Chapter 21: Good News

The only thing I love more than sex with my ridiculously hot new boyfriend is my ridiculously hot new boyfriend's fantastic—borderline magical—shower.

It has high glass walls on three sides and excellent water pressure. He even has one of those fancy-schmancy eco-conscious electric water heaters that provide an endless, uninterrupted supply of perfectly hot water on demand. And—though I certainly never mind his company—it is a different kind of luxury to enjoy it alone, solely for its intended purpose.

I squeeze out my hair, sighing with satisfaction as I step off the smooth tile and onto the cushy white bathmat, feeling the soft fibers tickle my toes. I run the towel over my still-sensitized skin, grinning as I remember the activities of the last few hours.

I love Saturday mornings.

I catch my hair in the towel and rub absentmindedly at it as I walk into the bedroom naked, only to find Damon still in bed in a similar state of undress, a white sheet draped low over his hips. I have to blink a few times to remind myself I'm not dreaming. That my fantasy of Damon, naked in a bed and waiting for me, has actually come true.

"Hi, beautiful," Damon says, his eyes running over me hungrily. Goosebumps ripple wherever his eyes touch me.

I have learned not to take that look lightly.

"Hi," I say, smiling shyly as I make my way towards the dresser drawer Damon cleared out for me, thinking to myself with some alarm that I don't remember replenishing it in awhile. I hope I have some clothes left.

"Hold on," he says, scooting to the edge of the bed, reaching for me as I pass. He catches my hip with his fingertips and walks them around my back to pull me closer. I would chuckle at his insatiability, except that my body is already proving me a raging hypocrite. I feel my blood rushing through my pulse points, my skin crackling to life under his hands.

If I'd imagined being with Damon would calm my hyper-sensitivity to his touch and proximity, I would have been sorely mistaken. In reality, it has been the exact opposite. Turns out that Pavlov guy was on to something.

He makes space between his legs for me to stand, as he drinks the sight of me in with unabashed lust. I feel color blooming over my skin in response, and I fight the urge to fidget in anticipation when I notice him hardening under the cruel corner of the sheet that is still covering him.

He steals a look up at my face before quickly returning his gaze to my body. I've officially abandoned any pretense of drying my hair, the towel dangling from my stilled hands. His fingers run slowly up my exposed torso to tease the edges of my breasts, circle my nipples, and I let the towel drop completely.

My still-wet hair sticks to my chest, drops of water starting to make their way down my stomach. I move to wipe them away, only to have my forearms caught swiftly and firmly by Damon. I look at him with surprise.

"Uh uh," he says, his eyes burning with delicious promise. "Keep your arms at your sides, please." I shiver at the oh-so-polite but unmistakably commanding tone of his voice.

He reaches up to my hair and I think he is going to push it over my shoulder, but instead, he squeezes it so more water droplets run down over my breasts, my nipples, my torso, slipping all the way down to my navel. The cool water sends a gentle chill across my over-heated skin and I gasp. I want to reach out and touch him so badly but I do as he asks, keeping my hands in place while his eyes devour me.

He peeks up at me, a look of wicked intention simmering under his thick sweep of dark, almost drowsy-looking lashes. He tightens his big hands around my forearms, anchoring me before he leans forward and blows on my stomach, chilling the tracks the droplets have left behind.

I clamp my mouth shut to try to contain the moan that escapes my throat in response, vaguely embarrassed at how turned I already am when he hasn't even really touched me. He moves slowly upward, breathing a steady stream of air from my stomach to the underside of my breasts. I am panting, feeling my sex growing slick with want. He puffs a breath of air over my nipple and I let my head fall back, groaning through my teeth as I feel it harden. His hot mouth closes around me without warning and the walls of my sex clench tightly.

"Fuck, Damon," I say, because even though I sometimes get a little embarrassed doing it, I know he not-so-secretly likes it when I talk dirty.

I may have discovered that I not-so-secretly like it myself.

He growls against my skin approvingly before licking and sucking his way over the swell of my breasts to my neglected nipple. I press my legs together, trying to resist my body's natural urge to steady myself against him, to touch him back. But when my body twists against his grip on my forearms, his hands clamp tighter in a subtle show of dominance, and it is like a direct shot of liquid aphrodisiac to my racing bloodstream. I wriggle a little more, just so he'll grip me harder. I swear I feel him smile against my skin as he obliges me.

