A/N: HOLY CRAP YOU GUYS! I CANNOT BELIEVE THE RESPONSE TO THE FIRST CHAPTER! I AM JUST...SPEECHLESS.

All my love to my wonderful, fabulous beta, Trogdor19, who is the wind beneath my wings and the master of sending sexy spam, even though she's thousands of miles away so I can't make her beans. *sniffle*

Chapter 2: Hookah Up

"A'ight, I'm out," I say and turn off my computer monitor, logging out of my phone. Eight P.M. on the dot and not a moment too soon. What a long fucking day. Hate Mondays. Hate.

"Sure you don't want to reconsider?" Ric asks, shutting down his computer and winding up his headset cord, and I swivel my chair to face him. "Decent whiskey, Jenna's cooking…" he says and holds out his left hand palm up, then does the same with his right. "Overpriced beer and roulette with a possible stalker carrying an STD."

I chuckle and shake my head. "More like a hot date with my gym bag. She's so sexy," I purr and Ric snorts. "I may hit you up later though. Man's gotta eat. Well, food, I mean…"

"And on that note," Ric says quickly, his eyes flaring a warning. He stands and leans forward, his voice soft when he whispers, "'Night, Elena," to one Miss Gilbert, currently ending a super kickass day by being stuck on a call that sounds like it's nowhere near being finished.

"Uh-huh, no…absolutely," she says into her headset and then mutes her phone. "'Night, Ric," she smiles at him then unmutes. "That must have been terrible, I'm so sorry…"

I give him a two finger salute in a sendoff when he starts heading down the aisle toward the parking lot, and I turn my cell phone on, relaxing back in my chair. No texts so far, so I'm free to hit the gym once I leave. Which I could definitely use.

That storm in Boston hit us hard, and I barely had time to think today. Not to mention the majority of calls were just bad. Lot of roll overs, lot of pile ups. Everything was an emergency, everyone needed to be called back right away. Tow trucks couldn't get to people because of the ice on the roads that still hadn't been plowed, rental car agencies were closed and if they were open, they were out of cars. A lot of people cold and scared and stranded and it was one giant fucking mess that I just waded through for ten hours. And some days it feels like I can help someone, but today I don't feel like I accomplished anything, except surviving it.

A boxing bag and some free weights sound pretty fucking good right about now.

"Really? Well, where did the fifth car…my goodness…" Elena says and I shake my head.

I squint and check her screen, and she's got two cars that are documented, and three to go. Awesome. She's not leaving anytime in the next half hour. I check around and the building is still bright, but the majority of people have already cleared out. The third shift is trickling in, but we're talking one person for every thirty desks.

"Uh-huh, so how many people were in that fourth car? Sorry, van… Six? Really, all of them were hurt?" Elena mutes her phone and glances at me. "I am never getting out of here."

I give her half a smile and go back to scrolling through my cell phone. Looking at nothing.

"Okay, so in the fifth car…another van? Okay, how many…five? Adults or…all minors except for the driver?"

I chuckle, though there's nothing funny about it. She's going to have to document not only every kid, but also the parent of each. Those four kids just became eight different names and addresses, plus three phone numbers per person. She may as well plan on sleeping here.

I put my phone in my pocket and blow out a breath, nodding at the janitor coming down the aisle to empty the trashcans.

"'Sup, Stefan," I mumble and he tilts his head toward Elena.

"Late night?"

"Yep. We'll be out of your hair in a few minutes."

The corners of his eyes narrow and I don't give a fuck. Don't get me wrong, I feel for him because he's prematurely balding and is obviously having issues coming to terms with it, because the little hair he has is overly gelled and teased into the most ridiculous bouffant ever to step foot into the United States. But he always looks at Elena like she's on his menu and something about the guy just doesn't sit right with me.

"No worries, take your time," he grins in a sleezy recovery and I barely resist narrowing my eyes at him.

Fucking creep. I hand him my trashcan and he empties it and changes the bag, and while I'm setting it back under my desk I see him turn and bend down, more than he has to, so he can grab the one under Elena's.

