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.

BOSTON

January in Boston was freaking cold. Like, I grew up in Virginia and wasn't completely unused to snow, but this was different, cold. This was the type of chill that went straight through six layers of clothing and directly to your bones.

I was supposed to be a freshman, but I wasn't entirely sure if I could get through three more winters in this godforsaken place. All I could think about then were beaches in Bali and the sun in California. I mean, who actually decides to live in a frozen tundra? Seriously?

That would be me.

For some odd reason, I felt that three college degrees and a masters in English wasn't enough for my indefinite lifetime. And because I'd now been to Yale, Princeton, and Stanford, my obvious next choice was Harvard. I'd liked the campus when we visited last spring. When it was a balmy forty-eight degrees. I can do this, I thought. This isn't so bad, I assured myself. So, with a trip into the admissions office, I compelled myself a spot in their next freshmen class.

Damon didn't want to be left behind, of course, but he was tired of going to college. I couldn't exactly blame him; I didn't doubt that I would get bored of the whole game eventually either. Just not yet. And while I declared a concentration in art history, Damon had legitimately found himself a job in the Romance Languages and Literatures department teaching Italian. Apparently that's what happens when you have two PhDs and a villa off the Amalfi Coast.

My focus in the art history department was on the Renaissance, specifically Botticelli's commentary of the Inferno. Clearly the irony of my chosen field wasn't lost on any of us – Stefan had actually laughed when I brought up the Third Circle (Gluttony) at dinner one Christmas. Let's just say that Caroline wasn't exactly thrilled at my chosen topic for such a celebratory meal.

What do you know? A language course was required for that particular degree. Purely coincidence, of course, and I obviously should have been shocked when I found myself enrolled in Professore Salvatore's Beginning Italian with all of my freshmen classmates. The thing was, I'd learned Italian way back in the 20s, while spending five years living with an adoptive family in Abruzzo. Not to mention, Damon loved to worship me in one of the five romance languages while we made love.

I was still pissed that it was cold while I walked to my class with my sexy professore. It meant that instead of the tiny schoolgirl uniform I had envisioned for my first day of class, I had to wear tights. Wool tights, underneath pants. And a sweater, and a jacket. And a scarf. And boots.

Not sexy.

The chill didn't affect me as much as my human classmates, but I couldn't exactly traipse through campus with bare legs without at least one side-eyed glance. I didn't mind the attention, but I also didn't want people to think that I was just some hussy out to impress my severely attractive new professor. Because I knew for a fact that I wasn't the only girl in the class with a crush.

The lecture hall wasn't large; there were seats maybe for forty people, and only half were filled by the time I arrived. Damon wasn't there yet, though I was the only one who knew why he would be a few minutes late. I could still smell him on my skin, but he was the one that had to wash my red lipstick off of his body before he could face his class.

I chose a seat near the back, and quickly stripped off my jacket and scarf. At least my sweater was cut a little low, my bustier pushing my breasts up, pale and pink from the cold. The first row was filled with other young women, either eager to get started on their Italian studies or just waiting to finally see their new professor in person. This was Damon's second class on Tuesday, and he'd had three the day before. News of Professore Salvatore's face and accent had already made its rounds; I had a feeling that there were more than a few women trying to wait list the class after hearing that particular bit of information.

Everyone was pulling out their laptops while I just grabbed a notebook and pen from my bag. Call me old-school (because well, I was), but I still preferred to handwrite my notes in class. Not to mention, it could give Damon an unobstructed view of the goods. I wasn't surprised when I saw quite a few bare legs in the front row, but that screamed desperation to me. I loved a good seduction, but I believed in the power of subtly.

The professor didn't walk in until nearly five minutes after class was meant to start, and I had to stifle a giggle when I saw his still-wet hair starting to frost from the chill. He threw me a warning glance so quick that even I wondered if he'd looked in my direction. Nobody said a thing, but I swear I saw a particular blonde in the front row drool onto her desk as he made his way to the front of the room.

I couldn't blame her; he looked positively edible in a pair of dark slacks and a white button down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He took off his signature leather jacket, throwing it down on the desk, and there was audible sigh from the entire front row as they took in his taught chest, strong shoulders, and muscular forearms. Forearms that had been holding himself above me not even twenty minutes before…

"Buonasera studenti. Il mio nome è Damon Salvatore, ma potete chiamarmi Professore Salvatore," he said, causing a collective swoon from nearly everyone in the room, men and women. His accent was beyond perfection, and the words dripped off his tongue like pure sex. I didn't hear much of what he said after that; just let the tenor of his voice envelop me, until I was nearly panting along with the rest of them.

