Disclaimer: Not my characters, obviously. Just playing in their world for a while.

Thank you soooooo much for reading, reviewing, all of it! *mwah*

This chapter took me forever, and I think you'll see why once you get into it. I did more research and fact checking for this one than I did for some of the papers I wrote in college. XD Anyway, I hope it pays off and you like Elena and Damon's delightfully detailed meeting.

Also, a new character joins the fold. ;)

Enjoy!

Chapter Six

"What to wear, what to wear . . ."

There are three outfits laid out on Elena's bed: a pantsuit, a skirt and blouse combo, and her favorite fuzzy sweater and jeans. She considers each of them, wishing Caroline were here to give her advice, but she spent the night with Nik. Since they probably didn't get home until one or two in the morning, she doesn't want to disturb them with something as silly as a wardrobe check.

After a few more minutes of consideration, she decides against the suit. Too formal. This isn't a job interview. The next to go is the skirt and blouse. It's not a bad choice, but last night was unusually cold, and she doesn't want to freeze to death before seeing Damon.

"You win, comfy sweater and jeans." She puts the clothing that didn't make the cut back in her closet and heads for the bathroom. It's only eight o'clock, but she's already had enough coffee to last the entire day. She's both wired and exhausted, not having slept more than a few hours.

She quickly showers, dries her hair, and winds it into a messy bun on top of her head. She adds a little light makeup—nothing too serious, just a touch of lip gloss and enough concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes. Since she's not sure exactly what to expect during her meeting with Damon, she picks a nicer bra and undies than her typical Saturday go-tos. Then she slides into her jeans and sweater and finishes the look with a pair of knee-high suede boots.

There. It's not business casual, but it's not pajamas and bunny slippers either. Stopping in her room to collect her purse, she sends a quick text to Caroline.

Going to see Damon. Don't panic if I'm not here when you get back.

The reply is instantaneous. OMG! You're going for it?

Yep.

Congrats and good luck! xoxo

Thnx :*

Elena sticks her phone back in her purse and checks her reflection to make sure she doesn't have toothpaste on her sweater or a piece of lint in her hair. Deciding she looks relatively decent for a Saturday morning, she puts on her coat, pockets her keys, and slips out the door, locking it behind her.

Her breath fogs the air when she steps outside, and she pulls her coat tighter around her. At least it's sunny. She climbs into the car and puts the heat on full blast while she enters the club's address into her GPS. She's fairly certain she can get there without directions, but she's not taking any chances. Showing up late won't win her any points with Damon. It won't do to start things off with a punishment, however arousing the prospect of a spanking may be.

Cranking the radio and singing along at the top of her lungs helps calm the nerves that are creeping up on her again. She glances at the clock on the dash—9:20. Barring a traffic jam, she'll be at the club in thirty minutes.

Sending up a prayer that she doesn't act like a complete spaz when she sees Damon again, she puts the car in drive and eases into traffic.

###

Elena arrives at her destination with ten minutes to spare. Thankfully, traffic was bearable, and the trip went off without a hitch.

She gets out of the car and starts up the walkway toward the house, which appears much less intimidating in the light of day. Unfortunately, it doesn't stop the butterflies in her stomach from turning into elephants. Stampeding elephants.

She knocks on the door just as Caroline did during their last visit. Will Henry greet her this time, she wonders? Maybe it'll be Damon since the club doesn't actually open until eight in the evening.

The answer ends up being neither as the door is opened by a man she's never seen before. His light brown hair is combed back, and he's sporting a few days' worth of beard stubble. It's not a bad look. Rugged and a bit rough around the edges. His smile is polite enough, but it seems less welcoming than Henry's. More cautious, guarded.

"Hey," he says, gesturing for her to come inside. "Elena, right?"

She nods.

"Thought so. I'm Alaric Saltzman, Damon's head of security at the club." He offers her his hand, and she gives it a quick, efficient shake. "Nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you as well."

Alaric scratches his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets, and Elena surmises that being a doorman isn't his forte. "Damon's expecting you, so he should be here any—" One of the inner doors opens and Damon breezes in, looking devastating even in a black V-neck tee and a pair of snug-fitting dark jeans. "And there he is," Alaric finishes. "Perfect timing."

"Thanks, Ric. Feel free to head back to your office. I'll get the door." Damon comes to a stop in front of her and takes her hands in his. His warm grip feels good to her frozen fingers; she'd forgotten all about putting on gloves in her rush to get on the road. His smile is infectious, and she can't help but return it.

