AN: Thank you sooooo so much for your reviews to the last chapter guys. Really it feels amazing to know that those words I string together are being read and appreciated. I just love how interested and engaged in the story you are.

So here you have another chapter my lovely readers.

Sincerely,

Mydarkside975

Chapter 22: Katherine Pierce

Damon

Three years ago

She was finished filming and he had quit the company. The paparazzi were as relentless as ever in their quest to get the next good picture and he wanted her for himself away from everyone else. He convinced her to leave the city with him.

Quitting the company and getting cut off by his father did not have the kind of impact Giuseppe wanted because he still had plenty of money left from his mother's inheritance. He also had his mother's mansion in the Hamptons and that was where they chose to go.

They left for the mansion and stayed there right under everyone's noses but they never went outside. They turned it into a love nest and spent their days and nights in each other's arms. A month and a half went by like a dream. The only person who knew where they were was Stefan and they paid people to keep the house and bring them everything they needed but they never stepped outside the grounds of the mansion themselves.

Life was simple there on a lounge chair by the pool with her draped along his side with nothing on but her sunglasses, her walnut curls spread across his chest and his neat bourbon in his hand.

After the fight with Giuseppe, he had gotten her a ring and every day he contemplated giving it to her but every night he got distracted by her. She always demanded his attention and he gave it to her gladly.

Then the fights started and everything changed. They yelled at each other about everything and nothing most of it too stupid to even remember. He guessed she missed her work and felt stuck in that house with him all the time never getting further away than the backyard. She turned it against him and they started hurting each other, spewing poisoned words at each other. They never went to bed mad though. They always ended up regretting their words and went crawling back into each other's arms.

But it got worse; they hurt each other not just with words but also physically…

She started provoking him on purpose to get a reaction out of him. The first couple of times he managed to walk away.

One day she accused him of cheating on her, which was ridiculous because he never left the house but she would not back down. One word led to another… he said something… she slapped him… then she tried to do it again but he caught her hand midair so she kicked him instead and when he let go of her, she started slamming her fists everywhere she could reach. He pushed her away from him but it was harder than he had intended. She fell and hit her head on the coffee table. He took her to the hospital and miraculously managed to keep it out of the news. She had a concussion…

… She was pregnant.

Eight weeks.

She knew and she did not tell him. All this time she had tried to make him hurt her and she succeeded; he did hurt her. She was carrying his child. She wanted him to kill him and he almost did.

Regret was horrible. It ate you alive if you let it and he was not about to. He could not let himself disappear and leave his unborn child without a father even a lousy excuse for one, like him.

He did everything he could to atone for his mistake. When he got her back home, he treated her like a queen. He did everything she asked. He even tried to anticipate what she would want and did it before she asked.

She took full advantage of it. She demanded and ordered… and he obeyed like nothing more than a servant.

She started getting creative. She was in her second trimester, hormones running wild, horny as hell and she had her own personal slave right at her disposal. She used his regret and his guilt to force him to do things for her amusement… things that he would otherwise never do.

You know about the concept of sex being a mutual thing, you give and you take? Yeah, that did not exist in their relationship anymore.

She would do things like tie him down, blindfold him and start playing with him to get herself off. She would straddle him and start cutting small parallel lines into his skin. She used to do it on the side of his torso or on the side of his waist. She said she liked his body too much to ruin it but she still wanted to mark him so she chose places that were not as visible all the time.

He let her do it.

His pain, the blood and control, it all aroused her and every time she sliced a new line in his skin, he would hold back any show of emotions. Hurt, pain, anger or shame… nothing. That was his control.

He always had a healthy stamina but sometimes she would keep him hard for hours. She would fuck him to pleasure herself and deny him release. It fucking hurt.

When she finally tired of her games and let him be for a while, he would have to take care of himself.

It was degrading and it was torture but he took it. He still loved her and he tried to find excuses for her. The hormones and her body changing out of her control but she loved him. He was sure of it and she would never hurt him on purpose.

Present time.

Right hook, left hook, upper cut…

Right hook, right hook, left hook…

Left hook, upper cut…

The sounds of his hands slamming into the leather punching bag repeatedly were sweet in his ears. They drowned everything else, mostly his thoughts. But his thoughts got louder and harder to ignore. He kept trying though.

Adding the punching bag to his workout room was the best idea he had ever had. Two weeks ago he finally got rid of the splint on his finger and he could use his hand again… Thank fuck. He did not want to repeat the incident but the trigger for that moment of insanity was still alive and well. The memories were leaking slowly out of the hold of his resilience and every time another one drizzled into his head, he needed to punch something hence the new workout routine.

