A/N – This is a fantasy. Please always practice safe sex. : )
Chapter Nine
Seven Years Ago
He kissed her.
And thus stole away all of her rational thoughts, leaving behind only her senses to try and process this unexpected development.
The taste of him …. Dark. Decadent. The scent of him … Spicy. Male. Intoxicating at this range. The feel of him … soft, warm lips pressing against hers and contrasting divinely with the barest suggestion of stubble on his jaw, prickling the corners of her mouth oh so delicately.
All of it together was simply … overwhelming. And delicious.
After what could've been a few seconds or an eternity, she honestly had no clue, because the moment felt infinite, he drew back and their kiss ended.
Way too soon.
She opened her eyes and found him looking at her as no man had done before. There was pleasure on his face. Surprise. And a little bit of sacred awe. As if she was a newly discovered wonder, and he desired to see her every facet.
As for her, all she could do was blink up at him. Stunned. Completely and utterly and thoroughly dazzled by the incredible blueness of his eyes. She could count every single black eyelash that rimmed those blue eyes.
Was she hallucinating? Dehydrated? Was this some trick of the light? Did Damon Salvatore really just kiss her?
"Oh," she said nervously into the silence between them, just to make sure it wasn't all a dream. Maybe she should pinch herself.
His eyes narrowed, mouth curving in amusement. "Oh?"
Her gaze dropped to that crookedly curving mouth. She was acutely aware of the way her breasts were rising and falling beneath the thin material of her dress and of how stiff her nipples were, a detail no doubt visible to a keen artist's eye.
Jeez, why did he have to smell so good? She found herself grappling with the crazy impulse to bury her face in his chest and breathe him in as deeply as she could.
No, no breathing him in. Respond.
"Yes, oh." She was unable to think of anything else to say.
"Is that a good oh or a bad oh?"
"A good oh," she was quick to assure him. "Definitely a good oh."
"Yeah?"
His eyes widened, as though genuinely curious about her answer, and she fell into his gaze once more. The color of his eyes was almost hypnotic. She had the eerie sensation that they were in their own hushed little universe, standing outside of time and space. Heat simmered in the air between them, an electric glide over her skin that made every hair stand on end.
"Yeah," she breathed.
She really hoped he was feeling this too – whatever this was - and that she wasn't going crazy or imagining something that was totally one sided.
His hand wrapped around hers. She blinked at the contact, returning to herself with a small indrawn breath, the spell broken. Her pulse went crazy. Er, crazier.
She didn't know why she was so flustered by the small contact when he'd just kissed her, plus she'd just spent a whole motorcycle ride plastered to his back, but nevertheless, she was.
He smiled. That smile … it was a lethal weapon. "It's hot. Let's take a beat before we had back into town."
She took one last glimpse back at the beautiful picture he'd spray painted on the side of the barn, a womanly profile dissolving into dozens of dragonflies, before allowing him to guide her inside the barn.
When he swung the dual wooden doors open, the hinges shrieked mightily like they were being tortured.
There was still the drowsy afternoon heat within the barn, but at least they were out of the sun. Dust motes floated about in the few muted gleams of golden sunlight managing to penetrate through the slats of the boarded up windows, and the ceiling was as high overhead as some vaulted cathedral.
Given the thickness of the dust layers and the generous amount of cobwebs, it didn't appear as though anyone had been here in a very long time.
She said as much out loud.
"There probably hasn't been anyone here in a long time," Damon concurred. "Which makes it perfect for our purposes."
He took a seat on a hay bale, reclining as though he were stretching out on a couch, not some dry and dusty pile of straw, swinging his boots up and crossing them at the ankles.
"What are our purposes, exactly?" She definitely wanted to know where his mind was at in that regard. "More spray paint art?"
He shrugged. "Maybe I had other things in mind."
Her breath caught. She cleared her throat. "Like getting me alone so you could warn me to steer clear of bad boys with criminal histories and far too many tattoos?"
Faint humor graced his lips. Slowly his head turned, those pale blue eyes locking on her with a searching undertone. "I already told you to stay away from me, but you didn't listen. I'm hoping for something a little more interesting than warnings. And you think I have too many tattoos?"
Nope, not taking the bait and getting off topic. "More - interesting?"
"You know." He waved a hand about. "While away the time, get to know one another a little better. Indulge in some witty banter." As he was listing the possibilities, he lit up a cigarette, drawing the smoke into his lungs, then blowing it out slowly. "All in the privacy of our very own dilapidated barn."
She laughed and, even though it was likely a bad idea, settled beside him on an adjacent pile of hay, looking over at him, one eyebrow arched. "I just hope we don't see any rats."
"No rats. Just fun." The look he gave her back was keenly observant. "Are you? Having fun?"
A moment of hesitation as she seriously considered his question. There might currently be a lot of things that felt unclear to her, but the answer to this question at least she knew with black and white clarity. She nodded and said, "Yes." She was having fun. She really did like being around him. "All long as we don't see any rats."
He grinned and tilted his head to the side. "I'll take you home any time you want me to, just say the word. You know that, right?"
She nodded again.
"Good," he said.