Right beside her bare legs.

I launch to my feet, getting between them before he can even come close to her, and she hands me her trashcan without missing a beat on her call. I shove it at his chest, and he gathers the bag and replaces it with a fresh one, looking at me like we're best buddies and have been forever. Like he has no clue why I'm about two seconds from putting my job in jeopardy and beating the shit out of him for trying that.

"Have a good night, Damon," he nods at me and continues down the row. My glare follows him until I feel a light shove on my back and I turn, Elena shooing me away with her hand.

"Okay, how many witnesses gave statements?" she asks and when I step back out of her personal space, she reaches down into her bottom drawer and takes a can of mace out of her purse, wiggling it at me with a smile and nodding toward Stefan. "Okay, you mentioned before about a telephone pole?"

I grab for the can of mace and she barely resists laughing, snatching it out of my reach and turning away to hide it from me. I spin her chair back around and scrabble for the can, and she mutes her phone. "Go, I'm fine," she giggles. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Suit yourself," I tell her and shrug, unmuting her phone. "Goodnight, Elena," I say loudly and her eyes widen as she shoves at me.

"No, sorry about that. Please, you're fine, we're in no hurry. Uh-huh, no it's okay, I promise…" she says sweetly, trying to appease the caller and I bow dramatically before heading down the aisle towards the parking lot, swinging my keys around my finger.

I don't know why I was sticking around to begin with. The building is secure, the parking lot is gated and under surveillance, and the security guards are patrolling. She's a big girl and she's fine.

I get in my car and start it, stress bleeding out of my shoulders at the sound of the engine. The rest of me is still impatient for a run-in with a 4'2 cylindrical body, a crude taunt behind his quiet tongue and a solid 100 pounds poured into the ability to take one helluva hit. Me and the Everlast punching bag at my gym have a long lasting friendship. One that I'm more than happy to put the work into to keep us besties.

Sitting at a desk all week doesn't exactly carve you out of stone, but a few sessions of going balls to the wall with fists swinging, maybe even some light kick boxing, that'll keep the Photoshop needs at bay. Plus, I have too much damn energy anyways. It may even have something to do with why my sex drive is yes and now and always, thank you. If I was born five years later I probably would have gotten swept up in the Ritalin and Adderall craze but since I wasn't, I was just known as a kid with too much spark and not enough space.

I ran track in high school, but I hate running. It's boring. Football is fun to watch, but I never played it because I decided to pass on having five concussions in fewer weeks in favor of being able to spell my name without forgetting it halfway through. I'm good at baseball, but nine innings was three too long for me to stand around and do nothing while people scratched their balls.

Boxing, I do. Weights, I do. The only other sport I even bother with is golf, which would make no sense, except that I've been doing it forever and it's the one place where I can slow myself down.

It takes concentration and focus and you have to know yourself, your body, to hit the ball squarely and also figure out why the fuck you have a glitch in your swing and won't stop slicing. My mind still runs at full steam ahead, but when my backswing starts it's honed in on the specific tilt of my shoulders and pulling my weight up through one leg and pushing down in another, locking my left arm straight while bending my right elbow, calculating the exact moment for when my wrists hitch and then I hit the apex and everything pauses, for one little heartbeat, before my weight swings through my hips and my left arm leads my body to unwind and power flows in an arc like the drawn string of a bow and then it just explodes as it strikes that white ball.

And instead of a dozen tiny little decisions that add up to one shot, the only thing I can think or see is the ball as it flies away from me, my arms unconsciously letting the club finish its circled follow-through and for one glorious moment, I can breathe quietly.

But golf is expensive, and it doesn't keep you in shape unless you walk the course and fuck that. They invented golf carts for a reason. Probably because they are really, really fun to wreck.

I didn't say that.

I pull up and stop in front of the gym, grabbing my gym bag from the back seat. It's a quick change inside the locker room to get out of my jeans and black button down and into my most comfortable basketball shorts, taping my hands up and putting on my boxing gloves because I can't afford to risk breaking a finger when I have to type for work. I knock my fists together and my body hums, muscles coiled and ready for a fight that I know I'm going to win.