He tastes the last of the water that has lingered at my breasts before moving downward over my torso towards my navel, his tongue searing the chilled tracks the cool water has left behind.

He releases my forearm with a warning squeeze and slips one strong arm around my waist. Before I can decide what to do with my newfound freedom, he lifts me off my feet, sweeping me down onto the bed as he drops to his knees before me. He coaxes my legs open, caressing the vulnerable skin of my inner thighs with gentle hands before pressing his lips to the inside of my knee.

"Damon," I whimper, knowing what he is going to do. His only answer is a quiet "hmm" against the inside of my thigh as he moves higher, and then his mouth is right there, his tongue running slowly over my sensitized flesh before swirling once over my clit.

I gasp as a bolt of white-hot pleasure shoots up my spine. My shoulders curl reflexively inward and my upper body pulls up, my hands striking out for the closest thing I can reach, which just so happens to be his hair. When my fingers clench too harshly, he groans against me and hurries to obey my demand, his tongue dipping lower, pressing deeper. I arch back, unable to contain the ragged sound that claws out of my throat in response. I am so close already, so close.

I am about to ask him to slow down, already afraid of the power behind the orgasm that is building inside of me, when I feel his fingers at my entrance. The words that were on my tongue choke on a whimper as he pushes inside of me, curling into the exact spot he knows I need him to as his tongue continues to run warm, sparkling circles over my clit.

I curse roughly, chanting his name as I feel myself tightening, my back bowing high off of the bed and my fingernails digging mercilessly into his scalp. Damon rumbles a low sound of approval but his rhythm doesn't waver. His fingers are pushing, begging, even as his mouth coaxes and commands.

He doesn't let me come gently; doesn't ease me into a manageable release. Instead, I tighten and climb until the tension breaks with a hard jerk that overtakes my whole body and I am convulsing violently around his fingers, melting under his mouth, keening and trembling and thrashing and almost trying to squirm away as he holds me firmly in place by my hips, demanding every last taste of me he's earned as I throb and spasm and shatter for him.

He doesn't stop until I am whimpering and begging, practically crying from the unbearable intensity of it all. He slows and stops and I finally settle, collapsing all of my tension-wracked muscles into the comfort of his bed as I fight to catch my breath.

He kisses the inside of my thigh with unexpected gentleness before climbing up onto the bed to lay beside me, tenderly brushing my still damp and probably irreparably tangled hair from my face. He presses a kiss to my eyelid, my temple. My cheek, the corner of my lips.

"Hi," he says, and he sounds so pleased with himself, I am actually tempted to open my eyes. I deliberate another long moment before deciding reluctantly that it will be worth it, forcing them open despite their almost impossible weight. When I do, I am rewarded with his beaming bright smile and flushed cheeks. He looks like a boy who just got his favorite toy for his birthday. Or a man who has reduced his girlfriend to post-orgasmic goo for the third time in as many hours.

"Hi," I say between panting breaths. "That was—"

"Amazing? Stupendous? Life-altering?" Damon supplies smugly, only half joking.

"Yes," I admit. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," Damon says, before covering my mouth is a searing kiss that melts every remaining ounce of tension from my body. Which reminds me…

"Mmm, Dmmnn?" I mumble against his mouth.

"Mmm?" he asks, still kissing me.

I push at his shoulders lightly, trying to break the kiss so I can speak. "What about you?" I ask when his lips reluctantly release mine. I wiggle against the rock-hard evidence of his selflessness where it is pressing against my thigh.

"Uh uh, Signorina, you need a break. I don't want to wear you out too much or I won't be able to have my wicked way with you later." He winks before pressing a kiss to my forehead and climbing off of me.

"I'm gonna go take a shower too," Damon says. "Just a quick one and we can head out for some breakfast."

"Sounds good," I say, trying to sound as pulled-together as I can though I still haven't moved an inch and can't see myself doing it anywhere in the near future.

