Disclaimer: Not my characters, obviously. Just playing in their world for a while.
A huge thank you once again to all the readers and reviewers! You remain the best. :) Your enthusiasm makes me smile on a daily basis.
Fun fact: There's a scene in this chapter that I wrote really early on, probably back in February when I first started this. Sometimes bits and pieces pop into my head and I write them down then figure out where they fit in later. My notes for this story are a scary, wild, wonderful place. lol
Will there be smut ahead? But of course. ;)
Please leave a review and let me know what you think. xo
Enjoy!
Edited to correct Dr. Maxfield's name because I'm an idiot. Sorry! :/
Chapter Fourteen
"Mondays are a thing that really should not exist," Elena grumbles as she pushes through the door to Dr. Olly's office, coffee in hand and bad mood set on simmer.
Even though she knows Damon was mostly kidding when he suggested she could be his personal secretary, days like this tempt her to take him up on the offer, especially after this weekend. She's getting turned on again just thinking about it, and it's only eight o'clock. If she hopes to have any semblance of dignity left by the time patients start to arrive, she'd better cool it.
She's usually the first one in the office, and today is no different, so she takes a seat at the reception desk and spends a few minutes reviewing the day's appointments, enjoying the peace and quiet while it lasts. Satisfied that the schedule doesn't look too insane, she relaxes in her chair and sips at her coffee. She's staring at her computer screen and letting her mind drift when a reminder pops up, interrupting her reverie.
Dr. Maxfield's first day, it reads.
"Oh, shit," she groans. So much for dialing it in.
The door opens and a pair of heels click their way over to the desk.
"Good morning, Elena," the other receptionist chirps in her bright, too-enthusiastic-for-a-Monday-morning voice.
"Hey, Amy." She doesn't want to be rude, so she tacks on a "How was your weekend?"
"Ugh, so good. My boyfriend took me to Savannah. Have you ever been?"
"A while back, yeah."
"We had a blast." Her bubbly coworker pauses, and Elena has the distinct impression she's being stared at. "I'd ask how your weekend went, but if that hickey on your neck is a clue, it looks like it rocked."
Elena's head snaps around. "What?"
Amy points to a spot on her own neck. "Right here. About the size of a half dollar." Her eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. "I thought you said you weren't dating anyone?"
"Dammit." She knew she missed something. Rummaging in her purse, Elena finds the scarf she stuffed in there earlier and quickly drapes it around her throat before anyone else gets a gander at Damon's handiwork. His goodbye kiss on Saturday night included a detour down to her neck and chest. At least the mark adorning her left breast is easier to hide. "I wasn't, but I recently met someone, and now I am."
The other woman whistles. "I gotta get me one of those."
"You have a boyfriend."
"But he doesn't give me hickeys," she pouts.
I bet he doesn't spank you either. Elena smiles secretly and adjusts her scarf until she's sure the evidence is covered. "Doesn't mean he's a bad boyfriend," she points out.
"Still. I want someone who's adventurous and a little wild."
"Well—"
"Oh, I almost forgot," Amy squeals. "The new doctor is starting today! Do you think he'll be hot?"
Elena closes her eyes before the urge to roll them gets the best of her.
Mondays.
###
When lunchtime arrives, Elena grabs her sandwich out of the fridge and makes a beeline for the break room. She's halfway there when Amy calls to her.
"Elena? There's a delivery for you." Pause. "Oh, my god. I'm so jealous!"
Wondering what the hell she's talking about, Elena scurries to the front desk only to find a beautiful bouquet of flowers waiting for her. She sidles past a gaping Amy to admire the vase filled with lilies, yellow roses, blue delphiniums, and purple asters. The combination of colors reminds her of a sunny, spring sky.
She knows without a doubt who sent them, but she checks the card anyway.
My Elena,
I hope these brighten your day. Missing you.
Yours,
D
"You're so lucky," Amy murmurs as she sneaks a peek at the card over Elena's shoulder. "What's 'D' short for?"
"Damon," Elena answers, rereading his message to her. There's one word she keeps coming back to.
Yours.
Tucking the card in her pocket, she pulls her phone out of her purse. "Excuse me, I have to . . ." she trails off, heading down the hallway for some privacy. Once she's relatively sure Amy isn't eavesdropping, she dials Damon's number.
He answers on the first ring. "Hello, kitten."
"Damon, they're gorgeous. I love them," she gushes. "You didn't have to do that."