"Guess I'll be going then. You two have fun doing whatever it is you're going to do," Alaric says, nodding to Damon and waving at Elena.

"Bye, Alaric," Elena calls as he slips out the door, leaving them alone. She spends a few awkward seconds trying to decide how best to greet Damon. A handshake would be too formal. Besides, he's already holding her hands. Would it be inappropriate for a sub to hug her Dom? Is that too platonic? Or should she—

"Your hands are like ice," Damon murmurs, interrupting her internal debate. He rubs them between both of his until the feeling starts to come back. When he finishes, they're nice and toasty. "Much better."

"Thanks." She flexes her fingers, sliding them through his, but he doesn't release her hands. Instead, he pulls her closer.

"Welcome back." His eyes are the same shade of blue she remembers from the other night. Captivating, alluring.

"Hi," she manages to squeak before he dips his head and unerringly finds her mouth with his. The kiss is unhurried, gentle—a different approach than the one he used in the hallway outside the dungeon. He's obviously keenly aware that she's a walking jumble of nerves and is using the kiss as a calming tactic. It's working, too. Some of the tension drains away, and she leans into him.

Damon's kisses are her new favorite thing, she decides. His lips are magic, and she can't wait to feel them trail down her neck and find the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. The thought makes her shiver, and Damon pulls back with a frown.

"Still cold?" he asks, rubbing her arms through her coat.

"No, just thinking."

"About?"

"How much I enjoy kissing you." The admission makes heat rise in her cheeks.

"Same here." He grins and her blush deepens. "Let's get you out of that coat. Breakfast is waiting." She unzips her jacket, and he eases it off her shoulders and hangs it up in the coatroom. When he returns, he punches a code into the keypad by the door, reengaging the security system.

He takes her hand and leads her through the empty lounge area and down the hallway, at the end of which is a set of French doors she recalls seeing last time she was here. They were closed then, as they are now, and Damon opens one of them and holds it for her. "After you."

She steps inside and is instantly surrounded by a bevy of delicious aromas: coffee, cinnamon, bacon, maple syrup, and something sweet. Strawberries?

"It smells like heaven in here." She breathes in the heady combination, and her stomach responds with a loud rumble.

"I hope you brought your appetite," Damon says as he closes the door and gestures for her to have a seat on the couch. There's a table in front of it that's holding a massive tray with an assortment of covered dishes, a coffee carafe, a pitcher of juice, and place settings for each of them.

Elena settles on the sofa and glances around Damon's office. There's a window across from her that offers a view of the sprawling backyard. It isn't much to look at in the middle of winter, but she's sure it must be lovely in the spring and summer with rich, green grass and plenty of shade trees.

Her gaze takes in the rest of the room. The décor is relatively minimal, but there are two vibrant landscape paintings that immediately draw her attention. Aside from the sofa, there's a polished wooden desk, a stately grandfather clock, and a single chair by the window. She spots a photo of Damon and Stefan on the desk and another hanging on the wall of a woman she doesn't recognize but whose dark hair matches Damon's. His mother?

"Those paintings are gorgeous," she comments, in awe of the artist's skill. One depicts a full moon reflected in rippled waters; the second is a sunrise over the ocean.

"Nik did them." Damon sits down beside her and carefully pulls the table closer to them. "When he's not tying up Caroline, he enjoys getting in touch with his inner Monet."

"Impressive." She recalls Caroline mentioning something about Nik's creative side. Gifted painter by day, devious Dom by night, apparently.

Damon starts lifting lids off of dishes, and her eyes widen at the sheer amount of food. There's pancakes, French toast, bacon, sausage links, scrambled eggs, home fries, and a giant bowl of fresh fruit.

"There's enough food here for an army."

"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I got a little of everything." He scoots over until his leg is pressing against hers and reaches for the carafe. "Coffee?"

Not a good idea. If she has more caffeine, she'll be climbing the walls with her bare hands. "Actually, I'd better pass. I drank at least a gallon of the stuff before I came here. I'd be up for some juice though."

He pours her a glass and hands it to her. "So, what's your fancy?" he asks, motioning to the feast.

"Um, I'm good with a pancake." She's hungry, but her jitters are slowly destroying her appetite.