I stroll into the workout room, heading to the corner where my partner is hanging and practically flipping me the bird.

"'Sup, buddy," I smile at the punching bag, taking my stance with my stomach tightened and hands raised protectively in front of my face.

I take a deep breath, and I swing.

Fuck, I needed that.

An hour and fifteen minutes of jabs and kicks and throwing every ounce of strength I have into an opponent that's always ready for more. I'm exhausted and exhilarated, adrenaline pumping and still relishing the burn of a good workout. I ditched the idea of switching to free weights because it felt too liberating to punch and strike with no restraint, but I finally called it when I was covered with sweat and breathing hard, the claims I took today finally gone from my memory.

Showered and changed, and back in the car. Now, I just have the rest of the night to fill.

Time to get this party started.

"What's for dinner?" I ask Ric when he answers my call, pulling out into traffic and holding the phone between my ear and my shoulder so I can shift gears.

"What?" he asks. "I can't hear you over that dumbass engine."

"Fuck you," I chuckle, then speed up to go around some grandma in a station wagon, the growl of the V8 loud enough that I risk saying, "By the way, Jenna's ass looked amazing in those yoga pants she was wearing the other night."

"Just a chance I'm amazing…suppose Yogi plants…something about Sprite. Are you drunk dialing me?" he says confused, and I snort. "Because I am not a booty call, dick."

I slow down for a red light and the engine idles when I stop, a low spaced sputter that rumbles and rattles like she's begging to be set free.

"What's…for…dinner," I say clearly.

"For you? Probably Taco Bell and chlamydia."

"Aww, does someone have his panties in a wad because his wittle feewings got hurt?" I pout. "Come on, baby, you know you're the only girl for me."

"Why am I even friends with you?" he says and I hear Jenna saying something in the background about how "Goose" needs to get off the phone, otherwise he is going to be in a world of pain if the food gets cold. "C'mere," he growls playfully at her, and then she squeaks like he slapped her ass or something.

Her voice is suddenly high pitched and giggly when she calls out, "Great balls of fire!"

"Does that make me Maverick?" I taunt. "You always were a whiny little sidekick."

"Goose was the fucking master and he's everyone's favorite, so shut up. And if you're not here in ten minutes I'm throwing your food away. And you better be nice to Jenna or you're going to know what that punching bag you love so much feels like."

I scoff and roll my eyes at the red light that is eating up my life, and my dinner, and my gas, and my gaze drifts distractedly until it snags on something that can't be right.

I squint my eyes and oh yeah, that's definitely her.

"What the fuck is she doing?" I laugh and Ric sighs.

"I just got bumped for a skirt, didn't I?"

"Possibly," I mumble and watch as Elena leans against her parked car, taking off her one-inch heels and trading them for a pair of flip flops.

"She better be hot," Ric says and I watch amused as she goes inside a hookah bar. Of all the fucking places.

"Aren't they always?" I say and hang up the phone.

I glance around and I don't see any cops, so I make a turn that breaks about four laws and pisses off at least three people but I don't care. I pull into the parking lot and I don't even know why I'm doing this, but I'm young and dumb and fuck it, this is a blaring sign that says "A shit-ton of ammo for whenever she gets into her high and mighty moods."

I never did find out why Elena went all Brian's Song on me this morning, because after I ratcheted up her anxiety attack from a six to a twelve with my candy/cancer joke, I bailed back to my desk. You know, like a considerate person does. She came back about five minutes later, and the rest of the day was too damn busy to say anything else about it and besides, after she got back she pulled it together so I didn't see the point in bringing it up again.

Especially not when she got three fatalities before lunch. Three. That shit just does not happen that close together. She needs to be secured in like a bunker or something because someone has it out for this girl today.