A moment of silence, of peace, passed between them. She wasn't even that bothered by the smell of smoke. He probably needed it, like a coping mechanism. After all, he was in town to mourn his uncle. And the tense lines at the corners of his eyes, the pursed lips, the paleness of his cheeks clued her in to the fact that he might not be as unaffected as he was pretending.
All too well she remembered what it had been like during and after her parent's funeral. All the chaos and hurt and people badgering her with their polite yet incessant questions and platitudes until she had to find somewhere to hide – They'll be missed terribly. At least they're in a better place. You'll be in our thoughts and prayers.
Nothing anyone said had helped to bring them back or to make any of it even the slightest bit better.
"How are you holding up?" she asked, as neutrally as she could – if he wanted to tell her what was on his mind, he could. Or he could simply ignore her question and gloss over it with a non-answer, if he preferred.
Damon adopted an air of well-defined boredom. "Fine. Just another Tuesday afternoon. Not that much different from any other."
She envied his ability to appear so utterly nonchalant. "So, this is what you do every Tuesday afternoon?" She made this inquiry with a kind smile. "Spray paint old barns and lollygag with girls on piles of hay?"
A single shoulder shrug, followed by a smile and another drag on his cigarette. "Just the pretty ones. Girls that is, not barns."
Yeah, she could just bet. She found it hard to believe that this man ever lacked for female companionship. And then everything came to a halt as she had a horrible thought.
"You don't - ," she stumbled and has to start again. "You don't have a girlfriend, do you?"
His lips twitched once like he was suppressing a sneaky little smile. A simple shake of his head was his only answer.
"Oh, okay," she exhaled with relief. "Good. I mean, not good. But not bad either. It's not good or bad. It's okay. Just okay. I don't care if you do or don't have a girlfriend, I just meant … I'm going to shut up now."
"But why? You're adorable when you start babbling."
If her cheeks turned any hotter, she was going to spontaneously combust into flames. Her gaze dropped and landed on the cigarette resting idly between his fingers. She released a breath and blurted out, "Pretty risky around a bunch of hay, don't you think?"
He took a last puff and dropped it on the ground, crushing it with a boot. He blew out the smoke in a concentrated haze towards the ceiling.
"Do you?" he asked.
"Yes, I do think it's risky, that's why I brought it up," she replied uncertainly.
"No. Do you have someone - a boyfriend?"
"Oh. That. No … not right now."
"Not right now?" he repeated dubiously.
"Not for a while actually." Not since she and Matt Donovan broke up earlier that spring immediately following Homecoming.
"Ah. Not even Stefan."
He said it like a statement, but it still definitely felt like he was fishing. "Yeah. Not even Stefan." She searched for something else to talk about other than her non-existent love life. Witty banter. Right. "So, um, I know Stefan had a funny way of showing it last night, but he is glad you're here, despite … the circumstances." She lowered her gaze out of respect for his uncle Zach's memory. Sometimes it felt like death was a constant in her life, and she was used to never being able to forget about it.
When her eyes fluttered back up to meet his, he was staring at her intently. "H-he almost never talks about you," she stammered, "but I can tell he misses you."
Clearly, he hadn't expected her comment, and it made him tense. "Stefan doesn't miss me." He gave a self-deprecating laugh, devoid of any actual humor. "He doesn't even like me. As far as he's concerned, he drew the short straw when it comes to brothers. Luckily, I've never particularly cared what others think of me." Damon rubbed his bicep as he spoke, and her eyes dropped to the movement, to the intricate rose on the back on his hand.
She found herself leaning towards him, closer than was socially necessary. Close enough she could smell the hint of spice on his skin, the clean scent of his hair. There was just something magnetic about him that kept drawing her in. "I'm sure it doesn't have to be that way. Maybe if you two just talked …."
His face went blank, like a wall of chiseled stone. A chill practically emanated from him.
Oops. Time to change the subject. "It's okay," she backtracked, cursing her stupid, blundering tongue. "I don't always get along with my little brother, either. He can definitely be a pain in my you know what. Little brothers are good at that. Um, I'm glad you're here, at least."
His grim look lightened.
She plowed on. "I mean, I know we didn't really know each other that well. Or at all. The last time I saw you, I was pretty much still playing with dolls, and you were … way older and already in high school, but now …." Her voice fell away. She wasn't really sure where she was going with this.
"But now look at us," he said warmly, filling the silence.
She smiled at him, grateful for the assist. When he turned toward her, she focused on his handsome features. The sharpness of his cheekbones. The hardness of his jaw. The devastating perfection of his mouth.
"You, Elena Gilbert, are a paragon of respectability, and I'm an example of how fast and how far one can call from grace." Pale blue eyes were spinning with shadows.
"I'm not that respectable," she said, protesting his characterization of her. "Earlier today, I accepted a ride out into the middle of nowhere on a motorcycle with a man I hardly know."
"And helped him deface someone else's property."
"You said the barn was your family's!"
"Yeah, but you didn't know that 'til after you'd committed the crime."
"All you're doing is just proving my point. I'm not that respectable."
"Like I said earlier, I could tell you were a secret rebel from the moment I laid eyes on you."
"Are you always so perceptive?" she asked sarcastically.
"I have my moments."
"Fine, if I'm a secret rebel, then you're a secret romantic at heart."
He scoffed.
