2. Nobody Will See
Sometimes people just grow out of things, you know? Especially clubbing. Or partying at frat houses. Or even networking events. It's so much easier to just bring a bottle to a friend's place and wobble drunkenly to their terrifyingly trendy Spotify playlist, and that's what Caroline feels like when she's at some shindig her wealthy-by-marriage colleague invited her to. There's too many people, and so little desire to truly connect.
The only upsides to the whole thing are the free booze, the ridiculously large mansion that houses the bottles, and Klaus, whom she's brought along to share her misery with.
"We should go exploring," he suggests, eyeing the staircases that lead to the other levels of the house. "Far more engaging than smiling at things that don't smile back."
"They're my colleagues," she whispers harshly, but doesn't fight it when he takes her hand and pulls her to uncharted territory. They end up in a large room with nothing but a narrow, cluttered walk-in wardrobe, and sliding glass panels that cordon off a rather small balcony overlooking the pool. Doesn't look like anyone's really using the space for anything.
Caroline peers over the railing and see the heads of all the other guests down below, clusters of them gathered by the water. "Do you like swimming?" she asks, her hair shifting with the breeze.
"No," the reply caresses the back of her ear, and her eyes widen because he doesn't give one fig about small talk and has no intention of keeping it up. She knows that voice. It's a long, low note of I would like to touch you here and now that runs down her body, like the wandering hand searching for warmth, for heat.
Her instinct is to bat it away, don't do it, this isn't the right place for this. Anyone who decides to take a look at how blue the sky is today will catch sight of their indiscretion, but his reckless demand of her is an ego-stroke too good to ignore, so she lets his curious fingers lift the back of her skirt up and smooth over her ass like it's no big deal.
Her heartbeat says it is.
He's thick against her, and he's impatient - until Klaus suddenly grabs and whisks her away into the wardrobe with his hand clapped over her mouth, pulling the slatted door shut. There's a clatter of hangers from the knock of their arms, but Caroline catches them quickly to stop their commotion.
Nostalgic. Except that he wasn't sporting a hardon, and they weren't trapped in someone else's giant closet.
It sounds like the weight of stacked heels thudding about on other side of the door.
Shh. Caroline tenses up, turning her head to try and look up at him, but he squeezes her tight to keep her still.
They hear more movement - a creak followed by a heavier thump.
She wiggles her chin out of his palm to whisper. "We should leave." In fact, they should be fleeing fast as they can, no compulsion needed. Just kick the door open and speed home so she can cringe about this over dinner a decade later.
Klaus shifts behind her to check - he's still hard (harder?), and she doesn't exactly know how to respond to it. "We should stay put."
To punctuate his point, his hand drifts from her waist down to where her skirt has ridden up. Of course, having someone else in the other room isn't going to stop Klaus, so she clamps her thighs shut for good measure, paranoia of the tuneless humming closing in on them fueling her willpower to maintain what little decency they have left in this house-
"Fine," he submits, releasing her. They straighten up, and she takes a second to marvel just how large the walk-in really is; they fit an ottoman in the middle of it and there's still room to strut around.
It's one second to long to be caught off guard.
He moves them all the way in, careful not to smack the her back of her head against the wall. He's so quick that she already feels his mouth on her neck, pressed to her thundering pulse as one hand rests in the small of her back and the other palm nestles between her legs.
Thanks, body, for fucking giving her away.
"Klaus," she warns in a whisper. She can't decide which option is better; being pissed off by his stubbornness, or pressing his head down. (Because when he pulls back, his mouth is that dark plum, and all she can think about is how good it feels when he uses it to get her off.) "This is a bad idea."
"Really?" he pulls back and tips his head, searching her face. "Is it?"
The scrap of her panties shift and god - he touches her, outer to inner fold, featherlight, gentle, and she's so wet that when his finger finally moves into her there's no resistance. She bites down on her lower lip so she doesn't make a sound, but that's a bad idea because her pleasure has nowhere to go except everywhere else.
She's soaked, and she hates him because now, she wants to chase it.
"Yes," Caroline hisses, sliding her hands up his chest. "It is." There's going to be murder later. Later.
Klaus drags his finger out and presses two back in, and it hits her in a place that makes her ache so hard that she stops talking altogether.
Alright, she gives up, whatever. Caroline sucks his bottom lip into her mouth and arches into him, to which he responds with a low rumble in his throat and the audible rip of her underwear.
She doesn't even flinch. Instead, her little suppressed moans of desire drives him even wilder; he grazes his thumb over the slick nerve-rich flesh of her clit mercilessly until his palm is streaked with her heat.
Her hybrid breathes heavily into the hollow of her collarbone, drunk off her pleasure, fingers curling. There will be murder, but there will most definitely be sex first.
"Come quietly, sweetheart," he whispers, and she frowns, part annoyed and incredulous at his teasing grin as he swirls and swirls her into completion, until she's gritting her teeth and her thighs are shaking. Caroline can't let it out vocally, so she bites down on his shoulder and pants through it, her hands gripping the lapels of his blazer so hard that she still feels her nails in her palm.
The grind of his erection against her hip draws the groan from him.
"Is someone there?"
Chest heaving, Caroline lifts her head, still drowning in endorphins. Her body feels weighted, but her head feels light. "Damn it."
Klaus pecks her on the cheek and withdraws. It's odd that he looks happy when she's yet to touch him. (There will be plenty of touching later too. Right before the fucking. And then the murder.)
The hem of her skirt falls back down just as the door swings open. Caroline looks around for her discarded undergarment, while Klaus takes wide strides to greet the woman who's caught them.
"Caroline," she mutters, startled. Looks at Klaus, then back at her. Wrinkles her nose at the draft that enters the space, carrying the scent of sex with it. "Oh."
"Yeah, hi," the vampire replies, picking up the torn fabric. She tucks it into her bra, and twists to wave at her colleague sheepishly, her flush another dead giveaway on what transpired. "Uh, yeah."
Her partner faces the intruder eye-to-eye, the spheres of his pupils adjusting rapidly. Damage control. "We were never here," he says with an amiable smile. "And recommend Caroline for a promotion."
"Klaus!"
He sucks the ends of his fingers clean, straightens his blazer, and holds an arm out for Caroline, who slowly accepts the crook of it.
"Sorry!" she blurts out uneasily. "See you Monday!"
It's fairly easy to slink out of the house after that. When the car doors slam, Caroline takes off her shoes and throws them in the back seat. "I'm going to kill you," she squeezes the steering wheel, already dying from embarrassment.
Klaus straps his seat belt on. "I'll make it up to you. Many times over," he promises.