"Of course I did. It's your least favorite day of the week, so I figured you could use a little cheering up."
I will not turn into a blubbering idiot. I will not turn into a blubbering idiot. I will not— "They definitely did the trick." Her vision blurs, and she tips her head back, trying to ward off the waterworks. "You're going to make me break my no-crying-at-work rule. Say something funny. Distract me."
He laughs. "It was either send flowers or drive over there and entice you into a little afternoon delight in the backseat of my car."
"Jesus," she whispers, fanning herself now. "I asked you to distract me, not kill me."
"Did it work?"
Her tears have dried up, replaced by a rampant blush. "Uh, yeah."
"Well, there you go."
If her smile were any bigger, it wouldn't fit in the room. "Thank you, truly. Consider my day made."
"Anytime, baby. I hope the rest of it flies by."
"Me, too."
They say their goodbyes, then she hurries to the break room to devour her sandwich and spend the rest of the hour daydreaming about a devastatingly handsome man who's all hers.
###
During a rare break in the action that afternoon, Dr. Olly stops by with the new doctor in tow.
"Ladies, may I borrow a moment of your time?" He smiles, emphasizing the deep-set lines around his mouth and eyes. His salt-and-pepper hair gives him a look of distinction, and Elena wonders for the first time if this other doctor coming on board means Dr. Olly is finally thinking about retiring. "I'd like to introduce you to Dr. Wes Maxfield. Dr. Maxfield, meet our wonderful receptionists, Elena Gilbert and Amy Sanders."
So he's the reason we've been buried under a mountain of paperwork for weeks. Dr. Maxfield appears to be in his early thirties. His sandy blond hair and blue eyes give him a sort of guy-next-door vibe.
He shakes hands with each of them, and while Elena is indifferent to the charm he oozes, Amy is definitely smitten. When he compliments her necklace, she giggles like a high school freshman who's just been asked out by the captain of the football team.
He focuses on Elena next, studying her until she glances down to make sure she's not wearing any of her lunch.
"Elena Gilbert?" he asks. "I recognize that name. You wrote a piece for the paper recently, didn't you? It was about after-school programs for inner-city kids."
Caught off guard by his knowledge of her other pursuit, she sputters a little. "Uh, yeah. That was me."
"It was a great read. Your writing style is excellent," he offers with a smile.
"Thanks." While the praise is nice, Elena's never been fond of the spotlight, especially now, when she can practically feel Amy glaring daggers at her.
His gaze drops to the bouquet. "Lovely flowers."
"They're from her boyfriend," Amy seethes.
"Lucky man," he murmurs, then nods to both of them and follows Dr. Olly as they return to the examination rooms to tackle the remainder of the day's patients.
The entire exchange leaves Elena wishing the floor would open up beneath her feet and swallow her whole. Just what she needs is a semi-flirty doctor and a green monster for a desk mate.
How fun.
"Is it time to go home yet?" she groans to herself as Amy storms off to the ladies' room, muttering under her breath about how some women aren't satisfied with one good guy. They have to steal them all.
###
"Bourbon, neat."
"Make that two," Alaric requests, sliding onto the stool next to Damon's.
Sammie's is their favorite bar, mostly because they always stock the best high-end liquor.
"You got it!" the bartender (Sammie herself) says brightly. "I haven't seen you two in a while. I was afraid y'all broke up."
And because the owner thinks Damon and Alaric are a couple, a misperception neither of them has bothered to correct. Damon's pretty sure it all started when Ric got sloppy drunk one night and kissed him on the cheek.
Sammie delivers their drinks, and Damon samples his first, sighing in satisfaction as the expensive alcohol burns its way down his throat. "Perfect. Thank you, darlin'." He winks at her and she smiles back, hurrying off to fill another drink request.
Ric takes a healthy swallow of his own then leans in, keeping his voice low. "So, you said you heard from Frederick."
"I did, but the news isn't good."
"Tell me."
Damon drags over a dish of peanuts and takes a handful, popping a couple into his mouth at a time. "He managed to find an in, but the guy told him the auction had already passed."
"Shit," Ric mutters, downing more of his drink. "Will there be another one?"
"I sure as hell hope not, but if there is, it probably won't happen right away. Frederick's source said they like to space them out in order to keep flying under the radar."
"Typical." Ric steals a few nuts, chewing thoughtfully. "I don't know, man. I don't think this is over."
