Page 25 of Rafi

“It’s late,” I comment, my voice low. “Are you actually going to do any work?”

She gives me a look. “No. But I left my bag here, remember? Because a monster came along, breathed fire, then demanded I leave with him.” She smirks.

“Grab your bag; I’ll take you home.”

She rolls her eyes, but the faint pink creeping into her cheeks gives her away.

“There’s no need, Rafi. I can make my own way home.”

I reach out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. Her breath hitches, just slightly, and it’s enough to make my chest ache.

“You know,” I murmur, my hand lingering near her cheek, “I could just take you home and we can pick up where we left off.”

She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to figure me out. “You’re offering to play chauffeur now?”

I shrug, keeping my tone light. “I’m just saying, I’ll ride you home. Then I’ll ride you.”

Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. “The only thing you’ll be riding tonight is your motorcycle.”

I lean closer, just enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume, the same one that now lingers on my skin. “Maybe I like the idea of you needing me.”

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us moves. The air between us feels heavy, charged, and I can’t help but think again about our night together—my dick strains against my pants, ready to go again.

She breaks the moment first, stepping back and handing me the helmet. “Fine,” she says, her voice soft. “You can ride me home.”

A slow smile spreads across my face as I take the helmet from her. “I’ll be waiting.”

She shakes her head, but there’s a flicker of something in her expression—something soft, something dangerous.

I watch her walk into the building and the ache in my chest spreads. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m not just offering a ride. I’m already hooked, and I don’t think I could walk away from her even if I wanted to.

The thrumof the motorcycle fades as I pull up a block away from her house, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the quiet neighborhood. Tayana swings her leg over the bike and hops off, undoing her helmet with a quick flick of her fingers. Her dark hair tumbles free, catching the faint breeze, and I can’t help but watch her, the same way I have since the first time I saw her. Her grey eyes land on me before she busies herself with her bag.

She adjusts the strap across her chest, her movements quick and practiced, but there’s a tension in her shoulders she can’t quite hide. It’s almost like she doesn’t want to leave.I don’t want her to go.

Her tension reminds me that it was her request to drop her off a block away from her home. “They’re really going to roast me over this,”she mutters, referring to her bodyguards, as she hands me the helmet. Her voice is light, but there’s an edge to it.

I take the helmet from her, resting it on the bike’s handlebar and tell her not to go home.I want you with me.

Tayana throws reasons at me like stones, trying to carve out a distance I don’t want. Each one glances off me, except the one about her father. That one lands squarely in my chest, not because I’m afraid of him—I’ve dealt with men like him before—but because I know she’s right. If I push too hard, too soon, he may make things hard for us. For her. And right now, I can’t see anything beyond her.

She started as a question mark, an enigma I couldn’t quite figure out. But standing here, watching her pace nervously, sling her bag across her chest, and cast quick glances back at the house like the walls might close in on her, I realize she’s no longer just a mystery to unravel. Tayana Kamarov has turned into something more, something sharp-edged and consuming.

She’s become my obsession.

Her voice lingers in the air between us, soft and full of worry. I don’t blame her for it. Her life is woven into a web of rules and expectations, most of which seem to serve everyone else but her. I see it in the way her shoulders tense when she talks about her father, in the way she glances at the house like it’s a cage instead of a home.

She steps back, her hesitation palpable. “You’ll leave once I’m inside, right?”

I don’t answer right away, letting her twist in the silence. Finally, I smirk. “We’ll see.”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s playful. I don’t miss the way her lips twitch, like she’s trying not to smile. She turns, her steps hesitant at first, like she’s waiting for me to call her back.

I watch her go, her figure lit briefly by the glow of a streetlamp before the shadows swallow her. The space between us feels like it’s stretching, an invisible thread pulling taut as she walks away. My chest tightens, and for a second, I think about chasing her, dragging her back, and making her stay.

But not tonight.

Leaning back against my bike, I fold my arms and pull out my phone. The screen casts a faint glow in the dark, illuminating the smirk that’s still tugging at the corner of my mouth. I scroll through my contacts until I find her name, freshly saved, without a number attached. Her voice echoes in my head, her exasperated promise: “I’ll call you.”

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