Now was no different. He was just in the shower getting ready to leave when the images started flooding his mind and he just could not leave. The water started looking pink as it washed down the drain and he took his hand to the scars on his side but they were not bleeding. Healed long ago, they now only acted as a reminder of how fucked up it was to give yourself completely to someone else, to place your whole being in their hands.

He slammed the bag one last time sending it swinging precariously from the ceiling but then he caught it midair.

"Damon!"

Elena! He was supposed to meet her but he had completely forgotten.

Elena

The numbers above the elevator door changed rapidly on the way up to the penthouse, Damon's place. They were supposed to meet up and head to NYU to take part in a convention where they would talk about the HIH and try to recruit more volunteers but Damon did not show up. He did not call or text so she decided to check up on him. She was nearby, anyway.

Downstairs, the doorman told her he was home. He knew her from the first couple of times she had been there with Damon. They were there once to pick up something and another time, Damon needed to change before they headed out again. Both times, she waited for him in his living room.

Honestly though, she did not like the place. It was cold, impersonal and too tidy. It was very spacious and sparsely furnished. She was sure the private decorator who worked on it would call it minimalistic.

She never said anything to Damon about it of course but she could not help wondering why he did not add anything personal to it like maybe a photograph or an old sentimental quilt, just whatever to make the place more livable.

Throughout the last couple of weeks, they had become much closer. They spent a lot of their time together doing charity and talking about everything and nothing but still she felt like there was an invisible wall between them… a wall that kept them from venturing into certain topics. One of those topics was his past. He sometimes mentioned snippets about his childhood, his mom and Stefan but never anything from his most recent past.

She did not press the subject because she had her own red zone topics. Consequently they kind of made a silent pact; not to touch upon any of those subjects when they talked and it worked fine.

The elevator doors opened into a spacious hallway that led to the kitchen and living room to the left. To the right, she assumed the bedroom or bedrooms were but she never ventured that way.

A sound of something being hit repeatedly followed her as she made her way through the hallway to the living room.

Two white leather couches faced one another in the middle of the living room with a glass coffee table in between. The far wall was made completely out of floor to ceiling windows and a big modern fireplace took up another wall. The kitchen made up the third wall and the fourth was occupied by an abstract painting kept in light colors. Everything was so light and polished like no one had ever lived there.

The hitting sound stopped suddenly.

"Damon!" She called.

She made her way back through the hallway and there he was approaching from the opposite side. Her jaw almost dropped. He was shirtless and sweaty and he was uncoiling white wraps from around his hands. Her mind jumped to all kinds of inappropriate scenarios and she struggled to grasp any coherent thought but somehow, she managed to remember that she was annoyed with him. Why was he working out when he was supposed to meet her?

"Elena, hey," he said.

"Hey, why are you not dressed?"

"I forgot, I'm sorry just give me ten minutes,"

He forgot? That was his excuse? "Fine, hurry," she just said instead.

"Make yourself at home," he shot before he turned around and went back the way he came from.

She sighed and went back to the living room. She sat on the couch and wiggled around a bit to try and get comfortable but the thing was hard as a rock. She gave up and stood up walking to the windows instead. The view was breathtaking and would probably become even more so at night but still, she could not quite enjoy it. She felt uneasy. Something was wrong with him. She saw it in his eyes.

She could always read his moods through his eyes. He mastered the art of keeping his face neutral but his eyes always gave him away.

Today they were stormy. The ocean blue of them was in uproar. Something was definitely wrong.

"Admiring the view?" He said from behind her and she jumped startled. She did not hear him coming.

He chuckled at her reaction as he came to stand next to her looking at the New York skyline.

"You don't have to come today," she said. She knew he was not very keen on the idea but she had talked him into it. Maybe he just did not want to go, she thought but did not actually believe that was it.

"We agreed to go so we're going, both of us," he said turning to face her.

There it was again; the inner conflict in his gaze. What was he conflicted about? The convention?

"Really, Damon it's no big deal. I can go alone." The conflict disappeared from his eyes. The only thing left was blind decision.

He came closer invading her personal space until there were only a couple of inches between them. What was going on? Her chest was heaving and she could not decide if she felt uncomfortable with his proximity or she just wanted him to close the space between them already. Unintentionally, her gaze dropped to his lips when he spoke again and she had a hard time figuring out what he was saying.