Damon nods in agreement. "Much as I hate to admit it, chances are you're right."
"I'll pass along the latest to the guys at the precinct and tell them to keep an eye out for any other suspicious disappearances that fit the pattern."
"Thanks." He watches as Ric digs into the bowl again. "Why don't you get a burger instead of acting like a squirrel preparing for winter?"
"I like peanuts. Don't judge me."
Damon chuckles as he shifts closer so he can whisper in Alaric's ear. "Careful, buddy. 'Peanuts' sounds a lot like something else."
As if on cue, Sammie reappears, sporting a huge grin. "Oh! Don't let me interrupt."
"No, it's alright. He's too shy for PDA. Unless he's drunk," Damon adds.
Alaric waits until Sammie gets called away by another customer before shooting Damon a look. "Thanks, asshole."
"Someone has to keep you on your toes."
"You don't have to make it a full-time job." He laughs and shakes his head as if something just occurred to him. "Better make sure you never come here with Elena. Sammie will be heartbroken."
"Very true." Damon finishes his drink and considers ordering a burger himself. Lunch was—he checks his watch—a loooong time ago. "So, how'd your date go the other night? Did you two hit it off?"
"Not even close," Ric mutters. "Maybe you should teach me how to wield a whip. Then the women would be falling at my feet. Literally."
Damon claps his friend on the shoulder. "You don't need the whip. She's out there; you just have to keep searching."
"Says the man who's happily dating someone."
"Don't give up. I almost did, then look what happened."
"Yeah, but that's because you're"—Ric gestures vaguely toward Damon—"you."
"No, it isn't. Trust me."
"If you say so."
He isn't feeding Ric some bullshit just to make him feel better. In the aftermath of Charlotte's stinging rejection, Damon had all but passed on the idea of a steady relationship. It was casual sex or bust.
Then Elena came into his life.
If only Alaric could find his match. The guy definitely deserves some happiness, he muses.
###
Elena opens a new Word doc and starts typing. She's three paragraphs into the draft of her next article when Caroline storms into the room, a determined look on her face.
Uh-oh. This should be good.
She hurries to finish her sentence before her best friend breaks her train of thought. "Hey, Care. What's up?"
"When's the last time we had a girls' night out?" she demands.
"Um, a while ago."
"We are seriously overdue."
Instead of flopping on the bed next to Elena like she usually does, Caroline paces as if she's trying to figure out the logistics of an important, covert operation.
"What did you have in mind?" Elena asks.
"How about shopping? There's a new naughty lingerie store in the mall I'm dying to check out."
"What a coincidence. My new piece is about the perils of being a shopaholic. I could interview you," she suggests. "Don't worry; I'll change your name to protect the not-so-innocent."
"Hey!" Care shoots back. "I'm not the only one who enjoys retail therapy."
"Yeah, but I've never maxed out a credit card doing it."
Caroline sighs and shrugs. "You got me there. So, what do you say? Friday? You could pick out something special to wear for Daaaamooooon," she sings, dancing around the room and shimmying her hips.
"That's not a bad idea. Speaking of Damon, he's having some painting done at the club that night, but he invited me over to play at his place instead. He's expecting me at nine, so we can't stay out too long."
Care stops twirling one of Elena's bras over her head and hangs it on the back of the desk chair. "No problem. We can leave right after work."
"Okay," Elena agrees. "It's a date."
"Yay!" Caroline busts a few more moves, which means she's been watching Step Up again, and heads for the door.
Elena calls to her, interrupting her performance. "Before you disappear, can I ask about this play party Nik's hosting?"
"Of course. What do you want to know?"
Soooo many things. "Are they formal or more laidback?" is the first question that pops into her head.
"Depends. Nik's tend to be on the classy side, so suits and dresses for the Dom/mes and fancy fetish wear for the subs," Caroline explains.
"And what exactly happens at a play party?"
"There's a dinner, lots of socializing, and plenty of activities."
"What kind of activities?"
"A bunch of different things. At the last one I went to, there was a competition to see which sub could get their Dom/me off the quickest. Using only their mouth, of course," Care adds with a devilish grin. "There've been rope bondage challenges, which Damon usually wins. Sometimes they have a contest geared toward pain-loving subs to see how many lashes of the whip they can take without making a sound. Stefan's great at those."
"Wow," Elena breathes, her mind spinning as she digests this new information. "Is it all group stuff, or is there private play, too?"
