AUTHOR'S NOTE: When I first started posting here on I was simply copying and pasting stories I'd already posted elsewhere. Pausing for capitalization tends to throw off the flow of my writing, and for the first few chapters as I said, I just copied and pasted without re-reading the stories. It wasn't until I started generating responses that I started proofreading and tweaking my chapters as I posted them - your comments drove me to various changes, most of which I hope are for the better, and as I changed things I went in and fixed the lack of capital letters.
Point being: Please don't write off this story before you read it because of the lack of capitalization! I hope you'll give it a chance anyway, and try to enjoy the writing minus the technical stuff - but taking note of the fact that not capitalizing things bothered a decent amount of my readers, I'm now doing it. Bear with me for a few chapters and I swear damon will become Damon. Hopefully you'll do just that and you'll be glad you did. Thanks guys, enjoy!
try as he might - and he had been - damon salvatore just couldn't sleep.
in an effort to expedite the process, he raided the hotel minibar and helped himself to a drink. obscenely high prices hardly mattered when you had no intention of settling your bill. he always left generous tips for bellboys and maids, but their work required - well, work. they earned it - shoveled and slaved and served to get a little extra. giving them their fair share made sense to damon, but funneling more riches into paris hilton's pocket was another matter entirely.
besides, all he had to do was look the concierge dead in the eyes and inform him or her that mr. salvatore was all paid up. when it was that easy to rip someone off, it would just be wrong not to do so. like a brilliant singer refusing to overcome stage fright. a total waste of talent.
he sipped his top shelf bourbon and tried to think of anything, anything at all, except the girl - woman - sleeping one room away. and not just one room, but one adjoining room. as in, cross the room in what, maybe three, four long strides, put a hand on the smooth silver knob, give the wrist a flick, tug the knob and voila: elena.
and not just elena, but elena in a big, cozy, come-on-in-and-cuddle-up bed, a bed plump with generously fluffed pillows, a bed warm from her body heat.
a bed warm from her body...
damon bit back a groan and grabbed the television remote. at this point he'd take anything, anything that could disengage his mind from her body.
they'd been on the road for ten straight hours, during which time damon relied on too many red bulls, gallons of coffee, and caffeine pills. every time elena offered to drive he'd shoot her an amused glance that clearly said, "aw, how cute that you think i'd actually let you drive my car."
so when he finally had asked her to do just that, elena knew it was time for a break.
half dead, damon relented, but when elena suggested a cheap red roof inn she got another "you're just adorable" look as damon reminded her that his powers of "persuasion" meant that they could easily get a penthouse suite somewhere. elena argued simply to give him a hard time, and within twenty miles they found a hilton. ten minutes later they were in the elevator, headed for the top floor and the penthouse damon had promised.
they were headed to colorado, halfway across the country, and damon was already regretting joining elena on the trip. she'd taken him by surprise when she'd specifically asked for his company, but he hadn't questioned her reasons - had simply said "whatever you want me to do, elena," his tone teasing, his eyes serious.
but all this time spent in close quarters with the woman he loved was taking a toll, and he wasn't sure he'd manage to keep his hands off her much longer. not after that one kiss, the one that had seared his very soul - a soul he'd thought was long dead.
jesus, she'd tasted like... warm honey. but there was a hint of spice, too, and she smelled like vanilla, and the blend was so fucking intoxicating that when it teased his senses in the confines of his car his jeans became distinctly uncomfortable given his stubborn hard-on. did she have to be so goddamn beautiful? so soft, so sweet, so desirable he wanted to hold her and strangle her all at once?
when they'd gotten to the hotel he'd made a point of yawning, discouraging conversation and making his way to the adjoining bedroom. sheer exhaustion had him falling asleep almost instantly, but a handful of hours later - it was, according to the bedside clock, just past two am - he was wide awake and restless as hell.
and aware, so acutely aware, that he and elena gilbert were alone together in a hotel suite offering two king sized beds, a love seat, a wide, soft-cushioned couch, and miles of plush carpet.
damon wanted to use every one of those surfaces - and hey, why not throw in the impressive shower stall with four different shower heads, or the spacious bath, or the tempting hot tub on the terrace - to make love to her.
jesus h. christ. damon couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to make love to a woman. he preferred hot sex, a quick fuck, a wild ride, wham, bam, thank you ma'am.
but elena inspired a lot of emotions and desires damon thought he'd long since purged from his system, and he both cursed her and loved her for it.
he'd just settled on a family guy rerun and was headed to the fridge to refill his drink when he heard the blood-chilling cry that ripped from elena's throat. the single syllable that pleaded desperately.
"NO!"