Page 52 of Eternal

I’m not used to this. I don’t like it, maybe because I know how it ends, with their eyes catching on my scars, with stupid questions that kill the moment, make me want to grab my knife and carve the curiosity out of them, with hands that hesitate, with kisses that mean too much when I want them to mean nothing.

But Damir… he looks at me differently.

Not like I’m fragile, not like I’m broken, like he sees everything and isn’t scared, there’s curiosity, sure, but no pity.

And my heart, stupid as it is, lonely as it feels, recognizes it.

I want to look away, to shut it down before it starts, but my eyes keep finding him, and I hate it.

Because it makes me feel something, something I thought I would never feel with a man.

Damir seems to notice, his eyes flicking up to catch mine, that small smile creeps onto his lips. “Are you enjoying the view, partner?”

“You’ve got a nice ass,” I say.

He chuckles low, leaning in a little closer. “ Oh , now you’re being bold.”

I lean back slightly, still holding his gaze, he’s too close now, but I can’t move. “I’m being honest.”

He laughs, low and knowing, leaning in closer. “Is that all you’re gonna say? Just ‘nice ass’ ?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to hold my ground, but the way he’s standing there, all close and smug, looking at me like he knows exactly how this is making me feel, makes it hard to think straight.

“I mean... it’s a really really good ass,” I say.

“Wouldn’t want you to think it’s not getting noticed. ”

“Oh, I know it’s getting noticed,” he murmurs. “You’re not the only one, partner .”

My heartbeat picks up at the implication, and I strangely don't like it. His eyes flicker over my face, lingering a little too long, and I can’t help but feel like he’s enjoying this jealous side of me.

I’m about to say something smart, something to break this weird-bullshitty moment between us, when his hand slides up to rest on my shoulder. The touch is light, really light. It's barely there.. It's only my shoulder but still, my heart screams for more.

Why is my traitor of body reacting like that to a fucking simple touch? Like it’s all a little too close.

I look up at him, and for a second, neither of us moves. Okay, this is weird.

He’s so close now I can smell the sweet smell of his cologne mixed with the scent of leather and smoke. He doesn’t even need to try this hard, he’s simply looking at me, and yet here I am, barely able to breathe.

“You really should stop looking at me like that,” I say, voice barely a whisper.

He smiles again, but it’s softer this time. “Why? You like it.”

I do like it.

His breath is warm, ghosting over my skin, and I don’t know why I’m holding mine. His eyes flick down to my lips for a second, then back up.

My stomach tightens. My fingers twitch at my sides.

Do it. The thought sneaks in before I can stop it.

But he doesn’t. He watches me, his hand still on my shoulder, his fingers barely brushing the fabric of my shirt. My skin burns under it, hyper-aware of every shift, every slow inhale.

And then he moves.

Not forward. Not to take.

And a part of me is disappointed. He drops his forehead against my shoulder, exhales deep, like he’s trying to calm himself. His body is warm against mine, his weight heavy.

I feel the slow drag of his breath along my neck.

His fingers trace a path down my arm, almost shaking with need. “ Partner ,” he mutters, his voice rough, thick. “You smell good.”

I close my eyes. Fuck .

He stays there, breathing me in, his fingers flexing like he’s debating holding on. Like he wants to. I feel it in the way his chest moves, colliding tenderly with mine, the way his jaw clenches against my skin.

For a second, I think he might give in. I want him to give in…

But then, he steps back. Just like that. Like nothing happened.

That smirk is back, practiced, calm, like he hadn’t made something explode inside me with a single touch.

“Let’s go eat,” he says.

Like I can even breathe right now.

I stand up straighter, resisting the urge to step back from the heat rolling between us. But I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Not tonight,” I reply.

“So, no team bonding tonight?”

I try to look away, but my chest flutters, betraying me. “I miss cooking at home,” I say, keeping it light, pretending I don’t feel the warmth spreading through me at the way he asked that, almost sadly.

“Invite me, then.”

And I freeze.

Invite me.

No hesitation.

I scoff, shaking my head, but the corner of my mouth betrays me with a smile. “You wish.”

“I do.”

He really needs to stop.

He steps closer, subtle but sure, like he’s closing a space I didn’t even realize I’d left open. His eyes stay on me, unwavering. “I’d love to see you cook.”

I let out a breathy laugh, softer than I meant it to be. “You think you can just walk in and I’ll cook for you?”

His grin deepens, and he moves even closer, the warmth of him blends into mine. “Pretty sure I can get whatever I want from you.”

Why am I smiling?

“Is that so?”

“Oh, it’s definitely so .” His voice whispers now, a low sound that scrapes against my skin. His eyes flick to my lips, then back to mine, heated .

My breath catches as he takes another step forward. He’s right there, close enough that I feel every blink, every inch of his presence pressing into me. My pulse betrays me, quick and uneven, but I don’t move back. I won’t.

“You’re making this really hard to resist,” I whisper, softer than I’d like.

“ Good .” His voice is rough, like he’s barely holding himself back. “I don’t want you to.”

His breath mingles with mine. Then he exhales sharply and pulls back, straightening with a frustrated sigh.

His grin falters for a moment, before it slides back into place, cocky and amused.

“You’re killing me.”

You’re killing me too.

“Guess you’ll have to live with it,” I mutter, turning on my heel, my skin still burning from how close he was.

I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t turn back. Not yet. Not until my pulse stops racing.

But then… “ Partner ?”

His voice stops me in my tracks.

I glance over my shoulder. He’s still watching me, hands in his pockets, pleading, begging in a silent way to give him some attention.

“I meant it,” he says. “Invite me.”

A breath sticks in my chest.

It’s reckless. Stupid .

And I want to.

I shake my head, half at myself, half at him. But I don’t say no. I exhale, slow and steady. “Fine. But you’re doing the dishes.”

His chuckle is warm, satisfied. He steps beside me, his shoulder almost brushing mine. “I’ll take that deal.”