TWENTY-EIGHT
Aliya
PRESENT
I lean against the railing of the stands, waiting for Milan to come back.
He was right when he said that everything disappears in this place. Riding a motorcycle takes away the fear. It’s liberation, not just risk, danger and excitement. And most importantly, it’s freedom.
The feeling of the wind whipping against you, the weightlessness and the way the world around you blurs into a single tunnel of colors and sounds feels like a beautiful high.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t brake when Milan ordered me to. Usually, I never have control over anything.
“Aliya?” A deep voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
A stranger in a motorcycle helmet stands in front of me. His broad shoulders press against the fabric of his tight-fitting motorcycle suit, his muscular arms straining as if trying to break free. I can feel the intensity of his eyes through the visor.
“Excuse me?”
But my breath catches as the stranger removes his helmet. His strong jawline, high cheekbones and blazing brown eyes suddenly fill my view.
His dark hair is cut short, emphasizing his chiseled features even more. He looks almost like a marble statue, carved from the finest material. Yet his penetrating gaze is anything but cold.
And he feels so … familiar .
“Tristan?”
“And I thought you’d forgotten me.” He shakes his head with a laugh. “Our Lia is now attending the Stoneview High, hm?” Fine lines and wrinkles form around his eyes as he scans my school uniform.
That nickname and those laugh lines.
But that’s the only thing that’s stayed the same.
“You’ve really … changed.” I examine him from head to toe.
We still follow each other on social media, but I haven’t noticed much about him since he’s not very active.
Back then, he was anything but tall and muscular. I remember him often getting teased for not having the same build as the other kids his age. And I never thought I’d see him again on a racetrack, especially in a motorcycle suit.
“You haven’t changed at all. Still as funky as ever.”
When we were kids, I was the epitome of boundless energy. How ironic that I could enjoy my time so freely back then while now I cling to the last shred of hope to keep going.
“You’re wrong. I’ve changed,” I murmur with a melancholy smile.
In the past, when we used to run through the streets together, the world felt carefree. Every moment was fun, every second precious and unburdened. Everything was so simple.
Now it feels like the weight of the world is resting on my shoulders. The joy of those days has been replaced by a deep, gnawing resignation that consumes me a little more every day.
“If you ask me, I see no change.” He ruffles my hair, leaving it in a wild mess. I let out an annoyed groan.
“What are you doing here?” I ask while trying to fix my hair.
“I could ask you the same thing. Since when are you into motorcycles, huh?”
“I-”
Suddenly, a strong hand yanks me back by the arm and I let out a short yelp as I stumble and almost fall. Two strong arms wrap around me and hold me firmly in place.
Before I can see Milan’s anger on his face, I feel it. It pulsates in the air, thick and oppressive.
Slowly, I raise my eyes but freeze when I am confronted with the darkness itself. His face is hardened, his jaw tense and there’s a dark intensity in his eyes that sends a chill down my spine.
His eyes gleam black.
Dangerous.
Incurable.
This Milan in front of me isn’t scary, he’s terrifying.
He looks like he’s ready to murder Tristan, tear him to pieces, burn him alive, all without feeling any guilt.
“Milan Shane. Isn’t it?” Tristan’s harmonious voice trills in my ears, drawing my attention again.
“We haven’t had the chance to meet yet. I’m Tristan. Tristan Dallas.” He extends his hand, but Milan’s grip around my waist tightens, forcing me to stifle a gasp.
When Milan doesn’t make any move to take Tristan’s hand, I decide to intervene, feeling flustered. “Tristan and I-”
The words die in my throat.
“I know who you are.” Milan’s voice is icy and dangerously quiet. “Keep your fucking hands off her.”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. But Tristan seems to find the whole situation amusing. “Looks like I’ve hit a nerve. So you’ve heard of me?”
He doesn’t appear the slightest bit intimidated by Milan’s threatening tone. “The famous Milan Shane. You have quite the reputation, but the rumors about you don’t do justice to your possessive streak, do they?”
Famous? Rumors?
“That’s a warning,” Milan growls. “Keep your hands off her or you’ll regret it.”