"A pancake?" Damon's eyebrows shoot up, and he studies her for a moment. "Okay, let's try this instead. Is there something here you don't like? Anything you're allergic to?"

Unsure what he's getting at, she answers truthfully. "I like all of it, and no, no allergies."

He nods and begins filling a plate with a little of each item. When he's done, he sits back and balances the plate in his lap. "We'll eat and talk, how about that?" He selects a strawberry and holds it to her lips. "Here."

She mimics his expression of surprise. "I can feed myself, y'know."

"Humor me."

His tone is mild, but she detects an underlying Dom vibe. She bites into the strawberry, her eyes closing in bliss when a burst of juice hits her tongue.

"Good?"

"Very."

He offers her the rest and she takes it. Some of the juice escapes and trickles down her chin, but before she can mop it up with a napkin, he collects the drop with his thumb and licks it off.

"Mmm, delicious," he murmurs, holding her gaze. "So, tell me about yourself. What do you do?"

Tearing her eyes away from his, she tries to recall what the question was. Oh, right. "I'm a receptionist at a doctor's office, and I also do some freelance writing."

"Interesting combo. What do you write about?" He cuts a piece of pancake with his fork and brings it to her mouth.

She pulls the fluffy square from the tines and waits to answer until she finishes chewing. Spitting food all over him wouldn't be the best way to make a good impression. In the meantime, he takes a bite for himself. "I cover current events, hot-button topics, local interest stories, that sort of thing. Sometimes it depends on the publication."

He sips at his coffee, regarding her over the rim. "Why did you decide to work at the doctor's office? Are you pursuing a career in medicine?"

At first, she assumed the Q&A was just his way of getting in some awkward small talk before the real discussion begins, but Damon seems genuinely interested in her life. It's unexpected and . . . nice. "No, I majored in English and Communications with the goal of eventually being a professional writer, but since writing is kind of a hit-or-miss occupation while you build your résumé, I needed something else to help pay the bills." She doesn't plan on including the next bit, but it comes out anyway. "My dad was a doctor, so I took on the receptionist job because it reminds me of all the time I spent running around his office when I was a kid."

Damon immediately picks up on her use of the past tense and pauses in the midst of cutting up a sausage link. "Did your dad pass?" he asks gently.

She nods, trying not to think about the worst day of her life. "He and my mom both, actually. Their car was T-boned by a drunk driver the summer before I turned sixteen."

His fingers curl around hers, and he gives her hand a squeeze. "I'm so sorry. I understand what that's like."

"Thanks," she whispers, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall. It's hard to believe it's almost been ten years since she lost them. She clears her throat as the rest of his words sink in. "Your parents are gone, too?"

He nods, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "My mom died when I was thirteen, and my father drank himself into an early grave just before Stef graduated from high school."

Now it's her turn to offer comfort. "I'm sorry to hear that." She points to the picture on the wall. "Is that your mom?"

"Yeah. I miss her, but my father . . . not so much." He feeds her a piece of sausage as he talks. "After Mom died, it was like he hated the sight of us. He'd come home from the office and drink until he passed out. After a while, he decided it'd be fun to try and smack me around, but that stopped as soon as he found out I hit back. I refused to let Stefan be the next target, so I took him everywhere with me. Didn't even matter if it was a date."

"You protected him. I hate that you went through that, but I'm glad you had each other."

"Me, too. We lived in a small town, and my old man was a high and mighty lawyer who ran his own practice. Talk about a god complex." He offers her a grape and pops one into his own mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "The positive side to the story is that part of the money from his estate helped me get this place started."

"Wow," she murmurs, more than a little awestruck by Damon's perseverance. "Do you have any other siblings?"

"No, just Stefan." A forkful of scrambled eggs comes her way next. "How about you?"

"A younger brother, Jeremy. He's a graphic designer in LA."

They spend the next hour chatting about what they do in their spare time. Elena tells him about going hiking with Caroline and how they like to get out of the city as much as possible. Damon reveals that he enjoys running and taking ski trips with Stefan over the holidays. Sometimes the Mikaelsons tag along, and Elena senses that Damon and the other Doms share a close bond. There's a family vibe to their relationship, and she supposes it's only natural given how much time they spend together. She can relate; she and Caroline might as well be sisters.

She learns Damon's a fan of rock, and he lists the Stones, Janis, and Hendrix as some of his faves. She divulges that her musical tastes are all over the map—everything from R&B to classical to Friday night karaoke. She makes him laugh with stories of hapless middle school dances, and when she presses him, he admits he could probably play something other than "Wonderwall" on the guitar.