I had closed my eyes, letting myself get lost in his voice; the same one that put me to sleep every night, tucking me in with words of love and adoration. When I opened them, he was looking directly at me, his eyes dark and aroused. I wondered if he could smell what his voice did to me, how drenched I was under my jeans and under my tights.

I dragged a fingernail down my breast while he watched, drawing just a small amount of blood from the soft, supple flesh, and brought it up to my mouth. He didn't take his eyes off of me, and I wondered if anyone had noticed.

Good. I hope they did.

I licked the blood clean off of my index finger, letting my tongue slip out of my mouth only slightly so that I could lick my lips once my finger was clean.

Throughout all of it, he didn't skip a beat, just kept talking to the rest of the class, who held onto every word he said, even if they couldn't understand just yet. On the board behind him were Italian greetings written in his perfect script, even and elegant. Hearing his voice just say those simple words made my heart beat so fast, I knew that he would be able to hear it.

Buongiorno.

Arrivederci.

Ciao.

Come si chiama?

Mi chiamo…

Come sta?

Bene, grazie.

How was it that literally just saying "Hi, my name is…" soaked my panties and made me want to drag Damon out of here and into his private office? I knew that it was just down the hall with the rest of the department, next to another hot, young French professor that had already tried to get into my lover's pants. From what Damon told me, the easy ones were also the most delicious, her blood only slightly sweetened by the strawberry blonde of her hair. He promised me a taste next time, and I licked my lips in anticipation.

I didn't realize when he told us to find a partner so that we could practice greetings until everyone started arranging their desks to face the person next to them. Another student, a boy close to my own age, had already angled his own chair so that he was facing me, apparently deciding for the both of us that we were meant to be partners. I didn't doubt that it had something to do with the cleavage that was about to burst from my sweater.

He was cute, in a college kind of way, and obviously arrogant. I could tell by his clothes that he wasn't the first in his family to attend Harvard; he seemed like old money, groomed to take over his family's law firm, or maybe medical practice. The school was prestigious, of course, but I'd yet to see many guys wearing a tie to class, let alone a sports jacket.

"Ciao bella," he said, reaching for my hand so that he could kiss it. "Come ti chiami?" I nearly laughed at his game, but I turned it into a shy giggle instead. He didn't drop my hand, so I leaned in slightly, giving him the perfect view down my sweater.

"I'm not sure I know what you're saying," I said, batting my eyelashes. "I don't know any Italian yet; it's not fair that you already know the language if you're in this class."

I could see a predatory smile come across his lips. He knew what he was doing, just not who he was doing it with. I had to give him credit for that; I didn't doubt that those few words had gotten him into the pants of quite a few young ladies.

Damon had given me many wedding and engagement rings over the years, but I didn't wear them all the time. Not that this young Don Juan would have recognized a ring on my left hand. But this was part of our game, and it was one of my favorites.

He didn't drop my hand, but started caressing it instead, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

"Mi chiamo Ethan, Ethan Carrington."

I giggled again, this time to hide the very unladylike snort that just tried to come out of my mouth. His accent was atrocious, perhaps from some ill-conceived attempt to learn the language online, probably in an effort to impress some dimwit like me.

I could feel Damon's gaze on us, and I risked a glance in his direction, feigning as if I were just checking the board to see what my options were. I bit my lip in a ridiculous attempt to look flighty and stupid, causing him to lick his own.

"Mi chiamo Elena," I said, making sure that my accent was even worse than his.

"Piacere di conoscerti Elena. Sei la ragazza più bella che abbia mai visto."

I widened my eyes, as if I knew nothing of what he was saying. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life.

Why thank you. I know.

He was still holding my hand, and this time I brought his up to my lips, flipping it over so that I could press a kiss to his palm. His skin was soft, unsullied by any physical or manual labor, his hands just as delicate as any woman's. He hissed as he felt my lips on his skin, but didn't make a sound as I sank my fangs into the soft area right below his thumb.

As a new vampire, all you care about when feeding is the blood. It's all the same, and you want it all. But eventually you realize that blood is just as complex as any wine or brandy. Every person has their own unique varietal, the nuances of which are determined by their age and personality and experiences, among others. It can be as pure as water, or spicy and addicting, with hints of fig or pepper. It can flow through veins like a current running down the mountain after a winter of snow, fast and desperate, or slow and lazy like a river waiting for the dam to break.

I savored Ethan's blood as I let it sit on the back of my tongue, identifying each individual component that I would have never noticed if I just let it down my throat without pause. It was dark at first, the flavor bursting through as soon as it reached the oxygen of my breath. I was surprised by the sweetness of innocence, and something distinctly male; clove, perhaps, but with a touch of smoke. With all of his Casanova intentions, it was apparent that he had yet to truly feel the love of a woman. Perhaps that was why he was trying so hard with me.

