Page 42 of Stricken

He passes me one of the helmets and slips the second one over his head smoothly, as though it's an extension of himself.

I fit mine too, feeling the cool interior mold to my skull with the snugness of security—borderline claustrophobic but necessary. His fingers are deft yet firm as they adjust the straps under my jaw, briefly brushing against skin with urgency and tenderness in equal measures. "All set now, Romeo," he murmurs.

Without further ado, I get into the driver's seat, the buttery leather molding to my form like a lover's embrace. The scent of the car is mixed with the scent of Vlad's cologne and danger as he settles beside me. His presence is both electrifying and unnerving. I can feel the heat of his gaze as it rakes over my profile, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.

"You better hold on,caro," I yell at him, grinning through the helmet.

To that Vlad only grins back.

We buckle up and I push the start button. The engine roars to life. The vibrations course through me, setting every nerve alight. My pulse quickens. Hands tighten on the wheel. Cock grows hard and happy.

I floor it.

The Ferrari leaps forward. Wind howls. The world blurs.

Adrenaline floods my system.

The track unfurls before us, a ribbon of shiny asphalt begging to be conquered.

"Cazzo!" I yell, exhilarated. "Fuck yeah!"

I lose myself in the dance of man and machine. Each turn is a challenge, each straightaway an invitation to push harder. The vehicle responds to my every command, like it's an extension of my will.

"Mio Dio!" I shout over the engine's roar. "This is better than sex!"

"Careful, there. You might hurt my feelings!"

I laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within me. It's been too long since I've felt this unburdened, this alive. The business pressures and the constant shifting of power melts away with each mile. Lap after lap, the world narrows to the track ahead and the man beside me. He's quiet, mostly just watching me.

"You should see your face right now!" Vlad shouts after a particularly nasty turn I manage to defeat.

We are on a straightway again and I risk a glance at him, and suddenly the edges of my vision go dark. His steel-gray eyes lock onto mine, intense and searching. The track, the car, the speed—it all disappears for a fraction of a second.

In this instant, there's only us.

Time seems to stretch and compress simultaneously. I'm hyper-aware of every detail: the slight furrow of Vlad's brow behind the visor, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the curl of his fingers against the leather seat.

The spell breaks as we hurtle into the next turn. Reality crashes back, but something fundamental has shifted. This moment of connection, of open honesty, feels more dangerous than any business deal or family feud.

I tighten my grip on the wheel, fighting to regain control—of the car, of my emotions, of the precarious balance we've struck. But deep down, I know it's futile. We're accelerating toward something neither of us can stop.

* * *

The engine's purr fades to silence as I ease the Ferrari to a halt. The empty track before us is a ribbon of asphalt shimmering in the growing heat with the distinct fresh tire marks. My heart still races, though. Whether from the drive or Vlad's proximity, I'm not sure.

"This place is incredible," I say, running a hand through my hair as soon as I remove the helmet. "You own it?"

Vlad's lips quirk into a rare half-smile as he settles his own helmet into his lap. "Not yet. Rented it for today, but I'm considering a purchase."

"Of course you are." I chuckle, shaking my head.

Vlad's eyes, usually so guarded, now openly smolder with barely contained desire. I find myself removing my seatbelt and leaning toward him, drawn by an invisible force.

"Your driving isn't bad, Romeo," he breathes, his voice husky.

"Is that so,caro?"

Vlad shifts in his seat, turning to face me. "Say that again."

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