He continues to feed her bites of this and that, alternating between sweet and salty, fruity and buttery, until she sits back with a groan, the last blueberry having pushed her over the edge into don't-eat-another-crumb territory. "I'm gonna explode." She rubs her belly and grimaces. "You must've fed me at least five pounds of food."

Damon chuckles as he mops up a puddle of syrup with a piece of French toast and sticks it in his mouth. "Hardly. Besides, I plan on keeping you quite . . . busy in the near future, so you'll need to eat enough to keep up your strength. Consider this practice." He waggles his brows and finishes his coffee while she turns three shades of red.

He stacks their empty dishes and moves the table aside. "So, are you ready to talk details?" he asks.

"Sure, as long as I can stretch out somewhere and do my best impression of a beached whale," she mutters.

"Aren't you funny." He pats his leg and crooks a finger at her. "C'mere."

"What?"

Instead of responding, he simply repositions her so she's lying down with her head resting in his lap. One minute she's sitting upright, the next she's staring at the ceiling. The ease with which he manipulates her body into the position he wants it in is a little unnerving, but she supposes it's second nature to him.

Damon grins and starts gently working on the hair tie keeping her bun in place. "You wanted to stretch out, so there you go." Once her hair is free, he combs through it a few times with his fingers until it's draped over his leg like a blanket. "You have a gorgeous mane of hair, Elena. I don't usually make demands on a sub's appearance, but aside from trimming the ends here and there, I'd like you to keep it long."

He's lightly massaging her scalp now, which is lulling her into a state of total agreeableness. "Okay," she murmurs. Don't cut my hair? No problem. Lie here while you play with it? Awesome. Walk on a bed of hot coals? Cool.

"The rules are probably the best place to start." He's still stroking her hair, and she has the urge to start purring like a contented cat. "First of all, I expect you to be on time. When we meet, you should arrive a few minutes early and be waiting for me. Showing up late will earn you a punishment. However, I'm not a tyrant. I understand some things are beyond your control—traffic tie-ups, car trouble. All I ask is if something like that comes up, you let me know."

"That's reasonable." Caroline's already mentioned this rule. Elena can do punctual, no problem. She's rarely ever late for anything.

"Secondly, you should eat and drink plenty of water beforehand," he continues. "It doesn't have to be a nine-course meal, but we'll be expending some serious energy, so you'll need it. The water will keep you from getting dehydrated," he points out. "There will be other times when I'd like you to eat with me, and I'll tell you in advance."

Those directives are easy enough. "Eat and drink. Got it."

"You should also know that I'm not into sharing. At all," he stresses. "Some Doms like to share their subs with others or engage in threesomes or orgies. That's a fine preference to have, but it's not one of mine. No one will be allowed to touch you without my permission."

She nods, grateful to hear she won't be passed around like a communal play toy.

"Caroline's already taught you about titles, but here's a quick refresher. You should address every Dominant as 'Sir' or 'Ma'am,' or 'Master' or 'Mistress' and their name. When used by itself, 'Master' implies you belong to someone, so that one's reserved for me." He winks and tugs on a lock of her hair. "Otherwise, you may call me 'Sir' or 'Master Damon,' but only if we're at the club or scening elsewhere. I don't expect you to use titles 24/7."

24/7 . . . "Okay." She raises a hand and waves it in the air like a precocious student. "Can I ask a question?"

"Fire away."

"While I was doing research, I came across a description of a total power exchange—a Master/slave relationship. Is that what you're, uh, looking for?" she asks in a tiny voice.

"No." He smooths the furrow in her brow with his thumb. "I have the utmost respect for those who enter into that kind of relationship, but it's not something I'm interested in. Controlling every aspect of someone's life would get exhausting after a while."

"Oh, good." She sighs in relief, but then she recalls something else he said. "What do you mean by 'scening elsewhere'? Won't we always be at the club?"

"Not necessarily. Once you're comfortable with the idea, I'll invite you to spend time with me at my home. I have a fully stocked playroom. And an extremely large bed," he adds. "Plus, there'll be parties and dinners I'll ask you to attend with me."

Interesting. The mention of his bed reminds her of her dream, and she crosses and uncrosses her legs as the familiar ache returns between her thighs. "What should I wear while we're . . . scening?"

