My relationship with Damon hasn't been boring in fifty years. But it's never been this exciting.

BLANK SPACE

Because darling I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream.

MONACO

I was bored. Damon was currently playing chicken with an arrogant baron at the craps table, and I was done working on my tan. Not to mention, watered down daiquiris weren't nearly as exciting as they were fifty years ago. Apparently the bartender didn't realize that my lover was currently betting their best guests under the table because he kept trying to bring me piña coladas without the rum. Seriously? What the hell.

I adjusted my Agent Provocateur suit so that it fell off my shoulders, letting the sun hit every inch of my shoulders. Not that I could actually get tan-lines; I was just glad that I turned when I still had a semblance of color. Damon liked to describe my skin as the perfect combination of cream and coffee, with only a hint of olive. The first time he said it, he was running his hands down the back of my thigh while I lay naked on the beach in St. Lucia.

It had been on our first honeymoon, twelve years after I was turned. Since then, we've been married four times and gone on twice as many honeymoons. I stopped calling him my boyfriend forty years ago; since then, he's been my husband, my partner, my companion, and now my lover. It doesn't matter what I call him, really. He's still mine.

"Mademoiselle," the bartender said for the third time that hour, noticing my empty glass. "May I get you another?"

I looked up at him through my oversized, and overpriced, sunglasses. He was attractive, in a human kind of way. His blonde hair was slicked back so that his ice grey eyes were directly at me, trying discreetly to appreciate my cleavage without me noticing. Not that I minded; I stopped caring long ago. He may have liked to look, but he never got to touch.

I pulled my sunglasses off my face, and batted my eyelashes at him.

"Non merci mon chéri," I said, my voice filled with sugar and venom. I really was tired of the girly drinks; I needed a bourbon.

I could see his flush creep up the side of his neck as he nodded, and leaned down to grab my glass. I tilted my head so that I could get a better look, and licked my lips.

He looked tasty.

All I had to do was place my hand on the side of his neck and bring him gently to my lips. He didn't resist, as if he knew that this were part of the prey-predator circle of life. I felt my fangs descend slowly, as if to savor the moment. I had all the time in the world, and he was too beautiful to rush. He made no sound, and I sunk into his carotid with ease. It was as if his skin were made of butter and just a little bit of salt, and I caressed his neck with my tongue while I fed.

I felt my chaise dip as another body sat down. I didn't need to stop my feed to know who was there; I was glad he was. This was always the most sensual, erotic part of our lives, and it had been Damon that made me understand it. I no longer ran from my nature; instead, I embraced it. There was no changing who we were, and there was no changing who cabana boy was. We were the predators and he was the prey, and just because we fed didn't mean that we needed to kill.

It had taken me a long time to realize that feeding on them was just as intimate and necessary to their lives as it was to ours. It was part of their human experience, just as it was part of our vampire experience.

"Easy darling," Damon said, stroking my calf as I finished my snack. He leaned down so that he could trail kisses from my ankle all the way to the inside of my knee, and I shuddered as I felt the heat of his touch and the warm blood as it ran down my throat and into my body.

I fed for a few more moments, finishing off my meal by licking his wounds closed and placing a small kiss on the bite marks that would heal in a few days time. I didn't have to say anything as he stood; Damon was the one that looked him in the eye this time.

"A beautiful girl just made love to you and it was the most amazing experience in your life. Go now, but don't tell anyone what you've seen here. Keep that memory for yourself."

He said it in French, and I let the words wash over me as if he were saying them to me instead. Damon waited for him to make it back to the bar before turning his gaze on me.

"I've missed you. Let's go back to the room. I bought you a present."

My eyes lit up at the mention of presents, but I pushed my sunglasses back down on my face so he couldn't see. The last time he said he had bought me a present, it was a lap around the Circuit de Monaco track. Not exactly my type of gift; I much preferred the shinier kind.

