De jà Vous

It was still the same room; it was not any different than it had always been. They had played in this room as children, all through their youth. So why did it feel so different now? Well, in

all honesty, though the room hadn't changed, but the boy who lived here had. For he was no longer the little boy whom had once been her most beloved play mate; in fact, that little boy

had ceased to exist as of recent days. At present, it was clear that their nursery days were over. And that little boy, whose eyes reminded her of fresh grass when the sunlight shone

with not a cloud in sight, now meant so much more to her. Their bond had grown from that of a brother's protective devotion to his sister, to that of a lover. And tonight, they would

surrender to their desires and evolve in the passion that they so strongly felt for one another. Tonight, they were no longer nursery mates or infatuated adolescents… no. Tonight, he was

a man, and she was a woman; the way that God had made them in His own hands.

Damon held her hand in his as he silently led her through the dark mahogany wood door, the only sound to break the silence being the soft click of the wrought iron handle as he closed it

behind her. Then she followed him into his bed chambers, where her eyes immediately fell on the great four-poster with a dark canvas fabric draped between each post.

He let her sit on the side of the bed and he knelt before her. His fingers lightly traced the line of her jaw, and down the contours of her pale throat.

"You're trembling…" he noted as his lips grazed her cheek, his eyes fixated on hers.

"Am I?" she had not noticed until she spoke, because her voice shook too.

"Are you frightened?" he whispered gently.

"Yes…"

"Don't be… it's me… it's Damon… your Damon… and I love you…" he breathed against her throat, nuzzling the skin there. And then he raised his head to speak sweetly to her "il mio

angelo…" and he kissed her mouth.

"Je t'aime aussi Damon…" she whispered heavily as his tender kisses descended down her shoulder- naked in her deep-velvet gown.

He scarcely knew what to do with all these powerful foreign emotions as they built in his chest, expanding his heart until all he wanted was to feel her touch, and to finally know her in

every aspect of life that he could. He had never been with a woman before-not like this. And nor had any woman ever been in his bed chambers- house servants excluded (and of course

he dared not to think of his poor sainted mother.)

Lizette's gown gathered about midway along her stocking clad legs, and Damon gasped at the sight. He had never seen more than a woman's ankle once, and even that had been

unintentional and he had turned away in his own embarrassment. But he had been a boy then, not more than twelve at most. Now he was about to become a man.

As his eyes traveled along the patterns of her stockings, he wondered if the skin beneath them would be as soft as that of her hands… As he discarded of the heavy wool cloth, he

discovered that the skin hidden beneath was even softer- much like the flesh on her shoulders.

Tenderly, he kissed the skin just above each knee and her breath caught in her throat. Her skin- normally fair as cream, was flushed along her throat. Her breast threatened to spill from

the gown as her torso quivered beneath her bodice, and Damon struggled to extricate her from the fastened restraints of her corset.

He wanted to know every part of her… to see her undone from her proper, French-risen heritage and upbringing. After all, she would be no lady after this act was committed. Nor was he

any such form of a gentleman. This was a deed that, once completed, could not be taken back. To Hell with anyone who tried to stand in their way, he would gladly suffer la Morte Nera a

thousand times over for her hand, and he would weep at her feet to have her as his own. He decided that, after tonight, even if he died trying, he would see to it that he would soon

have at least some form of a claim on her. To Hell with their families, to Hell with the church, he would have her and he would cherish her long after merely entering upon the morrow. For

many years to come, and through all eternity, should he spend it rotting beneath the ground or out amongst the stars, he would cherish her every breath.

"I want you to marry me Lizette." He said to her. It was not a question, he continued. "You are my only lover, the only one I need and the only one I want. And I need more than a

mistress, Lizette, I need a wife… I need you."

Lizette kissed him, "Damon…" she smiled. "I have always been yours for the taking, you know that."

Damon smirked at her, "Then I should like to collect what is mine then…" he groaned against her flesh as he tore through the corset restraints and discarded the gown and kissed her

again.

"Oh… faire l'amour avec moi, Damon…" she whispered, her voice lowered in her state of deep arousal.

"Tutto quello che mi chiedi, il mio amore…" and he consented to her wishes… taking precise care to give her all that she could ever need or want, and to feel the way that she made him

feel with even just the slightest touch of her hand on his. He wanted her to know him as much as he wanted to know her. He wanted to feel connected to her, and so did she.

She, while still delusional in her state of mine, began to claw at his shirt and he chuckled and caught her wrist as she tried to unfasten his belt. "As I've said before- mon petit lapin-

"lasciatemi piombo" yes?" he teased her.

"Lead faster…" She begged. Damon laughed and was about to respond when- still caught in the trance of his seduction- Lizette shoved Damon to the side of her on the bed and straddled

his hips, biting on the skin over his collar as she tore the fabric of his shirt in order to get him out of it. And in the next moment, both she and Damon were completely unclothed.

Damon moaned as Lizette ground her hips against his, aching for his touch, begging of him not to stop, using- in her perfect French- words that even he had not learned. But he

understood her desire, and he suddenly complied to her need.

"Oh, Damon… oh…!" Lizette cried, her voice torn in pain as Damon shivered, the ache nearly lifted- bringing with it a new sort of pressure that he had certainly never experienced. And

Lizette cried.

"Oh… oh God, I… Lizette…! Are you alright? Oh… what have I done?! Lizette-are you hurt…? Oh no, what have I done…?!" he panicked, though Lizette shook her head in protest. She did

not want him to stop.

"Non, Damon, non, non… ne s'arrêtent pas… s'il vous plait!" she begged him, desperately pleading for him to continue.

And he didn't, even though each of Lizette's sobs wretched at Damon's heart, but she urged him to go on, through his panic. He did hesitate out of fear of hurting his angel, but he could

not deny her anything. So he continued until he could pick up a steady rhythm.

Lizette, still straddling his hips, gradually began to move along with his pace and meet each thrust. She moaned loudly occasionally and their rhythm gradually quickened as they each

succumbed to the intense feeling of pleasure coursing through each of their bodies, flooding their hearts-already overflowing with so much emotion. And suddenly, Damon tossed her

down onto the mattress by her hips and grasped her wrists as he pinned her to the headboard. He held her wrists tightly against the bed post as he quickly picked up another rhythm-

this one much faster than the last.

"Damon!!!" Lizette cried as she felt him pulse into her, her toes curling under as he spilt all he had into her. And he fell back against the mattress, spent. Lizette sank down the headboard

and curled into a loose fetal position. She had been sure that the pain would end, and it had… but only for those few blissful seconds in ecstasy.

"Dormere bene, il mio agnello…" Damon mumbled just before he drifted into unconsciousness, he had not seen that she had started to bleed. She clentched at her lower abdomen as she

lay down next to him, draping her free arm across his broad, toned chest. She was sure that with sleep, the pain would leave.. and upon the morrow she would be the future Lady Lizette

Pierét… Salvatore…

At least she should have been. Had her entire world not been turned upside down by the events soon to unfold…