How about some drunken Elena?
"Elijah…"
He folded his newspaper at the lyrical voice and looked up.
"Elena?"
Her eyes were slightly unfocused after a night on the town with the girls. She stumbled on her three inch heels, no doubt a requirement set in place by his sister, and stood in front of him placing her hands on his shoulders.
"Do you like me?"
He tilted his head, wondering just how much liquor Rebekah had plied her with. He could only smell the most recent beverage: tequila.
"We've been married thirty years," he smirked.
"Yeah," she sighed, exasperated, "but do you like me?"
His hands snaked around her waist, pulling her to straddle him on the dining room chair.
"Like," his voice dropped, "is not a strong enough word to describe how I feel about you."
She shivered and shifted closer until they were pressed into each other. Wrapping her arms around his neck she purred against his ear.
"What is a strong enough word?"
He groaned when she ground her hips down, but before he got a chance to answer they were interrupted by Kol.
"How many times do I have to tell you two 'not in the dining room'?" He threw his hands up. "We eat in here!"