Damon leaned in, even as I went to grab the magazine that I'd cast away long ago. I felt his fingers move up my thigh, across my hip, and up my stomach. My suit had a plunging neckline, all the way down to my navel, and I could feel as his touch made its ascent toward my breasts.

"Elena," he warned. "Put the magazine down please."

I sighed and threw the useless trash aside. It's not like anything they mentioned in there would entertain me anyway.

"I'm bored," I said without ceremony. I knew that to anyone looking at us from the outside, I seemed like a spoiled brat, tired at her charming lover's attempts at making her happy, but it was far from that.

We had gone through so many different scenarios in our existence that it felt nice to be spoiled for once. Damon had tried to convince me to play the part of entitled heiress plenty of times, without any success. Until now.

This was just part of our game; part of our life that I loved so dearly. We were always in sync, regardless of what one or the other said. I could be vindictive, helpless, seductive, or all three at once and Damon would still be the only one that knew exactly who I was without me saying a word.

And it wasn't like it was completely one-sided either; in the past thirty years, Damon had played a billionaire playboy, sexy boy-next-door, and tortured artist. We traveled the world as partners, creating our own narratives and discovering parts of ourselves that we would have never known existed without one another.

"Bored in Monte Carlo? How can that be," Damon teased, pushing himself up the chaise so that he could nuzzle my neck with his lips. I felt his teeth graze that sensitive spot behind my ear, and I sighed as he kissed my skin instead of break it. "We're in the most beautiful place on earth, with some of the most beautiful people on earth. What would you like to do my love?"

I thought for a moment, letting the feel of his lips on my skin dictate my answer. Monaco really was a beautiful, erotic, free place and I looked around at our surroundings. The cabana we were in sat atop the water, and there were few people in the surroundings rentals. The ocean in the French Riviera was almost too blue to be real, and I got up from my chaise so that I could dip my toes in the water.

"You've been gambling all day, but it's never really appealed to me. Maybe I should try my hand at poker?" I asked, looking back to where Damon still sat on the chaise.

He smiled darkly. "Are you in a betting mood Elena?"

I could hear the undertones to the question, and it caused a shiver down my spine.

"I suppose I am."

We did go back to our suite, but I locked Damon out of the bathroom while I got ready. It was nearly time for dinner, and we had a reservation at the hotel's restaurant, Le Louis XV-Alain Ducasse. I chose a long Escada gown with lace sleeves and a dipped back, tailored so perfectly that it fit me like a second skin. I rarely let Damon see my purchases before I wore them, and I knew that he would be salivating before our dinner even arrived. Especially when he realized what was on underneath.

The cut of the dress was asymmetrical, so I decided to pair it with a set of Lanvin crystal drop earrings rather than a necklace. I pulled my hair up in a twisted chignon, low on my neck but styled to the side so that you could see the tattoo, the French script so seductively true, running up my spine.

Au milieu de l'hiver, j'ai découvert en moi un invincible été.

A swipe of oxblood on my lips and I was ready to make my debut. Fifty years into our relationship, and the thought of Damon's reaction to me, every single day, never failed to make my heart race in anticipation. I grabbed my clutch from the closet, dropping only my lipstick inside, and opened the door to the bathroom.

He stood at the window, staring out of the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the Place du Casino below with a glass of Scotch in his hand. I sighed at the sight of him, dressed in a Givenchy evening jacket, the lapels in a black satin. While every other man at the restaurant would surely have their hair slicked back, Damon kept his natural, falling over his eyes slightly. He looked delicious enough to eat.

I made my way over to the window and wrapped my arms around his waist, placing my cheek lightly on his back. He had heard the door to the dressing area open, but made no move to turn or acknowledge me in any way. As soon as he felt my touch, however, he turned into my embrace and held me just as tightly.

"Are you ready for dinner my love?" he asked, stroking my back and looking down at me. I don't know that I would ever not get lost in those eyes, as blue as the ocean along the French Riviera. "You look absolutely ravishing."

