Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Elena? Can you come here, please?" Caroline's plea is followed by an interesting string of obscenities, and Elena ticks them off on her fingers: three damns, four shits, two fucks, and a sonofabitch. Not bad. "Like soon, maybe?" Caroline adds with a grunt.

"Be right there." Elena adjusts her cleavage for the hundredth time, trying to decide if the last tug on the corset strings was one tug too many. Is it appropriately sexy, or has she crossed the line into model-on-the-cover-of-a-bodice-ripper territory? Caroline hollers again and mumbles about how Elena should be the one who gets punished if they're late.

Giving herself one last once-over in the full-length mirror propped against her bedroom wall, she runs her hands over the satin and lace bustier. It's nice. Dinged-the-credit-card nice, but if things go well tonight, it'll have been worth the splurge.

Hustling into the bathroom before Caroline starts screaming, she discovers her friend wrestling with a pair of shiny, black pants that look like they might be made out of rubber or pleather or . . .

"They're latex," Caroline announces with the confidence of someone who accurately guesses what her friend is thinking on a regular basis. "I need more baby powder. Could you grab the bottle out of my room and bring it here?"

Elena's still puzzling through the mechanics of this particular item of clothing when Caroline snaps her fingers. "Elena. Don’t just stand there with your mouth hanging open. We need to get our asses in gear."

"My ass is in gear," she says and strikes a pose. "You like?"

Caroline stops struggling for a second and studies Elena's outfit with the critical eye of a personal stylist. "Love the bustier. I have a cute bolero you can wear over it at least until we get inside." Score one for Caroline. Elena hadn't even thought about the fact that it's mid-February and her puffy winter coat will not jive with the look she's trying to pull off. "Oh. Those are gonna be a problem." Caroline gestures to Elena's boots, which are leather with a spiked heel and stop just below the knee.

Elena frowns and glances at her boots. "Why? What's wrong with them?"

"Well, for one, you're going to be mistaken for a Domme. If you're serious about exploring your submissive side, you don't want to show up dressed to dominate." She giggles and tugs again on the leg of her pants. "Unless you want subs to drop to their knees and offer themselves to you, then by all means."

Damn. So much for rocking her faves. Elena scoots into Caroline's room and grabs the powder, delivers it, and then makes a pit stop at her own room for a quick shoe change. She decides to go with a pair of ballet flats that take her back to her normal height.

Returning to the bathroom, she sticks out her foot for Caroline's approval. "Better?"

"Much." She's wiggled almost all the way into the pants, and Elena is impressed, if not a tad confused.

"You're putting an awful lot of effort into something Nik is just going to rip . . . er, peel off you in a few hours."

Caroline laughs again, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm not wearing them for me, sweetie. I'm wearing them for him," she emphasizes. "You'll understand eventually."

"Yeah, maybe." A flare of panic tightens her chest as she watches her friend put the finishing touches on her makeup. "Care, tell me this is still a good idea. It is, right? 'Cause I'm starting to think I’m in over my head."

"Relax, 'Lena," Caroline soothes. "You'll be fine. Think of it as a fact-finding mission. No strings, just gathering information and eye-stalking hunky Doms." She winks, and the knot of tension between Elena's shoulder blades eases a bit. "While I'm finishing up here, why don't you go grab the jacket out of my closet? It's over on the far-right side."

Elena nods and goes to hunt down the bolero. Caroline's closet is meticulously organized, and Elena finds the jacket exactly where she said it would be. Easing it from the hanger, she rubs the soft, black leather between her thumb and forefinger. She shivers, unsure whether to blame it on the cold weather outside or her nerves. Both, probably.

Shrugging into the jacket, she pauses in front of Caroline's mirror to scrutinize her reflection. The jacket is a perfect addition, and she smiles into the glass. It partially covers the tops of her breasts, which are one sneeze away from bursting free of their satin prison. She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and tries to master the appropriate facial expression for the evening's activities.

She squints and tilts her head to the side. No, that looks like she's forgotten her contacts and can't see anything. How about a raised eyebrow with a side of pout? Ugh. Too Zoolander.

"Okay, I'm ready!" Caroline calls. "Let's go."

Elena hurries into the hallway in time to hear Caroline mutter something about not being able to sit down for a week.

"That sounds . . . unpleasant." Elena grabs her keys and slips them into her purse.

"If we don't get there by 9, you'll understand what I mean." Caroline throws on a mid-length trench coat that covers her exposed shoulders and midriff. The black halter top she's wearing is skimpy and clings perilously to her body with the help of two strings—one that ties behind her back and the other behind her neck.

Ah, so it's a Nik thing. Or a punishment-by-Nik thing, rather. "Gotcha."

Caroline turns to her with a big smile. "Ready?"

Elena tries to mimic her friend, but she's afraid she's missing the mark. "Ready as I'll ever be."

*****

The club is a half-hour’s drive outside of Atlanta, and Caroline sighs in relief when they arrive with five minutes to spare. She hops out of the car and takes Elena’s hand, giving it a squeeze of support. “I know you’re nervous, but you don’t need to be. Everyone here is friendly and welcoming. They’ll love you.”

Elena squeezes back. “I hope so.”

Housed in a private residence, the establishment known as Midnight is tucked away at the end of a long driveway for added privacy. As they approach the entryway, she takes note of the well-kept grounds and pristine condition of the building. Caroline explained on the way over that the owner of the club had spared no expense in creating his own personal kinky sex haven.

A stone pathway leads to the front door, which is devoid of any decoration save for a large, metal “M” affixed to its center. Caroline knocks twice, and the way is opened by a man with dark blond hair and a kind smile.

“Good evening, Caroline,” he greets her before helping her remove her jacket. He drapes it over his arm and turns to Elena. “You must be Elena, Caroline’s guest for the evening. My name is Henry.”

He offers his hand, and she takes it after a brief hesitation. Her mouth has gone dry, but she swallows and forces words past her numb lips. “Nice to meet you, Henry.”

“May I take your jacket?” he asks.

Elena wraps her arms around herself, determined not to surrender the bolero just yet. It might only be made of light-weight leather, but it’s her sole protection against the unknown that lies beyond the second set of doors. “No, thank you. I’m still a little chilled from being outside.”

Thankfully, Henry only nods and disappears into the coatroom with Caroline’s trench. He returns a moment later and opens a drawer in his desk, perusing its contents until he finds what he’s looking for. “May I see your hand, please?”

At first, Elena thinks he’s talking to Caroline until her friend nudges her arm. “He means you, silly.”

“Oh, sorry.” Assuming he’s going to stamp it or draw an “X” on it with a marker like they do in other clubs, she places her hand in his. She’s not expecting the length of dark blue ribbon he loops around her wrist and ties off with a perfect bow.

“There, all set. The ribbon lets others know you’re our guest this evening,” he explains. “It also tells Dominants you’re unattached and approachable.”

“Thanks.” Caroline must’ve filled them in on her single-and-ready-to-cautiously-mingle status ahead of time. Her BFF is nothing if not thorough.

Henry steps around the desk and opens one of the inner doors, revealing a large lounge area. There are already quite a few people milling around, and the low hum of conversation drifts out to greet them. Elena feels her nerves start to creep up to the surface, but she tamps them down. Don’t chicken out now, Gilbert, she scolds herself.

“Master Nik is expecting you,” Henry announces, waving them into the busy room.

Caroline hooks her arm through Elena’s and they wade into the crowd. Elena’s so busy trying to recall everything Caroline told her about the BDSM scene that she nearly plows into a man in an expensive-looking gray suit that probably cost a quarter of her yearly salary. He cups her elbow to steady her, and she glances up at him, her wide eyes full of apologies.

“Easy there,” he murmurs. There’s a hint of an accent in his voice, but she can’t place it. He brushes a finger over the ribbon adorning her wrist. “Such a lovely flower you’ve brought into our garden, Caroline.”

“Thank you, Master Elijah,” Caroline beams. “This is my friend Elena.”

“Elena,” he repeats. “What a pleasure.” He raises her hand to his mouth and presses a kiss there.

Holy hell. She’d been freezing a few minutes ago, but now her skin is on fire. It’s too late to pretend she isn’t blushing like a teenager who’s just been caught making out with her boyfriend in the janitor’s closet, so she puts on her best polite smile. “It’s wonderful to meet you, M-master Elijah.” She trips over the m-word, the one that makes her heart beat faster and heat pool in her lower belly.

“Indeed.” He slowly releases her hand, letting her fingers slide through his one at a time. “I hope to see you again later,” he says to Elena. “It’s not wise to keep Niklaus waiting, Caroline, so I suggest you be on your way to him.”

In the midst of trying to sort through her jumbled thoughts, Elena dimly recalls Caroline telling her that Elijah is Nik’s older brother.

“Yes, Sir.” Caroline nods and turns, her blonde curls swinging back and forth where they spill out of her high ponytail. She searches the room until her gaze lands on her Dom. Nik approaches from the far side of the lounge, an air of confidence and raw sexuality clinging to him like a second skin. He’s dressed in a pair of snug-fitting leather pants and a black silk shirt, the top two buttons of which are undone.

When he stops in front of them, Caroline kneels and bows her head, assuming the same position she’d demonstrated for Elena last night. She rests her hands palms-up on her spread thighs and waits patiently for Nik to address her.

“You look ravishing, sweetheart,” he murmurs, holding out a hand to her. “You may get up now.”

Caroline takes his hand and he pulls her to her feet, and then they’re kissing. Elena feels like a voyeur, but she’s unable to look away. This isn’t your normal, tender, rom-com kiss. This is passion and fire. Dominance.

Nik’s hand grips the back of Caroline’s head and tilts it until he’s satisfied with the angle. Her lips part on a sigh and his tongue slips inside. His other hand closes around her wrist and pulls her tighter against him.

The kiss might go on for days or minutes; Elena’s not sure. When he finally breaks it, Caroline is panting softly and sporting a dazed expression. Elena fiddles with the bow on her wrist, trying to ignore the third-wheel feeling that's nagging at her. It's not that she isn't happy for them because she is, one hundred percent. A random person on the street could tell they're completely in love with each other. Elena wouldn't mind finding herself in a relationship like theirs; in fact, she kind of craves it.

Nik saves her from her musings when he releases Caroline and takes Elena’s hand, holding it between both of his.

“Good evening, Elena. I’m so glad you could join us.” His smile is comforting, and Elena lets out a breath she hasn’t realized she’s been holding. It’s nice to have another familiar face amongst a crowd of strangers. “That’s quite the fetching getup, love,” he compliments her, twirling her around as if they’re dancing. “Something tells me you won’t be without company for very long,” he adds with a wink. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to prepare for the demonstration we’ll be giving later tonight. Please feel free to have a drink, mingle, and enjoy yourself. If you have any questions, Elijah, whom I see you’ve already met, or my sister Rebekah would be more than happy to answer them.” He indicates a tall blonde seated at the bar, chatting animatedly with the pixie-haired bartender.

“Thank you, Master Nik.” Caroline gives her a thumbs-up for good luck, and then they set off across the room, eventually disappearing through a doorway at the far end.

Left to her own devices, Elena doesn’t know what to do. She’s not brave enough to sidle up to someone and start a conversation, and alcohol’s not an appealing option either. With her frazzled nerves, she’d probably down her drink too quickly and spend the rest of the evening tripping over her own feet. She scans the room and finds an empty table for two in the corner by the bar. It’s the perfect vantage spot to study the people milling about and get a better feel for the place.

Sliding into a polished wooden chair, she props her elbows on the table and takes it all in. She isn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but this is a pleasant surprise. Everything from the artwork on the walls, to the crystal lighting fixtures, to the mahogany bar is stylish, clean, and elegant. The first image that had popped into her mind when Caroline said the words “BDSM club” was a dungeon with black paint on the walls, dim lighting, pounding music, and sticky surfaces. This is . . . definitely not that.

Elena watches people stroll past, dressed in everything from business attire to full-on fetish wear, although no one is completely nude. There are sheer fabrics and interesting cutouts, but all of the important bits are covered. She spies a few others wearing blue ribbons on their wrists. At least she’s not the only newbie.

A snippet of conversation drifts over from the bar, and she hears a man in a leather jumpsuit say, “Master Damon’s done a lot with the place. The other clubs don’t compare to his.” His corseted companion nods in agreement, sipping from her long-stemmed champagne glass.

Master Damon. She remembers Caroline telling her that the owner of the club and Head-Dom-in-Charge is a man named Damon Salvatore, but her bestie failed to mention any specifics about his appearance. She’d thrown around the phrase “gorgeous and intimidating,” but that could apply to any number of people in the room. Is he here now, presiding over the gathering, she wonders? The Doms are fairly easy to pick out, most of them donning either well-cut suits with silk ties, head-to-toe leather, or a combination of both, like Nik.

Her curiosity morphs into doubt when she revisits the reason she agreed to be Caroline’s guest tonight. Some of the things Caroline’s told her are exciting; they make her pulse jump and her thighs rub together with need. Others are . . . terrifying. Elena suspects she has a submissive side, but is it strong enough for her to be a true submissive? Can she hand over the reins to another person? Trust them enough not to hurt her?

All her worrying is making her head ache, and she rubs absently at her temples. Maybe she should go. She can always try coming back on a different night when she’s more confident. In the meantime, she can seek out one of the other clubs in the area that doesn’t have an exclusive membership and test the waters there, maybe approach a Dom about taking her under his wing.

She’s so busy coming up with alternate solutions to her current problem that she doesn’t notice the glass of water that appears on the table in front of her.

“Penny for your thoughts,” says a smooth male voice.

She jumps and nearly knocks over the glass, but the man’s hand shoots out and rights it before more than a few drops are spilled.

“Oh, god. Sorry,” she mumbles, grabbing a napkin to mop up the water.

“My fault. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The man slides into the chair across from hers. “I thought you might like some water. Headache?” he asks.

She sucks in a breath, and Caroline’s “gorgeous and intimidating” description flashes in her mind like a neon sign on the Vegas Strip. Could this be the elusive club owner, or another of the resident Doms? The man’s eyes are a striking pale blue, a sharp contrast to his dark hair, which appears black in the low lighting given off by the wall sconce. He has a strong jawline and lips that look dangerously soft, like they were designed for the sole purpose of making someone scream in pleasure. His black suit jacket clings to his shoulders, perfectly tailored for his body, and the top button of his matching dress shirt is undone, revealing a glimpse of skin.

It’s only after he cocks a dark brow that she realizes how rude she’s being. “Crap,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to stare. Or ignore your question.” She’s doing a real bang-up job of making an ass of herself. “Thank you for the water. My head is a little achy.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Thinking too much?”

Not another mind reader. “Yeah, that’s probably it.” She takes a sip of water, hoping it’ll help cool her off. The way he’s looking at her reignites the blaze Elijah lit, only now it’s burning even hotter. “I’m Elena, by the way,” she introduces herself, deciding that maybe some idle conversation will produce the calming effect she so desperately needs.

“Lovely to meet you, Elena.” His voice drops until it’s almost a purr. He takes her hand in his and brushes his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m Damon Salvatore. Welcome to my club.”

Chapter Text

Oh, holy fuck. Elena’s mouth falls open, but she quickly clamps it shut before he thinks she’s a complete idiot. And a rude one, to boot.

Out of all the Doms, she manages to draw the attention of Damon Salvatore. Wait ‘til Caroline finds out about this.

She panics, wondering if she should kneel, or bow, or avert her eyes, or run back to the car and hide, or . . .

Damon, who hasn’t relinquished his hold on her hand, already seems privy to the inner workings of her confused brain. “Relax, Elena. Deep breaths.” While she takes him up on the suggestion, he turns her hand over and starts tracing random patterns on her palm with the tip of his finger. It’s distracting, slightly ticklish, and . . . calming. After a few minutes, the buzzing in her head dissipates. “Better?” he asks.

“Yes, thank you . . . Sir.” She can’t quite get the words Master Damon past her lips.

Fortunately, her choice of title doesn’t appear to bother him. In fact, he looks pleased. “Very nice,” he murmurs, his gaze landing on her ribbon. “You must be Caroline Forbes’s guest. Elena Gilbert, if I recall correctly.”

She nods in shocked silence.

“I take members’ safety and club security very seriously,” he explains. “I make it my business to know the names of everyone who walks through the front doors, guests included.”

Elena licks her dry lips, and Damon’s eyes track the movement of her tongue. “Smart.”

“So, tell me. What brings you to Midnight?”

Well, here goes nothing. “Curiosity, mostly.”

“About?” He’s clearly not a fan of vague answers.

She drinks more of her water, mindful of the way his finger is still stroking her palm. “Um, the BDSM lifestyle. D/s relationships. Caroline’s been explaining things to me, giving me lessons.”

Damon nods in approval. “She’s a good tutor. I should have her teach a class for newbie subs. Anything else?”

She thinks this would be easier to admit if it were anyone other than Damon sitting across from her, but since she can’t avoid answering the question, she might as well tell him the truth. “I’m trying to figure out if I’m a true submissive, or if I’m just attracted to the idea of it but too afraid to actually make it work.”

He smiles and a fresh blush stains her cheeks. “Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy, but you’ve taken the first step toward getting that answer. Tonight is all about observing and asking questions, giving potential Doms and subs a chance to explore and see if the lifestyle is a good fit for them. Have you ever tried bondage?”

She shakes her head, grimacing as she recalls a particular memory. “No. My only attempt at anything remotely kinky was back in college. My boyfriend at the time borrowed a Kama Sutra book from one of his frat buddies and convinced me it’d be fun to give some of the wilder positions a try. Unfortunately, he was drunk, and by the time he was sober enough to get an erection, I wasn’t really in the mood. Still, I gave it a shot, but he ended up pulling a muscle before the fun could even begin, so . . . yeah. That was that.”

Elena half expects him to laugh at her embarrassing tale, but he continues to regard her with the same intense expression, the one that makes her squirm in her chair. “His loss,” he murmurs.

Her blush deepens and she grabs her napkin, absently fanning herself with it.

Damon’s smirk returns in full force. “Too warm? Allow me.” He releases her hand and crooks a finger at her, and for no real reason other than it seems like the right thing to do, she gets out of her chair and goes to stand beside him. He rises as well and slips his hands inside her jacket, pushing it up and off her shoulders, and then lets it slide the rest of the way down her arms. He catches it before it falls on the floor and drapes it over the back of his chair.

Without the jacket, she feels exposed, like someone who’s been sent to slay a dragon but has no shield or armor. She edges toward her seat, but Damon grips her waist, halting her progress. His gaze travels the length of her body, from her ballet flats, to her black leggings, to the cleavage spilling out of her bustier, and finally to her face, which probably resembles an over-ripened tomato. “Beautiful,” he croons, fingering the lacy edge of her top. “The bustier’s nice, too.” His accompanying wink makes her heart skip a beat.

“Can I ask a random question?” It’s a weak attempt to take the rampant sexual tension down a notch, but she’s desperate.

“Of course. Fire away.” He sinks down into his chair, and she follows his cue, scrambling back to her seat before he decides to remove more of her clothing.

“Why did you choose Midnight as the name of the club? I like it, don’t get me wrong. It’s better than, say, The Leather G-string, but I’m just curious.”

Damon barks out a laugh, drawing more than a few inquisitive glances their way. “What a breath of fresh air you are,” he says, still chuckling. “I chose that name because most people associate BDSM with their darkest desires, so a reference to the darkest time of night seemed fitting.”

“Makes sense.”

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” interrupts a voice she recognizes, and Elena glances up to see Elijah standing in the doorway Caroline and Nik vanished through shortly after they arrived. “If I may have your attention for a moment, it’s my pleasure to inform you that the demonstrations are about to commence in the main play area. Once everyone has reconvened down the hall, we will begin.”

There’s an air of excitement in the room, and people begin drifting toward the doorway. Elena shifts her attention back to Damon only to find him watching her intently. “Will you be taking part in the demonstrations?” she asks.

“No. I’ve arranged for a few of my most trusted Doms to oversee them.”

“Oh.” She wonders what it would be like to watch Damon bind a sub to a spanking bench and warm his or her ass with a paddle. Caroline once told her that that particular piece of equipment is a favorite of hers and Nik’s.

“Is that a hint of disappointment I hear?” He grins at her, and she groans at her inability to hide her reactions. She really needs to stop being such an open book.

Elena shrugs and picks at a nonexistent piece of lint on her leggings.

Damon clears his throat. “I didn’t catch your answer, kitten.”

Kitten? If she keeps blushing like this, she’s going to set a world record. “Yes, Sir,” she mutters.

“Better. Watch the tone though,” he warns. “I’ll give you a pass since you’re new, but sassing a Dom will get you in trouble in the future.”

Oh. Oh. Incurring the wrath of any Dom, especially Damon, isn’t high on her to-do list. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” He flashes her another smile, and she relaxes just the slightest bit. “The last thing I want is a disappointed guest, so I’ll be your guide during the demonstrations. Any questions you have, I’ll be more than happy to answer. How does that sound?”

She nods, breaking into a small smile of her own. “That would be great. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. As you’re observing, it’s important to remember that honesty is key.” He taps the table for emphasis. “If something turns you on, say so. If it’s frightening, tell me. On the fence about it? I still want to know.”

“I will.” Wow, this is really happening. She’s about to embark on a BDSM 101 tour with a highly respected Dom at her side. It’s surreal and more than a little unnerving.

“At the end of the evening after you’ve had a chance to process everything, we’ll go over your feelings about the demonstrations and, hopefully, you’ll have an answer to your question about whether or not you’re a true submissive.” Damon pushes away from the table and stands. “And I’ll see if my suspicions are correct,” he murmurs, holding out his hand to her. “Shall we?”

Wait, what? There’s no time to dwell on it because Damon is waiting, and she’s already made one misstep tonight, so she tucks away his comment to mull over later and slides her hand into his. His fingers close around hers, warm and firm, and he tugs her to her feet.

As they join a steady stream of people filing into the hallway, Damon is greeted by numerous club members, Doms and subs alike. The Doms nod their approval when they notice Elena, and then they grin at each other like they’re all in on a collective secret. The subs look at her as if she’s just won the lottery.

Whatever lies ahead, she knows one thing for certain—this is an experience she won’t be forgetting anytime soon.

Chapter Text

It's slow going out in the hallway, and they edge forward a foot at a time. Elena tries not to focus on Damon's closeness or how the soft material of his suit jacket feels as it brushes against her bare skin. He makes the job harder by sliding an arm around her waist and settling a hand on her hip. The warmth of his hand seeps through her leggings, but she pushes the sensation to the back of her mind.

She spots Elijah, who's helping to herd people along, and gives him a little wave. He winks at her and nods at Damon, muttering what sounds like "lucky bastard" as they pass by.

Eventually, the crowd empties into a large room with three spotlit areas, each containing a piece of standard BDSM equipment. The first would be a regular-looking wooden chair if it weren't for the various restraints attached to it. The second and third pieces she recognizes from pictures Caroline's shown her: the infamous spanking bench and the St. Andrew's cross.

Damon easily guides her through the mass of people vying for a prime viewing position. Unsurprisingly, they end up in the front row of observers, midway between the bench and the cross. She suspects he did this on purpose so she won't miss anything. He's standing behind her, his arm still looped around her waist as if that's the most natural place for it to be.

Surrounding them is the constant hum of conversation, which only quiets when Elijah makes his way to the front of the room, the crowd parting before him. He steps over the satin rope blocking off the area where the demonstrations will take place and turns to address the group.

"Good evening, everyone. I hope your experience here at Midnight has been a pleasant one thus far. We will now begin the main portion of tonight's activities. If you would, please direct your attention to the first area"—he gestures toward the chair—"for a tutorial on basic bondage and safety, courtesy of Mistress Pearl and the lovely Rebekah."

A polite round of applause breaks out as a beautiful woman with dark hair that flows halfway down her back and the stunning blonde Nik identified earlier as his sister make their way over to the chair. Rebekah’s latex mini dress complements her Domme’s slinky black catsuit, which clings to the woman’s every curve.

"Elijah enjoys being Master of Ceremonies, so I let him have the honors." Damon's lips brush the shell of Elena’s ear as he speaks, and she fights the urge to lean closer to him.

She nods instead, watching as Rebekah sits down in the bondage chair. The seat and arms are covered in padded leather, so at least it doesn’t seem like the most uncomfortable thing to be bound to.

Pearl strolls in a loose circle around her sub and then faces the audience. “One of the first things to be absolutely certain of before engaging in any kind of bondage activity is that your sub has chosen a safe word. The standard option is ‘red,’ but subs are free to choose their own word if they’d like. Obviously, ‘no’ and ‘stop’ should not be used.”

Several of the Doms chuckle and exchange knowing looks.

“Rebekah, dear?” Pearl’s voice is soft and melodious, but there’s an unmistakable undercurrent of power to it.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“What is your safe word?”

“Strawberry.” Rebekah licks her lips, which are the same shade of red as the fruit she’s just named.

“Perfect choice, pet.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Rebekah beams at the praise.

While stroking her sub’s hair, Pearl repositions Rebekah’s arms until they’re lined up with the restraints attached to the chair. “You can use any number of items to bind your submissive, but for beginners, I recommend a good set of soft leather cuffs, like these.” She pauses to secure one of them around Rebekah’s wrist. “Rope, handcuffs, and scarves are other options. For the safety of your sub, always make sure the restraints aren’t going to cut off his or her circulation. You should be able to slide two fingers between their wrist or ankle and whatever it is you’re using to restrain them.” She demonstrates the technique with Rebekah’s wrist cuff and moves to fasten the other.

Elena’s so engrossed in the lesson that she doesn’t register it when Damon’s hand leaves her waist and begins to rub her arm, creating friction and warming her skin. His other hand joins in, and she assumes there’s real no purpose behind the action until they move lower, lightly gripping her wrists.

Whoa. She gasps and tries to free her hands, but Damon doesn’t loosen his hold. She glances at him over her shoulder. He smiles, looking calm and content, and not the least bit bothered by her distress. “Pay attention,” he whispers.

She drags her gaze back to the demonstration. Pearl is kneeling in front of Rebekah as she fastens the other set of cuffs just above her ankles. When she’s finished, she asks if anything feels uncomfortable. Rebekah tests her bonds, and without thinking, Elena does the same, squirming against Damon’s grasp.

Pearl is talking again, but her words are starting to bleed together in Elena’s mind. She shakes her head in an attempt to clear it. The Domme holds up a new item—a small, red ball attached to two leather straps.

“Gags are a useful way to silence noisy subs. They also increase the feeling of helplessness, which can be an added turn-on for both partners. I find a simple ball gag is the best option if you’re just starting out.”

Rebekah obediently opens her mouth, and Pearl slides the ball past her lips, scoops her hair out of the way, and buckles the straps behind her head. After making sure the gag isn’t too snug, she presses a kiss to Rebekah’s forehead.

Elena suddenly has a vision of herself sitting in the chair, but it’s not Pearl who’s tightening the cuffs around her wrists and ankles and slipping a gag into her mouth; it’s Damon.

Her hearing goes fuzzy, her blood pounding in her ears.

“See something you like?” Damon murmurs, giving her wrists a squeeze.

She doesn’t trust herself to speak, so she responds with an affirmative-sounding “Mmm huh.”

A soft laugh rumbles out of Damon. “Noted.”

Elena is vaguely aware that Pearl is still speaking, providing safe word alternatives for gagged subs, but her focus is on the way Damon’s thumbs are massaging the pulse points in her wrists.

“Remember, a bound sub should never be left unattended. Keep everything safe, sane, and consensual, and you and your partner will be well on your way to a fulfilling and mutually enjoyable relationship,” Pearl concludes.

Applause fills the room, jolting Elena back to awareness. Damon releases her hands and claps as well, nodding to Pearl, who returns the gesture. Elena can’t quite make her hands work the way they should, so her clapping has an odd cadence compared to the rest.

“How did you find the demonstration? Stimulating?” Damon asks.

Elena feels what little ground she has to stand on eroding beneath her and decides to play it polite. “It was very well done,” she concedes, striving for the right blend of calm, cool, and collected after her near meltdown a few moments ago.

Damon’s eyebrows inch their way up his forehead until they’re flirting with his hairline. “Aren’t we full of manners.” He tsks and holds up a finger. “Remember, Elena. I want honesty, not your best evasion techniques. Want to try that again?”

Damn his overly perceptive Dom nature. “It was . . .” Her words stall out, and her blush—constant companion that it is—returns with a vengeance. “It was incredibly . . . sexy.”

“Sexy as in arousing?” he prompts.

She nods.

“I thought so. Glad we’re on the same page.” He winks, and it’s such a simple thing, but it makes her melt just the same.

Chitchat starts up around them again while everyone waits for the second demonstration. Elena glances at the rest of the people standing in the front row and counts a dozen or so blue ribbons, but it’s not as many as she’d expected. “There don’t appear to be many guests here.”

“There aren’t,” he says, tugging gently on a lock of her hair. “I’m very particular about who I allow into my club.”

She recalls his earlier remark about knowing everyone’s names. Right. Safety first. “So the others are all members?”

“Yes. They enjoy meeting new people, and most of them have been part of the scene for years, so they’re great at fielding questions from newcomers and sharing their experiences,” he explains.

A hush goes through the crowd when Elijah reappears. “For our second demonstration, please welcome Master Nik and his beautiful sub Caroline, who are here to give us an overview on the pleasures and perils of the spanking bench.”

Caroline and Nik step into the spotlight, and the group greets them with another volley of applause. Caroline’s outfit is slightly different—at some point, she traded in her latex pants for a short, leather, cheerleader-style skirt. Nik’s shirt is completely unbuttoned, and Elena takes a closer look at her best friend, noticing that her once-perfect ponytail is now askew. Someone’s been having fun.

Caroline scans the room as if she’s searching for Elena, so Elena waves at her to try and catch her attention. It works, and Caroline waves back but then goes stock-still a moment later, her hand freezing in midair. Her eyes widen, and Elena realizes that the reaction is likely Damon-related. His arm has once again found its way around her waist, and his fingers are drumming a random rhythm on her hipbone.

“Holy shit,” Caroline whispers, not quietly enough, and the words carry in the silent room. Damon gives her a stern look and shakes his head. She turns bright red and immediately drops her gaze to the floor, but the damage is done.

Nik and Damon share a meaningful glance, and anxiety wells up in Elena at the thought of her friend being punished for such a small infraction. She turns to Damon and places her hand on his chest. “She didn't mean it, Dam . . . er, Sir,” she corrects herself. “Please don’t let Master Nik hurt her.”

Damon’s expression softens. “Punishment for improper behavior is part of the lifestyle, sweetheart. Caroline knows the rules. Besides, she has her safe word, remember? She'll be fine. Watch and see.”

It’s not the pardon she was hoping to hear, but the reminder about Caroline’s safe word is comforting. She returns her attention to the front of the room just in time to see Nik buckling leather cuffs around Caroline’s wrists and ankles.

“How fortuitous,” Nik says, leading her over to the wooden contraption, which resembles a narrow massage table with a step at the end. “It seems my sub has chosen to enhance our demonstration by adding discipline to the mix.” He pats the edge of the bench, and Caroline kneels on the step, draping her upper body over the table's padded leather surface. Her arms hang down the sides, and Nik clips each of her cuffs to a corresponding steel ring attached to the bench.

“Before we begin, please tell all of these lovely people what your safe word is, Caroline,” Nik instructs.

“Red, Master.” Caroline shuts her eyes, her cheeks still pink with embarrassment.

“Very good.” Nik saunters over to the wall and peruses the various implements and toys hanging there. Elena studies them as well, noting that they range from not-too-scary to oh-hell-no. She shudders when her gaze lands on a whip with long, knotted strands.

Damon doesn’t miss her reaction. “What was that for?”

She points at the wall. “The knotted whip over there.”

“Scary?”

“Very.”

He chuckles and pulls her tighter against his side. “You worry too much, pet. Things like that are only for subs who enjoy serious pain, and I strongly suspect you’re not one of them.”

“Definitely not.” Wait a minute. Did he just refer to her as a sub?

Before she can dig deeper into his implication, Nik selects a small, wooden paddle and walks back over to Caroline.

“Paddles are an ideal tool to use when spanking your sub. Not overly intense, but they leave a nice sting. If you’d rather go the traditional route, your hand works just as well.” He flips up Caroline's skirt, baring her ass. His fingers skim over her cheeks, caressing and kneading her flesh. A tremor runs through Caroline, rattling the clips on her restraints. “It’s best to start slowly and add a bit more force as you go. You don’t want the scene to end after the first strike.” He runs the paddle over her rear and down the backs of her legs. “Be aware that repeatedly hitting the same area can be extremely painful, so change it up. Are you ready, love?” he asks Caroline.

“Yes, Master.” She braces herself, curling her hands into fists.

“I want you to count for me. If you miss one, I’ll start over. Understood?”

She nods, and Nik lands the first blow on her right ass cheek.

It must be tolerable because Caroline doesn’t flinch. “One,” she calls out, her voice strong and clear.

Thwack. On the left this time.

“Two.”

Three, four, and five go off without a hitch, Nik switching sides each time. By numbers six and seven, she’s wincing a little. When he gets to eight and nine, her behind is a rosy shade of red. He delivers the final blow, and Caroline grunts.

“Ten,” she grits out between clenched teeth.

Nik sets down the paddle and approaches the head of the bench. Leaning down, he kisses Caroline, brushing his lips tenderly over hers. “You did well, love,” he soothes. He strokes her back while addressing the crowd. “Although spankings are typically associated with discipline, subs often derive pleasure from the act.” His hand disappears between Caroline’s legs, and Elena can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but she gets a pretty good idea when a loud moan leaves her friend’s lips. Nik removes his fingers and pops them into his mouth. “Delicious,” he murmurs with a lascivious smile.

“Jesus.” Elena’s exhale is extra breathy, and she tries to hide the flush spreading across her chest like wildfire by covering the splotchy pink marks with her hand.

Damon smirks and pulls her hand away, tucking it in his. “Ever been spanked?”

“Not since I threw my brother’s G.I. Joe action figure in the lake when I was seven,” she admits. Jeremy had cried and cried until her father dove in and rescued the toy.

His laughter temporarily takes her mind off the scene, but his next question brings her right back to it. “Any interest?”

She considers it for a minute, but she can’t lie, not after he saw the way her body reacted. “A little. Maybe,” she says in a small voice.

He nods, and they join in with the applause for Caroline and Nik as Nik unbuckles her restraints and helps her off the bench. Caroline notices Elena’s worried gaze and gives her a reassuring smile. I’m okay, she mouths, and then Nik leads her away while she gingerly rubs her sore bottom.

Elena ponders the answer she gave Damon. Could she really let him do the same to her? Spank her for an indiscretion? Paddle her ass until she’s wet with arousal?

Probably, she thinks, her response as intriguing as it is unsettling. It’s not her first surprising reaction of the night.

She’s damn sure it won’t be her last.

Chapter Text

While Elena lets her mind tie itself into knots over the possibilities, a wavy-haired brunette approaches them and calls Damon’s name. Her black leather corset and tight mini skirt are impressive enough, but Elena’s eyes widen when she sees the spike heels that add at least four inches to the woman’s height. If the outfit isn’t a big enough hint, the air of authority surrounding her confirms it: she’s a Domme. Oddly enough, she could pass for Elena’s sister, making her wonder if she has another sibling she doesn’t know about.

Damon and the mystery woman speak quietly with each other for a few minutes, and when they part, Damon makes the introductions. “Elena, this is Mistress Katherine. Katherine, meet Elena.”

Katherine’s gaze is appreciative as it sweeps the length of Elena’s body. “Mmm. She’s a beauty. Your new pet, I presume?” she asks, trailing a finger over Damon's lapel.

“Elena is a guest. I’m showing her the ropes, pun intended.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy the show, Elena. Perhaps you’ll let me cuff you to the cross sometime soon.” She bats her lashes at both of them and struts across the room to collect a man with spiky, light brown hair who’s sporting a pair of snug leather shorts. Short shorts.

“Don’t mind Katherine. She’s always been a little overeager,” Damon mutters.

The two of them seem to share a history, and Elena suspects they may have been lovers. Maybe they still are. The way Katherine touches Damon is familiar, intimate.

Damon reads the questions flitting across her face. “Katherine and I met in college. We dated briefly, but neither one of us is a switch, so we knew it wouldn’t work in the long run. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“What’s a switch?” Elena asks, genuinely curious. Caroline’s never used the term.

“Someone who has both Dom and sub tendencies. Depending on their frame of mind at any given time, they may feel a strong need to be in control, or they might desire to submit to another,” he patiently explains. “Rebekah is a switch. She’s submissive with Pearl, but she’s also a Domme to another sub here.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

Elijah announces the final demonstration of the night, applause fills the air, and Katherine leads her sub—whom Elijah introduces as Stefan—to the St. Andrew’s cross. The man is naked save for the shorts that look like they were painted on his body. He glances at Damon for a second, and then he stares straight ahead while Katherine moves him into place and attaches his cuffed wrists and ankles to the rings on the cross. The position is a vulnerable one, Elena notes, leaving the man spread-eagled and unable to move more than an inch or so in any direction.

Speaking of resemblances, while Stefan's eyes are green to Damon's blue, and his hair is much lighter than Damon's, they share a similar build and bone structure. “Are you and Stefan related, by any chance?”

“He’s my brother,” Damon confirms.

Whoa. “Is he a switch, too?”

“No, Stefan is submissive to the bone. He’s the perfect counterpart for Katherine.”

“The St. Andrew’s cross is a wonderful piece of equipment, especially if you and your sub enjoy pain with your play.” Katherine’s voice cuts through any leftover conversations, and the room falls silent. It’s clear she commands respect and won’t settle for anything less.

She plucks a slim tool that Elena recognizes as a riding crop from the Wall O’ Torture and snaps the flared leather end against her palm.

After examining it closely and testing its flexibility, Katherine sets aside the crop and picks up a slim length of chain, on the ends of which are two small clips. She runs a finger down Stefan’s chest, leaning in to flick her tongue over his nipples. They harden instantly, but she keeps at it a little longer, sucking and nipping until his eyes flutter shut.

It’s an erotic display, and Elena imagines Damon giving her the same treatment, teasing her nipples until they’re hard and aching. She shifts against him, and his hand creeps up her ribcage, settling just underneath the swell of her breasts.

“What is your safe word, Stefan?” Katherine murmurs, biting down on his right nipple.

He gasps and tugs at the restraints. “Red, Mistress.”

“Good boy,” Katherine croons. She opens one of the clips and slides it over the nipple she’s been nibbling on. When it closes around Stefan’s over-sensitized nub, he groans and bites his bottom lip.

Elena winces in sympathy, her hands flying up to cover her breasts. “Ouch.”

Damon tugs her hands away and folds them over her stomach instead. “Nipple clamps can be quite enjoyable. A few perfectly timed tugs on the chain or a little teasing with flicks of the tongue while your Master takes you . . .” He pauses, an expectant look crossing his face. “Instant orgasm."

His description sends a current of heat through Elena. “Sounds like you’ve experienced it yourself.”

“Not me. My subs. I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing it many, many times,” he purrs.

Subs? It makes sense that Damon’s had his fair share of submissives, but she hasn’t considered the possibility that he's currently in a relationship with one. Katherine's comment about his "new pet" resurfaces as well, leading her to wonder if he has multiple subs, which wouldn't be unheard of according to Caroline. Still, the idea that he might be off the Dom market, so to speak, slows her imagination from a breathless sprint to more of a meandering jog.

Deciding to ask him about it later if she's feeling brave, Elena returns her attention to the demonstration. Both clips are in place now, and Katherine gives the chain an experimental tug. Stefan's moan brings a smile to her face, and she reaches for the crop.

“For safety’s sake, avoid areas that could cause injury to your sub. Stay away from joints and tender spots like the kidneys and spine. As with the paddle, buildup is key. Start slow, tease your sub. Catch them by surprise. Don’t just start whacking away like you’re trying to swat a pesky fly.”

Laughter ripples through the audience, and even Elena manages a giggle. The atmosphere then resumes its previous intensity as Katherine runs the crop over Stefan’s chest. She catches it in the chain draped between his nipples, eliciting another sharp intake of breath from her sub.

She continues her explorations, smoothing the leather tip up and down his arms, over his pecs and abs, down his legs, and back up the insides of his thighs. Without warning, she delivers a quick slap to his calf, and the sharp snap of leather meeting skin makes Elena jump.

Damon’s arms tighten around her waist, and he eases her back a step until she’s leaning against his chest. It’s a nice feeling—safe, secure.

In front of them, in all her spot-lit glory, Katherine continues to drive Stefan into a frenzy of pleasure/pain. The crop lands on his bicep, pec, and inner thigh in quick, precise succession. When she uses the tip to rub the prominent bulge straining at the buttons on his shorts, he thrusts his hips toward her. “Please, Mistress,” he rasps.

“Patience, my love. Be a good boy, and I’ll give you a reward after we’re finished.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Katherine resumes her sensual torment, caressing his skin with the crop in a deceptively gentle fashion. As soon as Stefan’s eyes drift shut, she strikes twice, catching him just above each clamped nipple.

His whole body jerks, but he only lets a quiet whimper slip past his lips. He’s panting now, a light sheen of sweat forming on his skin.

“Well done, Stefan.” He manages a small smile at the praise, and when he looks at her again, his expression is dazed. Katherine strokes his cheek and brushes a few pieces of stray hair off his damp forehead. “Let’s show the audience what happens when the clamps are removed, hmm?”

She catches the thin chain between her teeth and pulls. Elena expects more of a reaction, but Stefan only moans.