"It's true, I can tell," she teased.
He grinned. "What gave it away?"
"There's just no way your 'I'm-too-tough-to-care' act can be real. My womanly intuition can see right through it."
He was rubbing his bicep again. "Does your womanly intuition really think I have too many tattoos?"
Her eyes fell to his arms and traced all the visible ink she could see. "How many tattoos do you have?" Her voice was far breathier than she would've liked.
"Huh." He stretched out both his arms out and frowned at the sinews decorated in black and gray ink. "I'm not actually sure. I can't remember the last time I counted." He started lifting his shirt up over his head.
Her heart stuttered to a stop briefly before restarting and galloping away.
"Oh, no," she protested, voice unsteady and half-hearted due to her racing heart, then she became paranoid that he'd be able to tell she was only half-heartedly protesting, and added, "I mean, you don't have to - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you have to – do that."
He gave her another smile, dangerous and playful, as his shirt came all the way off. "Please, half the reason guys even get tattoos is so a pretty girl will ask him to show them to her."
She laughed. Then, she got a good look at him. Her jaw dropped, and her brain went poof. He was absolutely divine. Hard, lithe, perfectly muscled. Flawless, pale skin and swirling black tattoos. A god of sin and ink.
He definitely worked out, she thought. There wasn't a smidge of fat on him. He was absolutely beautiful in a purely masculine way. And, good lord … was she drooling?
It was definitely a possibility.
She snapped her mouth shut, a loud clicking sound he surely heard. Trying to play it cool, she asked, "Will you tell me about them?"
"Where should I start?"
He wasn't going to humiliate her by acknowledging her embarrassing reaction. Thank god. She touched a place on his arm, tracing a punk rock skull with a Mohawk dangling a lit cigarette between its teeth. Damon held perfectly still, didn't move, barely breathed.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Self-portrait of me as a teenager."
She laughed. "And this?"
He grimaced at a faint, black outline of some Pokemon-looking character riding a shooting star. "Lost a bet."
He proceeded to tell the story, and her fingertips traced the ink, black as midnight, moving on to the other swirls and patterns decorating his skin.
She stopped when she reached the rose on the back of his hand.
"That one's for my mother," he said softly.
Elena was instantly touched. "She liked roses?"
"One of the last things she was able to do before she got too sick to do anything but lay in bed was to take care of her beloved rose bushes. She doted on them almost as much as she did me and Stefan. Within days of her death, my father had all of them pulled out by the roots."
Grief certainly made people do strange things, but Elena thought that seemed unusually cruel. "What was she like?" she asked gently.
"Kind. Full of laughter. Beautiful. She loved to sing. She was always singing."
Elena's thumb stroked across the back of his hand. "I think it's really beautiful how you've chosen to honor your mother's memory. One of her roses will always be in bloom. I bet she'd love that."
"Maybe. I hope so."
"There're so many thorns." Far more than would adorn a natural rose.
"For grief." He clenched his fist, making the rose and thorns stand out.
Her heart softened to an infinite degree. "I know all about that part."
Elena's fingers began a journey up his forearm, up his bicep, across his shoulder. She followed the outline of the dragon unfurling bold and vibrant across his chest. "Did they hurt?"
"There's pain," he admitted, "but I find that it's mostly therapeutic." He continued expounding on the constructive benefits of getting tattoos done. She wasn't sure she was convinced, but she definitely approved of the outcome as it appeared on him.
The lick of black rising up into the hollow of his throat was from the wingtip of a crow. She paused here, stroking the small dip, mesmerized by sensation of his skin, soft and warm and slightly raised where it was marked with ink, and only realized he was no longer speaking because the motion of his Adam's apple had ceased. He was just staring at her as she basically felt him up. Petted him like he was some kind of cat. Maybe a sexy panther.
She blushed and snatched her hand away. "I-I'm sorry. I was just … I'm sorry."
He reached for her hand and placed it back on his chest. "Don't apologize. And please don't stop."
Her mouth opened slightly, about to protest, but then she looked again at his chest, enjoying the feel of his heart beating against her palm and god, did she ever want to continue. More than anything she wanted to keep touching him.
It was really embarrassing how horny he was making her. The man was basically a stranger, yet she wanted nothing more than to climb him like a freaking tree. And he'd basically just given her a green light.
She licked her lips. Damon's blue eyes riveted on the movement, such potent male appreciation in his gaze that it drove her libido absolutely insane. Something impish took hold of her, daring her to breach a line as yet unbreached. She leaned forward and kissed the corner of his eyebrow and the piercing there, tongue darting out to trace the silver hoop and give it a little flick, toying with it. It flashed with light, like a sparkling jewel.
At the same time, she grazed her nail over his nipple, just one time.
She felt his body jerk, heard his inhale of surprise.
"Christ, woman," he groaned. "What are you doing?"
"Just exploring." She 'd had no idea she'd have this much of an effect on him, and she liked it.
There was the lightest dusting of black hairs around his nipple, and she idly ran her fingernail through those. His nostrils flared.
