~*~
The electric red numbers of the bedside clock blazed 11:59 PM. She blinked.
Midnight.
One long fingered hand held the peach towel tightly to her form, the
other picked up a deep blue robe that lay draped across the King bed, where forest
green Egyptian silk sheets and a heavy down comforter beckoned to Elena. Her
towel dropped, her body damp from the shower, and beads of water still
trickled down between her breasts, down her legs. She shivered, the room chilly.
Left arm slipped into the robe, followed by the right. She tied the sash
firmly around her waist, and just the right amount of skin was left showing,
both of her chest and her thighs. Elena moved over to the dresser, selecting
her brush and began to run it through her long, wet blonde hair, as she stood
before the mirror.
A noise. She paused. Blue eyes widened, heart beat picking up nervously.
/Stefan?/
No response. /Bonnie?/
Again, no response. She swallowed, shaking her head vigorously. *Don't be
ridiculous, Elena. You're safe,* she told herself and resumed brushing her
hair. Eyes shifted to the clock again, then glanced back into the mirror. She
froze, did a double-take, and cautiously put the brush down. A flash of black
eyes had appeared in the mirror. But as she gazed around, slowly revolving in a
full turn, no one was there.
A forced laugh sounded loud to her ears in the otherwise silent bedroom.
Alone, she felt jittery and felt unbelievably foolish. Stefan was downstairs,
Bonnie was out somewhere -- She'd been acting strange since the incident at
the club, which she'd shrugged off and blamed as a freak accident. Stefan had
mentioned he was doubtful about that explanation, yet neither had beening
willing to push the matter.
*You're a big girl, Elena. You can handle being alone...!*
She set the brush down on the bureau, sighing. She turned away...walked
over to the bed...froze.
Warm hands rested on her shoulders. Elena's breath was sharp and she
nearly screamed.
She laughed again at her stupidity, turning to face the owner of the
hands. "Stefan, how--" Her mouth slammed shut.
"*Buona notte,* Elena. Beautiful, as always."
Lapis eyes were cold, narrowed. "Get out." She was fighting her body's
natural instinct to break down when she saw him; not with fear, but with desire.
And she was doing a damn good job at it tonight.
Black eyes widened with mock hurt. "Come again?"
"I think," Elena said sharply, "that you heard me the first time." She
moved out of his touch.
Damon lounged against one of the poles that created the canopy above her
bed. "Such a warm welcome, *mia cara*."
Elena glared, arms moving to cross beneath her small chest, and she
stepped back a few paces, clearly showing she wanted to be no where near him.
"He'll kill you, you know."
"Who?" Damon scoffed rudely, one brow quirked. "Your dear husband? *Mio
fratello piccolo?*" He laughed humorlessly.
"If he comes upstairs, and finds you here, in our room, I don't think
he'll say, '*Ciao,* Damon'."
His chest rose beneath his black shirt as he took a deep breath. "He
won't be coming up."
Elena looked politely confused. "And you'd know how?"
"Because you won't call him up. You won't tell him I'm here."
"What makes you so sure? All I have to do is--"
"If you do, you know it'll only create accusations...And guess where the
finger will point, my dear? Back to you. I believe it was you the first time
who--"
"Alright, *basta!* I get your point, damn you."
Damon smirked, content. "*Bene*."
Dark eyes took in his surroundings, scanned the white painted walls, the
large bed, one matching arm chair in a corner, large floor to ceiling windows,
with an approving nod. "I see you two make the best of the family fortune."
She rolled her eyes, lips parting, mouth opening to speak. He cut her off.
"I know what you're going to say," he started, swinging those captivating
eyes to hers as they moved slowly, brazenly over her practically naked form,
as though he knew exactly what lay beneath her robe. "You're going to ask why
I'm here." His eyes paused on her chest, shifted down over her stomach, to her
legs...Rose back up, lingered on her throat, her lips. Met her eyes once
again. "Like you always do."
Elena felt heat rise to her face, working it's way down into her throat
as well. Furious at the feelings she knew were beginning to emerge again --
evidently they couldn't be withheld much longer -- she had to force herself to
look away.
Damon seemed to know her thoughts; either from his simple ingenuity when
it came to understanding her, or his ability to read her thoughts. She knew
not which. But either way, it became apparent when he took a daring step closer.
And then another. And another.
Mere inches apart now, with barely a breath to separate them, he reached
out, trailing long, slender fingers up her arms. She heard her breathing
quicken, and she knew, as she moved her eyes to meet his, she would be unable to
look away again.
"Aren't you going to answer me?" She inquired softly, distracted by the
fingers that were drifting to her collarbone.
"Are you afraid of me, Elena?" Answering with a question of his own,
fingers of both hands dipping beneath the silky fabric of her robe on either side
by her shoulders, pushing it away, the sash at her waist slightly loosening.
