Disclaimer: Characters not mine.
Okay, so maybe the kiss had brought into stark clarity exactly how Elijah would feel against her, and had, as a result, increased both the vividity and frequency of her dreams, but Elena had before and would again insist they meant nothing. The purely physical impulse to act upon a long brewing attraction was to be expected, but had zero impact whatsoever upon her feelings for Damon. If there was one thing Elena valued more than anything, second probably only to her humanity, it was her loyalty. The dreams were nothing more than her subconscious acting out. That's all.
The fact that none of her rationalizations explained away the dull ache in her chest was only a problem if she acknowledged it.
Which she wouldn't.
Because of …. reasons. And Damon of course. Yep, everything was fine. Her sleeping a lot more often that usual was simply because recent events had proven rather taxing. It had nothing to do with her growing somewhat addicted to the illusion of Elijah. Not at all.
In her more cogent moments, Elena wondered if perhaps denial should be listed as her most treasured quality.
That thought never lasted long.
Regardless, none of those things mattered when she dreamed of soft lips against hers. A heavy, warm, solid body above hers, pressing into her. She loved the soft wool and cotton of Elijah's expensive suits and the way he always smelled so neatly clean. And the slightly impure act of rumpling and wrinkling such a nice suit by wrapping her legs around Elijah's waist and grinding into him; into his hardness. She would sigh with pleasure, and Elijah – unsatisfied – would bite along her neck to elicit the moan he so treasured. Strong, calloused hands would brush against her skin, skimming past her ribs and against the swell of her breast.
He would pull away, ever so slightly – breath still fanning her sensitive neck – to admire the view of his hand caressing her, teasing the edge of her jeans and making her arch. A smirk that was as kind and tender as it was prideful and slightly smug would grace his features, both revelling in and waiting for the reaction he could draw from her.
Elena hisses when sure and steady fingers stroke through her wet folds, spreading apart her lips and pressing against her clit. His forehead rests against hers and they share breath as he works her into a sexual frustration unlike any other. She responds in kind, wrapping her fingers as best she can around his cloth covered cock, hard and leaking.
As he moans against her, he pushes his fingers tortuously slow into her, bending them and twisting them at such perfect moments that Elena begins to loose her faculties; moaning and gasping with abandon. That's when clothing starts to rip, shirts and pants and underwear rendered into pieces; victims of the burning lust between them.
It's almost poetic how the mere sight of Elena loosing composure, the most together, composed and particular man she's ever met looses all patience with and will to tease or play. His large, strong hands grip her thighs, his well built body lowers over her and his hardness enters her. Swift and exquisite, but still too slow. Fingernails drag over flesh as a voice vaguely similar to her own – though misted in such deep lust, in such gravely passion, she needs a second to reconcile it with herself – begs, pleads and demands harder and faster and moremoremore!
Always so much more.
Their bodies are as one, moving together in the kind of synchronization that belies them having known each other for anything less than eternity. The sound of his moans, his cries of pleasure in her ear, feeling them and him and everything so close and so hot. So much! It drives away the world outside and she falls into a world of nothingness. There is nothing there but Elijah and pleasure.
Complete and utter bliss.
She clings to him in every way, moist inner walls tightening against his pulsing member, her legs wrap around his waist and her hands dig into his shoulders. She wants him so much closer. Every inch of their skin is pressed together, slick with sweat, but it's not enough. She pulls his head up and into a deep kiss, tongues sliding together, and whispers to him of her love. Her devotion. Her need.
And he repeats in all back to her. Tells her of his love. His craving of her. His heart.
And that's it. The closeness she needed is granted to her in that moment, and it's all she needs to find her climax with a scream and a cry of his name. Unabashed and sacred against her lips. When Elijah finds his own peace within her body, it's with a whisper rather than a scream. Her name breathed so reverently against her lips Elena feels tears in her eyes. Wondering what she ever did to deserve such a prayer to be devoted to her name.
The last thing she sees before her eyes open and reality crashes back in, is the image that haunts her in her waking world as well as her dream world. Those soft, deep and ancient brown eyes, reflecting a love so strong it takes her breath away. That image, that illusion, of what loving her would look like in her eyes makes her hungry for it. She feels as though she's drowning every second she doesn't have it in her life.
But, denial – despite her ironic protests – is a valuable commodity to have. She had gotten adept at hiding these thoughts, these feelings, deep within her long ago. And while the kiss may have brought all this to the forefront of her mind more-so than ever, nothing would change.
Elena would make sure of that.