"I'll provide you with outfits in advance."

She doesn't expect him to buy her clothes. "I'll pay you ba—"

"Absolutely not," he quickly shoots down her offer. "I'll be dressing you to suit my pleasure. Therefore, the responsibility is mine."

"What if I want to shop for something to wear that I think will please you?"

He smiles and twirls a piece of her hair around his finger. "That can be arranged."

The way he's looking at her is making her insides do all sorts of funny things. There's desire in his gaze. Raw need. She recognizes them because they're the same feelings blossoming within her. "Caroline told me subs usually wear cuffs while they're at the club. Will I be wearing them, too?"

"Mmhmm. They're not only convenient, they let other Doms know a sub is taken. In addition to the cuffs, I'll be putting a collar around your lovely neck. You'll notice others wearing them as well. They have different meanings to different couples, but this one will tell everyone you're new and you're with me. All other interested parties need not apply," he adds with a growl.

The possessive edge to his voice has her squirming restlessly against the cushions.

"You like the idea of being mine and mine alone," he murmurs.

It's not a question, but she feels compelled to answer anyway. "Yes," she whispers.

He smooths a hand over the soft denim of her jeans, stopping briefly at the hem of her sweater before slipping underneath. He flattens his palm on her stomach and dips his thumb into her bellybutton, making her jump.

"Still a little anxious, I see. That's why I'm using this opportunity to get you used to my touch and having my hands on your delectable body. Your skin is like silk, Elena. I can't wait to see, feel . . . and taste every inch of you." His hand continues its journey, skimming over her ribcage until it finds the lacy cup of her bra. He rubs a finger back and forth over the material, and her nipple tightens into a firm nub beneath his caress. "So responsive."

She gasps and presses into him, wanting to feel more of the incredible sensations he's creating. Unfortunately, the stroking stops all too soon and his hand returns to her belly. She glances up at him with big, what-did-I-do eyes.

"Sorry, kitten," he soothes. "If I keep going, you'll be naked underneath me on this couch before we have a chance to finish our discussion."

I fail to see the problem. Is it too early to start begging, she wonders? With a few deep breaths, she manages to calm her raging hormones, which are on the verge of throwing a spectacular tantrum.

"I'll make it up to you," he promises.

She recalls Caroline's description of his special talents. It's sure to be a hell of a pleasurable make-up. I'll take it.

"One more rule, and it's a big one. Are you familiar with the public BDSM clubs?"

"I know they exist, but I've never been to one."

"Good. Let's keep it that way. And this isn't me being a snobby business owner, believe me. Two subs who frequent those clubs have gone missing in the past month. They were new to the scene, unattached, and vulnerable. Alaric's investigating the situation, and he thinks there's a human trafficking ring behind it. They've been known to approach unsuspecting subs, kidnap them, and action them off to the highest bidders as sex slaves."

Jesus. "That's horrible. Is Alaric a cop?"

"He used to be a detective with the Atlanta PD before he branched off into security work."

"Are you worried about that happening here?" she asks.

"I'm trying to prevent it by keeping a close eye on who's applying for membership and having Alaric run background checks on everyone. So far, it's worked well." He raises an arm and knocks on the wood paneling. "So, are you still stuffed to the brim?" His fingers dance over her stomach, and she can't stop a giggle from escaping.

"No, I'm finally starting to feel normal again."

"Glad to hear it. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to disturb you so I can get a few things." He helps her sit up then rises himself and strolls over to the desk. He grabs a sheet of paper, a manila folder, a notepad, and a pen and makes his way back to the couch.

Once he's resettled, he hands her the paper, pad, and pen. "What's this?" She examines the sheet, which appears to be a checklist of some sort.

"It's a list of activities we may or may not engage in based on your preferences. If you mark one as 'never,' that's a hard limit—something you're absolutely not willing to do. 'No' is for an activity you don't think you'd like but would be capable of doing if I asked you to. 'Maybe' is for things you're unsure about but might be open to trying in the future. 'Yes' is something you'd like to try or already have an interest in," he explains. "Your answers don't have to be set in stone. We can renegotiate as we go along."

Seems simple enough. She drums the pen on the paper as she reads the first few items on the list.

Whoa. Maybe simple's the wrong word.

###

Damon chuckles as Elena's eyes widen at whatever it is she's just read. He can't help but be proud of her when she gives herself a little shake and focuses on her task with the determination of a student taking a final exam. She's clearly serious about exploring her submission with him, and he couldn't be more pleased.