Wanting more, wanting to feel all of him, she slid her hand down under the ridge beneath his pec, then lower, over the ripple of abs that trembled at her feather light touch. She dipped into his navel, then lower around to his happy trail, which she happily followed all the way down, pausing only at the waistband of his jeans. Where her eyes leapt instantly from his gorgeous tattooed skin to the unmistakable bulge of excitement barely contained therein.
Now it was her turn to be surprised, her lips parting on an in-drawn breath.
He grasped her hand, halting it mid-journey, and drew it up to his lips, where he pressed gentle kisses onto her knuckles one by one.
"You just graduated?" he asked roughly, dragging her gaze reluctantly back up. He sounded like he was having as much trouble talking as she was looking away.
"Uh huh, yeah. Why?"
"Mr. Saltzman still teach there?"
She nodded, a little confused why they were talking about this. "Yeah. AP American History."
A strained smile stretched his lips. "He was the only teacher I liked."
"He's pretty cool," she agreed.
"He must be getting up there by now."
"Hmm, funny, I kind of thought both of you were around the same age."
"Ouch. That actually hurt. I really look that old?"
"Well, I wasn't going to use the word old …."
Blue eyes laughed at her. "Thanks for not throwing me in the nursing home yet." He sat up and leaned forward. His gaze sharpened. "I want to ask you another question."
"Okay."
"I want to kiss you again."
"That's not a question." Her answer popped out before she'd even fully registered his words with her conscious brain. She could kick herself.
He smiled. "Fair enough."
"But, uh – yes."
"Yes?" he asked, his gaze searching hers for confirmation.
"Yes," she whispered.
He touched her face lightly, cupped her cheek and leaned in, nuzzling her face. The tip of his nose trailed across her cheek. His lips brushed against her temple and ear, soft, gentle kisses. More barely there kisses at the corner of her mouth. A slow, soft peck on her lips. Once. Twice. The third time he lingered, nibbling ever so gently on her bottom lip.
"You're so addictive," he murmured, "I don't want to stop."
Her heart was pounding. Butterflies of anticipation were fluttering up within her, their wings generating whirlwinds of nervous energy. "So don't," she dared him.
He drew back. Their gazes met and held. It was a look that made her tingle with electricity, from her head all the way down to the tips of her toes. Neither of them uttered a word or made a sound.
Then he angled his wonderful mouth over hers for another kiss. Slow and deep and all seduction. Exploring, discovering what she liked. Teasing, tasting, tempting.
He was kissing her as if kissing her was the only thing in the world he wanted to do. And she kissed him back the same way.
When they broke apart, he pressed his face into the side of her throat. She could feel the warm puffs of air from his ragged breathing, the scrape of teeth as he bit into the curve where her neck and shoulder met. She ran her fingers through hair that was even softer than it appeared, brushing against the cool metal of his piercings every now and then.
"Elena …."
"What?" she prompted when he didn't say anything more.
He breathed a little sigh and looked up at her. "I hope you don't think this is why I brought you here. It's not. Not exclusively, at least. Not intentionally."
"It's okay, I don't," she quickly assured him.
She could still feel the imprint of his teeth on the column of her throat. She reached over, taking his hand in hers. He closed his eyes and inhaled, but she noticed he didn't pull away.
She took a moment to appreciate how sexy his hand was. Beautifully masculine, the fingernails clean and trim. Smudges of black and blue spray paint were visible. Her fingers looked slender and sun-kissed entwined with his.
A heavy exhale and his eyes reopened, long, thick, dark lashes revealing crystalline blue irises. He shifted his grip, wrapping his hand more fully around hers. Just this touch, just holding his hand like this, was so intense she could barely remember what she wanted to say. Something about … shouldn't she be seizing this chance to feel something good for once in her life? For just a little while, didn't she deserve to be free? Free from a lifetime of sadness. From responsibilities that were almost too heavy to bear. From everything.
"Really, it's okay, this isn't - " her face reddened swiftly " – I mean, I …," shyness took ahold of her tongue and it took her a moment to wrestle it back, "I really like you. And we're supposed to be having fun, remember? It's been in such scarce supply lately."
His expression turned arrogant, yet she recognized the teasing lilt of his voice. "Of course you like me. I'm a rebel, yet sensitive and charming."
She rolled her eyes. Unbelievable. "Careful, don't get cocky."
"Too late for that." He turned somber instantly. "The truth is, I like you, too." His hand tightened on hers. "And my brother's gonna be pissed if he finds out."
She frowned. "Stefan has nothing to do with this."
His eyes deepened and darkened. "No, I guess he really doesn't."
Taking her completely by surprise, he dragged her onto his lap so that she properly straddled him. The hay was a little itchy and pokey on her knees and shins, but she hardly noticed it. She was too busy being caught up in the exquisite sensation of their bodies pressed together
He recaptured her lips for another kiss, one filled with heat and urgency. His hands were everywhere on her body, massaging her breasts, roaming her back, stroking her bare thighs with those clever fingers.
She gripped his hair in her hands and, unable to resist, ground herself against him. His hands went to her hips, helping her to rock over him once, twice, three times, until she started making tiny moaning noises. Pleasure surged and undulated.
His fingers found their way to the hem of her dress. "May I?"
"Yes!" She was desperate for more. Burning with impatience to get to the naked part.
