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“Goddamn it!” I slam my fist against the mat in frustration. “Stop teasing me!”

Z looms over me, his expression shifting with primal satisfaction. “You wanted to feel something else,” he reminds me, his fingers trailing up my inner thigh with feather-light pressure. “This is what you’re feeling instead. Need. Want. Desire. Desperation.”

I hook my leg around his waist, using the leverage to flip us as I straddle him, pinning him to the mat as I position myself above his straining cock.

“My turn,” I growl, sinking down onto him in one fluid motion.

The sensation of him filling me is exquisite, a breathtaking blend of pleasure and pain that wipes every other thought from my mind. For this moment, there’s no Collector, no impossible mission, no countdown ticking away the hours. There is only this. Z’s powerful body beneath mine, the delicious stretch of him inside me, the way his fingers grip my hips with bruising force, grounding me in something raw and real.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his head thrown back as I begin to move. “Vesper?—”

I set a brutal rhythm, using him with single-minded purpose, chasing the high coiling in my gut. He slides his palms up to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples with just enough pressure to draw a gasp from my lips. When he pinches, I cry out, my pace stuttering.

Z takes the opening, surging up to claim my mouth in a bruising kiss before flipping us with ease. He hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, the shift in angle making every thrust hit harder, each one a jolt of pleasure that ripples through my core and fans the ache blooming in my limbs.

“On your knees,” he rasps.

I obey without hesitation, rolling onto my stomach and pushing up onto all fours. He positions himself behind me, one hand steady on my hip, the other tangling in my hair at the nape of my neck, tugging just enough to arch my spine and bare everything to him.

“This is what you need, isn’t it?” His breath is hot against my ear as he lines himself up. “To lose control. To let someone else take over.”

“Yes,” I gasp, pressing back against him, needy and breathless. “Please.”

He thrusts into me in one hard, claiming stroke that punches the air from my lungs. His grip tightens, holding my head back as he finds a brutal rhythm. Each snap of his hips drives me forward, the mat burning beneath my palms as I scramble for purchase.

Then suddenly, his fist tightens in my hair and yanks me upright against his chest. My back arches sharply, the shift making every stroke feel sharper, fuller. His other arm snakes around my throat, applying just enough pressure to make my pulse hammer against his skin.

“Fuck, I can feel you quivering around my cock. You like this, don’t you?”

I can't answer, can barely breathe as his fingers tighten just enough to restrict my airflow without cutting it off completely. The edges of my vision begin to blur, spots dancing at the periphery as oxygen becomes precious. The sensation is terrifying and exhilarating all at once, complete surrender, complete trust.

“Good girl. I want to feel your body arching for air, trembling under my control…knowing every second that you’re mine.” He thrusts, matching the rhythm of my beating heart. Thud. Thrust. Thud. Thrust. Over and over again.

“You feel that?” he growls, his mouth at my ear, hips relentless. “That helpless little flutter in your chest? That’s mine now. Just like the rest of you.”

My breath stalls—sharp, desperate—his hand a vice of dominance around my throat, and he feels it, groans against my skin like he owns every quiver, every gasp. Each thrust feels more intense, more consuming, as if Z is claiming not just my body but something more essential. The pressure in my core builds to an almost unbearable level, my muscles clenching around him as I teeter on the edge.

“Let fucking go, baby.” His voice is rough and filthy in my ear, each word scraping down my spine like a live wire. “Let go of everything, Vesper. The pain, the fear, all that control you cling to…I want it gone. I want you wrecked. Ruined.Mine.”

His hand tightens in my hair, his other gripping my throat, owning every breath, every whimper.

“Don’t hold back. Not tonight,” he snarls, hips snapping into mine. “Scream for me. Shatter for me. Give me every dirty, desperate piece of you.”

His hand releases my throat just enough for me to gasp a desperate breath, and something inside me fractures. The careful control I've maintained since walking into my father'sstudy—since learning my grandfather's identity, since seeing Alex alive—splinters into a thousand sharp-edged pieces.

I scream. The sound tears from my throat, primal and raw, unleashing everything I've been holding back. Z pounds into me mercilessly, giving me exactly what I need—oblivion, release, a moment where I don't have to be strong or calculated or brave.

“That's it. Give me everything. All of it.”

My orgasm rips through me with violent intensity, my body convulsing around him as pleasure blurs everything else. I’m dimly aware of sobbing his name, of my nails sinking into his forearm hard enough to draw blood. Z follows with a guttural roar, his hips slamming into mine one last time as he spills inside me.

We collapse together onto the mat, a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and ragged breathing. Z's arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest as aftershocks ripple through me.

For several moments, we lie in silence, my breathing gradually slowing to match the steady rise and fall of Z's chest beneath my cheek. The world outside this room seems distant, temporarily held at bay by the sanctuary of his arms.

“Thank you.” My body aches in a dozen different places, each twinge a reminder that I'm still here, still fighting, still alive. “For knowing what I needed even when I didn't.”

He presses his lips to my temple, the gesture unexpectedly tender after everything we’d just done. “I always know what you need, moya koroleva. It's my job.”