? He admitted he's throwing away everything. Generations of work. His father's memory. An entire empire. For me.
What if I'm not worth it? What if I let him down? What if?—
My mouth betrays my mind. "Ivan... I..."
"You what?" His voice cracks. "I NEED ANSWERS, LILA. Ineed to know this is real. That you won't leave when it gets bad."
The words tear out of me before I can stop them. "I love you."