“If your sub doesn’t enjoy a lot of pain, it’s best to distract them with other pleasurable sensations while taking off the clamps. However, if he or she wants that extra zing, remove them without warning, or do both at the same time for maximum effect.” She presses a kiss to Stefan’s chest. “Ready, baby?”

He nods, closing his eyes. “Yes, Mistress.”

Katherine releases the first clip, flicking her tongue over the tip of Stefan’s nipple. He hisses and arches toward her, pulling at the restraints. When she removes the second one, he cries out and tremors wrack his limbs. Katherine leans in and murmurs something in his ear, stroking his chest and arms in a comforting fashion.

The audience gives them a hearty round of applause while she gently runs a towel over Stefan’s face and unhooks his cuffs from the cross. She waits until she’s confident he can stand on his own before carefully leading him into the crowd and through a side door.

“I can’t imagine how much that must’ve hurt,” Elena whispers.

“Not as much as you’d think. Stefan’s riding high on endorphins right now, which help block the body’s ability to feel pain as intensely as it usually does,” Damon explains.

“I had no idea that was possible.”

He nods. “It’s tied to a state of mind called subspace, but that's a discussion for another time. How did you feel about the demo?”

“Not wild about the crop, but not scared shitl—uh, to death, either.” Caroline once mentioned that some Doms aren’t fond of subs cursing, and given Damon's reaction to Caroline's earlier outburst, Elena figures it’s best to watch her mouth.

“Glad to hear it. And the clamps?”

“The thought of someone sticking miniature metal clothespins on my nipples isn't exactly a happy one.” She shudders at the prospect of the sharp, little teeth biting into her sensitive nubs.

“They aren’t all like the alligator clips Katherine used,” he clarifies, sounding hopeful that the information might help change her mind. “Others are adjustable. No teeth. Well, except for your Master’s.”

Cripes. Trying to avert another near spontaneous combustion, she goes for nonchalance instead. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Elijah returns to the front of the room and raises a hand, signaling for everyone’s attention. “Thank you to our invaluable Doms and their delightful subs for those excellent demonstrations. Now, if you would, please follow me downstairs for a tour of the theme rooms and dungeon.”

Dungeon? Caroline had neglected to mention that particular piece of information. Before Elena can fret about it too much, Damon laces his fingers through hers and leads her out of the room. Instead of being at the front of the pack, he lags behind, and they bring up the rear as the group files down the stairs and emerges in the house’s lowest level.

They enter a long hallway with doors on either side. Each door has been opened wide, revealing the setups within. Elijah stops midway down the hall and waits for everyone to gather around. Damon and Elena remain on the fringe, and she assumes it’s so they can talk if need be without interrupting Elijah.

Elijah gestures to the various doors. “As you can see, we have rooms designed for a number of themes and fetishes. We cater to the desires of our members, so if there’s something you’d like to see but don’t, please let me know. Feel free to explore each one and approach me or one of the other members with any questions you may have.”

People split off and wander into the rooms while Damon and Elena start down one side of the hallway. They stop at the first door, and Elena peeks inside to discover what looks like an examination room in a doctor’s office.

“I’m assuming this isn’t a first-aid station,” she comments, eyeing the stainless steel table complete with stirrups and restraints.

Damon chuckles. “Not quite. This one is for medical play.”

“And that would be?”

“It’s like playing doctor, BDSM-style. You should give it a try.”

“That exam table is scary enough without being strapped down to it.” She shivers, but the idea of Damon as doctor to her patient isn’t an unwelcome one.

The next room appears fairly normal upon first glance, and Elena wonders if she’s missing something. The only piece of furniture is a massive bed that looks like it could accommodate a football team, cheerleaders and all. “Is this for orgies or . . . ?”

Damon laughs and taps the large viewing window next to the door. “It could be, but that’s not the main purpose. It’s for exhibitionists and voyeurs—people who enjoy being watched while they have sex and those who like to do the watching.”

“Gotcha.” Neither activity is high on her fantasy list, so she drifts toward the next room.

It’s an office setup with a large wooden desk and leather chair, a bookcase in the corner, and two smaller chairs, like the kind visitors sit in for an appointment with a lawyer or accountant. There’s a ruler and a pair of glasses on the desk. A briefcase sits on the floor by the executive chair.

“Let’s see. Librarians Gone Wild?” she guesses. “No, wait. I forgot the ruler. Naughty student and teacher?”

He grins at her antics. “You’re getting good at this. Keep it up and you can be the tour guide.” The suggestion warms Elena's cheeks. “This can be for teacher and student roleplay, or principal and student. CEO and secretary is another popular choice.”

They cross the hall, and Elena peers into the first door. There are hooks and hoops and metal bars hanging from the ceiling, but the only furniture in the room is a shelf loaded with bundles of multicolored rope. Padded mats cover the floor.

“Um, something involving a lot of rope?” she ventures. “Or possibly a kinky knitting group that likes to wrestle?”

“I’ve given this tour more times than I can count, but I’ve never enjoyed it as much as I am tonight.” Damon raises their entwined hands and kisses her knuckles. “This room is for Shibari—Japanese rope bondage. If done correctly, it’s considered to be an art form.”

“Wow. What are all the things hanging from the ceiling?”

“Some Shibari techniques involve using the ropes to suspend the submissive in midair. The hoops and such act as supports. It’s a tricky endeavor and requires hours of practice.”

“Have you ever done it?”

“A time or two,” he answers with a wink.

It’s becoming clearer by the minute that Damon has his own club for a good reason—his range of experience is impressive.

The next open doorway reveals decor straight out of the Thousand and One Nights. There’s a red velvet divan in the center of the room and large, brightly colored pillows are scattered across the floor. Curtains of sheer fabric that might be silk flow down from the ceiling and surround the divan.

“Harem fantasy?” Elena asks.

He nods. “Or some variation thereof."

“So I could pretend to be Scheherazade and tell a different story every night to avoid a spanking?”

“Who says you'd want to avoid it.”

She shivers at the truth of his statement.

The last room is the largest yet, and Damon gestures to its contents with a flourish. “Welcome to the dungeon.”

Unlike most of what she’s seen so far, the dungeon looks exactly like what she’d expect to find in a BDSM club. The lighting sets the mood with fixtures designed to resemble medieval torches placed at various intervals around the room. The equipment is made of either dark, polished wood, metal, or black leather. Chains hang from the walls and ceiling, and there’s a collection of whips, floggers, crops, and canes that rivals the display upstairs.

Elena spots another St. Andrew’s cross, a spanking bench, a bondage chair, and a stockade. There are also two cage-like enclosures and a plain table with a padded leather top. The other pieces she can’t identify.

She wanders around the room, inspecting the furniture, running her fingers through the strands of a flogger, tugging on one of the chains bolted to the wall. Damon doesn't accompany her this time. He stands back and lets her explore, but she can feel his gaze on her.

She stops by the bondage chair, recalling the demonstration given by Pearl and Rebekah. The excitement she felt while watching them rekindles as she leans down to examine the restraints—soft, supple leather with metal buckles that are cool to the touch.

"It occurs to me that I would be shirking my duties if I didn’t suggest a personal demonstration. Can’t have that." Damon's voice comes from somewhere just beyond her left shoulder, and she jumps. The man must be part ninja; she didn't even hear him move.

She turns to look at him. "'Personal demonstration'?" she parrots. "As in . . . ?"

"The chair interested you earlier, right?" She nods, still not completely following. "So why not test it out to see if you feel the same way in it?"

"'Test it out'?" Her voice rises with each word.

“Here's what I propose: I'll act as your Dom, and I'll use the cuffs to bind you to the chair for fifteen minutes, or less if you use a safe word. The dungeon door remains open, and all clothing stays in place. No gag, blindfold, or other toy will be used. You're too new for those. Can you trust me to give you this experience?"

She considers his offer. Throughout the evening, Damon's been kind, helpful, and considerate. He's given her no reason to believe he'd deliberately hurt or terrify her. She can do this. She needs to do this. "Yes, Sir."

"Brave girl." He smiles and gestures to the chair. "Have a seat, Ms. Gilbert."

She sinks down into the seat. The leather is cool, but not uncomfortably so. Unsure of what to do with her hands for the time being, she folds them in her lap.

"What is your safe word, Elena?"

She goes with the first thing that pops into her head. "Marshmallow."

"Very good." Damon taps the arms of the chair. "Arms up here."

She complies, watching intently as he repositions her wrist until it's lined up with the cuff. Satisfied with the placement, he draws the straps together and fastens the buckle. Just as Pearl did with Rebekah, he slides two fingers inside the cuff to test its tightness. He repeats the process with her left wrist and then steps back.

"How do you feel?"

Elena's first instinct is to pull on the cuffs, but they're secure. She should be freaked—and she is, a tiny bit—but more than that, the idea of putting herself in Damon’s hands, even temporarily, sends a wave of desire rolling through her. "A little panicky and . . . turned on,” she admits.

"That's fine. I can deal with a little panic. As for the rest . . ." He smirks and leaves the statement hanging while he crouches down in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. "Take a deep breath, Elena."

She does as he asks, then slowly releases it. Takes another. Lets it out. She repeats the calming technique until her heartbeat returns to normal, or as normal as it’ll ever be in Damon’s presence.

“Ready for the next part?”

“Yes.”

He slides her ankles farther apart until they reach the legs of the chair. He buckles the second set of cuffs, again checking to ensure they aren’t too snug, and then she’s well and truly bound, unable to move from the seat until Damon releases her.

“How’re we doing?” he asks, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Good.” She’s trying to ignore the fact that he’s kneeling in front of her spread legs, but it’s not working. Her first taste of bondage is already more erotic than anything she’s experienced in her life, and both of them are fully clothed.

“Everything comfortable?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I like the sound of that,” he murmurs. “Since you have nothing better to do at the moment, let's talk, hmm? Did the demonstrations and tour bring you any closer to that all-important answer you’re seeking?”

She considers for a moment, rehashing her reactions to the various things she’s seen and heard. And felt, she adds, twisting her wrists in the cuffs. “I think I’m getting there. I definitely have a better idea about which activities I’d like to try and which ones I’d rather pass on.” I’m looking at you, scary-ass, knotted whip.

“Have any questions for me?”

“There is one . . .”

“Let’s hear it.”

Hoping it’s not too inappropriate, she decides to bring up something that’s been nagging her since Katherine and Stefan's demonstration. “Do you have a submissive?” she blurts out. She cringes as soon as the words leave her mouth, wishing she'd phrased them a little less bluntly. Oops.

He runs a hand down her shin, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle in her leggings. “No. I’ve trained more subs than I can count, but I haven’t claimed one as my own since the first year I had this place.” An indecipherable look crosses his face, but it disappears before she can study it further.

“Oh.” She’s curious to know why they’re not still together, but she doesn’t want to pry. Maybe she’ll ask Caroline about it later.

"Anything else?"

“Is it ridiculous for me to feel this way? To get excited at the prospect of being bound and helpless?” She’d meant to keep those questions to herself, but she can’t seem to hide anything from him.

“Not at all. We all want what we want, Elena. It’s exciting because it’s unpredictable, out of your control. A Dom could do what he wants to you—touch you, kiss you, fuck you—while you futilely tug on your restraints and beg for more. Am I painting a clear enough picture?”

“The clearest,” she whispers as an ache forms between her legs at the vision he’s just given her.

“Good.” His smile is nothing short of wicked, and it stays that way while he checks his watch. “Your fifteen-minute trial run is up, kitten. Ready to be released?”

Release? Yes, please. Oh. Wait. Not that kind of release. What did he say about begging? “Yes, Sir.”

Damon makes quick work of unbuckling the cuffs, and before she knows it, he’s pulling her to her feet.

“So, did it live up to the hype?”

“Definitely," she answers a little more breathlessly than she'd planned.

They leave the dungeon and step into the hallway. The corridor is mostly empty now with the exception of a few stragglers, everyone else having wandered back upstairs to mingle, enjoy a few drinks, and—for the newbies—consider applying for membership before calling it a night.

Elena absently straightens the bow on her wrist after it got spun around while she was fidgeting in the cuffs. Is this it, then? Does she just go home and try to puzzle through stuff on her own until it finally clicks?

“That's quite the frown," Damon comments. "Still not convinced you’re a true submissive?”

She shakes her head. “Not entirely.”

“Come here.” It’s not a request. His voice is low, tinged with authority. She steps closer and he curls an arm around her waist, pulling her body firmly against his. Once her breasts are flush with his chest, he gathers her wrists in one hand and holds them behind her back. Her heart goes into jackhammer mode, and she stares at the buttons on his shirt until he hooks a finger under her chin and tilts her head up. “Look at me, Elena.”

She does. His eyes are a deeper shade of blue now, and she’s pretty sure he could pin her in place with his gaze alone—no restraints needed. She opens her mouth to say something—anything—but he stops her with a single word. “Hush.”

His free hand tunnels into the hair at the nape of her neck and he tightens his grip, not to the point of pain, but enough for her to know he’s not messing around. His mouth brushes hers, his lips as soft as she knew they’d be. “Let me in,” he whispers, catching her bottom lip between his teeth and tugging on it.

She opens for him, and he delves inside, his tongue caressing hers and then teasing her with a thrust and retreat pattern. He’s essentially fucking her mouth, and when the realization hits home, her knees give out and she goes limp in his arms. He easily supports her weight, coaxing a long, low moan out of her when he changes tactics and sucks on the tip of her tongue.

After another minute passes, he pulls back to let her catch her breath, and she’s grateful for his tight hold. Without it, she’d be in a heap on the floor. He regards her closely, taking note of the effect he’s having on her. Dipping his head, he lets his teeth close over her earlobe, giving it a gentle nip.

“Your breathing is shallow, your pupils are dilated, and I bet if I slid my hand into your panties, I’d find you positively dripping.” His warm breath tickles her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "Am I wrong?"

"N-no, S-s-sir," Elena stammers.

“There’s your answer.”

Fortunately, he doesn't seem to expect a response, which is good because his next words steal her ability to speak altogether.

"I won't lie to you, Elena. I want you,” Damon continues. “I want to show you what your body is capable of and how freeing it can be to let someone else take control. If you accept me as your Dom, I promise you won't regret it."

She blinks at him, eyes wide, heart pounding.

"You don't need to give me an answer tonight." He releases her, and his hand disappears inside his jacket for a moment before he presents her with a black business card. Damon Salvatore is displayed prominently at the top in embossed, silver type, followed by the club's name and address and his personal cell number.

"Once you've made your decision, give me a call." He leans in and captures her mouth in another slow, deliberate kiss. "I'll be waiting," he whispers against her lips.

Finding herself rendered mute by his confession, all Elena's capable of is a jerky nod that probably resembles a bobblehead doll on the dashboard of someone driving down a dirt road littered with potholes.

He glances up and nods at someone she can’t see. "Caroline's waiting in the front hall. I'll walk you to the car."

The trip upstairs and back into the lounge area is a quiet one, Elena’s mind spinning as she tries to process what just happened. Damon guides her so she doesn’t trip or walk into anyone.

When they reach Caroline, she’s in the middle of her goodnight kiss with Nik, and as the two of them separate, she looks a little spacey herself.

“Oh, hey,” she greets them after taking a few seconds to compose herself. Her smile falters when she notices Elena’s expression. “What happened? Is she okay?”

“She will be. Let’s just say I gave her plenty to think about.” Damon had grabbed Elena’s jacket on their way past the table they'd shared earlier, and he helps her into it while Nik ties the belt on Caroline’s trench coat.

Henry reappears and opens the door for them, and the icy blast that whips into the entryway helps clear Elena’s head. Damon tucks her hand in the crook of his arm, and they follow Nik and Caroline down the stone walkway and into the parking lot.

The car chirps as it's unlocked, and Damon gets Elena’s door for her while Nik does the same for Caroline.

“I hope to hear from you soon,” Damon murmurs and kisses her palm. "Goodnight, Elena.”

“Goodnight,” she replies, finally finding her voice. “Thank you for being my guide and”—turning my world upside down by offering to be my Dom—“everything.”

“My pleasure. Drive safely.” He shuts the door, and then it’s just her and Caroline and the car’s shitty heater blowing cold air into their faces.

“Elena.”

“Yeah?”

“Why is Damon hoping to hear from you soon?”

“I’ll tell you everything, but only after I’ve had at least three glasses of wine. Deal?”

Even in the weak illumination of the dash lights, Elena can see the enormous grin on Caroline’s face. “Deal.”

She might have to add a pair of earplugs to the mix. Her friend’s squeal when she hears the news is sure to be deafening.

Chapter Text

Something bright is shining in Elena's face, preventing her from returning to the Land of Nod. She yanks the comforter higher, trying to use it as a shield against the sunlight assaulting her senses, but it doesn't help. She's awake, and her head is in full riot mode. For the first time in hours, it has nothing to do with Damon and everything to do with the obscene amount of alcohol she and Caroline put away during their post-Midnight squeal fest.

“Did I drink an entire barrel of wine last night?" she groans into the pillow.

As if on cue, Caroline's bedroom door opens, and Elena hears her friend pad down the hallway, probably on her way to the kitchen for some much-needed aspirin. There's a loud thunk, and a flurry of curses taints the air.

"Shit!" Caroline yelps. "Whose idea was it to put the refrigerator there?"

Elena's about eighty-five percent sure they didn't get so trashed that they rearranged the furniture, but stranger things have happened.

"You okay out there?" she calls, immediately regretting it when her skull starts to throb in time with her pulse.

"I think so. I might have a broken toe, but whatever." She runs the tap, and Elena hopes she's getting a glass big enough for both of them. "Uh, Elena?"

"Yeah?"

"There are two empty wine bottles by the sink. Did we do that?"

"Unless we have another roommate we don't know about, then yeah. Had to be us." Two bottles. That explains a lot. "Since you're up, bring me some aspirin too, please."

Caroline limps in a few minutes later, holding a half-empty glass of water and two small, white pills. "Here."

"Thanks." Elena takes what she offers and chases down the pills with the cool water.

Caroline slumps onto the bed, draping herself across Elena's legs. She rests her hand on her forehead, looking like a Southern belle mid-swoon. "That wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done. I have people to interview today. And groceries to buy. And laundry to do. And Nik might come by later, probably to see if you're still functioning. Why can't it be a lazy Sunday?" she wails.

Elena offers a sigh of commiseration and pats her friend's shoulder. Caroline's job as a journalist and full-time staff writer for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution keeps her busy, sometimes even on the weekends. "Don't worry about the shopping and laundry. I'll take care of those."

"Really?"

"Sure."

"You're the best, Elena."

“I know.”

“Smartass.” Caroline grabs a pillow and swings it in Elena’s direction. Her hangover hampers her aim, however, and it lands on the nightstand instead, sending perfume bottles and tubes of lotion crashing to the floor. “Oops. Sorry.”

“S’okay. I needed to clean that off anyway.”

“So, what’s your plan?”

“My plan?”

“About Damon’s offer.”

“Research, research, and more research. I don’t want to go into this unprepared.”

Caroline nods. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Good luck!” She plants a kiss on Elena’s cheek, and then she drags herself off the bed and hobbles toward the bathroom for a shower.

Elena sinks into her pillows and closes her eyes while she waits for the aspirin to work its magic. In between chores, she wants to fill in some of the gaps in her BDSM knowledge. If she's serious about being a submissive, especially to someone as well-versed as Damon, she needs to make sure she's up to speed. At some point, she also has to squeeze in time to finish her latest article, but at least that's almost done.

Coffee first. Then Breakfast. Shower. Groceries. Research. Lunch. Laundry. Research. Writing. Dinner. Research. Research. Research. Sleep. Dream of Damon.

In that order.

*****

Damon traces the sliver of sunlight stretching in a horizontal line across his duvet. Gold on black from one side of the luxurious comforter to the other. It's no small distance considering he had the bed custom made to be even larger than a California King. He enjoys the extra space, and given his . . . predilections, he needs room to spread out.

It isn't long before his thoughts turn to Elena. It seems appropriate that she was the last thing on his mind as he fell asleep, and she's his first focus upon waking. He shouldn't go there, but he can't help but picture her petite body writhing in the center of the mammoth bed, surrounded by silk sheets and mounds of pillows.

Bound to his bed. Surrounded by him.

It might be presumptuous to assume Elena will accept his offer, but he doesn't care. He's fairly certain she'll agree, given a few days to mull things over. She's a thinker, that one. Her wheels are constantly turning. She's beautiful, no doubt about it, but his desire for her goes beyond her appearance. He's attracted to her mind, her spirit, her openness. It's refreshing.

She'll be eager to learn and please, he thinks, but she'll also challenge him if he pushes her far enough, and he plans to. There's fire there, passion no one's brought out in her yet.

He intends to stoke it into a raging inferno.

He considers the way he’d dress her for playtime at the club—plenty of leather but also outfits with lace and satin accents, like the bustier she wore last night. A perfect mix of soft and strict, vanilla and kink. She won’t have just any cuffs either, he decides. No, she deserves something special. Perhaps a pair lined with fleece or fur.

The urge to grab his laptop and do some impromptu shopping at his favorite fetish website is strong, but he tables it for now. Maybe he’ll do some browsing later, save some items in his cart.

Wait for Elena’s phone call . . .

Then place the order.

*****

Elena pops a handful of quarters into the dryer and starts it up. Reclaiming her chair in the corner, she makes sure her laptop is angled away from prying eyes and opens the next site.

So far, most of the tutorials and how-to guides she’s read echo things Caroline’s told her about the lifestyle. Healthy D/s relationships are founded on trust, communication, honesty, and respect—all characteristics Damon alluded to last night. It makes perfect sense. Too bad more relationships don’t follow the same path.

The site she clicked on displays a list of bondage positions with accompanying illustrations. She tilts her head as she studies them, wondering how a person would ever move again after being released from some of the more complicated ropes and straps. Time to do more yoga.

The need for flexibility aside, none of them are particularly off-putting. Some are even relatively simple, like the standard spread-eagle position and the leapfrog . . . Whoa. Okay, she’d definitely be interesting in trying that one. Before she gets herself all hot and bothered in front of the elderly couple who are folding their laundry, she switches to a different site.

A section on 24/7 Master/slave relationships catches her eye, and she scrolls down out of curiosity. According to the article, there are some couples who make the very serious commitment of entering into something called a total power exchange. Instead of participating in a scene and then parting ways at the end of the night, theirs is a constant world of domination and submission where the slave gives over complete control to his or her Master.

Is that what Damon’s looking for, she wonders? A slave he can control all day, every day? The thought is a little worrying, but she decides not to get too worked up about it yet.

Checking the clock, she realizes she needs to switch gears and get some work done. Her article isn’t going to finish itself. Being a freelance writer doesn’t give her the liberty of ignoring deadlines.

Somehow, she doubts the editor will accept “met a sexy Dom and fell down a BDSM rabbit hole” as an excuse for why she’s late turning in her piece.

*****

She’s polishing off the rest of her veggie stir-fry when there’s a knock on the door.

Caroline jumps up to answer it, and moments later, Nik strolls into the room, hand in hand with her beaming bestie. He whispers something in Care’s ear, and she sucks in a breath as her cheeks turn pink.

Uh oh. Here we go. Elena chases a pea around on her plate, wondering if she should sneak to her room and put on the noise-canceling headphones before the fireworks start. She finishes the rest of her water—she’s sworn off wine for the foreseeable future, thankyouverymuch—and is in the process of trying to covertly slip away when Nik catches her in mid-retreat.

“Elena. How are you, love?” he greets her.

So much for a clean getaway. “Hey, Nik. I’m hanging in there. You?”

“Quite well, thank you.” He pauses, his lips twitching with a hint of a smile. “I see you’ve recovered after your eventful evening.”

Now it’s her turn to blush. “Yeah. I had a wonderful time. When you see Damon, please thank him again for me.”

“I can certainly do that, but are you sure you wouldn’t rather do so yourself?” he asks.

If only she were brave enough. “Uh, I would, but . . .”

Caroline comes to her rescue. “Don’t pester her, Nik. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since he asked her.”

“You’re right, love. My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to rush your decision, Elena. I’d be happy to give Damon your message.”

“Thanks.”

Elena gives them a little wave and then heads to her room. She sprawls out on the bed and stares at the wall, thinking maybe she should postpone doing more research until tomorrow; give her brain a rest. At least she was able to wrap up her article and submit it in between folding the laundry and helping Caroline with dinner, so that’s not hanging over her head anymore.

Her gaze drifts from the wall to her nearly empty nightstand. The only item to survive Caroline’s pillow attack is the ribbon Henry tied on her wrist last night. She discovered she was still wearing it when she woke up this morning. Unable to part with it, she’d set it aside on the bedside table before getting into the shower.

She recognizes that the longer it takes her to make up her mind, the more her thoughts are going to be consumed by satin ribbons, riding crops, bondage chairs, and a Dom with the most mesmerizing blue eyes she’s ever seen.

This week is sure to be an interesting one.

*****

“Elena . . .”

Her eyes flutter open at the sound of Damon’s voice. The room is bathed in the flickering light given off by dozens of candles. The comforter underneath her is almost cloud-like in its softness. Her limbs are splayed out on the bed, and at first, she thinks it must be because she woke up in mid-stretch.

She tries to reposition her arm, but her wrist is connected to something. She attempts to shift her legs, but they’re also being held immobile. Confused as to why she can’t move, she glances toward the head of the bed and sees the leather cuffs encircling her wrists. Her heart skips a beat at the discovery.

A quick check of her lower body reveals a second set of cuffs attached to her ankles, keeping her legs spread wide. She’s also surprised to find she's not wearing a stitch of clothing—no nightgown, no lingerie. Nothing. She’s completely bare from head to toe.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Damon approach the bed. He’s naked as well, the candlelight playing over the sleek lines of his body and emphasizing each flex of muscle. His cock is fully erect, and it bobs against his lower belly as he climbs up on the mattress and crawls over to her.

She says his name, but it comes out in an unintelligible jumble because there’s something in her mouth. She tests it with her tongue. It feels like a soft length of fabric with a knot in it that’s resting just behind her teeth—a silk scarf?

Damon straddles her hips and leans forward, taking her nipple in his mouth. He suckles it into a hard peak and then bites down gently, sending a shot of white-hot need straight to her core.

A strangled moan leaves her throat, and he smiles against her skin. “You’re mine, Elena. All mine . . .”

"WAKE UP, ATLANTA! IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DA—"

Elena slaps the snooze button, silencing the obnoxious DJ. "Stupid fucking alarm clock." She groans and squeezes her thighs together as the remnants of the delicious dream fade away. Maybe she should call in sick. “Sorry, I've come down with a serious case of horny. They tell me it's highly contagious. See you in a week!”

It's a nice thought, if a highly unrealistic one. The other receptionist she shares front desk duties with at Dr. Olly’s office is taking a vacation day, so she's stuck. Plus, there’s the whole working-two-jobs-to-help-pay-rent-and-student-loans aspect of her life. Getting fired isn’t part of her long-term career plan.

She rolls out of bed and goes to bang on Caroline's door. They have a standing agreement that whoever gets up first is responsible for waking up the other one, and today, it's Elena's turn. "Up and at 'em, Care," she calls.

The only reply is muffled grumbling. "It can't be morning yet. Go 'way."

"Sad, but true. I'm not thrilled about it either."

Cue more griping, which eventually transitions into a half-snore.

"Caroline Forbes, get your ass up. Don't make me call Nik," Elena threatens.

The pseudo-snoring stops immediately. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" Caroline once told her that Nik's "Dom voice," as she refers to it, is the ultimate motivator.

"You're evil." The door finally opens, and Caroline's standing there in a pink cami and shorts, glaring at her. "You need to give Damon your answer already so I can sick him on you."

"Not yet. I'm having too much fun hassling you."

"Just wait. I'll make sure you have your turn."

"Promises, promises." Elena contorts her face into a goofy grin guaranteed to make her BFF's grumpiness disappear. "You want the shower first and I'll make breakfast?"

"Ugh. Fine, you win," Caroline concedes, but at least she's smiling now. A little.

Elena does a victory dance all the way to the kitchen and pulls a frying pan out of the cupboard. "How about a veggie omelet with lots of cheese?" she asks, knowing it's Caroline's favorite.

"I knew I loved you for a reason, even if you insist on dragging me out of bed against my will." Caroline gives her a quick hug and heads toward the bathroom. "By the way, that dance needs work. It looks like the Electric Slide took on the Stanky Leg and lost."

"Hey!" Elena lobs a potholder down the hall, but she's already out of reach. "There's nothing wrong with my dancing."

“Keep telling yourself that,” comes the faint reply.

*****

When noon arrives, Elena’s on the verge of dropping to her knees to thank the lunch break gods for their benevolence. Echoes of her dream have been haunting her all morning, making even the easiest, most mundane tasks nearly impossible.

She scheduled two patients for the same appointment time and had to call one back, explain her mistake, and reschedule. At least the woman had been nice about it. Shortly after that, she had a close call with a medication mix-up and had to contact the pharmacy before they gave someone the wrong pills. The final straw came when she tried to make copies of a patient’s ID card only to have the copier jam in not one, not two, but six places.

At this point, it's either get out of the office or get fired.

Shrugging into her coat, she walks the short distance to her favorite café and snags a deserted table in the corner. She orders hot chocolate and a muffin, which doesn’t make for a great lunch, but she’s not really that hungry.

She pulls out her phone and checks her email. There’s a message from Caroline simply titled “More Research.” Elena seriously considers ignoring it until she gets home, but her curiosity wins out after a few minutes. She opens the message and discovers a short note from her friend and links to a few blogs run by submissives who share their day-to-day experiences in the lifestyle.

These helped me a lot when I was new to the scene, Caroline’s note reads.

She taps the first link and scrolls through the recent entries. There’s one lengthy post in which the sub explains how her Dom is slowly introducing her to activities she had been too afraid to try before now. She describes his methods in detail, revealing the depth of his patience and affection for her. The bond they share is evident in her words.

Elena sets the phone aside and reaches for her purse, easily locating the card Damon gave her. The way the sub writes about her Dom reminds Elena of Damon. He’d treated her similarly at the club—patiently answering her questions, showing her things without pushing her too far too fast, giving her time to reflect on her experiences.

Her finger hovers over the screen, then she brings up the key pad as she contemplates dialing his number. Unfortunately, the longer she ponders Damon's patience, the more doubt starts to creep in. He didn't complain about the mountain of questions she heaped on him the other night, but it was her first visit to the club, and he probably didn't want to be rude. Will he always be so understanding?

What if her inexperience is too much of a turn-off? What if she doesn't measure up to his previous sub, not to mention all the ones he’s trained?

She slides her phone away and tucks the business card back into her purse. She picks a few crumbs off the muffin, but her appetite's vanished. I promise I'll call you, Damon. Just maybe not today.

*****

Damon's perusing the new membership applications from Saturday night when there's a knock on his office door.

"Come in," he calls, expecting Elijah, Nik, Pearl, or maybe Rebekah, all of whom he's asked for ideas for an upcoming theme night.

Turns out it's none of the above. Stefan opens the door and walks in in his quiet, unassuming way. He takes a seat on the leather sofa situated against the wall and regards Damon for a few moments. "I hope I'm not interrupting. I haven't seen you pretend to concentrate that hard on something since you buried your face in your math homework so I wouldn't know it was you who made the cake for my tenth birthday. What's bothering you?"

"No need to dig, baby bro. Everything's fine."

Stefan gives him a look that roughly translates into Who do you think you're shitting? but lets it drop. Knowing his brother, it’s only a temporary reprieve. "So, the open house seems like it was a big success."

"Yeah." Damon holds up the fistful of papers. "As far as I can tell, all of the guests"—minus one—"filled out an application."

"Impressive."

"Thanks again for doing that demo with Kat, by the way. She cleared everything with me first. I know you're not wild about the show-and-tell stuff." Public play had been a hard limit for Stefan until relatively recently. An intensely private person, he wasn't comfortable being "on display," as he put it. Katherine had finally succeeded in coaxing him out of his shell.

"No problem. I didn't mind it nearly as much as I thought I would."

"Kat's good at distracting you."

"That she is. Speaking of distractions, who was the woman you had your arm around for most of the night? I saw the ribbon on her wrist."

"Elena Gilbert. She's Caroline Forbes's roommate. She wanted to find out if she’s truly submissive." Damon keeps his tone informative—a straightforward retelling of facts.

"And is she?" Stefan asks.

"Definitely."

"You're interested in her." Damon makes a noncommittal sound and goes back to reading applications, trying not to let on that he's read the last one at least ten times and hasn't retained any of the words scrawled across the paper. "I saw the way you were acting,” Stefan continues. “Protective, instructive, a touch possessive. All signs of a Dom who wants to claim a sub as his own."

"Starting to regret letting you in here," Damon sing-songs.

Stefan smiles, clearly entertained by the whole situation. "You know I'm right. The ribbon is proof that she's not involved with anyone. Did you ask her?"

"Ask her what."

"You know what."

"Fine. Yes, I offered to be her Dom."

"And?"

"Still waiting on the response."

Stefan waves a hand through the air. "She seemed pretty taken by you. I highly doubt she's not going to agree."

"We'll see." Echoes of the past come rushing back, but Damon quickly schools his expression before his overly perceptive brother notices.

Too late.

"You deserve to be happy." Stefan gets up from the couch and perches on the edge of Damon's desk. "You can’t let what happened with Charlotte taint this. I haven't even met Elena, and I can already tell she's completely different. Those reactions were genuine. She's not playing a game."

“I didn’t think Charlotte was playing either.” Damon sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “No, you’re right. Elena’s not Charlotte.” He can’t shake the memory of their kisses or the way Elena readily submitted to his every demand until the sensations raging through her left her quivering in his arms. He’s never witnessed such a potent reaction from a sub (or a sub-to-be).

“See? Just like I said.”

Damon arches a brow at his brother. “Someone’s smug.”

“Maybe it’s Opposite Day. Isn’t that usually your thing, being a Dom and all?” Stefan grins and moves out of reach before Damon can swat him with the stack of applications.

“Don’t you have papers to grade?”

“It’s more fun to give you hell.”

“Consider your mission accomplished,” Damon growls.

Stefan holds up his hands in surrender and backs toward the door. “Message received. Dinner tonight at my place?”

“I’ll agree to anything as long as you stop being a pain in my ass.”

“Deal. See you around 7?”

Damon nods and returns his attention to the task at hand, which seems more hopeless by the minute. “Later, Stef.”

*****

Caroline flips the last blueberry pancake onto Elena’s plate and offers her the syrup. They’ve made it to the last day of another week of looming deadlines, cranky bosses, screaming children in waiting rooms, and paperwork mishaps, which calls for a celebratory breakfast.

“So, Nik and I are going to the club tonight. You coming with?” Caroline cuts a piece of fluffy, perfectly prepared pancake and pops it in her mouth.

“Actually, I’m going to sit this one out,” Elena quietly admits.

“What? Why? I thought you said you enjoyed yourself and Damon proved to you that you’re submissive.”

“I did. He did.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I . . . don’t know.” Elena uses her fork to draw syrupy designs on her plate.

"He wants you. He admitted as much. Not to mention the 'mine' vibe that had already kicked in by the time I saw you guys together. The way he was touching you, looking at you." Caroline shivers and pours herself another cup of coffee. "You haven’t given him an answer yet, is that it?"

Elena nods. "I'm working on it."

"You can't seriously be considering shutting him down. It's Damon, for fuck's sake. Every available sub from here to Hades would kill for a chance to be his, even for a night. If you really want to be part of the lifestyle, who better to learn from and experience it with?"

Her friend has a point. Several, in fact. Still . . . "I want to please him, but what if I'm a shitty sub?"

"With Damon training you, there's no way you'll be a shitty sub. Trust me."

“You’re probably right. Still, it’s been a long week, and I don’t think I’d be much fun tonight.” Translation: I already have a date with the couch and a pint of my favorite ice cream.

“We go to the club because it’s been a long week. You do know orgasms are instant stress relievers, right?” Caroline points out with a mischievous little smile.

“So I’ve heard.”

“I’m sure Damon would be happy to help you de-stress.”

“Don’t start, Care.” Unfortunately, her suggestion already has Elena’s mind whirling at the possibilities.

“Why not?” She winks at Elena and gets up to rinse her plate and stick it in the dishwasher. “Time to head to the trenches, so I’ll leave you with one last thing to think about: Nik told me one of Damon’s specialties is giving his subs multiple orgasms until they can’t remember their own names. One after another, after another . . .” She pats her on the shoulder as she walks by. “You get the idea.”

“Thanks,” Elena mutters, shifting in her chair as she digests this latest piece of information. If she makes it through the day without totally destroying Dr. Olly’s office, it’ll be a miracle.

*****

By Friday afternoon, Damon’s ability to concentrate is completely shot to hell.

After running the same figures ten times and getting a different total each time, he slams his laptop shut. He leans back in his chair and stretches, trying to clear the fog in his head. No one's ever affected him this way. Ever.

It doesn't matter if he's trying to shower, balance his accounts, read, answer email, eat, run a demo with the other Doms, or even sleep. There's a beautiful, intelligent, submissive woman just beyond his reach who won't call him, and it's slowly driving him insane.

Seeking solace in his favorite drink, he snags a crystal tumbler and fills it with a healthy dose of bourbon. He's just taken his first life-saving swallow when Elijah appears in the doorway.

"I thought you were up here working, not drinking the day away."

"I was trying to work, but my brain’s waving the white flag."

"What could it possibly be that has the unshakeable Damon Salvatore in such a quandary? Or who, rather," Elijah adds after a beat.

"I think it’s pretty obvious, E."

"Ah, yes. The delightful Elena. I expected you'd have her cuffed, collared, and kneeling on a pillow at your feet by now. You're losing your touch."

“I’m not losing my touch,” he mutters, taking another gulp of bourbon. “I agreed to give her the time she needs to make an informed decision. I’m not going back on my word.”

Elijah claps him on the shoulder. “And that, my friend, is why you’re the Dom all other Doms at the club aspire to be.”

Damon laughs, but there’s no joy in it. “That might change if I go off the deep end.”

“Nonsense. She’ll come around before too much longer, I’m sure of it. Curiosity is quite the motivator.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” Damon swirls the amber liquid in the bottom of the glass and tosses it back.

“I’ve often been told I’m rarely wrong.” With that, Elijah nods and heads off down the hallway, whistling as he goes.

Banking on his friend’s intuition, Damon crosses his arms behind his head and stares at the ceiling. He can hold out another day or so, he thinks.

After that, all bets are off.

*****

The last spoonful of Ben & Jerry's is the saddest spoonful, Elena thinks as she scoops up the peanut butter and chocolatey goodness and pops it into her mouth. What would life be without a trusty tub of ice cream to take your mind off everything that's bothering you?

Her earlier conversation with Caroline plays on a constant loop in her head, reminding her of all the reasons she should just give in and agree to Damon's offer. Unfortunately, her ability to second guess herself is second to none, so she's engaging in a mental tennis match so has no hope of winning. Yes. No. Okay. Nevermind. Sure. Better not.

"Alright, that's it."

Jumping off the couch, she runs into her bedroom to find her purse. After dumping out the contents, she sorts through receipts, loose change, and tubes of lip gloss until she uncovers the small, black rectangle.

She turns the business card over, reading and rereading the number at the bottom.

She drops her phone. Picks it up again. Stares at the screen. Finally, she takes a deep breath and dials the seven digits printed in elegant, silver type.

He answers on the second ring. “Hello?” There’s a sense of urgency in his tone, as if he’s been expecting the call.

"Damon?" She's instantly sixteen years old again, talking to her crush for the first time and trying not to embarrass herself.

“Elena.” Even though he’s nowhere near her, his voice is like a tangible caress.

“How are you?” she asks, tentatively trying to assess his mood.

His exhale comes across the line, and it’s not a happy sound. “Well, there’s this woman I’m dying to see again. She’s gorgeous, funny, receptive. Submissive.” He pauses to let that one sink in. “I made her an offer, and now I’m just waiting to see if she’ll take me up on it.”

Crap. “I know I owe you an answer. I haven’t forgotten.”

“Mmm. Neither have I.”

She drags a hand through her hair while she wears a path in the carpet with all her pacing. “I . . . want to,” she finally admits. “Be your sub, that is. I’m just worried . . .”

“Worried about what?” His tone is lighter now. Hopeful.

“That I won’t please you. That I’ll make stupid mistakes and you’ll regret ever meeting me in the first place. You’re experienced. You own a club. You’ve been a Dom for years, and I’m someone whose fantasies have only ever existed in my dreams.” She knows she’s babbling, but she can’t seem to stop. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and she’s sure she’s ruined everything, and then Damon’s voice is in her ear, full of astonishment. “You think you won’t please me? Elena, that concern has never crossed my mind.”

His reassurance starts to thaw the fear that’s left her frozen, unable to embark on this new journey. “But I’m a novice. Don’t you want someone who knows what they’re doing?”

“I want you, Elena. End of. Besides, if you agree, I’ll be training you, teaching you as we go along. You won’t be a novice for long,” he promises.

Right. She can do this. Take the leap. “Okay,” she murmurs, so softly she’s not sure he’ll hear her.

He does. “‘Okay’? Is that a ‘yes’?”

She takes a deep breath. Releases it slowly. “Yes. I’ll be your sub . . . Sir.”

It’s Damon’s turn to suck in a breath. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear those words, kitten. You’ve already pleased me, more than you know.”

She smiles, heat radiating through her at his revelation. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. So, it looks like we have a lot to discuss. I’d like you to join me tomorrow morning for breakfast here at the club, say ten o’clock. We can meet in my office and talk about where we go from here. Sound good?”

“That would be great.”

“Perfect. Until tomorrow, then. Sweet dreams, Elena.”

