Damon couldn't point out the exact moment she set her 5-inch high spiky boot in the bar but his body sensed her presence and immediately hardened in blatant appreciation. Following his teammates' somewhat glassy stares, he slanted a cool glance over his shoulder - He had, after all, seen - and had - much better than what was on offer in the bar. His eyes finally managed to pick the source that was leaving the bar's male population flustered and he immediately froze. Slowly craning his neck for a proper look, his eyes drunk in the all-too-feminine body perched on one of the bar stools, sheathed in a skimpy one-piece made of some sheer material that just begged to be ripped, right down to where it skimmed the tops of her thighs, displaying way too much sexy leg. What really completed the perfection of the visual was perhaps the fact that she seemed wholly unaware that half the bar was following her movements as though hypnotized. His lips perked upwards in co-ordination with the rest of his body. He'd thought that slaughtering the most feared team in the tournament had been enough, but the Gods apparently had another present in mind for him.
Crouching down to breathe a warning, "Mine," in one of his much shorter and much younger teammate's ear, he motioned the barman over. "Your finest whiskey for the babe in black." He settled back to wait and continued to watch her hungrily, even as she shifted in her seat and the dress slid yet higher, revealing yet more delicious leg. She was a present, all right. One that he intended on unwrapping at leisure.
Elena sat up bolt upright on the bar stool and stared at the glass the barman had just set in front of her. "For me?" she echoed in confusion. The barman seemed to take his time sliding her dress an appreciative once-over before replying, "Courtesy our star player." She followed his gaze and her eyes narrowed at the sight of the devilishly sexy guy lounging in one of the secluded booths at the back. A player. An egotistical player, no less, given his need to flash his star status by wearing his team jersey to a nightclub. A jersey that was currently stretched taut over his broad chest... Probably because it was harboring a monumental ego, her brain snapped. She had come here to avoid detection, not risk further exposure by parading on the arm of some bigshot player, she chided herself, trying to ignore the way her insides clenched deliciously at the thought. She tipped her head back to take in his 6 foot plus frame and met his gaze head on as she whispered her response to the barman.
"She said WHAT?!" Damon watched in cynical disbelief as the barman set the untouched glass of whiskey before him, even as his teammates howled with mirth behind him; watching him actively chase a woman, instead of just having them come on to him, wasn't a sight they saw daily. Having his advances rebuffed was yet rarer. "Told ya, mate. She ain't interested," the barman shrugged, not quite able to keep his satisfaction in check. "We'll see about not interested," he muttered under his breath as he sauntered over at a casual pace, noting with satisfaction as her eyes widened and her breasts pouted invitingly under the sheer fabric. If she really was uninterested, she was sure doing one hell of a shoddy job of it.
"Forgive me, I don't believe we've met. Damon Salvatore," he offered his hand, irritated with himself for feeling peeved that her eyes didn't immediately light up in recognition. She considered him for a minute before taking his hand, "I take it you are a player of some sort?" her eyes flicking to his jersey and straying there for longer than was necessary for someone who wasn't interested. Rather than letting go of her hand, he jerked her closer, his finger sliding down to delicately stroke the inside of her wrist. Enjoying her startled gasp, he asked, "Do you have a name or do you just go by Not Interested?" turning up the charm to a hundred watts. "Usually I do, but you can call me Really Not Interested." So she liked to play games. Too bad he wasn't used to losing. Leaning in closer, he whispered in her delicate shell of a ear, "Something wrong with the whiskey?" To his surprise, instead of backing away, she took on his challenge and leaned in closer until they were inches apart. "Not really," she breathed. Now this was more like it. She moved yet closer so that her breath was feathering across his lips, "It's just that I usually take mine with a lot lesser testosterone." With that parting shot, she tugged her hand free and melted into the crowd. Ouch. Two brush offs in one night. This woman was bad for his reputation. And even worse for his libido. Downing her untouched whiskey in one go and ignoring the catcalls from his teammates, he followed her cute butt out of the hotel's bar.
"Oh no, you DIDN'T. You didn't just stalk me all the way over here!" Her voice rose a few octaves and her eyes widened in disbelief as he followed her into the empty elevator and the doors swished close behind him. He responded with a devilish grin, "You are right, I didn't. I have a guy to do such stuff for me. One of the perks of being a player of sorts," he winked. Stepping yet closer, he enjoyed the heated blaze that flashed in her eyes in response to his proximity. "If you want me to leave, you just have to say the word." After watching her battle internally for two whole minutes, he covered the rest of the distance between them - He may be a gentleman, but he sure as hell was no saint. "Please, I don't do random hookups with strangers," she pleaded on a breathless note; her body's reaction belying her feeble protest. "All the more reason for us to get acquainted," he murmured as he singlehandedly jammed the mastercard into the slot, effectively trapping them between floors. Lowering his head, he brushed his lower lip with hers. At his first touch, her defenses seemed to melt away; her lips parted to grant him entry and her hands reached up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, even as he pressed her back against the elevator wall. He'd intended to leave her in peace once he'd sampled a taste and satisfied his curiosity, but even as the thought entered his head, she let out a decadent moan that unearthed something primitive in him. With a responding growl of his own, his fingers bunched up the lower half of her dress to explore underneath, never breaking the heavenly contact of their lips.
While he'd had his share of wild, a hotel elevator was probably not the smartest place to be doing the nasty, but before common sense could make an appearance, her hands hungrily reached for the neck of his jersey and she tugged, cleanly ripping the fabric into two. "Oops. I hope your team can afford an extra jersey for a player of sorts," she mumbled against his lips, even as her hands got busy exploring the skin on display, before straying even lower to the zipper of his pants. Well, she'd asked for it. Her wicked grin vanished as his fingers reached the barrier of her panties and swiftly discarded them. Anchoring her knees to his hips, he replaced his fingers with his heated length, barely able to bite back a moan at the first silken contact. Lowering his mouth to hers to absorb her cries, he began working his way inside her; every stroke testing his control until finally she arched her release and he followed suit.
His breathing labored, he allowed her to sidle down, the silken slide of her skin against his serving only to reawakening his desire. "I - I," he muttered, stunned to find his voice shaky. "I'm sorry," he said, finally managing a gruffer tone. "That was no way to treat a lady." He waited for the recriminations, or worse, the awkward silences and stilted conversation as she pulled a hasty exit, but when he finally unpeeled himself from her, a wicked grin was forming on her flushed face as she stared from his room key to him. "Well then, you'll just have to make it up to me, won't you?"