A/N: Happy November.

I didn't know much about sobriety since I had never been addicted to anything. But I understood how you could struggle with walking the fine edge of normality; how you could be triggered and immediately want to seek out an outlet that would take your mind off whatever the hell was bothering you, screwing with you mentally. How you never wanted to feel pain, only pleasure, all the time without ceasing. Or numb. Letting go of the pipe, the pills, the bottle, the needle, the sex, the lying, the stealing, the high had to be worked at every day, twenty-four seven, three-sixty-five. There were no off days or vacations or paid sick days. You had to deal with your addiction nonstop.

I wasn't addicted to anything. Technically. Yet my life for a time had been about taking care not to put myself in a position to delve into the familiar. Escapism had become my one means of subsistence.

I was convinced blood poured out of me because I couldn't make it pour out of anyone else.

Hearing that name was a setback. It was a name that lingered in the far recesses of my mind. Was the boogeyman living interchangeably beneath my bed or in my closet when I forgot to close the door all the way. It was living matter.

"Jesus, Bonnie," I vaguely heard Damon cry out as blood leaked from my nose. He stood floundering before me unsure of what to do, how to help.

Could I even remember what we had been discussing before? No. Something to do with Tyler but beyond that, I was drawing a blank because my entire focus was not on stopping my bleeding nose, but slamming the doors, reinforcing the locks that kept everything that encompassed the name Tessa from rising to the surface, from undoing months and months and years of therapy had accomplished.

Like with most good intentions it was no use. My stomach cramped violently, and for a second I tasted bile on the back of my tongue. I needed fresh air and space. More importantly, I needed to let the rage out because if I kept it bottled in…

"I-I need to go."

"Let me help you, Bonnie."

"YOU'VE DONE ENOUGH!" I bellowed and because of the acoustics of the stairwell, I was sure my voice could have been heard from the basement to the rooftop.

Damon sucked in a deep breath. I saw his chest rise and fall. He pressed his lips together and moved when I took a step. I glared and he stared right back, unmoved, concerned, maybe even repentant.

"Let me help you back to your place," he bartered in a soft tenor that had a commanding edge to it. "I feel like…this is my fault."

"It's not. This just…happens. I'll be fine," I weakly shooed him off. He refused to budge.

Together we went up to my apartment where Damon fumbled another apology as I closed the door in his face. Tyler was still snoring up a storm. I tossed his phone, narrowly missing hitting him in the head with it as it landed beside him on the couch. I headed straight for the shower. Unable to look at my reflection, I stripped, wiped my nose, cleaned up any traces of blood while the water heated, and the minute the first curls of steam crept their way to the ceiling, I entered the bath one leg at a time.

My shower couldn't get hot enough to warm my chilled skin. I heard a distinctive voice in my ear whisper silkily:

"Marrying won't change who you are. I made you, Bonnie."

Clamping hands over my ears did little to alleviate the playback. That voice but more to the matter the person it belonged to was my villain origin story.

I crawled into bed, curled into a tight ball where my dreams was a mishmash of faceless people presenting me with writing samples, and every single corner I turned Tyler was there, whispering to or listening to the whisperings of that person.

I woke up in a cold sweat running fingers through my matted hair, cursing myself because I forgot to wrap it last night. I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest contemplating making an emergency appointment with Cami. I had yet to use the thirty minutes of free counseling she offered as an apology for my session being interrupted by that nut client of hers who felt entitled to her time whenever he felt like he should have it. If ever I needed an outlet to expose the cracks that had been delivered to my psyche, now was definitely the time.

The sound of groans and things being knocked over caught my ear. Tyler was up and probably searching for water and aspirin. A shred of relief swept through me. I felt less alone with him moving around. It occurred to me I never viewed Tyler as a source of refuge or even protection. He was a man I've known almost all my life so I was blanketed in that sense of familiarity. Anyone else shaken up by something would seek out the person they most trusted. What did you do when someone you thought you could trust did something treacherous behind your back?

