“I thought about it,” she admits, her eyes locked on mine. “A lot. What it would feel like to be with you.”
“And now you will find out,” I say, moving closer. Her breath hitches as the space between us narrows.
“Pablo’s no longer a threat,” she says, changing the subject. Deflecting. “I’ve been cleared to return to my apartment tomorrow.”
The words hit like ice water. She’ll be gone. The daily proximity, the careful dance we’ve been doing, all of it ending. The thought of losing access to her, of going back to empty sessions with some other therapist who doesn’t see past my walls, it’s unacceptable. She’s mine now, whether she realizes it or not.
“Then tonight matters more than I thought.”
“I can’t be your therapist anymore,” she says finally.
“Good.” The word comes out raw. “I don’t want Dr. Agapova. I want you.”
“I broke every professional code, wanting things from you I shouldn’t.”
“What things?” I ask, voice dropping to that low register I know affects her.
She tries to look away, but I catch her chin, tilting her face back to mine. “Eyes on me, little doctor. What things?”
“You,” she breathes. “I want you.”
“Want me to what?”
The question hangs between us. She knows what I’m doing, making her say it, own it, commit to it. Making it impossible to pretend this is something that just happened.
She shivers at my tone, and I see it, the way danger calls to her, the way my intensity makes her pupils dilate instead of making her run. She needs this. Needs me to be exactly what I am.
“Say it.” I reach up, fingers barely grazing her cheek. “I want to hear the words.”
“I want you to kiss me.” The confession spills out breathless. “I want you to touch me. Make me forget every rule I’ve ever followed.”
The honesty in her voice, the trust, it does something to me. Something I’m not prepared for. This brilliant, composed woman is offering herself to me completely, seeing the monster and wanting it anyway.
“And after?” I ask, thumb tracing her lower lip. “When you remember who I am? What I’ve done?”
“I already know who you are.” Her hand comes up to cover mine, warm and sure. “The man who protected a child. Who chose mercy over revenge. Who looks at me like I’m precious.”
The words hit deep. She sees past every wall I’ve built, every mask I wear. Sees the man I’ve been trying to become instead of the monster I was.
“I’m dangerous, Mila.” But even as I say it, I’m leaning closer, drawn by her gravity. “You should be afraid.”
“I am afraid.” Her eyes never leave mine. “But not of you. Of how much I want you.”
The admission breaks something loose in my chest. She’s not just offering her body. She’s offering trust I don’t deserve but desperately want to keep.
“I won’t be able to let you go,” I warn, my control fraying at the edges.
“Then don’t.”
Two words. Simple. Devastating.
She’s choosing this. Choosing me. The broken, dangerous man who should be the last person she trusts with her heart. But she’s here anyway, offering herself with a courage that humbles me.
I frame her face in my hands, studying every feature like I’m memorizing her. This woman who walked into my controlled world and turned it upside down. Who makes me want to be more than I am while accepting exactly what I’ve been.
I slide my hand into her hair, fingers tangling in the silky strands as I tilt her head back.
“You like when I take control, don’t you?” I murmur against her ear.
