Sorry for the delay guys, I got busy in some projects. Thanks to all the lovely people who are taking time to read, review, and follow and favorite this story, owe a lot to you guys. I don't own Vampire Diaries.
To afan:
Merci pourle complément. Je suis honoré quevous lisezmes histoireset vousles aimez. Mon français ne estpas très bon, se il vous plaîtpardonnez-moidoncpour toutes les erreursque je fais.
Pourquoi ne pas vousfaireun compte surfanfiction, je seraisen mesure de vousremercierbeaucouppour l'amourrapidementvous montrer àmes histoires.
-Eos
To haribo :
Thank You for loving it.
So without further ado, enjoy the tale of playboy prince with his conquests and flings...
Chapter Four
America was...relaxing.
Far from the world of decorum and protocols, from the carnivorous eyes of paparazzi for whom he was a meal ticket, Elijah Mikaelson could appreciate the beauty that was United States of America or most appropriately the sweet heart of America, Alexia Bronson.
She was sure a fetching sight in her bikini and he was anticipating unraveling the lovely Alexia tonight after the Gilbert's Annual Charity Ball.
He had cut off Bonnie out of his sexual life the moment she had added Mikaelson after her name. It wasn't that great a loss; he had already been tiring of her come hither looks.
All this thinking and pondering over his actions, god forbid, was he growing a conscience? He smirked as he walked back from his en-suite balcony. It would be the last day of the hell when Elijah Mikaelson grew a heart. Feelings weren't for him and he had understood that at a very young age. It was fallacy to think otherwise when you knew, you were flawed since birth, when your own darling mother confirmed it.
What the hell? Was he in a mood for pity party? Damon was supposed to be an expert in throwing pity parties, not he. He would go, enjoy couple of hours on beach with Alexia, endure a fancy dress up and fuck her till she couldn't think straight.
The sun was shining, the surf looked amazing and so did lovely Alexia when he glanced back, with drops of water running down her creamy profile. It was time he joined her.
Holy Christ, she was made for him to fuck her. That was the only thought that entered Elijah Mikaelson's head when he collided with her and fell like bag of bricks with her in his arms.
She was his succubus incarnate, his siren. He would gladly serve her if she let him fuck her just once. She was made for sex. That slim, athletic physique wrapped in crimson bikini was like wrapper covering his much desirable gift. Those doe eyes bore in him and for the first time in a very long time he felt something akin to tenderness for the briefest span of time. That light olive face, kissable lips and long brunette hair made him want to make love to her then and there. He could imagine that span of dark silk on his pillow in moonlight, she would be exquisite and just like that in a moment Alexia Bronson was forgotten.
She was pressed against him and she fit him like she was made for him, especially fashioned, only for him. She reminded him of someone he couldn't quite recall, maybe someone he had slept with or had he experienced a one night stand with her?
No, she was far too lovelier for a brief fling, she was goddess meant to be worshiped by him.
Her delicious weight in front and texture of sand beneath his back created a rippling effect and if he was not careful, she would know of his arousing thoughts pretty soon, courtesy of the evidence stirring in his pants.
"Can I get up now or do you wanna ogle some more?"
Holy Madonna, that voice, that sexy tango of words coming out from her mouth, it went straight to his cock. His head reeled from the exotic sensation that was this woman. That voice, it was so familiar, a drug shot straight up in his bloodstream.
Where had he heard her?
"Pervert." She elbowed him hard in stomach as she got up and walked away without a backward glance, leaving the playboy prince in sand, unknowingly gawking at the vision that was ethereal Elena Gilbert.
The nerve of the man, who the hell did he think he was? King of some fucking country? Well technically speaking, he was a prince but that didn't give him rights to view her as if he was inspecting his next brood mare.
The sand, sun and tide, once upon a time she had loved the vivacity of sea, the colors playing on waves when sun went down far away beneath horizon. Once upon a time she mused, when he had been in her life. A man who had changed the fundamentals of her sheltered existence, one for whom she had defied every existing rule, had rebelled against her parents.
She tried to clear her head. After all she had taken this much needed respite to escape the memories that dogged her every moment. Sleeping, waking, dreaming, crying, he haunted her with a tenacity he had lacked when he had been in her life.
She groaned at the direction her thoughts were taking. She had come here to escape, not to pity herself.
She was Elena Gilbert, not some fucking pathetic doxy on street. She was better than this, better than a woman who yearned for a man she couldn't have, a man who didn't want her.
She tried diligently, but her heart, it seemed wasn't in mood to be pacified with false sense of bravado. The woman in her lost the fight and she got up to trace her steps back to the room she had locked herself in from past two days, without noticing the tawny eyes that followed her every step of the way.
The annual Gilbert charity gala was the biggest event in the top echelon of social circles. It was the Mecca of socialites and whoever got an invitation was somebody worth knowing of the highest order. From kings to presidents, from dukes to diplomats, Gilbert's had hosted a legion of interesting people. They were good folks despite having a shitload of money and that was what made them different from regular rich.
Elijah surveyed the tastefully done decor that screamed style and practicality while lovely Alexia hung on his arm as if he was her anchor in storm.
Her close proximity did nothing. No erotic fantasies, no ideas about fucking her which was rather surprising. He still couldn't get the beach beauty out of his mind. Maybe that was the reason for his affected libido.
Damon Salvatore was absent again and it was nothing new. The grand duke of Luxembourg didn't give a shit about what people thought of him and he was rather adept at getting out of the parties he didn't want to attend.
