Page 112 of Eternal

I winced, tapped the call back, lifted the phone to my face, and he answered with zero hesitation.

“Where the fuck are you?”

“Good morning.”

“You hung up on me,” he snapped. “Don’t ever do that again, Azra. I swear to God I’ll find a way to reach through the screen and slap you with my slipper.”

“I panicked!” I whispered, glancing toward the bathroom, as if Damir could hear us through two doors and running water.

Viktor narrowed his eyes. “Why are you whispering? Who’s with you?”

Before I could answer, a second face popped into the frame.

Kat . Grinning like a goddamn hyena.

“Hi,” she chirped. “You have that freshly fucked glow all over you.”

My jaw dropped. “ Kat !”

“Gross!” Viktor practically gagged, jerking away from her. “Can we not say that while I’m still in frame?”

Kat laughed. “What? She does! Look at her. Hair a mess, shirt half on, eyes all floaty.”

“I just had coffee,” I muttered, face burning. “It’s the caffeine.”

“Sure it is,” Kat teased. “Tell me, is the caffeine still in the room or did you kick him out this morning?”

“She hung up on me, Kat,” Viktor hissed. “I was worried.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I mumbled, cheeks still hot. “I was… busy .”

He groaned. “Stop. Please. I'm still here. I don't need the play-by-play.”

Kat elbowed him. “You’re so dramatic. They’re not kids anymore, Vik.”

“I know that, but ? — ”

“You need to accept it,” she cut in, rolling her eyes. “God forbid someone actually gets some fun time.”

“I swear, if you keep talking about Azra’s sex life I’m going to throw up,” Viktor muttered, rubbing his temple like we caused him a migraine since birth.

I couldn’t help it, I laughed, loud, full, unexpected. Both of them turned to look at me through the screen.

“What?” Viktor asked, blinking.

“Why are you laughing?” Kat chimed in.

I swallowed, still smiling. “ I really … I miss you two.”

That silenced them.

A long beat passed. Viktor blinked slowly. Kat tilted her head. Then they smiled.

Warm. Surprised. Maybe even a little emotional.

Viktor cleared his throat. “Well. Damn, Kroshka .”

Kat gave a soft little snort. “About time you said it out loud.”

“I mean it,” I added, voice smaller now. “I… really miss you.”

Another pause, then Viktor nodded, his voice gentler this time. “Okay. In three days, we’re sitting down and you’re telling us everything.”

“Every word,” Kat said with a wink. “Until then…”

“Have fun,” they said in unison.

“Don’t be too irritating,” I muttered, trying not to smile again.

Viktor waved. “Stay out of trouble.”

“Try not to break anything,” Kat added.

“Bye.”

I hung up, heart heavier and lighter all at once.

In the distance, I heard the water turn off, the bathroom door creaked open, and steam rolled out like fog. Damir walked out shirtless, a towel slung low around his hips, dark hair wet and dripping slightly onto his chest, still shining from the heat.

I tried not to look and failed immediately.

Because God, he knew exactly what he was doing. All smug, golden skin stretched over a strong solid and muscled body, tattoos curled around his ribs, his arms. I hadn't quite memorized them last night, not with my face smashed into the pillow and his hand holding my leg open.

His eyes caught mine as I lingered, too slow to mask the very obvious ogling.

“ Partner ,” he said, voice low and warm, “you called Viktor back while I was gone?”

I blinked, blinked again. “Yeah.”

He grinned. “ Fuck . I missed it. You didn’t wait for me?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Wait for what?”

“To watch you blush,” he said, stepping closer, still damp, still beautiful. “You always look so pretty when you're embarrassed. I would’ve liked that.”

“ Don’t ,” I muttered, heat crawling up my neck.

He laughed, head tipping back slightly, the sound unguarded and pleased with itself.

I wanted to hate it, but I couldn’t.

It made something low in my stomach tangle and pull, tenderly.

As he moved past me, his fingers ghosted along my throat, and then he paused. “Wait,” he said, leaning in again.

“What now?” I whispered.

He bent close and brushed his thumb over the column of my neck, his mouth was right near my ear when he spoke, “You have a hickey the size of the fucking earth right here.”

I gasped. “You idiot!”

He pulled back with a devilish smile, utterly unfazed by it. “What? Let a man enjoy leaving his mark on his partner.”

“Oh, I’m gonna mark you so bad next time, you’ll have to walk around in turtlenecks all your life.”

He smirked. “Maybe you already did.” He turned away slightly, then reached back and ran his hand down his shoulder blade.

I caught a glimpse of the red streaks down his back. My fingernails, my doing, the same ones that made him groan against my mouth last night like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss me or devour me.

But just as I was about to grin in satisfaction, I saw it.

Just beneath the towel of his hair, revealed only now that he was bare from the waist up, a tattoo, small and subtle, black ink faded slightly, right at the nape of his neck.

Eyes . Not any eyes. My eyes.

The linework was imperfect, like it had been sketched from memory, not photograph, but I knew. The curve of the brow. The slant. One lighter, one darker.

My breath hitched. “What the actual hell did you do…”

He glanced at me over his shoulder. “What?”

I pointed. “You obsessive psycho, why the fuck do you have my eyes tattooed on your neck?”

He blinked. Then, calm as ever, turned around and raised a brow. “Oh. That ?”

I nodded, still stunned. “Yeah! That.”

“I got it,” he said casually, “when I started the mission.”

The words sank in.

I stared at him, lips parting, something hard cracking open inside me. “You weren’t lying,” I said quietly. “That day you said you started losing yourself...”