“Goodnight, Damon.”

When she hangs up, she’s full of nervous energy. She could do a full workout routine or clean the entire apartment even though it’s almost midnight.

It’s real. She’s a submissive.

Damon’s submissive.

Chapter Text

“What to wear, what to wear . . .”

There are three outfits laid out on Elena’s bed: a pantsuit, a skirt and blouse combo, and her favorite fuzzy sweater and jeans. She considers each of them, wishing Caroline were here to give her advice, but she spent the night with Nik. Since they probably didn’t get home until one or two in the morning, she doesn’t want to disturb them with something as silly as a wardrobe check.

After a few more minutes of consideration, she decides against the suit. Too formal. This isn’t a job interview. The next to go is the skirt and blouse. It’s not a bad choice, but last night was unusually cold, and she doesn’t want to freeze to death before seeing Damon.

“You win, comfy sweater and jeans.” She puts the clothing that didn’t make the cut back in her closet and heads for the bathroom. It’s only eight o’clock, but she’s already had enough coffee to last the entire day. She’s both wired and exhausted, not having slept more than a few hours.

She quickly showers, dries her hair, and winds it into a messy bun on top of her head. She adds a little light makeup—nothing too serious, just a touch of lip gloss and enough concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes. Since she’s not sure exactly what to expect during her meeting with Damon, she picks a nicer bra and undies than her typical Saturday go-tos. Then she slides into her jeans and sweater and finishes the look with a pair of knee-high suede boots.

There. It’s not business casual, but it’s not pajamas and bunny slippers either. Stopping in her room to collect her purse, she sends a quick text to Caroline.

Going to see Damon. Don’t panic if I’m not here when you get back.

The reply is instantaneous. OMG!!! You’re going for it?

Yep.

Congrats and good luck!! xoxo

Thnx :*

Elena sticks her phone back in her purse and checks her reflection to make sure she doesn’t have toothpaste on her sweater or a piece of lint in her hair. Deciding she looks relatively decent for a Saturday morning, she puts on her coat, pockets her keys, and slips out the door, locking it behind her.

Her breath fogs the air when she steps outside, and she pulls her coat tighter around her. At least it’s sunny. She climbs into the car and puts the heat on full blast while she enters the club’s address into her GPS. She’s fairly certain she can get there without directions, but she’s not taking any chances. Showing up late won’t win her any points with Damon. It won’t do to start things off with a punishment, however arousing the prospect of a spanking may be.

Cranking the radio and singing along at the top of her lungs helps calm the nerves that are creeping up on her again. She glances at the clock on the dash—9:20. Barring a traffic jam, she’ll be at the club in thirty minutes.

Sending up a prayer that she doesn’t act like a complete spaz when she sees Damon again, she puts the car in drive and eases into traffic.

*****

Elena arrives at her destination with ten minutes to spare. Thankfully, traffic was bearable, and the trip went off without a hitch.

She gets out of the car and starts up the walkway toward the house, which appears much less intimidating in the light of day. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop the butterflies in her stomach from turning into elephants. Stampeding elephants.

She knocks on the door just as Caroline did during their last visit. Will Henry greet her this time, she wonders? Maybe it’ll be Damon since the club doesn’t actually open until eight in the evening.

The answer ends up being neither as the door is opened by a man she’s never seen before. His light brown hair is combed back, and he’s sporting a few days’ worth of beard stubble. It’s not a bad look. Rugged and a bit rough around the edges. His smile is polite enough, but it seems less welcoming than Henry’s. More cautious, guarded.

“Hey,” he says, gesturing for her to come inside. “Elena, right?”

She nods.

“Thought so. I’m Alaric Saltzman, Damon’s head of security at the club.” He offers her his hand, and she gives it a quick, efficient shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well.”

Alaric scratches his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets, and Elena surmises that being a doorman isn’t his forte. “Damon’s expecting you, so he should be here any—” One of the inner doors opens and Damon breezes in, looking devastating even in a black V-neck tee and a pair of snug-fitting dark jeans. “And there he is,” Alaric finishes. “Perfect timing.”

“Thanks, Ric. Feel free to head back to your office. I’ll get the door.” Damon comes to a stop in front of her and takes her hands in his. His warm grip feels good to her frozen fingers; she’d forgotten all about putting on gloves in her rush to get on the road. His smile is infectious, and she can’t help but return it.

“Guess I’ll be going then. You two have fun doing whatever it is you’re going to do,” Alaric says, nodding to Damon and waving at Elena.

“Bye, Alaric,” Elena calls as he slips out the door, leaving them alone. She spends a few awkward seconds trying to decide how best to greet Damon. A handshake would be too formal. Besides, he’s already holding her hands. Would it be inappropriate for a sub to hug her Dom? Is that too platonic? Or should she—

“Your hands are like ice,” Damon murmurs, interrupting her internal debate. He rubs them between both of his until the feeling starts to come back. When he finishes, they’re nice and toasty. “Much better.”

“Thanks.” She flexes her fingers, sliding them through his, but he doesn’t release her hands. Instead, he pulls her closer.

“Welcome back.” His eyes are the same shade of blue she remembers from the other night. Captivating, alluring.

“Hi,” she manages to squeak before he dips his head and unerringly finds her mouth with his. The kiss is unhurried, gentle—a different approach than the one he used in the hallway outside the dungeon. He’s obviously keenly aware that she’s a walking jumble of nerves and is using the kiss as a calming tactic. It’s working, too. Some of the tension drains away, and she leans into him.

Damon’s kisses are her new favorite thing, she decides. His lips are magic, and she can’t wait to feel them trail down her neck and find the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. The thought makes her shiver, and Damon pulls back with a frown.

“Still cold?” he asks, rubbing her arms through her coat.

“No, just thinking.”

“About?”

“How much I enjoy kissing you.” The admission makes heat rise in her cheeks.

“Same here.” He grins and her blush deepens. “Let’s get you out of that coat. Breakfast is waiting.” She unzips her jacket, and he eases it off her shoulders and hangs it up in the coatroom. When he returns, he punches a code into the keypad by the door, reengaging the security system.

He takes her hand and leads her through the empty lounge area and down the hallway, at the end of which is a set of French doors she recalls seeing last time she was here. They were closed then, as they are now, and Damon opens one of them and holds it for her. “After you.”

She steps inside and is instantly surrounded by a bevy of delicious aromas: coffee, cinnamon, bacon, maple syrup, and something sweet. Strawberries?

“It smells like heaven in here.” She breathes in the heady combination, and her stomach responds with a loud rumble.

“I hope you brought your appetite,” Damon says as he closes the door and gestures for her to have a seat on the couch. There’s a table in front of it that’s holding a massive tray with an assortment of covered dishes, a coffee carafe, a pitcher of juice, and place settings for each of them.

Elena settles on the sofa and glances around Damon’s office. There’s a window across from her that offers a view of the sprawling backyard. It isn’t much to look at in the middle of winter, but she’s sure it must be lovely in the spring and summer with rich, green grass and plenty of shade trees.

Her gaze takes in the rest of the room. The décor is relatively minimal, but there are two vibrant landscape paintings that immediately draw her attention. Aside from the sofa, there’s a polished wooden desk, a stately grandfather clock, and a single chair by the window. She spots a photo of Damon and Stefan on the desk and another hanging on the wall of a woman she doesn’t recognize but whose dark hair matches Damon’s. His mother?

“Those paintings are gorgeous,” she comments, in awe of the artist’s skill. One depicts a full moon reflected in rippled waters; the second is a sunrise over the ocean.

“Nik did them.” Damon sits down beside her and carefully pulls the table closer to them. “When he’s not tying up Caroline, he enjoys getting in touch with his inner Monet.”

“Impressive.” She recalls Caroline mentioning something about Nik’s creative side. Gifted painter by day, devious Dom by night, apparently.

Damon starts lifting lids off of dishes, and her eyes widen at the sheer amount of food. There’re pancakes, French toast, bacon, sausage links, scrambled eggs, home fries, and a giant bowl of fresh fruit.

“There’s enough food here for an army.”

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a little of everything.” He scoots over until his leg is pressing against hers and reaches for the carafe. “Coffee?”

Not a good idea. If she has more caffeine, she’ll be climbing the walls with her bare hands. “Actually, I’d better pass. I drank at least a gallon of the stuff before I came here. I’d be up for some juice though.”

He pours her a glass and hands it to her. “So, what’s your fancy?” he asks, motioning to the feast.

“Um, I’m good with a pancake.” She’s hungry, but her jitters are slowly destroying her appetite.

“A pancake?” Damon’s eyebrows shoot up, and he studies her for a moment. “Okay, let’s try this instead. Is there something here you don’t like? Anything you’re allergic to?”

Unsure what he’s getting at, she answers truthfully. “I like all of it, and no, no allergies.”

He nods and begins filling a plate with a little of each item. When he’s done, he sits back and balances the plate in his lap. “We’ll eat and talk, how about that?” He selects a strawberry and holds it to her lips. “Here.”

She mimics his expression of surprise. “I can feed myself, y’know.”

“Humor me.”

His tone is mild, but she detects an underlying Dom vibe. She bites into the strawberry, her eyes closing in bliss when a burst of juice hits her tongue.

“Good?”

“Very.”

He offers her the rest and she takes it. Some of the juice escapes and trickles down her chin, but before she can mop it up with a napkin, he collects the drop with his thumb and licks it off.

“Mmm, delicious,” he murmurs, holding her gaze. “So, tell me about yourself. What do you do?”

Tearing her eyes away from his, she tries to recall what the question was. Oh, right. "I'm a receptionist at a doctor's office, and I also do some freelance writing."

"Interesting combo. What do you write about?" He cuts a piece of pancake with his fork and brings it to her mouth.

She pulls the fluffy square from the tines and waits to answer until she finishes chewing. Spitting food all over him wouldn't be the best way to make a good impression. In the meantime, he takes a bite for himself. "I cover current events, hot-button topics, local interest stories, that sort of thing. Sometimes it depends on the publication."

He sips at his coffee, regarding her over the rim. "Why did you decide to work at the doctor’s office? Are you pursuing a career in medicine?"

At first, she assumed the Q&A was just his way of getting in some awkward small talk before the real discussion begins, but Damon seems genuinely interested in her life. It's unexpected and . . . nice. "No, I majored in English and Communications with the goal of eventually being a professional writer, but since writing is kind of a hit-or-miss occupation while you build your résumé, I needed something else to help pay the bills." She doesn't plan on including the next bit, but it comes out anyway. "My dad was a doctor, so I took on the receptionist job because it reminds me of all the time I spent running around his office when I was a kid."

Damon immediately picks up on her use of the past tense and pauses in the midst of cutting up a sausage link. "Did your dad pass?" he asks gently.

She nods, trying not to think about the worst day of her life. "He and my mom both, actually. Their car was T-boned by a drunk driver the summer before I turned sixteen."

His fingers curl around hers, and he gives her hand a squeeze. "I'm so sorry. I understand what that's like."

"Thanks," she whispers, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall. It's hard to believe it's almost been ten years since she lost them. She clears her throat as the rest of his words sink in. "Your parents are gone, too?"

He nods, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "My mom died when I was thirteen, and my father drank himself into an early grave just before Stef graduated from high school."

Now it's her turn to offer comfort. "I'm sorry to hear that." She points to the picture on the wall. "Is that your mom?"

"Yeah. I miss her, but my father . . . not so much." He feeds her a piece of sausage as he talks. "After Mom died, it was like he hated the sight of us. He'd come home from the office and drink until he passed out. After a while, he decided it'd be fun to try and smack me around, but that stopped as soon as he found out I hit back. I refused to let Stefan be the next target, so I took him everywhere with me. Didn't even matter if it was a date."

“You protected him. I hate that you went through that, but I’m glad you had each other.”

"Me, too. We lived in a small town, and my old man was a high and mighty lawyer who ran his own practice. Talk about a god complex." He offers her a grape and pops one into his own mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "The positive side to the story is that part of the money from his estate helped me get this place started."

"Wow," she murmurs, more than a little awestruck by Damon's perseverance. "Do you have any other siblings?"

"No, just Stefan." A forkful of scrambled eggs comes her way next. "How about you?"

"A younger brother, Jeremy. He's a graphic designer in LA."

They spend the next hour chatting about what they do in their spare time. Elena tells him about going hiking with Caroline and how they like to get out of the city as much as possible. Damon reveals that he enjoys running and taking ski trips with Stefan over the holidays. Sometimes the Mikaelsons tag along, and Elena senses that Damon and the other Doms share a close bond. There’s a family vibe to their relationship, and she supposes it’s only natural given how much time they spend together. She can relate; she and Caroline might as well be sisters.

She learns Damon’s a fan of rock, and he lists the Stones, Janis, and Hendrix as some of his faves. She divulges that her musical tastes are all over the map—everything from R&B to classical to Friday night karaoke. She makes him laugh with stories of hapless middle school dances, and when she presses him, he admits he could probably play something other than “Wonderwall” on the guitar.

He continues to feed her bites of this and that, alternating between sweet and salty, fruity and buttery, until she sits back with a groan, the last blueberry having pushed her over the edge into don’t-eat-another-crumb territory. “I’m gonna explode.” She rubs her belly and grimaces. “You must’ve fed me at least five pounds of food.”

Damon chuckles as he mops up a puddle of syrup with a piece of French toast and sticks it in his mouth. “Hardly. Besides, I plan on keeping you quite . . . busy in the near future, so you’ll need to eat enough to keep up your strength. Consider this practice.” He waggles his brows and finishes his coffee while she turns three shades of red.

He stacks their empty dishes and moves the table aside. “So, are you ready to talk details?” he asks.

“Sure, as long as I can stretch out somewhere and do my best impression of a beached whale,” she mutters.

“Aren’t you funny.” He pats his leg and crooks a finger at her. "C'mere."

"What?"

Instead of responding, he simply repositions her so she's lying down with her head resting in his lap. One minute she's sitting upright, the next she's staring at the ceiling. The ease with which he manipulates her body into the position he wants it in is a little unnerving, but she supposes it's second nature to him.

Damon grins and starts gently working on the hair tie keeping her bun in place. "You wanted to stretch out, so there you go." Once her hair is free, he combs through it a few times with his fingers until it's draped over his leg like a blanket. "You have a gorgeous mane of hair, Elena. I don't usually make demands on a sub's appearance, but aside from trimming the ends here and there, I'd like you to keep it long."

He's lightly massaging her scalp now, which is lulling her into a state of total agreeableness. "Okay," she murmurs. Don't cut my hair? No problem. Lie here while you play with it? Awesome. Walk on a bed of hot coals? Cool.

"The rules are probably the best place to start." He's still stroking her hair, and she has the urge to start purring like a contented cat. “First of all, I expect you to be on time. When we meet, you should arrive a few minutes early and be waiting for me. Showing up late will earn you a punishment. However, I’m not a tyrant. I understand some things are beyond your control—traffic tie-ups, car trouble. All I ask is if something like that comes up, you let me know.”

“That’s reasonable.” Caroline’s already mentioned this rule. Elena can do punctual, no problem. She’s rarely ever late for anything.

“Secondly, you should eat and drink plenty of water beforehand,” he continues. “It doesn't have to be a nine-course meal, but we'll be expending some serious energy, so you'll need it. The water will keep you from getting dehydrated,” he points out. “There will be other times when I'd like you to eat with me, and I'll tell you in advance.”

Those directives are easy enough. “Eat and drink. Got it.”

“You should also know that I'm not into sharing. At all," he stresses. "Some Doms like to share their subs with others or engage in threesomes or orgies. That's a fine preference to have, but it's not one of mine. No one will be allowed to touch you without my permission."

She nods, grateful to hear she won't be passed around like a communal play toy.

“Caroline’s already taught you about titles, but here’s a quick refresher. You should address every Dominant as ‘Sir’ or ‘Ma’am,’ or ‘Master’ or ‘Mistress’ and their name. When used by itself, ‘Master’ implies you belong to someone, so that one’s reserved for me.” He winks and tugs on a lock of her hair. “Otherwise, you may call me ‘Sir’ or ‘Master Damon,’ but only if we’re at the club or scening elsewhere. I don’t expect you to use titles 24/7.”

24/7 . . . “Okay.” She raises a hand and waves it in the air like a precocious student. “Can I ask a question?”

“Fire away.”

“While I was doing research, I came across a description of a total power exchange—a Master/slave relationship. Is that what you’re, uh, looking for?” she asks in a tiny voice.

“No.” He smooths the furrow in her brow with his thumb. “I have the utmost respect for those who enter into that kind of relationship, but it’s not something I’m interested in. Controlling every aspect of someone’s life would get exhausting after a while.”

“Oh, good.” She sighs in relief, but then she recalls something else he said. “What do you mean by ‘scening elsewhere’? Won’t we always be at the club?”

“Not necessarily. Once you’re comfortable with the idea, I'll invite you to spend time with me at my home. I have a fully stocked playroom. And an extremely large bed,” he adds. “Plus, there’ll be parties and dinners I’ll ask you to attend with me.”

Interesting. The mention of his bed reminds her of her dream, and she crosses and uncrosses her legs as the familiar ache returns between her thighs. “What should I wear while we're . . . scening?”

“I’ll provide you with outfits in advance.”

She doesn’t expect him to buy her clothes. “I’ll pay you ba—”

“Absolutely not,” he quickly shoots down her offer. “I’ll be dressing you to suit my pleasure. Therefore, the responsibility is mine.”

“What if I want to shop for something to wear that I think will please you?”

He smiles and twirls a piece of her hair around his finger. "That can be arranged."

The way he's looking at her is making her insides do all sorts of funny things. There's desire in his gaze. Raw need. She recognizes them because they’re the same feelings blossoming within her. "Caroline told me subs usually wear cuffs while they're at the club. Will I be wearing them, too?"

"Mmhmm. They're not only convenient, they let other Doms know a sub is taken. In addition to the cuffs, I'll be putting a collar around your lovely neck. You'll notice others wearing them as well. They have different meanings to different couples, but this one will tell everyone you're new and you're with me. All other interested parties need not apply," he adds with a growl.

The possessive edge to his voice has her squirming restlessly against the cushions.

"You like the idea of being mine and mine alone," he murmurs.

It's not a question, but she feels compelled to answer anyway. "Yes," she whispers.

He smooths a hand over the soft denim of her jeans, stopping briefly at the hem of her sweater before slipping underneath. He flattens his palm on her stomach and dips his thumb into her belly button, making her jump.

"Still a little anxious, I see. That's why I'm using this opportunity to get you used to my touch and having my hands on your delectable body. Your skin is like silk, Elena. I can't wait to see, feel . . . and taste every inch of you." His hand continues its journey, skimming over her ribcage until it finds the lacy cup of her bra. He rubs a finger back and forth over the material, and her nipple tightens into a firm nub beneath his caress. "So responsive."

She gasps and presses into him, wanting to feel more of the incredible sensations he's creating. Unfortunately, the stroking stops all too soon and his hand returns to her belly. She glances up at him with big, what-did-I-do eyes.

"Sorry, kitten," he soothes. "If I keep going, you'll be naked underneath me on this couch before we have a chance to finish our discussion."

I fail to see the problem. Is it too early to start begging, she wonders? With a few deep breaths, she manages to calm her raging hormones, which are on the verge of throwing a spectacular tantrum.

"I'll make it up to you,” he promises.

She recalls Caroline's description of his special talents. It's sure to be a hell of a pleasurable make-up. I'll take it.

"One more rule, and it's a big one. Are you familiar with the public BDSM clubs?"

"I know they exist, but I've never been to one."

"Good. Let's keep it that way. And this isn't me being a snobby business owner, believe me. Two subs who frequent those clubs have gone missing in the past month. They were new to the scene, unattached, and vulnerable. Alaric's investigating the situation, and he thinks there’s a human trafficking ring behind it. They’ve been known to approach unsuspecting subs, kidnap them, and auction them off to the highest bidders as sex slaves.”

Jesus. “That’s horrible. Is Alaric a cop?"

"He used to be a detective with the Atlanta PD before he branched off into security work."

“Are you worried about that happening here?” she asks.

“I’m trying to prevent it by keeping a close eye on who’s applying for membership and having Alaric run background checks on everyone. So far, it’s worked well.” He raises an arm and knocks on the wood paneling. “So, are you still stuffed to the brim?” His fingers dance over her stomach, and she can’t stop a giggle from escaping.

“No, I’m finally starting to feel normal again.”

“Glad to hear it. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to disturb you so I can get a few things.” He helps her sit up then rises himself and strolls over to the desk. He grabs a sheet of paper, a manila folder, a notepad, and a pen and makes his way back to the couch.

Once he’s resettled, he hands her the paper, pad, and pen. “What’s this?” She examines the sheet, which appears to be a checklist of some sort.

“It’s a list of activities we may or may not engage in based on your preferences. If you mark one as ‘never,’ that’s a hard limit—something you’re absolutely not willing to do. ‘No’ is for an activity you don’t think you’d like but would be capable of doing if I asked you to. ‘Maybe’ is for things you’re unsure about but might be open to trying in the future. ‘Yes’ is something you’d like to try or already have an interest in,” he explains. “Your answers don’t have to be set in stone. We can renegotiate as we go along.”

Seems simple enough. She drums the pen on the paper as she reads the first few items on the list.

Whoa. Maybe simple’s the wrong word.

*****

Damon chuckles as Elena’s eyes widen at whatever it is she’s just read. He can’t help but be proud of her when she gives herself a little shake and focuses on her task with the determination of a student taking a final exam. She’s clearly serious about exploring her submission with him, and he couldn’t be more pleased.

He watches as she considers each item, occasionally tapping her bottom lip with the pen. She gives quick answers to some, which are probably the “never” and “yes” activities. It’s the “no”s and “maybe”s that subs usually mull over the longest.

“If you’ve never heard of an activity on there, don’t hesitate to ask me about it,” he adds.

“‘Kay.” She taps her lip again, and a look of pure horror crosses her face. “Holy smokes,” she whispers. “There’s some hardcore stuff on here.”

“Some people are into the hardcore stuff.”

“Are you?” she asks tentatively.

“Not in the sense of extreme pain or some of the more . . . unusual fetishes.”

“Good to know.” She visibly relaxes at his admission and continues working through the list. He studies her body language, noting whenever her mouth falls open, her thighs rub together, or a pink tinge warms her cheeks. Definite desire. He can’t wait to see which items are responsible for eliciting those reactions.

He doesn’t miss the negative responses either—a curled lip, a raised brow, a crinkled nose. She’s incredibly expressive, making it fairly easy to read her. As a Dom, one of his strengths has always been keying into a sub’s nonverbal cues, which often tell him more about what they’re feeling than they’re capable of putting into words, especially in the beginning.

“Um.” She looks at him, then back at the paper in her lap. “Wrapping someone in Saran is exactly what it sounds like, right? Like they’re a leftover you’re about to stick in the fridge?”

He chuckles at the analogy. “Pretty much, minus the fridge part.”

“Ooookay.” She moves further down the list, humming as she goes. She mumbles some lyrics under her breath, and he listens closely, trying to pick up on the song. Eventually, he hears, “. . . whips and chains, handcuffs, smack a little booty up with my belt . . .”

Laughter rips out of him, and his head falls back against the couch. “I didn’t know you were a Ludacris fan,” he manages after the last snicker fades.

“I sang that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Yep.”

“That was supposed to stay in my head,” she mutters. “Hey, I thought you were into rock music.”

“I may have gone through a brief rap phase.”

After a half hour passes, she circles her last choice and hands him the list. He peruses her selections, nodding in agreement with most of them. Their compatibility is evident: many of the activities he enjoys are ones she’s circled as “yes” or “maybe.” However, there are a few answers he’d like to discuss.

“Have you ever tried any kind of anal play?” he asks, watching as heat rises in her cheeks again. She’s placed this particular activity in the “no” column. “I don’t necessarily mean full-on sex. Could be anything—a finger, a toy.”

“No,” she answers immediately.

“The idea of it frightens you?”

“It sounds pretty painful, to be honest.”

“It can be if it’s done incorrectly. If your partner takes the time to prepare you properly, however, it can be very enjoyable.” He studies her face. She’s embarrassed and a little freaked out but also, if he’s reading her accurately, curious. “I’d like to revisit your feelings about it—not right away, but eventually. Does that seem reasonable?”

She nods after a moment, and he writes “maybe; discuss in future” next to the listing for anal play.

“I see you’re willing to let me blindfold you, but I have a slight caveat here. I’m not keen on using blindfolds with new subs because I want to be able to see your eyes while we’re scening. What I find there will tell me if you’re turned on, terrified, or, once we’ve built up to it, floating in subspace.”

“That makes sense. I hadn’t thought about it that way,” she confesses.

He runs through the rest of her choices. “I’m not a sadist, but I do think a little pain goes a long way, so I’ll occasionally use crops and paddles, which you’ve given the green light. The flogger is a ‘maybe,’ so we’ll work up to that one.” He smiles at what he discovers next. “The nipple clamps earned a ‘maybe,’ too. Interesting.” Other items in her “yes” column include gags, vibrators, bondage, dildos, spanking, spreader bars, cuffs, collars, roleplay, oral, and leather restraints.

She’s marked suspension, hot/cold play, medical scenes, and Shibari as “maybe”s, which is understandable. They fall on the more adventurous side of the spectrum. “As you gain experience, I’ll start to push your boundaries, Elena. The goal is for you to grow and flourish as a submissive, which I’m very much looking forward to helping you do, but don’t always expect the path of least resistance from me.”

“I understand.” There’s a hint of fire in her eyes now, a look that says challenge accepted. The prospect makes his already hard cock press even tighter against the zipper of his jeans. If he doesn’t redirect his thoughts pretty soon, he’s going to cut off his circulation.

A review of her hard limits reveals things he already expected—extremely painful items, such as caning, whipping, cutting, branding, and piercing. It’d be a sin to mar her skin like that anyway. No swinging, swapping, or giving her away to another Dom, which he’s made clear he’ll never do. None of the “hardcore” activities she alluded to earlier, and he’s fine with that because those aren’t his bag either.

Satisfied with her list, he sets it aside and hands her the manila folder he’d brought over. “Time for a brief detour.”

“What’s this?” She opens it and reads the top page.

“It’s important for you to know you’ll be safe with me, sexually.” He taps the paper. “I get tested regularly to make sure I’m clean.”

“Thank you for telling me, although I admit I wasn’t particularly worried. You seem to take excellent care of yourself. I’ll get a copy of my last exam and send it to you. No nasty surprises here either.” A frown crosses her face. “I haven’t been with anyone in . . . a while,” she finishes lamely. “I’ve continued to take birth control though.”

“Would you still prefer me to use condoms?” He wants her to be completely comfortable with their arrangement.

She considers the question for a few seconds and nods. “I think I would, just in case that little pill slips up one of these days. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely. It’s your body, Elena. You have every right to be cautious,” he assures her.

Now that the clinical aspect of their agreement has been discussed, it’s time to circle back around to another piece of protocol.

“Has Caroline shown you the position she assumes when greeting Nik?” he asks.

“Yep.”

He gestures to the carpeted floor. “Show me, please.”

She scrambles off the couch and sinks to her knees. What a fucking gorgeous sight. She looks thoughtful for a moment, then spreads her legs, places her hands palms-up on her thighs, and bows her head.

He stands and circles her, pleased with her presentation. “Very nice, but I’m going to make a few slight adjustments.” Tension returns to her shoulders, and he rubs them until the stiffness vanishes. “Don’t worry. You didn’t make any mistakes. It’s just a matter of personal preference.”

He stops in front of her. “Instead of resting them on your thighs, I’d like your hands clasped behind your back,” he instructs, keeping his tone light but firm. She instantly complies with the directive, earning her a smile she can’t see. “Spread your legs a bit wider.” He nudges her knee with the toe of his boot. “More. It’s not easy to do in jeans, I know. There, perfect.” He steps to the side to examine her posture and bends down to press lightly on the center of her back, just enough to enhance the natural curve of her spine and make her thrust her chest forward. “Lovely. This is the way I’d like you to greet me before we play. If I’m not in the room when you arrive, you should wait for me in this position.”

He hooks a finger under her chin and tilts her head back until she’s looking at him. “Everything clear?”

She nods as best as she’s able. “Yes.”

“Good.” A quick check of his watch reveals it’s already early afternoon. His breakfast is long gone, and he assumes hers is as well. “Ready to take a break for lunch?”

She blinks at him like she hasn’t realized how much time has passed. He can relate. He’d been so caught up in their discussion, he hadn’t noticed either. “What time is it?”

“Almost two.”

“Wow. Yeah, a break sounds good.”

He helps her up and takes her hand as they walk toward the door. “There’s a fantastic deli a few minutes from here. Would that work?”

“Sure.” She tucks her hair behind her ear, and he notices she hasn’t made any move to put it back into a bun after he took it down.

He stops outside another closed door and gives it a sharp rap with his knuckles. “Elena and I are going to grab something to eat. Any requests?”

Alaric opens the door, and he’s holding something that looks like a half-eaten Hot Pocket. “Now you tell me.”

“Sorry, man. Drinks later to make up for it?”

“Now you’re talkin.’”

Damon claps him on the back, then he leads Elena through the sprawling house to the front hall for their coats and out the back door to the attached garage. His trusty Camaro waits there, and he opens the passenger door for her.

“Classic,” she murmurs, running her hand over the sky-blue hood. “I thought maybe you’d have some ridiculous luxury car with heated seats that responds to voice commands and folds your laundry.”

“I have one of those, too, although it hasn’t mastered fitted sheets yet.” She giggles, and the sound is music to his ears. “The Lexus is for business. This one’s for pleasure. I thought it would be appropriate for today.”

She ducks her head, but he doesn’t miss the smile there.

*****

The main lunch rush has passed, and they manage to find an open table in a secluded corner of the shop. In between bites of her Caesar salad and his chicken parm, they trade small talk. The flow is relaxed and awkward silences are rare.

Eyeing an opportunity to find out more about what makes her tick, he leans back and regards her from across the table. “We’ve discussed things you’d like to try, but are any of them attached to a particular fantasy?” he asks.

She pauses with a forkful of salad halfway to her mouth. “Uh . . .”

“You seem to enjoy the idea of being helpless—the more, the better. Is there anything specific attached to that?”

“I had a dream about you the other night. About us,” she reveals. “It was definite fantasy material.”

Color him intrigued. “What happened in the dream?”

She glances around as if she’s checking for potential eavesdroppers. “I was gagged and cuffed to a bed, totally naked. I could barely move. You straddled me, teased my breasts, told me I was yours.” She pauses to clear her throat and take a sip of water. “I was more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life, and then the damn alarm clock woke me up,” she grumbles.

“Hmm, interesting.” He makes a mental note to turn her dream into a reality. “Anything else get your juices flowing, so to speak?”

She instantly flushes and picks at her salad. “The harem room may have given me some ideas.”

“How so?” he asks, his curiosity peaked.

“In this fantasy, you’re the prince of some distant land, and I’m a concubine given to you as a gift by one of your loyal subjects,” she murmurs.

Holy fuck. His cock is on board with the idea. A little too on board, he acknowledges as he covertly readjusts himself. “I like that fantasy, kitten. Very much.”

She smiles at his approval and stabs a piece of cucumber with her fork. “Will we do normal things sometimes, or will it always be kinky between us?”

“I’d like it to be a mixture of both. I don’t want our relationship to be solely about sex.” He’s interested in knowing her inside and outside of the playroom.

“I’d like that, too.” She reaches over and curls her hand around his. “Can I ask you about something you mentioned the other night?”

He laces their fingers together and massages her palm with his thumb. “Of course.”

“What happened with your first sub? Was she not a good match, or . . . ?”

Discussing Charlotte falls just below taking out the garbage on his list of least favorite things to do, but Elena deserves to know the truth. “She was interested in me, and I was interested back. I trained her, and we played regularly at the club, but when I suggested making our relationship more permanent, she shut me down. Turns out, she wanted the fantasy but not the reality. She wanted a guy to tie her up and smack her ass a few nights a week and then go about her business. No strings, no commitment,” he quietly explains.

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a while ago.”

“But it still haunts you. That’s why you haven’t taken a new sub. What made you change your mind?” she asks.

Now who’s the perceptive one. “There’s something about you I can’t deny, Elena. I felt it when we first met. You’re genuine, open. Expressive. It took me too long to realize it, but Charlotte was none of those things.”

She nods. “Thank you. I’m glad you told me about her.”

The conversation returns to neutral territory when he asks about the next article she’s writing, and she enquires about the day-to-day responsibilities of the owner of a BDSM club.

Before too much longer, it’s time to leave, and the trip back is a relatively quiet one. He glances at Elena as her eyes drift shut and her head tips back against the seat. He pulls into the driveway and parks his car next to hers. He tries not to disturb her, but she wakes when he turns off the ignition, climbs out, and walks around to open her door.

She stretches and looks up at him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to nod off on you.”

He takes her hand and helps her out of the car. “Didn’t sleep well last night?” he asks knowingly.

“Not exactly,” she admits.

“I saw all those yawns you tried to hide. Go home and rest. You’re exhausted.” He cups her cheeks and smooths his thumbs over the dark smudges underneath her eyes that her makeup can’t entirely disguise.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Elena.” His tone doesn’t leave room for further arguments, and she doesn’t attempt any. Good girl. “That’s not a request. As my sub, your wellbeing is one of my top priorities.”

“Yes, Sir.” She uses his title even though she doesn’t have to, and it sends a rush of warmth through him.

“I’d like to have our first session on Wednesday. That’ll give you time to digest everything we’ve discussed and ask me any questions you didn’t think of today. Sound good?”

“Sure. What time should I be here?”

“It’s a weeknight, so let’s go with 7:30.”

“Okay. Will I hear from you before then?” she asks. The hint of longing in her voice is nearly his undoing.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be in touch, pet. You can count on that.” No way will he be able to keep from contacting her for the next three days.

Without releasing his hold, he gently tilts her head and brushes his lips over hers. She tastes of strawberry lemonade and cinnamon from the slice of apple pie they shared for dessert. Delicious.

He reluctantly pulls back, staring into her deep brown eyes for a few moments before he lets her go.

“I haven’t even left yet, and I already can’t wait to see you again,” she murmurs.

“I feel the same way.” He opens her door, and she gets into the car. “Drive safe.”

“I will. Bye, Damon.”

“Goodbye, Elena.”

Chapter Text

"So, how'd it go?" Caroline's reporter skills are in full effect as she drops onto the end of Elena's bed and hands her a cup of coffee.

"Thanks." She accepts the offering and wraps her hands around the warm mug. This is the first chance they’ve had to catch up. When Elena came home yesterday, she intended to take a quick power nap, but it turned into a Rip Van Winkle all-nighter. She finally woke up around midnight only to find Care already in bed. "It went well. Really well."

Caroline gapes at her. "That's all you're going to give me? 'Really well'?"

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all," she confesses. "He was attentive and kind and understanding and sexy. We talked about our jobs, families, school, hobbies, likes, and dislikes. I learned more about him in a few hours' time than I ever expected to, and it was nice. Reassuring. I guess I thought he'd be more aloof, more focused on teaching me the rules and stuff, which he did, but it was a conversation, not a he-lectures-while-I-take-notes-and-don't-speak type of thing."

Caroline nods knowingly. "I understand exactly what you mean. It was like that with me and Nik, too."

"Yeah?" Elena sips her coffee and tries to find the words to describe their morning (and afternoon) together. "I was too nervous to eat much of anything when I first got there, but he managed to distract me into eating a full breakfast. I felt a definite dominant vibe from him, just like I did the first night, but it was subtle. He didn't raise his voice, didn't act patronizing or impatient."

"Those are the marks of a good Dom, sweetie." Caroline smiles and pats Elena's knee. "See? All that worrying about dipping your toe into the kinky waters for nothing. He's perfect for you, and you're clearly the ideal submissive for him, even if you couldn't see it at first."

"Is this the part where you say 'I told you so'?"

"I kinda just did, silly."

"Hey." It's Elena's turn to engage in pillow warfare and she (wisely) waits until Caroline finishes the last of her coffee before hurling one at her friend's head. Her shot goes a little wide and only glances off Caroline's ponytail, landing on her desk and scattering pens and pencils everywhere. "Dammit. Between the two of us, we're going to have my entire room redecorated."

"Wow. And I thought I had crappy aim." Caroline giggles and picks up the pillow, tossing it back on the bed. "So, did you set a time for your first sex romp, er, play date?" she asks with a grin.

"Smartass," Elena grumbles. "Yes, we did. Wednesday night."

"Nik and I probably won't be there because the gallery's open late that night, but I'll be waiting with bated breath to hear about every detail. Well, maybe not every detail, but most of them!"

"You won't be there?" Elena repeats in a tiny voice as she tries to tamp down a sudden burst of insecurity.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine. I'm leaving you in Damon's very capable hands, but if you need a buddy or someone to compare notes with, talk to Rose," Caroline suggests.

Elena runs through the list of people she met at the club, but the name "Rose" isn’t ringing a bell. "Who's she?"

"She's the bartender. You must have seen her the other night. Adorable, bubbly, hair styled in a pixie cut? She's also Elijah's sub."

Ah. She does recall seeing her after all. "Oh, okay. She was talking with Rebekah when we got there."

"Yep, that's her. Super friendly and a great listener." Caroline taps her chin and looks thoughtful. "Speaking of Rebekah, she'd be a good person to chat up, too. Especially since she brings perspective from both ends of the D/s spectrum."

"Good idea. I'll keep that in mind." Elena’s phone chirps, and she grabs it off the nightstand. “Oh,” she breathes, her heart doing a little flip when she reads the name on the screen.

“Lemme guess,” Caroline says. “A text from Mr. Salvatore?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, that’s my cue. I’ll be bingeing Downton Abbey if you need me.” Her friend winks at her and scoots off the bed, disappearing through the doorway.

“‘Kay. Have fun,” Elena murmurs.

Good morning, gorgeous, Damon’s text reads. Sleep well?

Morning, she types back. Haven’t slept that long since I was in college

Glad to hear it. You needed it

Guess so. How are you?

Waiting for Wednesday to arrive. You?

“Am I ever.” Same here, she writes.

So . . . I’m doing a little shopping

Oh?

Yep. I need to know your sizes. Shoes, too, please

She provides him with the information, and the anticipation is already killing her. What will he choose to dress her in, she wonders?

Excellent. So many choices, he teases. What to pick?

Do I get a hint?

Maybe. There’s a sale on G-strings and crotchless panties. Interesting

!!!

Something wrong? ;)

No, just curious

I bet. Let’s see here. Sheer or vinyl? Latex or leather? Lace or satin? Ah, there it is

???

Ready for your hint?

Yes!!

Here goes: it’s black, and it’s going to look amazing on you

That’s it?!

That’s it

Not fair!

You’ll see it soon enough. Have to run. More shopping to do. ‘Til next time, kitten

She signs off and tosses her phone on the bed.

There’s no doubt about it. The next seventy-two hours and change are going to be pure torture.

*****

Satisfied that Elena's curiosity is sufficiently peaked, Damon sets his phone aside and returns his attention to the computer screen. The outfit really is perfect for her; it'll enhance her curves in all the right ways and show off those mile-long legs. It'll give glimpses of skin without revealing too much. His favorite part about it? When it comes time to play, the only things in his way will be an easily accessible zipper and a pair of satin string ties.

He spends another half hour browsing for everything from lingerie to shoes to corsets to skirts and dresses. By the time he finishes, he has a solid start on a fetish wardrobe for his beautiful sub.

A couple of toys catch his eye, and he decides his collection could use a few devious additions. Wait 'til she sees this one. Or better yet, feels it.

After submitting his order, he sits back and lets his mind run wild for a while. He's tempted to call her over for an impromptu fashion show once the packages arrive, but that would spoil the surprises to come.

Better to let the anticipation build.

With the clothing and other accessories on the way, there's nothing left to do but fantasize and play out scenarios in his head until Wednesday evening arrives. He's already hand-picked and purchased her cuffs and collar from a BDSM supply store in downtown Atlanta, and they're waiting for her in a box in his closet.

The middle day of the week is always a toss-up between whether the glass is half empty or half full. This week, there's no doubt it'll be full and on the verge of overflowing.

*****

Elena returns the last glass to the cupboard and closes the dishwasher. “There,” she announces to no one. “Guess that’s taken care of.”

This is the cleanest their apartment’s been in weeks. Her overabundance of nervous energy is responsible for the mopped floors, scrubbed shower, dusted shelves, and reorganized DVD collection. In between chores, she’s been playing a rousing game of Twenty-Four Hours from Now, and each answer leaves her more distracted than the last.

Twenty-four hours from now, I’ll be at the club with Damon.

Twenty-four hours from now, I’ll be kneeling at his feet.

Twenty-four hours from now, I’ll be bound, helpless, and completely bared to him.

“Holy shit,” she mutters, fanning herself with a dishtowel. Thankfully, Caroline’s not here to witness her thousandth meltdown of the day; her friend's still at the office trying to beat a deadline.

A sharp rap on the apartment door makes Elena jump and drop her towel. She’s not expecting anyone, so she checks the peephole first, revealing a uniformed delivery man waiting in the hallway with a package under his arm.

She unlocks the door, wondering if Caroline’s been indulging in a little online retail therapy.

The man glances at the package and back at her. “Are you Elena Gilbert?”

“That’s me.”

He hands her his electronic scanner thing. “Sign here, please.”

She does and gives it back to him, then the mystery box is all hers. “Have a good night,” he calls to her as he retreats down the hall.

“You, too,” she murmurs, staring at the package in her arms. It has to be from Damon.

