Hey guys! Back with an update! And half my sanity. Just moved across the state and starting my new job today!

Lots of exciting and stressful changes coming up, but at least writing is my one go to "me time" activity! Thanks for being patient with me!


Talk about a plan backfiring.

Blowing Damon behind the bar at his club wasn't her original intention, but Elena had been incapable of not getting at least a taste, when she had pulled out that impressive erection.

It was meant to serve a dual purpose.

Take back control, and ease Damon's interest by giving him some of what he obviously wanted.

Made sense in the moment; get the curiosity of him out of her system and get him off so that he could lose interest and move on to the next thing.

That wasn't exactly what had happened, though.

Five hours in the car and Elena could hardly keep her eyes off of the man, replaying what it had felt like to have him fuck her mouth until he exploded down her throat and shamefully wanting to feel that in other parts of her body.

And Damon? His eyes met hers every time she glanced over, as though he were waiting for her attention.

At first, she had looked away quickly as her cheeks turned pink, but after a few hours, she'd let her stare linger, not even worrying that Damon seemed more focused on her than the road ahead of them.

Traffic and speed limits mattered so little when all the oxygen seemed to disappear from the cab of his ragtop Camaro.

The car was beautiful, at least, and under different circumstances, she might have really enjoyed the chance to ride in it.

Today, however, it was the bane of her existence.

Too small; too sexy; too empty a back seat where they could easily pull over and-

"We're almost there," Damon stated, ripping Elena's thoughts away as she glanced at her surroundings for the first time that hour.

There were signs for Rochester, and the sudden slew of buildings made her think they were in a business district, or perhaps the central retail real estate.

"The hotel's downtown?" she asked, leaning forward to admire the view.

While nowhere near the size of New York City, there were still quite a few more skyscrapers than Calium had to offer, beyond the bustling streets.

And this city seemed cleaner; though perhaps that was just their current location.

From the Bentleys to the Jimmy Choos, these people were definitely uptown high rollers.

Damon nodded and pointed a finger toward her side of the windshield, "It's right over there."

On the block's edge, with an upscale valet parking option, their destination loomed in welcome.

The aged brick and bright name, Hotel di Rilassarsi, caught the late afternoon sun, and gave the building a classic feel that matched the aesthetic of the rest of the street, which seemed to be mostly restaurants, a few bars, shops, and office spaces.

Damon pulled off the street, and under the awning by the hotel's front entrance, before getting out and walking around to open her door.

Elena admired their surroundings as she climbed out.

The building's golden finishings and sleek black entryway looked as if it had been pulled straight from the Gatsby Era and she smiled, "This is nice."

"It is," Damon agreed, handing his keys over to a valet as some other hotel employees opened the trunk to remove their bags, "I do enjoy the Manhattan Suite more, but there is a remote appeal to the Penthouse here."

"You've stayed here before?" Elena asked, unsure if this information was surprising or not.

He nodded, "Each time I am in town. The top floor is always reserved for me."

"For a small fortune, I'm sure," she mused as Damon's arm draped across her back to lead her towards the entrance.

"It would have been," he admitted, as the doors parted and the grand foyer was revealed, "Had I not purchased the hotel over a year ago."


Damon did not even glance at her after dropping that news, despite the fact that Elena's gaze had flown to his face.

He owned the hotel?

Damn. Legit businesses and illegal activities? No wonder the guy was loaded.

It made sense, though, she supposed, to have different avenues of income and places to move around if the need were to arise.

Not to mention a place this grand had to be an excellent front for potential money laundering.

Damon had yet to mention that particular crime was one he indulged, but honestly, nothing was unbelievable at this point.

As Damon's hand slid into her own to lead the way, Elena admired the decor with new eyes.

Very Prohibition style with golden chandeliers and high ceilings.

It really was nice.

She wondered if he had bought it exactly as it was, or if renovations had been made to his liking, similar to SINC.

Maybe she would ask him later.

"Do owners not have to check in?" she inquired, when he walked right past the front desk and down a short hall that was monitored by a security guard, to an elevator.

Damon chuckled at the question and hit the button on the wall, "I am always checked in. I have a key."

"Well, I don't," she pointed out, "So unless you plan on wiggling your nose or snapping your fingers to make one appear, don't you think we should stop by the-"

She was silenced by Damon's lips, pressing hard against hers.

Elena froze, but the kiss was firm and short.

