Chapter Twelve: When I'm with Him, It Just Consumes Me
Exactly six hours and thirty seven minutes after Damon's phone call to Elijah ended, the Original, along with his creepy sister, arrived in New Orleans on an airplane.
During that interminable amount of time, Damon could do nothing but wait, trying his very best to hold it together and not completely lose his mind. The rage he'd initially felt when Elena was taken from him had mostly burned itself out, to be replaced by less useful emotions like panic and hopelessness. The anguish of waiting, of doing nothing, was made even more unendurable by thoughts of what Elena might be suffering and the fear he'd be too late to save her.
Not only was she in just your general, run of the mill danger from the vampires who held her captive, but Marcel was connected to Klaus. And while Marcel had seemed to be unaware of Elena's relationship to Klaus – she was the doppelganger cock-block to Klaus's hybrid army hard-on - Damon couldn't be sure.
How often were Klaus and Marcel in contact? Monthly? Weekly? Completely randomly? Not at all?
If Klaus happened to reach out to Marcel, or vice versa, and Marcel happened to mention his recent encounter with a vampire named Damon Salvatore and a newly acquired human girl named Elena, even Klaus would be able to add that math together, enough to suspect Elena Gilbert might still be alive.
Which would be catastrophic, undoing everything Damon had done so far to try and keep her off Klaus's radar.
Then, as if all that wasn't bad enough, Damon still had to worry about Magic with a capital M choosing to strike again while Elena was especially vulnerable and unprotected.
All in all, it was enough to send a lesser man into a complete downward spiral. But he refused to give into the debilitating despair trying to creep in. He would get her away from Marcel. He had to. And it needed to be ASAP.
Fortunately, once Elijah and Rebekah arrived, they weren't inclined to waste any time. The plan was simple. The Originals would gain entry and take care of Marcel and his vampires, or "vermin," as Elijah referred to them. Meanwhile, Damon would find Elena, and Caroline, Ric, and the others would handle freeing the werewolves.
To begin, Elijah and Rebekah strolled right up to the front doors of Klaus's mansion while everyone else waited out on the darkened street.
Ever the consummate gentleman, Elijah knocked, two concise knuckle raps. Rebekah waited just behind him, balancing on the balls of her feet, nibbling her bottom lip in anticipation.
No answer.
"I suggest you open this door immediately," Elijah warned, "or it will not end well for you."
Again, no response.
Elijah effortlessly tore the pair of heavy mahogany doors out of their frame with a mighty cracking sound and tossed them into the middle of the street. Destroyed masonry crumbled to the ground in a shower of dust and brick particles.
Elijah and Rebekah disappeared inside. The screams began – death-cries that rent the air, a multi- layered symphony of fear and anguish.
Such exquisite music to Damon's sensitive ears.
Damon managed to wait twenty seconds tops before his patience expired and he dashed in after the bloodthirsty siblings. They were already out of sight and had left in their wake so much glorious death. Graying corpses and bloody hearts littered the inner courtyard. The coast had most certainly been cleared.
He bounded up an iron-wrought staircase to the second level, swift as an arrow in flight, going from room to room seeking any sign of Elena, desperate to find her before any more harm had a chance to come to her. Most of the rooms were locked, forcing him to smash through the doors. Every single time they were empty. Not even any enemy vamps inside on whom he could take out his frustrations. But he didn't give up, though each unoccupied room increased his urgency a thousand fold.
She had to be here somewhere. There was no other alternative.
He yanked the handle off the next door and kicked it open. He entered –
And nimbly sidestepped the lamp Elena tried to bean him with.
She raised the lamp for another strike. Realizing who it was at the last second, she halted her assault. "Damon?"
One side of his mouth quirked up. "One and only."
She tossed the lamp to the ground, where it shattered, and launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck. She clung to him, trembling, as he cupped the back of her head and ran his other hand soothingly over her back.
Admiration for her bravery welled up. She'd been planning to go down fighting, armed only with a lamp.
Foolish, infuriating, courageous girl.
He pressed his cheek against her hair, savoring her solidness and warmth. Her aliveness.
A minute later, she leaned back, meeting his gaze, and blurted out, "I'm sorry! I didn't invite that vampire in, and I swear I kept the door locked. But she kicked it down and already knew your plans. I should've fought harder - "
A quick jerk of his chin cut her off. "It doesn't matter. It's over." Vampires oftentimes didn't need invitations to enter hotel rooms, and if that vampire bitch had tailed them all the way from the hunter's cabin, it was probable she'd found a way to eavesdrop on them as they made plans. Nothing Elena could've prevented.
A particularly agonized scream cut through the brief lull in conversation. Elena winced. "What's going on?"
"I called Elijah."
Her eyes widened. "Oh."
He grasped her chin and tilted her head back, in order to examine her. The slender, elegant column of her neck was a canvas of bite marks and bruises, as were her arms. A shadowy mark darkened her cheek. She'd been slapped.
His blood boiled. Those marks had to go. They couldn't be allowed to mar her perfect skin for even one more second. He bit into the fleshy part of his palm and offered it to her.
She didn't say anything or hesitate for even an instant, just grasped his hand and brought it to her lips, eagerly licking away the blood that welled up before his palm healed itself. Guess she wanted the wounds gone as much as he did.
When she was done, she released his hand, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.
He took a hold of her chin again, retilting her head to reveal her neck once more. To make sure her tender flesh had fully healed.
"I'm fine now," she assured him.
One corner of his mouth lifted in a gentle smile, and he nodded, willing to accept the lie for now until they weren't in such immediate danger. "Let's get the hell outta here, then, huh?"
"Yes, please." She placed her slim hand in his.
They hurried back through the house, Damon in the lead, hastening for the front door. Unfortunately, they couldn't avoid running into Elijah and Rebekah. The pair were blocking the entrance way. Apparently, they had completed their task of slaughtering all the vampires on the premises.
Good. Those vampires got off too lightly, as far as he was concerned.
Rebekah was leaning toward Elijah, blood-splattered lips moving. Damon tuned in just in time to hear her say, "Still no sign of Marcel."
The news didn't appear to affect Elijah. He continued fastidiously dabbing at the spots of blood on his face with a handkerchief, seemingly oblivious to the fact that both his hands were crimson-drenched to the wrists.
Damon, however, accepted this news less calmly. He came to a stop in front of them and snarled, "I'm sorry – what?"
The two Originals transferred their attention his way. Their cold, ancient gazes unnerved him, but not enough to make him back down.
"Please tell me that that fuckstain Marcel is not still on the loose."
"Funny," Rebekah said with pouty pink lips. "That didn't sound like gratitude. Did it sound like gratitude to you?"
"Not in the slightest." Elijah concurred.
"Exactly which part of Marcel's not dead yet should I be grateful for?" Damon felt like a cartoon character and steam was going to start shooting out of his ears. "Every minute he's out there is another minute he can blab to Klaus about Elena. You gave your word Klaus wouldn't find about her, or again does that mean nothing?"
Damon addressed this last to Elijah, but it was Rebekah who answered snarkily, "Technically, we only promised we wouldn't tell Klaus. We can't speak for others, of course."