I giggled at the compliment, letting my façade drop for only a moment, in the safety of the arms of my lover. "I suppose I am," I said, licking my lips and giving him my perfected shy gaze. He knew better than to try and kiss me; I was fairly meticulous about my lipstick, especially when they wore such a deep color. There would be plenty of time for that later. Until then, he swept down and brushed his lips across my forehead, a sweet gesture in the middle of this austere game we were playing.

Damon offered me his right arm, and I curled my hand underneath and over, gripping it tightly and formally. My heels were nearly three inches high, which meant that we stood tall together, my back straight as we made our way into the dining room. We were used to the stares of the other patrons; I had long ago learned to embrace the attention, and appreciate my own beauty and elegance. My entire human life, I had been clumsy and slightly awkward, and my transformation hadn't occurred overnight. It was almost as if their stares were a silent respect, admiration, for us and how far we had come.

The maître d'hôtel led us to our reserved table near the back of the restaurant and with a view of the water. He went to pull my seat for me, but Damon waved him away, preferring to do it himself. It gave him an excuse to touch me, and he ran a single finger up my laced arm, stopping where my hair met my neck. He leaned down, pressing a firm kiss on the tattoo behind my ear.

"I'm starting to run out of ways to tell you how much I love you," he whispered, and I shivered at the sensation of his warm breath on my cool skin.

"I suppose that just means you need to start flattering me in Thai now," I teased, reaching over so that I could press my cheek against his. He paused only for a moment before making his way to his own chair. There was a bottle of chilled champagne waiting for us on the table, and I smiled when I saw the vintage. 2010. The year I was turned.

The maître d'hôtel opened the bottle with a flourish, and poured us each a glass before placing it back in the silver stand next to our table.

Damon lifted his glass. "To a life filled with passion, adventure, and a little danger. I love you Elena."

I raised my glass to his, and felt tears prick my eyes. It didn't matter how many iterations of this life that we went through, knowing how much Damon truly loved and adored me would never get old. I blinked the tears back away quickly, knowing that there would be time for sentiment later as well.

We spent dinner talking about Mystic Falls, when we would return and where we would go next. The Salvatore mansion was still home to us, as it was to Stefan and Caroline and my younger brother Jeremy. We all spent different parts of the year there, traveling to our villas and penthouses in different cities all over the world in between. The holidays we spent together, along with Enzo and Tyler and Alaric, our strange and slightly dysfunctional family. Every few years Matt would spend Christmas or Thanksgiving with us as well; it had taken Rebekah a whole six months after she left Mystic Falls for New Orleans for her to come back and convince Matt to spend his life with her. His vampire life.

Stefan and Caroline had married before Damon and I did the first time, in a beautiful wedding off the coast of Georgia. Nobody had really been surprised when they fell in love; in fact, most of us realized it before they did. Stefan, as moody as always, was reluctant to admit his feelings for his best friend, but Caroline and her obstinacy refused to let him leave when life got tough. It wasn't until Stefan realized how long his life could be without Caroline that he finally kissed her.

We bought them a private island after that; nobody wanted to be in the same house with them during those few honeymoon years.

"What do you think of Carnival, or maybe Prague?" Damon asked before taking a bite of his lamb.

I thought for a moment. "I did love Prague last time we were there, on our way to Amsterdam," I said, considering it. "But maybe it would be nice to spend time near home. We could spend the Fourth of July on Martha's Vineyard?"

We went over the pros and cons of each place without much thought, but in my soul I knew how lucky I was to have this life. We'd celebrated New Year's in New York City, Christmas in Paris, the summer in Tuscany. We made money wherever we went, gambling and playing the stock market. It all went into an account with the Swiss bank, our safe deposit box filled with the diamonds and gold that we picked up along the way.

