Page 127 of Eternal
I scoff, forcing my gaze away, but I can feel the heat creeping up my neck, creeping into my face.
Did I really leave marks on him?
Why do I like the idea?
“I had to. Forsafetyreasons.”
His grin widens, like he’s enjoying every second of this. He leans in a little closer, his voice dropping into something more irritating. “Right. Forsafety.” His gaze flicks to where my hands had been wrapped around him. “Wasn’t just the bike, was it?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Your abs aren’t comfortable enough for me to hold on to.”
“Mm.” He leans in, voice dropping lower. “How unfortunate. Cause I could almost imagine you were enjoying yourself back there.”
I swallow, forcing my expression to stay calm. “Maybe I was only picturing how much better it’d feel if I were the one driving.”
His gaze darkens slightly, his smirk turning like a complete amused smile imagining me in front of him. “You think you can handle me on a bike?”
I smile right back. “I'd throw you off it at full speed.”
“Oh, I know you would.” His jaw ticks, and for a second, I swear he stops breathing. His gaze drops to my hands, calloused, scarred, like his. His voice is quieter when he says, “Your tattoos are pretty.”
I hesitate, rolling my wrist slightly, the fabric shifting enough for a scar covered with an iris to peek through. “They’re okay,” I say lightly, but the words taste bitter. “I know how ugly scars look on me. So, I cover them up.”
His brows draw together. “Youanduglydon’t belong in the same sentence,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “Don’t say that ever again.”
Something in my chest tightens. It’s weird, his words, they felt reassuring, unfamiliar. I shrug, forcing a smirk. “I’ll think about it.”
My body’s never been beautiful, not like my mother’s. She was the kind of beauty that was soft, radiant, effortless. People couldn’t help but admire her, she moved with grace, untouched by anything. I wasn’t like that. I had edges, too many scars, too many lines that didn’t belong on anyone’s body.
When I was high, drunk... I hated looking at myself. The marks, the skin stretched tight over bones, the emptiness. I looked dead. I hated not being able to eat enough, no matter how much my body demanded it. Hated how my cheeks were hollow, how the muscles I’d built in boxing weren’t even showing. Everything I hated was right there, staring back at me, especially the scar on my jaw, and the ones between my thighs.
The tattoos, the scars… They'remine. But still, I wonder. What would it feel like to be seen as something other than a weapon? Something soft, something wanted for no reason other than existing? With heart eyes, like I’m delicate. Like I’m a flower.
For a second, I catch myself wishing I could be the kind of woman people look at and see beauty, without all the blood, the fight, the scars. To be seen the way my mother was by Alexei.
I shake it off, but the thought lingers.
Damir’s eyes flicker to my face for a moment, like he’s studying me. And then he says, “You know you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Scars and all. Don’t overthink.”
Oh.
He’s being…Genuine. And I can’t help but smile. Really smile. Not to reassure people, not to reassure myself. A smile bloomed because it felt like it.
Then, his lips quirk into that amused smirk. “It’s scary. Your dimples make you look adorable.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Scary?”
He chuckles softly, low. “Yeah.”
“Why would it be scary?”
He leans in slightly, his voice dropping a bit. “Because you don’t smile enough. I need to change that.”
I tilt my head, keeping my expression cool. “Why would you bother?”
His gaze softens. “Because I like it. Your smile. Makes me wanna smile, too.”
Before I can respond, his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, pulling it slightly upward. I freeze, caught off guard.