He watches as she considers each item, occasionally tapping her bottom lip with the pen. She gives quick answers to some, which are probably the "never" and "yes" activities. It's the "no"s and "maybe"s that subs usually mull over the longest.

"If you've never heard of an activity on there, don't hesitate to ask me about it," he adds.

"'Kay." She taps her lip again, and a look of pure horror crosses her face. "Holy smokes," she whispers. "There's some hardcore stuff on here."

"Some people are into the hardcore stuff."

"Are you?" she asks tentatively.

"Not in the sense of extreme pain or some of the more . . . unusual fetishes."

"Good to know." She visibly relaxes at his admission and continues working through the list. He studies her body language, noting whenever her mouth falls open, her thighs rub together, or a pink tinge warms her cheeks. Definite desire. He can't wait to see which items are responsible for eliciting those reactions.

He doesn't miss the negative responses either—a curled lip, a raised brow, a crinkled nose. She's incredibly expressive, making it fairly easy to read her. As a Dom, one if his strengths has always been keying into a sub's nonverbal cues, which often tell him more about what they're feeling than they're capable of putting into words, especially in the beginning.

"Um." She looks at him, then back at the paper in her lap. "Wrapping someone in Saran is exactly what it sounds like, right? Like they're a leftover you're about to stick in the fridge?"

He chuckles at the analogy. "Pretty much, minus the fridge part."

"Ooookay." She moves further down the list, humming as she goes. She mumbles some lyrics under her breath, and he listens closely, trying to pick up on the song. Eventually, he hears, ". . . whips and chains, handcuffs, smack a little booty up with my belt . . ."

Laughter rips out of him, and his head falls back against the couch. "I didn't know you were a Ludacris fan," he manages after the last snicker fades.

"I sang that out loud, didn't I?"

"Yep."

"That was supposed to stay in my head," she mutters. "Hey, I thought you were into rock music."

"I may have gone through a brief rap phase."

After a half hour passes, she circles her last choice and hands him the list. He peruses her selections, nodding in agreement with most of them. Their compatibility is evident: many of the activities he enjoys are ones she's circled as "yes" or "maybe." However, there are a few answers he'd like to discuss.

"Have you ever tried any kind of anal play?" he asks, watching as heat rises in her cheeks again. She's placed this particular activity in the "no" column. "I don't necessarily mean full-on sex. Could be anything—a finger, a toy."

"No," she answers immediately.

"The idea of it frightens you?"

"It sounds pretty painful, to be honest."

"It can be if it's done incorrectly. If your partner takes the time to prepare you properly, however, it can be very enjoyable." He studies her face. She's embarrassed and a little freaked out but also, if he's reading her accurately, curious. "I'd like to revisit your feelings about it—not right away, but eventually. Does that seem reasonable?"

She nods after a moment, and he writes "maybe; discuss in future" next to the listing for anal play.

"I see you're willing to let me blindfold you, but I have a slight caveat here. I'm not keen on using blindfolds with new subs because I want to be able to see your eyes while we're scening. What I find there will tell me if you're turned on, terrified, or, once we've built up to it, floating in subspace."

"That makes sense. I hadn't thought about it that way," she confesses.

He runs through the rest of her choices. "I'm not a sadist, but I do think a little pain goes a long way, so I'll occasionally use crops and paddles, which you've given the green light. The flogger is a 'maybe,' so we'll work up to that one." He smiles at what he discovers next. "The nipple clamps earned a 'maybe,' too. Interesting." Other items in her "yes" column include gags, vibrators, bondage, dildos, spanking, spreader bars, cuffs, collars, roleplay, oral, and leather restraints.

She's marked suspension, hot/cold play, medical scenes, and Shibari as "maybe"s, which is understandable. They fall on the more adventurous side of the spectrum. "As you gain experience, I'll start to push your boundaries, Elena. The goal is for you to grow and flourish as a submissive, which I'm very much looking forward to helping you do, but don't always expect the path of least resistance from me."

"I understand." There's a hint of fire in her eyes now, a look that says challenge accepted. The prospect makes his already hard cock press even tighter against the zipper of his jeans. If he doesn't redirect his thoughts pretty soon, he's going to cut off his circulation.