Of course our life wasn't always exciting; every once in a while, something would emerge to threaten our family, and we would come together to defeat it before sending it on its way. Vampires jealous of our prestige and power in the undead community, vengeful witches trying to push us out of our home in Mystic Falls, and hunters looking to rid the world of the likes of us. It never mattered; we'd all stayed alive these past fifty years, and there was still no end in sight.

"And poker, are you sure?" Damon asked, eyeing me. I considered it for a moment; I much preferred blackjack or roulette. Poker had never really appealed to me before. It was too long, drawn out. I liked betting a lot and winning a lot, quickly. But there was something so erotic when I watched Damon play, considering every possibility before making that singular bet, and placing his chips in the center of the table while we all wondered what the others held in their hands.

Damon was sharp, smart, and absolutely cunning. His personality changed with his environment, something I didn't realize until we were out of Mystic Falls and all we had were each other.

"Yes," I said, sipping the 1992 Dolcetto that had been paired with my duck. I could taste the cherry, and even a bit of raspberry, though the finish was all a bitter almond. "Poker."

"We can't just bet money, of course. That would be too easy," he said, challenging me. I considered it for a moment, and nodded. "And what are the stakes?" he asked.

I readjusted my posture, letting the shoulder of my dress dip so that he could see I wore nothing underneath. He smiled, his blue eyes dark and seductive with anticipation, and raised his glass to his lips.

We chose a table in le salon privé, each prepared with fifty thousand in chips. I sat first, next to a man that any other woman my age would have swooned over. He couldn't have been any older than thirty, with dark hair slicked back and a cheekbones so strong it looked like they could cut ice. On my left was an older gentleman with white hair, smoking a cigar that I recognized as a Ghurka Black Dragon, the smoke rich and heavy with leather.

There were three others at the table; a middle-aged woman with a severe bob and wide, cat-like eyes. She watched as I sat, not even bothering to hide her discernment of my character. To her left, with one space in between, was a young lady, nearly my own age. She looked sweet and pretty, if not entirely too innocent to be sitting at such a high-stakes table. I could tell by the beading on the delicate neckline of her dress, however, that she definitely had the means to be playing with the rest of us.

Last was a man in his forties, who hadn't taken his eyes off me since I'd sat down and placed my chips in front of me. His hair was greased in a James Dean style far too young for his own years, and he wore a slightly ratted jacket with a thin lapel, ironed so that it sat unevenly on both sides. He licked his thin lips as he watched me, as if he saw me as his meal, rather than the other way around.

I watched as the others considered their bets between each flip of the card on the first hand, and folded after the flop, my ten of spades and three of diamonds no match for the pair of jacks and king the dealer turned. Only one other folded as well, the older gentleman next to me, while the rest stayed in the game.

My poker face was better than any of the others at the table, but I wanted to set that precedent. If I came in upping the stakes on my first hand, I would have been discounted as easy. I was familiar enough with poker to know that your bluff comes in when they least expect it.

We played two more rounds before Damon came to our table, taking the seat between the two other women. I could see cat-lady watch him with interest that went far beyond the game, and smiled to myself. This was our own game, played for our own fun. We didn't know each other at this table; we were strangers to one another just as everyone else were strangers to us.

On my fifth hand, I was dealt a pair of sevens, and I upped my bet to five thousand dollars. Damon didn't bat an eye as he threw in his chips, and I struggled not to look him in the eye as he did so. Three others reluctantly called the bet, and the dealer turned over the first three cards of the river.

Ace of diamonds. Three of hearts. Seven of diamonds.

I kept a straight face, but tilted my head slightly to the right, as if I were examining my cards in the context of the game. Obviously I knew what my odds were now, but I didn't let it show in my features. I threw in two more chips, upping the bet this round to ten thousand, until it was just Damon, James Dean, and I left in the game.

Fourth card. King of clubs.

I checked, and Damon bet another ten thousand. James Dean called, and I threw in my chips.

