The grand ballroom throbbed with excess.
Crystal chandeliers poured golden light over silk gowns and tailored suits, laughter weaving through the scent of aged whiskey and jasmine. Jazz hummed softly from hidden speakers, its rhythm slow and indulgent.
In the center of it all stood Ivan.
He wore black — bespoke, severe — the cut of his suit hiding every secret it needed to. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Controlled posture. At 5'9, he didn't tower, but he didn't need to. Power bent toward him naturally.
His hazel-green eyes scanned the room with lazy disinterest.
Women noticed.
They always did.
His hair was styled clean into a sharp wolf cut, dark strands framing a face too beautiful to be safe. His jawline was precise, his mouth perpetually set as if amusement offended him. Desire followed him openly now — whispered invitations, lingering glances, bodies angling closer without permission.
Ivan accepted none of it casually.
He had a type.
Dark hair. Light eyes.
He told himself it meant nothing.
Across the room, he saw her.
Cascading black hair caught the light like liquid night. Pale green eyes — ethereal, piercing — locked onto his with unmistakable intent. Something twisted low in his chest, sharp and unwelcome.
Ivan set down his glass.
The crowd parted for him without understanding why.
Up close, she smiled — curious, bold. He murmured an invitation low enough to feel like a command. She followed willingly, fingers slipping into his as if it was inevitable.
They climbed the winding stairs of the old estate, the music fading behind them. The bedroom was dim, lit only by a bedside lamp that cast shadows along the walls.
The door clicked shut.
Ivan grabs a fistfull of her hair and moans at the silkiness then ravages her mouth until she is breathless. Holding her hand behind her back, he pressed her against the wall, moving in deeper with an intensity sharp enough to cut through steel. The lady pushes against his chest and notices something odd, but it's quickly forgotten under the pure scent of lust emanating from this not so elegant man that has a unique way he uses his mouth.
He kisses her until she moans into his mouth, a drop of tear coming out of her eyes, then he finally pulls back, breathing as hard as she is, her thighs becoming wet just staring at the figure in front of her that is holding back from ripping her clothes off.
He leans forward into her ears and says," I really dislike quiet sex."
The lights flashed across his eyes, and they flared. The lady notices something dangerous in his gaze, something feral. She has never seen such a pair of intoxicating eyes. Then as though under a trans, she lunges forward to him kissing him and running one of her hands through his chiseled body and the other through his hair.
He growls, "Fuck" and pushes her again onto the wall breath shaking showering her with neck kisses and roving all over her body with his hands, fondling and squeezing and undressing her slowly. Then as though he's taking claim of her he bites her neck softly to give her first hickey.
She let out a soft moan and called out "Ivan, please, touch me" she said with pleading eyes.
Ivan thrusts his hand underneath her dress and between her legs. He said into her ears softly, "You're dripping through your fucking pants". The lady moans and sunk her fingers deep into his skin as he rubs his hand against her panties. Her body instinctively started to react, back arched against the door and her hips started to move.
Body shaking, the heat emanating from each other, she opened her legs wider and grind against his hands and moaned "more, please more".
Ivan let out a chuckle, brought his hands out of her panties and put it into her mouth. She sucked on it and he let out a soft moan, pulling out his fingers from her mouth and grabbing her ass cheeks lifting her onto his body. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her clothes hanging on her waist leaving her top half and lower half bare, ready to be ravaged.
Her body moved as he sucked on her boobs, walking towards the bed. He places her softly near the edge of the bed and adjusts his tie while going down on one knee and says "you want my face buried in this wet pussy". She looks away bashfully and shakes her head. He laughs
"Of course you do". He spreads her legs wide and takes off her panties. Then he pinches her clit softly and she jerks. Then he rubs around her wet folds teasing the bud of her clit, she moans and arches her back and then he works his finger bit by bit while using his thumb to make circles on her clit.
The pace of it gradually increases and not long after, her body convulses, head and shoulders pressed into the bed, pelvis shaking rigorously against his hand. Hard contractions took her over and over again.
"Fuck yes" he moans out "cum allover my fingers" he pulls out, putting his hands into his mouth, "damn, you taste divine, i want to taste some more"
He goes down on both knees still towering over her and spread open her legs from her knees and leans in to eat her out, but pauses half way "Fuck" he said in spite as an unfamilia yet familia memory flashes through his mind. He stands up, face distorted into something dangerous and looks at the lady lying on the bed. She stares back looking scared and confused trying to understand what made him suddenly stand up then his words made her jerk in fear.
"Get out" he said
"What?Why? " she asked genuinely confused
"Get the Fuck out" he screamed at her and as though her worst fear came to light in front of her. She leaped off the bed stumbling onto the floor and picked her belongings and ran out the door. Her face looked like she had just narrowly escaped death.
"Demitri" ivan called out
"Yes boss" a bulky figure walked into the room that was left ajar. Demitri stands at a staggering 6 foot dressed in a suit that looks good for someone that has a knife scar like a slash from his eye brow to his chin, courtesy Ivan Kuznetsov.
"Take care of her" he said, waving his hand, gesturing at the hysteric female that just left the room.
"Yes sir" he said and exited the room.
Silence flooded the room.
Ivan stood alone, chest heaving, fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms. He hated that smile. Hated the memory it threatened to drag back into existence.
Later, contracts would be signed — non-disclosure agreements thick with legal threats. Everyone who touched him signed one.
And somehow, everyone who did… vanished.
Rumors spread quietly through the city.
They said Ivan Volkov was not human.
That he destroyed anyone who failed to satisfy him.
That intimacy with him was a death sentence.
Ivan didn't deny it.
Fear was useful.
And forgetting hurts too much.