Elena glares down at the chessboard. She knows that she's lost, but she's not quite ready to admit it yet. She shifts to sit on the edge of her chair and lean over the chessboard a bit more, hoping that a different angle will somehow reveal a play that will snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

As expected, the change of perspective doesn't help. As far as she can tell, it's checkmate in three.

Elena tells herself not to be disappointed. She's only been playing for a few months. She's knows she's improved a lot. But even if it makes sense that she hasn't been able to beat Elijah yet (he's brilliant, and he's been playing for iliterally/i hundreds of years), she can't help but be a little frustrated.

Elena sighs, figuring it would be the sportsmanlike thing to tip over her king and surrender. She looks up at Elijah, expecting him to be studying the chessboard, patiently waiting for her next move, maybe with that arrogant little smirk of his that drives her iup the wall/i.

Except his eyes aren't on the chessboard at all. Rather, he's staring at her chest where – she peeks down quickly – his too-big shirt that she borrowed this morning has slipped down quite a bit, revealing her lacy bra underneath. Elena bites her lip to stop herself from smiling, and heaves a great, overdramatic sigh.

She can't help but enjoy the way Elijah's gaze follows her movement, as if hypnotized by the swell of her breasts and the hint of black lace. Elena leans back in her chair, raising her arms in a stretch as she lets out a yawn.

"Elena," Elijah nearly growls, ripping his eyes from her breasts to shoot her a warning look, telling her with his eyes that he knows iexactly/i what she's up to.

That doesn't mean she has to admit it. And besides, playing with him is a lot more fun than chess – and Elena has a imuch/i better chance of winning.

"Yes, Elijah?" she responds, putting on her best innocent smile.

"Make your move," he orders. His eyes are dark, and his body is perfectly still – a predator, just about to strike.

Perhaps the normal reaction to being the target of Elijah's focus is fear. But Elena hasn't been anything close to normal for a long time – and while she still gets a little thrill up her spine every time she interacts with him like this, ifear/i is the further thing from her mind.

Elena presses her thighs together. His nose flares, and she knows he can ismell/i just how not afraid she is.

"I'm thinking," Elena tells him, letting her lower lip stick out just a bit in a pout as she brings her hands up to the button covering her breasts, fiddling with it just a bit to draw his attention back down. She fights a smile, fiddling just a bit more, and – ioops/i, she didn't mean to undo that button.

Really, she didn't.

Elena shifts back further into the plush, oversized chair, bringing her legs up to sit crisscross. Elijah's eyes dart down and fix on the hem of his shirt where it skims her upper thighs. She shifts a bit, and his shirt inches up her thighs, revealing another inch or two of bare skin. His pupils dilate further, his dark gaze almost a physical weight wherever it touches. Elena can't help herself – she shifts a bit more, wondering if he can see a hint of her panties, or if the table is blocking his view.

It doesn't matter. Elijah disappears from his own seat and materializes in front of her, lifting her into his arms effortlessly as he bends his head for a kiss. But Elena isn't ready for the game to end – she turns her head slightly, teasingly, so his lips brush the corner of her mouth instead.

"The game isn't over," she reminds him, keeping her tone light even as she shoots him her best bedroom eyes, knowing it will drive him crazy.

It does. Elijah turns, holding her up with one arm as he uses the other to push the chessboard off the table – sending it crashing it to the floor. "Game's over," he says, voice thick with arousal, before sitting her down on the table.

Elena rewards him by leaning up for a kiss, opening her mouth to twine their tongues together. "I won," she tells him when she pulls back, out of breath but still just a bit cheeky - and more than a bit satisfied – as she wraps her legs around his waist and holds him close.

And why shouldn't she be satisfied, with Elijah's powerful body trapped between her legs – not because she has the physical strength to keep him there if he wants to leave, but because leaving would never occur to him?

"Did you?" Elijah asks her, pressing a quick peck to her lips before dropping to his knees and sliding his hands up her thighs. He wastes no time in sneaking his hands up under his own shirt to rip off her panties. Elena throws her legs over his shoulders and leans back onto her elbows, smirking with satisfaction as he immediately lowers his head between her legs.

She really, really did.