Slowly, like a painter revealing a masterpiece, he raised her dress up and over her head and threw it aside. As it fluttered to the ground like a discarded rag, his gaze roamed over her. His eyes widened. His jaw dropped.
"What is it about lace?" he asked wonderingly.
She bit her lip, glancing down at the sheer, lacy black lingerie set she wore. The underwired bra scooped low under her breasts and pushed them upwards, giving them extra fullness. There was a little pink bow right in the center, right below where the lapis lazuli dragonfly necklace fell teasingly between her breasts.
"I love lace," she whispered, stumbling over the barely audible syllables, suddenly a bit tongue tied.
"Me too," he agreed fervently. "Jesus, me too."
He touched the pink bow with one finger, a finger he then danced along the edge of the flimsy little bit of lace that claimed to be a cup, brushing achingly soft against her skin, soft as silk, delicate butterfly caresses that sent shudders through every nerve in her body.
She hadn't been expecting any one to see what she wore underneath her dress. She just liked to wear lacy underthings, because it felt like a private secret only she knew that made her feel womanly and sexy. It was a like a secret boost of confidence.
He pulled the bra cup down and exposed her nipple, grazing it with his teeth, tugging on it and soothing the sting with a long, slow lick.
Oh, the sensation was excruciating and perfect at the same time. Her head fell back, her eyes closed tightly, and she scarce drew her breath. Until he sucked her nipple hard and deep into his mouth. A moan escaped her. Her back arched, taut as a bowstring.
Without pausing what he was doing with his mouth for even a second, he deftly unhooked her bra and removed it. Only then did he switch his attention to her other breast. At the same time, his fingers drifted southward, down her back and dipping beneath her underwear, down over the curve of her ass, lower, lower, between her legs, sliding easily through the slick wetness he found there.
She gasped and clenched her muscles when he slipped a finger inside her.
When he added a second, she couldn't contain herself. "Oh my god, Damon."
The sound of his name on her lips did something to him. His mouth left her nipple with a pop, and the breath left his body with an audible exhale. He withdrew his hand and laid her beneath him onto the hay, covering her body with his own. The fingers that had been between her legs now brushed against her mouth, seeking entrance, and she sank her teeth into them, sucking and moaning softly. When she looked in his eyes, she saw his own need there burning equally brightly.
"Please," she whispered.
"Here?" he whispered, pressing hard between her thighs.
She rubbed back against him, telling him of her desires with her body. "Yes. Please, I want more."
So he began his descent, worshipping every inch of her body as he did so, scattering upon her skin, her stomach, her hips a rain of hot, passionate kisses, floating closer and closer to the part of her that ached. The part of her that was soft and pink and drenched in invitation.
"You are so beautiful." His tone was ragged, his tongue dipping into her navel. "Every part of you is beautiful, and I have to taste you."
Well, she certainly had no objection to that. She helpfully lifted up her hips so he could remove her underwear, the final barrier. Once those were out of the way, he bent between her legs, lips hovering dangerously close, hair and breath warming and tickling her inner thighs.
She thought she was ready, prepared, for this moment, but she wasn't. The first touch of his tongue and she let out a tiny scream. Her eyes almost rolled back in her head. But he didn't stop, licking and sucking, one arm coming down on her hips like a steel band, steadying her, anchoring her in place when her hips began to buck.
But she had to move in some way, so she opened her legs wider and pushed her hips into his face, in time with his tongue which was drawing marvelous, teeth-clenching circles around her clit.
He knew just what to do, just what would drive her the most insane; plenty of practice, she suspected. He was also insatiable, noisy and messy, and it didn't take him long at all to bring her right up to the highest point of the most dizzying crescendo. It was almost humiliating how close she was, but it felt too good for her to care.
Please just let him never stop doing exactly what he was doing right then.
"Damon …." Her nails raked across his scalp, tangled in his hair and pulled. Her voice was husky with need. She'd never heard herself sound like this before.
"Yes?" he asked innocently from down below.
"Oh, Damon, something is – I can't -"
"Yes, you can. Give it to me, Elena."
Oh, yes. She wanted to give it to him. She wanted to give him everything right about now.
As his tongue strummed her clit, he slid a finger up inside her, then a second, curling and stroking her just right.
She couldn't catch the sob that escaped her. The sensation was too much – too much! Ecstasy filled her, deep and white-hot, bursting across the back of her eyes lids like a kaleidoscope of shattered, vibrating stars that pulsed in time with her thundering heart.
"God, what was that?" she asked softly when she could form words again. She'd never come from someone going down on her before.
She felt light as a feather, her body weightless, as she returned to herself, the press of his lips still hot and molten between her thighs, tasting her deeply. She wished she could stop time and keep these eddies of pleasure swirling through her forever.
"Just the first of many, baby," he promised, his voice a caressing vibration on her skin. He slid back up her body and kissed her, the taste of her still on his tongue. There was a sweet tenderness in his mouth and eyes that warmed her.
"You're really full of yourself, aren't you?" she teased.
"Hmm, all I know is you're about to be. Really full of me, that is."
He quickly removed his pants, and she grabbed the length of his cock eagerly, the skin taut and hot. It jerked in her hand, and air hissed between his teeth. She gazed down between them, focusing hungrily on the tip and the glistening moisture seeping from it.