Damon bristled. Elena's hand came down on his arm, a restraining touch.
At the same time, Elijah interjected, "Marcel will be eliminated, have no fear. We have no intentions of letting Elena come to any harm."
"You know what," Damon said, "don't worry about it. There's nothing I enjoy more than a nice, violent, well-deserved murder, and since you guys had all the fun here, I'll take care of Marcel myself. You know, make sure he really suffers."
Rebekah was suddenly in his face, eyes blood red, veins spidering out above high cheekbones. She hissed through a mouthful of fangs, "He's mine."
Black eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead. "Whoa." He moved back, a single step of concession. "Former boy toy of yours?"
The look she gave him made him take another step backwards. "The sound of your voice is annoying." Her vampire aspect receded until she appeared to be nothing more than a cruel, pretty young woman again. She asked Elijah, "Can I rip out his vocal chords?"
"Tempting. Extremely, actually," he replied. "But no, let him keep them for now."
"Pity." She pouted. "Brothers can be annoying, too," she informed Damon. "Always telling you what to do. Or trying to, anyway."
"Tell me about it," Damon agreed, "after you've ripped out Marcel's vocal chords instead. One pair should be as good as another, hmm?"
"Yes, they have that in common with you and Stefan, apparently. Or maybe it's just that you're the only one left, so she has to settle." She slid the cattiest of all catty looks Elena's way. "Which is it, Elena? 'Fess up."
"Rebekah." Elijah's voice held more than a little warning.
Her eyes rolled skyward. "Ugh, fine. I never get to have any fun. I'm off to go kill Marcel, then. Stay out of my way," she threatened Damon, "or I'll kill you, too." With that, she vanished.
Damon scowled at the space Rebekah had just been occupying. "Come on, we're leaving."
Elena resisted when he tugged on her. "What about my brother and my friends? And the werewolves?"
Elijah answered. "Being freed as we speak. Your witch was powerful enough to break the spell on their chains." He directed his next remark to Damon. "Before you think to run off and disappear, there's the little matter of our deal. I help you rescue Elena, and in return, you hand over the white oak. I've upheld my end." He held out his hand, palm up.
Gulp. This was the part Damon had been dreading. Elijah expected the white oak as payment for his admittedly major part in saving Elena, and the truth was that Damon would love to give it to him, but unfortunately, the white oak was not currently available in white oak form.
Elijah grew impatient. "In case I've been unclear, this is the part where you hand it over."
Damon made more than one awkward throat clearing sound. "Okay, so here's the thing. It's not exactly in my possession at the moment."
"The only weapon capable of killing my brother, and you've lost it?"
"I didn't lose it. I can tell you right where it is. Just go downstairs to the basement-slash-dungeon, where you'll find a big pile of ashes," he drew a circle in the air and poked his finger through the center, right at Elijah, "courtesy of Marcel whom you allowed to escape. I bet if you just sweep 'em up, they'll be good as new."
Elijah tucked the bloody handkerchief into a breast pocket. He was tight-lipped with anger. "I see I was being presumptuous when I assumed the bloodshed was over for the evening."
This unsettling pronouncement reminded Damon that Elijah had just killed oodles of vampires in a matter of minutes and certainly looked more than capable of killing one more. Damon straightened and tugged Elena behind him.
"Just look at it like this," he hurried to reassure the angry Original. "Sure, we're currently without a means of killing your diabolically insane, megalomaniac of a brother, per se, but I'd like to point out that we did kill a bunch of his minions and set his pet wolves free. So even if he ever did figure out what's stopping him from being able to create more hybrids, he won't have anyone to draft into his hybrid army. I think that's a pretty big deal."
Elijah appeared less than reassured. "The problem with that theory, Damon, is that my brother has walked this earth for millennia and has strongholds all over the globe, each one likely already filled with other poor souls he's captured, waiting for the day when he can successfully turn them into the ultimate soldiers. We've destroyed but a single cell of the disease." Even though it didn't seem possible, Elijah's face grew even more severe and displeased. "I was willing to let bygones be bygones and to overlook your rash decision to take matters into your own hands and go after Niklaus on your own, under the assumption that you would ultimately prove yourself useful to me. That assumption has proven unsound, which does not bode well for you, I'm afraid."
Elijah's first fractional movement in Damon's direction – he started to raise his left hand - had Elena thrusting herself between them. Damon immediately yanked her back.
"No, please!" she cried. "We can find another way to kill Klaus."
"Interesting proposal, Miss Gilbert, considering there is no other way to kill him," Elijah drawled.
"There has to be."
"Your confidence is admirable, though I'm afraid I don't share it."
"Nature's all about balance, right? Which means Klaus can't truly be immortal. Nature would never allow that, which means there has to be another way! We'll help you find it. We did it once, we can do it again." She looked to Damon for support. "Right?"
Damon's lip curled. She prodded him with a bony elbow.
"Right," he muttered darkly.
"Please let us try," she begged Elijah. Her plea was earnest, and had she been asking this of Damon, he wouldn't have been able to refuse her.
Elijah was a different story. The Original canted his head, studying Elena with the absolute stillness that only a true predator lying in wait for its prey could achieve. Elena's expression was determined, but Damon, and certainly Elijah as well, could hear her heart beating a frantic rhythm. Elijah's nostrils flared minutely, scenting the blood that stained her clothes. Then his gaze flicked to Damon, who had no idea what was about to happen.
Finally, Elijah said, "What is it about Petrova doppelgangers that makes it so very difficult to deny them?"
"Let me know when you figure it out," Damon quipped.
A most affable smile flashed across Elijah's face before it disappeared. He resumed straightening his cuffs, once more a model of genteel reserve and sophistication. "I suppose there's no virtue in being overly hasty. I find myself willing to give you one last chance to rectify your mistake."
Elena let out a very heartfelt, "Thank you."
"Fail, and I'll kill Damon."
"What?" Elena protested. "No!"
"Deal," Damon said quickly.
Elijah raised his chin, a clear gesture of dismissal. "Go. Get Elena to safety. Rebekah and I will finish up here."
Damon started to go, but Elijah called him back. "Oh, and Damon?"
He looked back mockingly. "What?"
"I do sincerely hope lessons were learned here tonight, so we can avoid such unpleasant situations in the future."
Damon smiled back disingenuously, then whisked off with Elena.
Priority number one: get her tucked away somewhere safe where she could recover for the night. Once he was sure she was truly alright, he'd take her home.
There were no other priorities.
Twenty minutes later, they stood in the lobby of the swankiest hotel in New Orleans. He approached the front desk clerk. "We'll take the nicest suite you have."
The clerk raised a dubious eyebrow. "Do you have a reservation?"
"Sure."
"Name?"
"Salvatore."
The clerk typed on his keyboard. "Of course. Just a moment." Damon waited for the clerk to look up, but he was too busy frowning at the screen. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm not seeing a reservation under Salvatore. Is there another name I could try?" He finally looked over his computer screen right at Damon.
Damon's pupils dilated. "Try again. I think you'll find it this time."
