"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 whoyouare. 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.
24
MARA
The next morning, Ilya comes into my room as I’m getting dressed, not bothering to knock. I realize with a start that I forgot to lock the door last night after he left. I was so exhausted, so depleted from everything that happened, that it slipped my mind.
Now he’s standing in the doorway, his gaze hard, looking at me as I stand there in jeans and a soft plum-colored lace bralette.
“I see you’re enjoying more of what I purchased for you,” he says idly, and my jaw clenches. I can see his gaze sliding over me, heating as he takes in my half-naked torso, his gaze lingering where there’s a hint of nipple peeking through the lace of the bralette.
“I ran out of leggings,” I say shortly. “You ruined the ones I was wearing yesterday.”
“You ruined them.” He smirks. “You’d soaked through them before I even took them off of you.”
I glare at him, grabbing the soft blue, oversized sweater I took out of the drawer. He stands there a moment longer, and I jerk the sweater down over my breasts, turning to face him.