Professore Salvatore was watching us, though the rest of the class was too busy with their own introductions to notice. He was amused, never angry, and I lifted my lids so that I could watch him while I fed. He shook his head, as if we could read each others' minds.

No, not this one. But we'll bring someone to bed with us soon.

I pouted, letting myself bring Ethan to the brink before finally releasing his hand.

"Non è mai successo, ma mi ami lo stesso. E sono davvero la più bella persona che tu abbia mai visto." This never happened, but you still love me. And I really am the most beautiful person you've ever seen. His pupils dilated as I did, and I turned my desk back to the front before he even woke from the stupor that I had induced.

Damon went on for another few minutes, in English this time, letting us know of the assignments throughout the semester and what we should practice before our next class on Thursday. He dismissed us, turning back to the board so that he could erase the greetings. I wasn't the only young female waiting behind, I'm sure so that they could ask if they could get some extra instruction.

There was a time when people thought Damon was heartless and rude, unwilling to sacrifice his own comfort for the good of someone else, but I had demolished that reputation, quickly and without a second thought. My partner believed in good because we were good. Before finding me, he had always been searching for something that he couldn't identify; that one decent thing in this world that could convince him of the beauty in life.

It wasn't enough to have just me; neither one of us was perfect on our own, but together, we were enough. Together, we could give life the meaning that we needed in order to continue on this path, indefinitely. Together, we were enough to shed every inhibition, every fear about humanity and what our true place was in the world.

That's why I wasn't surprised to see him talk, individually, to every student that stayed behind. I still sat at my desk, my back straight but not formal, waiting for him to finish discussing assignments that his students didn't particularly care about, but that gave them an excuse to talk to him one-on-one. And as the last one left, giggling with stars in her eyes, I followed her out, slinging my own bag across my back and tightening my scarf.

"Miss Gilbert?"

I had identified as both Elena Gilbert and Elena Salvatore throughout the years, but each name made me feel different as I heard it, especially coming from Damon's lips. I felt that rumble in my belly, that anticipation of knowing what was next without really knowing what, exactly, he was going to say.

Miss Gilbert made me innocent, young again, as if we hadn't spent the past fifty years exploring ourselves and one another. It brought me back to my human days, so far in the past that I shouldn't really remember it, but my vampire senses never allowed me to let go. I still remembered the first time that Damon touched me, his hand on my back, so that I could pass him in the kitchen. I still remembered kissing him for the first time, on my porch, when we thought our lives were about to end. And I still remembered that moment when he told me loved me, for the first time, and then compelled me to forget.

Hearing him say that name, Miss Gilbert, made me feel like the naïve college student that I was supposed to be. Not a vampire in love with her professor, but a regular girl, worried about the essay she needed to write for her Theory of Art History class.

"Yes Professor Salvatore," I turned, right before I left the room. The students in front of me just let the door close, which meant that we were alone, together. In his classroom.

"I noticed that you weren't paying attention to my lecture earlier. Was I not exciting enough for you?" he asked. I felt myself squirm under his gaze, stern and unrelenting. We were still ten feet apart, at least, but I can feel the heat off his chest. I can see the outline of his arousal underneath his slacks. That alone is enough to propel me forward without much thought.

"I'm sorry Professor Salvatore," I said, perching myself on the edge of his desk and loosening my scarf. "I promise I was listening."

He considered me for a moment. "But the young man standing next to you was far more interesting than I was, wasn't he?"

I looked up at him, drinking in the accusation in his gaze. "Well, I mean, he was very cute and spoke Italian!"

"Spoke Italian? I'm pretty sure I heard him speak Italian and I know for a fact that no one from Italy would actually be able to understand him." He scoffed, and took a step closer. "I, on the other hand, can think of exactly forty-seven ways that I wouldn't mind seducing you in the language."

I brought my finger to my lips, as if to think about it, and threw him the most innocent look that I could come up with. He growled, and launched himself at me. I was expecting though, and I was up and away from the desk before he even knew that I was onto him.

"I can't imagine that this is acceptable behavior for a professor," I admonished, pulling my scarf off and throwing it on the table. I watched as his eyes grew wide at the sight of my breasts that were already pink and healed from my tease earlier. This time, when he made his way toward me, I didn't try and run.

He was so close I could still smell me on his breath, and the combination with his own unique scent was intoxicating. I wouldn't have been able to run away from him even if I wanted to. He had me in his net and there was no way we were leaving this classroom with our clothes still intact.