"Uh…yes, sorry for the confusion, Mr. Salvatore. I'll get you and Mrs. Salvatore checked in right away."
Elena started next to him when the clerk referred to her as Mrs. Salvatore, but when she didn't correct the mistake, neither did he. "Great."
While the clerk readied a room key for them, Damon swept his gaze around the fancy lobby. "One more thing. Do you see that store over there?" He pointed at the boutique on the left side of the lobby. The clerk nodded. "Everything in a woman's small I want sent to our room. Everything. And whatever other little bits and pieces a woman might need. You know what I mean. You'll personally see to that for me, won't you," he glanced down at the man's name tag, "Lafayette?"
Lafayette the front desk clerk blinked and replied blankly, "Of course, sir." He slid a room key across the front counter. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"I think that's it. Thank you."
Damon and Elena ascended in an elevator to the top floor and found their room. They had indeed been given the nicest suite. It was gigantic and richly furnished. There was even a grand piano.
As Elena wandered throughout, exploring the different little rooms, Damon's phone rang. He took the call and, a little later, joined Elena in the dining area.
"That was Ric," he relayed, since Elena was currently phoneless, as hers had been confiscated from her at some point during her ordeal.
"Everyone's safe?" she inquired, walking over to a window. She pushed aside beige curtains covered in white magnolia blossoms to reveal an incredible view of the city skyline and the Mississippi river.
"Everyone's safe. Tyler's going to stay through the full moon with one of the werewolf packs in New Orleans, and Caroline's determined to stay with him for some idiotic reason."
"She cares about him."
"Yeah, like I said, idiotic. Your little bro's with Bonnie and Ric. They're already checked into another hotel across town, but Ric offered to relocate here if you want them to."
She turned to him, letting the curtain fall back into place. "They don't need to do that. I'm fine. I mean, that is, if you're fine. If you don't mind staying, I mean. With me." She blushed. "So I won't be alone."
"Just try and get rid of me." He kept his tone light, glib even, but a thousand wild horses couldn't have dragged him from her side right now.
"Thank you. For saving me … again." She sighed. "I feel like I'm always saying that."
He lifted a shoulder, lazy and nonchalant. "Friends don't let friends die, right?"
That startled a smile out of her. "Right." Her smile faded. "Damon, what Rebekah said about settling - "
"You don't have to say anything." How could she even think about that right now after what she'd just survived? "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me. I don't want you to think that, because it isn't true. She doesn't know anything about any of us."
His lips twisted ruefully. "Sure she doesn't." Time to change the subject. "Just tell me what else you need right now."
She stared at him, long and hard, and he knew she wanted to say more, but she eventually conceded, looking away and down at her disheveled state instead. "Honestly, just a shower would be amazing. I feel disgusting."
"Go ahead. Take your time. I'll be right out here if you need anything."
She disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water filtered through the door.
Ten minutes passed. Elena's new clothes arrived. Once he'd unburdened the delivery guy, Damon let him know he'd need to return again, this time with food.
Elena hadn't mentioned anything, but she had to be hungry. He highly doubted Marcel and his crew had bothered to provide her with anything substantive or anything at all.
Another fifteen minutes went by. The shower was still on. He began to worry. Worry morphed into full blown concern once his keen ears detected the sound of her sobbing. His heart gave a painful wrench, propelling him toward the bathroom door. He placed his palm on it. "Elena?"
The shower shut off. "Sorry, almost done."
He heard her step out of the shower and shake out a towel. "Can I come in?"
"Uh, yeah, sure."
He turned the door handle and entered the room. She stood in the middle of a cloud of steam, swathed in a white towel. The sight of her, dripping wet and so indescribably sad, tore through his heart like a serrated blade. She didn't deserve anything that had happened to her, yet she was trying so hard to be strong, to keep from fracturing right before his eyes. She was wrecking him.
"Brought you PJs and a toothbrush." He held them up.
"Thank you."
After he set them down on the sink counter, he lingered, rubbing a hand across the counter top, wiping away imaginary dirt. The hotel suite was spotless.
"I'm okay, Damon. Really. I promise I'm not going to break."
"I know you're not." He was the one in danger of breaking. He spoke past the lump in his throat. "Elena, I have to ask." His voice lowered in volume. "I have to know. Did they … were you ….?" Sometimes blood wasn't all vampires desired.
She understood what he couldn't bring himself to say. "No." More quietly, she added, "They only fed on me."
Only. As if that wasn't also a horrific violation of the sanctity of her body.
Overcome with guilt, he sank to his knees on the tile floor before her, all his strength leaving him. He buried his face against the outside of her towel-covered thigh, wrapping his arms around her and holding on as though she were the only raft that could keep him from sinking in a sea of self-loathing. "I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, so I won't, but I need you to know that I'm so, so sorry. I never should've left you. I will never leave you again." His voice shook with the power of his vow.
Her hand came down on his head, fingers stroking through darkly lush hair. Her touch was full of tenderness. "None of this was your fault, Damon. I own my choice to come here, and the consequences of that choice. It's not your job to protect me."
He looked up at her with an incredulous expression. "Yes, it is." It was the only thing that gave him any sort of purpose. It was all he had to offer her. He sat back onto his heels, head bowed. "If I let something happen to you … Stefan would never forgive me." And I could never forgive myself. Of all the unspeakably horrible things he'd done, and there were a lot, failing her would be the worst. By far.
"Stefan's not here," she pointed out. "You are. You've been my lifeline through all of this. I can't put into words what that means to me. What you mean to me. I'm the one who should be asking for your forgiveness after everything I've put you through."
He rose and cupped her cheeks with gentle hands. "I would do it all over again in a heartbeat, because you're worth it, Elena Gilbert."
Rose petal lips parted and closed a couple of times in quick succession, like a fish out of water or a girl too overcome to speak.
He smiled endearingly. "That's enough soul-baring for one night, huh? Put your PJs on. Food's on the way. We can veg out and find something to watch on TV - take your mind of everything. After a good night's rest, we'll go home."
She smiled gratefully. "That sounds perfect."
She spent so long dressing and drying her hair that by the time she emerged in a knee length maroon night gown, the food had been delivered. He'd laid everything out on the table in the dining area.
"Wow." Her mouth was agape at what looked like a banquet for twenty people, at least.
"I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I got a little bit of everything."
"I see that." She lifted several lids, revealing steaming portions of delicious looking food – seafood gumbo, Cajun porkchops, chicken and dumplings, a cheeseburger with double cheese. "You are officially my new favorite person."
A smile formed slowly on his lips. "Well, if I'd known it was that easy…."
She grinned at him and sat. She selected a plate of shrimp and grits and, pulling it towards her, began disposing of it with voracious alacrity. After a few bites, she paused with a heavily-laden fork halfway to her mouth. "Um, you're gonna help me eat some of this, right?"
He smiled and pulled out the chair across from her. She resumed attacking her food, rotating between plates, sampling each of the five star courses. He poured himself a glass of excellent bourbon to enjoy while he admired her in all her adorableness.
When she was finally full, she set her fork down and shoved the plate she was currently working on aside, heaving a sigh of satisfaction. By then, it was quite late, and she professed to feeling stuffed and tired, so they went into the bedroom to unwind and watch some TV.