"There's a mixture of both. Everyone hangs out together for a while, then people usually split off to have their own fun in the guest rooms or the dungeon." Caroline pats her friend on the shoulder. "Nervous?"
"Um, a little. I've never scened in front of others before."
"Don't worry, sweetie. I'm sure Damon will go easy on you," she reassures her.
"Yeah." The party is still more than a week away, after all. She has plenty of time to prepare.
"So, we're on for Friday?"
Elena nods, a small smile creeping onto her face. "Friday it is."
###
When the clock hits five, Elena shuts down her computer, grabs her coat, tosses a "have a great weekend" at Amy—who grunts something vague in response—and runs out the door.
There are always hellish days, but she hasn't had one quite this spectacularly awful in a while. Amy made a habit out of shooting Elena dirty looks, which only got nastier when Dr. Maxfield stopped by. He chatted with Amy, too, but apparently their conversation was a few seconds shorter than the one he had with Elena.
Elena even tried telling her again that she was just being friendly and had no romantic interest—at all—in the man, but she might as well have been talking to the wall.
After that debacle, Amy spent the rest of the day either ignoring her or blaming her for every little thing that went wrong.
Ugh.
Bursting into the apartment, Elena hurries to change her clothes, run a brush through her hair, and reapply her makeup before Caroline gets home. She also throws a couple things into an overnight bag while she's waiting since Care agreed to drop her off at Damon's after they're done.
She's deciding which pair of PJs to pack when Caroline appears in her bedroom doorway, all smiles and bright eyes.
"Ready?"
"I think so."
"Let's go!"
"Hold on. Which one is better?" She holds up her two choices. "Shorts and a cami, or the teddy you bought me last summer as an incentive to start dating again?"
Caroline giggles. "It's adorable that you think you're going to be wearing anything to bed. Even if you did, he'd tear it off you in five seconds."
"Y'know, you might have something there."
Elena manages to grab her bag before Caroline latches onto her arm and hauls her out of the room.
"You. Me. Mall. Now."
"But—"
"We're wasting time. C'mon."
Deciding it's useless to argue with her determined friend, Elena gives in and lets herself be ushered out the door.
###
Holy . . . shit.
Elena is surrounded by more lingerie than she's ever seen in her life. The racks are dripping with lace, satin, and silk in every color and style imaginable. She runs her hands over a midnight blue baby doll nightgown, complete with matching thong, and wonders how she'll ever get out of here without emptying her entire bank account.
They even have a kinky section with crotchless panties, leather bustiers, and various see-through items. Caroline made a beeline for it the moment they entered the store, and going by the squeals of delight filling the air, she's hit the clothing jackpot.
Aiming for something a bit more romantic, Elena sticks to the main displays, adding a few pieces to her basket that she hopes Damon will like. She splurges and picks out new undies and bras, happy she has a reason to get a little sexier with her undergarments these days.
Pleased with her selections, she heads to the checkout counter. While she rummages around in her purse looking for her wallet, she realizes her phone is missing. She's about to go into panic mode when she remembers her bag tipping over in Caroline's car. A bunch of stuff fell out and she thought she found it all, but apparently not.
Making a mental note to keep an eye on the time, she searches for her bestie, who emerges from the sea of racks a couple minutes later with a basket full of sinfully seductive items.
Elena's gaze lands on a bra and panty set, and she takes them out to get a better look. The undies have a big slit in the front and the cups of the bra are the kind that peel off and reattach with tiny snaps.
"What's the point?" she murmurs. "Just go commando."
"It's lingerie that doesn't get in the way of . . . things. Maybe I'll buy you a set for your birthday and you can wear them when you go out to dinner with Damon. See what happens then," Caroline teases, waggling her brows.
She pays for her purchases, then they visit Bath & Body Works and Sephora before making their way to the food court for a treat. Each armed with a dish of frozen yogurt, they find a table and engage in their favorite mall pastime: people watching.
They're busy laughing at a group of teenagers having a gummy bear eating contest when Elena looks up and catches sight of the clock on the wall. 9:02 pm. Her heart seems to stop for a moment before resuming at a pounding pace. Still, maybe there's a chance it's wrong.
"Um, Care?"
"Yeah?" Caroline's pawing through one of her bags of goodies, oblivious to Elena's mounting anxiety.
"What time does your phone say?"
