Page 134 of Eternal

AZRA

“Angel” by Massive Attack, Horace Andy

Present

T he door is gigantic, it’s matte black, no name, only a man watching like he already knows who’s worth letting in.

Damir doesn’t slow, doesn’t nod, he looks at him coldly but I smile at the security guard, bat my eyelashes and the man moves.

First step done.

Inside, it’s dark, music is blasting but it’s not heavy, it's simply weird. Everything feels weird.

We take our seats, red velvet, decadent, too soft.

We’re across from each other, a small black table between us, mirrors line the walls behind, angled perfectly so every movement is visible, every glance too.

A server approaches. Pale eyes, nervous smile. “Can I offer you both a drink?”

Damir doesn’t look at him. “Opus One, 2012, if you have it.”

“For both of you?” the server asks.

Damir’s eyes stay locked on mine. “Yes.”

The server disappears and I raise a brow. “Ordering for me now?”

He leans forward. “You’ll like it.”

“We’ll see,” I say, watching his mouth instead of his eyes.

The wine arrives, two crystal glasses, blood-dark.

He slides mine toward me. “Think he’s gonna do a speech to launch the real party?”

I nod and look around, so many people and it didn't even start yet. “He will. I’m pretty sure.”

I didn’t pick Jenkin Laurens because he’s powerful. I picked him because he’s sloppy.

Out of the six names I got from the list, this was the easiest. He lives here, in the tower above this club. His office is here too, somewhere past the private floors and velvet-curtained hallways.

If that invitation landed in his hands, then I’m pretty sure it’s here.

And getting into the club was almost child’s play.

The wine stings warm down my throat as I watch the entrance, but still no sign of him.

“He’s not that smart,” I murmur, swirling the glass. “Doesn’t even know he’s being hunted.”

“Let him take his time,” Damir says. “He’s the main event.”

“I really want to be over with this...”

Damir smiles but then he stops and looks at me.

“You’re not focused,” I said softly.

His mouth curved a little. “I’m focused,” he murmured. “Just… very, very distracted.”

“Means you’re not focused.”

His gaze slid to the hem of my dress, lingered like he could see through the fabric. Or had already memorized what was under it.

So I leaned back in the chair, crossed one leg over the other, slowly, slid my fingers beneath the hem, and hooked the lace.

I watched his breath shift, the way his eyes tracked my fingers, every small movement.

Like he wanted to stop me but wouldn’t. And I played, almost giggled seeing how tense he was.

I dragged my underwear down, inch by aching inch. Thigh. Knee. Ankle. I picked them up between two fingers. Lifted them up and dropped them into his lap like a gift I didn’t need back.

“Remember, when we’re done…” I smiled. “I’m not wearing any panties now. Might help you stay focused. Get this over with faster.”

His eyes never left mine. But his throat pulsed once, and then came the lazy smile. “Want me to ruin this suit, partner?” he asked. “Smelling how wet you are isn’t exactly helping my focus.”

I tilted my head, let my gaze flick down to his lap. “No distractions on a mission. Remember?”

He smiled. Legs spreading wide, like he was making room for something. For me.

One hand went to his belt. Unfastened it, not rushed, with his eyes still on me.

Then he leaned forward slowly and reached across the table, caught my wrist in midair and caressed my hand with his thumb like he always does.

He then lifted it to his mouth like it belonged there.

Slipped two fingers in. His tongue dragged over them, wet and hot.

Like he was tasting something only he was allowed to. And his eyes never left mine.

Blue. Deep. Possessive.

Then he pulled my hand back down between my thighs.

Guided it. Pressed it there like he couldn’t wait anymore.

“I’m going to need you to listen to me,” he said.

“Touch yourself. Right here. Don’t look away from me.

” He leaned in. Close enough for me to feel his breath on my lips.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me. And not a single sound.”

The song pulsed.

Neon lit his face. Red, violet, blue .

Love you, love you… love you, love you…

I leaned closer. Let my lips brush his like a dirty secret. “ Mmm… ”

Then he smiled. “Come on, partner ,” he said. “Play with me.”

I caught his hand and pressed it down over the hard line beneath his suit. “You’re going to do the same,” I whispered. “And we’ll see who breaks first?”

He laughed, dark, low, feral. “Team bonding really evolved.”

“We need proximity in a team, right?”

His right hand slipped under the table. His left hand reached out, fingers curling around the front of my throat. Not squeezing tight. His thumb pressed beneath my jaw, tilting my head back.

“Open,” he whispered.

I obeyed, lips parting. Instinct. Obedience. Need.

Then he pulled me forward harder, until my chest pressed to the edge of the table, my face tipped up and exposed.

His left hand moved away for a moment, grabbed the wine glass, and he took a slow sip from it.

Without hesitation, he leaned down and spat the warm wine into my mouth. The liquid hit my tongue. Then his mouth covered mine. Not a kiss, not at first. It was sealing, forcing the wine down, his tongue coaxing me to swallow, then slipping deeper, licking the taste from me like it belonged to him.

Only after I swallowed, only then, did he kiss me for real. Deep. Slow. Possessive.

As if he was owning what he’d poured inside my throat.

His mouth lingered on mine, before he pulled back slightly, breath mingling with mine.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmured.

“Damir…” I exhaled like a sinful prayer.

His fingers slid inside my mouth, soft and demanding.

“ Shh, partner. Suck,” he breathed against my lips. “I need to imagine it’s your mouth around my cock to do it correctly.”

I obeyed, teeth grazing the pads of his fingers, tongue circling.

He groaned low in his throat. “Perfect.”

And I didn’t even realize my fingers had moved around my clit until I felt the wet heat of myself, already aching.