They stretched out side by side on the bed. She selected something for them to watch, something he didn't pay any attention to, because the girl lying next to him dominated his senses to an exclusionary degree.
When credits began rolling, he asked, "Wanna watch something else?"
"No." Her bottom lip protruded like a sulky child's. He longed to nibble on it.
"If you're still hungry, there's plenty of leftovers." She'd barely made a dent in the food.
"Definitely not still hungry." She rubbed her full belly for emphasis.
"Sleepy?"
"Yes, but I don't know if I'll be able to sleep."
"Well, this is a conundrum. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?"
"Can we just – oh, I don't know, talk?" She looked at him with a gaze as soft and shy as a doe's. "Distract me, pretty please?"
He rolled onto his side so he was facing her. "I can do one better." He extended his hand.
Dark lashes fused together. "What're you going to do?"
"Trust me."
Another second passed. She pressed her palm against his.
"Now, close your eyes."
Inordinately pleased when she trusted him enough to do so, he closed his own eyes and drew on his Power, let it fill him and flow into her, linking them together, spinning a dream they could share.
"You can open them now."
Dark lashes lifted, and she stared around her in wide-eyed astonishment.
Reality had done a complete one eighty. Back in the real world, it was night time, and they were lying next to each other on a hotel bed. Here, it was the middle of the day, the sun shining with all its might in a cloudless blue sky, and they stood in the middle of a well-trodden footpath. If they turned right, the path sloped down to a protected cove with a sandy beach. If they turned left, the path would lead them up to the top of a cliff where the ruins of an old Greek temple loomed. There had once been a roof and walls, but these had deteriorated through the years until only the foundation and a dozen or so immense marble columns remained, stretching toward the sky like the bones of the earth itself, exposed and gleaming white.
Elena spun in a circle, to better take it all in. Sunshine caressed her dark hair, tinging it the most bewitching shades of amber and chestnut. The hem of her dress caught the breeze and belled out around her, an an exact copy of the white dress she'd worn the night of the bonfire party at the swimming hole – the night of their first real kiss - except this time he'd made the flowy material sheer. Thus making the outline of her cherry blossom pink and white polka dot bikini clearly visible through the translucent fabric.
She took his breath away.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"Sounion. South of Athens." When her expression remained blank, he clarified, "Greece."
She blinked. "Greece? Wait, you mean like Greece the country?"
"I mean exactly like Greece the country."
She completed another slow, meditative spin. "I've definitely never been here. This must be your memory we're in."
He tilted his head in acknowledgement.
"Stefan never – I mean, I've never …."
"He wasn't strong enough," Damon finished for her.
"Yeah."
"Well, allow me to introduce you to one of the perks of drinking people blood."
"It feels so real," she marveled.
He wore black board shorts and a black button down shirt that wasn't buttoned, leaving his sculpted chest and iron-hard ridges of abdomen totally visible, so when she pressed her palm over his sternum, she touched his bare skin.
"Can you feel that?" she asked.
Heat zapped throughout his entire body like a lightning strike. Eyes flashed a spine-tingling blue. He nodded.
Flustered, heart racing, she yanked her hand back. "Come on, walk with me."
She didn't wait for his answer, just turned and walked away, choosing the left path up the cliff to the ancient ruins. Disconcerted, he followed her. He'd expected her to head for the water first.
Because this dream was his to control, there were none of the normal warning signs posted around the temple grounds to prevent tourists from wandering where they shouldn't. Nor was there the tiny white ticket booth where said tourists could pay to enter the site. There was only this marble corpse, all that remained of a once awe-inspiring place of worship.
Elena walked right up Sounion's marbled steps and onto the temple base. Reaching out, she touched a massive piece of stone, part of one of the columns that had somehow survived the passage of time. It was easily three feet across and looked like only a giant could have had the necessary strength to stack it into position.
"What is this place?"
He followed her up the steps. "Long story short, once upon a time, this was a temple for a sea god. Now it's a tourist attraction."
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "So, it's really old? Like you?"
He affected a languid, indifferent pose, slouching back against a column and crossing his arms. "Ouch, and no. I'm really old. This place is ancient."
She drifted to the edge of the temple which was right on the verge of the cliff, looking out over the craggy rocks below to the wine-dark waters of the Mediterranean stretching vast and infinite and blue.
While she gazed at the ocean, he gazed at her. A breeze played with her hair, lifted the gossamer strands and made them flit around her face and shoulders, exposing the tempting curve of her neck.
He straightened and found himself moving closer to her.
"This is incredible," she said. "You're so lucky you've actually been to a place like this. How did you discover it?" Her chest rose on a deep inhale. "Were you following Stefan?"
"Nope." He didn't have to go into detail, but was he above teasing her just to get a reaction? Not at all. "If you must know, my travels here had nothing to do with Stefan. And I may have met a very friendly local who wanted to," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "show me the more interesting sights. A delicious Athenian girl, if I remember correctly."
"Right, I should've known." Irritation colored her tone. "Having trouble remembering because there's been so many?"
Blue eyes danced with mischief. "Gotta admit, you know me pretty well."
She made a displeased sound in the back of her throat.
He loved it – her blatant jealousy.
He also took pity on her and switched gears, shooting her his most charming grin, the one that made most women stop whatever they were doing and sigh. "Wanna see something kind of neat?"
Charmed, she reluctantly smiled back. "Sure."
Gesturing for her to follow, he headed for a column in the back corner, circling the base, close enough to see and feel the grain in the weathered stone, until he spotted what he was looking for – some crudely carved letters, one of many names that had been etched graffiti style into the ancient marble, a side effect of tourism and vandalism over hundreds of years. He ran his fingertips over the name he sought.
"Look at this."
She squinted. "Does that say Byron?"
"Mmhmm. Heard of him?"
She looked at him sideways. "Lord Byron? The guy we read in English?"
"Good to know modern education isn't complete trash."
"Why would someone deface a historical monument?"
He shrugged. "Sometimes the people who come here leave behind more than food wrappers and cigarette butts. He did have a reputation for being a bit of a scoundrel and a ne'er-do-well."
"I guess you taught him everything he knew?"
"Before my time, smartass." His head canted to the side. "Are you calling me a scoundrel?"
She cracked a smile. "Among other things." It vanished. "Did your Greek girl show you this, too?"
"Don't worry, she was long before your time."
"That's not why I - " She crossed her arms. "Did you kill her?"
"No." The word came out clipped, harsher than he'd intended. "I am not Stefan. I can control myself around the red stuff. When I choose to."
A shadow passed over her face, though there wasn't a cloud in the sky. She turned away from him and traced her finger over the B gouged in stone. "Was it really the Lord Byron who carved this? It could've been anyone, really."
"Who knows?" He was suddenly so close behind her that his breath stirred her hair as he spoke. "It's certainly romantic to think so, isn't it?"
She glared over her shoulder at him. "I'm surprised you know anything about romance."
"I think you'll discover I'm full of surprises."
"Have you ever even had a real girlfriend?"
