Chapter 30 Ilya
ILYA
With her mouth on mine, her hands gripping my arms, there’s only one thing I can think about. "I need you." The words come out raw, almost broken. "Right now, right here, I need you."
I expect her to protest. To say this is wrong, that we shouldn't, that we need to leave. But instead, she nods, her hands already working at my belt.
"Yes," she breathes. "Yes."
I drop the knife, the metal clanging as it clatters to the concrete, and then I shift away from the body, onto the concrete floor heedless of the pooling blood as I bring her astride me.
She has my pants open in seconds, and I’m yanking her leggings down, freeing one leg as she settles atop me again.
There’s a desperate, violent intensity to this that I’ve never felt before, even in the most heated moments with her. This feels like something new, like we’ve crossed a line, like I’ve brought her into my world even as I’ve begun to give her the trust she asked for.
I saw what she’s capable of on her own. I saw it before; I just couldn’t let myself believe it. She’s capable, strong, and even without me, she could survive anything, I think.
She deserves someone who will fight to trust her to be able to take care of herself. Someone who will push their own fears aside for her.
She frees my straining cock and I lift her up, my bloody hands gripping her hips hard as I seat her on me in one hard thrust, dragging her down against my hips.
She cries out, throwing her head back, and I don’t wait to let her tease me.
I put her in the position of control, but I have every intention of fucking her just as hard as I can.
It feels primal and raw, fueled by adrenaline and death and the knowledge that we almost lost each other.
There’s nothing gentle about it. I can't be. My hands grip her hard enough to bruise, my teeth find her throat, and when she gasps my name, I thrust up into her harder, dragging her down against my hips with every stroke as she rocks against me, her nails digging into my chest through my shirt as she meets every thrust with a ferocity that matches my own. She kisses me hard, biting my lower lip, and I fuck her harder, thrusting up into her as she grips me with her thighs. She’s claiming me as surely as I’m claiming her, and I lift one bloody hand, leaving a handprint on her skin as I wrap my fingers where the necklace I gave her should be.
There’s death and darkness all around it, and she’s my only light.
I feel her tighten around me, hear her breath catch, and I know she's close. I press my forehead against hers, my eyes locked on hers, and I watch as she comes apart, feeling her clench around me as she cries out her pleasure, gripping my cock tightly as she gives herself over to the pleasure.
She’s wild and dangerous, and she’s mine.
My cock throbs, my climax rushing white-hot up my spine as she spasms around me, almost painful in its intensity as I spurt inside of her. The relief is more than physical, a groan of pure pleasure tearing from my lips as I fill Mara with my cum.
She trembles against me, breathing hard, her palms flat against my chest. She leans into me and I can feel her heartbeat against my chest, proof that she's alive.
That we're both alive.
Slowly, I slide out of her, helping her adjust her clothes. Her legs are shaking, and I keep my hands on her waist, steadying her. We're both a mess, clothes disheveled and blood-stained.
“Mara.” I whisper her name, pulling her close, and I feel her breathe out.
“I know,” she whispers. "I needed it too."
I pull her close, wrapping my arms around her, and I just hold her—this woman who's become everything, to me who's seen my darkness and stepped into it with me. Who killed a man by my side and didn't break.
"Say it," I murmur into her hair. "Say you're mine."
I need to hear that what we just did, what we just shared, means what I think it means. That she's not going to walk away now that the adrenaline is fading, now that reality is setting in.
Mara pulls back slightly, looking up at me, and I see something shift in her expression.
"I want to be yours," she says carefully. "But Ilya, I can't be a possession. I can't be something you own and control and keep locked away."
She hasn’t relented. It isn’t surprising, but a part of me, the part that I don’t know if I can ever fully quell, rebels against it.
I want to argue, to tell her that's exactly what she is—mine to protect, mine to keep safe, mine to control.
But I force myself to listen, because I almost lost her tonight.
Because my need for control, my obsession with keeping her safe, almost got her killed.
"What are you saying?" I ask, my voice tight.
"I'm saying I need to be your equal, not your possession." She takes a breath, and I can see her gathering courage. I can see in her face that this is the last time, my last chance. That it’s now or never, if I want to keep the woman I love.
"I need to keep my career. I need honesty from you—no more secrets, no more keeping me in the dark about what's happening. And I need freedom. You don’t watch me, you don’t follow me. You let me go and I come back home to you.”
My gut twists. It goes against everything I am, everything I've built my life on. Control is what keeps me alive, and letting go of it, even a little, feels like stepping off a cliff.
But then I think about her face when I left for the warehouse. The disappointment in her eyes. The way she looked at me the morning after, with my collar on her throat before she took it off because I couldn’t give her what she needed.
"What kind of freedom?" I ask, swallowing hard.
"I need to be able to go to work without a dozen guards following me. I need to be able to see my friends, live my life, make my own choices." She pauses. "I need to know that you trust me enough to let me exist outside of your control."
Trust. The word feels foreign, dangerous. I've never trusted anyone completely, never ceded control over anything important. But Mara is asking me to trust her with her own life, her own safety, the thing that means the most to me.
She's asking me to trust her not to leave. To trust her to be able to take care of herself.
"And if I can't?" The question comes out harsher than I intend. "If I can't let go of that control?"
"Then we don't have a future." Her voice cracks, but she holds firm. "I can't live in a cage, Ilya. Even a beautiful one, even one built out of love.”
I want to argue. But the words stick in my throat, because I know she's right.
I've been so focused on keeping her safe that I've been suffocating her. So obsessed with control that I've been pushing her away.
“And if I can do that?” I ask quietly. “If I say yes?”
Mara's expression softens slightly. "If you can give me that—my career, honesty, freedom—then I'll give you everything else.