I head inside the hookah bar and it's everything I expected and nowhere I want to be seen. Earthy-crunchy, wheatgrass guzzling, unwashed beatniks stretched out on couches with threadbare embroidered pillows and a bunch of dreadlocks crowding around tables, each with a hookah setup. The light is low but peppered with the glow of burning tobacco, hinting at the smoke that is hovering and seeping into every single pore it can find.

I narrow my eyes at the walking tofu advertisement that's standing on the stage, hands clasped around the microphone and her eyes closed as she whispers in a random rhythm that is supposed to go along with the guy spastically hitting a bongo behind her, saying something about how the birth of trees are like the eggs falling from her ovaries and how her period is mother earth and I wanna gag.

I need to get the fuck out of here. I cannot afford therapy on my salary.

Everyone starts snapping their fingers and I think I'm having some sort of testosterone emergency broadcast because my shoulder twitches and my left eye kinda spasms and Jesus, this place is already eating my balls like they're made out of soy or snap peas or something equally feminine and just plain cruel. But my ability to leave is forfeited when I see the reason I subjected myself to this in the first place.

The Sugar Plum Fairy is sitting on a couch in the corner, her legs crossed under her knee-length pencil skirt and showing me the back of her lavender blouse as she digs in her purse, saying something to the waitress hovering over her. I sneak over while her back is still to me, sitting on the sofa beside her extremely carefully so she doesn't notice.

"So, the decaf mocha latte to drink and the Blackberry Martini for the hookah?" the waitress confirms.

"Yes, please," Elena tells her and I rest my elbow on the back of the couch, pressing my fist to my mouth as she continues trying to uncover the Fountain of Youth at the bottom of her purse. "I just can't…find…my…" she mumbles and the waitress turns to me. I smile at her and she shifts her weight, swallowing.

"Anything for you, sir?" she asks me and Elena whips around with a shriek.

"Not for now, thanks," I tell the waitress with a wink and she blushes before walking away.

"She didn't take my card…" Elena mutters, staring after the waitress, and then she suddenly remembers that I'm here, pivoting towards me with a glare. "Thanks a lot, by the way, you scared the bejeesus out of me."

"Oh, no! What are you ever going to do without your bejeesus?"

She huffs a laugh and well, what do you know…

"What are you even doing here, Damon? Stalking me? That seems a little desperate, even for you."

I roll my eyes, then gesture to the rest of the place. "So this is where you spend your time when you're not at Bible study? Very…" She cocks an eyebrow at me and crosses her arms, waiting for me to finish. "Hippie."

She scoffs. "I don't recall inviting you to my 'hippie' hangout, so feel free to go unfairly judge others somewhere else. Besides, don't you have some pressing one night stands to get to?"

"Soon," I smirk and she shifts a little, re-crossing her legs. Huh. "Come here a lot?" I ask curiously and she shrugs.

"They do open mic on Mondays."

"You mean, you knew this was going to happen, and you purposefully subjected yourself to it?" I say and indicate to the genius on the stage making William Blake turn over in his grave.

She laughs softly and I can't help but grin. "It's not all bad," she tells me. "Sometimes it can be nice listening to other people talk after doing it all day."

"Uh-huh." All we do is spend our time listening to other people speak random nonsense. I don't know what the fuck she's talking about.

"Really. The words kinda blend into the smoke, and it all gets a little fuzzy around the edges. It's peaceful." She shrugs.

"Hippie," I say smugly and she rolls her eyes at me with a smile.

The waitress chooses that moment to reappear and hands Elena her oversized coffee cup, then begins the process of filling and lighting her hookah.

"Thank you," Elena smiles at her and I arch an eyebrow. Never in a million years would I have expected this from her. Knitting? Yes. Gardening? Definitely. Smoking? Not even in the same building as the list of acceptable hobbies.

"What?" Elena asks when she spies me watching her get all set up, and I shake my head.

"Nothing."

She rolls her eyes at me and takes a hit, and fuck me running if the little angel doesn't blow out a few smoke rings that would make Willie Nelson proud.

I wonder if she has a little tattoo hidden somewhere under those librarian's clothes…

I clear my throat and wash the thought from my mind because it's Elena, and the last thing I need to do is something really, really stupid.