A smirk curved his lips. "Uh, they don't call me the eternal stud for nothing."
"No one calls you that," she retorted, "and sex does not equal a relationship. I said a real girlfriend - no compulsion, no mind games. No lying. Someone who's your partner and confidante. Someone you respect and are faithful to."
"Well, if that's the criteria you want to use …." He cleared his throat. "There might've only been," he squinted, "a few." Zero, to be precise.
"Yeah, that's kinda what I figured."
"You don't think I'd be a good boyfriend?' Her answer mattered to him far more than it should.
In the silence that followed his question, a warm sea breeze ruffled his hair, stirring a few strands of inky hair loose, causing them to tumble over his brow with roguish charm. She reached up and brushed the errant strands aside, then continued stroking her fingers through his hair until she reached the silken ends that curled feather-light on his nape. Sparks lit up his every nerve ending.
"You're not exactly ideal relationship material," she finally said.
Stung, mostly because it was true, he replied a bit sullenly, "I could be a good boyfriend."
She stroked his hair for another moment or two. Her face was calm, but her eyes swirled with conflicting emotions. He would sell his soul twice over for just an inkling of the thoughts going on in that gorgeous head of hers.
When her hand fell away from him, he said softly, almost as a protest, "Elena."
She stepped back, shaking her head. "No, we shouldn't be talking about this. We can't go there." She spun on her bare heel, poised to flee across the temple ruins. Away from him.
He snatched her arm before she could, spinning her back. "Why not?" As soon as he uttered the question, he knew he shouldn't have. He was pushing where he had no right to push.
All of the coiled energy she'd been about to invest in flight she instead turned full force on him. "Because you frighten me!"
Stunned, he released her. "I would never hurt you. Never." And he realized that sounded incredibly stupid, given all the things he'd already done to hurt her. "Not now," he amended lamely.
"No, I know. That's not what I meant." She stopped, clearly struggling for words. "It's - the things I feel – the things you make me feel – they frighten me. It's too much. It's …. "
"Overwhelming?" he supplied.
"Yes, exactly." She sounded surprised that he could possibly know what she was trying to say. "My feelings for Stefan are safe and easy. Comforting." A long crease furrowed her brow. "Something tells me it would be very different with you."
"Different doesn't have to mean bad. Different can be good."
Her eyes widened, filled with a look of supreme anguish. "Damon …."
He moved closer to her, but kept his hands to himself. "Yes?"
"How can I feel like this when I love Stefan?" Her breath broke with the intensity of her distress. "What does that say about me?"
He didn't know what he might say that would offer her some comfort. He was terrible at this kind of thing. Unlike Stefan, who'd know exactly what to say.
Luckily, she saved him from having to come up with something, because she went right on talking. "Katherine said it was okay to love you both. But she's evil." Tears clouded her eyes. She blinked them away before they had a chance to fall. "What if I don't just look like her? What if deep down she and I are the same?"
Okay, he could answer that one. "No, not possible. No one who actually knows you could ever confuse you for Katherine. And I'm more qualified than most to make such an assessment."
"But she caused you and Stefan so much pain. And now I'm hurting you, because I don't know what I'm supposed to do, and Stefan, if he ever found out …." Her face crumpled for an instant. Then she took a steadying breath and pulled herself back together. "I don't want to hurt either of you."
"I know that. I promise my brother does, too."
Several agonizing heartbeats passed as she looked at him with dark, indecipherable eyes. At last, she nodded, like she'd just arrived at a decision. "I need some air. And a swim." As she turned away, she glanced back over her shoulder. "Come with me?"
His chin dipped in acquiescence. "Right behind you."
The tightness in her expressed eased, and then she was darting back down the incline to the water's side as he followed behind. The sun had transformed the unending plane of water into a sparkling blanket of dark blue sapphires.
Had they really been in Greece, there would've been chairs and umbrellas lying out on the beach available for rent, flanked by a pair of small restaurant shacks, but because he was in control of this world, there was only white sand and the calm lapping of the waves.
She ran right up to the water's edge and peeled her gauzy white dress over her head. The wind carried it away, fluttering down to the sand. She looked down at her pink bikini with white polka dots, then at him with raised eyebrows.
"What can I say?" He grinned shamelessly. "I'm a fan."
With a laugh, she waded into the pleasantly warm water. Normally, there would've been rocks and shells and sea urchins to cut and prick the bottoms of her delicate feet, but he made it so that she walked over nothing but yielding sand.
"I'm not letting you throw me in this time," she teased.
"You do realize there's still time for me to catch you," he teased back, finding her playfulness contagious. She was only knee deep. He strode rapidly toward her.
"No!" she shrieked and took off, splashing, diving in once the water was deep enough. She swam away with the grace and agility of a nereid, and like one of Nereus's daughters, she struggled furiously when he caught up to her. While he was busy contending with an armful of slick, squirming girl and trying not to get tangled up in her cloak of mermaid hair, she shrieked again with more laughter.
So, naturally, he began to tickle her.
"Oh, you jerk!" She immediately returned the favor, and he suddenly found himself defending his person against a very determined girl with dexterous fingers.
"Whoa, okay, okay, truce!" he exclaimed.
Her luscious little body twisted in his arms so she could face him.
Holy shit, she was so fucking adorable. And so very, very sexy. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, and she was looking at him with smoky, seductive eyes. Water lapped at the rounded swell of her breasts, dripping like liquid diamonds down her cleavage. He ached for her, more than he'd ever ached for anyone or anything.
Those seductive eyes lit up with delight. "Oh my god, you are so busted! Damon Salvatore is ticklish!"
"Careful, little girl," he threatened good-naturedly. "Better keep that to yourself."
"No way. I'm telling everybody."
"Then I'll have to punish you severely for that. I have a reputation to protect."
She regarded him with shy speculation. "Not that I'm entertaining that idea for a minute, but if I were … what exactly would my punishment be?"
The look he gave her was pure sin. "Oh, definitely something kinky." Beneath the water, his hand inched up the back of her thigh to tease the curve of her buttock. "Something naughty. Something that'll make you beg me for a chance to be a good girl. I'll be mean, and very rough. We'll both be naked. You'll love it."
Warmth singed her cheeks. "That doesn't sound like a punish – oh." She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip. He almost groaned out loud. "You're teasing me, aren't you?"
"Am I?" He smirked, and it was a wicked, knowing smirk. "Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you wouldn't like that at all and it's a terrible idea."
It didn't surprise him when she opted for silence. Or when her eyes dropped to his mouth and she licked her own. He stifled another groan. All he wanted to do was kiss her. Taste the salt water on her soft lips, the sweetness of her mouth.
"Are you going to kiss me now?" she breathed. Her mind had obviously gone to the same place as his.
"Do you want me to?" Please say yes.
Her gaze snapped up to his. Her eyes were round, spooked. "I want to go back. To the room."
A crushing blend of disappointment and frustration spiked through him. Of course she did.
He closed his eyes. When he reopened them, they were again in the hotel room. He released her hand, but before he had a chance to do anything else, she pushed up onto an elbow and leaned over him.
