Epilogue Mara #2
He moves around the table to where I’m sitting, and I tilt my head back to look up at him. His hand comes to rest on my throat, not squeezing, just holding, his fingers brushing against the diamonds at my neck. His collar, on my throat.
"This is beautiful," he says, his voice low. "But I don't think you have enough diamonds yet."
My heart stutters as he reaches into his pocket and produces a small velvet box. He opens it, revealing a ring that takes my breath away as he goes down to one knee next to me.
The ring is stunning—a bezel-set emerald-cut diamond in platinum, three carats at least, the thin band sleek and plain. It’s elegant and minimal and luxurious, exactly my style, and I stare at it, then at him.
"Six months ago, I would have demanded," he says quietly, his eyes locked on mine. "I would have told you that you were mine and expected you to accept it without question. But you've changed me, Mara. You've made me better—made me want to better. So tonight, I'm asking. Will you marry me?”
I stare at the ring, at him, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me.
Six months ago, if someone had told me I'd be here, accepting a proposal from the man who stalked me and kidnapped me and forced me into his world, I would have thought they were insane.
But that was before I understood what we could be together, before I learned that love doesn't always look the way we expect it to, that sometimes it's dark and complicated… and beautiful despite all of that.
"Yes," I whisper, and I know that there could never have been any other answer. "Yes, I'll marry you."
He slides the ring onto my finger, and it fits perfectly.
Then he's pulling me to my feet and kissing me, deep and possessive and tender all at once, and I kiss him back with everything I have, pouring every drop of love I feel for him into the kiss.
When we finally break apart, I'm breathless and dizzy and happier than I have any right to be.
We celebrate with champagne, making plans for our future.
Ilya breaks it to me that we’ll have to have a large wedding, the type of wedding that’s expected for the pakhan of two territories, and I agree, all the while thinking of Annie.
I haven’t told her who I’m with, what my life has become, and I’m not sure how to explain all this to her—how to bridge the gap that's grown between us over the past six months. It’s been the one dark spot in all of this, and I hate how much I’ve missed by being so distant.
"There's another surprise," Ilya says as we're finishing the champagne, his hand covering mine on the table. "Tomorrow. Something I've been planning."
"What is it?" I ask, but he shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips.
"You'll have to wait. But I think you'll be pleased."
I want to press him, but I've learned to trust his surprises. It’s important to him that I let him give me these things in his own time, just as some things are important to me.
So I let it go, and we leave the restaurant together, his hand at the small of my back as we walk to the car.
The driver takes us home, and in the back seat, Ilya pulls me against him, his lips at my ear.
"When we get home," he murmurs, "I want to see you wearing nothing but diamonds. I want to fuck you while you're covered in the things I've given you, wearing my collar, my ring. Mine.”
Heat floods through me. "Yes," I breathe, and feel him smile against my skin.
The penthouse is dark when we arrive, and Ilya doesn't bother turning on lights as he leads me to the glass window in the living room, facing my old apartment, where he used to watch me.
He reaches for the straps of my dress, sliding them down my shoulders until the silk pools at my feet.
His fingers hook in the edge of my panties, dragging them down my hips, leaving me bare except for his collar, the diamond and emerald earrings, and the ring sparkling on my finger as I press my palms to the glass.
“Just like that,” he murmurs. “Don’t move, kotenok.”
He sinks to his knees behind me, spreading my thighs as his tongue flicks out to caress where I’m already wet for him.
He groans as he tastes me, licking me in long, slow strokes, curling his tongue around my clit as he pushes me higher and higher, finding every spot that brings me to the brink.
His hand on my hip keeps me still as I arch my back, his tongue pushing inside of me, delaying my orgasm for only a moment before he returns to my clit, licking me for a few more blissful seconds before he sucks the sensitive flesh into his mouth, sending me flying over the edge.
I cry out, my breath fogging the glass as I grind back against his face, moaning with the exquisite pleasure as he licks me through my orgasm, letting me coat his tongue in my arousal before he stands up, breathing hard with his hand still on my hip.
He sheds his clothes, quickly, and then presses himself against my back, his cock a heavy weight against my spine as he leans in to whisper in my ear.
