The Sweetness of Obsession
Chapter 60
The Sweetness of Obsession
Isabella
I make my way inside the cabin again, using my sleeve to wipe sweat off my forehead. Running through these woods has become my new hobby, building some sort of a condition and wiping my mind clear.
Immediately I’m stopped, my body tenses, and I freeze as I notice the usual wooden table isn’t empty. There are four men seated, and only one of them I recognize: Dominik.
Smoke hazes in the room as it surpasses one dimly lit light bulb. The other three men stare at me like I’m some exotic animal they have never seen before. One of them is chewing on a toothpick, while another leans back in his chair and brings a cigarette to his lips. I hate smoking. I only enjoy the aftertaste when my lips find his.
Aslanov’s suit jacket lays carelessly open, white button-up beneath, no tie. Where is he?
I cough on the smoke that slowly lingers and finds its way into my nostrils.
“Potushi sigaretu.” The man looks behind me and immediately puts his cigarette out and throws the butt in the ashtray. Put out your cigarette.
The demand lingers from behind me and his Russian tickles my back equally cold and hot. I’ve never been involved in anything in his work business, it feels off.
I turn around, only to be met with broad shoulders and a shirt. I’m not tall, but he is immensely tall. I tilt my head up, surely meeting his gaze.
“What’s this?” I barely choke out as I nod at the table full of men I’ve never seen in my life. His gaze falls between me and the table. The atmosphere is tense and even though I should not fear him anymore, it always lingers . As he wants to stroll past me towards the table I stop him, unable to deny the empty space it leaves when he passes me. Strangely, these men scare me more than the boss who commands them. Aslanov stands behind me as he turns me around to face the table.
My eyes dart nervously between each of the men as they watch me with varying degrees of interest. One of them nods in acknowledgment, while another offers me a tight-lipped smile that does nothing to ease my unease.
Aslanov’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me forward until I’m standing in front of the table, facing his men head-on. “Gentlemen,” he addresses them, his voice carrying a weight that demands respect, “This is Isabella. She’s... important .”
I swallow down the rising tide from my morning coffee. I croak out a dimmed, “Hi.” They greet me with a wave or a ‘ privet ’. Remembering Aslanov has taught me this word, and I return it. They hint a sly smile at me, my pronunciation probably sucks. They are scary-looking, but not nearly as intimidating as the man behind me.
After a small couple of other exchanges, Aslanov dismisses his men. They obediently get up and greet him with a lowered gaze before exiting.
Once they left, I immediately turned to Aslanov, “You said it would be dangerous for me to be known, and now you let these people in here?”
“I need more people to be able to watch over you when I’m gone more often.” Gone? More often?
“Where are you going?”
Aslanov closes the door and crosses his arms over his perfect chest. “I have some important business to attend to, it won’t be too long.”
To watch over me? The statement makes me feel like a two-year-old. But that is what I am, a young easy target. “Are you expecting more trouble?”
“I always expect trouble, you know that.”
“Dominik will accompany me; I need someone here to watch for your safety.”
“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 he fucks .
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 secrets looming 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.”
His smirk is wicked, his eyes gleaming with a promise. “I intend to deliver, kroshka .”