Softly he eased the bedroom door open, olive complexion looking slightly green, hair wild, eyes slumberous and red-tinted. "Bunny?" Tyler landed face first on the bed mumbling incoherently before rolling to his back.

Normally this would be the part I'd coddle and scold him for drinking too much, but I didn't have it in me this morning.

"Ugh, I wanna die," he complained and screwed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "Damon had the good shit but never again."

"Speaking of Damon, you left your phone at his place. He returned it."

Tyler murmured noncommittally.

I moistened my dry lips, heart pounding. It would be best to let Tyler sober up before bombing him out, but I couldn't wait. I couldn't bite my tongue about this because he knew how I felt.

"You got a phone call…from Tessa." It was out and the air in the room left. "Why does she have your number?"

Tyler lowered his hands to the bed, didn't so much as move a muscle. "I…" his voice cracked, "I have no idea how she got my number."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying! I didn't give her my number. I haven't seen her in years."

Pissed, I got off the bed then, raced out of the room and found Tyler's phone. Seconds later I stood above him, after putting in his passcode and bringing up his recent calls. There it was in bright red lettering. I shoved the phone in his face to which he winced against the brightly lit screen.

"Why is she programmed as Tessa in your phone if you haven't talked to her in years? If you haven't given her your number?!"

Tyler snatched the phone from me and turned it off. "Look, Bonnie my head is pounding and the room won't stop spinning. I don't have it in me to be interrogated with this shit right now," he pushed me aside and locked himself in the bathroom.

Kicking my bed, stifling a scream, I ripped into my closet and threw on what I hoped would pass as acceptable attire for where I was about to go. I couldn't stay in this apartment with him another minute because I was afraid I would beat the shit out of Tyler.

Sphinx meowed loudly when I accidentally stepped on his tail as I made haste to the door. "Sorry sweetie," I croaked out just before slamming the door closed behind me.

For the first time since moving in this building I was going to utilize the gym. The elevator took forever to arrive, and when it did it was blissfully empty. I watched the numbers as I descended down three floors, absently wiped at my nose, checking for blood.

There were a few people spaced throughout the gym, everyone effectively ignoring everyone as they concentrated on their reps and breathing. I tossed my bag, picked out a treadmill and programmed it for thirty minutes. I used to be an active runner. So many things in my life I used to do I fell off, replaced them with other pursuits. This run was about to be hell.

I didn't care.

Sweaty, sore, and limping, I eventually made it back to my apartment where I found Tyler looking contrite as he poured a cup of coffee. He stretched the mug out to me that I accepted though I wanted water instead. That must have registered on my face because he exchanged the coffee for a bottle of water.

Together we sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table. Sphinx was happily eating his breakfast, purring in contentment. Oblivious of the fact his parents were about to have it out.

For a while we looked at everything but each other. I knew exactly where I wanted to start, but I waited for Tyler to say whatever he thought would automatically fix the situation.

He didn't let me down.

"I've only spoken to her once, Bunny. She called me one day out of the blue about a month or two after we had gotten engaged. I didn't talk to her long because I was working, but I…I saved her number in case she called again and I could ignore it. Block it, but again I was swamped with work and forgot."

"If your intent was to block her number you could have done it after you got off the phone with her," I argued.

"You're right, but again I was busy and it was a knee-jerk reaction because I'm constantly exchanging numbers with people about work. But see," Tyler rose from the table and when he came back he presented his phone to show Tessa's name and number no longer had a place in his list of contacts.

"What did she want when you talked to her?"

Tyler took a sip of his coffee, pulled his lips back from his teeth. "It was so brief I don't remember…"

"Try."

He scrubbed roughly at the stubble around his jaw. "She asked how things were going; told me congratulations, told me to tell you she…misses you."

On that my eyes closed and I held still as if someone were aiming a butane torch at me.

