Elena dances her fingers across the water's surface. The balmy temperature works out the remaining kinks and knots in her body and mind. As much as she loves fighting, it certainly takes a physical and mental toll. She loves unwinding in Damon's tub. The white depths wrap her in comfort and remind her of his embrace. She strokes her inner thighs in debate. Should she really be doing this in an open concept room, where anybody could walk in on her? Yes, says her need.
Elena's cautious ears pick up bits and pieces of Bonnie's phone conversation with Jeremy and Caroline's cackling to "The Real Housewives of Something or Other." Vicki is having an afternoon nap on Damon's bed. Elena has a good 15 minutes to herself. She leans back in relief and imagines being wrapped up in him again. He trails kisses along her collarbone - kisses of uniform pressure and moistness that are equidistant from each other. She rolls her eyes; he is obviously still in control of himself. She wants the Vampire to come out. She slides her backside against his front. His breath hitches in his throat and his lungs labour for oxygen. She grasps between her thighs and pulls his hard shaft between them. That earns her a strangled moan. She slithers her slick folds up and down his shaft, but does not allow him to penetrate her. That earns her a white-knuckled grip on her hips. She aligns her swelling nub and his seeping head. That earns her a feral growl ...
"You're doing what?" Caroline gasps, wiggling her eyebrows.
Elena lobs her loofah at Caroline's head. How dare Caroline interrupt the ahh-mazing climax in the midst of happening? Caroline ducks, snorts, and turns to let Elena get decent.
The girls convene in the master kitchen for a late lunch. Elena opens the fridge and beams at the neatly stacked containers. Damon has prepared three days worth of meals for her and the girls. Up next, handmade gnocchi in Fontina sauce. Caroline and Bonnie steal peeks from behind her shoulders and salivate in unison.
Caroline brings another forkful to her nose and inhales. Fontina, Parmesan, Butter, and Cream are a girl's best friend. She swirls the mixture in her mouth. This man is utter perfection. If she were the relationship type, she would have sunk her teeth into his fine ass years ago.
Stefan, on his way to the library, stops by the kitchen at the smell of Damon's cooking. He plates himself a generous serving or five while enduring three death glares. What? He has SATs to study for and only Damon's food can fuel him through. Damon's MY brother, you bitches! Vicki cocks her head, as if scolding Stefan for his internal language.
Stefan once-overs Elena while she is rinsing off her plate. She is smoking hot, with her eternal olive legs and fully plump breasts and ass. And one would be remiss not to mention her perfectly proportioned face framed by wavy brunette hair. But once he reaches her midriff, left uncovered by her sports bra, he mentally smacks himself. Her washboard abs are scary as fuck, and by definition, so is she. He cannot imagine how any normal non-fighter could date her. He likes his girls more submissive and easier to control, thankyouverymuch.
The awful sound of scrapes and nails on a chalkboard causes the boarding house to empty. Rebekah is on the driveway, scratching her version of art on the side of Elena's SUV. "Butch Dyke."
Wow. OK. Breathe. Elena knows she could simply snap Rebekah's pretty little neck in one second but decides against it in a driveway full of witnesses. Rebekah decides that Elena's mature (or lack of) response is offensive and adds verbal insult to injury.
"Fucking get over yourself, Elena. It's not all about you, you cunt," Rebekah spits, jealous that Elena has the love of both Damon and Elijah.
Elena has no response: no words, no actions, no twitch in a single muscle. She does not know if she is being mature or in shock. Rebekah assumes the former, which boils her blood in a vat of battery acid. So, she has everything now?! Absolutely everything?! She's smart, sexy, accomplished, AND mature?! What the bloody fuck?! Rebekah stomps off, punctuating every step with an angry heeled accent.
For a few minutes, everyone just gawks at Elena wide-eyed. Nobody knows what to do or how to do it. Does she need or want comfort? Does she need or want to set her SUV on fire? Elena, after a few more minutes of nothingness, feels her pockets for her cell. Her now shaky hands fumble with the speed dial awhile before she is able to call the number one contact. "I hate not being near you," she says into the speaker.
Author's Note: Thank you for the feedback, follows, and favourites. Special thanks to vamomoftwins, MRF1098, AKWilson21, and Marlou.