15. Rafi
15
RAFI
T he engine pulsates beneath us, the steady rumble vibrating up through my hands as Tayana holds on tight behind me. Her arms are wrapped around my waist, her body pressed against mine, and I swear I can still feel her naked body—soft skin against mine, the way her breath caught when I touched her, the way her body moved with mine under the stars. Even now, as she clutches her arms around my waist, her body pressed into mine, I can feel the steady beat of her heart as it breathes against my back.
The memory of the way she felt tonight is burned into me now. Her bare shoulders glowing in the starlight, her lips parted, whispering my name like it was the only word she knew. I’ve never wanted someone the way I want her. It’s not just desire—though there’s plenty of that—it’s something deeper, sharper, like a pull I couldn’t fight even if I tried.
The city rushes by in a blur of lights and noise, but all I can focus on is her warmth pressed against my back, the feel of her hands clutching me like she’s afraid to let go. I don’t want her to. I want to freeze this moment, keep her right here, away from the world and everything in it.
We pull up outside her office building, the bike rolling to a slow stop. I kick the stand down and cut the engine, the sudden silence almost startling after the steady roar of the ride.
Tayana climbs off, adjusting her skirt as she does, and the loss of her warmth makes my chest tighten in a way I don’t understand. She tugs the helmet off, her hair falling in messy waves around her face, and I can’t help but stare.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says, her voice light but cautious, like she’s still feeling her way around whatever this is between us. It’s hard to tell. We’re not together but we’re not apart. We’re two stubborn, strong willed creatures, but we’re fearful when it comes to the thought of us. And I’m not ready for this night to end.
I slide off the bike and lean against it, my arms folded, watching her. She fidgets with the strap of the helmet, her gaze flicking to the building behind her before landing back on me.
“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 thrum of 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.”
I believe her. But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving.
I glance at the street where she disappeared, my eyes narrowing as if I can see through the dark. The neighborhood isn’t dangerous, but that doesn’t matter. I don’t like the idea of her walking alone, even for a block.
Minutes tick by, slow and heavy. The night is quiet, the only sounds the hum of distant traffic and the occasional bark of a dog. I can feel my patience fraying, the elastic thread between us pulling tighter, threatening to snap.
I shift my weight, restless, my fingers tapping against the handlebar of the bike. My mind keeps replaying the way she looked at me before she left—like she wanted to say something but didn’t. Like she wanted me to stop her.
There will come a time, I know, when she won’t leave. When I won’t let her.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, stealing my breath. Tayana Kamarov doesn’t just occupy my thoughts; she’s taken them over completely. She’s not just my obsession. She’s my air.
My phone buzzes, snapping me out of my thoughts. Her number flashes on the screen, and my heart kicks up, quick and insistent that she didn’t call from a blocked number.
I answer on the first ring. “You’re home,” I say, not bothering to disguise the satisfaction in my voice that she called.
“Yes, I’m home,” she replies, her tone exasperated but soft. “Safe and sound, just like I promised. You can leave now.”
I chuckle, the sound low and quiet. “Maybe.”
“Rafi,” she warns, but there’s no real heat behind it.
“Goodnight, Tayana,” I say, my voice softer now.
She hesitates, just long enough for me to notice. “Goodnight, Rafi.”
The call ends, but I don’t move right away. I sit there in the quiet, the thread between us slackening but never breaking. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Eventually, I start the bike, the engine rumbling beneath me. The sound echoes down the empty street as I pull away, the faintest trace of her lingering in the air around me.