Last card. Seven of clubs.

I hid my smile, but licked my lips slowly as I considered my bet. Instead of throwing in my chips, I reached over the table slightly, so that the men across from me could see my chest as I placed another ten thousand in chips at the center. As I straightened, I could see Damon's darkened eyes on me, watching, though he didn't hesitate to call my bet. James Dean was nearly drooling over my cleavage, so much so that the dealer had to remind him to place his bet or fold.

He threw in the chips without taking his eyes off of me. I smiled in his direction with unabashed seduction, and flipped my cards. Damon leaned over the table to see my hand, and smirked when he realized I won. He threw down his own two cards; king of spades and ace of spades. That one was an easy win, but he wasn't about to let me go down so easy.

The next two rounds, Damon killed us all with his bluff. I knew his tells easily, but it just so happened that they were the same gestures that made me go weak in the knees, even after fifty years together. The way he blinked slowly, his eyelids widening as his eyes darkened. His heavy exhale, too quiet for any human ears in the room to hear. The way he shifted in his seat, arching his back as if he were stretching and causing the muscles in his chiseled chest to ripple under his shirt.

He was drinking a vieille réserve cognac, and I could smell the cinnamon on his lips from the barrel aged liquor. It had a distinct smell, different than the drink on its own, and I felt the sudden need to get out of there, preferably with my lover in tow. He smiled darkly at me from across the table, and I looked away, feigning chagrin. It wouldn't be long before he was the one dragging me back up to our suite.

We'd been at the table nearly two hours, conversation between all of us next to nothing, and the silence of knowing that I was wearing something specifically to be taken off, by Damon, was starting to make me squirm in my seat. He watched me as I shifted, attempting to quell the hunger I felt deep in my belly.

The dealer turned over the last of the river cards in the game, and I glanced for a quick second at the cards that I had in my hands. Ace of diamonds. Deuce of hearts.

I had called each bet, partially because the rest of the table was betting low and partially because my attention had officially diverted from the game to something much more fun.

And the river.

Three of kings. Four of hearts. Jack of hearts. Ace of spades. Ace of clubs.

I didn't bother hiding my smile. This was our last game, and I was beating Damon, by nearly forty grand. The last bet had been ten thousand, and only two had folded. That meant the pot was at nearly eighty thousand dollars.

I couldn't help the smug smile that came across my face as I lay my cards on the table.

Three of a kind, aces.

The rest of the table flipped their cards, the only real competition being the sweet young thing sitting next to Damon, with two kings.

I raised my eyebrows expectantly at Damon, who smirked at me from across the table. I felt my stomach drop to my knees as he flipped his cards over, one at a time.

Ace of hearts. Four of spades.

The fucker actually beat me.

I finished my glass of champagne before excusing myself from the table, sixty thousand dollars wealthier than when I began. Damon didn't bother staggering our exit, he stood as I did, and came over to offer his elbow. James Dean watched us with narrowed eyes as we made our way out of the salon and back to the foyer where we could catch an elevator up to our suite. Instead of pausing in front of the doors, however, Damon headed straight for the stairwell. We were only on the fifth floor, but it wasn't like we needed the exercise.

Lord knew that we got plenty of that in bed, as it was.

"You almost beat me back there," he whispered in my ear as he led me up the stairs. His hand grasped my elbow, as to assist me with my balance. I felt the pressure of his thumb in the crook of my arm, and I was suddenly thankful for the help.

We got to the landing, but Damon stopped me before we could open the door to our floor. My breath caught as he pressed me up against the wall, and I could feel my breasts heaving with anticipation. He grabbed my leg through the slit in my dress, wrapping it around his waist and pushing even further into me. "So, about that bet…" he started, but got distracted by the tilt of my neck, allowing him access. He ran the tip of his tongue across the sensitive flesh, sucking gently before plunging his fangs in without warning.