"May I?" I ask and gesture to the hookah, and she bites her lip.

"Sure."

I take a hit at the same time she does, and this time when she blows out a smoke ring, I lean over in front of her and blow a slightly smaller one so it slips smoothly inside of hers as they float away from us.

I lean back away from her, dropping my gaze down to her lips for a second too long before meeting her eyes, my voice husky and rough when I tell her, "Perfect fit."

She sucks in a breath and coughs, and I risk a laugh when she smacks me on the shoulder.

"Don't do that," she admonishes and I shrug as if I don't know what she's talking about.

She decides to begin ignoring me in favor of drinking her coffee, and I relax into the cushions. And I'm facing the stage, but really I'm watching Elena out of the corner of my eye while she becomes increasingly invested in the girl that's performing.

So much so that she startles a little when I lean over and whisper, "What is she even talking about?"

"Maybe if you would listen, it would make more sense," she whispers back. "Who knows, Damon? A miracle could happen and you could actually learn something that doesn't revolve around sex."

"What makes you think I want to?" I test. "And is that your acknowledgement that I'm already holding a doctorate on the subject?"

"I'm not talking about this with you. It's…inappropriate," she says and I grin.

"So exactly what is appropriate?"

Elena rolls her eyes and I'm seriously playing with some hot fucking fire, but this is too much fun.

"You know, one of these days your wee-wee is gonna fall off if you keep abusing it."

"Ain't nothing 'wee' about it, Elena," I say smoothly, my tongue caressing her name too intimately for anything that occurs while clothes are still being worn.

"God, help me. What did I do to deserve this?" she mumbles and I chuckle.

I shift back, giving her some space so hopefully she won't mace me, but when everyone starts snapping, Elena included, I snicker.

"You're welcome to go at any time, you know," Elena scowls at me and I clear my throat. "And how did you even find me here?"

I sigh. "I saw you coming in while I was driving by, I wasn't following you, I swear. And…" My brow furrows and I shift in my seat. "Look, I'm not trying to be rude, it's just that…" I trail off and look away, and it takes her a minute to pick up the conversation where I stopped.

"Just what?" she asks, her voice dropping to that place it goes when she's concerned, the one that I know so well because I hear it fifty times a day when she's talking to a customer.

I blow out a breath and scrub a hand through my hair, and when I look back at Elena, her head is tilted worriedly.

I shrug. "I don't know how to snap," I tell her and she bursts out laughing. I glare at her and barely shake my head with an incredulous huff. "'Bye, Elena," I say harshly and act like I'm going to leave, stopping when her hand shoots out to land on my arm.

"You're serious?" she asks, the distinct shadow of pity lighting up her features.

I settle back into the couch and repeatedly slide the pad of my thumb over my other fingertips to demonstrate, and she blushes. "In three years, have you ever heard me snap? I didn't think so. But," I drawl, "I can whistle. Master whistler."

"I bet you are," she says and faces me. "Okay, it's easy."

"Thanks," I say sarcastically and she rolls her eyes at me.

"Just pinch your thumb and middle fingers together, like this," she tells me and holds up her hands between us like an example. I do as she wants, and she smiles coyly. Not a bad look on her. "Good. Now, you just…snap," she says and flicks her fingers.

I furrow my brow and do the same, but no sound comes out.

"Yeah, fuck that," I mumble and she pouts at me, quite adorably.

"Come on, this is silly," she says and picks up my hands again. I arch an eyebrow at how soft her dainty little hands are, and keep my jaw locked as she arranges my thumb and middle fingers like she had hers, finishing with a proud, "There." I nod once and she laughs softly. "So, on the count of three we're going to push really hard until the fingers have to go in separate directions, and I'll help."

I bite my cheeks against a grin. Who says I'm not brilliant?

She practically has her whole hand wrapped around my preparing-to-snap fingers, squeezing them tightly together.

"One, two…three!" she says with an excited smile, and when I flick my fingers she somehow manages to fall forward at the effort she used to "help." She panics with a squeak and I chuckle as she steadies herself with a hand on my shoulder, blushing spectacularly and snatching her hand off my shirt when she realizes it's there.

