Chapter 1: Heat of the Turkish Night
The sultry air of Marmaris clung to Sasha Vlasova’s skin like a lover’s breath as she stepped onto the balcony of their hotel room. The Turkish summer night was alive with the hum of cicadas and the distant thrum of club music from the beachfront. At twenty-two, Sasha was a vision of untamed beauty—long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, sharp green eyes that cut through bullshit, and a body that demanded attention in her sheer white tank top and denim shorts. She wasn’t here to play the demure daughter. No, Sasha was a woman who owned her desires, and tonight, something dangerous simmered beneath her cool exterior.
Inside the room, her father, Dmitri, lounged on the bed, a glass of raki in his hand. At forty-five, he was ruggedly handsome, with a chiseled jaw and a body still hardened from years of manual labor. His eyes, dark and piercing, followed her every move. The tension between them had been building for days—stolen glances, lingering touches, a shared secret neither dared to name. But Sasha wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge.
‘Couldn’t sleep either, huh?’ she tossed over her shoulder, her voice dripping with a playful edge as she leaned against the balcony railing, her ass subtly arched in a way she knew he’d notice.
Dmitri chuckled, low and rough, setting the glass down. ‘Not with you prancing around like that, malyshka. You trying to kill me?’
She turned, locking eyes with him, a smirk curling her lips. ‘Maybe I am. What’s your excuse for staring, Papa? Thought you raised me to be a good girl.’ Her tone was mocking, daring him to cross the line they’d been tiptoeing around.
He stood, his presence commanding as he closed the distance between them. ‘Good girls don’t talk like that,’ he growled, his voice thick with something primal. ‘But you’re not a good girl, are you, Sasha?’
Her heart raced, but she didn’t back down. She stepped closer, her chest brushing against his, the heat of his body igniting a fire in her core. ‘Never was. Question is, are you man enough to handle me?’ Her words were a gauntlet, thrown with a glint of defiance in her eyes.
Dmitri’s hand shot out, gripping her hip with a force that made her gasp, though she masked it with a wicked grin. ‘Careful what you wish for,’ he warned, his breath hot against her ear. ‘I don’t play nice.’
‘Good,’ she shot back, her fingers trailing up his chest, nails grazing his skin through his thin shirt. ‘I don’t break easy.’
The air crackled with raw, forbidden energy as his other hand slid up her thigh, rough and possessive, while her own hands tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel the hard planes of his body. She could feel him, already hard against her, and a rush of heat flooded her, making her wet with anticipation. Their lips were inches apart, the scent of raki and sweat mingling as they stood on the precipice of something they couldn’t undo.
‘Last chance to walk away, Sasha,’ he rasped, his voice a mix of hunger and restraint.
She laughed, sharp and fearless. ‘I don’t run, Papa. Do you?’
And with that, the dam broke. Their mouths crashed together, a collision of need and taboo, as they stumbled back into the room, hands roaming, tearing at clothes, the promise of something explosive just moments away.
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