He could imagine what Damon would be doing right now. Probably hosting another of his bacchanalian parties for royals who were degenerate enough to attend.
How he wished he could get out of his obligations as easily as Damon.
He put on a smile when he saw Tyler Lockwood coming his way with his ex Tatia Medici hanging on his arm. The things you had to do when you were royalty weren't always pretty.
If he was truthful with himself he would admit that his eyes were searching for the beauty in the mask, Amara. He expected to see her here but then maybe it was a fanciful notion. Not everybody got one of the much desired invitations inside the Gilbert home. Alexia was getting boring and he didn't know if he was even interested enough to fuck her. His mind wandered again to the beauty on the beach and he was surprised to find that he felt a bit weird thinking about two women simultaneously. It had never happened before. God forbid was he subconsciously thinking about being monogamous after colliding with some strange woman on shore?
He was lost in thought and that was the reason he didn't notice when her fingers crept in his and she gave a soft tug towards the numerous couples who were dancing. When his eyes met hers behind the elaborate obsidian and crimson half Venetian mask she wore, he found what he was looking for. The gleam of mischief fused with heady cocktail of sex.
"Amara." He breathed.
"Your highness." She answered as she moved in his arms reminding him of someone else he couldn't quite remember properly.
Today her dress was a profound ruby and cerise one shoulder, mid bodice affair with rosettes sewn throughout, a look she carried with panache. The bold emphasization of red on her lips was like a homing beacon, inviting him to close the distance.
The slow tones of the song changed the playful mood and charged it with under currents of sex as he pulled her closer, almost too close to see the dark rich coffee of her eyes and the long sweep of the lashes that came down, cutting his gaze too shortly.
Love that once hung on the wall
Used to mean something, but now it means nothing
The echoes are gone in the hall
But I still remember, the pain of December
Oh, there isn't one thing left you could say
I'm sorry it's too late
He could feel her stiffen as he turned her and then pulled her close. He didn't know why, but he disliked that doubt and flicker of pain that crept in her eyes.
"What is it?" he murmured.
"Just something that hits too close to home." She replied as her head rested lightly above his heart, swaying in his arms as he held her close, safe and secure.
I'm breaking free from these memories
Gotta let it go, just let it go
I've said goodbye
Set it all on fire
Gotta let it go, just let it go
With her hands in his, he felt as if he could take on the world, win any battle, and defeat any foe. What it was about her, he wondered.
As they swayed with the music, two lost people in sea of people afraid to trust, something tentative crept beneath their hearts, a slight whisper of something to come, a promise they could behold.
"You know he is the biggest fool, whoever he is."
She looked startled like a frail beautiful bird on the verge of flight, terrified and vague.
"What do you mean?" her voice was the softest of tremors that pierced him more sharply than any knife or sword ever had.
"The man who put that fear in your eyes. You are one in million Amara and he was some guy who was probably too terrified to take the jump."
She looked at him as if he had grown horns, probably because it was the first time he had been truthful not for something he wanted for himself but just for the sake of being honest.
"I hope you are right Your Highness." She managed to chuckle lightly as he twined his fingers more tightly with hers while walking back towards a table in center.
"Haven't you heard sweet Amara, I am always right." The aristocratic arrogance of his voice hinted at smoky nights and tangled bodies.
The castle of Grand duke of Luxembourg was silent. There were no gaily laughter's of women drunk on flutes of champagnes and orgasms, no grunt of men emptying themselves in the warm heat of women. The Grand Duke Damon Salvatore sat in his study, his hands tracing the face in snapshot almost reverently.
Tears kept slipping from the corner of his eyes, wetting the already battered picture.
It was her birthday and no one would remember, he had made sure of that. Left her alone and hurt, without anyone she could call her family. He was the architect of the palace of pain she lived in, a cruel coward god who had fashioned her destiny from thorns and needles.
There were thousand different words of apology and yet he couldn't say a single one. Some mistakes were unpardonable; some cuts ran too deep to heal.
'You were a monster and blinded by my love I forgot that predators never love, they only prey. So, maybe I deserve this because I was the fool to love you Damon, I forgot to look for the demon that resides beneath your skin.'
'You are a frigid bitch. I needed you for sexual gratification, not marriage and you can't even give me that. Your sister is far better than you were. She at least knows how to please me in bed. I have no use for virgins or recently deflowered virgins in that case. Go learn some tricks first sweetheart, and then if I am in mood we will talk.'
The last words he had ever said to her, in the full court where she had been naive and vulnerable, innocent and tenderhearted enough to love a monster like him.
He had stripped her bare for those predators to feast and had seen the debacle with cold detached heart which broke every moment they jeered, gave her lecherous glances as if she was a piece of meat in the market.
Beneath the haze of power he had lost his humanity and his heart, the heart that yearned for her sweet tender touch, the heart that craved her innocence in every beat it took.
The innocence she had gifted him had been his most precious present and yet he had discarded it, sullied it beyond recognition.
The tears kept falling and yet the pain didn't lessen, the sobs were silent in his throat and his heart shattered over and over again without any sound.
"Happy birthday, Elena." He whispered. His voice mingled in the soft darkness of night, the only witness of his grief.
Love it, hate it? Review below, let me know. You can see the pic of Amara's dress and mask on my profile page, the link is there. Till then, stay tuned for the next chapter of 'The Ugly Truth'.
-Eos