She races to her room and balances it on her lap while she slices the top open with a pair of scissors. One wad of bubble wrap later, she discovers three smaller boxes nestled inside in Russian-doll style.

The first is long and narrow, and she opens the lid to find a single red rose in mid-bloom. A note is attached to a black satin ribbon tied around the stem. Counting the hours, it reads. She buries her nose in the velvety petals and breathes in the rich floral scent.

Temporarily setting the rose aside, she reaches for the next box, which is larger but also slightly narrow. Shoes?

Sure enough, she parts the tissue paper and uncovers a pair of black pumps with a three-inch heel. The ankle straps give them a distinct bondage appeal.

She saves the biggest box for last, closing her eyes as she opens it. Her fingers go exploring and close around a fistful of leather, and she cautiously cracks a lid. Another note sits on top of the neatly laid out clothing: I can't wait to see you in this.

The first item is a corset with a zipper running down the front. Both sides are split and loosely laced with ribbons threaded in a criss-cross pattern. Underneath the corset is a pleated leather micro mini. She holds it up for a closer look. Things are going to get cheeky, especially if I have to bend over.

The last thing she finds is a scrap of black lace lying in the bottom of the box. The sides of the G-string are held together with thin ribbons tied in neat little bows. There's a definite pattern here, she surmises. Everything is easily removable, especially if one should happen to be . . . bound.

The panties are a bit of a surprise, even if there's barely enough material there to qualify. From what Caroline's told her, undergarments tend to be in short supply at the club. Doms often prefer unimpeded access to their subs and everything hidden (or not) under their clothing.

Carefully folding her outfit and returning it to the box, she digs her phone out of the packaging rubble and dials Damon's number, rubbing the rose's petals over her lips while she waits for him to pick up.

*****

Damon's phone goes off while he's in the middle of a conversation with Nik, and he quickly checks the screen to see if the call is urgent or if it can go to voicemail. When he sees Elena's name displayed there, he excuses himself and answers.

“Hello there,” he murmurs. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Your package arrived. Thank you for the outfit and shoes. Very sexy. And the beautiful rose,” she adds. “I love them.” She takes a deep breath, likely sniffing at the flower. He pictures her lying on a bed covered in scarlet petals—another vision he’d like to make a reality.

“I’m glad.”

“The skirt’s a little short though,” she points out.

“Is it? Seems about the right length to me.”

“Figured you’d say that,” she answers drily. “I wasn’t expecting the undies. I didn’t think they’d be allowed.”

“I was feeling generous. It’s safe to say they won’t always be included in the future.”

“I’m sure.”

“Are you ready for tomorrow night?” he purrs.

“I think so.” Her voice is softer now, and he detects a hint of anxiety there.

“Nervous?”

“A little.”

“No need to worry, kitten,” he reassures her. “We’re going to have an amazing time together.”

Stefan, who's clearly eavesdropping while he slices vegetables in the kitchen, bats his eyelashes and puckers his lips when Damon stops at the fridge to get more ice for his drink. Damon grabs an extra cube and tosses it down the back of Stefan's jeans before heading to the hallway for some privacy. Stefan's shout and Nik's laughter follow him.

"My brother’s being a pain in the ass," Damon mutters. "Can I send him out to LA to pester yours?"

"Stefan getting on your nerves?" she asks, sounding like she's trying to muffle a laugh herself.

"You could say that. He's lucky he's such a good cook."

“That always helps.” She pauses as if something’s just occurred to her. “Are you in the middle of dinner? If so, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s not actually ready yet. Stefan’s been too busy lollygagging.” Besides, he’d rather talk with her than eat.

“I heard that!” Stefan hollers from the kitchen.

She snickers, clearly having heard his brother’s outburst. “I’ll let you two get back to harassing each other. I’ll see you tomorrow, Damon,” she murmurs.

“That you will,” he agrees. “Oh, Elena? One last thing you should know before you go—those ribbons keeping the G-string together?”

“Yeah?” she asks uncertainly.

“I’ll be untying them with my teeth,” he murmurs. “Sweet dreams, baby.”

She sucks in a breath, and this time, he doubts it has anything to do with the rose. “Um. Y-you, too,” she stammers.

He ends the call and pockets his phone, more excited than ever for the following evening’s activities.

*****

Elena glances into the rearview mirror, mostly to check that she hasn’t smeared her mascara. She spent an insane amount of time getting ready. Caroline finally had to shoo her out the door so she wouldn’t be late.

After downing a quick sandwich and a large glass of water, she showered, shaved and trimmed, dried her hair and brushed it until it shone, rubbed lotion into her skin, and even gave herself a mani and pedi, complete with glossy red polish. She hasn’t paid this much attention to her appearance in, well, forever.

Getting out of the car before she earns herself a punishment, she wraps her borrowed trench tighter around her to keep out the night’s chill and walks toward the house. Henry answers the door this time and greets her with his customary friendly smile. “Welcome back, Elena.”

“Hi, Henry.”

He takes her coat, and she stands there for a few seconds, tugging futilely on her too-short skirt before she remembers Damon’s instructions. She moves out of the main walkway and kneels down next to Henry’s desk, assuming the position Damon showed her.

She’s grateful for the covering—however minimal—the G-string provides when the outer door opens again and a cool breeze licks between her legs, making her shiver. Without the flimsy pair of underwear, she’d be completely exposed not only to the cold air but also to everyone’s gaze.

The newcomer converses briefly with Henry, but Elena doesn’t recognize his voice. A pair of expensive Italian loafers enters her field of vision, and the man makes an appreciative sound. “What a beauty. I wish you were waiting for me, little one.”

An inner door whooshes open, and a set of leather boots joins the loafers. “Admiring my submissive, Frederick?”

Damon. She wants to shift closer to him, but she’s determined not to move from her position.

“I haven’t seen her in the club before. Is she new?”

“Yes. This is her first official night as my sub,” Damon explains.

“Ah. You’re a lucky man.”

“That I am.”

The loafers move away and disappear through the inner door. There’s a beat of silence, then Damon’s hand smooths over her jaw and tilts her chin up until her eyes meet his. “Well done, baby,” he praises her. “You look incredible.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she murmurs. He's looking pretty incredible himself—her gaze travels the length of his body, taking in the snug leather pants and black silk shirt.

He helps her to her feet and leans in for a kiss. A hand curls around the nape of her neck and holds her still while he takes her mouth, his lips and tongue demanding as they tease, taste, and caress hers.

She can feel the hard ridge of his erection against her lower belly, and she lets a little moan slip out as her mind fills with visions of what they’ll be doing later. I must be the most easily aroused woman on the planet, she thinks as Damon pulls back and traces her bottom lip with his finger.

“Henry, grab me that box in the top drawer, would you?”

Elena hears the drawer open and close, then the box in question is placed in Damon’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” Damon lifts the lid and removes a set of leather cuffs. “Let me see your wrists.”

She holds out her hands, and he slides the first cuff around her wrist. Something soft brushes against her skin. “Are they lined?”

He nods. “Fleece.” After testing the tightness of the first, he buckles the second one into place. She twists her wrists, getting used to the feel of the cuffs. It’s not unlike wearing a pair of chunky bracelets.

Damon takes the next item out of the box, and a shiver skitters down her spine. It’s a collar made of smooth, black leather with a single O-ring attached to the front. He holds it up, and she obediently turns around so he can slip it around her throat. He scoops her hair over her shoulder and secures the collar with the buckle on the back. The lining is equally soft, making it more comfortable to wear than she assumed it would be.

He checks it to ensure it’s not too snug, and she catches a glimpse of Henry, who gives her a thumbs-up. Damon turns her so she’s facing him again. “How do they feel?”

“Good.” Standing in front of him in a skimpy outfit, collar, and cuffs, she feels herself slipping into the submissive mindset. She needs Damon’s control. Craves it.

He smiles and takes her hand. “Let the fun begin.”

*****

The lounge area is humming with conversation when they enter, and Elena glances around the room to see if she recognizes anyone. She spots the woman Caroline mentioned—Rose, who’s busy pouring drinks behind the bar. As far as she can tell, the only other familiar face is Pearl, seated at one of the tables and chatting with a man in a leather vest and pants.

Damon leads her toward the bar. “There’s a no-alcohol rule for anyone planning to engage in play, but we also stock juice, water, and soda.”

“No alcohol?” she repeats. She’s never heard of this stipulation.

“Nope. Even a slightly tipsy Dom or sub could put his or her partner at risk,” he points out. “It leads to carelessness, impaired judgment, lack of safe word usage—things we’d like to avoid.”

“Ah.”

Damon signals for Rose’s attention and she immediately comes over. “Good evening, Master Damon,” she greets him.

“Hi, Rose. You’re looking lovely as ever.”

She blushes and fiddles with a ruffle on her halter top. “Thank you, Sir.”

“I’d like you to meet someone.” His arm curls around Elena’s shoulders. “This is Elena, my submissive.”

Rose’s eyes widen, then a huge smile breaks out on her face. “Hello, Elena. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

They shake hands, and Elena returns her grin. “Likewise.”

“Would you like something to drink?” Damon asks.

“I wouldn’t turn down some water.”

Rose nods and scurries off to fill her order.

While they’re waiting, she glances around and catches sight of Elijah walking in their direction. When he reaches them, he gives Elena a thorough onceover but doesn’t make any move to touch her. “Aren’t you a vision,” he murmurs. “A collar and cuffs. Imagine that.”

“Do you need something, or are you just planning to ogle my sub all night?” Damon interjects.

“As enjoyable as that sounds, I’m afraid there’s a situation which requires your attention.”

“Of course.” Damon pats the closest stool. “Wait here for me, kitten.”

She eases herself onto it, hoping she doesn’t flash the rest of the room, not that they seem like they’d mind. She tugs on her skirt again but gives up after a few tries. It’s not going to magically grow longer.

Rose comes back with a bottle of water and a glass filled with ice and places them in front of Elena. “Here we go.”

“Thanks.” Elena twists off the top and pours some water into the glass.

Rose is still smiling. “Is this your first night as Master Damon’s sub?”

“Yeah.” Her gaze lands on the cuffs circling Rose’s wrists. “My friend Caroline told me you'd be a good person to talk to. You’re Master Elijah’s sub?”

She nods. “I’ve been with Sir for a year now.”

“Wow.” Elena sips at her water. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure!” she answers eagerly.

“Your first night at the club—what was it like?”

Rose considers the question for a few seconds. “I was ridiculously excited but also a smidge terrified. Everything was new, unfamiliar. I quickly learned all of my anxiety was for nothing. Sir took excellent care of me.”

“Good to know. I’m definitely at the excited/terrified stage,” Elena admits.

“It’ll pass, trust me.” Rose pats her hand in reassurance. “It won’t be long before you’ll forget there was ever anything to worry about.”

It’s Elena’s turn to smile. “Thanks, Rose.”

“Any time.”

Another couple sits down at the bar, and Rose hurries over to take their order. Elena nurses her water while she watches the other woman pour drinks. She happily greets everyone with a smile and a few friendly words. Caroline was spot-on; Rose is every bit as bubbly as she described her to be.

Elena’s swirling a piece of ice around in her mouth when hands settle on her shoulders and squeeze gently. “Sorry for the delay, baby,” Damon murmurs in her ear.

She shivers at the low timbre of his voice, a fresh wave of desire rolling through her. “Is everything okay?”

“It is now. I had to have a word with one of the new Doms.”

“Oh?”

He nods, rubbing his cheek against hers. “His sub was showing signs of distress, but he was in power-trip mode and wasn’t paying close enough attention to her reactions.”

“Yikes.”

“Needless to say, he’s done playing for tonight, and he’ll be attending another training class for beginner Doms.” Damon sighs, and his breath ruffles her hair. “Ready to go explore?”

She finishes the last of her water and waves at Rose, who returns the gesture.

“Yes.”

*****

The main play area is teeming with activity. Elena takes in the sights—and sounds—as they pause for a moment in the wide doorway.

“Stay close to my side, Elena,” Damon instructs. “If I stop or turn around quickly, you should bump into me. That’s how close I want you to be. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” He enters the room, and she sticks tight to him, imagining an invisible tether between his hip and hers.

They drift around the room, and Elena spots the same pieces of equipment from the other night, along with a few new ones. Each piece is in use, and the couches and chairs are filled with other couples observing the scenes and chatting amongst themselves. Large pillows are scattered on the floor, many of them occupied by subs either kneeling or lying at their Masters’ and Mistresses’ feet.

Talking’s not all the couples are doing, Elena realizes as her gaze lands on a female sub kneeling in front of her Dom. She’s pleasuring him with her mouth, and his hand is fisted in her hair, guiding her movements.

Heat rises to Elena’s cheeks, and she nearly trips over her own feet. Looking elsewhere, she finds someone else she recognizes: Rebekah is in the process of securing a male sub to the spanking bench.

“Would you like to watch them?” Damon asks.

“Um . . .”

He smiles at her hesitancy. “They won’t mind, if that’s what you’re thinking. Anyone who scenes in here expects to be watched.”

They stand off to one side and observe the couple. Elena's fairly certain she's never seen the man before. “Is that Mistress Rebekah’s sub?”

“Yes. His name is Trevor.”

Trevor is dressed in a black tank top, but that's the only thing he's wearing—he’s nude from the waist down. Rebekah circles him, alternating between swatting his bare ass and thighs with the crop and stroking him between his legs. After a bit of prolonged fondling, he tries to push back against her hand.

“Please, Mistress,” he pants.

“Not yet, pet.” The crop lands on his ass again, and he groans.

Rebekah continues her game of Tease, Withdraw, Smack, leaving Trevor writhing against the bench and pleading for release. She finally grips his cock and pushes him to the very edge with a series of firm, rapid strokes.

“Come for me,” she demands, and Trevor cries out, bucking against the restraints as his seed spills over her hand.

The scene is incredibly erotic, and Elena knows without looking that her skin is flushed again. Still, something about it is bothering her. “Isn’t it cruel to keep teasing and denying a sub until they’re practically insane with need?” she whispers to Damon.

“Au contraire, mon cheri. Teasing makes the sensations build and build, leading to one hell of an explosive orgasm, as Mistress Rebekah just demonstrated.” He nips her earlobe. “You’ll learn about it firsthand very soon.”

“Oh,” she breathes, leaning into him.

“Let’s see what else is going on, shall we?”

They continue their tour of the room, pausing briefly to observe a Dom shackle his sub to the St. Andrew’s cross and work him over with a flogger. Not too far from this scene, another Dom has his sub bent over the arm of a couch while he spanks her ass. He stops abruptly and frees his cock from his pants, then roughly thrusts into her until her whimpers become screams of pleasure.

The combination of moans, pleading, and flesh slapping against flesh is starting to get to Elena. She feels feverish, on the verge of overheating.

Damon notices, of course, and leads her through another doorway and down a short hallway. A thumping beat vibrates the floor beneath her feet. When they enter the room, she discovers why: there’s a dance floor, complete with strobe lights, a DJ, and a mass of undulating bodies.

“I thought you might like a change of pace,” Damon explains, speaking directly in her ear so she can hear him over the pounding music.

She nods and smiles, following him onto the floor. They wade toward the center of the melee, and Damon pulls her tight against his body as they begin moving to the beat. It’s almost too easy to fall into sync with him, Elena thinks as she rolls her hips against his. It feels like they’ve been dancing together forever.

He spins her around so her back is flush with his chest, and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal presses against her bottom. He locks an arm around her waist and his free hand lightly circles her throat just above her collar.

Her gasp is lost to the loud music surrounding them. She lets her head fall back against his shoulder, content to stay like this as long as he chooses. The beat changes, speeding up slightly. Damon grinds his erection into her ass, and she pushes back, wanting to feel more of him.

She catches a glimpse of Katherine and Stefan, who are dancing a few feet away. Stefan’s also wearing a collar, she notices, and there’s a leash attached to it that’s wrapped around Katherine’s fist. Katherine winks at the two of them, then brings Stefan’s mouth to hers for a passionate kiss.

One song bleeds into the next, and time loses its meaning as her and Damon continue to move as one. His hand skims over the front of her corset and she doesn’t realize where it’s headed until it dives underneath her skirt. His digits flirt with the edge of her G-string then slip inside. He traces her slit and eases a finger past her folds.

“Oh, god,” she rasps, clutching his arm for support. Unfortunately, the exquisite invasion is gone all too soon, and he turns her to face him once more. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he holds her gaze captive while he pops his finger in his mouth and slowly licks it clean.

“You taste divine,” he murmurs once he’s finished. “Time to go.”

“Go? Go where?” She’s so turned on she can’t think straight.

“Upstairs,” he answers, tugging her toward the doorway.

*****

As it turns out, the upper floor is lined with private rooms for those who prefer to play behind closed doors. Damon explains that they’re still monitored by security cameras to make sure things stay safe, sane, and consensual, but otherwise, couples who use them are left to their own devices.

When they arrive at the last door at the end of the hall, Damon takes a key from his pocket and unlocks it. He ushers her inside, and she immediately notices the large bed and a padded table similar to the one she saw in the dungeon. A pair of shelves holds a very . . . interesting . . . assortment of toys and other supplies. There’s also a dresser against one wall and a doorway leading to what she presumes is a bathroom.

She senses Damon behind her and his mouth finds her shoulder, pressing a kiss there. "Remember your safe word?" he asks.

"Marshmallow," she dutifully recalls.

"Very good. If you use that one, everything stops. However, if you need a brief timeout for whatever reason—for example, the position you're in is too uncomfortable to bear or you're starting to cramp up—use 'yellow.'"

“Okay.”

Damon notices her sizing up the least conventional piece of furniture in the room, which still seems plain and unassuming compared to the other things she's seen. “That’s a bondage table,” he explains. “Perfect for restraining my sub while I take my time exploring her body . . . thoroughly.”

Oh, my. Her pulse kicks into overdrive.

He pats the tabletop. “Hop up here.”

She climbs onto the table, shivering when her bare bottom makes contact with the cool leather. She watches as he collects a handful of clip hooks and an extra set of cuffs from one of the shelves.

“Lie back, baby.”

She does, and he takes her left hand in his, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. He lifts it over her head and lines up her cuff with the ring on the upper corner of the table. He secures it with a clip and gives her right cuff the same treatment.

He skims his fingers from her cheek, down her throat, across her chest, over her bustier and pleated skirt, to her bare thigh, knee, and calf, finally coming to a stop in a loose circle around her ankle. He buckles a cuff just above the strap of her shoe and repeats the process with the other one. Damon eases her legs apart and clips each ankle to a corner of the table.

“Everything comfortable?” he asks.

She tests the cuffs, which are snug but not too tight. “Yes, Sir.”

"Good." He digs through one of the dresser drawers, pocketing an item she can't see, and does a slow circuit around the table, keeping his eyes on hers. He slips a button loose on his shirt, then another. He stops beside her and releases two more, revealing a glimpse of his smooth chest. The rest of the buttons follow, and he shrugs off the shirt and tosses it aside.

Whoa. She wriggles in her restraints, her hands curling and uncurling reflexively.

He quirks a dark brow. "Something bothering you?"

"I want to touch you." She's longing to feel his muscles contract beneath her fingers while she runs them over his toned stomach and leaves a trail of kisses across his chest.

"Ah, but it's not about what you want, kitten. It's about what I want, and I want you just . . ."—he crawls up on the table—". . . like . . ."—straddles her hips and leans down until his lips are next to her ear—". . . this," he finishes in a whisper.

His mouth dips lower, finding the spot below her ear and just above her collar that functions as her personal self-destruct button. Shivers race all the way to the tips of her toes at the suction of his lips, the occasional nip of teeth, the softness of his hair as it tickles her cheek and jaw.

He's only just begun, and I'm already falling apart. Fingers grasp her chin and tilt her head back, then his mouth is on hers—teasing, coaxing, demanding. His hand leaves her face and tangles in her hair, giving it a firm tug. "Open."

She gasps, lips parting in compliance with his order. I completely understand what Care means by "Dom voice." Then his tongue is stroking hers, sweeping any other thoughts she might have under the rug.

Leaving her reeling from the kiss, he moves lower, lips feathering over the tops of her breasts where they’re trying to burst free.

“I want to study every one of your reactions, Elena, and what causes them,” he murmurs against her skin. “What makes you moan, quiver, whimper, scream, tremble until your legs give out—I’ll learn them all,” he promises.

He traces the zipper on the front of her corset, then tugs the tab down an inch. Two. Five. Now it's open past her belly button. With one final tug, the sides part and fall away from her body. Her nipples immediately tighten in response to the cool air.

Damon sits back on his heels, his eyes roving over her full breasts. "This is better than Christmas morning." He cups them in his palms and squeezes lightly. "So beautiful."

Leaning forward again, he hovers over her nipple, warming it with his breath but not touching. “Shall I put my mouth here, kitten?”

Elena makes an incoherent sound and arches toward his waiting lips, but he backs away before contact is made.

“What was that?” he murmurs.

She’s not above begging. “Please.”

“Say ‘Yes, Sir.’”

Wetness pools between her thighs at the command. “Yes, Sir."

“Much better.” The grin blooming on his face is nothing short of devilish. He takes her nipple in his mouth and sucks—gently at first, then harder until each pull sends a jolt of pleasure straight to her clit.

Just as she's pondering whether she could orgasm from the attention he's paying to her breasts alone—oh, hell yes—something incredibly soft slides over her other nipple. She glances down to find he has a thick satin ribbon wrapped around his finger, and he's running it back and forth over her sensitive nub.

Between the warm, wet haven of his mouth and the ticklish strokes of the ribbon, she has to remind herself to breathe. It's not an easy task, but she manages to drag in a breath before another wave of sensation crashes into her.

Her lids drift shut as the suckling turns into rapid flicks with the tip of his tongue. His thumb joins his ribbon-sheathed finger, rolling her nipple between the two. Without warning, he delivers a quick pinch to her tender flesh.

“Ah!” she cries out, eyes opening wide. He soothes her nub with the satin, then his teeth close around her other nipple, biting down just hard enough to elicit a gasp.

He keeps the pattern going, alternating between pleasure and hints of pain until she’s writhing beneath him. A swipe of the tongue is followed closely by a tweak. A smooth stroke is chased by the tug of teeth. Sometimes it’s a double dose of bliss, which he demonstrates by massaging one breast and nuzzling the underside of the other.

“Damon.” His name slips out on a moan before she can stop herself. Blue eyes narrow in response, and she knows she’s in trouble. The punishment is swift—his fingers and teeth provide a pinch-nip combo that makes her squeal. “Sir! Sorry!”

The pressure eases, and he releases her breasts, his mouth drifting further down her torso. He stops at her belly, just above the waistband of her skirt. “How about here?” he asks, tugging on the ring of her collar when she doesn’t immediately answer him.

“Yes, Sir,” she rasps.

He hums in approval, then dots kisses up and down her abdomen and dips his tongue into her navel. She arches her hips in an attempt to encourage him to focus his attention on an area slightly below where he is now, but he flattens a hand on her stomach to still her movements.

Damon moves lower yet, neatly avoiding the place she wants him most, much to her dismay. Instead, he trails his fingers over the inside of her thigh. “And here?”

“Yes . . . Sir.” His mouth fuses to her skin, and that amazing suction starts up again. She's sure she'll have another hickey to match the one he left on her throat.

More kisses land on her knee, shin, and calf while a hand inches up her other leg and under her skirt. Oh, please, please, please. Pleeeease. His finger follows the lacy edge of the G-string but retreats after a few seconds, drawing an invisible line back down to her thigh. His thumb brushes a spot behind her knee, and she jerks, pulling uselessly against the cuff holding her ankle immobile.

"Ticklish?" Damon asks, a knowing smile curling his lips.

"N-no," she stammers.

"Let's try that again, but with the truth this time."

She sighs in resignation. "Yes."

"Any other spots I should know about?"

She seals her lips shut, refusing to give up the many places on her body that would be susceptible to a tickle attack.

"Don't worry, pet. I'll find them myself, sooner or later," he promises.

Oh, shit. As she lets that information sink in, he pats her leg and hops off the table.

"Well, this won't do." He removes the clips from her ankle cuffs and does the same with her wrists.

"Wait, what?" she asks, shock evident in her voice. Don't stop!

He scoops her up in his arms without answering and strolls over to the bed, depositing her in the center. Taking advantage of her distracted state, he slips off her skirt and tosses it over his shoulder, leaving her dressed in nothing but the wisp of material between her legs. Her shoes are the next things to go, and he swiftly unbuckles them, setting the pair of heels on the floor.

Pulling back the corners of the duvet, he uncovers four straps, which he attaches to her cuffs. The bed is much wider than the table, and before she knows it, she's bound in the spread-eagle position.

"I needed more room to . . . spread out," Damon explains, licking his lips as his gaze travels the length of her body.

"I thought you were going to stop," Elena whispers.

"Oh, I’m far from finished with you, kitten. Trust me." Taking one of the pillows from the head of the bed, he slides it under her hips and lower back. “Perfect.”

He toes off his boots, then he climbs up on the bed, situating himself between her spread legs. He rests his chin on her hip for a moment, studying her while he flicks at one of the bows on her undies. “You’re so expressive, Elena. I love seeing every reaction reflected in your eyes, your parted lips, your pink cheeks. Do you know what I can’t wait to see next?”

She shakes her head.

“The look on your face when you come for me.” His voice is low, gritty with need.

Fuck. The sound she makes is part moan, part whimper, but the meaning is clear: take me now!

Just as he promised on the phone, he catches the end of one of the ribbons with his teeth and pulls, releasing it. The other is undone in similar fashion, and the G-string falls to the bed before Damon collects it and flings it aside. She’s completely exposed now, vulnerable to his every whim.

“Exquisite,” he murmurs, “just like I knew you’d be.” He uses his thumbs to part her folds. “You’re glistening, baby.”

She knows a brief moment of panic, wondering if she should have shaved instead of giving herself a meticulous trim job, but he quickly derails her runaway train of thought. “I can practically see those wheels of yours turning. You’re thinking too much. Just feel.”

At the first touch of his mouth on her sex, her worries evaporate. He laps at her gently, like a cat after cream, then he changes tactics—exploring deeper, thrusting into her with his tongue. A long, ragged moan leaves her throat, and her hands curl into fists, nails biting into her palms. Her lids start to droop as the sensations build.

“Elena,” Damon growls. “Open your eyes and keep them on mine,” he commands.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispers, trying to focus her gaze on his. It’s almost unbearably erotic—watching him pleasure her, especially when he flattens his tongue and slowly drags it over her clit.

He adds a finger to the mix, then two, fucking her while he continues to tease the throbbing nub at the top of her sex. She can feel the impending climax building, and her legs start to tremble.

Damon’s fingers still, and he moves away from her clit, making her cry out in frustration. “I want . . .” she pants, “I need . . . to co—”

“Oh, you will, but not until I’m good and ready to let you.” He waits until the tremors fade, then resumes working her into a frenzy. Fingers pump into her tight sheath, and he flicks at her nub just enough to keep her hovering on the edge.

When he slows the pace once again, she bites her tongue to keep a string of obscenities at bay. “Please, Master.” She pleads with her eyes, her words, whatever it takes.

“Mmm. My favorite phrase,” he murmurs as his fingers pick up where they left off. This time, he curls them upward, seeking—and finding—the spot that’s guaranteed to send her into orbit. He strokes her inner walls, using his free hand to press down on her lower belly.

“Oh, g-god . . .” She’s so close. So very close. It’s nearly impossible to keep her eyes open, but she tries her best.

Damon’s tongue swirls over her clit, making her hips jerk. “Come for me, Elena. Right now.” His mouth closes around her little bundle of nerves and sucks. Hard.

A scream of ecstasy announces the arrival of her orgasm, and Elena’s head thrashes wildly on the pillow. Wave after wave of bliss washes over her, and she can’t hear anything but her own gasping breaths and her heartbeat pounding in her ears. When the pleasure keeps spiraling on and on, she glances down to find Damon continuing his ministrations.

He pauses to give her a satisfied smile. “That was fucking incredible, kitten. In fact, I’d like to see it again, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything the first time.”

Before she has a chance to formulate a coherent thought, his fingers are back at it—rubbing, stroking, thrusting—until her second orgasm is bearing down on her. Her already sensitive clit is completely on board with the plan, and all it takes are a few soft swipes of his tongue to set her off again.

“That’s it. Over you go,” he murmurs.

Her release slams into her, and her back arches off the bed as far as the restraints will allow. Hoarse cries fill the air, and she realizes they belong to her.

He eases her down from her high, giving her a brief respite while he stands and unbuttons his pants, shucking off the snug leather. She’s not surprised at his lack of underwear—Damon seems exactly like the type who prefers to go commando. Before tossing the pants on the floor, he takes something out of the back pocket.

Sinking to his knees, he cups her sex and glides his thumb over her swollen clit. She moans and shifts restlessly at the gentle touch. She shouldn’t want more after two mind-blowing climaxes, but she does. She might have to crawl to work tomorrow, but it’ll be worth it.

Damon fists his cock, stroking it idly while he watches her squirm. “I’ve dreamt of being inside you, Elena. Of having your body splayed out beneath mine while I fuck you until you scream. Again,” he adds. He tears the wrapper off the item he pulled from his pocket, and she realizes it’s a condom. He quickly sheathes himself and parts her slick folds with the head of his penis, rubbing it along her slit.

“Are you ready for my cock, kitten?” he asks silkily.

“Yes, Sir.” She tilts her hips slightly, trying to take him inside. Her efforts earn her a light slap on her inner thigh.

“Be still.”

Warning received, she goes motionless while he waits, apparently testing her to see if she’ll continue to obey. After a minute goes by without so much as a twitch, he nods in approval.

He eases forward, entering her an agonizing inch at a time, and she feels her body stretching to accommodate him. “You’re so tight, baby,” he hisses. Once he’s seated deep within her, he pauses to let her adjust, dipping his head and pressing open-mouth kisses over her breasts and throat. His lips caress her own, and his tongue tangles with hers as he starts to move.

The rhythm he sets is slow, deliberate. Before she can get accustomed to it, he switches it up with rapid, shallow thrusts and an occasional deep stroke that keeps her off-balance but in a perpetual near-orgasmic state. “We fit together perfectly. It’s like your body was made for mine,” he whispers, gripping her hips as he picks up the pace.

Her breath leaves her in short, harsh pants as each thrust takes her ever closer to the edge. He’s driving into her now, a fine sheen of sweat dotting his chest. A few wisps of dark hair hang in his eyes, and her fingers itch to comb through the soft strands.

Watching her closely, he bites his lip and rotates his hips, hitting places inside her that make her toes curl. He reaches out and palms her breast, fingers closing around her nipple and giving it a pinch. His thumb settles on her clit and rubs it in time with his thrusts. “Give it to me, Elena. I want to feel you squeeze my cock as you come,” he rasps.

A high, keening cry leaves her lips as she climaxes, her muscles tightening around him just as he desires. His hips slam against hers, his rhythm faltering. After two more hard thrusts, he shouts her name as his own orgasm crashes into him. “So fucking good,” he grits out through clenched teeth. With one last jerk of his cock, he leans down, capturing her lips and swallowing her soft whimpers. He kisses her, leisurely exploring her mouth while they float back down to earth.

Eventually, he slides out of her and leaves the bed, winking at her over his shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere,” he teases. Then he disappears into the bathroom, and she hears him dispose of the condom and run the tap. He returns moments later and climbs up on the mattress, moving from one corner of the bedframe to the next as he releases her cuffs from the straps.

He spends a few minutes massaging her arms and legs to relieve the slight stiffness in her limbs after being bound, then he pulls her limp form against his body. She stretches and tries to muffle a yawn, but it doesn’t work. She’s tired, yet exhilarated. Giving up control to Damon, submitting to him—it feels right.

“Did you enjoy your first foray into bondage sex?” he asks, fingering the ring on her collar.

“Very much, Sir,” she murmurs, curling even closer to him.

“Still think it’s cruel to tease a sub?”

“Frustrating, for sure, but not cruel. You were right—the, uh, payoff is definitely worth it.” She tentatively raises her hand toward his chest and gazes up at him, seeking permission to touch.

He smiles and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Go ahead, kitten.”

Her fingers play along his pecs, then they work their way higher to his collarbone and throat. She encounters a hint of roughness on his chin and jaw from the stubble that’s starting to appear there. She cups his cheek and boosts herself up on an elbow so she can kiss him, using the gesture to express the myriad emotions swirling within her—happiness, wonder, gratitude.

After a while, the overwhelming need for a nap won’t be ignored any longer, and she rests her head in the crook of his arm, leaving a hand splayed on his chest. He drapes a leg over both of hers and pulls the duvet around them.

The last thing she registers before sleep takes her is the steady thump of Damon’s heartbeat beneath her palm.

Chapter Text

Elena pokes through her salad, looking for the last elusive tomato while her mind lingers on last night. Her sex life has never been anything to write home about, especially compared to her best friend's adventures, but now that she's had a taste of the bedroom pyrotechnics Care's always raving about when she returns home from spending the night with Nik, she's not ashamed to admit she wants more. Much more.

Speaking of Caroline, her roommate's been texting her nearly nonstop for details about her evening. They both woke up late (because Elena forgot to set the alarm in her post-Damon haze), which ruled out any lengthy discussions before work.

Her phone beeps, announcing the arrival of another one.

So, did he treat you to those multiple Os I told you about? Caroline's text reads.

Maybe . . . ;)

Aren't you glad you didn't chicken out?

Definitely

She's in the process of typing more when a call comes through, Damon's name flashing on the screen. Her heart gives a telling kick as she answers.

"Hello?"

"Hello, beautiful," Damon greets her. The sound of his voice alone makes her internal thermostat ratchet up a couple of degrees.

"You'd probably have to pick a different word if you could actually see me right now," she mutters, glancing at her wrinkled pants and oversized sweater. There was no time for ironing or her usual care in picking out an outfit this morning.

"Doubtful."

"No, really. It's a small step above footie pajamas and bedhead."

He laughs, and another lick of warmth rolls through her. "Are you on your lunch break?"

"Yep." She spies a green olive hiding beneath a piece of spinach and curls her lip at it. Nasty things. "Just me, myself, and this salad that's not as tasty as I was hoping it'd be."

"Bummer."

"Are you having lunch, too?"

"Balancing the books," he grumbles, "but I wish I was having lunch. With you, specifically."

"I wouldn't say 'no' to that." She really, really wouldn't.

"Are you busy tomorrow at this time? Or do you already have a date with another craptastic salad?" he teases.

"I might be able to squeeze you in." She doesn't realize the implication in her words until it's too late.

"I'd say you did that pretty well last night, kitten," he purrs.

Oh, god. Heat burns in her cheeks, and she hides behind her hands even though he can’t see her. "I can't believe I said that," she groans.

"Well, I certainly enjoyed it." He chuckles at her chagrin. "Have lunch with me tomorrow. You name the place, and I'll pick you up."

"I would love to," she easily agrees. She's definitely not going to turn down the chance to spend more time with him, even if it's only for an hour.

"Twelve o'clock? Twelve-thirty?"

"Noon would be perfect." She rattles off the address to Dr. Olly's office while he writes it down on the other end.

"Noon it is. Speaking of last night, still feeling good about everything we did? No regrets?"

Only that it didn't go on nearly long enough, she thinks to herself. She's a little tired and achy—in the best way—but otherwise, all is well in her newfound submissive world. "None at all. It was incredible."

"Glad to hear it."

She glances at the clock, grimacing when she sees how little of her break remains. “Damn. Time flies when you’re not working. Too bad the next four hours won’t go this fast.”

“Tell me about it. Break almost over?”

“Yep.” Five minutes and counting.

“I’ll let you go so you’re not late. Will you be thinking of me as much as I’m thinking of you?”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” she admits.

“Likewise. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“You will. I’m already looking forward to it.”

“Same here. Have a good afternoon, Elena.”

“You, too. Bye, Damon.”

“Goodbye.”

She ends the call and tosses the remnants of her subpar salad in the trash. At least tomorrow’s lunch will be a major improvement on today’s.

And it has nothing to do with food.

*****

As soon as Elena opens the apartment door, she’s greeted by the aroma of garlic and parmesan. She closes her eyes and breathes in, savoring the delicious scents. “What are you making?” she calls to Caroline.

“Fettuccine Alfredo,” her friend announces, joining her in the hallway. Care’s wearing the bright pink apron Elena bought for her last Christmas.

“It smells amazing.” Elena hangs her keys on the hook by the door and shucks off her coat. A drawer opens in the kitchen, and she hears the clatter of silverware being shuffled around. “Do we have company?” she asks with a raised brow.

Caroline nods. “Nik’s here.”

“Oh, good. I was really hoping there’d be nothing standing in the way of me and my comfy pajamas.” Nik’s seen her in a variety of ridiculous things—from wacky Halloween costumes to hangover sweats—so her flannel kittens-and-toy-mice PJs rate pretty low on the scale.

“You’re safe,” Caroline confirms. “Speaking of clothing, I never expected to see you wearing that sweater again.” She frowns and plucks at Elena’s sleeve.

“It was kind of a last resort. We got up late, remember?”

“I thought you hated it because it made you itchy.”

She has a point. Elena’s been scratching on and off all day. “Well . . .”

Caroline’s eyes widen. “Unless . . .” She tugs down the high neck of the sweater and examines Elena’s throat. “Mmhmm. There it is.”

Busted. Elena bats her hand away and tugs the collar back over the prominent hickey. At least the one on the inside of her thigh is much easier to hide. “Nosy,” she chides.

Unperturbed by the mild scolding, Caroline beams at her friend. “Damon’s marked you already.” She pats her shoulder and scurries back into the kitchen. “Next time, let me know. I have plenty of scarves you can borrow that are much more comfortable than that scratchy thing.”

“Thanks,” Elena murmurs, heading to her room to change. She should’ve known her inquisitive bestie would find out sooner rather than later.

*****

Ten minutes and one pair of whimsical pajamas later, the three of them are seated in the living room, digging into Caroline’s amazing meal. “This is so good,” Elena moans, toasting Care with her wine glass. Unfortunately, when she brings it to her mouth, she discovers she’s already drained it.

“More wine, love?” Nik asks, noticing her predicament.

“Please.”

He sets his plate aside and grabs the bottle off the table. “You and Damon both have a satisfied look about you,” Nik comments as he refills her glass. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile as much as he did today.”

“Really?” It’s nice to know she’s not the only one. Every time her mind turns to Damon, she can’t keep the grin off her face.

Nik makes an affirmative sound and returns to his place on the couch next to Caroline, who laces her fingers with his and snuggles into his side. “So, I think it’s safe to say a good time was had by all last night,” Caroline mentions, winking at Elena.

“You could definitely say that.” Elena hopes Caroline’s not expecting her to dish out the details of their evening in front of Nik. She and Nik are friends, and she’s comfortable around him, but that would be more than a little awkward.

Thankfully, Caroline doesn’t let the conversation stray into illicit territory. “Did you wear cuffs?”

“Yep.” Elena twirls more pasta around her fork and brings it to her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “He put a collar on me, too.” She absently rubs her neck where the smooth band of leather rested against her skin.

Nik nods and sips his wine. “Ah, yes. The belt-and-suspenders approach—one I like to use as well.” He glances knowingly at Caroline, and she shakes her head in agreement.

“Did he show you that amazing dance floor?” she asks.

“Yeah. It’s like a club within a club.” Elena’s cheeks grow warm at the memory of dancing with Damon, their hips practically fused together.

“Caroline’s quite a fan of it herself—aren’t you, sweetheart?” Nik murmurs, and now it’s Care’s turn to blush. “We’ve given the other dancers a show on more than one occasion.”

“Yes, we have, and I loved every second of it.” Caroline leans in for a kiss, and Nik is more than happy to oblige her. What starts as a tender brush of lips quickly escalates into a full-on battle of tongues. When they part, Caroline clears her throat and offers her friend an apologetic smile. “Oh! I almost forgot. Did you meet Rose?”

Elena nods, not at all bothered by their passionate display. If anything, it makes her wish Damon were here so they could share a smooch of their own. “She was great. Very friendly, just like you said.”

“Good.”

Elena stands and collects her plate and empty glass. The wine was just what she needed, but now it’s making her drowsy. “Sorry, guys. I don’t mean to bail on you, but I think I’m gonna call it a night.” She’d like to avoid another five-cups-of-coffee day tomorrow.

“No problem. Sweet dreams,” Caroline calls to her. “Hey, when you talk to Damon again, see if you can get some information out of him about the upcoming theme night he’s planning. I need time to shop for my outfit.”

She has no idea what Caroline’s talking about, but it sounds intriguing. “Will do.”

A theme night, huh? Interesting. She bids them goodnight and trudges down the hallway, eager to climb under the covers and get some much-needed shut-eye.

*****

The Camaro appears in the parking lot outside Dr. Olly's office at five to noon. Elena spots it the second it pulls up and grabs her coat, dashing out the door before more paperwork lands on her desk. A short drive later, she and Damon are following a waiter to a table in the best burrito joint in town.

Damon peruses the menu, but Elena doesn't bother. She's a creature of habit, and her order rarely changes: a chicken burrito the size of her head with a giant dollop of sour cream on top. Her stomach lets its impatience be known, growling loud enough to be heard over the mariachi music and nearby chitchat.

"Ravenous?" Damon asks with a smirk, closing his menu and setting it aside.

"Guess so."

"Must be your stomach still hasn't forgiven you for that awful salad."

"That's probably it," she laughs. The waiter returns and takes their orders, then disappears again. Damon reaches across the table, taking her hand and holding it in both of his.

"How's work going?"