The elevator dinged it's arrival, and Damon was grinning when he pulled away, "You worry too much, cara mia. You must stop doubting me."


Easier said than done, until Elena realized exactly why she did not, in fact, need a key of her own.

"Holy shit," she exhaled, when the suite was revealed.

Damon's penthouse was on the top floor of the hotel and stepping through the door was like entering a fucking palace.

Large windows that overlooked the city, with thick drapery.

Furniture that appeared to cost more than her car.

A full kitchen. A mini bar. A flatscreen with surround sound.

"Holy shit."

"I think you already said that," a deep chuckle brought her attention away from the dream-like space around her, and back to the companion at her side.

"I think you downplayed the word "suite"," she shot back, and shook her head as she spun around for a full assessment, "This is insane. This room is bigger than my entire house!"

Damon laughed again, sounding pleased, "Just wait until you see the bedroom."

Elena halted at the reminder.

"Damon-" she started slowly, her breath catching in her chest as she considered his intention.

"You have your own," he assured her immediately, "With an adjoining bath...though the Master room has the jacuzzi tub."

When he winked, the sudden tension that had seized her released, and Elena let out a laugh of her own, "That sounds amazing. I might have to steal it for an hour or two."

Damon smiled and held out a hand to her, "Here. I will give you the tour."


An hour after their walk through, Damon was alone.

He had shown Elena every inch of the penthouse, delighting in her excited expression, though she had tried to contain the emotion.

And when she had gotten a load of the triple spouted shower, it had been like watching a child on Christmas morning; giddy innocence.

She had insisted that she needed to try out the contraption, and the moment their few bags of luggage arrived, that is exactly what she had done.

Damon didn't mind; not if something so simple could make her smile that way.

He had left her to her shower, trying not to imagine her naked under the spray, and had deliberated over dinner options.

Part of him wanted to take Elena out to one of the nice restaurants down the street, but then he thought of how beautiful she had looked that night she had gone on a date with that other asshole, and had nixed that idea.

He did not want to share her with anyone tonight.

So the other two options were to cook or to order room service.

After glancing over the limited menu, he decided to cook, knowing that the kitchen was fully stocked prior to his arrival each time he called ahead.

He would make something she would enjoy, and when she rejoined him, they could eat with candlelight and the natural chemistry between them would do the rest.

Walking over to the fridge, he toyed with the memory of their morning at his club, when Elena had literally taken him to the ground in pleasure.

He wanted more of that; needed more of it.

And for tonight, they had time.

The "job" he had come up with for his intruder wasn't happening until the next day, so there was absolutely nothing else on either of their agendas for the evening.

Damon allowed his fantasy to play out as he gathered the ingredients he would need for his favorite Rigatoni dish and started prepping.

In his mind, he was naked and in that enormous glass shower with Elena, running his hand all over her flushed, wet skin.

He could just picture her naked body; tight and perky and perfect, with soap running over her, making things sudsy and slick.

He wondered if the rest of her was as soft as the parts he had already touched.

Softer, perhaps?

How would that pretty mouth of hers look sucking him off from beneath the shower spray?

Breasts swinging as she bobbed up and down on his cock…

Hell, maybe he would forget drawing things out and would just take her there, on the shower floor.

It would be so easy to lean her back, spread open those long legs and slide right into-

"Damon-"


Elena appeared so suddenly, Damon jumped and when he did, the knife he was cutting tomatoes with slipped, catching his index finger, "Shit!"

He jerked as it started bleeding and turned to grab a hand towel from a drawer.

"Are you okay?" Elena rushed to his side in the kitchen, her expression filled with worry, "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to scare you."

He shook her off, "No need for apologies. I was the one not paying attention."

"Here, let me see it," she pulled at his hand, moving extremely close, and Damon was hit with the smell of fresh soap and lavender shampoo.

Her hair was wet.

The brown length fell damply down her back, over a shirt that was too big on her small frame.

His eyes followed the trail to the silky pants she was wearing, and her bare feet.

The purple nail polish on her toes surprised him, and was so distracting, he almost forgot what was happening.

At least until Elena squeezed the towel back around the cut, adding pressure.

"It's not deep enough to need stitches," she announced with confidence, "But it would be smart to disinfect it and probably put a bandaid or gauze around it. Do you have a first aid kit here? Preferably one with peroxide or rubbing alcohol."

Damon had to smile at her serious tone, "Under the sink in my bathroom. Anything else, Doctor Pierce?"