“I watched you make yourself come right here,” he murmurs, reaching between us to stroke his length with one hand as his fingers find my still-pulsing clit with the other.
“I waited for days for you to touch yourself for me. I didn’t let myself come from the day I rented this penthouse until you were finally there, in your bedroom, ready to come for me even though you didn’t know I was watching.
I orgasmed in my sleep once, dreaming about you, I was so needy, but I didn’t touch myself. ”
I moan, arching into his touch, feeling him stroke himself against my back. He angles his cock down, pressing the tip into me, and I lean back, a low whimper spilling from my lips as he sheathes the length of his cock all the way into me with one stroke.
“I came right against this glass,” he murmurs, “while I watched you. When you came for me, I couldn’t hold back. It felt so fucking good, coming with you. I swore I’d never touch myself again unless I was with you.”
He thrusts faster now, sinking into me with hard strokes. “I fucking ache for you when you’re gone, kotenok, when I’m gone, away from you. I don’t touch myself until I’m back home with you.” Another thrust, holding himself there for a moment. “It’s such fucking sweet torture.”
I moan, imagining him in bed, his cock hard, wanting me, denying himself.
“Next time, call me,” I whisper, my voice ragged.
“Or text me. Ask me to tell you what to do. Ask my permission to come. I’ll send you photos.
Tell you exactly how to touch yourself so you can come for me. Only me. Only when I let you.”
Ilya groans, his cock twitching inside of me. “Fuck, kotenok. Fuck, yes. And you do the same for me. Let me know when you want to touch that sweet pussy. Ask to come for me, devochka. Mara. Beg me. And I’ll beg you.”
He thrusts again, harder now, his fingers working my clit faster, urgently. “Come for me, kotenok. My love. My treasure. My diamond. Please.”
I feel him throb inside of me, feel how close he is, and the climax ripples through me, my back arching and my fingers clawing at the glass as I stare at the apartment where he watched me, imagining him here, stroking himself, spurting against the glass as he yearned for me.
“Come for me,” I gasp. “Come, Ilya. Right now.”’
His hips jerk, and I feel him flood me with his cum, spurt after spurt as he pins me to the glass, grinding against me as he groans my name into my ear. His cock throbs and pulses, his fingers still stroking my clit, and I’ve never felt so satisfied, so complete.
He slides out of me slowly and carries me to the couch, lying naked on it with me as he holds me in his arms. My ring catches the light from the city outside, and I look at it, stunned at how beautiful it is.
We fall asleep like that, together. In the morning, Ilya wakes me, and we both shower, him fucking me against the tiles again until we’re both satisfied. I get dressed and meet him downstairs, and he’s making coffee when I walk in.
I sit at the kitchen bar, looking at my ring, and Ilya glances over at me.
"Are you having second thoughts?" he asks, and I can hear the tension in his voice, the fear he tries to hide.
"No," I tell him honestly. "I'm just thinking about how to explain this to Annie. We’ve barely talked in months. She doesn't know about us, about any of this. She's going to be shocked."
"About that," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes me lift my head to look at him. "Your surprise is, well… I've arranged for Annie to visit. She'll be here in about an hour.”
I stare at him, my mind racing. "You invited Annie here? To the penthouse? Ilya, she doesn't know—"
"I know," he says calmly. "But you need to tell her. You need your friend back, Mara. I've watched you pretend everything is fine when she calls, watched you make excuses for why you can't visit. It's hurting you, keeping this secret. So I'm giving you the opportunity to tell her the truth."
I stare at him. “What if… what if she’s not okay with this? With you? She must know who you are… you were meeting with Elio that day. What if…”
Ilya smirks. “I’m sure that she will be. Just trust me on this, Mara.”
I want to ask what he means, but I can see that he’s unlikely to give me any more answers for now. I'm finishing breakfast when the doorbell rings, and my heart leaps into my throat. Ilya answers it, and I hear Annie's voice, bright and familiar and achingly missed.
"Ilya? What are you—Mara?"
I turn to see her standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock as she takes in the penthouse, and me, the obvious signs that I live here. She’s very visibly pregnant, and she looks confused and shocked as she stands there.
"Hi, Annie," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Come in. We need to talk."
Ilya excuses himself with a meaningful look at me, and then it's just Annie and me, and six months of secrets.