"Not bad. Just paperwork on top of paperwork with a little extra paperwork on the side. They're talking about adding another doctor to the fold, so that's making things busier at the moment," she explains.

"I can relate to the paperwork bit, but at least it's Friday. That counts for something, right?" His thumb rubs back and forth over her knuckles.

"It does. Plus, I get to see you," she points out, glancing at him from beneath her lashes.

His lips replace his thumb, sending a tingle up her arm. "And the weekend is only a few hours away. Speaking of which, would you like to play tomorrow night?"

“I would,” she answers without hesitation.

"I was hoping you'd say that." He smiles, and she feels herself go a little melty around the edges.

Thinking about the club reminds her of Caroline's question. "Caroline mentioned that you're planning a theme night sometime soon. What's that?"

Damon chuckles and shakes his head. "Let me guess—she needs to know so she can plan what she's going to wear?"

"You got it."

"Figures. Theme nights are a fun way to let members creatively combine BDSM with non-kinky things. Could be a movie, a specific decade, or something supernatural or sci-fi, like zombies," he explains. "We did a Star Wars night once, and I've never seen so many Princess Leia slave costumes in my life."

"I can understand why that'd be a popular choice.”

“Mmm. The next one—a week from tonight, incidentally—will be fictional character pairings. Stefan’s idea,” he reveals. “Cap and Bucky, Marge and Homer, Sherlock and Dr. Watson, Cathy and Heathcliff, etcetera. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of interesting combos.”

She immediately knows which character her friend will choose. “Caroline’s totally going to be—”

“Scarlett O’Hara,” he finishes for her, taking the words right out of her mouth.

She laughs in surprise. “You’re good.” Caroline’s Gone with the Wind obsession is no secret, even to Damon, apparently.

“Any ideas on who we should go as?” he asks.

She studies him for a moment, tapping her chin as she considers the possibilities. Inspiration strikes when she gazes into his mesmerizing eyes. “How about Dracula and Mina?” she suggests. “You’d make an excellent vampire—mysterious, seductive, looks fantastic in black, capable of compelling people to do your bidding.”

“That can be arranged.” His smile darkens into something positively devilish. “You’d like to be under my thrall—is that what you’re saying, kitten?”

She shivers as excitement courses through her. “Definitely.”

“It’s a plan, then.”

Their food arrives, but Elena has a hard time concentrating on eating when she’s busy picturing Damon as the legendary title character from Stoker's famous novel. Theme night promises to be better than any Halloween party she’s ever attended.

And far more pleasurable, too.

*****

"Water for you, Elena?" Rose asks, mopping up the soda she spilled when Elijah leaned over the bar and whispered in her ear about his plans for their upcoming scene.

"Yes, please." It must involve rope because he and Damon are in the middle of a detailed discussion about technique, and the words "knot" and "tie" keep coming up.

After Rose takes a second to collect herself, she grabs a bottle of water and a glass and sets them in front of Elena.

"Thanks." Elena starts to fill her glass when Damon shifts behind her, rubbing his erection against her ass. She pushes back into him, trying not to lose her concentration and dump water everywhere. He makes the job harder by leaning forward slightly and resting his hands on the polished wood on either side of her, effectively using his body to cage her in between himself and the bar.

She listens as Damon and Elijah continue to talk shop, imagining what the ties and positions they mention might look like. Whichever one Elijah settles on, it’s clear Rose is in for a treat.

“Sorry I’m late,” interrupts a voice Elena recognizes as Stefan’s. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

Damon turns and claps his brother on the back. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” Stefan’s dressed conservatively tonight, Elena notes, taking in his tight jeans and V-neck tee. She glances around, expecting to see Katherine somewhere in the near vicinity. The imposing Domme is nowhere to be found, however. “Elena,” Stefan greets her with a warm smile. “It’s great to meet you. Finally,” he adds, shooting his brother a look.

“Same here,” Elena says. She considers shaking his hand or hugging him, but she’s a little unclear on the no-touching-without-permission rule. Does it apply to other subs, too?

Stefan solves the problem when he clears his throat and gestures toward her. “May I?” he asks.

Damon nods and steps far enough out of the way for Stefan to wrap his arms around her and give her a quick hug.

"I was hoping to have a chance to talk with you before now, but my brother's been keeping you all to himself," Stefan explains with a wink.

"Watch it, Stef. I might suggest to Kat that she use you as a footstool for a while," Damon mutters, drawing Elena closer and tucking her against his side.

Stefan chuckles, seemingly not bothered in the least by Damon's threat. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Speaking of Katherine . . . "Is she not here tonight?" Elena asks.

"No, the shop's open late." Stefan waves at Rose as she walks by with a tray of drinks.

"Shop?"

"She's a tattoo artist." He rolls up the sleeve of his t-shirt, revealing a rose inked on his upper arm, just above his bicep. "She started her own business a few years ago."

"Is she still dying to put 'Property of Mistress Katherine' across your ass?" Damon asks, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

Stefan winces. "Don't encourage her."

Rose reappears with the empty tray, and Elijah takes it from her, setting it aside on the bar. Pulling her close, he cups her face and smooths his thumb over her cheek. "Ready to play, pet?"

"Yes, Sir," she breathes, leaning into him as he tilts her chin up for a kiss.

"Well, I guess that's my cue," Stefan murmurs, gathering up the discarded tray and stepping behind the bar.

Elena turns as far as Damon's hold will allow. "You're not going to watch their scene?"

"No. I'll cover the bar so she can spend time with Master E." Stefan smiles, looking wistful for a moment. "Besides, it's not as much fun when your partner isn't around to put out—or stoke, as the case may be—your fire afterward, if you catch my drift."

"Gotcha." It's easy to recall how close she came to overheating during the first demonstrations she observed.

"I've no doubt you'll enjoy it," Stefan adds, his grin widening as a blush stains her cheeks.

Damon's hand tightens on her hip. "You can count on it," he whispers, brushing her hair over her shoulder and pressing his lips to the spot on her throat that bears his mark. "Let's go join the others." He nods to Stefan and Elena waves goodbye before he leads her toward the doorway and out into the hall.

*****

Many of the couches and chairs in the main play area are already occupied when they arrive, but Damon finds a spot on the end of one of the sofas and takes a seat. He inspects the pillows scattered on the floor and reaches for a royal blue one, plumping it up a bit before setting it next to his feet. “Kneel here, pet,” he instructs Elena, and she sinks down—as gracefully as possible—onto the pillow.

She does a quick scan of the room, locating Caroline and Nik. The pillow Caroline’s perched on is bubblegum pink, to no one’s surprise. Elena gives her a little wave when their eyes meet, which her friend enthusiastically returns. Further down, Rebekah is partially in Pearl’s lap, listening intently as her Mistress whispers something in her ear.

Elena returns her attention to Rose and Elijah, who are standing in an area that’s been cleared of all equipment and furniture. Elijah circles his sub and collects a large bundle of rope from a nearby table. He pulls one of the ends free and runs it through his hands, testing it.

As she watches Elijah finish his preparations, Damon encourages her to rest her head against his leg. Fingers tunnel into her hair, sifting through the long, silky strands. She heaves a contented sigh and rubs her cheek on the soft material of his dress pants.

Elijah steps behind Rose and begins loosening the ties on her corset. Once it’s free of her body, he sets it aside and unzips her skirt, letting it pool at her feet. She lifts one foot, then the other, and the skimpy garment joins the corset in a pile on the table. He allows her to keep her panties—a lacy, black thong—but otherwise, she’s naked with the exception of her cuffs.

“Ready to begin, my sweet?” Elijah asks, uncoiling the rope, doubling it up to find the center, and tying a knot there that leaves a small loop just above it.

She nods. “Yes, Sir.”

He turns her to the side for better viewing and drapes the rope behind her neck, lowering it until the knot rests between her shoulder blades. Then, he pulls the two ends forward and ties another knot just above her breasts. A series of additional knots follow—four in total. The last one is even with her navel.

When Elijah starts to tie another one a few inches lower, Elena’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “Wait, why is he putting that one . . . oh.”

He threads the rope between Rose’s thighs, making the extra knot line up perfectly with the top of her sex and the little bundle of nerves nestled there.

“To focus Rose’s attention on a certain pleasurable spot,” Damon answers, twirling a piece of her hair around his finger.

Rose bites her lip as Elijah runs the rope up her back and through the initial loop, tightening it until a moan slips out of his sub. Next, he brings the two ends under her arms and over the tops of her breasts, working them into the ropes between the first two knots and pulling outward to create a diamond shape. He repeats the process, running the ropes back and forth and through the others, leaving a criss-cross pattern on her back and an intricate chain of diamonds down her front.

“That’s beautiful,” Elena murmurs. “Does it have a name?” She tilts her head back and gazes at Damon, who’s watching her instead of the demonstration.

“This particular one is called a karada or ‘rope dress.’ It’s a Japanese style of bondage,” he explains.

Thoroughly intrigued, Elena studies the design once more, just in time to see Elijah secure the last knot behind Rose’s back, completing the tie. He tucks the leftover rope ends into the coils above the knot, giving it a flawless appearance. Apparently satisfied with his work, he turns Rose around so everyone has a clear view of both the front and back patterns of the rope.

A round of applause breaks out, and Elena and Damon join in while Elijah leads Rose around the room, pausing in front of anyone who’d like a closer look. Damon tugs on a lock of Elena’s hair to get her attention. She moves around on the pillow, resituating herself so she can see him better without getting a crick in her neck.

“Did you enjoy that, kitten?” he asks.

She nods. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“I seem to recall you listing rope bondage in the ‘maybe’ column. Would you like to try it sometime?”

She clenches her thighs together as she imagines the ropes tightening around her body, guided by Damon’s skilled hands. “Yes, Sir.”

He smiles at her response. “Excellent.”

Elijah and Rose’s tour of the room finally reaches them, and by now, Rose’s cheeks are a bright shade of pink. She shifts restlessly from foot to foot, and Elena surmises that the knot pulled snug between her legs is doing its job of keeping her “focused,” as Damon put it.

“Impressive work, Master Elijah,” Damon compliments his fellow Dom. “She looks stunning, as usual.”

Rose’s face heats even more at the praise. “Thank you, Master Damon.”

“Yes, most kind,” Elijah chimes in. “Might we see the lovely Elena bound in your ropes someday soon?”

“You might,” Damon murmurs, his gaze easily holding Elena’s captive.

“I’m happy to hear it. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe my sub is in need of my attention.” Elijah nods to them and takes Rose’s hand, ushering her toward the doorway that leads upstairs.

“Have fun,” Damon calls after the pair.

Elena notices Caroline and Nik retreating to the private rooms as well, Nik’s hand connecting with Care’s ass in a loud smack when she tries to rush ahead of him. Leaning closer, Elena subtly rubs herself against Damon’s leg in a move that says, I want to go upstairs, too. Can we? Please?

He chuckles at her antics. “Do you need something, baby?”

“You,” she breathes.

Damon rises from the couch in one fluid motion and pulls her to her feet. “I think that can be arranged,” he whispers. Then his mouth is on hers, chasing away everything but the caress of his lips and the warmth of his toned body where it’s pressed against her own.

*****

Once they’re in the room Damon selected, he stands back and admires the way Elena looks in the sleek leather mini dress he chose for her to wear tonight. The pleated edge flirts with the tops of her thighs in the front and reveals a hint of her sexy ass in the back.

She smooths a hand over the duvet on the king-size bed and turns to look at him. “No table this time?” she asks.

“What I have in mind doesn’t require any special furniture.” He stops beside a dresser and opens the largest drawer, instantly finding the item he needs. Removing the crop, he holds it at his side as he approaches Elena, whose eyes have gone wide as saucers. “We’re going to play a little game,” he explains. “I like to call it ‘Master Damon Says,’ and the premise is simple: I tell you to do something, and you do it—without hesitation or complaint. If you please me, you’ll get a reward when the game ends. If you make a mistake,” he snaps the end of the crop against his palm, “I’ll correct you.”

He lowers himself into a leather armchair and crosses his legs at the knee. The inspiration for this activity struck him earlier in the day as he was considering various ideas for tonight’s scene. So far, she’s responded remarkably well to his dominance, but now he wants to up the ante another notch. Test the depth of her submission.

“If I ask you a direct question, you may answer, but otherwise, I’d like you to be quiet. As always, you have your safe word if you need it. Have I made everything clear?” he inquires, studying the way she nervously twists her hands together.

“Yes, Sir.” He can see the apprehension in her big, brown eyes. There’s determination there, too.

“Very good. Let’s begin.” Damon’s gaze travels the length of her body, from her long, silky waves to her painted toes peeping out of the strappy heels he bought her. The slight delay has a purpose—he wants to let her wheels spin a bit at the possibility of what he might ask her to do. As with all things regarding his new sub, he’ll ease her into it and build from there.

“Take off your dress,” he instructs. “Slowly.”

She lowers the side zipper a few inches and stops, letting the leather part just enough to reveal the top of her breast. Her fingers dance over the rows of decorative grommets on the bodice, tracing the outline of each one. She runs her hands over her stomach and thighs, then back up to tug the tab some more. Without straps to keep it in place, the top of the dress slips down, exposing her breasts. She’s swaying her hips now, moving to a silent, sensual rhythm. What started as tentative undressing has become a proper striptease, and his body responds in kind, his dick growing impossibly harder by the second.

The rasp of the zipper sounds again, and the sides of the dress fall away until he can see her slim waist and navel. She shoots him a seductive little smile, her anxiety having apparently melted away. She even gets creative with the next part. Instead of unzipping it all the way, she shimmies out of the dress, gradually sliding it down her long legs until she can step out of it. Setting the garment aside, she stands patiently, awaiting his next order.

“Points for style,” he murmurs, gesturing in a circle with the crop. “Turn around. Show me all of you.”

She does as requested, giving him an excellent view of her heart-shaped ass and those fucking incredible legs. He can’t wait to feel them wrapped around his waist. Unlike her previous visit, he didn’t gift her with a pair of panties this time, leaving her gloriously bare. He devours her with his stare, visualizing all the things he’s going to do to her luscious body.

He crooks a finger at her. “Come here.” She walks closer, stopping only when her knees are nearly touching his. He uncrosses and widens his legs, then taps the crop on the carpet. “Kneel.”

She drops to the floor, settling herself between his feet. Her gaze is somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes. Perhaps she thinks he meant for her to assume the position he taught her. He nudges the underside of her chin with the flared end of the crop, gently pressing upward until she’s looking at him. “Eyes up here.”

Her pupils are expanded, telling him she’s fully immersed in the scene. And enjoying it. Perfect. “Cup your breasts,” he orders. She does, leaning slightly forward as if she’s presenting them to him. “They’re gorgeous, Elena. So round and full.” He runs the leather tip over one breast, then the other. She holds her breath as if she’s expecting him to strike, but he doesn’t.

“Your nipples look like they could use some attention. Pinch them.” Her fingers dutifully close around her hard nubs and squeeze. A small moan slips out before she bites her lip, silencing herself. “Does that feel good?” he asks. He knows it damn well does, but he wants to hear her say it.

“Y-yes, Master Damon,” she stammers.

Christ. His cock feels like a brick that’s been dropped down the front of his pants. He’ll have to tread carefully so the party doesn’t end before it’s even properly begun.

“Undo my pants, kitten.” He notices a slight tremor in her hands as she pops the button and reaches for his fly, lowering the zipper. His erection springs free without any additional encouragement, and he sighs in relief, grateful to be rid of the snug confines of his trousers. “Stroke me. Nice and easy.”

When her hand circles his hard length and gently caresses him, it’s his turn to bite back a groan. Her tongue sneaks past her lips as she concentrates on her task, and her fingers glide from base to tip, eagerly exploring him. Her touch is heaven. Too much heaven. “Stop,” he rasps after a minute.

She doesn’t release him right away, which is both a blessing and a curse. The crop lands on her ass with a sharp crack, demanding her acquiescence. She jumps and immediately removes her hands, resting them on her thighs.

“Put them behind your back.” She complies, and he takes a clip from his pocket and fastens her wrist cuffs together. Now that her hands have been taken out of play, she looks bereft. Not for long, he muses.

“Lean forward,” he directs her. Her eyes light up again and she readily presses closer. He grips his cock and rubs the head back and forth over her soft lips. "Take me inside, pet."

He watches, rapt, as an inch disappears, then two, her tongue caressing the underside of his shaft. Her technique is a mixture of cautious and bold, retreat and advance. His fingers find their way into her hair, tangling in the long locks and gently guiding her movements. She sucks him in deeper, the pull of her lips an exquisite combination of pleasure and torment.

He lets her continue her ministrations until the telltale pressure at the base of his spine warns him that the fun is about to end if he doesn't switch gears. Soon.

"Enough." Elena immediately pulls back, his penis slipping from her mouth. Her lips turn down in a frown, and he has to fight back the urge to lift her into his lap and kiss away her disappointment. "I plan to finish in your talented mouth soon enough. Just not tonight,” he soothes. “Tell me, did sucking my cock make you wet, sweetheart?"

Her cheeks turn an alluring shade of pink, and she hesitates, but only for a second. "Yes, Master Damon."

"Mmm." His hand leaves her hair and skims down her back to her bound wrists. He releases the clip connecting her cuffs and reclines in the chair, steepling his fingers underneath his chin. "Let me see."

A look of uncertainty crosses her face, then his meaning clicks, and she leans back on her heels, bracing herself on one hand. Her other hand drifts over her belly, stopping when it reaches the apex of her thighs. She uses her fingers to part her folds, revealing the evidence of her desire.

"Fucking hell, Elena," he growls. From his vantage point, he can easily see how slick she is. How ready she is. For him. "Go wait for me on the bed."

She scurries off the floor while he sets down the crop and quickly discards his clothes, then returns to the dresser for supplies. Armed with what he needs, he approaches the bed, admiring the way she's sprawled out on the duvet—a sensuous feast for the eyes. Her legs are splayed wide, and her chest rises and falls with each excited breath she takes.

He grasps her ankles and pulls her closer until her legs are dangling off the mattress, her body lying parallel to the headboard. Walking around to the other side, he raises her arms over her head and clips her cuffs to one of the many handy straps hiding under the silk comforter.

Returning to his spot beside the bed, he lifts her ankle and places a kiss there. “You did very well, kitten. I’m impressed.” He picks up the extra set of cuffs he brought with him and secures them around her ankles, leaving her shoes on. Few sights are as erotic as a bound woman wearing heels, especially for the position he has in mind. “You’ve earned your reward,” he purrs.

The next item in his arsenal—a spreader bar—is held up for her to see. He clips her ankle cuffs to the bar, extending it until he's happy with the width. Metal clinks against metal as she shifts her legs, likely testing to see if the bar has any give to it. Discovering it doesn't, she stops wriggling and waits for his next move, anticipation evident on her beautiful face.

Slipping on a condom, he grips the center of the bar and uses it to lift her legs and push them back, leaving her nicely exposed. He trails a finger from the top of her sex to the unexplored territory between the firm cheeks of her ass, earning him a startled gasp from Elena.

"Don’t worry, baby. You're not ready for that yet, but if you agree to try it, I'd like to eventually introduce a butt plug and leave it in while I fuck you." He eases two fingers inside her sheath and gives her a few lazy strokes. "You'll be so full, you won't know which sensation is making you hotter," he murmurs, pausing to flick at her clit before removing his fingers.

A low moan leaves her throat, a lovely flush spreading over her chest. Satisfied that his words have had their desired effect, he leans down and brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. "Everything feeling good?" he asks.

"Yes, Master," she murmurs, kissing his thumb as it traces her bottom lip.

"I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that. Now, about that reward I mentioned . . ." He teases her entrance with the tip of his cock, then thrusts into her, burying himself deep. Once he starts to move, she works her hips against his as much as her bonds will allow. It's quite a vision, one that'll be burned into his mind for a long time to come: Elena, her lip caught between her teeth, lids low, whimpers escaping her as he hits just the right spot.

“You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.” He grips her hip for leverage and increases the pace until her back arches and she tugs uselessly on her restraints. Every stroke pushes her closer to the edge, but before he lets her go over, he has one more surprise. “Would you like to come for me, kitten?” he asks.

“Yes . . . please,” she pants, legs trembling as her climax approaches.

Damon takes the last item—a powerful little vibrator he bought during his online shopping spree—and turns it on low. He runs it over her nipples, teasing the hard peaks, then skims it across her belly and inner thighs. Her eyes widen when she realizes its ultimate destination. “Oh, god . . .”

Switching it to the highest setting, he presses the vibe against her clit, his hips slamming into hers with every thrust. “Now, Elena. Come,” he demands.

A scream tears out of her throat as her orgasm bears down on her. Damon manages to hold out slightly longer, but the way her muscles tighten around his cock makes it impossible to stave off his own release. He drives deep one last time, his shout of pleasure joining her gradually softening cries in a chorus of ecstasy.

Using an arm to brace himself, he turns off the vibe and rests his cheek against her leg, taking a few moments to recover before leaving the warm haven of her body. He removes the spreader bar and slips off her shoes, then unclips her wrist cuffs and tucks her under the covers while he makes a quick trip to the bathroom.

Returning to the bed, he rouses her from a near-doze and hands her a bottle of water from the mini fridge. “Thirsty?” She accepts the offering, slowly sipping at it. He slides between the sheets, gathering her in his arms. “Don’t you look thoroughly debauched,” he murmurs, combing his fingers through her mussed hair.

“Is it a good look?” she asks, passing him the bottle.

“A very good look,” he confirms. He takes a drink and sets the rest of the water on the bedside table. Leaning in, he brushes his mouth over hers, gently nipping her bottom lip until she opens for him. His tongue caresses hers, coaxing a moan out of her. When they part, she snuggles closer, nuzzling his throat. "Any thoughts or concerns I should know about?" he asks, pulling the blankets around them.

"No," she answers after a moment, and he feels the tips of her fingers skimming across his stomach and over his hip.

“You sure about that?” He senses there’s something she’s not telling him.

“Well, I was a little nervous about the game, and then I messed up,” she mumbles into his chest.

“You’re still learning.” He kisses the top of her head in reassurance. “You were amazing.”

“I never thought I’d be a big fan of someone telling me what to do, but . . . I kinda loved it,” she admits.

“Good to know.” He’ll keep that tidbit in mind for future scenes, especially given her intuitive reaction to the stricter tone he set.

“The vibrator was . . . unexpected.”

“‘Unexpected’ as in ‘I came so hard I nearly forgot my own name’?”

“Mmhmm,” she agrees between yawns.

Rolling them over so Elena is draped on top of him, Damon massages the nape of her neck until her breathing evens out and she surrenders to slumber. He spends what seems like hours but is probably only a handful of minutes reliving the way she looked writhing on the bed while her powerful release washed over her. How the hell did I get so lucky? he wonders as the urge to snooze starts to drag him under.

With one last lingering glance at Elena’s serene form, he closes his eyes and gives into sleep.

Chapter Text

"Damon." Alaric announces his presence in the doorway to Damon's office with his usual lack of fanfare. "Do you have a minute?" he asks.

Judging by the look on the guy's face and the fistful of papers he's clutching, this isn't a social call, nor is it likely to be a request for a restock of his favorite bourbon. "Sure. What's up?" Damon bookmarks and closes the site he's been perusing, which is a Halloween enthusiast's dream. It boasts everything from period costumes and fake blood to clip-on fangs.

Alaric hands the papers to Damon but doesn't take a seat. Instead, he stands in front of the window with his arms crossed, staring into the dreary backyard. "Nothing good. Those reports just came in from a friend of mine at the APD. Take a look."

Damon scans the first one. It's a missing persons report for a young woman, age twenty-two, who hasn't been seen since last weekend. According to her next-door neighbor, she seemingly disappeared without a trace. No signs of forced entry to her apartment—the door was locked, her car was still in the driveway, and no notes or other communications were left behind. The second report tells a similar tale, this time of a twenty-three-year-old man. "Not again." Damon keeps reading in hopes of discovering something that will disprove what he already suspects these to be. "Which club?"

He glances at Alaric, who hasn't moved from his position by the window. "Two different places, both downtown," his head of security reveals. "I spoke with the owners, and the subs were relatively new to the club scene but were there every weekend without fail. They'd done a few one-off scenes but hadn't entered into any formal relationships or arrangements with anyone. I hate to say it, but they fit the pattern."

"Young, single, not much experience. Fuck." Damon tosses the reports on his desk and searches under the stacks of files and other paperwork until he locates his phone. "Do the police have any leads?"

"Not yet. If the kidnappers are posing as Doms, they could be luring them away from prying eyes just long enough to get them into a car or van without too much commotion, especially if they're drugging them," Alaric points out.

"Bastards." Alaric shakes his head in agreement while Damon sends a group text to his closest Doms. "I'm calling the others in for a meeting tomorrow to let them know the latest. It's an off-night, but can you be here, too?"

"Of course."

"Thanks, Ric."

Alaric nods and leaves Damon alone with his thoughts, which are troubling ones. How do they stop this shit before any other innocent people get abducted? He finishes his text and sends it off. Within minutes, everyone has responded, all of them agreeing to meet the following night even though the club will be closed. The group consensus matches his own feelings on the matter: his fellow Doms are saddened, worried, and most of all, pissed off at whoever's targeting the local kink community.

Just as he replies to the last text from Pearl, an incoming call appears on the screen.

Elena.

He immediately answers. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear your voice."

"Really?" He can hear rustling in the background and the occasional clang of a utensil against a pan, like she's stirring something. She must be cooking dinner. "What's wrong?" she asks, picking up on his less-than-traditional greeting.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. He doesn't want to upset her with the news, but she needs to know. "Two more subs have disappeared."

The stirring stops. "Oh, no. Do you know them?"

"No. They frequented a couple of the downtown clubs."

"I'm so sorry. That's terrible." More shuffling and the crinkle of a plastic wrapper. "Have you eaten dinner?"

He checks his watch and grimaces. 7:38. "I had lunch."

"That's a roundabout way of saying 'no.'" There's a loud bang, like something heavy has fallen on the floor. "Ow. Shit!"

"Elena!" Damon's out of his chair before he remembers she's not in the same room with him. Or anywhere near, for that matter. "Hey, talk to me. What happened?"

He's having visions of her lying on her kitchen floor in a puddle of blood and is about to put the call on hold to dial 9-1-1 when she comes back on the line. "Sorry. I dropped a jar of sauce, which—by some miracle—didn't break, but I burned my hand on the stove when I tried to catch it." The sound of running water tells him she’s probably sticking her hand under the tap. "Assuming I manage not to destroy dinner before it's ready, would you like to come over? Caroline's at Nik's, so it's just me and Bones reruns."

He leans on his desk and releases the breath he's been holding. The idea of Elena in pain (the non-pleasurable kind) makes his protective instincts flare to life.

"But if you don't want to, or you're busy or tired, that's fine, too. I understand," she tacks on, and Damon realizes he hasn't answered her question.

"No, no. I'd love to. Give me a few minutes to wrap things up here, then I'll be over."

"Great." The faucet squeaks and the water stops running. "Do you need the address?"

"Nope. I've dropped off Caroline and Nik at your place a time or two. I remember the way."

“Okay. I’ll see you in a bit, then?”

“You certainly will.” He shuts down his computer, his gaze lingering on the reports. “Bye, Elena.”

*****

The oven timer starts its obnoxious beeping just as a knock sounds on the apartment door. Elena grabs a pair of potholders and quickly removes the casserole before greeting Damon, since the sight of him is likely to make her forget all about her carefully prepared dinner. She doesn’t want his first visit to include a cameo from the fire department because she let their meal turn into a charred mess.

Satisfied that her creation at least looks edible, she opens the door and ushers Damon inside. “Hey,” she murmurs.

“Hey, yourself.” He sets a plain white box on the counter—the kind of packaging associated with bakeries and other yummy places. She’s intrigued, and she opens her mouth to ask him about it, but his arms are around her and his lips are on hers before she can get the words out.

She senses his unease in the urgency of his kiss and in the way he’s holding her as if he might never let her go. Her hands run over his back in a soothing motion, and when the kiss eventually ends, she clings tightly to him, offering comfort in any way she can. His scent surrounds her—a mixture of woodsy-smelling soap, the rich leather of his coat, and remnants of the crisp night air.

“How are you?” she asks. She glances up at him, noticing how the light color of his eyes has darkened into a stormy blue.

“Better now that I’m with you.” His lips brush her forehead as he releases her, taking off his coat and hanging it on one of the hooks by the door. Giving her a small smile, he rolls up his sleeves and rubs his hands together. “What can I do to help with dinner?”

“Nothing. It’s all set.” She eyes the mystery box he left on the counter. “What’s that?” She tries to crack the lid and peek at its contents, but he shoos her away.

“It’s a treat for later.” Quickly hiding the box in the refrigerator, he turns and wags a finger at her. “No snooping when I'm not looking.”

“Fine.” She mimics one of Caroline’s overdramatic sighs while she collects plates and silverware. “What would you like to drink? We have wine, beer, water . . .”

“I wouldn’t turn down a glass of wine.”

“Good choice.” Gathering two glasses from the cupboard, she pours them each a generous portion. She passes him a glass, which he sets aside and catches her hand in a gentle grip.

“Let me see,” he murmurs. At first, she doesn’t understand what he’s talking about, but then he turns her hand over, examining the splotchy pink burn mark.

Embarrassed at her own clumsiness, she tries to pull away, but he doesn’t let go. “It’s no big deal. Really.”

He reaches into his pocket and takes out a tube of what looks like ointment. “This will help. I do have some experience applying first aid,” he adds with a wink.

“Aloe?” she asks as he carefully rubs some of the cool salve into her skin.

He nods, placing a kiss there once he’s done. “How does that feel?”

“Much better. Thank you.” She’s not used to having someone take care of her. Caroline's good at fussing over her when she's sick, but the sight of blood makes her friend woozy, so she's usually on her own if injuries are involved.

“Anytime.” He wanders over to the stove and inspects her creation. “This smells incredible.”

“It’s a new recipe, so let’s hope it tastes good.” She hands him a plate and a serving spoon. “If not, there’s a pizza place just around the corner.”

“I’m not worried.”

She smiles at his confidence. At least one of them has faith in her culinary abilities. After they’ve filled their plates, he follows her to the living room where she takes one look at the TV screen and promptly changes the channel. “I love Booth and Brennan, but it’s not a show you want to watch while you’re eating. I learned that the hard way.” She switches it to Seinfeld, figuring comedy is probably the best bet at the moment.

Damon’s already tucking into her casserole, and she holds her breath as she waits for the verdict. He pauses long enough to wipe his mouth, sip his wine, and shoot her a grin. “Delicious. What’s in it?”

“Fresh veggies, marinara sauce, and a half-ton of mozzarella and parmesan.”

“Mmm. Perfect.”

She takes a bite of her own, pleased to find he’s not just being nice. It’s actually pretty decent. “Wow.”

“See? Told ya.”

They eat in companionable silence, mostly because she’s starving, and she’s sure he must be, too. He heads to the kitchen for a second helping while she finishes her wine and snuggles into the couch, content with a full belly and Damon’s company. Several compliments later, he takes their empty plates and glasses to the sink and returns with the surprise he’d stowed in the fridge.

“Ready for dessert?”

She perks up, making grabby hands at the box. He chuckles as he settles beside her and wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight to his side.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” He hands her the box, and she practically tears off the top to reveal a mini chocolate cheesecake for two. He cuts a piece and offers it to her. The first taste is enough to make her eyes roll back in bliss.

“This is heaven,” she moans.

“It’s close, but I can think of a few things that top it,” he murmurs.

Her cheeks warm at his insinuation. They take turns feeding each other bites of cheesecake, polishing off the dessert in no time. Setting aside the empty box, Damon stretches out on the couch, rearranging her so she’s lying half on top of him with her head resting on his chest.

Sleep tugs at her, brought on by the food and wine combo. Damon helps her along by rubbing her back until she’s struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Whoever is abducting these subs isn’t going to magically realize the error of their ways and turn themselves in,” he mutters. “Promise me you’ll be careful when you’re out, Elena. The assholes seem to be sticking to the public clubs, but that could always change.”

“Don’t worry. I will,” she promises, burrowing deeper into his embrace. She’s almost out when he speaks again, his voice so soft she nearly misses it.

“If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

*****

A chuckle from Damon rouses Elena from her doze. She blinks and tries to focus her gaze on his while he offers her a tender smile. “Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

She glances at the TV, where Jerry and Kramer are still nattering away at each other. “I’m the one who should apologize. I fell asleep on you. Literally.”

He cocks a dark brow. “Do I look like I mind?”

He doesn’t exactly seem put out by the experience. Far from it. “No, you—” She stops mid-sentence when she feels a damp spot underneath her chin. “Oh, god,” she groans, burying her face in his shirt to hide her mortification over her discovery.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I drooled on you,” she mumbles into the fabric.

Damon laughs, and she can feel the reverberations against her cheek. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Even in your sleep, you were salivating over me.”

She gives him a half-hearted smack on the arm. “Aren’t you funny.”

“I try.” He checks his watch and frowns at whatever it says. “As much as I’d love to stay in this exact spot for the foreseeable future, I should probably go.”

“This is because of the drool, isn’t it.”

“Not at all.” He taps the tip of her nose. “You have to get up early, and I agreed to drop in on Stefan’s morning lecture. Not one of my brighter ideas, to say the least.”

“Stefan teaches?” She didn’t have a chance to ask him what he did for a living during their brief chat.

Damon nods. “He’s part of the history department at Emory.”

“Impressive.” She reluctantly leaves the comfort of his arms so he can get up. When he does, he pulls her in for a toe-curling kiss, one that has her wishing he could spend the night.

“Believe me, I don’t want to leave, but if I stay, you won’t be in any shape to go to work, and I’ll catch hell from Stefan for missing his class,” he murmurs, keying into her thoughts in that uncanny way of his.

“I understand. Maybe next time?” she asks in a small, hopeful voice.

“Of course.”

He brushes his mouth over hers one last time, then collects his coat, thanks her again for dinner, and makes her promise to lock the door behind him, which she dutifully does. As she hears the Camaro’s engine rumble to life, she rubs her bottom lip, reliving his kisses.

There’s no doubt her dreams will be pleasant ones tonight.

*****

Damon’s gaze skips around the room, landing on each of his friends in turn. He’s just told them everything he knows about the missing subs, and now Alaric is fielding questions from the group.

Elijah swirls what’s left of his bourbon around the bottom of his glass. “Sounds like they’re assembling an auction.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Damon grimly agrees.

“But there have only been four kidnappings, right?” This from Pearl, whose fists are clenched so tightly her knuckles are turning white.

“That we know of.”

“They could have more subs on hand who were taken from other places and brought here. These sort of operations like to target big cities to avoid drawing too much attention,” Alaric explains.

Nik clears his throat. “Any ideas on where they might be hiding?”

“Hard to say,” Ric mutters. “Trafficking rings tend to be constantly on the move, holing up in abandoned warehouses and, occasionally, private residences, which makes them nearly impossible to track.”

Frederick, who’s been leaning against the wall and quietly digesting everything that’s being said, steps forward. “I have a proposition.”

Damon nods, gesturing for him to continue. “Let’s hear it.”

“I can pose as a potential buyer and poke around to see if I can find out any information that would help the police nail these jackasses. Since I’m new to the area and relatively unknown outside of your club, they won’t suspect me of having any ties to you, unlike the others here.”

He has a point. Still, it would be a risky endeavor. “You’re sure? We don’t know much about what we’re up against here.”

“I know. It can’t hurt to ask a few questions, see if I can get an invite to the auction.” Frederick shrugs and waits for Damon’s response.

He weighs the pros and cons, reluctant to put anyone in harm’s way. He’d like nothing more than to go after the fuckers himself, but Frederick’s right. He’s too well known in the scene. If his name were thrown around in the seedier circles, it would immediately arouse suspicion. “You’re the best chance we have,” Damon concedes. “Be careful, Frederick, and let us know the second you hear anything.”

“You got it.”

Damon glances at the others. Nik picks at a spot of dried paint on his jeans, a nervous habit of his. Rebekah is wearing a hole in the carpet with her pacing, which only stops when Pearl catches her hand in hers and tugs her down beside her on the sofa. Kat’s filing her long fingernails, which may seem like a show of nonchalance, but Damon knows better. She’s shaping them into sharp points—weapons in their own right—and likely fantasizing about using them to castrate whoever’s responsible for the abductions. Elijah and Alaric are quietly conversing by Damon’s desk while the latter tops off their drinks.

“We need to inform the members so they’re aware of the situation. Any Doms with new subs should be especially vigilant,” he cautions, thinking of his Elena. “I’d like your help spreading the word.”

Everyone nods their agreement, then they bid each other goodnight and part ways. He’s sure many of them are headed to spend time with their lovers and reassure themselves of their safety, just as he did with Elena last night.

Frederick’s plan is a good one. He hopes it’s also a successful one.

*****

Elena’s perusing a rack of Victorian costumes when a screech from Caroline splits the air. She sounds close; there’s probably only an aisle or two between them.

“Nik! You—” The rest of her words are abruptly cut off, suggesting he’s either smothered her rebuke with his lips or his hand.

Elena snickers as she moves on to the next rack, a red and black corset with a matching skirt catching her eye. She runs a hand over the top layer of satin on the skirt, enjoying the softness of the fabric. She’s reaching for the hanger when a pair of strong arms close around her waist and pull her back against an equally solid chest.

“You shouldn’t laugh,” Damon whispers in her ear. “You’re next.”

She tries to squirm her way out of his hold, albeit halfheartedly, but his grip won’t budge. His mouth trails down her jaw to her throat, and his teeth close over the sensitive spot there, making her squeal.

“Damon!” she half-shouts, half-moans his name.

A finger settles over her lips. “Shhh. The store owner will think you’re being ravaged and he’ll come to see what all the fuss is about. That could be arranged, you know.” He pauses to nip her earlobe. “The ravaging part.”

Excitement surges through her at his suggestion. Would he really do that? Here, in a public place? Would she really let him? The answer to all of those questions is becoming clearer by the second.

Yes.

Keeping an arm around her, effectively trapping her hands at her sides, he caresses her breasts with his free hand. Her nipples pebble beneath her blouse in response to his touch, and his thumb rubs over the tight peaks.

“My, my. Is someone having naughty thoughts? Does she like the idea of being teased, tasted, and fucked in a dressing room or supply closet,” he gives her nipple a light pinch, “while people are going about their lives around her, and where one loud moan will give her away?”

His finger leaves her lips, allowing her to answer. “M-maybe,” she stammers.

“Interesting,” he murmurs, turning her in his arms until she’s looking at him. Elena’s heart is thumping away in her chest, and her knees have gone wobbly with desire. She’s on the verge of scaling Damon like a cliff when Caroline and Nik’s approaching voices interrupt the charged moment.

Before their friends arrive, Damon swoops in for a kiss, tantalizing her with strokes of his tongue until her fingers are digging into his sides. When he pulls back, she tries to catch her breath and quiet her raging libido. Not an easy task, especially where Damon is concerned. “That should give you plenty to think about,” he says, smirking as he straightens her rumpled blouse.

Elena racks her brain for a witty retort to toss at him, but she comes up short. He’s left her speechless, per usual.

“By the way, aren’t you supposed to be finding a costume? Sounds like Nik and Caroline are done, and I’m all set. What’s the holdup?” He winks as if he’s not the one responsible for the delay.

Why that outrageous, smug, gorgeous . . . She huffs in indignation and lunges at him, but he easily fends off her lame attempt at payback. Five seconds later, she’s once again immobilized by his straightjacket-like hold, panting as if she’s just run a marathon. Damon, meanwhile, is all grins and nonchalance when Caroline and Nik turn into their aisle.

Caroline appraises the situation and has to hide a smile behind her hand. “Did we interrupt something?”

“No, Damon was just—”

“Trying to help Elena focus. She gets distracted pretty easily,” he finishes for her.

“So it would seem,” Nik chimes in.

Elena groans and lets her head fall back against Damon’s shoulder. “Thanks, guys,” she grumbles.

The laughter that follows echoes throughout the store, and Elena finally gives up and joins in.

*****

“Can you lace this up, please?” Elena calls to Damon, holding the corset loosely to her body. After the shenanigans died down at the costume store, she decided to go with the outfit she’d been eyeing before he got her all hot and bothered.

“Be right there,” he answers from the bathroom. She’s tried to sneak a quick peek at his getup, but he’s not cooperating. After another minute passes, the handle squeaks and the door opens. “Don’t look yet. No cheating by checking the mirror either,” he adds.

The tulle of her underskirt rustles as she moves away from anything that will reveal Damon’s reflection. She jumps when a finger skims down her bare back, tracing the length of her spine. She didn’t even hear him approach; he already has this vampire thing down to a science.

He tightens the laces and ties them off with effortless efficiency, completing the task in no time at all. She starts to turn to face him, but he rests his hands on her shoulders, stilling her. “Stay here.”

As she wonders what he’s up to, she fidgets with the ruffles on her skirt. Damon returns and reaches for her wrist, sliding a cuff around it she’s never seen before. “Are those new?”

He nods. “They complement your costume perfectly. I couldn’t resist.”

The cuffs are beautiful and especially comfortable, thanks to their velvet lining. Small red gems adorn the outer band of leather, and there’s an edging of lace on both sides, giving them a distinct gothic feel. He scoops her cascade of brown curls over her shoulder and shows her the final item—a matching collar. He slips it around her neck and secures it, then steps back.

“You’re a vision,” he murmurs.

“Thank you.” She’s antsy now, desperate to see his costume. She only caught a glimpse of his sleeve when he was fastening her cuffs. “Can I look now?”

