His eyes were electric. Boring into my heart, settling next to my soul. I knew it was all over. Every bone in my body had been fighting this internal struggle to give in, just let go. But this was it. I couldn't escape my desires any further. I was a goner.
His face was a mere centimetre from mine and I could feel his hot breath fill my nostrils. I breathed him in, relishing in the fact I was FINALLY this close to him. My body leaned towards his, but my mind, desperate to push me back, tried to rationalise a plan to run away. It was a fruitless effort. One that my mind would never win.
For a brief millisecond, I see his eyes flick down to my lips. He feels the pull just as much as I do. Gone is our argument, quickly replaced with passion laced with lust.
We stare at each other, playing a game of dare, seeing who will make the first move. It's me that wins. I lean that centimetre more, fluttering my eyes shut, and in that very moment, our lips touch. Very gently as if our kiss is a secret not even we can know. I can hear the screaming in my head telling me this is wrong, but my heated core aches for more. His arms wrap around my shoulders and pulls me into him, his warmth enveloping me. Our kiss is pushed deeper and I can feel his breath tickle my mouth, asking permission to let him in. Am I ready to let this happen? Am I ready for the consequences of my actions after this is over? What will become of us? Is there even an us?
Ah, fuck it.
I let his tongue slip between my lips seeking my own. My hands reach for his face, embracing the five o'clock shadow I had grown accustom to seeing, never touching. Our kisses become more heated as if our lives depended on the motion to survive. There really is no going back.
My feet shuffle backwards as he presses me against the kitchen counter, his hands separating the cold granite from my lower back. He's protecting me from being bruised. Or perhaps he wants me all to himself, his hands unable to hold anything else.
Nope. I was wrong. I hear kitchen appliances once housed on my counter crashing down to the tile floor. His hands work feverishly to make a space for us to continue our musings. His hands move to the undersides of my thighs, giving my ass a quick grab, as he pulls me up on the counter. Our lips never breaking in the process.
My heart begins to falter, but I push back because I've craved this for far longer than I've allowed myself to realise. Our passionate embrace continues to grow in strength, in need. I can't stop my hands from exploring his strong arms, the way his muscles contour under the thin fabric of his shirt.
I sense his hands waiting patiently on my hips, letting me explore his body for the first time. I feel the gentle movements of his hands slowly working their way higher, gently passing over my ribs and to the sides of my bra. Who knew he'd be this much of a gentleman? His fingertips work towards the top of my shirt, resting at the first button of my work blouse. Slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, he patiently slips the button through its respective hole, allowing the fabric to open just enough to feel the cool air. He continues to the second button, pop. The third is let loose and I start to question our motives. Am I really ready for this? How far do I really want this to go? Surely once my shirt is off, there's not much further to go. This will happen.
His fingers graze over my rounded breasts, rising up and down as I breath heavily at his touch which sends jolts through me. I pull my lips from his and tilt my head to the side to drink in his lust filled eyes. He smirks, that fucking smirk that used to drive me wild with anger now ignites a desire I didn't know I was capable of feeling. He promptly crashes his lips back to mine, not able to be away from them for too long.
It's then I start to feel the panic set in. What the fuck am I doing? We've done nothing but piss each other off for the past however months we've known each other. How is this any different? For all I know after he gets his fix, we could go right back to normal. I wouldn't be able to handle that. No, Damon Salvatore is a man that women never forget. It's evident by the flock of women always trying to find new ways to get him to fall in love them. One fix is never enough. I can't become one of those women. Helpless, unable to control my own actions because he's completely wiped away my ability to function as an independent woman. That's something I've fought long and hard to become. One moment of Damon and it's gone. I couldn't do that to myself.
"Stop." I breathe the words on his lips and immediately feel his body still.
The words leave me before I even realise it. My hands find their way to his chest and I gently press my palms against his heart. I raise my eyes and see the confusion in his face. He dips his head, raising his eyes up to mine. As he speaks, I can see a mischievous glint in his eyes, covering his embarrassment.
"Getting a bit too heated?" His hands, which have been frozen in place on my fourth button, slowly lower to either side of me on the countertop.
I gently apply pressure on his chest and push him away. If I'm brutally honest with myself, for once, I'm embarrassed. I've never halted a steamy session regardless of the consequences. Why did I start now?
As my fingers drift from his lean chest, I see the growing anger in his eyes. Maybe I didn't stop the argument with a kiss. Maybe I just put a hold on the whole situation. Shit.
"You know what, I'm out of here." He stands tall and pauses for a moment. Putting on the front that I haven't actually wounded his pride. I slightly frown and open my mouth, then close it again. I didn't mean to hurt him, I just couldn't let it progress. I try to express myself, but the words won't surface.
He hangs his head in...defeat? Or was it disappointment? With that, he grabs his car keys from the countertop and promptly walks out. To my surprise, he doesn't let the door slam behind him.
I sit, frozen on the counter for what seems like ages. I wrap my head around what in the world just happened. One minute we're arguing with menace, speaking malicious words. The next we're about to throw down on my kitchen counter, giving into this clear need we have always had for each other.
But I royally fucked that up.
I hop off the counter, starting to put myself back together - figuratively and physically. I pick up whatever pieces of dignity I've left on the kitchen tile floor along with the appliances that have been pushed aside.
I start to regret my move in what seemed like our own calculative game of chess. Did I overthink everything? I've always been known to get ahead of myself in past situations, but this time, something felt off. I know I wanted him, all of him, there is no denying that. But I couldn't help feeling like I would've been just another notch on his proverbial belt. And that was something I wasn't ready to commit to.
It's neither here or there, so I desperately try to forget the last hour and decide to drown myself in what I do best: work.