She fishes it out of her purse and smiles at whatever she sees on the screen. "Nik sent me a text. Wait till he sees what I bought." She pauses, her grin fading. "Refresh my memory on when you're supposed to be at Damon's."
"Nine," Elena whispers.
"It's 9:02." Caroline's voice rises with each word, and she turns wide eyes on Elena.
"Fuck!" they shout in perfect unison and take off in a race for the door. By some miracle, they manage not to steamroll anyone on the way out.
When they reach the car, they toss everything in the trunk, then Caroline's driving like she's on the last lap of the Indy 500.
"Slow down, Care. If anything happens to you, Nik will kill me, and I already have to deal with one Dom."
"I'm so sorry, Elena. I should've been paying attention to the time," Caroline frets.
"It's not your fault. Don't worry about it." Judging by the giant pit of dread formerly known as her stomach, Elena's worrying about it enough for the both of them.
As Caroline eases her foot off the gas and the car slows to a more reasonable speed, Elena searches for her phone. Her first sweep comes up empty, and that's when she realizes it must've slid under the seat. After embracing her inner contortionist and clunking her head on the dash more than once, she finally locates it.
She checks the screen just as Caroline pulls to a stop in Damon's driveway. There's a missed call and a text from him which simply reads, Did something happen?
"Damn," she whispers. "I'm in so much trouble. I think we'll save the lingerie for another night. Can you just toss my stuff in my room when you get back?"
Her best friend nods and offers her a sympathetic look. "Call me tomorrow, or whenever he finally unties you."
Caroline leans over and gives her a hug, then Elena's out of the car, clutching her overnight bag in one hand and staring at the front door. She takes a deep breath, trying to imagine the impending confrontation with the man likely waiting just beyond the threshold.
Damon is a fair, protective, and attentive Dom. She hopes he's also a merciful one.
###
Elena's hand trembles when she raises it and knocks gingerly on the solid oak. She's greeted by silence, and for one wild moment, she wonders if he left or was needed at the club. Maybe something came up for him, too, and I won't be in deep shit after all. She starts to feel a little lighter, a smidge calmer, then Damon's voice drifts through the thick wood, shattering the illusion.
"Come in."
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. She grips the handle and turns it, easing the door open an inch at a time. It's dark inside the house, the only light coming from a few stray candles. The atmosphere gives her the distinct impression that she's stepping into the lion's den.
She doesn't spot Damon right away, but when she closes the door, she discovers him sitting at the bottom of the stairs. One elbow is propped up on his knee, his chin resting on his fist. His other hand taps out a staccato rhythm on the banister.
She jumps, dropping her bag on the floor. "You scared me."
He says nothing, just continues to watch her with an unreadable expression. It might be annoyance, it might be indifference. She can't quite tell.
"Did you get into an accident?" he asks after letting her squirm for a few minutes. His tone is straightforward, neutral.
"No. I—"
He holds up a hand, halting her explanation. "'Yes' or 'no' answers only. Traffic jam?"
"No."
"Car trouble?"
"No."
"Battery die on your phone?"
"No."
"Battery die on Caroline's phone?"
"No."
"Were you out in the wilderness with no access to any of the various means of modern communication?" The tapping of his fingers is faster now, his irritation no longer hidden.
Elena shakes her head, wishing for invisibility, a spontaneous sinkhole, anything to hide her from Damon's scrutiny. "I'm sorry," she whispers. She knows she's ignoring his order not to speak, but the need to apologize is overwhelming.
He stands in one fluid motion and stalks over to her. Once they're toe to toe, he reaches out and combs his fingers through her long locks once, twice, and it's such a gentle gesture—completely at odds with his current mood—that it throws Elena off her guard. His hand leaves her hair and grips her chin, tipping her head back until she's looking at him. She can read the emotions in the depths of his eyes even in the near darkness—fear, concern, anger, relief, disappointment.
"Hmm." A shiver races from the top of her spine to the soles of her feet. He seems satisfied with her reaction and releases her. "Go to my office and wait for me there."
"Master, ple—"
"Not another word, Elena," he snaps. "Go."
###
The last time Elena remembers climbing a set of stairs this quickly, she was in high school doing some state-mandated physical fitness test while her gym teacher barked at her to pick up the pace. Faster, Gilbert!
His voice spurs her on now, and she takes them two at a time. She reaches the top and dashes around the corner, heading in the direction of the office. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears, and it speeds up even more when she hears Damon's boots on the stairs.