"Bunny…"

"All right. I don't want to know anything else. You deleted her number. It's over."

"You're still upset."

I snorted. "Yeah, well it's going to take more than just a conversation and run on the treadmill to make me forget. I need to get ready for work."

Tyler stood from the table when I did. He snagged me around the waist, buried his nose in my neck, scraped his teeth along my skin. My usual reaction to such a blatant invitation was obsolete at the moment. Sex or foreplay wasn't going to remove my aggravation or the kicked hornet's nest buzzing inside my gut. It used to be enough of a salve to get me through to the next hour, to finish out the day, but not today. Not until I met Cami who devised better constructed ways for me to express what was happening on the inside of me.

Sex solved nothing for me.

"Tyler, I'm not in the mood."

"I know, Bunny, I know but if we're going to do this, be husband and wife until death does us part then we can't end arguments with one of us still mad at the other person."

He was right but I wasn't ready to let him off the hook. Sure, it had been an honest mistake on his part, but a mistake that trudged up so many bitter, painful memories for me. Regardless, I slumped against Tyler, let him kiss his way up my neck, let his hands roam, squeeze and fondle, but the second he tried to slip a hand down my yoga pants, I stopped him.

"No, you don't get to touch or taste me today." I left him there pouting and half-hard.

Wedged between Tyler and one of his coworkers, I was trapped. We yuppies were packed six deep at a corner table in a lofty restaurant in downtown Vancouver the following evening. It was the kind of place you were liable to run into movie stars and TV actors if they had a night off from shooting.

To those drifting by they'd be convinced I was a chick in love. They wouldn't be wrong, but they might not be right about that either.

Every touch should have been confirmation that he was the sole person on my mind. Every kiss, smile, hug should have strengthened what brought us together in the first place. It was genuine from Tyler. It was half-hearted from me. I couldn't get the other night off my mind. Just couldn't shake it.

It only ebbed slightly whenever I looked at one of his coworkers.

Kennedy Langhorne, a raven-haired siren who fully embraced her forties and laugh lines. There was something very Dita von Teese about her. Throughout dinner, my eyes trailed to her. She was an executive at Tyler's firm who laughed loudly, drank beer like nobody's business, and had the most amazing spirit.

Quite a few times our gazes caught and we'd slip into our own conversation about little mundane things, a coded language that was universal to all women. Kennedy was curious about my relationship with Tyler, but possessed the scruples to mind her damn business.

He had been keeping tabs on how long I stared at his male coworkers, our server, random people enjoying this crisp Friday night. If my attention waned too long, he'd grip my thigh or gently pull my chin toward him, ask me a question that more or less gauged if I was thinking about bailing.

After a round or two of shots and a few bites of dessert, I excused myself to the bathroom for a break.

Washing my hands, my reflection in the mirror felt fraudulent. Coiffed and polished right down to the circlet of pearls around my neck. Tyler had suggested it to keep up appearances that he was a dedicated solider in the army of architecture, and me his fiancée came from excellent stock.

Gag me.

I wasn't matronly. The pearls I'm actually interested in are the kind that goes up an ass. What would Tyler's colleagues think of him if I were to let it slip he very much enjoyed me popping anal beads out of his sphincter?

My solitude was cut short when another woman entered the bathroom. It was Kennedy. She halted in mid-stride, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. We traded soft smiles before she ducked into a stall. I thought about bailing so I wouldn't have to make small talk, but I wasn't ready to return to the table to keep up the charade either. I just wasn't feeling being social tonight.

A flush of the toilet, a cough, and Kennedy had joined me at the sink. She ruffled through her purse after washing her hands, uncapped her lipstick tube.

"What shade is that?" I questioned.

"NYX's Transylvania," she popped her lips together. "You don't think it's too garish with my complexion?"

Kennedy was milk-white. She did fit the stereotype of a dominatrix with that lipstick and her all black attire that looked fresh off the pages of Harper's Bazaar.

