Page 87 of Eternal
He grabbed his helmet, slid it on, and let the visor open before turning to me with a smug smile, holding out mine. “Put that on.”
I grabbed the helmet, shoved it on with a grumble. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to fight.”
Damir snorted. “I sure am.”
I climbed onto his bike, silently fuming as he started the engine. Every time I tried to adjust myself, my body pressed against his because of his stupid acceleration, making me curse under my breath. But when his hands reached back again, tightening mine around his waist, I froze for a second.
His grip was strong, calm and it made me feel weird,safe.
I hated that. I hated how foreign it felt. How unnecessary it should’ve been. No one ever looked at me like I needed any kind of protection.
No one ever cared if I bled, if I broke, if I barely stitched myself back together with only my survival instinct as a determination.
And yet…Somewhere beneath my skin, something small, invisible and desperate curled up at that touch.
As if, for once, I wasn’t the strong and bad Voron.
As if I could be something else. It wasn’t just his body against mine, it was the way he was holding me there, like he had no intention of letting go of his partner.
Maybe he’s not so bad after all.
I tightened my grip instinctively, feeling the heat from his back through his jacket.
Damn it. Focus.
This wasn’t supposed to matter.
I pulled my hands back slightly, trying to shake it off.
No way I was going to let myself get distracted.
I didn’t have the time to even react before he gave a low grunt and replaced them around his waist almost tighter than before.
“Better,” he muttered, as if it was nothing.
Better…
We slowed for a red light, and I barely registered the moment until I felt his thumb caress my hand, slowly, up and down, up and down.
It was like the most natural thing in the world for him.
My breath hitched before I could stop it, and I could feel my pulse racing, even though I tried to ignore it.
Damn it, he was good at this.
He kept driving with that calm, stoic calm, his hands steady while mine were around him.
Me? My mind was racing. I couldn’t stop thinking about the keys still tucked in his damn pocket. Cargo pants. Low pocket. And now that I was close enough, the temptation to grab them was impossible to resist.
I shifted subtly, my fingers inching toward the prize.
“You better not?—”
I didn’t wait for him to finish, my fingers slid into his pocket, brushing against something warm, something hard. His body tensed immediately.
“Stop it,” he growled, his voice low and cutting. “Stop touching me there. You’re distracting me.”
I sighed dramatically, pulling my hand back, barely. “Relax. It’s just a pocket.”