She skids to a halt inside the doorway, then slowly approaches his desk and stands beside it, head bowed and hands knotted in front of her. With no idea what he has planned as her punishment, she's not really sure what to do, but this seems like the best option at the moment—short of dropping to her knees and begging for his forgiveness the second he walks into the room.
He appears a minute later but doesn't join her. "Strip," he instructs, "then assume the proper position I taught you and don't move until I return."
"Yes, Master," she murmurs.
He leaves her to it, and she hears him move down the hall toward his bedroom. She hurries to obey his orders, shedding her clothes and stacking them in a neat pile on the floor. Then she kneels, clasps her hands behind her back, spreads her legs wide, drops her gaze, and adjusts her posture so her breasts are prominently displayed.
And waits.
###
The ticking of the clock on the wall is starting to drive her insane when Damon finally reappears after what feels like an hour but is probably only a quarter of that. He slowly approaches until she can just see the tip of his boots.
"Look at me." His voice is calm, quiet; his tone firm.
She does, her eyes searching his for a hint of what he might be thinking. The anger she'd glimpsed there earlier seems to be gone now, but he's far from happy, that much she can easily tell.
"Please let me explain," she whispers, sighing in relief when he nods his assent. "I dropped my phone in Caroline's car before we went in the mall. After I realized I didn't have it, I tried to stay aware of the time, but it . . . got away from me. I'm so sorry. Are you mad at me?"
"No. Disappointed, yes, but I would never punish you while I was angry."
She's grateful for Damon's levelheadedness, but she's a little leery of what this punishment might entail. The current situation is worse than the time she let her sassiness get the best of her. Will he spank her again? Paddle her? Flog her?
While she chews on the possibilities, Damon steps around her, and she notices the duffel bag he has slung over his shoulder.
That can't be good.
"Come here," he calls to her, and she stands and moves to join him. She watches as he rearranges the large pillow she used during her last visit until it's next to his office chair. He unzips the duffel bag and takes out her collar and cuffs. Once those are in place and he's clipped her wrists together behind her back, he pulls a series of leather straps from the bag.
Knowing better than to ask him what those are for, she stands absolutely still as he loops the first one around her upper body, just below her collarbone. He tightens and secures it, then repeats the process with a second beneath her breasts and a third around her waist. When he's finished, she can move her hands, but her arms are completely immobilized.
"Kneel on the pillow," he directs her, tapping the center of it with his foot. She lowers herself onto the spot he indicated, then he eases her onto her side so she's not lying on her bound arms.
The next object in his bag of tricks is something vaguely resembling an egg, only slimmer. Longer, too. He rolls it between his palms while he studies her.
"Do you know why I'm punishing you?"
"Because I was late and didn't let you know what was going on," she softly answers.
"That's part of it, but there's more. Not knowing if you were okay made me feel helpless. Frustrated. My mind went into worst-case-scenario mode. All I could think about were the recent kidnappings, and I started to panic." He takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand over his face. "What if they'd somehow gotten to you? Taken you? The idea alone is unbearable." He produces a small tube of something from his pocket and crouches beside her. "I've decided your punishment will reflect that helplessness and frustration."
Oh, god. She hadn't even considered the missing subs. Feeling like a complete asshole for making him worry, she wishes her arms were free so she could throw them around him and reassure him she won't make the same mistake twice. "I'm sorry," she repeats lamely. "It won't happen again. I accept the punishment, whatever it is."
He nods, squeezing some of the contents of the tube onto his fingers and using it to coat the egg thing. Lube, she realizes. "Spread your legs for me. You can rest one on my shoulder if you need to," he says, acknowledging the awkwardness of her position.
She does as requested, and he works two fingers into her before withdrawing and replacing them with the egg, which she's guessing is a vibrator.
Grabbing more straps from the duffel, he places them around her thighs, knees, and ankles, ensuring her legs are secured together and there's no way to dislodge the vibe. The last item he holds up is a black ball gag.
"Before I put this on you, I'll explain the rules. The vibrator is set on random—it'll kick on and off, and the speed will vary. I have some work to do for the next hour which requires my full concentration, so I expect you to be quiet. Any noise that's too loud earns you another five minutes. Understood?"
"Yes, Master."
