Page 64 of Dangerous Beginnings

I tremble lightly at his tone. His warm breath comes close to my ear, “Do not move an inch.” Goosebumps appear everywhere on my pale skin. His presence is gone after a minute, leaving me completely alone.

Reminders of the past flow in my mind as his question lingers through my mind. Images of him in prison come back to lifeand so do the images of me in the cell he held me in. I better behave. As I kneel there, the minutes into hours, the ache in my knees grows more pronounced with each passing moment. But still, he remains indifferent, focused solely on his work as if I were nothing more than a mere afterthought. It has given me a bellyache. I feel guilty. I feel like a disappointment. He’s manipulating me because the sole thing I crave right now is his touch or even his attention. And that’s exactly what he planned. And even though I’m aware of it, I can’t shake the feeling and want to get away. His words hit me like a punch to the gut, the sting of his rejection burning like a branding iron against my skin. And as I sit there, alone and forgotten in the corner of his room, regret fills me for the action I have committed.

As the hours pass, I remain in my designated spot, my knees growing stiff and sore with each passing moment. Despite the discomfort, I dare not move, determined to prove my obedience and earn back his favor. His Russian voice occasionally lingers through the room as he speaks on the phone. But there is no attention towards me at all.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I hear his footsteps approaching. My heart leaps in my chest as he stands before me, his presence looming over me like a shadow. And then, to my surprise, I feel his hand gently brush against my head, his touch sending shivers down my spine. It’s a small gesture, but it fills me with a sense of warmth and reassurance, a silent acknowledgment of my efforts to please him. And I lean into it.

“You have done well,” he says softly, his voice a low rumble that sends a wave of relief washing over me. Butterflies fly in my stomach as I hear his words, a mixture of gratitude and longing swirling within me. But sure enough, after a moment’s hesitation, he gestures for me to rise. With a beating heart, I push myself to my feet, every muscle protesting the movement. Everything hurts, my knees are barely able to hold my body up. Idon’t meet his eyes. I’m not sure I have earned that.

“Back to your room,” he suddenly commands, his voice firm but not unkind. I nod with irritation, unable to meet his gaze as I turn to leave, the ache in my heart growing with each step.

Before I open the door and drag myself out of his room I hesitantly wait.

My stomach twitches as I look at the door handle, he’s denying me.

“No.”

The moment the door slams shut, I feel it—his presence closing in around me, suffocating and oppressive. Before I can react, he pushes me hard against the cold, unyielding wood, his body pressing into mine, trapping me. His grip on my red ponytail is brutal as he yanks my head back, forcing my eyes to meet his. I can’t look away.

His fingers tighten around my hair, pulling it sharply, and the sting makes tears well up in my eyes. I try to fight it, to pull away, but I can’t—his hold is unbreakable. I whimper, the pain sharp, but it’s his eyes I can’t escape. He’s so close now, his breath hot on my face, and my lips tremble under his gaze.

I hate this—hate how vulnerable I feel in this moment, how he’s reduced me to this. But I can’t let him see my fear.

“You don’t get to just send me away like that,” I hiss, my voice barely above a whisper. My body is trembling, but I refuse to give in. Another whimper escapes my mouth, and I curse myself for it.

His mouth hovers dangerously close to mine, and I feel the heat radiating off him. “It’s with the best intentions for you,” he says, and the cold, calculated tone makes my blood run cold.

“Don’t make me laugh,” I manage to choke out, still trying to fight, trying to push against him, but it’s useless. I can’t break free. His grip tightens even more, his fingers like iron around my ponytail.

“You do nothing with good intentions for anyone but yourself,” I hear him growl, and the words cut through me like a blade.

An evil smirk plays on his lips as the moonlight glows into his piercing green eyes. My body vibrates with heat. With one swift move, he presses a blade against my throat while his body presses me into the door. His dark silhouette leans over me like a dark shadow. “Think twice before opening your mouth again, is this what you want?” My pulse quickens. “I’m not your gentle romance boyfriend from the little princess books you have read.”

“I’m shocked,” I state sarcastically as his eyebrows raise and a wider evil smile exposes on his lips, his dimples appear and his eyes gleam in the dark.

“Who says I even want you?” The words leave my lips way sooner than they get to be processed in my head.

Now the smile turns into a laugh, “well…well…really?”

He connects the tip of the blade with my chin, positioning it so if I open my mouth, it will cut me. His face comes close, inches away from mine.

“If I put my hand up this skirt,” he pauses while letting go of my ponytail.“Howwetwould you be for me?”

My cheeks stain red and there is no denying what can be felt. An awful redness spreads on my face, I can just feel the blood pumping through my skin. His hand reaches lower without him ever breaking eye contact with me. My chin is forced in place by the blade, making it impossible for me to move my gaze away from his. His fingers leave a trail on my skin, slowly reaching under my skirt. His finger presses against my black lace panties.

“You’re soaked and I haven’t even touched you yet solnyshko.”

I whimper against his touch. Suddenly he spins me around while throwing the knife onto the floor. My back presses against him and his hand wraps around my throat from behind. My hands immediately fly up to his hand and arm cutting off my airway. His hand doesn’t budge a little as I try to push it away.His grip is like stone.

Out of nowhere, a knock on the door is heard and Aslanov’s hand goes from my throat to my mouth. I struggle against his grasp as his lips come near my ear, “shh,silence.”

Casually he answers to the voice on the other side of the door. It’s a male voice but I have no idea what they are saying. Aslanov’s other free hand reaches down towards my stomach and further. His hand finds its way into my panties and a finger presses against my slit. I go still as he clamps my mouth shut, Russian sentences coming out of his mouth close to my ear as he’s talking to the person outside the door. As he speaks a finger enters me. A muffled sound leaves my lips, stopped by his hand. His finger slips in and out, causing me to burn with arousal. Not much later he adds another finger, and my moans become louder into his inked stained hand.

A couple of minutes later the conversation dies and Aslanov’s hand dissolves from my mouth back to my throat. I whimper, filled with lust as he presses me against his back. He’shard.

“Feel what you do to me, “he mumbles in my ear.

His grip is so strong that it cuts off most of my air, and I’m unable to answer. I try to catch my breath. He walks me over to his bed, laced with black silk sheets. Precisely how I imagined his bedroom to look like. Once we reach the bed he lets go of me, pushing me onto it. Immediately he hovers over me, grabbing my wrists and pinning them to the mattress above my head.

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