"Do they hurt?" I ask.
“Yeah.” He laughs shortly as he climbs onto the bed beside me, pulling me close. "But not when I'm with you."
We lie there for a moment, just holding each other, and I feel some of the tension start to drain away. But there's still so much we need to talk about, so many details we need to work out.
"We should talk," I say softly, after a while. "About what this looks like—boundaries and expectations and how we make this work."
Ilya pauses for a moment before he nods, finally, his hand stroking my hair. "You're right. We need rules. Agreements."
"Safe words," I say, and I feel him tense slightly. "If we're going to do this—if I'm going to submit to you in private—we need safe words."
He's quiet for a moment. "Maybe we should keep it simple. Yellow and red?"
"Yellow for slow down or pause, red for full stop," I agree. "And they work both ways. If either of us needs to stop, for any reason, we use them."
“That’s new. But I can do that.” His hand continues its soothing motion through my hair. "What else?"
"Surveillance." I take a breath. "I won't have trackers on me constantly. I won't have guards following me everywhere. But I'll keep location sharing on my phone—voluntarily. So you can see where I am if you need to."
Ilya stops briefly and looks at me, surprise clearly written across his face. “You’d agree to that?”
“This is about compromise, right?” I touch his cheek. “I have to compromise, too. And after what happened tonight, even I can agree that it’s good for you to know where I am.” I pause. “And if I ever feel like something is wrong, I’ll call you. Immediately." I cup his face with my hand. "If I feel something is off, even slightly, even if it seems like nothing—I call you. I promise. I won't take stupid risks, and I won't ignore my instincts."
"And when you travel for work?"
"I'll send you my itinerary. I'll check in regularly. But I won't have surveillance on me." I hold his gaze. "You have to let me do my job, Ilya. You have to let me have that part of my life."
He takes a slow breath. I can see how difficult this is for him. But he finally nods. “That’s very… reasonable,” he says finally. "But if you're traveling somewhere dangerous, somewhere with higher risk, I want the option to send someone with you. Not to watch you, but to be available if you need help."
It's another compromise. And a reasonable one, I can admit.
"As long as they stay out of my way and don't interfere with my work," I agree. I trace the line of his jaw. "And the art world connections? Using my gallery?"
"We'll start small. Test the waters. See how it works." His hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. "But Mara, if at any point you want out, if this becomes too much?—"
"I'll tell you. I promise." I squeeze his hand. "We'll figure this out together. We'll make mistakes, we'll have to adjust, but we'll do it together."
"Together," he repeats, like he's testing the word.
He reaches over to the nightstand, opening a drawer, and pulls out the diamond choker. He holds it out in his palm, the diamonds sparkling in the low light. "I want you to wear this," he says quietly. "But only if you want it. Only if you're choosing it."
I look at the choker, at this symbol of submission and ownership. Before, it felt like a chain. Like another way for him to control me.
But now, after everything we've been through, after everything we've agreed to—now it feels like something else—like a promise.
I take the choker from him, carefully. "Help me put it on," I whisper.
Ilya's breath catches. "Mara?—"
I lift the choker to my throat, and Ilya moves behind me, his hands coming up to help with the clasp. I feel the cool metal settle against my skin, and it feels like it belongs there.
Like this, the way we’ve chosen it, is finally right.
When it's fastened, I turn to look at him, and the expression on his face takes my breath away. He’s looking at me with a depth of emotion that makes my chest ache, possession and love in his gaze as he pulls me toward him.
"You're so beautiful," he says, his voice rough. "So fucking beautiful, and you're mine."
“I’m yours,” I whisper. “And you’re mine.”