She obediently opens her mouth, allowing him to insert the gag and buckle it into place. His hand drifts to her breast, and he rolls her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a quick pinch. She jerks against the restraints and swallows a groan.
"I'd warn you not to come, but I don't think that'll be an issue," he says as he rises and settles himself in the chair. He fires up his laptop and checks his watch. "Your time starts . . . now."
###
Vibrators are the devil's handiwork, Elena thinks to herself. Or at least this one is. She's pretty sure it's labeled with the phrase "Manufactured in Hell."
The first couple of times it turned on, it was gentle. Nice. Easy to ignore.
The next few after that? Not so much. She's beginning to understand why Damon isn't concerned about the possibility of her coming.
As if the damn thing can read her mind, it springs to life again, feeling like a jackhammer has taken up residence inside her. She attempts to focus on something else—the pictures hanging on the walls, the moon she can just see a sliver of through a gap in the curtains, the ravelin hanging off Damon's sweater—but her body has other ideas. Even though she tries to reason with it, convince it that it's being played, it won't listen.
Her clit is definitely on board, and if she shifts the wrong way, the vibe rubs against her G-spot. As much as she fights it, the familiar sensations start building in her lower belly. She desperately wants to come, but she's afraid of the repercussions. An orgasm would probably get her in even more trouble.
The vibrator makes the decision for her when it stops abruptly, leaving her high and . . . well, not so dry. She groans, shifting restlessly on the pillow, wishing she could rub her thighs together—anything for some relief.
Damon glances at her, the way he has been since the punishment began—checking on her, she assumes. "I heard that," he murmurs. "Five more minutes."
Fuck. The urge to make a fuss is strong, but she reins it in, positive he won't let anything slip and she'll be tortured with the vibe for the rest of the night.
At least she only has twenty . . . er, twenty-five minutes left to endure. Totally doable.
Right?
###
The alarm on Damon's watch beeps, and Elena heaves a sigh of relief. It's an exhausted sigh, brought on by the last sixty-five minutes of being aroused beyond belief one second and left wanting the next. Her skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and the muscles in her pelvis and inner thighs continually spasm. There's no doubt the punishment was effective: she's never felt more helpless, and she's absolutely certain it's not humanly possible to be more frustrated than she is now.
Thankfully, Damon doesn't let her linger in that state for long. He shuts his laptop and kneels beside her, quickly undoing the series of straps. The vibrator is the next to go, and she couldn't be happier to get rid of the thing. Evil device.
All of her twisting and rolling has left her hair hanging in her face, and he pauses to brush the damp strands out of the way. He scoops her into his arms without removing her cuffs, collar, or gag, and carries her down the hall to his bedroom.
After arranging her in the center of the bed with her wrists chained to the headboard, he strips off his sweater and jeans. His cock is hard, and it bobs against his lower belly as he saunters over to get a condom out of the nightstand. Before slipping it on, he gives his dick a couple slow strokes, his eyes locked on Elena's.
He climbs up on the mattress, settling himself between her spread thighs. "Now you're going to help me alleviate my frustration, pet. I haven't made up my mind yet about whether or not to ease yours," he adds, rubbing the tip of his cock against her clit until she squirms.
Please let me come soon, she silently begs. A long moan is wrenched from her throat when he stops teasing and surges forward, filling her to the hilt. Before she has a chance to savor the feel of him buried deep inside her, he retreats. It's only a temporary delay, then his hips are working against hers at a furious pace, their bodies slapping together with every thrust.
Elena writhes underneath him, her mewls of pleasure mixing with his harsh exhales. His mouth drops to her throat, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts, and he nips her heated skin. When his teeth close around her nipple and tug on it, she arches off the bed, a muffled cry escaping past the gag.
So close. So fucking close. She lets her eyes drift shut, preparing for the bliss that's about to consume her.
"No." Damon slaps her inner thigh hard enough to get her attention and break her concentration on the orgasm that's creeping closer by the second. "You are not to come until I allow it. If you do so without my permission, you won't have another orgasm for a month. Am I clear?" he growls. "Nod your head if you understand."
She nods and bites down on the ball in her mouth. She needs to focus on something, anything other than her sensitive clit, which throbs in time with Damon's thrusts. He doesn't make it any easier on her as he grips her hips and pounds into her with abandon.
The phrase "mind over matter" pops into her head. She can do this. She won't disappoint him again. Thinking of the longest words she knows, she spells them out. Does it again in reverse. m-s-i-n-a-i-r-a-t-n-e-m-h-s-i-l-b-a-t-s-e-s-i-d-i-t-n-A.