He chuckles and disappears around the corner into his bathroom, and I hear the water turn on.

For a moment I just lay there, enjoying the satiated heaviness that is pressing me deeper into the mattress, warming me from the inside out.

How could this day possibly get any better?

On cue, my phone starts buzzing on the side table next to Damon's bed. Jenna is at Alaric's for the weekend and Caroline and Stefan are still in Tahiti on their honeymoon. Who else would be calling me on a Saturday morning?

I debate the merits of voicemail for the length of one long second.

But in the end, I accomplish the roll that puts me in reaching distance of my phone. I pick it up and flip it over to see if my caller ID recognizes the number.

And I just about drop my phone in my hurry to answer it.

###

"Yes, ma'am," I agree.

Damon comes around the corner, wearing a fluffy white towel, a sexy sheen of hastily-dried water and an satisfied expression, moving to his dresser drawer.

"Absolutely. I'll take care of it right away. I'll talk it over with my client at his earliest convenience," I say, glancing nervously up at Damon. He abandons his quest for underwear in favor of sitting on the bed, looking at me with a worried question in his eyes that makes my heart shrink with a brief but powerful spasm of guilt.

"Sounds great. Thank you so much. Yes, of course. I'll be in touch soon," I say, before hanging up the phone. I set it face down on the side-table, my body flushed and vibrating with a strange combination of fear and elation. I feel Damon's eyes boring into me, but I can't meet them. What have I done? What will he say?

Did what I think just happened really happen?

"Is everything okay, Elena? Who was that?" Damon asks.

I meet his eyes reluctantly, trying to keep my gaze steady even though I am desperate to escape his look of affectionate concern.

I don't deserve it.

"It was…" I trail, my tongue stopping the words before they tumble out, before they set off a bomb that I can't disarm.

I swallow hard, gathering myself before I speak.

"Damon, that was Sharon White of BigLittle," I say.

He looks even more confused, shaking his head before looking up at me.

"Sharon White? I thought she refused to speak to you? Why would she be calling your cell phone? And on a Saturday, no less?"

I shuffle my feet awkwardly, looking at the floor before peeking gingerly up at him through my lashes. "She wanted to close a deal and didn't want to wait." It is still the truth.

Damon's face lights up and he stands, moving around the bed towards me. "Close a deal? Elena, that's fantastic!" He takes both my hands in his. "I didn't even realize you were in contact with her! When did she—?" I shake my head, cutting him off.

I pull my hands from his and he looks at me with something like thinly veiled alarm. I bite my lip, knowing that whatever comes next, I owe him the truth.

"Damon, she called me because I sent her a manuscript," I tell him evenly. "It was a total Hail Mary. I really didn't think she would read it because she never reads anything I send her. But apparently, she did. Last night, actually. And she then proceeded to spend the entire morning having her lawyers prepare a contract because she doesn't want to risk anybody else getting their hands on it before she does."

"Elena, that's incredible! Isn't it?" Damon says cautiously, no doubt catching on to my incongruently un-celebratory mood at this supposed good news. "It must be a pretty phenomenal manuscript," he ventures tentatively.

"Yes, Damon, it is a phenomenal manuscript," I declare passionately.

There is a long awkward pause.

"Okay, so…?" Damon starts.

"It's your manuscript," I blurt.

The truth hangs in the quivering silence like the blade over a guillotine.

And suddenly, it isn't just my lack of clothing that is making me feel unbearably naked.

He blinks at me once, then two times. He shakes his head and then his eyelashes flutter a third time.

Oh shit.

I watch as comprehension dawns. For a moment, his expression is stunned disbelief.

And then, I watch as it hardens into anger.

"My manuscript? You sent her my manuscript, Elena?" he says accusingly. "The one you told me you were just looking at to help me out?" He shoves a hand roughly through his still damp hair. "Shit, Elena, that was just a draft. I told you I wasn't done with it and I…you said you wouldn't shop it till I was ready! You told me you wouldn't—" He breaks off with a frustrated huff and starts pacing.