A review of her hard limits reveals things he already expected—extremely painful items, such as caning, whipping, cutting, branding, and piercing. It'd be a sin to mar her skin like that anyway. No swinging, swapping, or giving her away to another Dom, which he's made clear he'll never do. None of the "hardcore" activities she alluded to earlier, and he's fine with that because those aren't his bag either.

Satisfied with her list, he sets it aside and hands her the manila folder he'd brought over. "Time for a brief detour."

"What's this?" She opens it and reads the top page.

"It's important for you to know you'll be safe with me, sexually." He taps the paper. "I get tested regularly to make sure I'm clean."

"Thank you for telling me, although I admit I wasn't particularly worried. You seem to take excellent care of yourself. I'll get a copy of my last exam and send it to you. No nasty surprises here either." A frown crosses her face. "I haven't been with anyone in . . . a while," she finishes lamely. "I've continued to take birth control though."

"Would you still prefer me to use condoms?" He wants her to be completely comfortable with their arrangement.

She considers the question for a few seconds and nods. "I think I would, just in case that little pill slips up one of these days. Is that okay?"

"Absolutely. It's your body, Elena. You have every right to be cautious," he assures her.

Now that the clinical aspect of their agreement has been discussed, it's time to circle back around to another piece of protocol.

"Has Caroline shown you the position she assumes when greeting Nik?" he asks.

"Yep."

He gestures to the carpeted floor. "Show me, please."

She scrambles off the couch and sinks to her knees. What a fucking gorgeous sight. She looks thoughtful for a moment, then spreads her legs, places her hands palms-up on her thighs, and bows her head.

He stands and circles her, pleased with her presentation. "Very nice, but I'm going to make a few slight adjustments." Tension returns to her shoulders, and he rubs them until the stiffness vanishes. "Don't worry. You didn't make any mistakes. It's just a matter of personal preference."

He stops in front of her. "Instead of resting them on your thighs, I'd like your hands clasped behind your back," he instructs, keeping his tone light but firm. She instantly complies with the directive, earning her a smile she can't see. "Spread your legs a bit wider." He nudges her knee with toe of his boot. "More. It's not easy to do in jeans, I know. There, perfect." He steps to the side to examine her posture and bends down to press lightly on the center of her back, just enough to enhance the natural curve of her spine and make her thrust her chest forward. "Lovely. This is the way I'd like you to greet me before we play. If I'm not in the room when you arrive, you should wait for me in this position."

He hooks a finger under her chin and tilts her head back until she's looking at him. "Everything clear?"

She nods as best as she's able. "Yes."

"Good." A quick check of his watch reveals it's already early afternoon. His breakfast is long gone, and he assumes hers is as well. "Ready to take a break for lunch?"

She blinks at him like she hasn't realized how much time has passed. He can relate. He'd been so caught up in their discussion, he hadn't noticed either. "What time is it?"

"Almost two."

"Wow. Yeah, a break sounds good."

He helps her up and takes her hand as they walk toward the door. "There's a fantastic deli a few minutes from here. Would that work?"

"Sure." She tucks her hair behind her ear, and he notices she hasn't made any move to put it back into a bun after he took it down.

He stops outside another closed door and gives it a sharp rap with his knuckles. "Elena and I are going to grab something to eat. Any requests?"

Alaric opens the door, and he's holding something that looks like a half-eaten Hot Pocket. "Now you tell me."

"Sorry, man. Drinks later to make up for it?"

"Now you're talkin.'"

Damon claps him on the back, then he leads Elena through the sprawling house to the front hall for their coats and out the back door to the attached garage. His trusty Camaro waits there, and he opens the passenger door for her.

"Classic," she murmurs, running her hand over the sky-blue hood. "I thought maybe you'd have some ridiculous luxury car with heated seats that responds to voice commands and folds your laundry."

"I have one of those, too, although it hasn't mastered fitted sheets yet." She giggles, and the sound is music to his ears. "The Lexus is for business. This one's for pleasure. I thought it would be appropriate for today."

She ducks her head, but he doesn't miss the smile there.

###

The main lunch rush has passed, and they manage to find an open table in a secluded corner of the shop. In between bites of her Caesar salad and his chicken parm, they trade small talk. The flow is relaxed and awkward silences are rare.

Eyeing an opportunity to find out more about what makes her tick, he leans back and regards her from across the table. "We've discussed things you'd like to try, but are any of them attached to a particular fantasy?" he asks.

She pauses with a forkful of salad halfway to her mouth. "Uh . . ."