His cock … She shivered. Beautiful was no doubt entirely the wrong word to use, but it was the only one coming to mind in the heat of the moment. And he was the way he was, so wonderfully, amazingly elongated and engorged because of her. She stroked the hot, velvety skin, delighting in the way it throbbed so obligingly in her hand.
Oh, he was just perfect.
After about ten seconds, his hips jerked back and away, out of her grasp. She bit her bottom lip and reached for him again. "Get back here," she half cooed half demanded.
She knew this was probably the time to discuss safety and condoms and other responsible, intelligent things, but she was too full of nerves and the thrill of passion to care. She wanted him with a fierce ache.
"A woman who knows what she wants. I like it." He punctuated his words with small, quick kisses. "Let me go get a condom."
Thank god, he still had the sense to worry about protection. Why was it so hot that he was taking care of that?
He rose, wearing nothing but a wicked grin and easy, confident masculinity. He was mesmerizing to watch. So utterly, shamelessly sensual.
And his ass …. Fine as hell.
Lithe muscles flexed when he knelt down next to his cast off clothing. She caught his gaze briefly and realized he was flexing for her benefit. He flashed her that wicked grin again, a small, devilish lock of hair curling over his brow and cheek.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
Pulling a wallet out of his pants pocket, he rifled through it, then snapped it shut, set it down, and searched two-handed through the rest of his pants pockets. When he came up empty, he glanced over with a slightly panicked expression.
"Hold that thought. Be right back." He jumped up and ran out of the barn completely naked. The sound of his cursing was audible even after he was out of sight.
"Okay," she said into the empty barn. She couldn't help but follow that up with a small giggle at the thought of someone driving by and seeing him in all his bad boy glory. He'd stop traffic, for sure.
A few seconds passed, and he skidded back into the barn, hair still adorably disheveled from her fingers tousling and clutching the glossy midnight strands. "You don't happen to have a condom on you, do you?"
"No," she said, "sorry." Having wild, passionate, carefree sex had definitely not been on the agenda for today before now.
"Fuck. Fuck." Damon scrambled to pull on his clothes as fast as he could. When she sat up, he paused in the act of yanking his zipper up and put out his hands, motioning for her to stay. "Okay, listen, I can't believe this is happening to me right now, but I don't have a condom. But that's okay, because there's a gas station right down the road from here. I'll be right back." He finished zipping and put on his shirt. "Seriously, five minutes tops. Stay right there. Please, please, do not go anywhere."
Seriously? Where was she going to go? They were in the middle of nowhere.
He turned and began hot footing it towards the door.
Desire still burned bright and greedy inside of her. It made her call out, "Wait."
He pivoted instantly, pierced brow lifted in inquiry.
"It's okay." When he didn't say anything right away, she flushed. "I mean, I'm on birth control, and I'm clean, if you're worried about that."
His eyes slowly closed, and his head bowed. "Jesus."
"It was just an idea," she said defensively. "If you'd rather go get something, that's fine, I definitely understand. I'll wait."
"No, that's not …." He literally shook himself, hair swinging about his face. "I am, too. Clean, I mean. Not on birth control." He gave a lopsided grin that quickly faded. "Are … you sure?"
She nodded. She'd only just met him, well, basically yesterday, but already she liked him, a lot, and she'd never felt like this before. She had no idea what was happening to her, and in this moment, she was inclined to just go with it.
Without waiting another second, he came back to her, divesting himself of his clothes once more as he went. Her heart raced. She felt his nearness like a singing in her blood or a quickening in her soul.
He bent over her, kissing her, pausing only long enough to remove his shirt and spread it over the ground beneath her. Grateful for the buffer from the scratchy hay, she shifted on to it.
"Christ, you're beautiful," he murmured. "Have I said that enough yet?"
"No."
He laughed and cupped the back of her head, pressing his forehead against hers briefly. She used the moment to explore everywhere, his powerful arms, chest, and back. Shadows darkened the interior of the barn, gave everything that was happening a more intimate feel.
As he positioned himself between her legs, she was suddenly overtaken by a little bit of panic. God, they were doing this. They were really doing this. How could she possibly live up to his expectations? He seemed so much more experienced than her.
Her muscles tensed briefly, telegraphing her momentary unease and he responded by kissing her slow and deep until she relaxed and melted in his arms. When she was moving easily against him once more, he reached between them and gathered the moisture there, spreading it over the head of his erection.
"Fuuuck," he rasped out. "Look how much you want me, sweet girl. You're dripping."
She could only nod in mute agreement as he gave her clit a gentle caress with his cock before pressing lower. Just the blunt tip of his crown opened and stretched her, made her suck in a breath. Much larger than two fingers. Nevertheless, she found herself wiggling her hips, coating him even more in wetness, trying to coax him even deeper.
"Not yet." His voice was dark and playful and wild, his gaze heavy-lidded. "There's no hurry. I plan on savoring every damn second of this. So make sure this is really what you want."
Was he crazy? "Yes. I want this." She glided her fingers through his hair and tangled them in the long strands. "I want you." Blue eyes darkened, and the smolder in them was real. She couldn't stop the quiver that raced through her. "Please don't stop – or I might scream."
He grinned. "I was really hoping that's what you'd say."