" She reaches up, her fingers tracing my jaw.
"In private, in our home, I'll wear your collar. I'll be yours completely. I'll submit to you, give you whatever pleasure you want from me. I’ll crawl for you, beg for you, because I want you as much as you want me. I’ll trust you with that, if you can trust me to know what’s best for my own life.”
The image her words paint makes my breath catch. Mara, collared and willing, giving herself to me completely. It's everything I've wanted, everything I've fantasized about since the moment I saw her.
It's a negotiation. A compromise. She's offering me everything I want in exchange for the one thing she needs the most—freedom.
I force myself to think about it—what it would mean to let her go to work without guards, to trust her to come back to me.
About what it would mean to be honest with her, to let her into my world instead of keeping her separate from it.
To believe that she will be safe without me constantly monitoring her, keeping her behind the safety of walls I control.
It terrifies me. But the alternative—losing her because I can't let go—terrifies me more.
“I don’t have to just be something beautiful you keep,” she says quietly. “I can help you. I can be a partner in more ways than just romantically.”
I blink at her, confused as to what she’s talking about. "What?"
“I can be a part of your world. I can help your businesses. I can—”
I stare at her, not understanding. "Mara—"
"Listen to me." She shakes her head, waving a hand at me. "Art is one of the best ways to launder money. You know that, right? I have clients who I’m pretty sure already do that. My gallery, my connections in the art world—I can help you expand your operations."
For a moment, I can't process what she's saying. She's offering to help me. To use her legitimate business, her reputation, her connections, to further my criminal enterprise.
She's not running from my darkness. She's running toward it.
"Do you understand what you're saying?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at her. "What you're offering?"
She nods firmly. "Yes."
"If you do this, you're not just connected to me. You're complicit. You're part of the organization." I grip her shoulders, making sure she's looking at me, making sure she understands. "If I go down, you go down. If my enemies come for me, they come for you. There's no going back from this."
Her chin tilts up, that familiar defiance. "I know."
"Mara—" I let out a slow breath, unsure if I love her more for this or if she’s scaring the shit out of me.
"I killed a man tonight, Ilya." Her voice is steady, unflinching.
"I’ve killed one before. I'm already complicit.
I'm already part of your world, whether you want me to be or not.
" She pauses. "The only question is whether you're going to let me be useful, or if you're going to keep trying to protect me from something I've already chosen. "
I stare at her, and I realize she's right. She's already in this. Already marked by what we've done together. Trying to keep her separate, trying to protect her innocence, is pointless now.
She's not innocent anymore. And she doesn't want to be.
"You could have a normal life," I say, giving her one more chance to back out. "You could walk away from all of this. I'd let you go, if that's what you really wanted. I'd make sure you were safe, make sure you had everything you needed."
I don't know if I could actually let her go, though I hope I’d find it in myself to do it, now. But I need to give her the option, need to make sure she's choosing this with full knowledge of what she's giving up.
Mara laughs and cups my face with both hands, forcing me to look at her. "I don't want normal. I want you. Your darkness, your obsession, your world—all of it. But only if you choose all of me too. My strength, my independence, the fact that I’m more than just something you possess."
The words hit me, and I feel like I’m finally able to see after being blind for an eternity. She's not asking me to change who I am. She's asking me to accept who she is. To see her as an equal, instead of something fragile that needs to be protected.
I think about what that would mean. Mara, working beside me instead of being kept separate.
Using her talents, her connections, her intelligence to help build something together.
Coming home to me at night and submitting completely, giving me the control I crave in private while maintaining her independence in public.
It's everything I want and everything I'm terrified of, all wrapped up in one impossible offer that I can’t possibly refuse.
"I won't be perfect at it," I say finally. "Letting go of control, trusting you to be safe without me watching—it goes against everything I am."
"I know."
"I'll probably fuck it up. I’ll probably try to control things I've promised not to control." I pause. “I want security cameras at your gallery. I won’t watch you… or at least, I’ll try not to. But if something happens, I need to be able to see the footage and know how to find you again.”
She swallows. “Okay,” she says finally. “I can understand that.”
“And I need you to be willing to forgive me if I fuck up. But I’ll try.” I pull her close, pressing my forehead against hers. "For you, I'll try. I'll do anything for you, even try to be better than I am."
"That's all I'm asking." Her voice is soft as she leans into me. "Just try.”
I kiss her, and this time it's different. It’s not desperate or violent. It’s the most tender kiss I’ve ever given, that I’ve ever felt, as I try to pour everything I haven’t yet said into it, giving her all of me as I hold her in my arms and know she wants to be there.
That she’s chosen me.
“I’m yours,” I say softly. “I’ll do my best to be what you need from me.”
"And I'll be yours," she promises. "Completely yours. I'll wear your collar. I'll submit to you. I'll be everything you need me to be, as long as you let me be everything I need to be too."
It's a deal. A compromise. A new beginning.
I seal it with another kiss, and I don’t want to let her go, but I know we need to get out of here. "We should go," I murmur reluctantly. "Kazimir's probably having a heart attack out there."
Mara laughs, and the sound is almost normal. Almost like we're not standing in a warehouse full of bodies, covered in blood, having just negotiated the terms of our fucked-up relationship.
"Probably," she agrees. She looks at Sergei’s body, and I feel something in my chest tighten.
"No regrets?" I ask quietly.
She turns to look at me. "No regrets," she says. "Not about anything.”
I believe her. I don’t know how we’re going to navigate this in reality, what pitfalls we’ll face in the future, but I know that we’re both doing something we’ve never done before.
As long as we’re together, I think there’s a chance that we’ll succeed.
Mara leans up, and kisses me, bringing me back to the present.
“Take me home,” she whispers.