Page 104 of Dangerous Beginnings

A smile clings itself onto my lips. “You know what assuming gets you?”

Aslanov blurts out a laugh against my wet and hot lips. “You learn fast.” He grins softly as his lips connect with mine. A passionate kiss and I want it to drown me.

“Now get up,” he states, brushing a stray of hair out of my face.

“I’m not your dog to command around,” I state back as I cross my arms even though I know he’s never going to lose that attitude.

“Mylove,light of my dead eyes, would you please do a pleading man the kindness of walking back to the cabin?”

I stay still for a moment and smile.

Chapter 55

Playing with Fire

Isabella

Days have passed.

Every dawn feels the same, a quiet stillness where the world outside the cabin seems to hold its breath. I wake before the sun has fully risen, the cold side of the bed a stark reminder of his absence. It’s almost cruel, the way his warmth lingers on the sheets but not on me. The faint scent of him—smoke, leather, and something distinctly him—clings to the air, taunting me with the promise of his return.

He’s always gone before I stir, and I’m left pacing the cabin, restless and aching with questions he refuses to answer. He keeps me in the dark, but I know better than to be ignorant.

He is gentle with me in ways I never expected, almost tender, as though I am something precious he is terrified of breaking. But beneath that tenderness, there is a storm, one that rages silently behind those piercing green eyes.

My feelings for him have grown in ways I can’t quite explain, impatiently and uncontrollably, like wild vines twisting around my heart. It terrifies me how deeply he’s gotten under my skin, how much I crave him—not just his touch, but his presence, his laugh, even the way he scowls when he’s frustrated. He’s become my gravity, pulling me in no matter how much I try to hold onto the remnants of the life I once knew.

But this isn’t the fairytale I imagined as a little girl. I’m no princess, and Aslanov is no prince. If anything, he’s the villain—the dangerous, unpredictable man I should have run from the moment I met him. And yet here I am, locked in this cabin of myown volition, waiting for him like Rapunzel in her tower. Only my tower isn’t made of stone, and my captor doesn’t keep me here by force. I tell myself it’s my choice, but deep down, I know I’m tied to him in ways I don’t fully understand.

The cabin has become a strange sanctuary, a world apart from whatever chaos he’s wrapped up in. I’ve found ways to occupy myself while he’s gone—reading the books scattered around the shelves, sketching by the window, wandering the woods around the lake. But no matter what I do, my thoughts always circle back to him. I find myself glancing at the clock, counting the hours until he returns. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly I’ve fallen into this rhythm, waiting for him like he’s the sun and I’m the earth, spinning in orbit around him.

It’s 4 p.m. as we sit at the table, Aslanov deep’s voice filling the cabin as he tries to teach me some more Russian words. He has been giving me lessons of some sort, and so far, I’ve been doing awfully.

Yet he’s been a patient teacher. I’m more focused on his lips rather than the sounds coming out of them. But he figured it would be better to learn some of the language since I’m here and since it’s his native tongue. I’m trying to mimic the sounds he’s teaching me and the simple words. I stumble over most words, my tongue struggling to wrap around the unfamiliar syllables.

Aslanov chuckles at my effort, “You’re doing welllove, Russian is not an easy language, you’re still making progress.”

“Okay, let’s try again,” I mumble, irritated, not wanting to accept my defeat. Aslanov nods, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Good, repeat after me;privet.” I repeat after him, and a couple more words after that. Although these are just themost basic words, they already seem to confuse me. We haven’t had the time to start reading classes. Aslanov says he’ll teach me after I know how to speak more properly.

“Okay next;spasibo,” the word hints something different in my brain. It’s the first word he had spoken to me, the first time I saw him, in prison.

I echo the word back to him, my voice quiet. “What does it mean?”

“It means thank you,” he replies, his gaze fixed on me, as though trying to read the thoughts slipping through my wandering mind. For a moment, his answer surprises me—so ordinary, so straightforward. I had expected something different, something layered with meaning only he could decipher.

At the time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it, something unsaid beneath his simple explanation.

An hour later, without warning, Aslanov slams the book shut, the sharp sound echoing through the room. He moves quickly, gathering my notes from the table.

“Thanks for trying to teach me,” I mutter while balancing on the back legs of the chair. Aslanov puts the book back in the bookcase and before I know it, he pushes my shoulder, making the chair collide with the floor. Now all the legs are positioned on the floor again.

“You’re going to fall like that, and you’re welcome.”

I purse my lips together. Aslanov’s lips come close to my temple and press a warm gentle kiss against it.

We haven’t had any other sexual encounters after our encounter; only kissing.

I’m starting to notice he wants to give me space and time. He’s calmer, gentler. However, I’ve not forgotten who I’m here with, and reminders linger everywhere.

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