Time stopped when she pressed her lips to his, soft, warm, electrifying. He was so shocked he didn't move, not even to kiss her back.
She drew back, beguilingly lovely, scrunching up her nose. "When we kissed, I wanted it to be real."
A stupid-happy grin spread across his face. Could she be any more perfect for him?
He clasped her face and pulled that sweet, sweet mouth back to his, kissing her with passionate delight. She tasted even more delicious than he remembered. As he reacquainted himself with every nuance of her unique flavor, she wiggled on top of him, aligning soft curves with hard, muscled flesh. They melded together, the sizzling heat of her body penetrating through their clothes, her scent imprinting itself on his senses.
He ran his hands through her hair, over her shoulders and back and bottom. With every kiss, every touch, his blood heated until he was ablaze with a foolish, fevered craving.
"I knew you'd save me from that horrible place and those horrible vampires," she whispered as he brushed kisses along the arch of her cheekbone, "but … there were moments where I was so afraid I'd never see you again. And I couldn't bear the thought."
"You should know by now you're not getting rid of me that easily." He captured her mouth again.
She broke away and sat up, grasping the hem of her night gown, drawing the maroon satin up and over her head in a slow, very sensuous motion. Her action took him by complete surprise and left her gloriously naked but for some blue panties trimmed in black lace.
Utterly rocked by the sexy vision before him, his brain skipped like a record whose needle had jumped out of its groove. He feared his brain malfunction might be permanent given the length of time he froze, only able to resemble the motionless whiteness of a statue.
She was every dream he'd ever had come true, the source of all his torment and longing. She was a goddess designed for sensual pleasure, with shapely limbs and warm brown skin. She was a merciful angel, almost too radiantly beautiful for unworthy eyes to behold. She was the one thing he could never have, and yet here she was, right in front of him, freely offering herself.
Or so it seemed.
"I want to be with you," she whispered.
He sat up in a flash, blue eyes half-hidden beneath hooded lids. His hand went to her throat, not impairing her ability to breathe, but not gentle, either. His voice was a low, menacing purr. "What the hell is this?"
She should've looked frightened. Yet fear never once appeared on her face, only uncertainty. "You don't want to?"
"That is not – nor will it ever be – an issue." His fingers clenched a fraction of a degree tighter around her neck. "If this is some kind of fucking test, if you're expecting me to be the better man …."
He shook his head at her in warning, letting her know that was not going to happen. It would take a much better man than him to resist a woman like her. Stefan probably had the willpower and strength of character to do so, because he was wound tighter than a clock, but Damon did not. He was too weak and craved Elena too desperately.
"No test." Her words and accompanying smile were kind. She slid her hands under his shirt. He felt her fingers twirling through the trail of crisp hairs below his navel, then up, up the lean, tensile strength of his torso until fingernails scraped lightly over his nipples. "I don't want to fight this anymore. I'm so tired of fighting and thinking and always doing what I'm supposed to. I just want to feel. I just want to be with you."
His grip on her throat loosened. "Tomorrow, when you wake up, I don't want you to regret this." He wouldn't be able to bear it.
"I can't think about tomorrow. All I can think about is right now, and right now I want this with you."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Completely one hundred percent sure?"
"Yes." She rolled over the length of his hardness, which felt in–fucking-credible. Only her damp pair of panties and his pants separated them.
Any resistance or good sense he possessed disintegrated right then, his hand falling away from her throat, down to her waist, where he encouraged her to repeat that movement. Which she did, several times.
He was definitely going to hell. Not that there'd been any doubt before.
She nuzzled his cheek. Her breath glided across his skin as she continued to rock against him. "Please, Damon, make me feel something good. Make me forget everything else, at least for a little while."
He forced his brain to start working again. Yes, he could do that. He could give her everything she needed. With his hands and mouth, he could ensure that every terrible thing that had happened to her vanished, leaving only this – the pleasure he could, and would, give her.
His hands slid up her supple, slender body, underneath her breasts, cupping them, lifting them up. Her nipples were already taut little buds, jutting in his direction. He kissed them, one by one, thoroughly, and she gasped at the shock of pleasure, the hot suction of his mouth and the swirling sensation of his tongue.
Bringing them both down to the bed, his weight pinning her beneath him, he pressed her into the mattress. He sought her lips again, kissing her until her arms wound round his neck and her legs clasped his waist.
She thrust her lower body against his, rocking her hips, sliding up and down the ridge of elongated flesh tenting the front of his pants. From the glazed look in her eyes, she was hitting all the right places. He held still as they kissed and let her rub herself on him, an increasingly urgent motion. Soft moans alternated with hitched breaths. The spice of feminine arousal thickened in the air. He knew she was close.
Unfortunately, so was he. Damon Salvatore, Lady Killer Extraordinaire, was about to come before he even got his pants off – that was the effect she had on him.
To prevent that from actually happening, he sat up and, utilizing the barest amount of his far superior strength, removed her legs from around his waist.
She whimpered in disappointment. "Damon…."
"I'm going to take care of you, Elena, give you exactly what you need." He shifted down her body and gave her a charming wink. "Promise."
She smiled and relaxed, granting him full rein. "Okay."
Humbled and aroused by her trusting willingness, he kissed her breasts again with reverence, determined to be worthy of her trust. She grabbed handfuls of his hair, tugging until his scalp prickled.
His desire was swiftly burning out of control, sharp and needy, but he refused to give in. Her pleasure, her happiness was all that mattered, and he'd die before he disappointed her.
Which meant he was just going to have to ignore that achy, throbbing body part that was screaming Take her right now! Do it, you idiot! at the top of its lungs.
To help keep his impulses in check, he focused completely on her. There was no part of her he didn't kiss or caress with the utmost adoration. His lips made their wicked way down her stomach to her naval, then lower, bypassing the part of her that ached the most, and on down to her thighs, the inner curve of her knees, her calves, the soles of her feet. He felt every helpless quiver that rippled through her. Then he began kissing his way back up.
When he arrived again between her thighs, he hooked a finger in the crotch of her panties. A swift tug and they were gone, ripped out of the way, as ineffective a barrier as tissue paper. He tentatively stroked a finger through pink, glistening folds, inspiring a delighted gasp from her.
She was so hot and eager for him already, but he took his sweet time, filling her with strong fingers as he pressed kisses along the inside of her trembling thighs, grazing lightly with lips and teeth, his clever tongue raising goose bumps over every inch of her tender flesh.
He withdrew his fingers only in order to slide his arms under her thighs and tilt her hips up, bringing her to his mouth. Her knees fell wide, ensuring all the access he needed. He licked up her wet, achy center, and she moaned appreciatively. Then he did this thing with his tongue right where she ached the most, and she moaned even louder. "Oh god."
He buried his face between her legs, pleasuring her with hunger and devotion, licking and sucking with consummate skill. Her hips followed him, arching, circling, swirling. Before long, she screamed, "Oh god, oh god, Damon!" and shattered on his tongue in an explosion of honeyed sweetness.
He swallowed her down, continuing to pleasure her much more gently, drawing it out, until he'd wrung every ounce of pleasure from her and she was too sensitive for more. He rubbed his nose in the soft curls between her legs as she lay there, dazed and boneless.