He slowly slid inside her, little by little, inch by inch, until she was so full she couldn't breathe. Oh god, he was so deep. There was no part of her that wasn't touched, marked, claimed by him.
"Easy, easy," he murmured as she twisted under him. "Just breathe. Breathe and relax."
She tried her best to obey. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. It did help her body to loosen and accept the invasion. Plus, she was able to use the time to remap the topography of his arms and shoulders with her fingers, to relearn the angles and curves of his muscles and the inky black and gray lines of his tattoos that made him look like a living work of art.
Feeling her relax, he started off slowly, a circular motion of his hips, a tight, dirty massage against overly sensitive flesh. That soon had her open enough that he was gliding in and out smoothly, wetly, and they found their rhythm together, a fluid dance, as natural as breathing, though a bit more exerting.
Sometimes he was slow and sensual. Other times, he was fast and hard. All she could do was hold on for the ride, meeting him thrust for thrust, urging him on by touch and cry. Turning her into a sexual, moaning creature she didn't recognize.
She loved every primal second of their lovemaking, the sounds, the scents, the sensations cascading through her. Her impending orgasm tingled along her nerves, crept into the corners of her vision in the form of little sparkles.
When she finally she lost it, it hit her hard. Her nails dug into the perspiration-slick back of his arms until she drew blood. He ignored the pain, stroking her hair and helping her to work through the intense tremors, murmuring sweet reassurances against her ear.
Once she'd quieted, he pulled out and waited. She didn't need to be told what he wanted. She turned over and leaned forward, bracing her palms on a bale of hay, thrusting her ass back at him, arching her lower back provocatively. In offering.
He moved up directly behind her, and with a fierce thrust, was back inside her, forcing a cry from her. His hips surged forward again and again. His hands came around, cupping and squeezing her breasts, rubbing her clit.
"So good. So tight," he praised her. "Can't believe how fucking tight. I'm going to come too fast." There was a helplessness to his warning that made her feel inordinately proud.
"Yes," she cried in time with his thrusts, practically begging, "yes, yes, please."
"Fuck yeah," he growled in approval. His words were barely comprehensible. "Here it comes."
He pumped harder, more frenzied, his release just on the horizon. His fingers became a fist in her hair, dragging her head up, arching her neck.
And then his rhythm faltered, hips slowing, as he reached his erotic pinnacle. He wrenched back, withdrawing completely from her. Her lips parted on a violent gasp at the loss just as he came across her back, hot, thick, white ropes of male essence. A low, satisfied groan reverberated in the back of his throat.
In the silence afterward, the sound of his rapid breaths filled her ears. With one hand, he still gripped her hips tightly, keeping her in place. Not that she was trying to go anywhere.
Pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder, he commended her, "That was absolutely amazing."
"Amazing," she echoed in agreement.
He used his shirt to clean her back and then he collapsed on his back in the hay next to her. "I could really use a cigarette right about now." He looked at her, smiled, and added in a teasing kind of way, "I kid. Sort of."
She smiled back. "You really should quit. They're bad for you."
"Vices make people more interesting."
She didn't know the proper etiquette for a one night – day? – stand or whatever this was, but she laid the side of her face on his chest. Her body instinctively settled in against him, fitting perfectly, finding comfort in his strength and contented silence.
He didn't seem to feel that she'd breached any sort of etiquette rules as he put his arm around her, tucking her in closer. His hair was endearingly mussed, and she could hear how madly his heart still raced, thudding so powerfully beneath her ear.
Fleeting moment of pride. She'd done this to him. And she wanted to do it again.
It was strange, and she didn't know if he felt it too or if she was alone in this, but this thing between them, whatever it was, felt like more than just two bodies briefly coupling and then uncoupling. It felt like a real connection had been made. Like something special had happened between them. Like two souls had united in an act of the highest mutual pleasure.
Ha. Or maybe she was just corny as hell.
A yawn stretched her jaw open wide. Her body felt light, buoyant, her brain free of worry. In fact, between working this morning, attending Zack Salvatore's funeral, her road trip with Damon, and the incredible sex and amazing orgasms, she was being lulled into a voluptuous drowsiness.
"I'm probably going to fall asleep," she warned him.
"Sleep away, beautiful girl. I'll be right here next to you."
"I love your tattoos," she added as an afterthought, in a quiet, dreamy voice, running her hands up and down his stomach. "You don't have too many. They're just right. They're sexy."
"You should get one," he said softly.
"Get what?"
"A tattoo."
She made a face. "Oh no way, I could never."
"Why not?"
"I don't know what I'd get. I'd be too afraid I'd get something I'd regret later." She peeped up at him through long, dark eyelashes. "Any recommendations?"
"Can you reach my pants?" He idly toyed with her hair, running the strands through his fingers.
She looked at him strangely.
"I have a pen in the pocket."
She rolled over and stretched out an arm and could just reach them. Barely.
The pen he pulled out was a blue Sharpie.
"Arm, please," he said.
She gave him her arm, and he began to draw directly onto her skin. She watched, enraptured.
The sharpie tip was wet and cold, the pads of his fingers dry and warm. It reminded her of when he'd given her a ride to work and written his number on her palm.