Still pressed against the edge, still halfway in his hold, I rocked into my own hand.

He didn’t move, he half-smiled and caressed the scar on my jaw with his thumb, watching me like I was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Do something for me, partner ,” he whispered, his hand gliding back down around my throat, softer now, like a collar.

“Sit back, and imagine it’s me.” A beat passed.

“My fingers, curling inside your tight cunt. Feel how welcoming they are.”

I laughed or moaned or I don’t even know but it made him chuckle too. “You can’t be all soft and reassuring when you’re asking me to finger-fuck myself in public for you.”

His eyes darkened, amused and wicked. “That’s the point. Make it a show. I want to see you, not only feel you.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “I want to see that look on your face when you come. You’re always so pretty.”

He pressed a slow kiss to my mouth then he let me fall back into the seat like I wasn’t already ruined by the way he talked to me a few seconds ago.

And then he moved, hand under the table, chest steady, mouth curling slow, his eyes never leaving mine.

I touched myself for him .

He touched himself for me .

Neon flickered off his face, those ocean eyes locked on mine. Ocean turned to flames.

My fingers slick inside me, moving faster. Imagining him . Imagining his voice whispering next to my ear how much he loved the way I felt, the way I took him in, that he was proud of me.

His hand moved in time with mine. I could see him stroking himself under the table, hard , eyes still locked on mine, full of pride, affection, and an aching kind of want. He could’ve devoured me whole, but he liked to play with his food.

Neither of us broke eye contact.

But then he smiled. “ Partner, you really expected me to sit here and behave…” he said, before lowering his voice even more, “…when you look like that?”

My body jerked, hips trembling. Fingers circling my clit, then pushing inside me.

Brutal, harder, faster , only me .

I was doing that to myself, and he simply watched, happy that I was comfortable enough for this.

I could see his leg twitch under the table, muscles tight. Then I noticed it. The lace panties I’d slipped off earlier, now clenched in his fingers. Wrapped around his cock.

His legs parted slightly, fingers moving hard, fast, and relentlessly. He didn’t look away. Never .

I bit my lip, pressing my fingers harder, matching the rhythm I saw in his leg, felt in his stare.

His grip on the lace tightened, chest rising and falling rapidly, then his breath caught, sudden and intense.

A low “ fuck ,” slipped out of his mouth, head falling back. He came, fingers clenched tight around my panties and I kept staring at him because I couldn’t look away.

Not even when I came, trembling, moaning quietly, breath catching like I might shatter.

We stayed like that for a few seconds, looking at each other and smiling stupidly. Music was still a bit loud around us and people were still talking and laughing waiting for the real party to start.

His hand finally fell away. He leaned back, smiling that crooked, proud smile. “You made a mess of yourself for me in public,” he said, “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Without breaking eye contact, he slid the lace back to me, fingers brushing my thigh.

“Put these back on.”

He wants me to wear this. His mess.

Why am I even more turned on?

I smiled, sliding the panties back on. “Oh, would this make you happy?”

He grinned, leaning forward, eyes sparkling. “ Immensely .”

“Branding me?”

He nodded slowly, “I love knowing you’re wearing me.”

Then the lights dipped. The music slowed and everyone stopped talking as a voice rose behind me.

His voice. Jenkin Laurens.

Applause broke out the moment he stepped onto the stage. He looked old, mid-sixties, dressed in a red velvet costume that felt more ceremonial than festive.

He smiled wide, like he was genuinely proud of whatever this was.

His little party.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, voice so dramatic and theatrical. “It’s a pleasure to welcome you again tonight. Last month’s theme was Red Lights, and judging by the state this venue was left in… I’d say you all enjoyed yourselves.”

People laughed, not politely, but knowingly. Too knowingly. I smiled too, though I wasn’t sure why.

Something about all of this felt… off .

Even he laughed. Red Lights…. And then he continued, “The theme for this month is ‘La Débauche’. Let your filthiest dreams run free. And remember, in the shadows, you can be whoever you want to be.” Another round of applause.

Bigger. Distracting. “Be who you are when no one’s watching. Or better… When everyone is.”

Someone screamed. The room shifted. The chandeliers above flickered and died. Purple and Gold floodlights snapped on. Then the curtains dropped off the walls.

Behind them: cages, glass boxes, iron bars.

Inside, couples are already naked, already moving. Some were too young. Some were blank-eyed, motionless under the heaviness of whatever they’d given up, or had taken.

Girls danced like their strings were pulled by someone offstage, no trace of want, no illusion of choice. Others were locked together like animals.

One man sat behind a pane of glass, velvet chair, stroking the hair of a kneeling woman. Her mouth was open, her eyes were dead .

Another pair writhed against metal bars, breath fogging the glass like flames trapped in hell.

Every booth, every crevice faintly lit, exposing too much. Silhouettes, moans, curses.

The sound of something being taken forcefully, over and over.

And around us, the movement followed. Masks slid off. Dresses hit the floor.

The room had become something between a theater and a twisted and wrong ritual.

Nobody was pretending anymore.

It smelled like sweat and money and rot. I spotted Laurens on the mezzanine, grinning down at it all like he was watching a symphony play. Six men near him. Suits. Hard faces. Definitely armed.

One was scanning the crowd. Damir’s eyes tracked mine, then narrowed. He saw it too.

“Side stairs” , I mouthed.

He gave the faintest nod as I stood. His hand brushed the small of my back, grounding me for half a second.

Laurens peeled away, slipping behind the curtain into his private corridor.

Damir leaned in and whispered in my ear. “I’m right behind you. Let’s go.”