"It looks gorgeous on you."

She held the tube out to me. "Would you like to try it?"

"No, I'm all right." And grossed out. I just met you two seconds ago, lady.

Kennedy smirked and dropped the lipstick in her clutch. She stared at her reflection, scowled then shrugged a moment later.

"You and Tyler are absolutely adorable together. He seems much more…himself with you around."

Needless to say, that caught my genuine attention, "How is he when I'm not?"

Kennedy wiped excess lipstick away with her finger. "Like any other worker, I suppose. Intensely focused, combative on occasion. He…makes a lot of hearts flutter."

The flutter could be in lust or fear. I was willing to place my money on both. But Kennedy wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know. I knew she was leading me, almost pushing me to ask for dirt and gossip on my fiancé about who he lunched with on an entirely too frequent basis. How late did he truly stay working in the office. Did he ever get missing with no explanation to his absence, or show up late for meetings, sweaty and disheveled smelling of sex.

"He doesn't smile as often," Kennedy exposed. "For a time I thought it might be general homesickness. You two talk often?"

"We talk enough," and that was all I was going to tell Kennedy. "We should get back out there."

She shadowed me as we prepared to leave, but she reached out and shut the door. I looked at her over my shoulder, brow raised.

"Tyler is an exceptional man, but I know he's the lucky one." Kennedy fingered one of my curls. "D'you think he'd…"

"He'd what?"

"Are you into women as well, Bonnie?"

I turned around, placed my back against the door. Kennedy was beautiful and for a second I allowed my mind to imagine her nipples in my mouth, mine in hers, our fingers seeking hot, moist folds. But the fantasy stirred nothing besides the desultory rush of arousal. Not need or want. "In another place, in another time."

Kennedy smiled but there was no mistaking her disappointment. She extracted a card from her purse, "If you ever change your mind."

I didn't accept it. "That'll never happen and you know why."

She conceded with a look. "Can't hurt to ask, I supposed."

Dinner stretched until I was openly yawning at the table.

"Tired?" Tyler stated the obvious.

"It's been a long week."

"Let's head on home."

I didn't need to be told twice.

Television on, in live, living color a man stood in the shower, close ups of his body proved he was a connoisseur of building and maintaining muscle mass. Soapy white bubbles mingled with water and sluiced down his hard stomach, bulging arms and sculpted legs. His veined hands rubbed soap in slow circles with the camera following their every move. Slowly panning down, down, down past the navel, below the carved V, and the column of raised, hardened flesh. His hand closed around the shaft of his erect penis, stroking it lovingly, pulling and teasing before caressing the circumcised head tinted a dark rose in color. The camera panned down further and the faceless man's scrotum came into view. Pert, hairless, and voluptuously round like two perfect golf balls they hung. The man cupped those and then, his finger went missing between his firm ass.

I paused the recording shaking my head while scribbling notes for the director furiously. Themyscira Films was about making titillation within in reason, not outright porn. There was no way the film I was previewing would be slapped with anything less than an NC-17 rating. At the thought of the fight I had on my hands with the director, I felt a headache coming.

Tyler was gone and I was relieved about it. He had hopped on a plane to Mystic Falls to go spend a couple of days with his parents. He'd asked me to come but I used work as a viable and legitimate excuse to finagle out of being his travel buddy. From Virginia he'd then be making his way across the Atlantic back to Germany to work out the remainder of his contract.

I had also received another smutty letter from my anonymous admirer, which I tossed in the trash. Seems Tyler's talk with management had been ineffective, or they didn't give a shit. I'm putting my money on the latter. Nevertheless, ever since last week I've had no sex drive; my libido was in the fucking pits and I couldn't say I missed it. Tyler did, but he made do with a few handjobs. Besides, anytime he touched me, my thoughts trailed to places I ardently wished they'd stopped going once stress became too much.

My cell vibrated. Dietrich was calling.

"You haven't forgotten have you?" he began without preamble.