Her eyes are huge and embarrassed when I dart mine to my shoulder and then back at her, finding her completely focused on the growing curve of my mouth.

She delicately clears her throat and turns away, picking up her coffee.

"Yeah," she says after a sip, her voice still a little raspy, "I think you're better off just whistling."

"Too bad," I comment. "Think I was getting the hang of it there for a minute."

She re-crosses her legs and shifts a little further away from me.

Yeah, that's what I thought.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and it's probably Ric telling me what an asshole I am for blowing him off, but when I pull it out to check, it's a text from the lovely and rambunctious Caroline. Blond and bubbly, non-clingy and pings me for a sexual pick-me-up about once every three weeks. She's a blast in bed, and because her thin concept of commitment applies to her shoe purchases and nothing else, she is one of the few that has my number and we now have a semi-regular, high-stamina-required understanding.

I discreetly text her back that I'll be there in about fifteen minutes.

Tonight is definitely looking up for a Monday.

"You get your booty call?" Elena says and my head jerks up. She has her long legs crossed and looks fairly amused, like she can't believe it took me this long to bail on her.

"Actually, it's my grandfather."

"Uh-huh. Your grandfather is texting you at 10:30 at night?" she asks with a smirk and I cross my arms.

"Yeah, he wants to know if I'll come watch Jeopardy with him."

"Okay," she says lightly. "Can I see your phone?"

"I'm sorry, can you what?"

She holds her hand out and I scoff.

"Yeah, I don't think so, sweetheart."

"First, don't call me that. Second, told ya," she winks. "And third, have fun and don't forget to wear protection," she sing-songs and goes to take another hit off the hookah, sending a raw laugh bursting out of me.

Who is this girl? Because she sure as shit isn't the perfect little princess at work that glares at me every time I use the grown up version of the word 'shoot' around her.

I wonder how much more fun she'd be if I could get something stronger than coffee in her cup.

"You gonna go or what?" she taunts. "Because I'm telling you right now, you're not getting any here…" she says and leans back, propping her head in her hand with her elbow on the back of the couch.

That almost sounds like a challenge, and damn, do I want to take it.

I let my gaze sweep over her body, over the purple paint on her toenails and her lazily swinging foot, the smooth skin of her long legs and the hem of her gray pencil skirt barely touching her knees. But it stops at the security badge that's hanging from her neck, resting against her lavender silk shirt. The same exact badge that's in my pocket.

Yeah, that's a problem.

Because if I make my move now, I'm basically signing myself up for endless hours of her accusing glares. After three years, I know with perfect certainty that she's not the kind of chick I can get away with screwing and then have it still be casual at work, despite the fact that I'm not calling her or bringing her flowers. She's all or nothing, and I don't do "all."

I declare defeat and stand, dropping some cash on the table. I turn to tell her goodbye, and she's thrusting the money at me.

"Take your money because I don't want you thinking this was a date," she says seriously and my eyes widen, a little offended.

"Fine."

I take the money from her and lean down to steal one more hit off her hookah, just to see if I can rile her up a little more. Girl needs a little color in her cheeks. She cocks an eyebrow as I blow the smoke out far more seductively than I damn well know I should, but fuck it. Tonight's already been weird anyways.

I step backwards towards the door and jerk my chin at her. "See you later, Elena," I smile.

I turn and continue walking away, and I'm almost to the exit when the rest of the bar begins snapping again. I pivot to face her, snapping my fingers expertly, and the last thing I see is her blushing through a shocked gasp before I'm out the door.

I get in my car and rev the engine a little louder than normal, just because I know she can hear it inside.

Methinks someone is going to have some trouble going to sleep tonight when she's snuggled up with her teddy bear.

I scoff and shake my head at myself when I realize what I'm thinking. I need to get my head back in the right damn game, which is a 5'7 blond that is waiting to jump me as soon as I step on her doormat. And that girl knows how to take care of a man.