"Elena, I'm not letting you go alone. If we're going, we're going together."

His voice was low and her name rolled off his tongue, caressing it. God, what was wrong with her? She was still staring at his lips when his words finally sunk in and her muddled brain managed to make sense of them.

Letting her! Who the hell did he think he was to tell her what to do? She was perfectly capable of going places and doing things alone. She was not his to let.

She took her eyes back to his and gave him her most defiant look.

"I'm going alone if I want to," she said and tried to step back and away from him but he grabbed her by the elbows and tugged her even closer until she was standing flush against him. She felt every hard curve of his muscles against her own soft curves and her heart was beating like a bongo drum.

"You're not going alone. You're staying right here," He said in that deep voice and she felt the vibrations flow from his body into her own.

She was livid. He was full on ordering her around.

"Make me," she dared him.

For a number of heartbeats, they just stared each other down waiting for the other to succumb.

"Fine," he said in a breathy whisper.

Without any warning his lips captured hers and he was kissing her ferociously. His arms surrounded her and locked her into place and she found herself mirroring his actions. She was kissing him back just as fiercely letting her anger out on his lips, her hands grabbing wildly at his hair, her nails grazing his scalp.

They were fighting to get the upper hand. She pulled his hair and he groaned in pain or pleasure and bit down on her lower lip. She moaned. God that felt good. She felt her back hit glass as he pinned her against the window. He took her wrists and held them with one hand above her head as he used the other to lift her one leg around his waist.

He let go of her mouth for a moment and pushed his hips against hers and she felt his need growing for her. Then he plunged down nipping and kissing his way down her neck.

Her brain was gone, swimming in desire and sexual frustration. God, it felt good. She had not done it in so long and he was so good. She knew he was good because the last time she had sex was with him and he made it feel heavenly…

Wait…

The last time she had sex with him it felt great… for about three days then she started feeling guilty.

He was working on the buttons of her shirt, already half way through. This was escalating too quickly. She could not think.

She had to think.

"Stop," she said but her voice was too low and hoarse.

She cleared her throat and said it louder. "Stop, Damon."

She struggled to free her hands from his grasp and he seemed to notice because he stopped halfway through another button.

He brought his eyes back to her face and something in it must have woken him from the haze of desire. He let her hands go and took a step back. A stream of different expressions ran though his face. Rejection and guilt were in between.

"Elena…" He started but didn't finish.

She started straightening out her clothes, buttoning her shirt and running her hands through her hair. All the while she felt his gaze on her. She did not dare to look at him too much though because his hair was a mess, his lips were a darker shade of red and God, he was gorgeous. She did not trust herself to not be selfish with him again.

"Tell me something…" He said and she saw something flicker on his face as he went on. "Why did you sleep with me that night?"

How the hell did she answer that? She was not even sure why she did it?

"It was a mistake…" he looked like she had confirmed something he already knew but she went on unabated. "I shouldn't have used you like that. I'm so sorry."

He appeared surprised by her apology.

He scoffed. "You didn't use me, Elena. I was fully on board. You didn't exactly force me into anything."

"I did use you. I knew you were hurt, Damon and sex is a way for you to cope but I used your hurt to prove something to myself. I should have stopped after the kiss. I should have talked to you instead but I was selfish," she said finally voicing her guilt over that night. She had thought about this a lot and with their growing friendship, her guilt grew right along.

"Stop that," he said harshly and confusing her.

"Stop what?"

"Stop pitying me. I don't need that. I don't want it." He said the word with so much hatred and she tried stop herself from thinking it was directed at her.

"I'm not pitying you. I'm apologizing for my mistake," she explained.

"Then stop apologizing."

"What would you have me do, Damon?" God, he was frustrating.

"Leave. I need you to leave now, please," he said in a softer tone but it felt like a slap to the face, nevertheless.

She nodded her head once to indicate she understood before she hurried past him heading for the elevator.

She reached the door and pressed the button to call the elevator wishing there was an actual door, she could walk out of because having to wait in a place she just got thrown out of was humiliating to say the least. She was not mad, though. She understood that he needed time to process.

She needed time too.

The elevator finally arrived and the door slid open with a loud ding. She stepped inside and the door was starting to close when she heard his voice.

"Elena, wait!"

AN: Thanks for reading. So here we got a little Delena-action but was it a mistake? Clearly, Elena thinks so. Was it hot? Was it not? What do you think? Also you got lots of new information about his relationship with Katherine. Was it like you expected? Did you like/hate it? Please don't hesitate to tell me what you think.