I groaned, the stairwell echoing the sound back to me. To a vampire, there is no better feeling than sharing blood with a mate, than knowing that the same blood runs through both of your veins. He drank, and I felt myself get lightheaded with both the loss of blood and the feel of him inside of me. I collapsed into him, and he withdrew, licking my neck as it already began to heal.

"Bedroom, now," I pleaded, unable to move with his grip on me. He smiled wickedly, and swept me into his arms, one hand cradling my back and one under my knees.

"You don't have to ask me twice," he said, kicking the door open to the hallway. He didn't bother slowing for anyone else that may have also been in the hall, and we were at our door in less than a few seconds. I clung to him as he waved his key in front of the lock, and pushed open into our suite.

I didn't waste time; as soon as the door clicked behind me, I was out of his arms and in front of the bed. He watched with hooded eyes as I turned my back, unzipping my dress slowly and letting it drop off one shoulder, then the other. It pooled at my feet like a discarded bath towel rather than a five thousand dollar dress, no longer necessary for the things I had in mind.

As I had hoped, Damon's eyes were on me like a rabid animal stalking its prey. I wore a steel-boned, red brocade corset, the low back fastened with a web of tiny satin ribbons. I still wore my Louboutins, the heel so high that I was nearly on pointe. His gaze drifted up from my feet, to the nude satin stockings held up by a black garter underneath my lace thong.

I stepped out of my dress, swaying my hips with purpose as I made my way to where Damon still stood in the doorway. Fifty years later and I could still stun him into silence with the right lingerie. I circled him, one finger on his shoulder, and he watched me dance around him from the corner of his eye. He wouldn't let me do more than one repetition around; he grabbed me once I got back in front of him, and I felt his hands kneading the bare skin of my thighs.

He didn't try to be gentle as he lowered his mouth to mine; instead, I felt as he bit my lip, letting it bleed onto both of our tongues. We kissed deeply, licking clean the blood as the wound healed itself. He grabbed my ass, picking me up easily and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Neither of us dared pull away, as if this were our last moment on earth, and together.

I cradled his head in my hands as I kissed him, and he carried me to the bed, dropping me onto my back so that I looked up at him. He was taking his jacket off, but I grabbed his tie and pulled him down to me before he could undress himself anymore. The feel of his body along the length of my own was near nirvana, even with our clothes in the way.

I could feel him through this slacks, his hardness so close to my core that I quivered at the sensation. He was licking my neck and palming my breasts that were far too constrained by my corset. I pushed him off of me with such force that he stumbled backwards, obvious taken by surprise, and I stood up slowly, on the bed, and turned my back to him. I tugged on the satin ribbon of my corset, letting it loosen and then fall onto the bed.

My breasts were finally free, and I turned to see Damon eyeing them with such hunger, as if I were his last meal on earth. I crooked my finger and licked my lips, asking him silently to come here. I didn't have to ask twice.

He grabbed my ankle so that I fell back onto the bed, and I squealed as he bounced on top of me. I grabbed his tie again, pulling it over my head and nearly ripping the buttons off of his shirt as I tried to free him from the fabric. As soon as his chest was bare, I reach around his back, pulling him close to me so that I could feel his skin on mine.

He reached down, in between us, and slipped a quick finger underneath the lace of my panties, teasing me without actually taking them off. Instead, he unbuttoned his pants, and I pushed them down with my heel. I could feel it scratch the back of his thighs, and I hoped that I drew blood. He hissed in my ear, and I ran my teeth along the crevice of his shoulder, tasting the salt on his skin.

I still had his tie in my hand, and he tugged it down so that it was in between our bodies. He unwrapped it from my grip, slowly, torturously, before turning his gaze back to length of my body, up my breasts, and to my swollen lips. I couldn't look away, even as I felt the silk of his tie wrap its way around my wrists, one and then the other.

"Now," he started, tightening the fabric around my wrists, "about that bet…"

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