"Damon, I'm so sorry." I have to ball my hands into fists at my side to stop myself from reaching for him. "It was late and I was just…I thought I would just give it a head start, you know? At least until I talked you into changing your mind about letting me shop it. I knew if I could just get her to read it, she'd fall in love with it and she would...and then I could convince you…"

I stop myself, changing tack. "You know what, Damon, there's no excuse. It was wrong of me. I am really really sorry and I feel horrible. You don't have to take the deal. We can forget anybody ever saw it and you don't ever have to trust me with another piece of your amazing writing ever again," I say, even though I sincerely hope he never takes me up on that promise. "You get to be mad at me. You're right. It was a shitty thing to do. I'm so sorry."

"So, let me see if I've got this straight, Elena," Damon says, stopping his pacing to stand in front of me. The look in his eye is painful to see, all of that beautiful clear blue turned dark and sharp and stormy. But I hold his gaze, determined to own up to what I've done.

"You went behind my back and gave my manuscript to Sharon White?"

I gulp. "Yes."

"Had you spoken to her before?"

"No. I just called her and told her I would be…sending a copy over." I can barely choke the words out they sound so horrible.

"And she read it?" he asks.

"Apparently," I say.

He dips his head and scrubs his forehead with his hands. "So what you're telling me is that the biggest name in all of publishing—who has repeatedly refused to have anything to do with you—read my manuscript and liked it so much that she called you? On a Saturday? Because she wanted to be the first to offer a publishing deal?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you."

He scratches the back of his neck as if he doesn't know what to say, looking at the ground for a long moment as he gathers his thoughts. When he finally peeks up at me from under his lashes, the corners of his lips are tugging up in a tentative smile, his face stuck somewhere between excitement and stunned disbelief.

"Holy shit, Elena," he half-chuckles, and I can't resist the beaming smile that takes over my face, relief and joy pouring over and through my body in turn.

"Holy shit," he says again.

"I know, Damon!" I say, stepping towards him, but when I do, I see him flinch just the tiniest bit, his face falling and his eyebrows furrowing before they smooth once more. But he doesn't step back. He looks more thoughtful than angry.

I decide to press my luck.

"Damon, I know I messed up." I take tiny step forward. He is still, watching me warily, debating.

"And that I should have asked you first." One more step. I am a bare inch away from him now, the heat of his naked chest warming mine, my nipples nearly brushing him. The pulse point in his throat beats furiously but otherwise, he doesn't make a move. He has room to step away from me but he hasn't.

I take this as an encouraging sign.

I press up onto my tiptoes and dust my lips against the soft-scratchy underside of his jaw, my breath whispering over his skin. "I'm really…" kiss, "horribly…" kiss, "epically…" kiss, "sorry for what I did."

I see his Adam's apple bob as my lips move lower, trailing over his collarbone. I flatten my hands over his pectoral muscles before stealing slowly downward, traveling the rippled expanse of his stomach before I dip my fingernails under the edge of his towel, teasing the skin just below the soft cotton barrier it makes from hip to hip.

His stomach muscles tense and quiver, a tremble overtaking him for just the briefest of moments. I smile.

I tug lightly and the towel falls away, revealing exactly how forgiving a mood he appears to be in. I encircle his length with my hand, stroking him lazily. He tips his head back and a groan vibrates low in his throat.

I kiss the spot on his neck where I heard the sound begin and I feel him swell and harden as his hands move to my low back, running up my spine to my shoulder blades and neck before diving into my hair.

I arch my back so my nipples brush against his chest encouragingly, trying to ignore the spark that shoots down to my sex at that simple motion.

I have a plan and it has nothing to do with my pleasure.

Well, almost nothing.

"I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me," I whisper to the skin under his earlobe before sinking slowly to my knees, still stroking him as I align my mouth with his straining cock.

"Elena, wait," he chokes out suddenly, his voice raw and stretched as his hands tighten and pull back in my hair.

Anxiety seeps through the cracks of my hope as I peek up at him. Dammit, I should've known it wouldn't be that easy. I let go of him and lower my head in dejected shame, but then he is dropping to his knees in front of me, cupping my jaw in his hands to bring my face back to his.

"You don't have to do…that…to get my forgiveness," he stammers, looking pained. "I don't ever want you to feel like you have to do me…favors…to get me to…" he trails off. "I already forgive you, Elena," he says simply.