Beneath her chest, Elena's heart pounded and vaguely, she wondered if he
could hear it. Half of her mind willed Stefan to walk up the steps to their
room, the other half fought it with both the knowledge of the problems it would
cause and the undeniable want to rip off his cloths and ravish him right
there. She wanted to feel his hands on her bare skin, re-live the moments of that
long ago night...
/Don't deny this, Elena.../
Her head fell back, his soft, gentle lips met the hollow of her throat.
He could feel her rapid pulse beneath her smooth, faintly lavender-scented
skin. Tongue flickered out to run along the skin there. His hands shifted, palms
working their way over her shoulders, as the robe was pushed a bit farther off.
She was drawn closer to him then, as his hands rested against the small of
her back. Her robe had come untied, falling open.
It wouldn't be so bad, would it? If she just let go...Gave in...?
One of his hands lifted, placed lightly on her chin, drawing her face
down to meet his gaze. Black eyes were intense, heated by a torrent of emotions.
Her own reflected much the same, and she felt her lips part with a breath, as
he pulled her mouth down, descending on his.
*No!* With a startled cry, Elena pushed herself away, quickly pulling her
robe together with a hand. The only thing causing her blush now was her shame.
*What was I *thinking* ?! Oh, God help me if I am so weak to this man.*
She stumbled back against a dresser, the pictures and perfume bottles
there rattling as her backside bumped against it. Damon's expression was blank,
which Elena found more grating than if he had laughed or cursed her.
"Get *out*. *Parti, adesso! Lo significo!* She growled , indicating the
window to be his means of disappearance, assuming it had been his means of
entrance.
He kept his expression carefully neutral, void of all emotion, until he
got to the window. "Fine," he snarled, "go to *him*. But I warn you, Elena.
Don't think there won't be consequences."
Before she could even form a reply, let alone utter it, he had
disappeared.
Elena wanted to cry. She needed her husband now more than ever.
***
"Elena?"
The door opened, Stefan poked his head through. She sat on the edge of
the bed, head in hands. Instinctively, he went to her, sinking to his knees and
drawing her into his arms.
"Oh, Stefan. Stefan, Stefan, Stefan..." She murmured as gentle, loving
hands caressed her back, stroked her hair which had dried into silky strands,
with just a slight wave. Her face buried into the crook of his neck and she
breathed in the scent of him.
"Elena, what is it?"
Oh, he sounded so concerned, so loving. Her heart ached. She lifted her
head, drawing back to look at him, as his hands cupped her face, brows furrowed
with worry.
"Did something happen?" He asked, suddenly angry, wanting to rip whoever
had dared to hurt her to shreds with his bare hands. "By God I'll --"
She silenced him with a kiss. "Shh, beloved."
He did, looking slightly confused, but less worried. She ran her fingers
through his hair, a tender sign of her affection. Suddenly, she looked at
peace, as she gazed upon him. Her eyes were alight with adoration.
"I love you."
And it was the simple, blatant truth.
Damon could go to hell. All that mattered at this moment in time was that
Stefan was here, with her, and he loved her. She needed him, his touch, his
kiss. She needed the warmth of his hands on her, the feel of his breath against
her cheek as he made love to her. She needed this, craved this, to block out
the anguish she felt at the memories her mind was bringing forth. Her need for
this was indescribable, as she had to dissolve and forget the thoughts of
another. Replace them with thoughts of Stefan. Her Stefan; her love, her life.
Stefan's arms slipped around her as he moved to join her on the bed,
lying down and drawing her head to his chest. For a good few moments she lay
there, content with the simple feeling of his heartbeat beneath her head and the
gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. But then she moved, picking
up her head and shifting to press her lips to his in a loving yet firm kiss;
demanding and giving at the same time.
She whispered, "Touch me."
It was a simple command, one she knew he would obey, and he nodded,
allowing his hands to freely roam her body as she rested atop him, her robe
discarded as soon after were his clothes.
"I love you," he replied, his voice sweet and loving in the darkness of
the bedroom.
He took her then and proceeded to tenderly make love to her, their
movements slow and passionate as each made their way up to their climax, where they
brought each other tumbling over the edge.
In the aftermath, they lay there, Elena's erratic breathing gradually
tapering off, as he held her close. His heartbeat the only other sound in her
ears.
And this was the way it was meant to be. Always.
She hoped beyond hope that nothing would ever change that. No, she would
die first, before willingly subjecting their marriage, their love, their
hearts to what she had done once and swore she would never do again. She assumed he
felt the same way, and it was times like these she believed this strongly.
Then again, was love always enough? There went that saying, "love
conquers all". And did love truly, always conquer?
Better yet, was it possible to love two people? What did one do if that
were the case?
She supposed one had to choose. And she knew damn well who she'd pick.
But did love always endure the toughest, most arduous obstacles in it's
path?
She hoped so. She really did.
~*~