"You have the sweetest little pussy, baby girl," he murmured, "I could stay down here all night making you come."
She roused just enough to yank petulantly on his hair. "No! I mean, yes, but - " She made a frustrated sound. "I need you now. In me. Please."
Truly, he could've spent forever down here worshipping her, but he also couldn't deny such a tortured plea from her. Especially since he felt the same, needing to fill her as much as she needed to be filled.
He slid back up and kissed her neck, just below her chin. She busied herself with tugging none-too-patiently at his shirt, snatching it up and over his head.
That taken care of, her hands dove south. He heard his zipper going down. He helped her remove his jeans, pushing them down over lean hips, then he was over her again, the fullness of his arousal lying thick and heavy on her belly.
Taking himself in hand, he aimed for her opening. When he made contact with that wet, scorching heat, sharply indrawn breaths hissed between both their teeth. Her hips angled themselves to receive him, rising up off the bed in blatant invitation.
Again, the rising tide of his own dark desires threatened to sweep him away, because he wanted to be so damn deep inside her right this instant, but he retained the barest sliver of control, holding off on penetration just yet.
Instead, he commenced to slowly torture them both, rubbing the swollen tip up and down through the cream of her arousal, arousal that was all for him. Each sensuous, slippery glide, each probe had her writhing beneath him.
"Damon, please!" Her voice was filled with a gratifying amount of desire and desperation.
"Please what?" he rumbled darkly, seductively. "Tell me."
"No more teasing! I can't take anymore! I feel like I'll die without you."
He could definitely relate. A flex of his hips, and just like that he was inside her. Only an inch, but still. He gazed at her steadily with pale blue eyes, making sure she could bear it, that there was no fear or pain present. That she hadn't suffered a sudden change of heart.
She bit her bottom lip from the fullness, and he felt the subtle tremors coursing through her, but her fingertips dug into his backside, urging him not to stop. He pressed forward a little more. Felt her stretching to accommodate him, the soft flesh yielding to his.
Until finally he was fully inside her. He went completely, utterly still, the intensity of their joining robbing him of the ability to move or think or breathe. She was so hot around him, and wet. Tighter than any fist. Perfection.
God, I wish this moment could last forever.
He only realized he'd spoken the words aloud when Elena whispered back, "Me, too."
Threading his fingers through her hair, he pulled her head back and devoured her mouth, mating his tongue with hers in long, sensual strokes, preventing either of them from saying anything else.
Without breaking the kiss, he began to move inside her, slowly, deliberately, savoring the velvet sensations. A sigh of pleasure left her, flowed into his mouth, as his hips drew back, then thrust again, in and out, in and out. He kept his pace languid, measured, a slow burn that was already stoking the flames of passion to sizzling heights.
When he drew one of her legs up, deepening the angle and their pleasure, her eyes flew open wide, and her lips parted on a small cry. He surged into her again and again, a little bit harder now, spurred on by her passionate reaction.
It wasn't long before Elena was panting, clinging to him as he drove her higher and higher, closer, always closer to that peak of blinding, explosive ecstasy.
"Please, please, please," she whispered, begging.
He shifted again, impaling her even deeper, touching every spot that needed touching, until pleasure burst through her in exquisite pulsating waves he felt along every inch of his engorged shaft. Her head thrashed and she moaned his name.
Jesus fucking Christ, she drove him to the point of madness and beyond.
With her inner muscles still doing a fluttery little dance around him, he gave up on trying to control the uncontrollable and sat up, gripping her hips with viciously strong hands, fingers fanning over her waist.
"No more holding back," she told him breathlessly, laying her hands on top of his, digging her little nails in.
"I'm trying not to hurt you," he said, both amused and a titch defensive.
"You won't." Her nails went deeper, drawing blood, the faintest lines of red on the back of his hands.
He grunted in approval, her fierceness delighting him.
From kitten to hellcat.
He drew his hips back and slammed forward again and again, fucking her possessively, without mercy. She took it all, every inch of him, breasts bouncing wildly, skin flushed with the thrill of abandonment. The only sounds were their harsh breaths, skin slapping against skin, and the protesting squeak of bedsprings.
At some point, he fell forward, catching himself on his forearms, still pistoning between her thighs with short, hard strokes. He was so close.
She looked up at him, passion imbuing her eyes with a warm glow, so soft and sweet and giving beneath him.
"Right here, right now, you're mine," he grated harshly.
"Yes." A small word, only a single syllable, yet it had the power to completely undo him.
His voice descended to a dark, primal place. "Mine."
"Yes, Damon, god, yes!"
Her legs locked around his waist, holding him tightly to her and intensifying the bump and grind of their pelvises. They were nothing but straining flesh and raw need.
He felt it when she convulsed around him, peaking again, features fraught with ecstasy.
Though he'd prefer to stay inside her like this forever, he couldn't hold off the inevitable. In fact, the inevitable was looming at quite an alarming rate. Pressure had built up so acutely he couldn't breathe.
He drove into her once more, twice more, and then pulsed deeply inside her over and over again, groaning her name with prayerful fervor, emptying himself out, giving her everything he had until he had nothing left.
For a long while afterwards, he simply floated, his mind blank, his heart weightless in his chest, inner demons quiet for once. The scent of their lovemaking, rich and musky and so incredibly erotic, was thick in the air.
Rational thought did eventually resume, though only after a struggle. Still trembling from the force of his release, he eased himself down on top of her. He'd never come so hard in his life.
She gazed up at him with heavy-lidded bliss, rosy lips swollen, long dark hair tousled from his fingers. The epitome of feminine satisfaction. She looked like she was about to start purring. He'd never seen her look more beautiful.
Of course, he thought that every time he looked at her.
"You okay?" His words came hoarse, all he could manage.
"I'm way better than okay." Her voice was equally hoarse. She stroked his hair, caressed the back of his neck with gentle fingers.
"Yeah? It wasn't too rough?"
"It was perfect." His resulting expression made her laugh. "Don't look so smug."
"Who, me?" He didn't alter his expression one bit.
She laughed again, and they lapsed into a pleasant silence, still tangled together.
A sense of peace settled over him. Nothing in his previous experience had prepared him for the things he'd just felt with Elena. Sex, for him, as Elena had annoyingly and correctly pointed out earlier, had always been an escape or a distraction for him, a way not to feel or a way to manipulate.
Not this. This … had been different. Real. He'd been right there for every second as she stripped him bare and touched his soul in ways he didn't know how to articulate.
He rolled onto his back and took her with him, cradling her in his arms. She placed a butterfly soft kiss on his chest right over his heart, then laid her cheek on that exact spot, nuzzling into him like a cat.
"Now I'll be able to fall asleep," she murmured softly, contentedly. "Good night, Damon."
He pressed a gentle kiss on her brow. "Night, sweet girl."
He woke quite suddenly, uncertain what exactly had roused him from a deep sleep. One eye cracked open, a sliver of blue in the darkness. The clock on the nightstand read 5:12. Waaay too fucking early to be awake.
