Mia Malkova Solo Novels & Stories

Talia straightened, her expression unreadable but commanding, as if daring Malia to test her again. For a moment, Malia stood frozen, her eyes wide with disbelief as she rubbed her wrist where Talia had held her. The room seemed to grow heavy with tension as Malia struggled to regain her composure. She opened her mouth to retort, but before she could say anything, Marco, who had been watching silently, finally spoke up.

A tall, gray-eyed person she will be working beside in four weeks, who once freed her suitcase wheel in three seconds, and who should not be making her pulse do anything at all. She walks out onto the stage. The noise stops. Every face turns. The music starts. Mia finds her center and begins. Five years away and her body remembers every word of the language—the placement, the extension, the way the silk carries each movement a half-beat further than the body alone. When she reaches the traveling combination across center stage, she registers that Elias has moved. He stands at the front of the viewing area now, arms crossed, his expression stripped of its usual careful neutrality. He watches

Malachi moved lower in his seat and Mia smiled, knowing what he wanted. “I’ll show you every day.” Mia got up from her seat and knelt down on her knees in between Malachi’s legs. Her hands trailed up his thighs to where his belt lay. She unbuckled his belt and loosened the button of his dress pants. Malachi caught her wrist in his hand just as she moved to unzip him and she looked up at him. Malachi wanted to humiliate her at first, see how far she was willing to take it, but he knew that she’d do whatever he told her to do. She’d give him a stripshow and pleasure herself if he asked her to do it.

Ivanka wasn’t exactly a great singer. “Demons is good, but..” “Oh wait!” Nora said suddenly, taking her phone. “I saw this awesome mashup of Alan Walker’s Alone and Darkside,” Nora played it and Zehra held her hand to heart dramatically. “Oh! I think I’m in love!” Ivanka laughed and Nora rolled her eyes. “I know I’m not alone! I know I’m not alone!” Ivanka sang loudly. Zehra lunged at her but Ivanka moved away, still singing.

His presence was a silent, heavy pressure. "Watch," Mikhail said. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. He moved. It wasn't a demonstration. It was a disappearance. He flowed around an imaginary opponent, one hand blurring to seize a wrist, the other striking a nerve cluster at the neck. The motion was over in less than a second. It was fluid, beautiful, and utterly inhuman. "Your turn," Mikhail instructed. His tone held no encouragement, only the expectation of obedience. Ava tried to mimic the first part of the movement—the wrist grab. Her motion felt clumsy, impossibly slow. His movements were instinct. Hers were desperation. The gap was impossible.

"I don't know either of them." His statement must have been hilarious because Cleo can't stop laughing. She's even clutching her stomach. It hurts. "You're telling me that a dancer like you doesn't know the country's best artist?" She cackles. Kolya feels uncomfortable now. She's making him feel like a freak. "Sorry, but I don't." "No shit!" Cleo stops laughing when she comes to know that Nikolai is being serious. "You seriously don't know Jasmine Young Adana? As in the most successful soloist artist!? Dude, she's like the Albert Einstein of Science!"

In the twinkling of an eye, soft music started to play through the speakers, and the ballroom was cast in dim indigo lighting. Then those powerful fingers snaked around her waist, and pulling her closer, Mikhail Volkov stepped into the dance floor. *** She was in the arms of her devil, in whose darkness she had been foolish to fall into. And yet, the awareness of her wrong decisions did nothing to dull the feelings that washed through her. One touch, one step, and Elena was fighting the urge to gasp for breath. That was, until he broke the spell with that deep powerful voice that resonated through her insides,

The facets of the mock-diamond caught the light overhead, reflecting rainbows in my eyes. "Dayte-ka podumat," she asked to see it, gingerly reaching out. I handed the heavy award over. Annika turned the weighty crystal over in her hands to read the nameplate on the front. "Dancer of the Year. Rhea Makalov. How wonderful, pretty girl. You so deserve this." "Thanks. It really surprised me." All my years of hard work brought me here. Having a supportive family made the victory sweeter. A deep, confident voice responded from the hallway. "It shouldn't. Annika is right, my love, you earned that award." His voice became a whisper. "Tell mommy she's the best, solnyshko."

Mahira was enjoying the music and leaned back on the support that body which held her gave her, the ambience was dark, the hand that held her grabbed her palm and in one abrupt movement whirled her around, tugging her and held her closer to his chest, Mahira didn’t object as she laughed on being whirled around, trying to find her balance, as the music changed to Ricky Martin

I winced in sympathy. Apparently he pushed it too hard instead of real good. And then Mia went up. I'll admit it—she sounded good. She wasn't like the girls on the radio, but she was trained. Practiced. Her voice held power, and she knew how to show it off. When she finished, the applause was thunderous. Even Robbie, sitting on that judges seat throne, leaned into the mic and said, "That was very good." I froze. A few contestants murmured to each other and started walking off.