He doesn’t answer right away, and it sounds like he’s digging for something in his pocket. Finally, he responds. “Okay.”

She whirls around, nearly tripping on her skirts when she catches sight of him. He’s seductive and terrifying all wrapped up in one, from his top hat, cravat, double-breasted silk vest, and long overcoat, to the contacts transforming his eyes from icy blue to blood red, and the tips of a set of fangs just visible between his parted lips.

“That’s . . . incredible,” she whispers, mouth hanging open in awe. Damon takes her hand and pulls her closer. “You really went all out. It’s just like the movie.”

“Glad you approve. I’ve always been a fan of Coppola’s Dracula.”

“It suits you.”

He graces her with a fangy grin and holds up a small tube of fake blood. “One last detail to take care of.” Using his pinky, he carefully places two drops on her throat just above her collar to give the appearance of a bite mark. “There. Now you look like you’ve been appropriately nibbled on.”

After adding a smear of blood to the corner of his mouth, he leads her over to the full-length mirror for a final inspection. “What do you think, my lovely Mina? Do we make a good pair?”

Their eyes meet in the glass, and she shivers at the eeriness of his gaze. In this moment, it wouldn’t be hard to believe Damon truly is a supernatural creature. “We do,” she agrees.

“Then let’s make our grand entrance.” He tucks her hand in the crook of his arm and leads her downstairs to join the other members milling about the club.

*****

Elena soon discovers it’s not difficult to feign being under Damon’s thrall. Just the opposite, in fact—it comes to her naturally. She drifts around the room with him, dreamily responding to his every command, from kisses—a whole new experience, courtesy of his fangs—to letting him "take" her blood, which leads to him pinning her against the wall while he nuzzles her throat and she clutches his shoulders, moaning in agony/ecstasy.

Caroline, in full Scarlett mode, nearly jumps out of her skin when she first sees him. She hops backward into Nik's waiting arms when Damon narrows his eyes and hisses at her. Elena almost breaks character and starts giggling because the look on Care's face is priceless. If they weren't at the club, she's sure there would be an impressive string of expletives leaving her friend's mouth.

Before any slip out, Damon nods at the two of them and draws Elena toward the front of the room and the high-backed leather chair waiting there. He takes a seat, and she starts to kneel down beside him when he catches her arm, stopping her. "No, pet. Sit here." He pats his leg, indicating that she should get in his lap.

She gathers her skirts and, with his help, manages to settle herself across his legs without too much trouble. He slips an arm around her waist while he straightens her skirt and spreads it over both of their legs. His hand disappears beneath the layers of material, searching until he finds bare skin. Giving her thigh a squeeze, he leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Would you like to help me pick the pair with the best costumes?” he asks in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the conversations taking place around them.

“I’d love to.”

Damon raises a hand, requesting everyone’s attention. “Thank you for attending this year’s first theme night. With so many spectacular outfits, it’ll be tough to choose the winners, but as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I have help this time,” he announces, fingers tunneling into Elena’s hair and gripping a fistful of the soft strands. Tugging her head back, he takes her mouth, tongue tangling with hers until a low moan leaves her throat.

When they part, she glances around the room, a blush heating her cheeks when she sees everyone watching them. Smiles and nods of approval abound, but she’s not used to the attention, so she ducks her head and tries to burrow into Damon’s coat.

He chuckles. “Don’t be shy, kitten. They won’t bite. Me, on the other hand . . .” he trails off, catching her finger between his teeth and giving it a little nip. “Ready?”

She takes a deep breath, regaining her composure. “Ready.”

The club members are lined up now, single file, and when Damon gives the signal to begin, they slowly parade by, showing off their impressive costumes. It’s like a Who’s Who of favorite fictional pairings, with everything from The Princess Bride to Dirty Dancing represented.

Katherine and Stefan are at the head of the pack, looking appropriately creepy as Morticia and Gomez Addams. They’re followed by a string of couples Elena hasn’t met yet, masquerading as the Phantom and Christine, Tarzan and Jane, and Mulder and Scully.

“They’re all so good! How are we supposed to choose?” Elena frets, waving at Rose and Elijah as they pass in their fifties-inspired outfits, paying homage to Danny and Sandy from Grease.

“It won’t be easy, that’s for sure.”

Speaking of not making things easy, Damon’s hand shifts under her skirt, settling between her thighs. He cups her sex and strokes the damp silk of her panties with his thumb. She groans, wriggling on his lap as she tries to ignore the teasing, barely there touches.

Refocusing her attention on the club goers, she spots a Domme and her male sub as Elizabeth and Darcy, and right next to them are Pearl and Rebekah, fittingly dressed as Xena and Gabrielle. A male duo portraying Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson catches her eye, especially when she notices the leash Watson’s holding, which is connected to Holmes’s collar. The latter is on his hands and knees, gazing adoringly at his Dom.

“I like them,” Elena whispers to Damon, gasping when his finger slips inside her panties and past her slick folds.

“They’ve been together for years. Trent collared Jack right here at the club, and they’ve been completely committed to each other ever since,” he tells her, adding a second finger and slowly fucking her with them.

“What's . . . ‘collared’ . . . mean?” she asks, trying to keep her composure under the sensual onslaught.

“I’ll explain later, pet. We need to pick the winners.”

She glances up to discover the final three pairs strolling past them—Batman and Robin, Lucy and Ethel, and Caroline and Nik bringing up the rear in all their Southern elegance as Scarlett and Rhett.

Decisions, decisions. Everyone forms a line, and she studies their creative takes on the iconic pairings. If she could choose them all, she would. Still, there’s one pair she can’t stop thinking about.

She leans into Damon, biting back a moan as he continues his exquisite torment. After she whispers her choice in his ear, he nods and smiles, rubbing her clit in a way that seems to signal his agreement. It’s definitely making her agreeable. Desperate, even.

“I’d like to congratulate everyone on their costumes. You’ve done tonight’s theme proud. My beautiful Mina and I have chosen Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson as the winners,” Damon reveals. “Give Trent and Jack a round of applause!”

The room erupts in cheers for the triumphant duo, who share a celebratory kiss. Elena claps along with the others until Damon’s fingers pick up the pace, and she shudders in his arms.

“I think it’s time to take the party elsewhere. Would you agree?” he asks, tweaking her clit.

“Yes, Master.” She clutches his arm in a death-grip, every fiber of her being crying out for more. More of his mouth, his fingers, his cock. “Please . . .”

*****

Elena glances down at Damon as he presses a kiss to her inner thigh. His eyes meet hers—blue again, the contacts having disappeared shortly after they entered the room. As much as she enjoyed them, the fangs were next to go.

He grins at her, flashing his normal, blunt, human teeth. “It occurs to me that I didn’t have dessert after dinner tonight.” He pauses, dragging his tongue over her smooth skin until goosebumps appear. “Probably because I knew I’d be having you instead. Even better,” he murmurs.

A shiver races through her, rattling the chain running from a hook in the ceiling to her wrists, which are cuffed together above her head. He’s positioned her so she’s kneeling in the center of the bed, straddling him. She watches as he shimmies further down the mattress until her sex is within reach of his tantalizing mouth.

The first flick of his tongue between her parted folds makes her eyes roll back in her head. She’s primed and ready thanks to his previous ministrations; she’s not sure how much of this she’ll be able to take before she’s reduced to a trembling, wailing bundle of sensations.

He teases her entrance, penetrating her with the tip then withdrawing. “My favorite treat,” he purrs, lazily lapping at her clit. He pushes a finger inside of her, then two, alternating between thrusting them deep and tasting her. Tongue and fingers combine to drive her into a frenzy of need. Within minutes, she’s writhing atop him, mewling in pleasure, her thighs quivering as her orgasm approaches.

Damon suddenly goes still, and she cries out at the interruption. “I know you’re almost there, baby, but I’m not ready to let you come.”

“Oh, please,” she begs.

“Not yet.”

“But . . . Master—”

“Hush, Elena,” he admonishes. “Unless you’d like me to paddle your ass instead.”

She instantly goes silent, not eager to trade his skilled mouth for a punishment.

He smiles in approval. “Better.” His hand slides under a nearby pillow. “I have something to adorn your gorgeous body with,” he says, pulling his hand back. Unfortunately, his fingers are closed, hiding whatever it is from her.

As she waits for the reveal, he sits up and rubs his cheek against her breast, then turns his head and takes a nipple in his mouth. He suckles and nibbles, making her stiff nub even harder. Releasing the peak, he gives her other nipple the same treatment while she arches into him.

When he finally pulls back, her breasts are heavy and aching, the sensitive tips screaming for more of his attentions. Instead of obliging her, he opens his hand, showing her what had been hidden within.

At first, she mistakes the thin chain for a necklace, but then she recognizes the tweezer-like clips on each end. “Oh, god,” she groans. “I don’t—”

“‘Lena,” he says softly, and warmth surges through her at the way he shortens her name. It’s familiar, intimate. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she answers without hesitation.

“And you have your safe word.”

She nods.

“If I didn’t think you were ready for this, I wouldn’t attempt it.” He holds up one of the clips so she can see it better. “They aren’t like the ones Katherine used on Stefan. These are the kinder, gentler version. Plus, they’ll look lovely on your breasts.” A small, ruby-colored gem dangles off the bottom of each clip.

He places the first one around the base of her nipple, watching her intently as he slowly tightens it. When the pressure becomes a sharp pinch, she winces, and he backs it off a tad. He repeats the process with the other one, and it’s not until he’s finished that she realizes she’s holding her breath.

“Breathe, pet,” Damon whispers, his fingers stroking her sex while he teases the tip of each clamped nipple with his tongue.

She does as he instructs, feeling the tension leave her muscles as she lets the sensations wash over her. He gently tugs on the chain, and more wetness pools between her thighs at the surge of pleasure it brings.

Her lids—which had drifted shut under the onslaught—snap open when Damon’s cock nudges her slick entrance. He guides himself inside, then reclines on the bed beneath her. She sinks down on his shaft, reveling in the fullness as her body stretches to accommodate him.

“Ride me,” he growls.

She gasps at the command. His voice alone is one of the best tools in his arsenal, and he knows exactly how to use it to make her come undone. Using the chain connected to her cuffs as leverage, she raises up, then lowers herself until their bodies are flush with each other once more. She repeats the motions in a steady rise-and-fall rhythm, savoring the feel of him seated so deeply within her.

Damon lets her set the tempo for a little while, then he grips her hips and takes control, lifting her and impaling her on his cock. As he increases the pace, each bob of her breasts enhances the pull of the clamps. His hand connects with her ass, and she moans at the slight sting.

He changes tactics then, holding her still while he thrusts into her, his hips pistoning away like a well-oiled machine. The orgasm that threatened to crash over her earlier rears its head again, her walls tightening around his shaft.

“I’m so close,” she whimpers.

“If you ask nicely, I’ll take it under consideration,” Damon rasps, smacking her ass again.

She yelps, jerking in his grasp. “May I please come, Master?” she asks, her words as shaky as her legs.

This time, it’s his turn to groan. “So polite, my little sub.” He reaches up and tugs on the chain draped between her breasts.

“Ah!” she cries.

“That’s it. Come for me,” he grits out.

The release that’s been waiting just beyond her reach slams into her, and she screams in ecstasy. She’s riding on a wave of bliss, distantly aware of him fiddling with the clips on her nipples. A flash of pain intrudes on her reverie as he quickly removes first one, then the other, but before she can focus on it too much, it disappears, replaced by the exquisite feeling of his fingers toying with her clit.

He delivers a pinch to the sensitive bundle of nerves, and a second climax ripples through her. She clamps down on his cock, pulling him over the edge with her, his shout of release ringing in her ears.

She floats in the hazy aftermath, tremors running through her like aftershocks following an earthquake. She’s gone limp, the cuffs around her wrists the only things keeping her upright. Damon’s arm circles her waist, and she hears the clink of the chain as he frees her. She sags against him, grateful for the support. Otherwise, she’d flop facedown onto the bed.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he soothes, laying her on the duvet and sliding a pillow under her head. He curls his body around hers, dusting kisses over her shoulder and collarbone. “You did so well.”

She clears her throat, trying to find her voice again. “They weren’t as bad as I thought they’d be.”

“What’s that?” he asks, nuzzling her throat.

“The clamps.”

“Liked them, did you?”

“I did,” she admits, too exhausted to summon the blush that would normally accompany such a revelation.

“I’ll have to remember that.”

A thought from earlier pulls her back from the edge of sleep. “When you told me Trent collared Jack, is that like the D/s version of getting engaged?” she murmurs.

“More than that. It's basically the equivalent of marriage in the vanilla world," he explains. "From the ceremony to the vows, it's often very similar. Some couples choose to wed as well, but the commitment expressed by collaring is just as strong."

“Have you ever wanted to collar a sub?”

“No. Well . . .” He pauses, looking pensive for a moment. "That's not exactly true. I considered it with Charlotte, but after that hit the rocks, I gave up on the idea altogether." His arms tighten around her, making her feel safe and secure. What he says next steals her breath.

"Until you."

Elena's eyes widen at his softly spoken admission. "You would want . . ."

He nods, tilting her face up for a tender kiss. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. I can easily picture what we have here becoming so much more, but we’re just setting out in our relationship. These kinds of decisions shouldn't be taken lightly. Let's see where the future leads us, and in the meantime, you can think about whether that's something you might eventually want, too. Deal?"

She smiles, happier than she's been in a long time. Probably since before she lost her parents.

"Deal."

Chapter Text

“So, what have you been doing lately that keeps you so busy you can’t even take time to visit your favorite aunt for a few days?”

Elena grins at said aunt and shakes her head. “Jenna . . .”

“Don’t ‘Jenna’ me. Even Jeremy called the other day.” She arches a brow and repeats his name, emphasizing each syllable. “Jer-e-my.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m not kidding. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think his evasion techniques had rubbed off on you.” Jenna takes a sip from her trusty wine glass and sets it aside. “I was wondering if you’d even remember our Skype date,” she grumbles.

“I’m sorry, I really am. Work’s crazy, and when I’m not working, I’m writing. I’ve just been . . . tied up with stuff.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, Elena starts giggling. She’s tempted to tack on a “literally,” but she doesn’t want Jenna to get suspicious.

Her aunt narrows her eyes, clearly not happy that she’s not in on the joke. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Liar. Your face is turning red,” she accuses.

“It’s because I’m laughing.”

They have a cyber stare-off for a few awkward seconds, then Jenna shrugs and pours herself some more wine. “Fine, be that way. How’s Caroline?”

Phew. Bullet dodged, at least for now. “She’s doing well.”

“She still with the British painter guy?”

Jenna’s always had a way with words, especially after the alcohol starts flowing. “Nik, yeah. We hung out together the other night—Care, Nik, me, and Dam—” She stops abruptly, swallowing the rest of Damon’s name.

“You and who?”

Shit. She should’ve known she wouldn’t get off the hook that easily. “Um, Damon.”

“Ooh. And who’s he?”

Elena tugs on a thread hanging off her jeans and tries to act casual. “A friend.”

“‘Friend’ as in ‘We go shopping together and gossip about boys,’ or ‘friend’ as in ‘We know each other in the biblical sense, but I’m trying to downplay our relationship in front of my nosy aunt’?” she asks.

“Jenna!”

“So the second one, then.”

The jig is up. Elena hides her face in her hands, willing her blush to depart. After taking a few deep breaths, she glances at the screen again, only to find Jenna with a triumphant grin on her face.

“I knew it. There had to be some reason other than work for you to be so distracted you forgot to return my calls. Or texts. Or emails. Or carrier pigeons.”

When Elena stays silent, she prods her a bit more.

“So, how did you meet him? What’s he like?”

“He’s . . . a friend of Nik’s, and he’s wonderful. Kind, funny. Gentlemanly.” A gentleman I call “Master” who cuffs me to the bed. But still.

“Hot?”

“Hot” doesn’t even scratch the surface when it comes to describing Damon. Elena chews her lip as she tries to put his appearance into words without sounding like someone who’s only interested in a man’s physical traits. “Um . . .”

“Speechless, huh? Damn, he must be downright godlike,” Jenna murmurs.

“He has dark hair and the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re incredible,” Elena reveals. “He’s well-built but not made of muscles like those meatheads at the gym. Medium height, great smile.” She leaves out the part about a mouth that’s capable of making her scream on the regular.

“Sounds like a dream guy.”

“I’m happy when I’m with him.” And horny as hell, usually. “It’s insane how much.” Now that the secret’s out (one of them, anyway), Elena can’t seem to keep her thoughts to herself.

Jenna gives her a thumbs-up. “That’s a good thing. What does he do for a living?”

Aaaaaand here comes the other tricky part. “Uh, he’s a business owner. A very successful one.”

“What kind of business?”

Of course her aunt wouldn’t be satisfied with such a skimpy answer. “He owns a club. There’s a bar and a dance floor,” she hastily adds. “The whole shebang.”

“Wow.” Jenna sounds impressed, which is a mark in the plus column. “Is that where you two met?”

“It is, actually.” Elena’s mind flashes back to that first night at the club. She’d been terrified, and he’d seemed so intimidating, but then . . .

Instant connection.

“Good for you.” Another swig of wine. “You’re having more luck in the guy department than I am.”

“Not enough right swipes lately?” Jenna’s less-than-stellar track record when it comes to finding decent men is a frequent topic of conversation. Resorting to using Tinder probably hasn’t helped the situation.

“Not nearly enough.”

After covering the rest of their usual chitchat bases, including one of Jenna’s favorites—the life and times of exes and former classmates, courtesy of a thorough Instagram stalking session—Elena promises to visit soon and keep in touch more often, especially with updates about anything Damon-related.

Signing off, she closes her laptop and sinks into a mound of pillows. She’s reaching for the book on her nightstand when her phone pings with a new text. Opening it, she reads:

What are you wearing?

Sent by Damon, naturally. His ears must’ve been ringing while she and Jenna were talking about him.

She quickly assesses her outfit. What she has on right now isn’t too bad. Her cami and shorts are cute enough, but she decides to tease him a bit.

One green sock, one yellow with red polka dots. Lederhosen w/ suspenders. Cropped tie-dye t-shirt.

Damon’s response proves he’s more than capable of playing along.

Fuck. You have no idea how much lederhosen turns me on.

You have a lederhosen fetish?!

Don’t judge me, kitten.

Elena’s still laughing when Damon switches from texting to calling.

“Hello?” she gasps, trying to catch her breath.

“Someone’s pleased with herself,” he mutters, a mixture of light scolding and amusement in his voice.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Plus, I don’t think I’m creative enough for sexting,” she admits, wiping her eyes.

“You never know ‘til you try.”

“True.”

“I’ve always preferred phone sex myself,” he purrs.

“Is that so?”

“Mmhmm. Are you alone tonight?”

“Yep. Care went to see a movie with Nik.”

“Perfect, although it’d be fun if you had to keep quiet so Caroline wouldn’t hear you.”

Hear me? A wave of heat sears her insides, and she kicks off the blanket draped over her legs, no longer needing its warmth. “Do I get to know what you’re wearing?”

“A smile,” he answers, “and nothing else.” There’s some rustling in the background. “I just got into bed.”

“Now who’s teasing who,” she groans.

“I’ve only just begun. You up for some long-distance playtime, baby?”

Oh, god. We’re really doing this. “Yes.”

“Yes, what.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good girl. Do you have any candles?”

She glances around the room. “A few.”

“Light them. Then turn off the lights and strip, lederhosen and all,” he instructs with a chuckle. “Do you have a vibrator?”

“Um, yes, but . . .” She rummages in her drawer until she finds it. She turns it on, or tries to, at least. Nothing happens.

“But what?”

“The batteries are dead.”

“Do you have more?”

“No,” she sheepishly admits.

“What about a dildo?”

“Nope.”

He sighs. “Elena, what am I going to do with you?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Careful, pet. I might not be there to swat your ass, but I’ll remember for next time.”

She gulps and shivers in anticipation/apprehension.

“New rule, going forward: you should always have toys on hand and plenty of batteries. I have a couple things to get you started. Remind me to give them to you when we see each other again.”

“Yes, Master,” she whispers.

“Once you’re done with those tasks, go lie on your bed.”

Elena makes quick work of lighting the candles, turning off her lamp, and removing her cami, shorts, and undies, tossing them aside. Reclining on top of her comforter, she closes her eyes. “Okay, I’m ready.”

*****

Damon’s busy visualizing Elena’s gorgeous body, and his dick grows harder with every feature he focuses on: her parted lips, pert breasts, soft thighs, slick sex.

“Are your eyes shut, kitten?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Good. You’re going to be doing the work for me, but I want you to imagine it’s my touch, my hands caressing you.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he wishes he could be there with her, but it’s too late now.

“Yes,” she moans, telling him she’s on board with the plan.

“I’m cupping your breasts now, gently massaging them. They fill my hands. I tease your nipples with my thumbs, rubbing them in circles until they’re nice and stiff. Do you feel that, baby?” he croons.

“I do.”

“I pinch and tug on them, just enough to make you arch your back.”

Her breath hitches on the other end, and a whimper comes across the line.

Christ. His intent was (and still is) to drive Elena crazy, but she’s turning the tables on him with every sigh and moan that escapes her lips.

“I can’t leave your breasts alone. They’re so beautiful and responsive, just like the rest of you,” he continues. “While I roll your nipple between my fingers, I skim my other hand over your belly and down to your hips. You part your thighs for me, urging me to go lower.” He grips his cock, lightly stroking the hard length. “I slowly trace your slit, taking my time exploring you.”

“Ohhh . . .”

Stifling a groan, he tightens his hold on his phone before it slips out of his grasp. “I spread you open, teasing your entrance with the tip of my finger. You’re sopping wet. So ready.” He pauses, tamping down his arousal long enough to get Elena to the finish line. “Sliding a finger inside, I pump it into you until you call out my name, desperate for release.”

He listens to her uneven breathing. “Master Damon,” she pants. “Please . . .”

“I add another one, fucking you faster as you get closer to the edge. Do you enjoy having my fingers inside you, pet?” he grits out.

“Yes!” she wails.

“Tell me how much,” he commands.

“I love the way you fuck me . . .”

He’s not prepared for the way Elena’s words affect him. His cock twitches in his hand, reminding him she’s not the only one on the verge of orgasm. “That’s it, baby. My thumb settles on your clit, rubbing your sensitive nub. Making sure your breasts aren’t left out, I squeeze your nipples, pulling on them while you clamp down on my fingers.”

Her squeal of pleasure/pain lets him know she’s following his every direction. He quickens his pace, stroking and tugging his shaft as he imagines Elena’s tight sheath wrapped around him instead of his own fist. “Come for your Master. Soak my hand with your juices,” he rasps.

She cries out as she climaxes, and he joins her, roaring her name. “Elena!” His hips jerk uncontrollably, and seed spills over his hand, coating his lower belly.

For a minute, the only sounds are her soft moans and his harsh exhales. As he waits for his heart to stop trying to pound its way out of his chest, he uses the sheets to mop up the mess on his stomach. “Still with me?”

“I’m here,” she answers after a second or two. Her voice is low, dreamy. “I understand why you prefer phone sex instead of sexting.”

He smiles even though she can’t see him. “Have I made you a believer?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Would you like to do it again sometime?”

“Definitely, although I’d rather have you here with me,” she says, echoing his thought from earlier.

“Ditto.” He nestles into the pillows, pleased that their over-the-phone scene was a success. Even while apart, he can feel their bond growing stronger.

*****

A cold rain is falling when Elena steps out the door, and she yanks up her hood before it ruins her painstaking hair-and-makeup efforts. It took her a ridiculously long time to decide on which sweater (cashmere, dove gray) and pair of jeans (skinny, dark blue) to wear, and she braided and unbraided her hair at least three times before ultimately leaving it loose. On the plus side, the braiding left it soft and wavy, perfect for a certain someone to sift through with his fingers—or wrap a length of it around his fist and use it to guide her into a position of his liking.

This evening is a big deal, ranking right up there with her initial visit to the club and her first session with Damon. Tonight, he’s invited her to his place for dinner, and if the weather cooperates, they’ll follow it up with a play date at Midnight.

The hiccup that might derail their plans? A potential winter storm is threatening Atlanta, and depending on how much the temperature drops, it could cripple the city with a coating of ice followed by a burst of snow. The DJs on every radio station she flips through while waiting for the car to warm up are warning listeners to be wary of rapidly changing conditions. The bottom line—as drilled into her by Caroline before she reluctantly let Elena leave, and Damon when they spoke earlier today—is clear:

Be. Careful.

Damon was especially adamant that she not put herself in harm’s way, but it’s warm enough now to safely make the trip to his house. If things get worse while she’s there, she can always stay the night. The thought has her gripping the wheel in anticipation.

Easing into traffic, she sets out for Damon’s, wondering what pleasures tonight’s adventures will bring.

*****

Elena cuts the ignition and gapes at the house through the rain-speckled windshield. At first, she was worried she’d mistyped the address when she entered it into her GPS, but after checking it two, three, and four times, she’s relatively confident this is the place.

Damon’s home, as far as she can tell from the outside, could probably fit her entire apartment in the living room alone. Square footage aside, it’s beautiful and well maintained, just like she expected it would be.

She gets out of the car, sucking in a breath when a frigid blast of wind hits her in the face. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, but it feels colder than it did when she left. Wrapping her scarf tighter around her to keep out the chill, she grabs her purse and follows the walkway leading to the front door. She knocks and waits, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

The door opens almost immediately, and Damon’s standing there, dressed casually in a pair of black jeans and a V-neck sweater.

“You made it.” Taking her hand, he pulls her across the threshold and into his arms. His lips are warm compared to her cool ones, and she leans closer, soaking up his body heat. When they part, he helps her out of her coat, then catches the ends of her scarf and pulls her in for another kiss. “How are the roads?” he asks after a moment, resting his forehead against hers.

“They’re fine. Seems like it’s getting colder though.”

He nods, unwinding her scarf from around her neck and hanging it with her coat. “Would you like the three-minute tour before we eat?”

“Of course.” She glances past Damon, getting her first glimpse of the interior.

The setup is inviting—comfortable-looking leather furniture; paintings and photographs on the walls; plush rugs scattered on the hardwood floors; the staircase, tables, and moldings all made from rich, dark wood; and, best of all, an enormous fireplace with a cheery blaze crackling away in the hearth.

“Welcome to Chez Salvatore,” he says with a flourish, coaxing a grin out of her. He gestures toward the stairs. “My office and bedroom are up there along with a couple guest rooms.”

Tucking her arm in his, he leads her into the living room where she tests the cushy sofa, warms her hands by the fire, and admires an impressive collection of hardbound books displayed with great care in a mahogany bookcase. She takes down a beautiful edition of Wuthering Heights and traces the gold lettering on the embossed cover.

“These were my mother’s.” Damon plucks a worn, well-loved copy of Call of the Wild off the shelf and flips through the pages. “She loved to read. I guess that’s where I picked up the habit.”

After returning the books to their designated spots, they wander into the kitchen with its attached dining area. The counters are lined with a variety of appliances—toaster, blender, Keurig, microwave. A shiny collection of pots and pans hangs from a rack over the center island.

“Do you do a lot of cooking?” she asks, smiling at a picture of him and Stefan stuck to the refrigerator with a Margaritaville magnet. Whoever took the snap caught the two of them mid-laugh, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders.

“When I have the time.” He joins her in front of the fridge. “I’d like to do it more often.”

She taps the photo. “This looks like it was a fun time.”

“I’m sure it was, but neither of us can remember much about it,” Damon admits with a chuckle. “Would you like something to drink? There’s water, juice, soda, tea, coffee, hot chocolate . . .”

“Water’s fine, thanks.” She spots another set of stairs at the end of the hallway. “What’s downstairs?”

“My secret laboratory.” He tacks on an evil-sounding laugh that would make a mad scientist proud.

Elena smirks and accepts the glass of water he offers her with a murmured “thanks.” “Do any interesting experiments lately?”

“Not yet,” he reveals. “I’ve been waiting for the ideal test subject to wander into my lair, and here she is.” He pins her between himself and the counter, brushing her hair over her shoulder so he can nuzzle his favorite spot on her neck. “A rec room/den sort of thing, the laundry room, and my playroom. That’s what’s downstairs,” he murmurs, his warm breath fanning her throat.

“Do I get to see the playroom?” she asks, gasping when he gently nips her. His stint as Dracula must’ve really rubbed off on him. In all the best ways, she thinks to herself.

“You’ll do a whole lot more than just see it,” he assures her, “but not right now. I don’t want the food to get cold.” With one last drag of his tongue over her skin, he heads to the opposite counter and reaches for a paper sack. “I ordered takeout to save time. I hope you like Thai.”

“Love it.” Elena gulps some of her water to cool herself down after Damon’s teasing.

“Perfect.” He grabs plates and silverware, and she follows him into the dining room. He dishes up a helping of Pad See Ew for each of them, then there’s a temporary gap in the conversation as they eat, the only sound coming from the clink of their forks against the plates.

A drop of sauce lands on her chin, and she wipes it off with her napkin. After checking her sweater to make sure she didn’t spill anything on it, she glances up to find him watching her. “This is delicious. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He spears a piece of broccoli with his fork and brings it to his mouth. “Next time, I’ll cook for you.”

“I’d like that.” He doesn’t look away, and her cheeks heat as she tries to figure out what he might be staring at. “I smeared sauce all over my face, didn’t I.”

“Nope. It just sank in that you’re here with me, in my home.” He pauses, his hand finding hers across the table. “It feels . . . right.”

His words trigger a little flutter in her chest, and she beams at him. “Feels pretty good to me, too.”

They finish the rest of their dinner, then Damon excuses himself to start the car so it can warm up before they leave. While he’s gone, she collects their dishes and takes them to the kitchen. She’s in the process of rinsing them and stacking them in the dishwasher when he returns, dusting white flecks off his coat and out of his hair.

“Change of plans, kitten. We’re staying put.” He flips a switch next to the back door, and a light comes on, illuminating the deck and yard. Snow swirls through the air, and flakes are starting to stick to the grass. While she takes in the winter scene, he pulls his phone from his pocket. “I’ve decided to close the club tonight and maybe tomorrow, too, if this keeps up. I’ll let Henry know, and he can alert the others.”

As Damon makes the call, she scoots past him and grabs her coat and scarf. She’s all bundled up by the time he finishes, and he arches a brow when she rejoins him by the back door. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Can we go outside for a bit? I’m such a kid when it comes to snow.”

He smiles at that and unlocks the door so she can step out on the deck. “Watch it. It’s—”

Her booted foot lands on the wood and immediately skids, making her lose her balance. Before she lands in a heap, Damon catches her and hauls her back against his chest.

“Icy,” he mutters.

They cautiously tread the rest of the way across the deck until they’re safely in the grass, which is getting whiter by the minute as the snow starts to fall harder.

Turning to Damon, she gives him her sweetest smile and pokes him in the arm. “Tag. You’re it.”

She hauls ass—no easy task in the slick grass—and hides behind one of the many trees in the yard. Peeking around the trunk, she sees he hasn’t moved from the spot where she left him. His mouth is hanging open, and he’s sporting a look of surprise she’s never been privy to before now.

“Did you just . . .” he starts, then shakes his head. “Do you have any plans for the weekend, pet?” His boots crunch in the snow as he follows her tracks.

“No. Why?” she asks, darting to the shelter of another tree when he gets too close.

His lips curl into a devilish grin. “Good. When I catch you, and I will,” he stresses, “you’re mine to do with as I please for the next two days.”

A shiver goes through her that has nothing to do with the cold. His promise conjures all sorts of enticing visions in her head, but she temporarily pushes them aside so she can focus on her goal: leading Damon on a decent chase before she inevitably gets caught.

Glancing around, she realizes she’s somehow lost track of him. Shit. He’s probably lying in wait behind one of the other trees. She edges in the direction she’s pretty sure he didn’t go in and considers her options. There’s a shed not too far away, and she makes a run for it. Halfway there, she trips over something—a root, a rock, whatever—and ends up sprawled on the soggy ground.

“That was graceful,” she mutters, scrambling to her feet. Dusting herself off, she leans against the shed to catch her breath, listening for sounds of Damon’s approach over the gusts of wind that rattle branches and stir up flurries of dead leaves.

Realizing she’s not going to be able to hear him, she tries to race to the opposite side of the yard, but her progress comes to an abrupt halt when a hand clamps around her wrist and uses her momentum to spin her around. Within seconds, Damon has her pinned to the side of the shed, her arms above her head and his thigh wedged between hers.

“Gotcha,” he breathes, giving her trapped wrists a squeeze. “You’re fast, kitten, but you didn’t stand much of a chance.” He gestures behind him with his free hand. “I know all the best hiding spots out here.”

“I had to try.” She moans when he shifts his leg, pressing it tighter to her core.

“Mmm.” Releasing her, he deftly scoops her into his arms, frowning when his hand comes in contact with her wet jeans, courtesy of her earlier spill. “You’re soaked. What the hell happened?”

“I might’ve fallen . . .” she ventures.

“If you catch pneumonia, I’m not going to be happy.” He glares at her in a way that suggests he’d nurse her back to health first, then redden her ass for putting herself at risk.

She clings to him as he trudges back to the house, gingerly negotiating the slippery deck. Once they’re inside, he relocks the door and engages the security system. She expects him to put her down, but he keeps a tight grip on her until they reach the living room. Setting her on her feet, he removes her coat and scarf, leaving them in a pile on the floor.

Damon’s tugging the hem of her sweater up her torso and over her breasts when she clears her throat. “That’s okay. I can do—”

He silences her with a look. “Raise your arms.”

She does, and he pulls it the rest of the way off. Her cami is next, followed by her bra. He crouches in front of her and unzips her boots, placing them beside the growing mound of discarded clothing. Popping the buttons on her jeans, he eases the sopping denim down her legs. A hand curls around her thigh to steady her while she steps out of them.

“You’re freezing,” he mutters, fingers catching in the waistband of her lace panties. The undies vanish a moment later, along with her socks, leaving her totally bare. She’s shivering now, but she can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the desire that’s her constant companion whenever she’s with Damon.

Taking her hand, he ushers her closer to the fireplace. There’s a white, luxurious-looking carpet a few feet away from it that she didn’t notice during the tour. He leads her forward and points to the rug. “Lie here.”

She sinks down on the incredibly soft carpet and stretches out, soaking up the heat generated by the fire. Damon grabs the poker and stokes the blaze, and another blast of warmth soothes her chilled skin.

Seemingly satisfied with his work, he collects her wet clothes and heads toward the hallway. “Don’t move,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Elena nods, even though he can’t see her. Staring into the dancing, hypnotic flames with their vibrant reds, oranges, and occasional streaks of blue, she lets herself relax on the plush rug as she waits for him to return.

*****

After a quick trip downstairs to hang up Elena’s things so they can dry, Damon makes his way back to the living room and the beautiful woman he left lying by the fire. As he approaches, he starts ditching his own clothes. His sweater lands on the back of the sofa, his jeans dangle off the arm of a chair. One sock gets caught on a lampshade, the other goes skidding across the floor. No underwear to worry about.

He stops by the edge of the carpet and admires Elena’s pose. Her hair forms a dark halo around her head, and her eyes are closed, thick lashes fanned out above pink cheeks. She resembles an angel resting peacefully atop a cloud. The longer he stares at the elegant lines and sleek curves of her body, the more he wishes he possessed Nik’s talent for painting. He’s considering grabbing his camera when she sighs and shifts, her lids fluttering open.

Her gaze finds his, and she smiles. “You’re back.”

“I am.” He joins her on the rug, kneeling between her splayed thighs. “All warmed up now?” he asks, running his hands over her legs to check for himself.

“Nice and toasty,” she confirms.

“Good.” Snagging his jeans from the chair arm, he fishes a condom out of the back pocket, tears open the wrapper, and slips it on. Noticing he has her full attention, he grins at her and pops two fingers into his mouth. This is purely for show since he knows without touching her that Elena is ready for him. Still, it’s worth it just to watch her lips part and her breath quicken as he swirls his tongue around the digits.

Removing them, he lets his hand drift down to cup her sex. Slipping his fingers between her folds, he finds her just as wet as he knew she’d be. He idly strokes her until a soft moan reaches his ears, then he replaces his fingers with his cock, surging forward and filling her with his hard length.

His head falls back at the feel of her slick heat surrounding him. She’s exquisite, every inch of her. When he starts to move, she meets him thrust for thrust, rolling her hips against his as they fall into a rhythm—an intimate dance where both partners are completely in sync with each other.

Damon leans forward, feathering kisses over her breasts and throat, working his way up to her mouth. As his lips brush hers, he notices she has yet to touch him. In fact, she keeps flexing her hands like she wants to reach for him but isn’t sure if she’s allowed. He purposely left her unbound this time so he could enjoy having her hands on him while he fucked her.

“It’s okay. You can touch,” he murmurs, nipping her bottom lip.

As soon as the words leave his mouth, she wraps her legs around his waist. A hand tangles in his hair, alternately tugging and caressing the dark strands. Fingers skim over his arms and down his back, and her nails bite into him when he changes the angle, hitting the spot inside her that makes her go wild.

She bucks underneath him, whimpering a plea for release in his ear. He picks up the pace, his pubic bone rubbing against her clit with each deep thrust. He feels her start to tense as her climax approaches, her thighs trembling and her inner walls gripping his cock. His own orgasm threatens to push him over the edge with every passing second.

“Oh, god,” she mewls, her pleasure-hazed eyes locking on his.

“Let go, ‘Lena. Come with me,” he rasps.

Cries of ecstasy fill the room, her scream mixing with his muffled shout as he buries his face in her shoulder and lightly bites down on her tender skin. Their ragged breathing mingles with the hissing and snapping of the flames in the hearth. Her hands roam over his back, and he rests his head on her heaving chest as they slowly unwind in the aftermath.

Once he’s recovered enough to attempt standing, he whispers her name to rouse her. She mumbles something he can’t quite make out and glances at him, looking spent and utterly content.

“Hang on tight, baby. I’m going to take us upstairs.”

Without leaving the warm haven of her body, he slides an arm around her waist and carefully gets to his feet. Elena clings to him like a koala to its favorite tree, and a few minutes later, he’s pushing open the door to his bedroom.

“That is definitely the biggest bed I’ve ever seen,” she murmurs, eyeing the giant piece of furniture dominating the room. “It’s even bigger than the one at the club.”

“Yep. Custom made, just like the other one. Gives me plenty of room to tie you into all sorts of interesting positions.”

“I like the sound of that.” She kisses his chest, curling her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Their next stop is the attached master bath, and he sets her on the countertop by the sink, chuckling at her squeal when her bottom meets the cold marble. He reluctantly pulls out and disposes of the condom, then opens the shower door and turns on the spray, testing the water until it warms to his satisfaction.

Lifting her off the counter, he carries her to the shower and helps her in, following behind her. He rubs a bar of soap between his palms until his hands are covered in suds, then glides them over her body, paying particular attention to her breasts and gently washing between her thighs. After he’s finished bathing her, he backs her under the spray and wets her hair. He shampoos the long locks, massaging her scalp as she moans and holds onto his shoulders for support. Rinse, condition, rinse. Kiss, caress, repeat.

“My turn,” she insists once he’s done, first washing his hair, then taking the soap from the shelf and working up a lather. She returns the favor, running her sudsy hands from his neck to his toes. When her slippery fingers close around his hardening shaft, he bites his lip. The little minx grins at him and dips down, her tongue darting out to swirl over the head of his cock.

“Christ, Elena,” he groans as she takes him into her mouth. Her head bobs back and forth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks him. His hand finds its way into her hair, guiding her movements. She grips the base of his penis and strokes him, adding to the magic she’s creating with her lips and tongue. She kneads his ass with her free hand, spurring him to thrust deeper inside her warm, wet mouth.

The pleasure continues to build until it reaches its peak, his cock jerking in warning. “I’m gonna come, baby.”

She continues her ministrations, pushing him the rest of the way to his powerful release. Her name leaves his lips like a prayer, and he watches her throat work as she swallows his seed, catching every drop. He leans against the wall of the shower, panting while she massages his thighs and gives him one last, lazy lick.

When he can see straight again, he hauls her to her feet, hugging her tight to his body. “You’re the most incredible, wonderful . . .” he trails off, covering her mouth with his. “You’re everything.”

Getting out of the shower before they turn into prunes, he takes his time drying her thoroughly with a fluffy, oversized towel and combing the tangles from her hair. He runs the towel quickly over himself, catching most of the leftover drops and leaving his hair in wild disarray. He can tell he must be a sight because Elena takes one look at him and dissolves into a fit of giggles.

He leads her to the bed, flipping back the silk sheets and down comforter so she can get in. While she settles into a comfy spot, he makes a speedy trip downstairs to check that the doors are all locked and the fire has gone out. His nightly routine completed, he returns to his room and Elena, who’s burrowed into a stack of pillows, waiting for him.

Damon crawls under the sheets with her, and she turns into his arms. He hooks a leg over both of hers and draws her closer.

“I’ve never had sex in front of a roaring fire before,” she admits, trying to stifle a yawn. “It felt like I was in a romance novel. Did you do that on purpose?”

“Nope. Just a stroke of inspiration that hit when I was thinking about the best way to warm you up.” He gathers a lock of her hair, twisting the damp curls around his finger.

“And I got to touch you,” she murmurs. “Not that I don’t love being tied up, because I do, but it was a nice surprise.”

“I can do vanilla. Ish,” he adds with a smile. “Depends on the mood.”

She nods, snuggling deeper into his embrace. “I don’t want this night to end, but I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Get some sleep, baby. We have all weekend to spend together, and you’re going to need lots of energy for what I have planned,” he promises.