Elena glanced up at him, then shook her head, "Nope. Just take a seat and don't move."

She disappeared at the speed of light and returned just as quickly, with the First Aid kit in hand.

"I said to sit," she frowned, setting the supplies on the kitchen counter.

Damon did as he was told, enjoying the view too much to complain as Elena grabbed his hand and went to work on the sliced skin.

She looked good like this; all cute and frumpy with no make up and clothes that swallowed her.

The clean warmth of her presence was calming, and he didn't move a muscle while she tended to him.

It was nice...being cared for, for once.

"I should probably mention...it's not Pierce," Elena said, as she poured the disinfectant over the cut.

Damon ignored the stinging and met her stare, "What?"

"My last name," she elaborated, her eyes dropping as she cleaned him up and reached for the bandages, "It's not Pierce. That's the name Kat and I use for Katalena. Our real last name is Petrova."

"Petrova," he repeated, liking the way the syllables flowed off his tongue, but liking even more that Elena had chosen to share this with him, "You are Russian?"

"Bulgarian," she corrected, "Or at least my father is...was...Kat and I were born here, in America."

Damon's brows pulled together at the brief mention of her past, realizing he knew very little about it.

Who were her parents? Why had they migrated? Was her childhood happy? How had she and her sister fallen into this line of work?

His desire to know these things about a female was unprecedented, but each inquiry felt of great importance, because he wanted to know everything there was to know about his intruder.


"They were immigrants?" he started, as she finished her task, "Your parents?"

Elena's gaze flickered over his and she barely gave a nod, "Mmhmm."

She released his hand and offered him a forced smile, "There. All bandaged up. I think you'll live."

Recognizing the obvious change in topic, he allowed Elena her privacy, making a note to return to the discussion later, when she was ready to talk.

"Thank god," he joked, withdrawing his hand as she put everything back into the kit.

When it was pushed aside, she seemed to notice the kitchen for the first time, "What were you doing?"

"Attempting to make us dinner," Damon grumbled, "I figured you would be getting hungry by now."

Elena blinked at him, then her expression melted with a soft smile, "And what were we going to have?"

"Rigatoni, with a vodka sauce. One of the few meals I know I cook well. Though I suppose ordering in would be the best option now."

Elena gauged him, his finger, and the now blood dripped cutting board.

"No," she decided, "I want to try what you'd planned."

She went around the little island to where he had been cutting the tomatoes and cleaned up what was left of the mess and rinsed off the cutting board and knife before pulling out fresh ingredients, "Walk me through it?"

Damon was surprised by the initiative, but did as she asked, giving detailed instructions to the meal prep, and Elena was amazing.

She danced around the kitchen like she owned it, cutting, seasoning, and pouring exactly as he told her to, arguing when he tried to help, and forcing him to stay seated while she worked, until the familiar scent of his homemade sauce overflowed the space.

"This smells amazing," Elena leaned over the simmering pot, and breathed deeply.

"It will taste even better," he promised with admiration, "You did well."

She waved off the compliment and allowed him to get their plates as she finished up at the stove.


A few moments later, they were sitting across from each other at the small dining room table, ready to eat.

Elena pulled her drying hair up into a loose bun and everything about her screamed of comfort as she twirled a fork through the pasta.

Damon watched her take a few bites before remembering he had food to eat, himself.

"Oh my god," she moaned a little after having the chance to really taste their meal, "This is good! Where did you learn to make this?"

"Family recipe," he smirked, "My...my mother loved to cook. I helped her in the kitchen at our villa when I was younger."

As Elena chewed another bite, her expression fell, "Alaric told me that she passed away...I'm sorry. I know it was probably rough, to have lost both parents. How did it happen?"

Damon flinched a little, "Alaric needs to keep his fucking mouth shut."

"Oh please, don't be angry with him," Elena hurried to say, "He didn't mean anything by it. I was just curious. You've never really spoken about them; your parents, I mean."

Damon forced his annoyance to reel back in and focused instead of taking a slow bite of his dinner, "No more than you have spoken of yours."

Elena blinked at him as he swallowed, "So you understand not wanting to share certain things."

When she only turned a little pink, he figured his point had been taken.

Perhaps the past was where it was for a reason.

Nothing good ever came of it, and there was no point reflecting when-

"My father was an immigrant," Elena spoke quietly, her gaze on her plate, "He met my mother here, in America. He was strict with us, very traditional, but he did love my Mom. She died before I was ten, from cancer, and the best part of my father died with her."

