The cool silk of the sheets was a sharp contrast to the feverish heat of our skin. I leaned down, burying my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the scent of her perfume mixed with the salt of her skin. I moved her arms up, pinning her wrists gently but firmly above her head, locking my fingers through hers. It was a gesture of total surrender and total protection.

​I slid between her thighs, my weight settling over her, pressing my chest flush against her full, heavy breasts. I could feel her nipples—hard and sensitive—teasing my skin with every breath she took. The friction was electric, a slow-burning fuse that made the air in the penthouse feel thick and heavy.

​Then, I began to grind.

​It wasn't the fast, aggressive pace of the club or the car; this was a rhythmic, agonizingly deep movement designed to make her feel every inch of me. Sasha let out a long, broken moan that vibrated against my lips as I kissed her again. She responded by hooking her legs around my back, her heels digging into my hamstrings to pull me even closer, desperate to close the microscopic gap between us.

​"Druski... please," she whispered, her voice a ragged plea.

​I didn't rush. I wanted to memorize the way her body felt as it molded to mine, the way her heat seemed to pulse in time with the city lights outside. We moved in a perfect, wordless synchronicity—a dance of shadows and sweat. With every slow thrust, I felt the walls she'd built around her heart crumbling.

I was returning the love she'd confessed with a physical intensity that left her breathless, marking her as mine in the quietest, most powerful way possible.

I pulled out slowly, the sound of our bodies parting echoing in the quiet suite. Sasha let out a soft, protest-filled whimper, her hips lifting instinctively from the silk sheets to find me again. Her eyes were glazed, shining with that raw, unfiltered love that had stripped away the "Sasha" persona entirely. She looked desperate, her body trembling from the sudden cold of the air between us.

​I didn't stay away long. I lowered myself over her, the heat of my chest pressing back into hers as I climbed on top, our bodies slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle. I reached up and locked my fingers through hers again, pinning her hands to the pillows.

​"You have no idea," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion as I looked down at her. "Just how lovely you look right now. No cameras, no lights... just you. You're breathtaking, Sasha."

​A soft, tearful smile broke across her lips, and she squeezed my hands tight.

​I shifted my weight, reaching down with one hand to guide myself. I teased her first, tapping the head of my cock against the smooth, rounded curve of her ass, making her gasp and arch her back in anticipation. Then, with a slow, deliberate pressure, I slid back into her wet, welcoming heat.

​The connection was instant and overwhelming. Sasha let out a long, shuddering breath, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt me fill her again. I began to move, my chest rubbing against her breasts, our fingers still locked together as we drifted into the final, most intimate act of the night.

I leaned down, pressing the full weight of my body into hers as I drove forward. The sound of her passion filled the room—a series of high, melodic moans that echoed off the glass walls of the penthouse. To keep the world out, I brought my mouth to hers, capturing her cries in a deep, soul-consuming kiss.

​The sound was muffled between us, a private symphony of gasps and sighs that stayed within the circle of our arms. Every thrust was a slow, heavy pulse that made her entire body vibrate against mine. With our fingers still locked together and our lips fused, the sensation was total; there was no room for anything else—no industry, no past, no noise. Just the rhythm of two people becoming one under the rising Hollywood sun.

​As I felt the final surge of energy leave me, I slowed the pace, lingering deep inside her and holding the kiss until her breathing finally began to mirror mine. We lay there, tangled and exhausted, as the violet dawn turned to a bright, triumphant gold.

I leaned over and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to Sasha's forehead, the scent of her skin—a mix of expensive perfume and the raw heat of our night—filling my lungs. She looked up at me, her eyes heavy with a beautiful, dazed exhaustion.

​"That was... everything," she whispered, her voice a fragile rasp. "I've been waiting for a man like you my whole life, Druski. Please... promise you'll never leave me."

​The vulnerability in her voice was the most erotic thing about the entire night. I didn't say anything; I just pulled her into the crook of my arm, letting her feel the steady thud of my heart. Within minutes, her breathing evened out into the deep, rhythmic hum of sleep.

​I reached for my phone, the blue light cutting through the shadows of the suite. A new message from an unsaved number sat on the screen: "Hi, handsome."

I tapped the profile, and a photo of Cami bloomed onto the display—likely taken in her office mirror just after I'd left, her hair still tousled and a predatory, satisfied smirk on her lips. I felt a dark spark of triumph, but I tossed the phone face-down on the nightstand. The Queen of the Vault could wait.

​I let my eyes close, drifting into a heavy, well-earned oblivion.

________

​[ONE HOUR LATER]

​The darkness was still absolute when a sharp, rhythmic THUD-THUD-THUD jarred me awake. It wasn't the polite tap of room service; it was the persistent, demanding knock of someone who felt they owned the space behind the door.

​I sat up, my muscles tight and my senses instantly on high alert. Beside me, Sasha didn't move, her body still tangled in the silk sheets like a golden statue. I stood up, grabbing a pair of lounge pants, and padded across the cold marble floor toward the foyer.

​I checked the peephole. My blood, already warm from sleep, turned to ice.

​Standing in the hallway was Volkov.

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