I redirect my focus to the curves that I know are waiting for me, and by the time I'm pulling up outside Caroline's apartment I'm ready to go.

I take the stairs two at a time, and she only makes me wait three seconds after I knock.

I jerk my chin at her and she smiles, then her face scrunches up. "Wow, you really smell like smoke."

Fuck.

"Yeah, sorry," I tell her and lean against the doorway. "Was hanging with a buddy at a hookah lounge." I pick at the front of my shirt and smell it, visibly shuddering, and she giggles. "Probably could use a shower, huh?"

"Um, yeah," she says and I hook a finger into the belt loop of her jeans, pulling her into me.

"Could use a little company while I'm in there…" I say huskily and she arches her back slightly, shaking out her hair before she tilts her head as though she's considering it while I slide my knee between hers.

"That could be arranged," she whispers and I bend to her neck, drawing my lips across her skin until she shivers.

"Where's your roommate?"

"Out…won't be home for at least an hour…"

I smirk and shift so my lips are hovering over hers. "I can work with that."

"We'll see," she taunts and I kiss her hungrily, backing her into the apartment and kicking the door closed behind us. Her neighbors are already about to get one hell of an auditory show, they don't need the visual to match.

Caroline's hands are already halfway done with unbuttoning my shirt by the time the door latches, but she's forced to stop when I tug her pink camisole up and off. I toss it somewhere far, far away from her perky and delightfully bare breasts, and since we're on a time limit I reach behind my head and pull my own shirt off so it can join hers on the floor.

Step One: Complete.

I pull her closer so her breasts are securely against my chest, my tongue owning hers and my fingers already undoing the zipper on her jeans as we continue stumbling towards her bedroom. I don't even know why she's wearing pants, girl knows better than that.

Whatever, I've still got the denim stripped down off her fair skin in less time that it takes her to put them on, followed with the never failing panty-dampener of boosting her up so her legs are wrapped around my waist. Her hands tangle in my hair as she kisses me deeper, moaning when I squeeze her ass and lean her against the closest wall I can find so I can press my erection more firmly against her.

Yeah, screw the bedroom and the shower, I'll going to fuck her right here first.

"Condom," she pants like I don't know that, and I nip at her neck while reaching into my back pocket, my hips pinning her to the wall for me.

I chuckle when she snatches the condom out of my hands as soon as she sees it, and no shit, she actually rips it open with her teeth. And you can bet I don't say a damn word about it, just reaching down to unhook my jeans, my cock shoving my zipper open for me.

"Gimme that," I grin and take the condom back, kissing her again while I tease her clit through her panties to make sure she's as wet as possible.

I slip a finger inside her to check and oh yeah, she's ready to go.

She moans and I give her another finger to stretch her slightly, stroking greedily as she trembles and her head falls back against the wall. Alright. I didn't exactly plan on this but screw it; I'm certainly not going to complain about her enjoying herself, and I begin rubbing her clit with my thumb while her legs quiver around me.

I'm just opening my mouth to say something to bring her approaching orgasm screaming into reality, because Caroline always loses her shit when I talk dirty to her, but instead of hearing my own voice I hear a very, very different one.

"Care, whose car is that outsi— Damon?!" Elena screeches and my muscles lock, my head whipping towards her voice and I don't even remember hearing the door open…

Doesn't matter, dumbass. Bigger fucking problems.

Like, holy shit.

Elena is really standing in the doorway, all the color draining from her face as she takes in the sight of me pinning her friend against the wall, one of my hands conspicuously between me and Caroline because Jesus Christ I'm still inside of her and Elena's gaze is traveling down my shirtless body and over the trail of abandoned clothes and fuck, this is not good.

So not good.

A/N: Whew! Somebody's in trouble... Te he he. And if anyone is curious, the whole Stefan appearance? Totally my husband's idea. Down to the balding hair. Love my husband, he's a damn genius. With power tools. And a scruffy permanent 5 o'clock shadow. Yum.

Hope to see you guys next chapter, and can't wait to hear what you think!

-Goldnox