"Miss Gilbert," he said, leaning in so that he could run a finger down the flesh of my chest, "I do believe you may be correct, but there's just something about you…" he trailed off, unable to form a coherent sentence once I had his lip in between my teeth. I felt myself draw blood, and licked it clean before opening my mouth to him. I breathed us in, the scent of blood and arousal and me on his lips.

This, us, together, was more natural that being on my own after this long. We still drove each other crazy, in so many ways, but he was mine and I was his. Forever.

Damon pushed his entire body into me, nearly forcing me onto the desk that was now digging into my back. I hopped up willingly so that I could wrap my legs around his waist. We fit together this way, perfectly, naturally.

He had his hand up my shirt, about to feel me up like a common teenager when the door to the classroom burst open. We were so caught up that it took a good few seconds for us to realize that we were no longer alone and peel ourselves away from one another.

"Um, Professor," the interruption was one of the little blondes in the front row of the earlier class. Her legs were bare under a short denim skirt, though at least her feet were warm enough in a ridiculous pair of Ugg boots.

I pulled my shirt down as Damon tried to adjust himself inconspicuously in front of the student. "Yes, Miss…" he trailed off, expecting her to finish. She didn't catch on right away, her focus on the very distinct bulge in the front of Damon's pants. I had to hide my snicker, and grabbed my scarf to tie around my neck as a distraction.

"Mills," she said quickly, taking a step forward. She eyed me nervously, but it quickly changed from confusion to accusation. I didn't particularly care what she saw or wanted; she wasn't about to leave this classroom with this specific memory intact.

Damon raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Oh, well I was just wondering when you have office hours? I tried learning Spanish in high school, and it was kind of a disaster, so I thought maybe I could come and get some extra tutoring in between classes." This girl obviously didn't understand the art of subtly, though it had taken me nearly fifteen years to master the true art of seduction. Perhaps she thought bumbling idiot was sexy to a world-renowned professor, but she was sorely mistaken.

I went to grab my bag, no longer interested in whatever game this student was playing. I needed to get Damon home, and out of those pants, as soon as possible.

She watched me with a smug smile as I passed her on my way out of the classroom, her attention immediately back on Damon as soon as I was out of her line of vision.

I'd also learned the art of the hunt in my fifty years as a vampire, and how and when to leverage the element of surprise. There was something innately sensual about catching a human off-guard, muffling the sounds of their screams with a kiss or strategically placed hand over their mouth.

So she didn't even notice as I turned back, though Damon was faster. In the time that it took for her to blink, he was standing in front of her, his eyes dark and wild with hunger. The girl was too startled to even react before he could compel her.

"Stay still, and stay silent," he said, and looked up from her to where I stood only a few feet away. "Elena, my darling, why don't you come join us?" His smile was dark, but familiar to me, and I felt my knees quiver. The anticipation of knowing that I was moments away from experiencing the raw sensuality of a hunt with Damon was making something deep in my belly ache. He reached around her as I drew near, grabbing my hands with his and lacing our fingers together so that we caged our prey in between us.

I could smell lavender and soap on her skin, unsullied by the irritating scent of a strong perfume or sickly sweet lotion. Though she stayed perfectly still, I could see drops of perspiration as her consciousness began to realize what was going to happen to her. Yet, no sound left her lips.

It could be seen as cruel, to hunt without anesthetic or promises of safety, but she wouldn't remember the experience after this singular moment. And her adrenaline was like a drug to us; we could smell it as it ran through her veins, drawing out of us a pure, unemotional need to feed.

Damon drew his hands back to his sides, causing me to step forward so that all three of our bodies were flush together. I was so close to the girl that I could see the red, oxygenated blood pumping through her arteries and under her skin. The effect was dizzying. Damon's hands enclosed my own, and his primal essence mixed with the human scent of our prey between us. He was practiced enough that he could consume without spilling a drop, but I watched as he lowered his mouth and ran one of his fangs along the length of her collarbone, slicing the skin open neatly.

I lowered my own lips, careful not to lick the wound so that it would heal from my venom. Instead, I suckled gently at the sharp curve of her shoulder blade. I could taste him on her skin, and drove me wild with lust. I opened my mouth wider, plunging my own fangs into the soft tissue and relishing as the warm blood flowed from her body and into mine. She was nourishing my body, but it Damon that nourished my soul.

He released one of my hands so that he could reach up and stroke my hair. My empty hand moved instinctively around her torso, holding her tightly to me, and his other hand held me tightly to him. In his arms was my perfect place, and in his arms is where I would be, safe, for the rest of my life.

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