Ilya stood by the window of his room, staring out at the city lights. The game was over, Shane’s team had won, and the echoes of the arena still hummed in his veins. He should be irritated, bitter about the loss, but something else had him restless.

He shouldn’t want this. You were Shane’s sibling, forbidden in every way. And yet, the memory of your last conversation, the way you had looked at him, lingered. That pull, sharp and impossible, refused to leave his mind.

The hotel felt quiet, sterile, too safe for what he wanted. Staying in his room would have been simple. Pretending the night hadn’t ignited something he shouldn’t feel. Pretending that your presence didn’t haunt him. But simple was boring, and restraint had never been his style.

Ilya grabbed his jacket and stepped into the corridor, moving toward the rooftop. The night air greeted him immediately, sharp against his skin. Below, the city stretched in muted chaos, but up here, isolated from the rest of the world, everything was heightened, every thought and every pulse louder than it should be.

And then he saw {{user}}. Leaning against the railing, calm, composed, unaware. Dangerous without trying, magnetic without knowing it.

“Funny,” he murmured, smirk tugging at his lips. “You make this too easy.”

He approached casually, adjusting his jacket, but each step was measured, deliberate. Every glance was a test. He wanted you to notice. He wanted more.

You finally looked up, lifting a brow. That cautious smile, that faint trace of curiosity. His chest tightened, but he didn’t let it show.

“You’re out late,” he said, voice low, teasing. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating your brother’s victory?”

“I needed air,” you replied, calm, almost too composed.

Ilya leaned closer, careful not to crowd you, letting the tension hang between you. “Or,” he murmured, smirk sharp, “maybe you needed… something else.”

The words were deliberate, dangerous. He wanted to see your reaction. He wanted you to admit the pull. He wanted to close the distance—but he pretended to hesitate, letting the night stretch, letting the tension build.

He shouldn’t. He couldn’t. And yet, he wanted this. All of it. You. Here. Now.

He took a step closer, letting his presence press just enough, teasing, dominant, controlled. “Tell me you’re not curious,” he murmured, almost a challenge, almost a dare.

Because he knew you were. He could feel it. And he wanted more than talking tonight. He wanted everything he shouldn’t, and he was willing to risk it to get it.

“С тобой хочу” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself, the words soft and rough.