Why, then, was he?
Elena slapped him.
Okay, not really, but she was thrashing around and the back of her hand caught him a glancing blow on the cheek. It didn't hurt, but he was now wide awake, and he now knew exactly what had awakened him.
Elena was having a nightmare. Small whimpers escaped her as she twisted restlessly in his arms.
He tightened his grip on her, pulling her against him. "It's just a dream, Elena. You're not alone. You're safe." His lips brushed her hair. "You're not alone."
A tremor raced through her, but she ultimately subsided into stillness.
"Sorry," she whispered.
"You have nothing to apologize for. I'll keep you safe. Go back to sleep."
He lay with her in the darkness, silent, listening as her heartbeat slowed its frantic pace and her pulse leveled out.
Go back to sleep. That's what he should do.
That's what he was going to do, just as soon as the massive erection prodding Elena in her backside subsided and made it possible to think about anything other than the naked girl next to him.
She wiggled her bare bottom against him, which was not helping. "Do we have to go to sleep?"
He cupped her breast, teasing the nipple. It rapidly hardened. "You have a better idea?" he breathed against her skin.
"Yes."
His hand slid lower, found the damp juncture at her thighs. Softly caressed with sinful fingers. She made a drowsy, aroused sound, legs parting. Desire already dripped down her thigh.
"So wet." A pleased sound rumbled deep in his chest. "Is that because you want me to fuck you again?"
"Yes." Her admission was pleading.
He rolled her onto her stomach and nudged her thighs apart with his knees, mounting her, guiding himself to the entrance of his favorite place on earth. He slid inside with delightful ease. Her unbelievable heat and tightness wrenched a groan from him.
She inhaled sharply. Her hands clenched in the bedsheets. "Oh, Damon."
As he thrust into her, he bent his head and kissed along her nape and shoulders, nipping the skin with gentle bites that made her sigh and gasp with pleasure.
Truthfully, he found her bare neck an almost irresistible temptation, but this was about giving her what she needed – and she did not need to be burdened by his twisted desires – especially after all that she'd suffered.
When he worried the tendon between her neck and shoulder with tender, human teeth, she breathed, "Do it."
His rhythm faltered. Surely, she didn't mean what he thought she meant.
"Do it. I want you to." She pressed back against him with her soft rounded bottom, encouraging him to continue. "Remind me that it's not always terrible."
An image of Elena as he'd found her earlier, covered in fang marks and bruises, flickered through his brain. She needed him to turn those acts of violence back into an act of devotion and tenderness.
He resumed sliding in and out of her, kissing across her shoulder blades until any tension in her muscles eased. He unclenched her death grip on the sheets and threaded his strong fingers through her slender ones, giving her something better to hold on to.
She was so warm and snug, and he was so hard and still half asleep that it wasn't going to take any time at all for him to finish. He could tell she was close also.
He increased the pace of his thrusts. She rewarded him by crying out and contracting around him, milking his length for all he was worth. He sank his fangs into her shoulder, straight into her veins, pouring his essence deep into her core as her blood poured into his mouth.
Afterwards, as she lay still beneath him, he nicked his tongue with a fang and licked the wound he'd inflicted upon her, tending to her with gentle solicitousness until it was healed. All the while, she made soft, sleepy kitten noises of contentment. With a final nip on her earlobe, he collapsed on his side, careful to take her with him and keep their bodies joined together. They both fell back into exhausted mindlessness almost immediately.
When he woke up a second time, it was after 8:30, and he was by himself. The sheets still held a residual warmth from her body, rumpled with the imprint of where she'd been lying next to him not too long ago. He pushed himself up on one elbow and looked around.
The bathroom door swung open. Elena emerged, wearing undies and a bra. She walked back over to the bed and sat on the edge, right next to a shirt and pair of pants she'd laid out.
"And just where you do you think you're off to?" he inquired. "Your debauchery has only just begun." He slid up behind her and laid a kiss on her shoulder, sliding her bra strap down her shoulder, intending to lay a second kiss on the exposed skin. In fact, he intended to lay a whole trail of kisses along her shoulder and down the elegant curve of her spine, but she shrugged away before he could.
"Damon." She tugged her bra strap back into place.
No. He knew he didn't get to keep her, but he wasn't ready to give her up just yet. "Just another hour. Or two."
"Damon."
"We can order breakfast. Anything you want."
"Damon."
"What?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
His heart sank. "Why not? You thought it was a good idea last night. And this morning."
"Last night … and this morning … was a mistake."
The rawest pain he'd ever felt flared through him. "Seriously?" She was lying. He refused to believe she really felt that way. Didn't want to believe it. "Huh?" he demanded when she didn't answer right away, her silence aggravating him. "So, what then? You'd take it back? You wish it'd never happened?"
"No! God, I don't know, okay? I just know it can't happen again. And you have to promise you won't tell anyone. No one can find out, especially not Stefan."
Pain twisted in his gut, choked him, prevented him from speaking.
"You'll do this for me, won't you?" She added in a whisper, "Please, this has to be just between us."
She could ask him for his heart as tribute, and he'd give it to her without blinking. So why was this so much harder? "I want to know one thing first."
She met his gaze with apprehension. "What?"
"I want to know what this really was, because it wasn't a mistake, so what was it?"
She lowered her gaze and looked only at her fingers twisting in the fabric of the pants she had yet to put on. For the first time since he'd rescued her from Klaus's compound, he witnessed a single tear slip down her cheek. "It was a moment of weakness between two friends. A – a one time thing that was, and will always be, amazing and unforgettable. That's all." She brushed the tear away, as well as one on her other cheek. "That's all it can be."
All the wind went right out of his sails, leaving him without the strength to argue. So much for hoping for something more. Christ, he was an idiot.
"So, that's it then?" he asked softly. "We're just going to pretend like nothing happened?" Aka, I have to pretend like you didn't just rip my heart out of my chest and stomp it into a million unfixable pieces?
She resumed dressing with a jolt, yanking on her pants and searching around for her shirt. "What we're going to do is focus on getting dressed and getting home and finding a new way to kill Klaus, so Elijah doesn't kill you." He held her shirt up, dangling from one finger tip. She snatched it from him and pulled it down over her head. "I'll be waiting down by the car."
She practically sprinted for the door and pulled it open. He flashed across the room and slapped the door shut with a loud bang. She jumped away with a yelp, keeping her eyes fastidiously anywhere but on him, one hand raised as a shield, as he was still completely in the nude.
"You're out of your damn mind if you think for one second I'm letting you walk out this door by yourself."
"Okay, fine, I'll wait right here until you're ready." She kept her gaze locked on the door, still refusing to look at him.
His lip curled derisively, but the derision was directed inward. He wasn't sure why it hurt so much. Or why he was even surprised. He should've seen this coming from a mile away.
Just because sex with Elena had been so much more than a mere act of physical release and he'd never be the same again, that was no reason to expect that things would be different. Whatever she might feel for him wasn't enough. She might've given him her body, but not her heart. Never that. That belonged to Stefan.
He left her standing by the door and began hunting down his clothes, bracing himself for one hell of an awkward car ride home.