"No." I had no idea what Dietrich was talking about. His heavy sigh let me know that I had been caught in a lie. "Okay, what?" I shoved the notes aside.

"Neibrum Ball."

It clicked. The Neibrum Ball was a celebration of the local arts. "Right. We have tickets. That's tonight?"

"Bonnie, I swear your memory is full of wank sometimes."

I inadvertently stared at what was frozen across my TV screen. "Shut up. I'm getting dressed. I'll be ready."

"Yeah, right. Open your door."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

A knock sounded.

"What did you do?" I asked as I cautiously headed for the door. I looked out the peephole spotting a delivery man. I opened the door and signed for the zipped garment bag.

"I need you looking fabulous tonight," Dietrich griped conjuring images of Daniel Craig as James Bond in Casino Royale telling Eva Green's character, Vesper, the same thing. "I'll be at your flat to pick you up in one hour."

In exactly one hour I was opening my door again for Dietrich Thames.

He forewent wearing a traditional neck or bowtie and opted for a white and black paisley ascot to go with his tailored threads. Dietrich was textbook handsome, reminding me of an English version of Odell Beckham Jr. sans faux hawk. He could have you under his spell, eating from the palm of his hand with one look.

He whistled as I twirled showing off the fruits of his pre-planning and generosity. The dress was a deep satiny green Monique Lhuillier that flowed like water around my legs and left my arms bare. Makeup and hair done, we left.

The rain came down as it often did, slicking the roads making the otherwise dull surfaces shine. Dietrich pulled his Mercedes to the curb. "I'm letting you out here while I find a car park. Wait for me at the entrance."

Climbing out, I used my clutch as an umbrella and raced to stand under the awning. A flicker of red-orange caught my attention and I spotted a man leaning against the front of the hotel some fifteen feet away. The light from the match caught his face in beautifully sharp shadows and my pulse thumped because I thought it might be Damon.

It wasn't.

Ten minutes later Dietrich rushed inside brushing droplets of rain from his overcoat which he checked. He presented his arm that I happily looped with mine.

Facing the networking juggernaut, the doors parted, my hand trembled, and my breath caught. Not because of the interior, grandeur, the semi-romantic vibe in the air. A woman was nervous of making a colossal idiot of herself in a sly attempt to finagle spoils for her fledgling company. Thoughts pummeled me. Was I as smart as I believed myself to be? As witty? As assertive so not to be mistaken for a wet-nosed nobody who should learn her place? The last thought lit my fire.

My business partner placed his hand on the small of my back. "Breathe because you look ready to vomit."

"I am," I admitted.

Dietrich smirked, stretching his whiskered chin, dapper in his black tux.

Together we cleared the archway and got lost in the masses of loitering artists, lovers of art, financiers, and bustling wait staff.

Dietrich took my hand and led me through the crowd. We nodded hello but kept it pushing for the most part. It was strategy. Dietrich and I never dove head first into smooching, or kissing ass. Not within the first hour. People were often busy saying hello and gabbing with old friends or acquaintances and had no ear for business.

Instead of diving into the fray to impress with our extensive knowledge on who was who and owned or did what, my partner and I utilized the time to do reconnaissance. It was much better than standing in a corner hoping to be seen as interesting enough to chat with.

Our target for the night was a tech tycoon by the name of Milton Dowler who donated generously to the arts. The twice divorcee of three kids and a dog, he was a lover of French and Russian composers and served on the board of a ballet company. I was hoping he'd be open to expanding what he supported by funneling either his cash or those of a friend or two to support a company determined to spotlight the stories of the marginalized.

Fingers crossed.

My assistant Anna was here as well two other employees, and my intern hustling on Themyscira's behalf. In a few I'd check bases with them to see if they drummed up any interest with possible investors.

Dietrich led me to the center of the room and we began dancing.

"As expected all eyes are on you, love."