No numbers this time. The first thing to take shape was a blue dragonfly. It was so detailed it looked like a real dragonfly had alighted on her wrist and was about to take off at any moment. But he wasn't done. He extended the sharpie tattoo up her forearm with intricate patterns of vines and leaf knots and flowers, like cunningly wrought metal work. She'd never seen such detailed and perfect configurations, especially not drawn by hand right before her eyes. The tattoo drew the eye, cleverly serving to accentuate the slim, toned curves and muscles of her arm.
"There," he said, capping the sharpie, "That's what I recommend. Your very own Salvatore original."
She ran her fingers up and down the blue lines, careful not to smudge them before they had a chance to fully dry. "Another dragonfly." Just like the painting he'd done outside.
He touched his fingers to the dragonfly hanging about her neck. "They suit you. Beautiful and fierce."
A thrill shot through her. He'd called her beautiful. Not for the first time, but it never got old. "This would be quite the tattoo. Have you ever considered becoming a tattoo artist?"
"That's the plan."
"Oh, wow, really?"
He waggled his eyebrows playfully. "Some day. What about you?"
"Me?"
"Mmm-hmm. What're your plans for the future? Any hopes and dreams?"
"Yeah, of course. I have hopes and dreams. You know, school first, and then when I'm done with that, I want a job that I enjoy, you know? Who knows, maybe one day if I'm lucky, I'll be able to run my own business. Like my dad with his practice. Not medicine though. I was thinking I might go more into the fashion and design side of things. I don't know." She wrinkled her nose. "Gee, I sound really boring out loud, don't I? A boring, quiet life. Boring and quiet. That's me."
He smiled, and it was a kind smile. "You know, you don't really seem like the boring and quiet type, Elena. Quite the opposite, as we just proved but moments ago."
She couldn't help the blush that crept up her neck and stained her cheeks. "Yeah, right. You've been who knows where and gotten to see and do who knows what, and I've only ever been here. Quiet, boring Mystic Falls." She couldn't even go far away for school, because she couldn't be far away from her brother.
His lips brushed her ear. "But quiet and boring's not what you want."
"Oh? What do I want?" she challenged. "Since you seem to have all the answers."
His nose rubbed softly against hers. "You want desire. Passion. Adventure. You want a life that's exciting and extraordinary."
A wisp of his breath brushed warm against her cheek. "Is that the kind of life you lead?"
Black lashes lowered until only the barest slit of blue was visible. "I can show you things you've never even dreamed of."
Yes, she wanted him to show her. Needed it. More than anything.
He kissed her, and it was a kiss that didn't end until he was balls-deep in her again.
So much for sleep.
For the next few hours, until well after darkness had fallen, he loved her long and thoroughly and many, many times. He took her on her knees in front of him. Up against the wall with her legs wrapped around his waist. On her back again in the hay. With her on top. Every which way they could think of.
During their first attempt to seriously tidy themselves up and try to leave, they almost made it outside, but then Elena laughed at some flippant remark he made, the enchanting sound of which made him pull her close. His hand brushed along the small of her back. They exchanged a heated look, and the air ignited between them. That was all it took. His lips crashed against hers once more, and they ended up doing it again really quickly without even taking their clothes all the way off.
It was like he couldn't keep his hands off of her, and she fully reciprocated the sentiment.
The moon was round and yellow in the sky, and the violet of dusk had well and truly become the blue-black of a balmy summer night by the time they finally made it out of the barn.
He drove her home on his motorcycle, and once they arrived at her house, he pulled all the way down the driveway, as close as possible to her front porch, so she wouldn't have to walk very far, and stopped. As he idled, he removed his helmet.
"Thank you. I had a really nice time with you today," she told him as she slid off the bike and handed him back her helmet. Her hair was a tangled mess around her face, spilling onto her shoulders.
He cocked his head. "Nice?"
She swallowed, hard, pushing a hand through her hair. She felt nervous and afraid to misspeak. This type of situation was completely foreign to her. "It was more than nice."
He removed a glove and reached up to trace her bottom lip with his bare thumb. "Yeah, it was. You're a pretty special girl, Elena Gilbert."
She loved how her name sounded on his lips – like a prayer. "Wanna come in?" she asked breathlessly, even though her brother was probably home.
He frowned thoughtfully. "Actually, I can't, but …." The frown cleared, as though it had never even existed, and he gave her a piercing look. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Relief coursed through her. He wanted to see her again. "Okay."
He pulled her in for a kiss. A sweet, lingering kiss that made her toes curl. "And don't worry, I'll call you this time." His lips were still close enough to touch hers as he spoke.
A subtle dig at her for not calling him for a ride home from work the other night? She blushed. The pink hue crept hotly up her neck and cheeks. "Okay." She really needed to come up with a new word.
"Night, Elena. Sleep well."
"You, too. Good night, Damon."
As she watched him turn out of her driveway, she touched her mouth where his mouth had just been.
Hot. Sexy. Dangerous. That was Damon Salvatore to a T. But he wasn't just bad news wrapped up in a mouthwatering package – he was addicting. Waaay too damn addicting.
Already, she craved him again.
She didn't go inside until he was long out of sight and the powerful rumble of his bike engine had faded away into the summer night air.