“Can’t wait.” She raises up and kisses him sweetly, letting her fingers play over the stubble dotting his jaw.

A fresh wave of excitement runs through him as he reviews his mental to-do list of kinky activities for the coming days. “Me either.”

Chapter Text

Elena wakes with a jolt, her eyes snapping open and immediately seeking out the alarm clock on the nightstand that’s . . . not there.

What the hell? Where’d the clock go? Did she somehow knock it on the floor during the night? Where’s the obnoxious DJ hollering about what a beautiful day it is? Where’s Caroline? Shouldn’t her alarm have gone off by now? They’re both going to be late for work—

Hold on a second. The clock’s missing because it’s Damon’s nightstand, not hers. And the DJ wouldn’t be lauding the weather because a winter storm is raging outside. And Caroline’s not here; she’s at home, in her bed. And it’s not Friday morning, it’s Saturday morning, which means no work, just play . . .

Something tickles her stomach, and she glances down to find Damon with his head resting on her belly, one arm tucked around her waist, the other one draped over her upper body with his hand cupping her breast. His hair is the culprit, the dark strands brushing against her skin as he shifts in his sleep.

They obviously switched positions at some point. When she starts to stretch, she realizes her arms are already over her head. Her unconscious self must’ve decided it would be fun to see how much of the large bed she could take up because her limbs are splayed out in every direction, and it has nothing to do with being bound that way.

Deciding to lie still so she won’t disturb Damon, whose steady breathing is the only sound in the room, she takes advantage of the quiet moment to study her surroundings a little closer. She was so tired and distracted last night that her only focus had been the massive bed and getting lost in its abundant covers and pillows. And Damon’s arms.

The muted light slipping past the heavy draperies is just enough to reveal a dresser, a flat screen television mounted on the wall, a small but packed bookcase, another door leading to what she suspects is probably a walk-in closet, a few framed photographs—of mountain views and ocean waves this time, not family members—a large abstract painting hanging opposite the bed, and a full-length antique mirror leaning against the far wall.

Everything is well kept and tidy, but the space also has that lived-in feel. His watch and a pair of cufflinks sit on the bedside table. One of his ties is rolled up on top of the dresser and another is draped over the knob to the maybe-closet door. A stack of books is piled on the floor by the mirror.

The tickling sensation starts up again as Damon stirs, rubbing his cheek on her belly, his scruff gently abrading her skin. He turns his head to look at her, those pale blue eyes locking on hers. He kisses her navel, then dips his tongue inside, making her gasp.

“Good morning,” she murmurs, her voice raspy.

“Best morning,” he corrects with a smile. “Sleep well?”

She nods, reaching down to pluck a stray feather from one of the pillows out of his hair. She twirls it between her fingers, taking a few moments to revel in the fact that she doesn’t have to rush around and get ready for work. “Sorry I hogged the bed.”

“It’s kind of impossible to hog this bed, so there’s no need to apologize. Do I look uncomfortable to you?” he asks, propping his chin on her hip.

Her gaze wanders the length of his body, some of it hidden underneath the covers. He’s lying almost diagonally, but his feet aren’t hanging off the mattress. “No, you seem pretty content.”

“I am.”

“So, what’s the plan for today?” She lets the feather go, watching as it drifts down to land on the comforter.

“There’s no set schedule. It is the weekend, after all. I’m sure both of us could use a few . . . semi-lazy days.”

That last statement tells her he has plenty of ideas swirling around in his head, but he’s not ready to divulge them just yet. “I can make us breakfast, if you’d like?”

“Sounds wonderful.” The hand resting on her breast is caressing her now, his thumb teasing her nipple into a hard peak. She lets a little moan slip out, arching into his touch.

When the stroking stops, she assumes that’s her cue to go ahead and start whipping up something for them to eat, but as she tries to wriggle her way out of his grasp, his arms tighten around her.

“Did I give you permission to leave this bed?” he growls.

Uh oh. “Dom voice” alert. She swallows and immediately goes still. “Um, no.”

“That’s what I thought.” He lightly pinches her nipple, making her squirm. “You remember what I said to you during our game of tag last night?”

“Yes . . .” She’s not sure exactly where he’s headed with this, but she does vividly recall him telling her she would be his to do with as he wanted during her stay.

“Good. I have a proposition for you, kitten. Since we haven’t had a chance to properly play in a while, I’d like to spend our time together exploring our relationship, specifically the D/s side. You’d give up control and put yourself in my hands until you leave tomorrow.” His lips trail over her stomach, placing kisses there along the way. “It doesn’t mean we’ll be having constant sex or that we can’t have normal conversations. It’s a chance to delve deeper into the dynamic with no interruptions, unless something’s not working and we decide to stop.” He pauses and watches her closely, likely trying to gauge her reaction. “Interested?”

The prospect of submitting to Damon for the next twenty-four hours and change leaves her full of nervous excitement. This isn’t a short session at the club; this is a day and a half of following his directives. What will he ask her to do? Will he continue to push her boundaries?

She considers his proposal for a few more minutes while he patiently waits for her answer. When her decision is made, she meets his gaze. “Okay. I’m in,” she agrees.

His smile is radiant. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Are there any special rules?”

“Most of the usual ones apply: I’ll decide what, if anything, to dress you in; you’ll wear your collar and cuffs at all times, showers and baths excluded; you’ll address me appropriately; and if there’s anything you need or want, you’ll ask me for it first.” Her eyes widen a smidge at that last one, and he entwines his fingers with hers, rubbing his thumb across her palm. “Like I said, it doesn’t mean we can’t talk. Just the opposite—I want to know how you feel about things, good or bad. If something’s off, tell me. Sound reasonable?”

She nods, reassured by Damon’s attentiveness and the fact that he’s already gotten quite good at reading her.

“Then let’s get started. First things first . . .” He slowly crawls up her body and kisses her until she’s almost certain her bones and muscles have liquefied, reducing her to a pile of quivering mush. Leaving her breathless, he climbs out of bed and wanders over to the mystery door, giving her an excellent view of his backside. He reappears moments later with what looks like one of his black button-down shirts.

It is a closet. Score one for me! He stops at the dresser, taking something out of the top drawer. Returning to the side of the bed, he crooks a finger at her, and she disentangles herself from the sheets and joins him.

He shows her the item he took from the dresser—her collar—and she obediently lifts her hair so he can buckle it around her neck. “The cuffs can wait until after you’re finished with breakfast,” he explains. The shirt is next, and he holds it up so she can slide her arms into the long sleeves. They’re a little too long, hanging all the way down to her fingertips, so he rolls them up for her.

Once that’s done, he starts gathering clothes for himself, pulling a shirt and a pair of jeans from another drawer. She gapes at him, narrowly resisting the urge to ask, “Wait, that’s it? Just a shirt?”

He chuckles when he notices the expression on her face. “I was going to leave you naked so I could admire your gorgeous body, but since it’s the middle of winter, I decided to be benevolent.”

Benevolent? The shirt’s big on her, but it doesn’t completely cover her ass, and without being buttoned, her breasts and sex are on full display. Taking a deep breath, she accepts that this is a test, and she should be grateful he gave her anything to wear. “Thank you, Master,” she murmurs.

“You’re welcome, pet.” He seems pleased at her response, grinning as he tugs on his jeans. “Feel free to head down to the kitchen, and I’ll be there in a minute or two.”

Yanking the shirt down as far as it’ll go, she turns to make her exit. A blush warms her cheeks when he whistles behind her, clearly getting a glimpse of the part of her bare bottom the hem doesn’t hide.

*****

When Elena gets downstairs, a beeping sound catches her attention. Probably her phone. She scours the living room for her purse, forgetting where she left it last night. Finally locating it, she digs the phone out of her bag and discovers a text from Caroline flashing on the screen.

Everything okay? Did you stay at Damon’s? Nik told me he closed the club

Yep, all’s well

You’re not going to try driving back today are you? The roads are a mess

Elena peeks out one of the windows to find everything coated in a blanket of white, her car included. No, I’m staying until tomorrow, she types back.

Good. Have fun ;)

Will do :*

Tucking her phone away, she wanders into the kitchen to assess the food situation. Damon must’ve gone grocery shopping recently because the fridge and cupboards are fully stocked with everything she could possibly need and then some. She raids the fridge first, collecting eggs, a green pepper, a package of mushrooms, some spinach, and a brick of cheese.

Finding a skillet and a bowl, she begins mixing the ingredients together for omelets. She chops up the pepper and mushrooms, then glances at the cheese, realizing there’s one more tool she needs.

“Where are you?” She checks the drawers first, but her search turns up empty. “Cheese grater, cheese grater . . .”

“Cupboard next to the fridge,” Damon answers, practically making her jump out of her skin.

She spins around, clutching the shirt over her hammering heart. “You scared me.” Her gaze lands on his feet, which are bare, explaining the stealthy entrance.

“Sorry, baby.” He goes to the cupboard and collects the grater for her, placing it in her outstretched hand. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Once she can breathe normally again, she resumes cooking, and without making too much of a mess, burning herself, or getting anything on Damon’s shirt, she places a decent-looking omelet onto each of their plates.

“Coffee?” Damon asks, taking a mug off the shelf.

“Please.” While he gets it ready, she puts a couple pieces of bread into the toaster. They pop up just as he walks past with the cups of piping-hot coffee, and she butters both slices, adds them to the plates, and stands back. “Ta-da! Breakfast is served,” she announces.

“Smells fantastic. Let’s eat over here.” He sets their mugs down on the other side of the stove, and when she joins him with the plates, she sees it’s a bar-style setup with a row of stools lined up under the edge of the counter.

He pulls out a stool and slides onto it, patting the one next to him. “Have a seat.”

She eyes the padded cushion. “I don’t have any underwear on.”

“I’m aware. Is that a problem, pet?” he asks silkily.

“Uh, no. No problem.” She hops up on the stool before her mouth gets her into trouble, wincing when her behind meets the cool leather.

Damon cuts into his omelet, and she nibbles on her toast while she waits to hear what he thinks of her creation.

“Mmm. Delicious, Elena. You’re quite the cook,” he praises her, taking another big bite.

“Thank you.” She digs into hers as well, pleased with the way it turned out. While she chews, she recalls her conversation with Jenna. Should she tell him? Probably. She’s not sure how he’ll take the news, but he deserves to know. “So, I was talking with my aunt the other day before you called.” Before you rocked my world without actually laying a finger on me.

“Yeah? Everything okay?” he asks.

“She’s fine, but I may have . . . sort of . . . told her about you. About us. Not everything,” she hastens to add. “Just that we, uh . . . hang out and, um . . . yeah.” God, he’s going to think she has the IQ of an unripened banana if she doesn’t start stringing together sentences like a normal, intelligent human being. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but it just sort of slipped out, then I tried to play it casual, but she saw through my ruse, and now she knows we’re a thing—”

“Elena,” Damon interrupts, cupping her jaw and tilting her face up so she’s looking at him. “Take a breath. You’re going to hyperventilate.”

She drags in a few lungfuls of air, trying to regain the cool she so spectacularly lost. Once the frantic moment passes, he continues.

“First of all, I’m not mad or upset that you told your aunt about us, and I’m not sure why you seem to think I would be,” he says gently, his voice helping to calm her further.

“I guess I panicked,” she reveals, feeling like an idiot for overreacting. “I didn’t know how to explain our relationship to someone who might not understand it. I said we were friends, even though what we have is so much more complex and meaningful than that—and even Jenna picked up on it. She could tell I wasn’t giving her the whole truth.”

He nods, running his thumb back and forth over her bottom lip. “Okay. Let’s see if we can figure this out. Have we done date-type things?”

“Yes . . .”

“I’ve been to your place, and you’re here with me at mine.”

“Yes.”

“We talk on the phone or text almost every day, sometimes multiple times a day.”

“We do.”

“We’ve shared a bed. Frequently. Gotten to know each other. Intimately.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Sounds like we’re—”

“Dating,” she finishes for him. “But that doesn’t cover all of it.”

“I know that, and so do you. If it feels right to tell people who aren’t part of the scene that I’m your boyfriend, I’m fine with that. In fact, I kinda like it.” He sips his coffee, smiling at her over the rim of the mug. “What do you think?”

Boyfriend. The label seems too simple to describe Damon, and yet, there’s an undeniable surge of joy that goes through her at the notion. As her Dom, he’s her lover, mentor, and keeper of her fantasies and darkest desires. But outside of the club and the bedroom, he’s also her friend and partner—a shoulder to lean on, a confidant, someone with whom to share her thoughts and dreams.

“I like it, too,” she admits, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Good. Glad we got that sorted.” He leans in for a kiss, then they hurry to finish the rest of their breakfast before it gets cold.

When they’re both stuffed to the brim, Elena polishes off the rest of her coffee and gathers their dishes into a neat stack so she can take them to the sink. She already has one toe on the floor when she notices Damon watching her closely.

Oh! She meets his steady gaze. “May I go put these in the dishwasher and tidy up the kitchen?”

“Nice save, kitten,” he murmurs. “Yes, you may.”

While she’s rinsing the plates, she sees the snow has started to fall again, flakes swirling through the air and drifting gracefully past the window. It’s like being inside a snow globe that’s just been shaken.

She’s bending over to load the plates into the dishwasher when Damon clears his throat. “I need my view to be a little less . . . obstructed. Tie the ends of the shirt around your waist.”

I should’ve known this was coming. Closing the door, she straightens and knots the shirt just below her belly button in true ‘90s throwback style.

“Much better. Now turn around so I can see the front of you,” he instructs.

She does, crossing her arms over her chest as she waits for any other adjustments he’d like to make.

“Arms down. Open the top some more so I can see those beautiful breasts.” She hesitates for a second, earning her a pointed look from Damon, then complies with his order. “Perfect.”

Returning to the sink, she grabs a sponge and runs it under the tap. “Why even wear the shirt? I’m practically naked. All the important bits are showing,” she mutters to herself, a little too loudly.

Damon tsks, and a shiver of warning skitters down her spine. “That sounded like sass to me.” He rises and slowly moves toward her, reminding her of a jungle cat on the hunt. She tries to ignore his approach and focus on her task—scrubbing a coffee ring off the counter. “If you can’t behave, I’ll have to see what I can do to . . . correct the issue.” He comes to a stop directly behind her. “So, are you going to?”

“Am I going to what?”

“Behave.”

She’s not really sure what possesses her to make the leap from the proverbial frying pan to the fire, but she does it. “No.”

His lips brush her ear. “What did you just say?” he growls.

Fuck. “Snow. I said ‘snow.’” She vaguely gestures toward the kitchen window and the wintry scene that lies beyond it.

“I didn’t hear an ‘s’ sound in there anywhere.”

“Crap,” she whispers.

“C’mere, you naughty minx. It’s time I get better acquainted with your backside.”

“But—"

“Elena.”

“Yes, Master.”

She follows him into the living room, and he grabs her cuffs off an end table as they pass. They weren’t there earlier, so he must’ve brought them with him. Choosing the sofa, he sits and tugs her down with him, arranging her so she’s draped over his knees. He gathers her wrists behind her back and slips on the cuffs, connecting them with a clip hook.

"Do you remember when Nik paddled Caroline the first night you came to the club?"

"Yes," she mumbles into the cushion.

"Then you have an idea of how this is going to go. Substitute my hand for the paddle, of course." He caresses her cheeks, then skims a finger along the crack of her ass. "You're going to count for me. Any skips or misses, and I'll start over. Am I clear?"

"Yes." She squeezes her eyes shut and braces for impact. He doesn't strike right away, letting the suspense build for what might be thirty seconds or ten minutes. She can't tell.

The first swat arrives, and the sharp sound makes her jump more than the sting, which is minimal.

"One."

The next two blows fall in similar fashion, and she easily counts them off. He isn't putting much force behind them. Yet.

Smack. Smack, smack.

"Four. Five, six."

SMACK.

Okay, now he means business. Picturing the handprint that's likely adorning her left cheek, she takes a breath and keeps counting. "Seven."

"I'm curious," Damon says, trailing his fingers down the back of her thigh. "Why did my obedient sub decide to act out? Were you testing me, pet? Didn't think I'd actually punish you?" The gentle touch disappears, and his hand connects with her ass again.

"Eight." She doesn’t have the answers to his questions, but she suspects it probably was some kind of subconscious test. Maybe she'd wanted to see what would happen if she pushed him just a teeny bit. Dumb move. "I don't know. Testing you, I guess."

Damon snorts. "And how did that work out for you?"

"Not great."

"I don't enjoy doling out punishments, Elena, but they're a necessary part of the lifestyle," he explains. "It doesn't mean I care about you any less. Far from it. It's me correcting a mistake so, hopefully," he emphasizes, "you don't repeat it."

"I understand."

"Good." He swats her two more times in quick succession, pushing her bound hands out of the way when she instinctively tries to cover her rear to prevent him from enhancing the fire spreading across her skin.

"Nine . . . ten." Assuming that's the end of the spanking, she relaxes a smidge, letting some of the tenseness leave her muscles.

"Are you going to sass me again?"

"No, Master."

"That's what I like to hear." He delivers another blow, catching her by surprise. She bites her lip, narrowly managing to keep from crying out.

Her voice rises an octave as she counts, the number coming out as a question. "E-lev-en?"

"There. That last one was for the saucy answer you gave me when we talked on the phone the other night. Told you I'd remember." A section of hair slides past her shoulder and falls across her face, her lashes tangling in the long strands each time she blinks. Damon brushes the stray locks out of the way. "I'm impressed. Not even a squeak."

"I'm more of a suffer-in-silence type," she grits out.

His hand delves between her legs, fingers easily pushing inside her. "Hmm. Doesn't seem like you suffered too much. You're all wet and needy, kitten." The digits work their magic, stroking and teasing her into a near-orgasmic state. He pays special attention to her clit, rubbing the sensitive nub until she's writhing in his lap. Just as her climax is about to crash into her, he abruptly stops and removes his fingers.

What!? No!

He unclips her cuffs and pats her sore behind. “Up you go.”

She clambers off the sofa, trying to rub the sting out of her bottom. She frowns at him, a little annoyed that he left her hanging.

“Frustrated that I didn’t let you come?” he asks, easily reading her expression.

She nods, still massaging her rear.

“I won’t always give you what you want when you want it, pet. That’s the beauty of control. It’s my choice.” He stands up and pulls her close so he can whisper in her ear. “But when I do finally give you the release you’re craving, all that pent-up energy is going to pay off. Big time.” He nips her lobe, tugging on it with his teeth. “I can already hear the sexy sounds you’re going to make.”

Oh, my. Just like that, her disappointment melts away, replaced by a wave of desire. The only question now is how long she’ll have to wait for his promise to become a reality. Not too long, please . . .

*****

The rest of the morning and afternoon pass without any other slipups (or orgasms, much to her dismay). Damon keeps track of the weather, which hasn’t shown much sign of improvement, and after lunch, he calls Henry again to let him know the club will remain closed. With that piece of business taken care of, they curl up on the sofa, and Damon grabs the remote, surfing through the channels until he finds an old movie they’ve both seen dozens of times but don’t mind watching again.

He takes a fleece blanket off the back of the couch and covers both of them with it. Elena rests her head on his chest while he strokes her hair, and before the movie is halfway through, she can't seem to stop yawning. The need to nap won’t leave her alone, and she glances up at Damon with bleary eyes.

“Why am I so tired? I haven’t done anything today,” she grumbles, irritated with herself for wanting to doze when they could be doing all sorts of other interesting activities.

“Your busy week must be catching up with you. Go ahead and rest for a while. I’ll wake you before dinner,” he offers.

“Okay.” The combination of the warm blanket, the comfort of Damon’s embrace, and his soothing caresses lulls her the rest of the way to sleep. She slips off to la-la land and only barely registers it when he carefully pulls away, rearranges her on the sofa, tucks the blanket tighter around her, and quietly pads to the kitchen to start dinner.

. . .

"Hey, sleepyhead."

At first, she thinks she's dreaming, imagining Damon's voice calling to her from somewhere in the distance, but then his lips skim over her forehead and down to her cheek, rousing her.

"Wake up, 'Lena. Dinner's ready." His nose bumps hers, and a hand settles on her arm, gently rubbing while he continues to coax her the rest of the way to consciousness.

She tries to pull the blanket over her head and tunnel deeper into her fleece cave, but Damon tugs the throw down, making it impossible for her to hide. Cracking a lid, she's met by her favorite sight: an alluring, come-hither smile and a pair of gorgeous blue eyes peering into hers.

"There she is. Hungry?" he asks, moving back so they don't clunk heads as she sits up and starts shimmying out of her blanket cocoon.

Her stomach rumbles in response, answering for her. "Guess so." A variety of aromas drift over from the kitchen, and she breathes them in, trying to figure out what he made. Something grilled, maybe?

"I'll be right back. Wait here." He disappears from sight, returning moments later with two glasses of water and a plate piled high with an assortment of delicious-looking items. Sitting down beside her, he leaves the plate on the coffee table while he searches for something in his pocket.

“Everything smells incredible. You really went all out.” She notices he only brought one set of silverware with him, but if the breakfast they shared when she met him at the club to discuss their arrangement is any indication, he doesn’t mind communal meals.

“Thanks. I like cooking for you. Plus, this’ll give you plenty of extra energy for later,” he adds with a wink.

Finding whatever mystery item he needed, he returns his attention to the food, balancing the plate in his lap. She takes in the impressive spread: thin strips of marinated, grilled steak are topped with mushrooms and drizzled with gravy. There’s also a generous helping of veggies—asparagus and roasted potatoes. She’s trying not to be greedy, but if she doesn’t get a taste soon, she’s going to start drooling.

"Can I borrow the fork?"

"No,” he answers nonchalantly.

Oookay. "This isn't going to be like a pie eating contest where I can't use my hands, is it?" she asks, wrinkling her nose at the prospect.

"Yes and no." He laughs, holding up the object he took from his pocket: the clip hook. "You won't be using your hands, but I'll make sure you're well fed." While she's still processing that reveal, he leans forward and quickly fastens her cuffs together behind her back.

“Is this part two of my punishment?” She tugs on the restraints, but—as always—they don’t budge.

“No. This is me taking care of you.”

She watches as he cuts a piece of steak and brings it to her mouth. Pulling the meat from the tines, she lets a little moan slip out as soon as the incredible mix of flavors hits her taste buds.

“You like?”

“It’s insanely good,” she says after she’s done chewing.

Damon continues selecting tender bites of steak, sautéed mushrooms, crisp pieces of asparagus, and perfectly seasoned potatoes for her. In between feeding her, he takes a few forkfuls for himself. She occasionally catches herself trying to reach for things, but the urge passes once she gives in and settles deeper into her submissive mindset. As he’s proven to be countless times since she’s known him, he’s attentive to her every need—wiping a smear of gravy from the corner of her mouth and holding her glass while she sips her water.

When she can’t possibly hold so much as another mushroom, he finishes the rest of their meal and takes the dishes to the kitchen. He doesn’t bother unhooking her cuffs, of course.

As she waits for him to return, she wonders if they’ll visit the playroom tonight. He hasn’t mentioned it all day.

He rejoins her on the couch a few minutes later, and they sit quietly, enjoying each other’s closeness—her leaning against his side, resting her head on his shoulder, and him with his arm around her waist. There’s no need for talk. In some ways, it feels like the calm before the storm. An underlying current runs between her and Damon, charging the surrounding air with the anticipation of what’s to come.

Elena loses track of time as she continues to soak up the almost meditative silence, but eventually, she becomes aware of his gaze on her. Turning to meet it, she’s struck by the intensity of it, the passion burning there.

This is it.

Without saying a word, he stands and helps her up, then leads her down the hall toward the back stairs. They descend to the lower level, and she checks out each room they pass, catching sight of the laundry room and den he spoke of yesterday. There’s a set of double doors at the end of the hall, and he pauses in front of them.

“Ready, pet?”

She nods, eager to find out what awaits her beyond the doors.

He pushes them open and hits a switch on the wall, illuminating the space.

Holy. Shit. He hadn’t been joking when he told her he had a fully stocked playroom. It reminds her of a slightly smaller version of the club’s dungeon, without all of the medieval touches. The walls are a deep blue, the furniture all done in black leather and dark wood. Her gaze drifts around the room, taking in the couch, bondage table, spanking bench, St. Andrew’s cross, an antique mirror similar to the one in his bedroom, a rack of tools—some more sinister-looking than others, and a cabinet she assumes holds the rest of his toys.

A rectangular ottoman has been dragged into the center of the room, and the mirror is leaning against the wall directly in front of it. Several bundles of black rope are sitting on top of the ottoman—waiting for her, she suspects.

She turns to find him watching her, and he must read the question in her eyes because he gestures toward the rope. “I made some preparations while you were napping,” he reveals.

Damon adjusts the switch, and the lighting dims just enough to enhance the mood. He peels off his shirt and tosses it on the couch, leaving him clad in nothing but his low-slung, black jeans. While he saunters over to her, she fixates on the trail of hair that starts just below his navel and disappears inside the waistband of his pants. She’s still staring when he reaches behind her to unbuckle her cuffs, slipping them off. The button-down she’s wearing is next to go, joining his discarded t-shirt.

Picking up one of the bundles of rope, he slowly unwinds it. “Hold out your wrists.”

She does, and he loops it around them several times, wrapping the ends around the rope in between her wrists. When he’s finished, it resembles a pair of rope cuffs instead of leather ones. He ushers her toward the ottoman and has her kneel on it, then he eases her forward so she’s resting on her elbows, her bound hands in front of her.

Elena glances up and is greeted by her own reflection in the mirror. Her pupils are huge, her cheeks rosy. She sees Damon gather more rope and go to work on her ankles, sliding a length around each one and securing them to the legs of the ottoman. He pushes her thighs farther apart and coils more rope just above each knee, running the loose ends under the piece of furniture and tying them off. Moving up her body, he gives her elbows the same treatment her wrists received, then secures both elbows and wrists to the ottoman, ensuring she won’t have much wiggle room.

Once she’s trussed to his satisfaction, he trails a fingertip down her spine, making her shiver. “How good are you at snapping your fingers?” he asks.

That’s . . . random. “Um, pretty decent. It was the best way to get Jeremy’s attention when he was absorbed in a video game, so I had lots of practice.”

Damon nods. “Show me.”

She demonstrates her patented brother-annoying technique, the sound coming out loud and clear in the quiet room.

“Perfect.” He opens the cabinet and takes something off a shelf, hiding it from her view. “You’ve told me more than once how much it turns you on to be helpless, and you’ve had a taste of that. Tonight, we’re going to take it a step further.”

As she wonders what he could possibly be suggesting, he opens his hand, revealing the object. She instantly recognizes the red ball attached to a pair of leather straps; it looks almost exactly like the ball gag Pearl used on Rebekah during their demonstration. The sight of it sends a jolt of arousal straight to her core.

“Once I put this on you, there’s no more talking, at least on your part,” he explains. “If you need to use a safe word, snap your fingers.”

Ah, so that’s why.

“Two snaps for ‘yellow.’ Three for ‘marshmallow.’” He circles her, checking the tightness of the ropes. “How does everything feel?”

She shifts as much as she can, but nothing pinches or seems too constricting. “Fine.”

“If anything starts to get tingly or numb, let me know immediately. Understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

He crouches down in front of her, hooks a finger through the O-ring on her collar, and leans in for a kiss, exploring her mouth thoroughly with his tongue. When he pulls back, she tries to follow, not wanting the kiss to end. He obliges her one last time, then stands.

“Open for me.”

She does, and he carefully slips the ball past her lips, brushes her hair out of the way, and buckles the straps snugly behind her head. She runs her tongue over the ball, trying to get used to having it in her mouth. It’s an odd feeling, like trying to suck on a giant piece of candy.

Damon caresses her cheek, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “So beautiful and helpless, my little sub.”

She leans into his touch, letting go of the apprehension that had begun creeping up on her. She trusts Damon, and she knows without a doubt that she’s ready to put herself fully in his care.

No regrets, no reservations.

*****

Damon studies Elena’s expression in the glass, and he can pinpoint the exact moment she surrenders completely. He watches as the tension slowly leaves her limbs and she accepts the embrace of the ropes.

Ready to execute the next part of his plan, he strolls over to the rack of paddles, whips, crops, and floggers. “Now that I have you at my mercy, what should I do with you?” He runs his fingers through the tails of his favorite flogger. “This one will leave lovely pink stripes on your ass. What do you think?”

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head back and forth. “Unh uh,” she manages around the gag.

“Are you telling me ‘no’? Again?” he asks. “‘Cause that’s not how this works, kitten. I thought we established that earlier. You don’t get to call the shots. I do.”

She stills, looking appropriately chastised.

“That’s better, but I think you need a reminder about who’s in charge here.” He strips off his pants and sheathes himself with a condom. Knowing it may come in handy later, he grabs a vibrator out of the cabinet and sets it by her leg. He steps behind her, stroking between her silky folds, then roughly thrusts two fingers into her. A muffled squeal escapes her, but it doesn’t stop her from pushing back against his hand, clearly wanting more. Draping himself over her back, he puts his lips to her ear. “Brace yourself, pet, because I’m going to fuck you. Hard.”

Removing his fingers, he teases her with the tip of his cock, then enters her, burying himself in her welcoming body. She moans, her nails digging into the ottoman. Before she has a chance to recover from the pleasurable invasion, he withdraws and surges forward again. He drives deeper with each thrust, but he still hasn’t filled her completely yet.

“Take it, Elena. Take all of me,” he rasps. Wrapping a length of her hair around his fist, he tugs her head back. The mirror lets him see her every reaction, including any potential signs of distress. She’s showing none, however; her lids are low and her face is flushed with desire.

He finally slides the rest of the way home, every inch of his cock disappearing inside her. He starts to move again, his hips slapping against her ass with each thrust. A hand slides over her ribcage and around to her breasts, and he rolls her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. His next target is her clit, which he rubs in time with the rhythm of their bodies.

She gets more and more frantic as her orgasm approaches, mewling into the gag and bucking her hips. A partially stifled scream splits the air when it finally arrives, and he drinks in the sight of her in the throes of her release, her inner muscles convulsing around his dick. He continues fucking her through her first climax and begins pushing her toward the next one. He’s completely focused on her, putting his own needs on the back burner for now.

His fingers dig into her hip, and he knows she’ll likely have bruises in the morning from his rough handling—reminders of who mastered her body and sent her to the heights of pleasure. Multiple times.

A bead of his sweat lands on her back and slides down the hollow of her spine. The sound of skin on skin, coupled with his grunts and Elena’s throaty moans, fills his ears. He feels her thighs quiver and her body tense as she comes for him again.

Without slowing his momentum, he locks gazes with her and sees the realization in her dazed eyes that she’s helpless to do anything but accept the sensual assault he’s inflicting on her with every slam of his hips against hers, every tweak of her clit, every pinch of her nipples. She makes an inquisitive-sounding noise that seems to say, More?

“That’s right, baby. I’m not done with you yet.” He picks up the vibrator and turns it on, pressing it to her sensitive clit.

“Mmmphhh!” She jerks in surprise as the toy joins with his cock to drive her to her third orgasm of the night.

Her whimpers turn into one long, continuous scream of ecstasy, and when she starts to shudder around him this time, he lets himself go over the edge with her, gasping her name as the force of his release temporarily steals his breath.

He sags against her, pressing his cheek to her sweat-dampened back. After lingering in the blissful aftermath for a few moments, he grudgingly leaves the warmth of her body. Snagging the bottle of water he brought down earlier, he kneels in front of Elena, whose head is bowed, her forehead resting on her bound arms.

“‘Lena,” he softly calls to her, tucking her hair behind her ear so he can see her face. She gradually looks up, her eyes spacey. It takes her a second or two to focus on him, but when she does, she manages a little smile, as if to say, “I’m okay.”

He unbuckles the gag and gently removes it, massaging her jaw to ease any tired muscles or soreness. Bringing the water bottle to her lips, he holds it there. “Drink,” he encourages her, and she does, taking small sips of the cool liquid.

The ropes are next, and he quickly unties them, steadying her when she sways a bit. By the time he’s finished, she’s trembling all over, the intensity of the scene finally catching up with her. Grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch, he wraps her in it and gathers her in his arms. “I’m so proud of you, baby,” he murmurs. “You’re amazing.”

The trip upstairs is a quiet one, and when they reach his room, he lays her on the bed so she can rest. He briefly considers whether a shower or a bath would be better for her in her current state. Her legs are still a little shaky, and he doesn’t want her to lose her balance and slip in the shower. Bath it is.

He runs the water and gets in with her when it’s ready. After a relaxing soak and a sudsing-up session for both of them, he helps her out, dries her off, and carries her back to bed. She sighs and stretches as he spoons her slender form and pulls the covers over them. His lips brush her cheek and she turns for his kiss, moaning when his tongue darts out to caress hers.

“You’re mine, Elena. My submissive, my girl, my remedy for whatever’s ailing me on any given day.” His mouth drops lower to work over her throat, sucking and nipping her tender skin.

“Yes,” she whispers, arching into his touch when he cups her breast.

“Wanna hear you say it.”

“Yours. I’m yours,” she pants as his fingers slip past her folds, slowly rekindling the fire he ignited earlier.

“Mine,” he repeats, losing himself in her irresistible body and the soft cries leaving her lips.

Every minute spent with her is like balm for his soul. Her sweet submission fulfills his need for dominance in ways he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing. Life with Elena by his side, kneeling at his feet, sharing his bed is . . . perfection—or as close as he’ll ever get to it, anyway—and he’s going to make damn sure to savor every second.

Chapter Text

Pleasure.

Elena’s world is made of nothing but this. She floats in an ocean of it, wave after wave of ecstasy lapping at her body.

Although she can’t see him, she knows Damon is the source. Everything is blurred, indistinct in the way most dreamscapes are, and when she turns her head to search for him, something slips over her eyes. It’s soft and comfortable—a blindfold? Now that her vision is awash in blackness, her other senses flare to life. She breathes in his scent, catching a whiff of his favorite soap and a hint of cologne. Sheets rustle and the chain connecting her restraints rattles as Damon rearranges her, lifting her hips so her ass is in the air, leaving her exposed to whatever sensual onslaught he’s planning next.

Hands run over her back, massaging her into a state of complete and utter relaxation. Fingers dance between her thighs, caress her breasts, and skim across her lips. It’s too much and not enough at the same time.

“Please . . .” She doesn’t know what she’s begging for most—more of Damon’s touch, his mouth, his cock. She just knows she needs him. Now.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” His voice fills her ears, low and raspy, sending another surge of desire through her.

“You.” She grasps at the empty air, desperately trying to reach him. “I want you.”

“I’m right here. All you need to do is wake up . . .”

Her eyelids flutter open as the remnants of the dream fade away. She rubs her face on the pillow, waiting for the grogginess of deep sleep to dissipate. Glancing to her right, she finds Damon’s empty pillow. She’s wondering where he might’ve wandered off to when her brain finally gets with the program, leaving fantasy behind and rejoining reality.

Whoa. At first, she assumed it was leftover echoes from her dream that were making her body light up with exquisite sensations, but the slide of something soft and wet over her clit tells her otherwise. Found him.

A moan bubbles out of her throat and she shifts, trying to invite more of the toe-curling pleasure. “Damon . . .” Oh, shit. “Master, I mean,” she quickly corrects herself, hoping to avoid a punishment.

He chuckles, and she cranes her neck as she tries to spot him. “I’ll let that one go since you’re still half asleep.”

She finally catches sight of him over her shoulder. He’s kneeling behind her on the bed, a devious grin tugging at his lips. As she takes note of the way she’s positioned, she starts to wonder how much of her dream was influenced by what was happening outside of it. She’s lying on her belly, arms behind her back and wrists—she pulls on them as a test, recognizing the telltale grip of the cuffs—bound, hips propped up on a mound of pillows, legs spread wide, and ankles—she checks again for the now-familiar snugness of the restraints—immobilized.

“I dreamt you were making me feel all these incredible things, but it wasn’t just in my head, was it?”

Fingers trail up the inside of her thigh. “Nope. I was aiming to wake you up with a mind-blowing orgasm, but you didn’t let me get that far. I’ll have to see what I can do to remedy the situation.” He dips his head, pressing his lips first to her left cheek, then the right one. “I’ve always been a fan of unconventional morning kisses.”

As she puzzles through what he might mean by that, his mouth drops to her sex, his tongue slipping between her folds.

“Oh, god,” she moans into her pillow.

“You like that, pet?” he asks, parting her with his thumbs and teasing her slick entrance. He laps his way inside then withdraws, slowly fucking her until she’s pushing back against him, seeking more of his nontraditional “kiss.” Gripping her hips to keep her still, he swirls his tongue over her clit, then he closes his lips around the sensitive nub and a gentle suction starts up.

She bucks against her restraints and his hold, but they remain unyielding. “Ah! Yes . . . I love it!” she cries.

He hums in approval, driving her even closer to the brink. When she’s almost there, he backs off and changes directions, his lips roaming over her thigh. His fingers take the place of his tongue, lazily stroking her but also neatly avoiding all of her favorite spots.

His mouth vanishes after a few moments, and she’s mid-groan when the cool glide of leather skims the underside of her breast, catching her attention. She freezes as she tries to figure out what he’s touching her with and whether it’ll be pleasant—or decidedly less so. It moves across her other breast and over her belly, stopping at the top of her slit.

Curiosity finally gets the best of her. “What is that?”

“Focus on the way it feels. See if you recognize it.”

He runs it down her arms and over her sides, goosebumps covering her skin in its wake. It’s narrow, smooth, a little ticklish . . .

Oh, fuck. “The crop,” she whispers then repeats it louder, her voice tinged with worry. “What did I do wrong?”

“Not a thing. You aren’t being punished,” he clarifies, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “Relax, baby. Let me show you how a taste of pain here and there,” he pauses, slapping the back of her thigh with the tool while simultaneously curling his fingers inside her—a heady combo, “can make the pleasure so much sweeter.”

As she lets his words sink in, she becomes hyperaware of the movement of the crop, trying to predict where it might land next. Her concentration is broken when Damon suddenly removes his fingers, leaving her achy with need. She wiggles her hips in a way that says, Hey, come back! and is rewarded with a sharp swat on her ass. She immediately goes still, hoping not to invite any other warning shots.

Thankfully, a new distraction takes her mind away from the slight twinge. Something firm presses against her entrance, gradually pushing into her. The toy has an unusual texture—a series of ridges that elicit a gasp from her when Damon eases it deeper. A few drops of cold gel dribble onto her skin, and she sucks in a breath, a shiver racing down her spine.

“Sorry, kitten. It’ll warm up in a second.” With the aid of the lube, he works the dildo farther inside her, thrusting and retreating as he would with his own cock, until it’s fully seated within her. It’s a decent-sized toy, although it pales in comparison to being filled by Damon.

Just as she’s starting to get accustomed to the strange intruder, it springs to life, gentle vibrations massaging her from the inside out. She moans, hips rocking with a fuck-me rhythm.

“What a sight you are, Elena,” he purrs. “I’ve never been jealous of a dildo before, but I am now. I can’t wait to take its place.”

The crop, which she’d almost forgotten about, connects with her inner thigh then lightly taps each nipple just enough to send another wave of arousal shuddering through her. It strikes her upper arm, then her calf and the sole of her foot, with Damon adding a bit more force to each blow. A funny thing starts to happen somewhere around the seventh or eighth crack of the leather against her skin. The sting combines with the buzzing between her legs until the pain transforms into the most incredible feeling.

It’s bliss. Pure pleasure.

And she can’t get enough.

Mewling like a cat in heat, she jerks when he ratchets up the speed of the vibe and increases the frequency of the crop’s snaps. It lands on her toned stomach and her ass again, and she finds herself leaning into each one.

“There you go. See how good it can be?” he asks, kneading her cheeks while he brings the crop around to tease her clit, rubbing it against the throbbing nub.

“Uh huh.” She can’t help but agree. She never expected a tool associated with discipline to be so . . . tantalizing.

He resumes fucking her with the dildo, switching it to the highest setting in the process. A loud squeal of surprise serves to urge him on, and her mind empties of everything but the ecstasy that’s slowly consuming her.

She’s panting now, her breath sawing in and out of her lungs with every thrust of the toy and the delicious vibrations that ripple through her. She’s about to tip over the edge when Damon’s voice reels her back in.

“Is there something you need?” His words are a caress of their own, soft and sensual.

“Y-yes, please,” she gasps. “May I come, Master?”

“Mmhmm. You’ve earned it, baby.” He pushes the toy deep inside her once again, and the crop connects with her clit in a series of rapid taps that send her into the throes of a toe-curling orgasm.

She bites down on the pillow, muffling her scream of release while she futilely tugs on her restraints. As her pulse hammers in her ears, she’s vaguely aware of Damon removing the dildo and tossing aside the crop. The stack of pillows underneath her hips disappears, and she sags to the mattress, unable to hold herself up. The tension on her ankles slackens, telling her he must have unclipped her cuffs.

The telltale crinkle of a condom wrapper lets her know he has more in store for her, and she trembles in anticipation. He slides an arm under her belly and turns her onto her side, straddling one of her legs and lifting the other one to rest on his shoulder. Fingers stroke between her slick folds, coaxing a ragged moan from her as his thumb feathers over her clit.

He leans down to brush the hair out of her eyes, and she gazes up at him, her lids heavy. “There’s one of my favorite looks: the well-fucked-but-ready-for-more face. You wear it beautifully, kitten."

Before she can respond to his compliment, he teases her with the head of his cock then surges forward, filling her to the hilt. His hips start pistoning away, and he slowly increases the pace until her eyes roll back and her nails dig into her palms. It's almost too much to take, especially after her first earth-shattering climax. She might have to spend the rest of the day crawling around the house because her legs sure as hell aren't going to be functioning properly anytime in the near future.