I kept mine firmly planted on Dietrich, flashed a here and gone smile which made him frown.

"Are you all right? You've been uncharacteristically quiet."

"Not all the time am I on, Dietrich."

"Yes, we all get into pissy moods from time to time but tonight isn't the time for it. If something's the matter, you can talk to me."

"I think I see Milton," I deflected.

"Bonnie."

"I'll be all right, Dietrich. Now spin me away."

I couldn't exactly get close to Milton as surrounded as he was. So I circled the room, stopping every now and then to exchange pleasantries, handed out a few business cards.

Finally he was alone, scrutinizing the hors d'oeuvres.

"Mr. Dowler?"

"Yes?" he spun from the table, adjusted his glasses, eyes widening almost comically. "Yes?" he said more slowly this time and extended a hand.

"Bonnie Bennett, mind if I bend your ear for a while?"

I bent and bent and bent his ear. Milton told jokes that were semi-funny, ogled my breasts more than I would have liked, but kept his hands in respectable places as we took a turn around the floor. He had accepted my card, tucked his into my hand and made me promise three times (so it would stick, according to him) that we would get in touch for lunch.

My fingers slid out of Milton's as I twisted to leave him. With my arm still extended behind me, fingertips just clearing a future benefactor, my tits crashed into a Brioni covered chest. Not given the chance to say one word, a hand cupped my cheek, tilted my chin, and lips were on mine.

What. The. Fuck?

The offender pulled away as soon as our lips touched, but the kiss lasted long enough for me to know his taste. Bourbon and something else that was equally as potent.

Hyper blue eyes bored into me, and it took a second for pieces of his face to come together to make a coherent picture. I knew that chin, those brows, that sharp nose.

"Are you—"

He pressed me closer, his hold slightly possessive, and once again his mouth moved against mine. This kiss was deeper but was still chaste. When he ended it, our lips quietly smacked apart. He whispered in my ear, "I'm sorry but I need your help."

Everything about Damon Salvatore was imploring me not to go off on him. And it was a fight not to because we were in a very public place with the kind of people where you could go from darling to pariah in a nanosecond. His hand was still on my cheek that he brushed the pad of his thumb across probably to simmer down the rage coursing through my veins.

It was jarring enough he was here. Then as I thought about it, it almost made perfect sense. Temptation always knew when to rear its meddling head. I discounted that and focused on the main issue. He tasted my mouth without permission. Not only was it wrong, but old me, domme me, would have flogged him for the offense. Our bodies, though, began their own conversation, and nebulously I was aware we were swaying from side to side.

Flatly I said, "You have five seconds to explain before I bury my knee in your balls."

Damon visibly winced, "You see the woman behind me? Long brown hair, brown eyes, silver dress?"

I discreetly tilted my head at a better angle to see. There was a woman who fit that general description, her unsmiling façade was deeply puckered.

"What about her?"

"Until this song is over…I need you to pretend you're with me, that you're mine."

Automatically I laughed. "You are out of your mind. Why would I do that?"

"Because," Damon bit out through tight lips, "she thinks I'm playing hard to get so I need to prove her wrong."

"Can't take no for an answer?"

"No, she can't."

"So to get rid of her you force yourself on someone else?" my brow arched.

His skin flushed. "I'm sorry about that."

I could tell that he was. It didn't make me feel any better. I just hoped none of my associates saw what he did, because it would take nothing but one glance for this entire situation to be misconstrued.

We did a ball change and now my back was to Damon's thirsty admirer. He dipped me without warming, brought me back up slowly, noses just an inch apart.

"I know this won't make up for taking liberties," Damon arched his back so we could make eye contact, "but you're beautiful in that dress. You're beautiful no matter what you wear."

"I'm still engaged," I blurted.

His little lips ticked up at the corner, a crescent line appearing like a parentheses bracketing a mouth that had a way of angering and…doing other things to my sensibilities it really shouldn't.