Damon's jaw clenched as he realized how familiar that sounded.

"He changed, after he lost her," Elena continued, "He was a hard man before, but after, he was nearly impossible to deal with."

Damon frowned, "That must have been quite the adjustment for you and your sister."

"It was," she admitted, "More so as we got older."

"What do you mean?"

Elena shook her head, "Nope; that's not the way the game works, remember? I show you mine, and you show me yours."

Vaguely, Damon recalled the back and forth agreement they'd shared during their first few conversations.

"I divulged something," Elena pressed, "If you wanna know more, you have to give me something in return."

He gaged her carefully, before letting a small smile cross his face, "Okay cara mia, we'll play by the rules. What do you wish to know?"

Dinner left forgotten, Elena leaned forward, "Your mom. Tell me about her. Anything."

A million memories flashed through Damon's mind of the dark haired angel that had raised him.

He swallowed harshly, "Her name was Lillian. She was beautiful and kind-hearted. Too good for my father. Her loyalty to him was unwavering, and she was repaid for it by having a bullet shot into the back of her head."


Elena froze as Damon's expression darkened.

Alaric had mentioned that his mother had died, and that Giuseppe Salvatore had sought revenge, but there had been no other details given.

The woman had actually been murdered?

God, no wonder Damon was so messed up.

"I am so sor-"

"It is your turn now, no?" Damon cut her off abruptly, as if they had merely been discussing the weather.

Elena eyed him warily, but his level stare was patient.

And fair was fair.

"Fine," she caved, "My father...disagreed with some of Katherine's choices when we became teenagers. He threatened to disown her if she did not...adhere to his beliefs on things."

Maybe avoiding certain truths was cheating the game, but for all the points Damon had earned, Elena still could not bring herself to mention Nadia.

Her innocent niece did not belong anywhere near the dirty side of her and Katherine's double life, and it was safer, in the end, for her to remain undiscovered.

"What happened?" Damon asked, almost politely.

Elena shrugged, "Katherine made her choice. I defended her. My father kicked us both out. We were seventeen."

Damon winced a little, "Pezzo di merda. And the two of you have been on your own since?"

When she nodded, he cursed, "That is how you began to steal?"

"We did what we had to do to get by," she corrected, then pointed a finger at his chest, "Okay, your turn. You said your mother was shot...Why? What happened?"

Damon was silent for so long, Elena wasn't sure he was going to answer the questions.

Maybe it wasn't even her place to ask them.

But really, at this point, what was there to lose?"

"My father was involved with the Sicilian Mafia," he said finally, "He helped with the American import of their product, and he made enemies doing so. My mother was killed to send a message. One my father answered in blood, until he came to share her fate."

Damon's lip curled a little, with anger or hatred, and Elena shivered...there was something about his expression that twisted her stomach and Alaric's warning came back to her; clear as a bell.

Violence is in his blood...Giuseppe was consumed by revenge; a lesson I fear he's passed to his son...believing that way bred something dark in Damon...

"You plan to avenge his death," she realized, barely above a whisper, but Damon's icy blue eyes shot to hers.

All emotion left that beautiful face, "In a way, I already have."

Criminal. Murder.

Elena shivered again, and Damon straightened, "I won't apologize for what I am...or the things I have done. I have had my reasons for each of them."

No doubt he had.

Take what you want. Give what you can. Apologize for nothing.

The lesson Alaric said Damon had learned so well at his father's side.

Elena studied the man before her, and remembered the way he had stared at her before the job she had worked for him.

As if he were afraid to lose her.

As if he actually cared.

Then she remembered the day they had discussed the plans...the dismissive way he had shrugged off her concern about his forehead wound.

"If you're so sure of your choices," she couldn't help but ask, "Why is it you want to die?"

Damon did a double take at her question, but she didn't back down.

"Who has said that is what I want?"

"You have," she reasoned, "Maybe not the exact words, but by action at least. You've told me you don't care either way, really...and you hurt yourself."

She motioned to the fading mark hiding beneath his bangs, "If it isn't guilt or regret...then why lash out that way?"

Damon's mouth fell open slightly, and for a second, it appeared he was going to respond.

Then he shook his head and pushed away from the table.

"You should finish your dinner. I think I will take my shower now."

And without a backwards glance, he fled the room; leaving her alone with even more questions than when they had started.


Next chapter will pick up where this one left off!

Let me know what you think :)