It works for another few minutes, and Damon smiles in approval. "Good girl. I'm impressed." His thumb settles on her clit, and she loses track of all words, long and short. "I think it's safe to say you've learned your lesson." He strums her nub with each powerful thrust, pushing her closer to the edge again. Dangerously close. "Come for me. Now," he demands.
Her release slams into her, and Elena screams into the gag. She clamps down on his cock, sending him spiraling into ecstasy with her.
"Holy fuck, Elena!" he shouts, fingers digging into her hips as he thrusts into her one last time, then his body blankets hers, slick skin on slick skin. He nuzzles her belly and the underside of her breasts, and she's only distantly aware of him reaching up to unbuckle the gag and remove it. Her jaw is a little sore, but his touch is soothing as he massages away the discomfort.
He releases her wrists next, then her cuffs and collar disappear, leaving her feeling oddly bereft without them. When he pulls out, she moans at the loss. He cups her sex and feathers his thumb over her clit, but she whimpers and presses her thighs together to fend off his gentle probing. Even the lightest stroke is too much for her oversensitive nub. Damon nods in understanding and withdraws his hand.
"I'll be right back," he murmurs, kissing her forehead and leaving the bed. As Elena gives in to the exhaustion pulling at her and closes her drooping lids, she hears the squeak of the bathtub faucet and the sound of running water.
###
Damon pours some of the vanilla bubble bath he bought for Elena into the water and watches as mini mountains of suds start to form. They'll both smell like baked goods when they get out, but he doesn't care.
Returning to the bedroom, he finds her exactly as he left her—eyes shut, fingers curled in the duvet. The little puffs of breath leaving her parted lips tell him she's started to doze. He hates to wake her, but the bath will relieve her tired, achy muscles.
Gathering her limp form off the bed, he carries her to the bathroom and steps into the tub, sinking down in the warm, sudsy water with her still held securely in his embrace. She stirs, moaning softly. "Just relax," he soothes, grabbing a clip and pinning her hair up in a messy twist. "I'll take care of the rest."
"Okay," she whispers, resting her head on his shoulder.
He soaps up a washcloth and runs it over her arms, chest, and stomach, paying particular attention to her breasts. Her nipples tighten in response, and he caresses the firm peaks, earning him a sigh of pleasure from Elena. He gently washes between her legs, then works his way from her thighs to her toes. By the time he finishes, the water has started to cool, so he quickly cleans himself off and helps her out of the tub.
After wrapping her in a fluffy towel, he rubs her down, making sure to get every last droplet clinging to her skin. She shivers when he catches a couple stray beads of water with his tongue. He frees her hair from the clip and carefully combs it, letting the long strands slide through his fingers.
Once he's finished, he carries her back to bed and crawls under the silk sheets with her. She snuggles close, her fingers idly playing with the damp curls at his nape. "I really am sorry about tonight," she murmurs. "I hate that I disappointed you." She gazes at him with those big, brown eyes, and he detects a hint of sadness there.
"You don't have to keep apologizing, baby. The punishment's over. Done. In the past," he stresses. "I'm not going to hold it over your head."
She chews on her bottom lip, looking uncertain. Something's still bothering her. "I didn't mean to worry you."
His arms tighten around her and he hugs her to him. "Not gonna lie, I was five seconds away from getting in the car and driving to the mall to make sure you were okay." She ducks her head, but he nudges her chin up again. "It doesn't matter now. You're safe and sound and here with me. That's the important thing."
Elena smiles a little then tries to stifle a yawn, the fatigue brought on by her ordeal catching up to her once more.
"Get some rest, 'Lena." His lips find hers, kissing her tenderly but thoroughly until she relaxes against him, the remnants of her unease melting away. She buries her face in her favorite spot—the crook of his neck—and he listens to her breathing, slow and deep, as she falls asleep.
He studies the beautiful woman wrapped in his arms, grateful beyond belief that nothing happened to her today. The thought of her being harmed is enough to send him into a tailspin, the protective Dom in him ready to snarl at anyone who comes too close. Even though they haven't known each other very long, the essence of who Elena is calls to him, to the part of him no one's reached yet, and that feeling only intensifies with every minute they spend together.
It's invigorating, intoxicating, and he can't wait to see where the road ahead leads them.