His smile was slower this time. Sadder . Warmer.

“I saw the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen.

Watching you. From rooftops, surveillance footage, shitty grainy cameras.

” His voice dipped. “I didn’t know your name yet.

Didn’t know anything about you, except that you were a dangerous threat, and that your stare felt like home and a warning at once.

So I put it on me to have them forever.”

I stared at him, jaw slack. “That’s scary.”

He smirked. “That’s romantic.”

“That’s obsessive .”

“It’s foreshadowing, partner .”

I didn’t know whether to kiss him or deck him. My chest felt full, too full.

“Our fight isn’t done. I’m still mad at you,” I said, half under my breath, half lying through my teeth.

He looked at me from the kitchen chair like he knew, like he saw straight through the cracked-glass version of me I used to be.

Hair wet, short slung dangerously low, skin still flushed from the shower. He was lounging like sin, utterly unbothered, a cocky smile hanging lazy at the edge of his mouth.

“ Mm ,” he hummed, raising a brow. “Should I be asking for forgiveness, then?”

I tilted my chin. “Depends. What are the options?”

He didn’t answer with words. He hooked the leg of my chair with his foot, dragged me toward him with a scrape that made my pulse spike.

And then, before I could even form a sentence, he was reaching for me.

Hands at my waist, grip confident and warm, pulling me onto his lap like I’d always belonged there.

I sucked in a breath, his thigh under mine, his skin against mine. Every nerve in my body lit up like it had just remembered who it belonged to.

Then he touched me, not where I expected.

One hand traced my thigh …up, up… slow and sure. The other found the back of my neck, grounding me with a thumb that brushed beneath my jaw, so soft it almost broke me.

“I don’t know…” he murmured, lips brushing my temple. “Tasted the best thing I’ve ever had yesterday. Might need another bite.”

I buried my face into the curve of his neck, trying to hide the smile breaking wide on my lips. “That… that might work.”

He leaned back to look at me, his fingers had slipped under my shirt, grazing my ribs.

“You think?” he asked, eyes burning with hunger. “I could get more creative.”

“I’m kind of sore ,” I whispered, and it came out smaller than I meant.

That crooked grin of his came back. “That’s not gonna stop me from thinking about it all damn day.”

His fingers were unhurried, tracing their way to one breast, pausing there, waiting. Not for permission, but for me.

“Wanna know the worst part?” he murmured, breathing warmly on my cheek. “I’m the one who’s mad now.”

I blinked. “Mad? Why?”

His hand slid slow across my skin, lazy circles beneath the fabric. “Because now I’m addicted. And I don’t do well with that.”

I don’t do well with addiction either…

I tightened my hands on his shoulders to stay grounded. His kiss came next, slow, searing, not innocent at all.

The kind of kiss that stripped my breath, rewrote everything I thought I knew about wanting and gave it a new sense.

It was passion and safety, heat and home. Such a strange mix for the heart to feel and hold.

I shifted against him before I could stop myself, moving slowly, tentatively, testing.

His breath caught. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Use me like that…”

I didn’t answer, I simply did it again, slower. It felt good, better than good. It felt like reclaiming something I never thought I’d want again, my own pleasure.

His hands slid down to my hips, helping now, guiding every movement, nothing rushed, nothing forced.

Just... us.

When I gasped again, this time louder, almost breaking, it wasn’t because of the sensation, it was because of him.

The way he held me carefully, calmly, grounded like I was doing something sacred, something holy, and he was lucky to witness it, to feel it, to be the cause of it.

I was grinding so hard his towel slipped off completely.

Skin to skin now, and he was solid beneath me, every inch of him there, letting me take whatever I needed.

I used him and he let me. Hell, he helped me, his hands on my hips, guiding me, anchoring me to feel every cell of his body underneath me.

Harder. I needed harder.

“Fuck,” he breathed, head tipped back, mouth open. “Look at you…”

And I did look down, I felt insane, desperate.

My body moved without asking my mind for permission, and my mind followed the rhythm of its own.

Every breath tasted of him, every star I was seeing had the color of his eyes at their centers.

It felt like something in me was cracking open only from how he was holding me, how he let me use him and never once tried to take. He just gave.

I moved harder, faster, chasing the end of it, all of it. The hurt, the heat, the sudden terrifying closeness. And then I shattered, barely making a sound this time, only a sharp and strangled breath and a shake all through my body.

He caught me, pulled me close, arms around me tight. He kissed my temple, voice low, half-laughing but soft, “Came again, partner ? Can’t wait to make this a routine.”

I groaned, dropping my head against his shoulder and swatting him weakly. “It’s me forgiving you.”

But I was smiling, blushing, probably glowing.

He tucked me against him like I weighed nothing, then stood up, still holding me, and I yelped, clinging instinctively. “Hey!”

He just laughed, the sound low in his chest. “Relax.”

He walked us to the sofa and set me down carefully, then he crossed the room, pulled on a pair of boxers and the first T-shirt he found on the bed, dragging it over his head before coming back.

He dropped beside me, warm and bare-legged, slinging an arm around my shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“We’re not going anywhere today,” he said, grabbing the remote.

I looked at him, still catching my breath. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, already flicking through movie options, “you, me, breakfast part two if you behave, and whatever terrible film you want to watch.”

I laughed softly, heart too light, eyes a little too soft. “Insane.”

He turned to look at me, smiled, reached up and dragged his thumb across my cheek slowly. “Yeah? Well... hope you’re not mad anymore.”

And then he kissed me again, sweeter this time.

Like a promise.

Like home .