His thumbs skim over my cheekbones, touching me with a tenderness I don't deserve. Not after what I've done. I see it now—the way I betrayed him. At the time it felt like helping him, and maybe I had. But no matter how incredible the end result, I broke his trust.

"I wish you would have asked me first, but I'm not mad," he says reassuringly as though reading my thoughts, brushing a stray hair from my forehead. "I'm grateful, actually. The truth is, no matter how long I fiddled with it and how hard you would have tried to convince me it was ready to shop, I probably never would have thought it was good enough to give you the actual go ahead to do it. And, well, considering the result I'm pretty fucking glad you did," he chuckles in amazement. He runs his hands down my throat before resting them on my shoulders, his thumbs tracing my collarbones.

"You believed in me," he says emphatically, his eyes darting between mine. He looks like he has more to say, but he doesn't speak. Instead he brings his lips to mine, kissing me with a soulful urgency that makes the last of my anxiety disintegrate into memory. I savor him, the taste of absolution on his tongue, the warmth of forgiveness seeping into my lungs on his breath. I drink him in and let him fill me, let my body absorb so my heart believes.

"There's only one problem," I say when he finally lets me up for air, working hard to stay focused when he begins trailing kisses up my jaw to nip at my ear, then moves down my neck.

"And that would be?" he murmurs, his voice husky and warm.

"I had my heart set on apologizing," I say, before shoving him backward by the shoulders, using all of my body weight to set him off balance enough to get him wrestled to the floor. We land in an awkward pile of limbs, his feet getting tangled in the towel that lay discarded at his knees moments before.

"Elena!" he exclaims, but I ignore him. I stretch my body against his instead, feeling every delicious inch of his skin pressed against mine as he straightens out to lay on his back.

I kiss my way down the angle of his jaw, the soft skin of his throat, the line of definition between his pectoral muscles. At first he tries to sit up on his elbows, his mouth opening in a protest that gets cut off in a moan when I swirl my tongue around his nipple. He drops to his back, surrendering with a sigh, and I smile in victory, moving downward to my prize.

I start at the base of him, trailing open-mouthed kisses up his length. I curl my tongue around his swollen head before sinking him into my mouth.

"Aww, fuck, Elena," he curses as I take him as deep as I can, relaxing my throat and swallowing around him before I pull back, sucking lightly as I go.

I don't stop until he is fisting my hair with desperate fingers, until the sound of my name is a begging plea on his lips. Until his body is taut with so much beautiful tension, the feeling of it breaking will wash him clean of everything.

So that all that will be left is the good enough and the good news.

It may be a tall order for a few moments of concentrated pleasure. But I have all day—not to mention an endless well-spring of ideas I've been eager to try.

Did I mention I love Saturdays?

Author's Note: Hi lovies! I don't know about you, but after the horrible sadness of this past week's episode, I REALLY needed me some post-shower Delena sexy times. It was nice to have this to edit. I hope it brought your Delena-loving hearts a little happiness to take away some of the risidual sting.

Also, did I mention that I love you? Because I do. THANK YOU for all the review/follow/favorite love you are sending my way! I don't even have anything witty or awesome to say. My mind is just THAT BLOWN by it all. Hugs to you all. Please don't stop the love train, peeps. Let's keep it rollin'! Reviews. Are. Love.

All the thanks to the hotorable Trogdor19, who—besides reminding me how awesomely tension-y a guillotine can be when used as a literary metaphor—endured the pickling of her every cell in the bitter brine of jealousy, a dash-interjection headache, AND a nasty bout of penile cutting. And who somehow manages to beta brilliantly on faulty electronic equipment while dressed like a human puff ball and watching mechanics do things in the desert for science. Or something.

Also, I need to give a shout out to Goldnox and her story, "Mirrors and Broken Things" which is now available on Kindle Worlds by C. L. Marlene. It is a gorgeous lovely beautiful thing and you are only depriving yourself of some of the hottest Delena EVER by not reading it. Download it, read it, and pretty please leave a lovely review telling her how much you love it.

Love to you all. Until next week...

XOXO, Nightlight