Chapter 23 Mara #4
Ilya lets out a long breath. "Your only option is me," he says finally. "I'll protect you. I'll keep you safe. I'll make sure Sergei and anyone else who might want to hurt you never gets close."
"I don't rely on men to protect me,” I snap. "I've never needed a man to keep me safe, and I'm not going to start now."
"This isn't about what you need or what you want. This is about reality." Ilya takes a step closer, and I want to flinch back, but I don’t. I hold my ground. "You're in danger, Mara. Real danger. The kind that doesn't care about your independence or your pride."
"And whose fault is that?" I hiss "Who made me a target? Who decided to stalk me and send me gifts and break into my apartment? Who made me visible to people like Sergei?"
“I did,” Ilya admits, his voice hoarse. "I did all of that. And I'd do it again."
"Why?" I shout the word, my eyes burning as if I’m about to cry, and I tell myself I won’t. I will not. "Why me, Ilya? Why did you have to fixate on me? Why couldn't you just leave me alone?"
"Because I couldn't." His voice is a growl, low and passionate, and he takes another step toward me. “God fucking help me, Mara, I couldn’t. The moment I saw you, I knew you were meant to be mine. You are the only woman who ever could be."
I shake my head fiercely. "I don't understand you. I don't understand any of this."
"You do. You just don't want to admit it." He reaches for me, and I finally step back. If I let him touch me, I might give in again. "You felt it too, in Boston. That connection. That recognition. You knew, even then, that something was happening between us."
"What I felt in Boston was attraction. Chemistry. Not this—" I gesture around the room, at the penthouse, at the situation I’m trapped in. "Not kidnapping and stalking and being held prisoner."
"You're not a prisoner," Ilya argues.
I tip my chin up and glare at him. "Then let me leave."
The challenge hangs in the air between us. We both know he won't let me leave. We both know that despite everything I’m saying, despite my anger and fear and resentment, I’m his now.
"I can't," Ilya says quietly. "Not while Sergei is still a threat. Not while you're in danger."
"Danger that you created."
"Yes." To his credit, he doesn’t try to deny it. "Danger that I created. And danger that I'll eliminate. But until then, you stay here. Under my protection. Safe."
"Safe." I laugh bitterly. "I don't feel safe. I feel trapped. I feel like I'm losing myself piece by piece, and you're just standing there watching it happen like it's exactly what you wanted."
"It is what I wanted." Ilya closes the distance between us again. "I wanted you here. I wanted you under my roof, in my home, where I could keep you safe and make you understand what you are to me. And yes, I wanted you to surrender. To stop fighting. To accept that you belong to me."
"It was a mistake,” I say flatly. "What happened in your office was a mistake. I was exhausted and overwhelmed and I wasn't thinking clearly. It won't happen again."
I see him flinch, his eyes darkening, narrowing. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do mean it,” I fire back. "I'm not going to be your possession, Ilya. I'm not going to wear your collar and pretend that this is normal or healthy or anything other than what it is."
"And what is it?" he snaps, his jaw clenching. I’ve struck a nerve, and I know I’m on dangerous ground now.
"Obsession. Control. A sick fantasy that you've convinced yourself is… something more than what it is.”
"I know you better than anyone." Ilya stalks toward me, and I back up without thinking, my stomach twisting with mingled dread and arousal as I retreat until my legs hit the side of the bed.
"I know what you want, what you need, what you're afraid to admit even to yourself.
I know that you felt what I felt in my office, that you wanted it as much as I did, that you're only calling it a mistake now because you're scared of what it means. "
“You’re dangerous,” I spit out. “You’re a criminal who kidnapped me.
This is all about what you want, what you need, what you've decided I am to you.
You haven't asked me what I want. You haven't given me any real choices.
You've just taken and taken and taken, and now you're expecting me to be grateful for it. "
“I expect you to accept it—”
“Accept what?” I glare at him, tipping my chin up to meet his eyes. “Being your property? Wearing your collar and submitting to you and pretending that’s romance?”
"It is romantic." Ilya’s voice rises, thick with anger. "I've given you everything. I've protected you, provided for you, shown you more of myself than I've shown anyone.”
“You can’t force this. And I don’t know who you are.
Just that you’re a criminal, a leader of criminals, and you’re keeping me against my will.
So until you’re open with me, until you tell me something about yourself that makes me think you’re a man and not just a monster, I’m not going to put on your fucking choker. ”
I stare into his eyes and repeat what I said a moment ago. "What happened in your office was a mistake. I was weak and exhausted and I gave in to something I shouldn't have. But it won't happen again. I won't let it happen again."
"Mara—"
"No." I shake my head, cutting him off. "I'm done with this conversation. I'm done with you pushing and demanding and expecting me to just accept everything you're doing to me. I need space. I need you to leave."
Ilya pauses, and for a moment I think that he won’t do it. That he won’t leave. But his eyes narrow, resting on mine, and then he spins on his heel, stalking toward the door.
He opens it with a jerk and slams it with a harsh sound, and then I hear him retreating, walking away to… somewhere else.
Somewhere away from me.
I should be relieved. But instead, I feel… hollow. Like I wanted him here after all. Like I wanted that fight to end with him inside of me again, instead of this: me alone and aching, still trapped and nowhere closer to understanding what’s happening to me, and to my life.