"You seem to enjoy the idea of being helpless—the more, the better. Is there anything specific attached to that?"

"I had a dream about you the other night. About us," she reveals. "It was definite fantasy material."

Color him intrigued. "What happened in the dream?"

She glances around as if she's checking for potential eavesdroppers. "I was gagged and cuffed to a bed, totally naked. I could barely move. You straddled me, teased my breasts, told me I was yours." She pauses to clear her throat and take a sip of water. "I was more turned on than I've ever been in my life, and then the damn alarm clock woke me up," she grumbles.

"Hmm, interesting." He makes a mental note to turn her dream into a reality. "Anything else get your juices flowing, so to speak?"

She instantly flushes and picks at her salad. "The harem room may have given me some ideas."

"How so?" he asks, his curiosity peaked.

"In this fantasy, you're the prince of some distant land, and I'm a concubine given to you as a gift by one of your loyal subjects," she murmurs.

Holy fuck. His cock is on board with the idea. A little too on board, he acknowledges as he covertly readjusts himself. "I like that fantasy, kitten. Very much."

She smiles at his approval and stabs a piece cucumber with her fork. "Will we do normal things sometimes, or will it always be kinky between us?"

"I'd like it to be a mixture of both. I don't want our relationship to be solely about sex." He's interested in knowing her inside and outside of the playroom.

"I'd like that, too." She reaches over and curls her hand around his. "Can I ask you about something you mentioned the other night?"

He laces their fingers together and massages her palm with his thumb. "Of course."

"What happened with your first sub? Was she not a good match, or . . . ?"

Discussing Charlotte falls just below taking out the garbage on his list of least favorite things to do, but Elena deserves to know the truth. "She was interested in me, and I was interested back. I trained her, and we played regularly at the club, but when I suggested making our relationship more permanent, she shut me down. Turns out, she wanted the fantasy but not the reality. She wanted a guy to tie her up and smack her ass a few nights a week and then go about her business. No strings, no commitment," he quietly explains.

"I'm sorry."

"It was a while ago."

"But it still haunts you. That's why you haven't taken a new sub. What made you change your mind?" she asks.

Now who's the perceptive one. "There's something about you I can't deny, Elena. I felt it when we first met. You're genuine, open. Expressive. It took me too long to realize it, but Charlotte was none of those things."

She nods. "Thank you. I'm glad you told me about her."

The conversation returns to neutral territory when he asks about the next article she's writing, and she enquires about the day-to-day responsibilities of the owner of a BDSM club.

Before too much longer, it's time to leave, and the trip back is a relatively quiet one. He glances at Elena as her eyes drift shut and her head tips back against the seat. He pulls into the driveway and parks his car next to hers. He tries not to disturb her, but she wakes when he turns off the ignition, climbs out, and walks around to open her door.

She stretches and looks up at him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to nod off on you."

He takes her hand and helps her out of the car. "Didn't sleep well last night?" he asks knowingly.

"Not exactly," she admits.

"I saw all those yawns you tried to hide. Go home and rest. You're exhausted." He cups her cheeks and smooths his thumbs over the dark smudges underneath her eyes that her makeup can't entirely disguise.

"I'll be fine."

"Elena." His tone doesn't leave room for further arguments, and she doesn't attempt any. Good girl. "That's not a request. As my sub, your wellbeing is one of my top priorities."

"Yes, Sir." She uses his title even though she doesn't have to, and it sends a rush of warmth through him.

"I'd like to have our first session on Wednesday. That'll give you time to digest everything we've discussed and ask me any questions you didn't think of today. Sound good?"

"Sure. What time should I be here?"

"It's a weeknight, so let's go with 7:30."

"Okay. Will I hear from you before then?" she asks. The hint of longing in her voice is nearly his undoing.

"Oh, I'll definitely be in touch, pet. You can count on that." No way will he be able to keep from contacting her for the next three days.

Without releasing his hold, he gently tilts her head and brushes his lips over hers. She tastes of strawberry lemonade and cinnamon from the slice of apple pie they shared for dessert. Delicious.

He reluctantly pulls back, staring into her deep brown eyes for a few moments before he lets her go.

"I haven't even left yet, and I already can't wait to see you again," she murmurs.

"I feel the same way." He opens her door, and she gets into the car. "Drive safe."

"I will. Bye, Damon."

"Goodbye, Elena."