A lump forms in my throat, sealing my lips shut.
Before Tristan can respond, Milan yanks me away from him like I’m his prey. Stunned, I follow his long strides, unable to form words or break free from his iron grip.
His hand grips my arm so tightly it hurts, and his face is a mask of dark determination.
I’ve seen Milan Shane angry before, but never has he lost his temper like this.
When we reach his car, I finally find my voice and am hit by a wave of rage. “What the hell was that?”
He ignores my question and stares at me with an ominous glint in his eyes.
With a swift motion, he pushes me against the side of his car, causing me to gasp as a sharp tug runs through my back. The metallic impact vibrates through my body, and I hold my breath momentarily as the pain pulses.
“Shut up,” he hisses. “Don’t say a single fucking word.”
The coldness of his fury surrounds me like an impenetrable fog. I press my trembling lips together and withstand his piercing gaze as my heart pumps loudly in my chest.
He leans closer to me, his breath hot on my skin. I can feel the heat of his body against mine, the hard muscles of his chest pressing against me.
“Are you doing this on purpose?” His lips trail along my earlobe while his hands press against the cold metal of the car behind me. “Are you trying to test me?”
My voice flutters. “What are you talking about?”
“I told you to shut up.”
Slowly, he pulls his hand up and brushes it across my cheek before running it through my hair, gripping it, and roughly yanking my head back, exposing my throat. I let out a gasp, caught between the pain and the ecstasy of his touch.
“Don’t you get it yet?” His tongue leaves a glowing trail on my skin. “When I see someone else touching you, I want to murder.”
He lets his mouth wander to my earlobe, then takes it between his teeth and bites down. A soft moan escapes my lips and my head tilts further back.
“Are you enjoying this?” He slides his hand lower, down my waist and hips, running along the outside of my thigh. “Do you want me to lose control? Do you want to see how far you can push me? How far I’d go to claim you as mine?”
I know I should be scared. I’m in danger.
But still, I can’t move or breathe. All I can do is let out a quiet, shaky breath as his fingers trace my skin agonizingly slowly.
“No, I think you enjoy being at my mercy.” His words come in sharp, harsh breaths. “I think you want me to lose control and do unspeakable things to you without waiting for your permission.”
His fingers slide under my skirt, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. My whole body trembles under his touch.
I want him with every fiber of my being, but I know better than to give in to my desire. The realization that we’re in a parking lot cuts through the haze of lust.
My cheeks blush with embarrassment at the thought of being caught in such an intimate position. Especially by Tristan.
“Stop,” I whisper hoarsely, trying to grab his wrist. “Not here. Someone … Tristan-”
“Say his fucking name again, and I’ll fuck you hard against the car with no regard for who might see.”
I swallow. Oh.
My words catch in my throat as his fingers begin to draw lazy circles on my inner thigh, so close to the spot where I need him most.
Images of his body pressed against mine swirl in my head, my moans echoing across the empty parking lot. Heat floods my veins at the thought of my fantasies becoming reality.
He yanks up my skirt and the cool air hits my bare thighs. I close my eyes, every fiber begging him to continue. He pulls my panties down as I press harder against the car.
“Don’t. We can’t … This is crazy, you sick asshole.”
I gasp as his fingers slide higher, gently rubbing over my most sensitive spot.
“Don’t you feel it?” His fingers teasingly circle my entrance. “You enjoy being at my mercy so much. It’s like you were made for me. And I’m going to take good care of those desires.”
I feel his hardness pressing against me, and the thought of what’s about to happen makes me dizzy.
“You’re wrong,” I say with difficulty. “This isn’t what … I-”
The words are stifled by another gasp as his finger thrusts into me.
“Then why are you so ready for me, sweetheart? Look how you swallowed me.”
My nails scratch against the paint of his car as I struggle to maintain control. He adds a second finger, plunging into my pussy, and my willpower crumbles. My mind is hazy, clouded by the sensations flooding my body.
“I …”
“What’s wrong?” His voice is seductive. “You seem a little flustered. Are you … enjoying this a bit too much?”
