Page 113 of Dangerous Beginnings

“You’re not telling me everything. Watching and protecting me from who?” I knit my brows as I follow him into the kitchen. He groans at my question and his body tenses. “Who possibly could be more dangerous than yourself?” I croak out a laugh, trying to dim the tension of our conversation and the situation itself. It does the exact opposite; it ignites something within him.

My laugh dies and my lips turn into a fine line.

“What a sweet compliment,” he gushes around the kitchen and nearly throws the cutting board onto the counter, a couple of vegetables following.

“Can you please talk to me?” I intend to move towards him. I push the cutting board away and push myself in between his arms that lean onto the counter. I snap my finger in his face as he’s trying to ignore me.

He’s moving in on me, almost squeezing me to death against the counter with his body as he continues to cut a red pepper. “Aslanov!” I slam his chest. I snatch the pepper and throw it away into the sink. His jaw clenches and finally, he looks at me, the knife still in his left hand behind me. “I’ll handle my safety, for what I need those two massive hulks?”

“I’m supposed to believe that?” Aslanov crooks out a devilish laugh, “You practically walked straight into my arms.”

I blush, ok he’s right. “I just want to keep you safe, okay? You know that I am shielding you. You know there is trouble, lots of it.”

He pushes me against the counter, closing me in. “I don’t intend to make you feel bad.” The statement clenched my heart. “I ensure your safety; it’s not of use for you to know all the details.’’

He hops me onto the counter with one swift motion, my arms immediately find their way around his chest. Snuggling my head into the crook of his neck I inhale his all-so-familiar scent.

“Okay,” I finally answer, leaving it as it is. He’s right, maybe I should not know. It might be better that way.

Aslanov’s hands moved behind me, cutting up our dinner. “Thank you for being so compliant,sweet girl.”

Lately, I have been a junkie. Never thought I would say that in my life. But it’s true, I am, and he’s my drug.

My lips slowly leave a trail of kisses on his inked stained neck. Aslanov slightly groans as he pushes me closer to him, allowing me. I move up and lightly suck on his skin until it turns red, an ever-so-tiny mark being left behind. I smile and he notices.

His chuckle fills the room, “You’re a dangerous addiction.” He whispers against my skin. I’ve become acquainted with Aslanov in the past couple of weeks. How he likes his coffee, how he sleeps, and how hefucks.

His lips slightly part and I press mine onto them, his familiar taste lingering onto my tongue like a serpent. Mint, smoke, and sweetness all mingled up.

“I need to cook,” he mumbles against my lips. “Feed your mouth.”

I kiss him again, longing for his rough hands on me. “You could feed me with something else.” The statement leaves me sooner than processed and he laughs at it.

“You’re such a bad girl Mrs. Brown.”

I giggle as I slightly bite his nose, his hand finds its way around the nape of my neck, roughly grabbing it.

His grip on the nape of my neck sends a shiver down my spine,the roughness of it at odds with the tenderness in his eyes. I don’t pull away, not from his hands or his gaze. If anything, I lean closer, my lips brushing his jawline, teasingly slow.

“Aslanov,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s not a plea, but it feels like one. His name falls from my lips like a prayer, and the weight of it seems to ground us both.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he growls, his lips finding mine with a ferocity that steals my breath. His kiss is commanding, a mix of frustration and desire that makes my knees weak even though I’m perched on the counter.

I thread my fingers into his hair, tugging lightly, which earns me another low groan. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me impossibly closer until there’s no space left between us. The knife he held clatters onto the counter, forgotten, as his focus zeroes in entirely on me.

“I’ll never let anything happen to you, Isabella,” he whispers against my lips, his voice rough but carrying a promise I know he’ll keep. “You’re mine to protect, mine to keep safe. Do you understand?”

I nod, words failing me as his lips trace the line of my jaw, his touch igniting a fire that blazes hotter than anything I’ve ever known.

But then he stops, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes, his hands cradling my face. His gaze is softer now, almost tender, though there’s still an edge of possessiveness lingering there.

“Finish your dinner first,” he says, his tone a mix of amusement and command. “Then we’ll deal with whatever that look in your eyes is asking for.”

I blink, momentarily stunned, before bursting into laughter. He grins, the sight rare and devastating, and steps back just enough to grab the cutting board again. The moment feels surreal—dangerous men in the other room, mafia secretslooming in the shadows, and yet here we are, teasing and laughing as if the world outside this cabin doesn’t exist.

I hop off the counter, smoothing my clothes and watching as he resumes chopping vegetables with a precision that’s as intimidating as it is fascinating. My fingers linger at my lips, still tingling from his kiss.

“Fine,” I say, my tone light but laced with affection. “But you owe me dessert later.”

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