"Damn," he laughed wryly. "Guess I need to work on my homewrecker skills."

"Was that your goal by inviting me and my boyfriend to have dinner with you, by trying to insinuate something about him which you never did clear up, or divulge any real details about? To be a homewrecker?"

"You never asked him?"

"What was I supposed to say? Look, it doesn't matter. My relationship is none of your business. And…" I wrestled away from him as calmly as I could as not to draw attention. "The song and this dance are over. Your stalker is gone."

Damon checked behind him just to be sure. He inclined his head. "Thank you for saving me from an overzealous fangirl. As far as the kiss…let me make it up to you. Let me apologize."

"I don't need another expensive bottle of wine sent to me."

"Good because I wasn't thinking of sending you wine."

Folding my arms, I muttered, "I shouldn't even be entertaining you right now."

"But you are." The smile in his voice was evident even if he himself weren't smiling. "There's a tea house right next door to this hotel. Share a pot of tea or coffee, and I'll tell you everything your fiancé and I discussed. How's that for an apology?"

Taking a step back from Damon I wagged my head. "As nice as that sounds, I can't leave. Not yet."

Disappointment wrinkled his brow that smoothed a second later. Damon stuck his fists in his pockets and found something else interesting to staple his gaze to before staring at me once more.

"I'd offer to wait but intuition is telling me you'd find another excuse to postpone or get out of sitting across from me at another table, basking in the intimacy that comes with sharing food and drinks with someone."

That was eloquent and also made my eyes narrow in suspicion. He said he hadn't been the one sending me those erotic letters, but Damon could have lied about it to save face. I know I said I didn't peg him for a liar. However, I knew nothing about him apart from the sides of his personality he had shown. Being a public figure and working with actors and actresses they donned masks from time to time to protect their identities, their true selves, pieces of their psyche they didn't want the world to examine, mock, or pick apart like roadkill. I didn't know this man, but at the same time I felt he and I shared a secret, things in common.

"You have a tendency to reveal things when we break bread," I reminded.

"And I've been told I'm guarded."

Since he decided to be bold by kissing me (a kiss I refused to think about), I figured why not repay his kindness. I dared to come closer to Damon, even as the pleasant smell of his cologne inspired thoughts best left to be written on paper or filmed on camera.

He moved in such a way, cinching the space separating us that it almost felt like he was wrapping himself around me. His eyes were so big and blue from this distance, getting lost almost seemed required when looking at him. Yet, in my mind, I imagined there was a plate of glass between us. I could see him, see my reflection, and see the two of us blending together.

"For a submissive such as yourself you'd have to be…guarded."

His chest rose higher, and I heard the breath that inflated his lungs and left through his nose. Twin pink dots bloomed on his cheeks, and his lips parted revealing teeth. I could give him a command right now and he'd obey. He would fall to his knees, bow his head, wait for instructions, wait for me to tell him it was okay to get hard, make him beg just to smell my twat. The thought of that was so intoxicating my head nearly swam for a minute. The things we could get into if I were…

No.

That wasn't my life anymore and I was in no position to do anything.

We were both breathing so hard.

I stepped further away. "Good night, Damon."

He didn't let me get far. Damon flattened against me, his chest supporting my back. People milled around us, oblivious. The tempo of everything seemed to change when Damon put his lips to my ear.

"You need to let off some steam. I can tell. You're wound so tight you could scream. I'm offering myself to you…mistress." My nostrils flared. He kept going. "Gag me, restrain me, flog me, ride me. Punish me for what I've done tonight. Use this on me," he reached for and uncurled my fingers, traced the palm of my hand. "It's up to you. You know where to find me."

Damon melted into the crowd and I simply melted with need.

A/N: Many guessed Tessa was Bonnie's dom name, nope. It is an actual person. Who? It will be revealed shortly. So Bamon has revealed their dom/sub cards to one another, will she actually take Damon up on his offer? If you want more, please let me know. Thank you so much for reading!