“Go. To. Hell,” I pant as his fingers explore my inner walls. Waves of pleasure ripple through me, and I tremble under his touch.
A low, husky laugh escapes his lips, his fingers driving me further into madness.
“Such language,” he murmurs. “What happened to ‘ We can’t do this here ’?”
Slowly, almost tenderly, he kisses my neck, his teeth gently grazing over my heated skin. “But I like it when you fight me. It makes me want to push you even harder.”
His fingers penetrate deeper, eliciting moans and gasps from my lips that I can’t suppress. The sound of my own voice seems to send a dark, possessive glint into his eyes, and he leans in close to murmur softly words into my ear.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Keep making those beautiful sounds for me. Let me hear how good it feels when I touch you.”
I cling to him, my body quivering under the onslaught of sensations, my breath coming in short gasps as I try to hold back the desperate moan threatening to spill out.
“I’ve barely started. And look at you, writhing and panting like a cat in heat."
A soft, pleading cry leaves my lips as his fingers tease, twisting and driving me wild with need. The heat between my legs builds, an aching longing only he can satisfy. I clutch onto his shoulders, my nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.
“I … Please-”
My body arches instinctively toward him, responding to his touch as if he’s magnetic.
“You’re mine.” His teeth graze my neck and collarbone. “You belong to me. You won’t let anyone else touch you.”
His words trigger a violent reaction deep within me. Something destructive builds in sync with his movements, waiting to be unleashed.
What’s wrong with me?
“Say it.”
A part of me wants to comply, to surrender to him completely, but another part of me resists, fighting to hold onto my dignity.
“N-no,” my voice is barely audible.
“Say it.” There is something dangerous in his voice, something dark and possessive that both scares me and arouses me further.
His movement decreases in intensity, as if he wants to stop. My body trembles under the aftershocks of lust and disappointment flickers inside me.
“No …”
“Say it, and I’ll let you come.”
I whimper, desperate for release, but my pride and defiance hold me back. His dark gaze locks onto mine, waiting for an answer. I can see the burning desire in his eyes, the hunger.
“Yes,” I manage to say slowly as his pace picks up.
“Say it.” He pounds harder into me.
“Yes!” I scream as stars fill my vision. “I won’t let anyone else touch me!”
And I fall over the edge of an abyss. I feel like I’m flying, floating in a world of sensations and emotions that I never want to leave.
He’s marked me, claimed me as his own and I’ve allowed it.
“Good girl.”
He brings the fingers that were inside me to his lips, licking my essence off his hand. Never taking his eyes off me, he watches me as my body still hums with pleasure. My mouth goes dry, and a flicker of heat stirs in my belly again.
“Mark my words. You keep your fucking eyes on me.”
I nod wordlessly.
I’m fucked.
I lock myself in my room as soon as Milan drives me home. My legs are still shaking from the pleasure I experienced in the parking lot. But at the same time, I feel deeply ashamed of everything that happened.
How could I let him bring me to orgasm?
I can still sense the warmth of his hands on my body, the memory of his touch is burned into my brain.
“Aliya?” A knock on my bedroom door snaps me out of my reverie.
“Yes?”
“We’re having dinner now.”
“I'm not hungry. Thanks, Robert.”
After shaking off my stepfather, I throw myself onto my bed.
I could use something to eat, but sitting at a table with Daniel makes me uneasy.
What if Milan ignores me again tomorrow?
I roll onto my back and press a pillow against my face.
Why does he always have to confuse me so much?
Suddenly, I sit up in bed as something very important comes to mind.
The damn letter.
I immediately get off my bed and rummage through my bag. The envelope is still wedged between the cover and the dust jacket.
With a sigh, I pull it out and run my finger over the brittle paper. I really wanted to return it to Milan because it feels wrong to keep it. But I still can’t suppress the urge to read it. It feels like a magical magnet drawing me in every time I hold the envelope in my hand.
So what? I’ve already read a part of it, reading some more isn’t going to kill me. Besides, I could use a distraction right now, and as always, Lio is the best at taking my mind off things.