With a hiss, squitting his eyes, Damon grabbed Elena's arms. He waited instinctive step back as he had done from behind. But there was no blackward movement, but instead something like a flame jump in those big eyes anxious malachite. Elena's lips parted involuntary.

He knew it was involuntary. He had had many years to study the responses of young. He knew what it meant when her eyes went first to his lips before rising to his eyes.

I can't kiss her again. I can't. It's a human weackness, the way in which it affects me. She don't realize what it means to be so young and incredibly beautiful. One day she'll learn it. In fact I could teach it her now accidentally.

As if she could hear, Elena closed her eyes. She dropped her head back and holding unexpected, Damon partly met their weight. She was ceasing to think of herself, and showed him that despite all trusted him, yet…

…she still loved him.

Damon even himself knew what he would do as he leaned toward her. He was starving. The hunger clawed paws like a wolf. It made him feel lightheaded, dizzy and out of control. What would he so close to Elena's lips, so close to her throat bleeding?

Two tears slipped beneath the dark lashes and cost distance slide by the girl's face before falling into the golden hair. Damon found that he was savoring one without thinking.

She was still a virgin. Well, you would expect it; Stefan was still too weak to stand. But above the cynical thought came an image and just a few words: a spirit as pure as the driven snow.

Suddenly, he experienced a different hunger, a thirst different. The only place to appease this need was close. Desperately, pressing, he sought and found Elena's lips. And then he discovered that he lost all control. What he most needed was there, and Elena could shake, but no way.

The kisses had reached the point where even the tiny voice of reason vanished. Elena had lost the ability to stand, and he had to tear her down somewhere or give her a chance to back out. And he tried, but she grabbed him stronger. To his shirt, to his hair. An d he could no longer, he wanted her. He wanted her right then, in the same place. He had to take her or explode.

He picked her up, without breaking the kiss, and, as he couldn't, he took her to the bed in which only a few hours earlier he had been planning how to retrieve Misao's ball star. Automatically he lay her on the bed and he leaned over her. Were quickly disappearing all the clothes they wore.

For centuries he wasn't with a girl like this, in such a hurry, so desperately. Sure that there were other girls. He was Damon Salvatore, the one who copied Casanova or they were inspired to create the fictional Don Juan de Marco. For ten years before his conversion, he had slept with all the girls available (and not so free) both in Florence and Venice and even Rome. And in the five hundred years that he lived as a vampire he had done the same. He was a womanizer, yes, he was the first to recognize it. He liked women, perhaps too much. But he couldn't change, at this point no.

"It'll hurt you a little, but soon will. I promise you, princess." He whispered to her ear.

"Shut up and do it now" she urged. "You're driving me crazy".

"Makes two of us, ragazza mia" and said it he took her.