Damon gives her thigh a squeeze and she glances up to find him watching her, his gaze scorching in its intensity. He thrusts harder, gripping her cuffed wrists and using them as leverage to pull her body flush with his.

"Are you ready to come for me again?" he rasps. "'Cause I’m just about to explode, but you know what they say . . ." He pauses, rubbing her clit until a string of incoherent, not-quite-words leaves her mouth. "Ladies first."

The scream that tears out of her throat when her release slams into her combines with his window-rattling shout to fill the room with orgasmic surround sound. While she waits for the stars to clear from her eyes and her brain to come back online, Damon sinks down beside her, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

He reaches behind her and unclips her cuffs. As soon as her hands are free, she wraps her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her. "How was that?" he murmurs, gently sucking on a spot at the base of her throat. He can probably feel her pounding pulse beneath his lips.

“Incredible." A whimper slips out of her when he shifts his hips—a pleasant reminder that he's still nestled inside her. "I think I have a new appreciation for the crop now,” she reveals.

He chuckles. “Imagine that.”

"Who'da thunk," she agrees, idly combing her fingers through his unruly hair. It's a perfect moment, their bodies entwined, both of them completely and utterly blissed-out.

"I could stay in this bed with you all day." He raises his head slightly, pinning her with those baby blues.

"I wouldn't mind."

He smiles his devastating, heart-stopping smile, then his lips are on hers, chasing away the realization that their weekend together is slowly drawing to a close.

*****

"Christ, Travis. Get your shit together," Damon mutters, fingers flying over the keys as he types out a response to the other Dom's message. He wouldn't normally be answering email on a Sunday while there are other much more enjoyable things he could be doing, but this requires his attention now rather than later.

As if on cue, a yawn reaches his ears and Elena's groggy voice drifts up from the floor beside him. "S'wrong?"

He glances at her where she's curled up on an oversized pillow next to his desk. After they'd finally dragged themselves out of bed this morning, he'd dressed her in another of his button-downs—midnight blue this time—because goddamn does he love the sight of her wearing nothing but his shirt and her collar and cuffs. The material is gaping open, revealing her breasts, and he takes a moment to admire her graceful form.

"Sorry, pet. Didn't mean to interrupt your nap."

She shifts, and the delicate chain attached to her collar clinks against his chair. The handle of the leash rests in his lap, and he catches the loop of leather before it falls, slipping it around his wrist. His kitten surprised him earlier when he clipped the lead onto her collar. He'd expected at least a little pushback, but all she gave him was a slightly raised brow and a shrug that said, "Okay, fine."

After that, he'd teased her about parading her around the backyard with it until her eyes flared in an oh-hell-no sort of way. She'd calmed down when he told her he was only joking.

"It's alright. I was already half-awake." She fiddles with a loose thread on the bottom of his jeans. "Who's Travis and what did he do?”

"Remember the Dom I had to have a little chat with the first night we played together at the club?"

She nods and the chain jingles again. "The guy in power-trip mode?"

"Yep, he's the one. Turns out it's a recurring problem. If he doesn't start being more concerned with having control over himself instead of controlling his sub, he's going to get shown the door."

"What happened?"

Damon rubs a hand over his face. "He claims he didn’t hear Christina use a safe word last night, she almost got hurt because of it, and now she doesn't trust him. Understandably."

"Is he going to try to fix things with her?"

"He can try, but once trust like that is lost, it's nearly impossible to get it back."

Elena goes quiet, seemingly lost in thought. He uses the interlude to finish up the rest of his email to the wayward Dom, reread it, and hit send. Once that's done, he leans back in his chair and gazes at the ceiling. Situations like this have a way of resurrecting the past and memories best left buried.

A hand appears on the edge of his chair, patting around until it finds his. She curls her fingers around his and rubs her thumb over his knuckles. It's a small, soothing gesture that would go unnoticed by many, but to him, it's a comfort he's been without for too long.

"Have you ever kicked someone out of the club before?" she asks, her tone soft but inquisitive.

"Revoked their membership, you mean?"

"Yeah."

Speaking of those memories . . . "I have, actually. Once." He stares out the window at the sunlight bathing the yard, melting the snow that gifted him with the best weekend he’s had in ages. There’s only traces of it left now, a few stubborn white patches clinging to the tufty grass.

"You don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to.”

He aims for a casual reply, but it falls short and ends up flirting with the beginnings of a white lie. “No, it’s fi—” He cuts himself off, course correcting mid-sentence. It’s not fine. It still stings to this day, but he’s not going to keep the truth from Elena. “It was two years ago. A friend of mine, or at least I thought he was a friend, was interested in being a Dom, so I had him attend classes, taught him the ins and outs of the scene, etcetera. Fast-forward a couple months, and his sub shows up at my office door in tears, shaking like a leaf. Said he was pushing her to do things she wasn’t ready to do and didn’t listen when she used her safe word."

She switches positions, kneeling next to him and resting her cheek on his leg. "What did you do?"

"Raked him over the coals. Thoroughly." While he relives the strained confrontation in his head, he absently winds a lock of her hair around his finger and strokes the soft strands. "Told him if he fucked up again, he was done. Period. Mistakes are one thing, but I don't tolerate abuse."

"Did he get the message?"

"It seemed he did, at least for a bit. He took more classes, shadowed Nik and Elijah, shadowed me. You name it, I tried it. About six months later, he and his sub were using one of the private rooms, and Ric noticed some questionable activity on the security feed. I went to investigate and found his sub sobbing and screaming her safe word while he flailed her with a cat o'nine tails until he damn near drew blood." Elena squeezes his hand in support, and he realizes how tense he's grown, the muscles in his neck and shoulders knotting up. "He'd stopped honoring her limits and even her consent, so I withdrew his membership and told him he wasn't welcome at the club anymore."

"What a piece of garbage,” she mutters. “What happened to his sub?”

“She ended the relationship, then took a break for a while to clear her head and move past what he did to her. She eventually returned when she was ready and found a good, solid, respectful Dom who helped ease her back into the scene. They’re still together, in fact.”

“I’m glad it worked out for her. Have you seen the bast—er, guy since?” she asks, gazing up at him with those captivating eyes, her irises the color of dark chocolate.

“No. If I ever do, it’ll be too soon.” He tugs on her hand, pulling her toward his lap. “C’mere, baby. I’d much rather hold you than think about his worthless ass.”

She crawls into his arms without needing any extra encouragement, her mouth automatically finding his. Her lips ghost over his, tender and teasing at the same time, then she catches the bottom one between her teeth and gives it a gentle nip. A growl rumbles in his throat, and he deepens the kiss, gripping her nape to keep her still so he can explore her at his leisure.

When he draws back to give them a chance to catch their breath, the smile she gives him is radiant. “I’ve had an amazing time with you. I don’t want it to end.”

“Me either.” She leans in, resting her head on his shoulder. “Unfortunately, the weather’s not cooperating with us anymore, and tomorrow is the worst day of them all.”

“Monday,” they groan in unison.

“Are you sure I can’t steal you away from the doctor’s office?” he murmurs into her hair, the soft waves tickling his nose. “You could be my personal secretary.”

“Tempting, but I don’t think either one of us would get much work done.”

“And that would be a problem because . . .” He lets the question hang in the air between them while he slides his shirt off her shoulder, leaving a kiss there.

A soft sigh escapes her. “I forget.”

Damon chuckles, hugging her tighter as he basks in the peaceful moment. “You seemed to enjoy submitting to me all weekend long.”

“I did.” She looks pensive for a moment. “I learned some things about myself—more about what I like and what I can handle. Learned some things about you, too.”

“Is that so?”

She nods, an impish grin dimpling her cheeks. “You’re a wonderful cook, you could easily win the World’s Best Bed contest, your spankings hurt like hell but somehow manage to turn me on, taking showers and baths with you makes me want to roll in the mud so we can do it all over again, and, well . . .” A serious expression takes the place of her playful one. “I’ve never felt safer than when I’m in your arms.”

His breath hitches at her admission, his heart beating harder. For her. “I’m glad, kitten. I learned a few things about you as well.”

She quirks a brow. “I thought you already had me all figured out.”

“Not everything.”

“So, what new tidbits did you discover?”

“You talk in your sleep sometimes. And giggle,” he adds.

“Oh, god.” Her eyes widen in horror. “How much embarrassing stuff did I say?”

“Most of it was just adorable babble, although I did hear my name once.”

She blushes, trailing a finger along the collar of his t-shirt. “You hear your name plenty considering I’m always screaming it.”

She has a point. “True. Let’s see. What else? The sight of you naked in my bed drives me fucking wild, your ass turns the sexiest shade of pink after it’s been spanked, and waking up with you—my body curled around yours—is my new favorite activity.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we do it again sometime? Another weekend that’s just you, me, and an occasional visit to the playroom?”

“Of course.”

Now that Elena’s been in his home and his bed, the prospect of the real world barging back in is an unappealing one. He’s going to miss the way her laughter fills the spaces around them, echoing off the walls and down the halls. And her cries of pleasure—he’ll be recalling those in his dreams for weeks to come.

Maybe someday, it’ll be different, and they won’t have to be separated again. For now, she has to return to her life and he has to get back to the day-to-day business of running the club.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he focuses on the here and now, which includes making the most of the time he has left with the beautiful woman in his lap.

*****

Scuffing her boots in the driveway, Elena tries to postpone the inevitable: getting in her car and going home. The roads are clear and Damon brushed off what little snow remained on her trusty Camry, so there are no more excuses.

Time to face the world again.

As if sensing her reluctance to leave, he pulls her in for another hug, and she goes eagerly, soaking up everything she can—the comfort of having his arms around her, the softness of his coat beneath her cheek, the brush of his lips across her forehead—to tide her over until the next time they see each other.

When they part, he hands her a black velvet bag with a drawstring top that's been cinched tight and tied off with a satin ribbon.

"What's this?" She tries to feel what might be hiding in it, but all she encounters are the edges of small boxes.

His smile tells her everything she needs to know. Ooooh, boy.

"A few much-needed contributions to your toy collection," he confirms. "You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"

"No, not at all." The man has an impeccable memory.

"Now you'll be prepared when I call you because you're all I can think about and I've been visualizing your sumptuous body until my cock can't possibly get any harder."

She gasps at the vision his words create, and he swoops in to steal her breath again. His mouth covers hers, hands cupping her cheeks and gently tilting her head until he’s satisfied with the angle. He traces the seam of her lips with his tongue, and she opens for him, no further persuasion needed. It tangles with hers, teasing and stroking and making her toes curl in delight.

With one last sweep of his tongue, he draws back, holding onto her arm to steady her when she wobbles a little.

"You'll let me know when you get home." He finds a button she left undone on her coat and fixes it for her. "That's not a request, by the way."

"I know." She can't resist leaning in for one more kiss. "Goodnight, Damon. Thank you for taking such good care of me."

"I wouldn't have it any other way. Drive safe, 'Lena."

"I will."

He opens her door for her, and she slides in. He'd started the car earlier, so the interior is nice and toasty and the windows are defrosted. She sits there for a few minutes, hand resting on the gearshift, trying to force herself to put it in reverse. Damon’s still standing at the edge of the driveway, watching her. A gust of wind ruffles his hair, a few wisps falling over his eyes. She gives him a little wave and he returns it.

He’s clearly not going inside until she’s on her way, so rather than making him stay out in the cold, she sighs and shifts, a miniature “R” appearing on her dashboard. She backs down the drive and onto the street, grumbling the whole time about how weeks should be two days and weekends five.

She beeps the horn as she pulls away, and she can see him in her rearview mirror until she turns at the end of the road, heading toward the city.

*****

The first thing that greets her when she opens the apartment door is her BFF's squeal of excitement. Either she and Nik are in the middle of something, and Elena should make a hasty retreat, or . . .

"There's my long-lost roomie, returned from the arctic wilderness at last!" Caroline envelopes her in a huge hug then steps back, appraising her from head to toe. "Still in one piece. And walking. That's a plus."

"Care!" Elena swats her with her scarf before hanging it on the coat rack.

"Oh, come on. It's not like you two spent the weekend playing Monopoly."

"Nik's. Right. There," she whispers.

"You're worried about him? Sweetie, please. We've both seen it all and done . . . well, most of it. You don't have to spill the dirty details for us to have a pretty good idea about what kind of time you had." She winks and latches onto the sleeve of Elena's sweater. "Come talk to me. I feel like it's been ages."

Elena digs in her heels as she tries to pull her phone out of her pocket. "Hang on a sec. I have to text Damon to let him know I made it home safely. I don't need another spanking."

Caroline's eyes light up with devious interest. "Another one, huh?"

"Hush." She taps out a quick message, thanking Damon again for a wonderful time. He responds almost immediately, and she smiles as she reads it. Something's missing, though.

No kissy face emoji? she types.

I'll do you one better.

Seconds later, a picture arrives of him blowing her a kiss.

Sweet dreams, kitten.

So much better than an emoji. In fact, she might have to use it as her new lock screen photo. Sweet dreams to you, too.

Tucking her phone away, she follows Caroline into the living room and watches as her best friend crawls into Nik's lap.

"So, you guys hung out here all weekend?" Elena asks, taking a seat in one of the overstuffed armchairs.

“Pretty much,” Caroline answers, wriggling around until she’s comfortable. Judging by the way Nik bites his lip, her movements are causing an interesting conundrum for him.

“Sit still, love,” he finally groans, gripping her hips to keep her from squirming.

She winces and kisses his cheek in apology. “Sorry.”

“I can’t believe the place is still standing.” Elena can’t resist an opportunity to needle Care after her friend’s earlier teasing.

“Hey!” A pillow flies past Elena’s head while Nik chuckles, plucking the next missile out of Caroline’s hands before she can demonstrate her spectacularly bad aim a second time.

“Behave,” he lightly scolds, tugging on her ponytail.

Elena doesn’t miss the shiver that runs through her bestie. In fact, she recognizes it all too well.

Nik clears his throat, temporarily diffusing the building tension in the room. “I meant to mention it before now, Elena, but I’d like to invite you to the opening of my new exhibition at the gallery. It’s Tuesday evening. This one will be there of course,” he adds, smiling at Care, “and I figure if you go, I can count on Damon’s presence as well.” The other Dom winks, and Elena can’t help but grin at his insinuation.

“Using me to lure him to your show? Harsh.”

He laughs. “Not at all, sweetheart. I like to think of it as gentle but not-so-subtle persuasion.”

“So that’s it.” She shakes her head, a tad confused by the notion that Damon has to be prodded to attend his friend’s exhibition. “He loves your paintings. I don’t think he requires any extra incentives.”

Nik shrugs. “Couldn’t hurt. He tends to make a habit of holing up in his office during the week and working instead of going out every now and then. Perhaps you can help break it."

Ah. “Okay,” she agrees. “I’m free that night, so I’d be happy to go.”

“Excellent. I’m sure both of you will find the new pieces . . . stimulating.”

Kinky art. She should've known. As if she and Damon need more fuel added to their collective fire.

It’ll be an interesting event. That much is certain.

Chapter Text

“Champagne?”

Elena turns away from the painting she’s been admiring and accepts the flute from the impeccably dressed server holding a tray of them. “Thank you.”

She takes a sip, the bubbles tickling her nose. Returning her attention to the depiction of a blonde woman kneeling at a man’s feet, she studies the clean lines and delicate shading that bring the work to life. Nik’s talent shines through in every canvas his brush touches, and this one is no exception.

The small placard next to the painting lists its title as Master and Muse. Elena smiles as she recalls that “Muse” is one of Nik’s favorite endearments for Caroline. Her best friend certainly lives up to the nickname considering most of the new exhibition features pieces focusing on their relationship. Some are more revealing than others, the most explicit of which belong to Nik’s private collection and aren’t for sale—specifically, any that clearly show Care’s face. A notably protective Dom, he only releases paintings with anonymous subjects to buyers.

In Master and Muse, Caroline’s head is bowed, her eyes closed, curls tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. A crop balances on her outstretched palms, an offering for her Master. Nik is reaching for the implement, but his hand hasn’t connected with it yet. The work evokes a feeling of anticipation but also quiet obedience.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The way my brother captures the essence of her submission. Absolutely stunning.” The softly accented voice is one Elena’s familiar with, although she’s never formally met the speaker.

“It is lovely.” She turns and offers her hand, smiling at the woman. “You’re Rebekah. I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

The blonde’s fingers curl around hers, her grip firm but not overly so. She has on a black, off-the-shoulder cocktail dress that’s every bit as elegant as its wearer. “And you’re Elena. Wonderful to meet you as well.”

“These are all incredible,” Elena says, gesturing around the room. “Nik’s work is so provocative.”

Rebekah nods in agreement. “Do you have a favorite?”

“Oh, gosh. Um, let’s see.”

She scans the walls, looking for the one that speaks to her the most. When her eyes light on the painting entitled Waiting, she pauses. It’s not part of the collection focusing on Caroline and Nik. Instead, a statuesque woman with long, straight, ebony hair kneels, facing away from the viewer and the artist. Her arms are bound behind her back with a length of rope, the tie done in an intricate design. There’s something about the way you can’t see the submissive’s face, or who exactly it is she’s waiting on. That it’s her Dom/me is a given, but the person’s presence is both absent and overwhelmingly felt.

“That one.” Elena points to it, and Rebekah’s gaze follows.

“Perfect choice. I’m taken with it myself,” she concurs.

"What about you? Which one do you like best?"

Rebekah glances around for a moment. "I know it's here somewhere. I haven't been able to get it out of my head since Nik first showed it to me. Ah, there it is." She indicates a black-and-white painting a few feet away, and Elena moves closer to get a better look.

Appropriately titled Mine, it's another piece where the identity of the subjects is obscured, but that doesn't take away from the power of the piece. Far from it. A submissive gazes up at her Domme, but the woman's face isn't visible—just her hand where it curls loosely around her sub's neck.

Rebekah joins Elena, speaking softly as if she doesn't want to break her concentration. "There's a perfect blend of dominance and submission, which is why I relate to it, I suppose."

Of course; it makes sense that Rebekah would choose this one. "What made you realize you were a switch, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Not at all." She smiles as if recalling a fond memory. "I was playing at the club with Pearl one night, and we were watching one of the Doms demonstrate his flogging technique. I was absolutely riveted, but not because I wanted to be on the receiving end of the blows. The sub's moans, the way he leaned into his Master's strikes—I wanted to give someone that experience, control their pleasure and pain, make them cry out for me." She pauses to sip her champagne. "I spoke with Pearl about it, and we agreed to give it a try. I would continue to be her submissive, but whenever I felt the need for dominance, I would seek out one of the subs to play with."

Elena remembers the scene she observed with Damon. "Trevor."

She nods. "He's wonderful. Between him and Pearl, they complete me in ways I didn't think were possible."

Elena glances up and catches Damon watching her from across the room where he's talking with Elijah and Nik. She ducks her head, a blush heating her cheeks. "Sorry," she murmurs, returning her attention to Rebekah. "I'm easily distracted around him. By him."

"Don't apologize. I know exactly how you feel." Rebekah's knowing grin backs up her words. “You two look quite fetching together, by the way.”

"Thanks." Elena polishes off the rest of her champagne and searches for the server, hoping to get a second glass. "Is Pearl your first Domme?"

"My first and only, as I sense Damon is yours. I couldn't imagine submitting to another, nor would I want to."

Rebekah's insightful statement takes Elena by surprise, and she sucks in a sharp breath. It’s true—Damon is everything she could possibly ask for in a Dom. She wouldn’t want to be with anyone else. “Me either,” she softly responds.

Just then, she catches sight of Caroline and Rose and gives them a little wave as they approach. They’re chatting animatedly with each other, clearly eager to include her and Rebekah in the conversation. She wonders if she can keep up with whatever it is they’re talking about while her mind is still lingering on Rebekah’s admission.

*****

“So, tell me, Damon, which art are you enjoying the most—the paintings on the walls or the lovely Ms. Gilbert?” Elijah asks, his accent curling around the syllables of Elena’s last name, making it sound exotic.

Nik chokes on his champagne, and Damon slaps his friend on the back. “E, no amount of Armani or Tom Ford can hide the fact that deep down, you’re one-hundred percent smartass.”

Elijah chuckles, swirling the remainder of the bourbon in his glass. “You know me well.”

“If I don’t by now, I never will.” His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he takes it out, wondering who could be calling him when nearly everyone he regularly keeps in touch with is under the same roof as him. Stefan’s a possibility, but he should be in the middle of teaching his night course. The mystery is solved when he sees Frederick’s name flashing on the screen. “Excuse me for a moment. I have to take this.”

Nik and Elijah nod, and Damon steps out into the hall before answering. He finds a relatively quiet spot for the sake of privacy and puts the phone to his ear. “Frederick. Talk to me.”

There’s a pause as if the other man detects the sound of voices in the background. “Is this a bad time?”

“No. Go ahead.”

“I followed some back channels and was put in touch with a guy who’s aware of the auctions and when they take place. A middle man. One of many, apparently,” Frederick reveals.

“Has the next one been scheduled?” Damon asks, urgency creeping into his tone.

Frederick sighs, his usual precursor for bad news. “It already happened.” He curses under his breath. “Late last week.”

“Fucking hell.” Damon knocks his forehead against the wall, which is a poor substitute for what he really wants to do—put his head clean through it. “Did he give any indication that the group plans to stick around, or will they be on the move now?”

“Hard to say. He mentioned the auctions tend to be few and far between to avoid arousing too much suspicion. He could’ve just been talking shit, but it sounds logical. If you can believe these twisted fucks are capable of logic,” he adds.

“Great,” Damon mutters, a feeling of defeat tugging at his resolve.

“I’ll keep the line of communication open in the event they do plan another one. He has my cell number and the fake name I gave him. If I hear anything new, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Any time.”

The call ends, and Damon drags a hand through his hair, wanting to pull the stuff out by the roots. If the trafficking ring remains in the area, more subs will be taken. If it relocates, it might be impossible to track down again.

Fuck.

*****

On his way back into the main room, Damon spots Elena at the dessert table with Caroline, Rose, and Rebekah. She twirls a marshmallow under a cascade of chocolate fondue, and once it’s coated to her satisfaction, she pops it in her mouth, licking the excess chocolate from her fingers. She giggles at something Rose says, and the light, carefree sound of her laughter combined with the other women’s as they join in helps dissolve some of the anger and frustration left in the wake of Frederick’s call.

He winks at her before slipping through the doorway, and he doesn’t miss the way she smiles in return, like there’s a secret only the two of them share.

Which is true, at least to some of the patrons milling around the gallery. Their close-knit group of friends, however? They’re very aware.

He finds Nik where he left him, but Elijah wandered off at some point and is now mingling with a group Damon doesn’t recognize.

“Is everything alright?” Nik asks when he returns.

Damon shakes his head. “That was Frederick. The auction’s already taken place.”

“Bloody hell,” his fellow Dom growls.

“That’s what I said. Sort of.”

“So we’re too late?”

“Afraid so. He’ll let me know if he learns anything else.”

Eager to focus on something other than the latest news, Damon studies the people gathered in the gallery, oohing and aahing over the striking paintings. It’s a decent turnout, and he’s pleased for his friend. Talent like Nik’s deserves to be appreciated and recognized.

“Lost track of your girl?”

“No, she’s at the chocolate fountain with Rose, Caroline, and your sister, probably daring Blondie to dip an olive in there and eat it.” Even though he and Elena haven’t spent much time together yet this evening, he’s continually aware of her presence, where’s she’s standing, the way her smile lights up the room.

Nik makes a face, and Damon snickers at his reaction. “Better her than I.”

“Speaking of Caroline, should I be expecting an announcement in the near future? The two of you are practically inseparable." He taps his chin. "You wouldn't be considering offering her something, would you? Something that begins with . . . oh, I don't know . . . a 'c,' maybe, and ends with an 'r'?" Damon gently prods.

His friend’s answering grin tells him everything he needs to know.

“You might be onto something there, mate,” he reveals.

Damon’s brow quirks. “Playing coy with me now? I didn’t think that was your style, Nik.”

“Well, what would you say to my throwing a play party in a few weeks? It’s been too long since we’ve done one. I find they’re the ideal sort of occasion during which to make . . . what did you call it? Ah, yes. An announcement,” he parrots, cheeks dimpling.

“You sly bastard.” Damon slings an arm around Nik’s shoulders. “I think a play party is a perfect idea. I’ll let Elena know, and if she’s free, we’ll both be there.”

“Wonderful. You two seem to be getting on well,” Nik comments, and now it’s Damon’s turn to smile.

“She’s . . .” There are so many words he could use, but he doesn’t know which ones to choose.

“Left you speechless, which is nearly unheard of,” Nik fills in, dodging the mock swing Damon throws his way.

“Very funny,” he mutters. “Elena is exactly what I needed, but I didn’t know it until she was sitting across from me at that table at the club, nervous as hell but so curious, so ready to open herself up to things she thought could only exist in her fantasies. She’s fucking incredible, Nik.”

“So I gather. Maybe someday you’ll be making an announcement of your own,” he suggests.

Trying to act casual about something you’ve dreamt about more than once isn’t the easiest thing in the world, but Damon gives it a shot. “We’re not going to rush anything, but if the stars keep aligning, then yeah. Maybe.”

“Then I’ll look forward to the day ‘maybe’ becomes ‘definitely.’”

“If I end up being that lucky, you’ll be one of the first people I tell, my friend,” Damon promises.

*****

The painting Elena’s currently absorbed in is another featuring Caroline, but unlike most of the others she's seen where the bondage involved is on the light side, this one is the opposite. Blindfolded, gagged, and rendered immobile by so many leather straps Elena loses track when she tries to count them, Caroline is lying on her side on a luxurious-looking bed covered in pillows and red satin sheets. The strictness of her bonds provides a nice contrast to the softness surrounding her.

Elena moves closer, inspecting some of the smaller details, and a pair of hands settle on her shoulders. They stay there for a moment, then slide down her arms and back up again. Fingers skim over the nape of her neck and warm lips explore her throat. Her eyes drift shut, and she grips the stem of her glass so she doesn't drop it in the midst of the sensual overload.

"Finally tear yourself away from the boys?" she asks, leaning back into Damon.

His mouth leaves her throat, and he blows a little puff of air in her ear. "I could say the same about you and the chocolate fondue," he teases.

"I can't help it," she pouts. "I love chocolate."

"I know."

"And I'm full of marshmallows now."

"Oh, yeah?" A hand drops to her flat belly, giving it a couple experimental pokes. "Doesn't feel like it to me."

She squeals and tries to bat him away, laughter bubbling out of her as she does her best to evade his sneak attack. "That tickles! Also, you're going to make me spill my champagne, which would be a real tragedy."

His hand finally stills, and he turns her so she's facing him.

“Is this glass number . . .” He ticks off each one on his fingers, furrowing his brow like he’s having a hard time arriving at an accurate total. “Three?”

“Maybe.”

“Ah. That explains the giggles then.”

“I’m still mostly functional even when slightly tipsy.” As if her body is determined to prove her wrong, she wobbles a little, swaying in her too-tall heels.

Damon chuckles, cupping her elbow to steady her. “So I see.”

“I’m glad you came with me tonight. Nik says you’re a bit of a workaholic.” A section of hair chooses that moment to come loose from her updo and fall into her eyes. She spends a few seconds unsuccessfully brushing it out of the way until Damon takes pity on her and tucks the errant strands behind her ear. "Thanks," she murmurs.

“He blew the whistle on me, huh?”

“Kinda. He’s hoping I can convince you to go out more,” she reveals.

“The promise of getting to spend time with you never requires much persuasion. Or any at all, really.”

“Well, that was easy.”

“I have my moments.” Damon glances over her shoulder at the painting she’d been admiring. “You found my favorite piece. I’d love to recreate that image with you, all bound nice and tight.”

She shifts, rubbing her thighs together as the familiar ache starts up between her legs. “Do you paint?”

“No. Anything I did would probably be mistaken for a Kindergartener’s art project.” He smirks, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. “Photography’s more my speed.”

“Yeah? What’s your favorite subject?”

“I don’t really have one. It’s more of an intuitive thing—I know the shot I want when I see it. Speaking of which, I almost took a picture of you when I found you dozing on the rug in front of the fireplace.”

She smiles as memories of their snowbound weekend flood her mind. “Really?”

“Mmhmm. Might have to stage that one again so I can capture it this time. We could even make a scene out of it.” He licks his lips, and she recognizes the look of inspiration that crosses his face. “Devious photographer—that’s me—seeks beautiful model—you, of course—for a bondage shoot, but instead of freeing her when it’s over, he leaves her tied up and has his wicked way with her. The possibilities are endless, kitten.”

Sign me up. The alcohol buzzing in her veins has her feeling bolder than usual. “I’m game.”

“Then I’ll be sure to keep it in mind.” Damon checks his watch and frowns. "It's almost ten. Ready for me to take you home?"

She glances around the room, realizing that everyone is moving toward the hallway and gathering their coats. Rose and Elijah wave before they step out the door, and she returns it. "I guess so."

They join the others filing into the coatroom, and Elena bumps into Rebekah when she reaches for her jacket. "Oh, sorry!"

"No apology needed, love. It was wonderful chatting with you, and I'm sure we'll have a chance to do it again soon." She surprises Elena by enveloping her in a quick hug, then she nods at Damon and bids them both a pleasant evening.

While Damon helps Elena with her coat and buttons it for her, she catches Caroline's attention, and her and Nik wander over so they can say their goodbyes.

"Thank you again for coming. I hope you enjoyed the exhibition." Nik leans in to hug Elena, and they both start laughing when Damon clears his throat after the embrace stretches out a bit longer than normal.

"I loved seeing your work. It’s beautiful. Thank you for inviting me," Elena manages between giggles.

Nik releases her, holding up his hands in a show of surrender. "Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to get carried away."

"Sure you didn't." Damon rolls his eyes but can't quite keep the hint of a grin off his face. "You're lucky you're like another brother to me."

“Very true,” Nik agrees with a chuckle as the two clap each other on the back.

Caroline’s next, and she pulls Elena in for a tight squeeze. “Ugh, boys,” she whispers in faux exasperation.

Care hugs Damon next, then the four of them head in the direction of the parking lot. They split off after one more round of goodnights—Nik and Caroline to their car, and Elena and Damon to theirs.

He opens the Lexus’s door for her and she slides onto the smooth leather seat. Damon had to attend a meeting downtown before picking her up, which explains why he drove the sleek luxury car instead of his classic Camaro. The Lexus is nice, but his blue baby is her favorite.

“What’s that smile for?” he asks as he gets in and starts the car, the engine purring to life. The seats immediately begin to warm, and she sighs in relief. Her knee-length skirt seemed like a good idea when she first put it on, but now her legs are freezing.

“I was just thinking about how I miss the Camaro.”

“Yeah? I kinda do, too. I drive it almost everywhere, so it throws me off when I don't."

“It suits you.”

"Think so?"

"Yep. It's almost the same color as your eyes, for one." She leans back against the headrest, watching him from under droopy lids. "And it even growls like you do when you get all feisty and turned on."

Damon laughs, shifting the Lexus into gear. "I'll have to remember that."

*****

When they pull up in front of her apartment, Elena's almost asleep. The only thing keeping her from completely nodding off is Damon's hand, which has been resting on her knee during the entire trip. It's not that he keeps moving it or anything. It's just that it's . . .

There. So close to where she'd really like it to be.

She unbuckles her seatbelt and grabs her purse, then she starts fiddling, which is code for I-don't-want-to-go-inside-but-I-know-I-have-to.

Damon, subtle-hint reader extraordinaire, picks up on the cue and leans closer, cupping her cheek. "I'm glad we went. Thank you for letting me be your date."

Lips brush hers—once, twice—then the kiss begins in earnest, his tongue caressing hers and drawing a low moan out of her.

He pulls back, running his thumb over her bottom lip. “You taste like chocolate-covered marshmallows. And bubbly.” His hand inches higher, sliding under her skirt. “Delicious,” he adds, eyes glinting in the dim illumination cast off by the dashboard lights. “So, you didn’t tell me which painting of Nik’s is your favorite.”

“There’s one . . .” she trails off, distracted by the path his fingers are taking. “It reminds me of how I felt when I was waiting for you that first night at the club.”

“Keep going,” he coaxes, tracing her slit through her lacy thong then tugging the damp material out of the way. He parts her folds, teasing her clit with his thumb.

She gasps, shifting restlessly in her seat. “I . . . can’t think when you do that.”

“Do what?” Two fingers slip inside, rubbing against her slick walls, giving her an intimate massage.

“That.”

“Try.”

Elena swallows hard, searching for the right words. “The submissive was kneeling, alone. Just waiting for her Master or Mistress to arrive . . .” Damon’s easy strokes become more persistent, his eyes never leaving hers. “Oh, god,” she pants. “There was this feeling of anticipation, just like that night.”

“Mmm. I know exactly what you mean,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“Like right now.” His digits pick up the pace, and he presses harder against the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. “I’m anticipating the moment you give me what I want. I love to watch you come, baby. Show me how beautiful you are when you let go.”

“Damon,” she whines, clawing at his arm while she tosses her head back in bliss.

“Uh-uh. Look at me.” His voice is rough, demanding—that sensual growl she was telling him about earlier. The one that drives her wild.

She does as he says, and the instant their gazes meet, her orgasm slams into her. Her thighs clamp around his hand, trapping it in place, although going by the way his fingers continue to fuck her through her release, he didn't have any plans to stop.

Little aftershocks of pleasure leave her gasping for breath, and Damon waits for her to come back down to earth before he ceases with his ministrations.

“That’s what I call an ideal end to date night,” he says with a smug grin.

“You’re so . . . that was . . . I’ve never . . .” she sputters, trying to form a coherent thought.

“No one’s ever given you a goodnight orgasm before?” he guesses.

“Not in the car, no.”

“Glad I get to claim the honor.”

Elena shifts closer, framing his face in her hands and smoothing her thumbs over his cheekbones. Her gaze drops to his lips, then she leans in for a kiss, telling him without words just how grateful she is for tonight.

For him.

“Me, too,” she whispers.

His smile is unmistakable, even in the near darkness.

*****

"God. It looks like a bomb went off in here."

Elena tosses her purse on the bed as she surveys the current state of her room, then she sighs and strips off her sweater and dress pants—the first of her post-work rituals. "Adios, business casual. Hello, comfy PJs."

She didn’t have time to tidy up before Damon arrived last night, and she was too busy floating in her post-orgasm haze after he dropped her off to give a shit about the mess.

Prepared for clean-up duty in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt, she takes in the trail of discarded clothing running from her closet to the full-length mirror where she tried on at least ten different outfits (some of them twice) before deciding on one for Nik's show.

"This is what happens when Care's not here to help me choose," she mutters to herself, picking up the first thing she encounters—a flowy, floral skirt—and returning it to its proper place.

Her clothes aren't the only disaster. A small mountain of eye shadow, lip gloss, and blush has taken over the top of her dresser where she dumped everything out of her makeup bag so she could dig through them in search of her favorites. Ten wasted minutes later, she found the ones she was looking for in the bathroom.

Go fig.

She's hanging up the last reject when someone knocks on the apartment door. Hurrying to answer it, she finds a delivery man standing in the hall with a box in his arms.

This has "Damon" written all over it, she thinks as she signs for the package and takes it back inside with her, a million ideas about what it could be bouncing around in her head.

Too impatient to wait until she gets to her room, she sets the box on the kitchen counter and slices it open. There's an envelope sitting on top of a layer of white tissue paper, and she turns it over, recognizing Damon's handwriting on the front.

Ms. Gilbert.

"That's . . . formal." She’s surprised by the unusual address. He hasn’t called her that since the night they met.

Inside the envelope is something even odder. It’s a letter written on fancy stationary bearing Damon’s initials in an elegant script. She quickly scans its contents, curious as to what this is all about.

Correction. It’s not a letter. It’s a memo; the type of thing someone might get from their boss.

To: Ms. Elena Gilbert

From: Mr. Damon Salvatore, CEO

Re: forthcoming meeting

Please plan to attend a meeting in my office this Saturday at 9pm. We will be discussing various concerns of mine regarding your secretarial duties and recent job performance.

It would be in your best interest not to be late.

—DS

Setting aside the letter, she parts the tissue paper and gets a glimpse of black, pinstripe material. Pulling it from the box, she discovers a zip-front bustier and mini skirt styled to resemble business attire.

Incredibly sexy business attire, complete with lacy undies and a pair of ridiculously high heels that can only be described as fuck-me pumps.

Heat pools in her lower belly, and a tingle starts at the base of her spine, working its way down to her toes.

“Looks like I need to brush up on my acting skills before this weekend.”

*****

Elena teeters toward the club’s front door, cursing her gorgeous but nearly-impossible-to-walk-in shoes for impeding her progress. It’s already 8:55.

Henry opens the way for her, and she shoots him a grateful smile. He takes her coat while she tugs on her skirt to make sure it’s still barely covering her ass.

“He’s waiting for you,” Henry says once he returns from hanging up her coat.

“Thanks.” She approaches the inner doors but then stops abruptly, unsure which room she’s supposed to go to. His real office at the end of the hall? One of the private rooms upstairs?

Henry notices her predicament and comes to her rescue. “Downstairs. Third door on your right.”

The theme rooms.

Oh. My. God.

She’d almost forgotten about them.

Waving to Henry, she scurries into the lounge area, which is already teeming with people, and nearly plows into Katherine, who’s sauntering over to the bar. The scraps of leather she’s wearing leave next to nothing to the imagination, but instead of making her appear exposed or vulnerable, she’s even more intimidating.

“What have we here?” she purrs, sizing up Elena with her inscrutable gaze. “Master Damon’s kitty cat, all dressed up for playtime.”

Shit. I don’t have time for this, but I can’t be rude. “Good evening, Mistress Katherine,” she politely offers, lowering her eyes out of respect for the powerful Domme.

The other woman claps her hands in delight. “So well trained already, although I wouldn’t have expected anything different.”

“Thank you,” Elena murmurs, studying her shoes.

“Turn around for me so I can get the full effect,” Katherine instructs, twirling her finger in the air.

Elena does as she requests, spinning in a slow circle to show off the outfit Damon chose for her.

“Very nice. By the looks of it, you’re on your way to see him, so I won’t keep you.” She smiles, and the small gesture helps ease Elena’s jitters. “Have a pleasurable evening.”

“I will. Enjoy your night.”

“I plan to, once Stefan gets here.” Katherine winks. “Say 'hi' to the boss for me.”

She resumes her trek to the bar, and Elena takes that as her cue to slip away before anyone else tries to detain her.

*****

As it turns out, the room is impossible to miss. A small sign on the door Henry directed her to reads D. Salvatore, CEO.

Elena raises her hand and cautiously knocks.

“Come in,” Damon calls, sounding distinctly disgruntled.

Oh, boy. She squeezes her thighs together and takes a deep breath, then enters the room.

He’s seated behind the desk, and she immediately does an inventory of what he’s wearing: black suit, white dress shirt, black silk tie, and glasses. The glasses are a surprise, but she gets the full effect when he glances at her over the dark rims, a look of displeasure on his handsome face.

“Ms. Gilbert,” he drawls. “Good of you to finally show up.” He taps his watch. “An hour late, I might add.”

An hour? But it was only a few minutes. Thankfully, she catches herself before she blurts out anything. Oh, right. Play along, dummy.

There’s a large sheet of paper on the desk in front of him, and he lines up a ruler, using a pencil to draw a straight line across it. CEO of an architectural firm? His creativity is impressive, although she should’ve expected it. This isn’t his first roleplay rodeo.

She gives him her best apologetic pout. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Salvatore. I got caught in traff—”

Damon snaps the ruler on the desk, and she jumps at the sharp, unexpected sound. “I’m afraid I don’t have any more patience for your excuses,” he growls. “I’ve been letting you get away with too much lately.” He takes off the glasses and sets them aside. “It’s time you were properly punished for your mistakes.”

She knots her hands in front of her and shifts nervously from foot to foot. “Please don’t fire me, Sir. I’ll do better,” she pleads.

“You’re damn right you will.” He curls a finger, beckoning her forward. “Come here.”

Elena’s instinct is to run to him, but she reminds herself that her errant secretary alter ego wouldn’t be so eager to approach a man who’s just threatened to discipline her. Instead, she backs up a step. “But—”

“Unless you’d like a red slip, I suggest you get yourself over here. Right now.”

She walks as quickly as her shoes will allow and comes to a halt a few feet away. The wheels of the office chair squeak as he pushes back from the desk.

"Closer," he insists.

She takes another tiny step, putting herself within arm's reach of her angry "boss." He sighs and reaches for her, fingers closing around her wrist. Tugging her to him, he points to his lap. "Lie across my knees."

"I don't really think that's appropriate, Sir." She pulls against his grip, but his free hand has found its way to the small of her back, preventing her retreat.

"You'd rather I call HR instead?" he asks with a raised brow, challenging her.

"No, please don't."

"Then do it."

Grimacing on the outside but secretly squirming with glee on the inside, she gingerly settles herself over his legs, mindful of how her skirt rides up with every shimmy and wiggle. She reaches behind her to fix it, but he stops her.

"Leave it alone. In fact . . ." He pauses, yanking the material higher until it's wadded up around her waist. "There, that's better." A warm palm smooths over her rear, and she bites her lip as a shiver of desire rolls through her. "Do you know what happens to secretaries who misbehave and don't do their jobs correctly, Ms. Gilbert?"

"Um, no, I—"

"They get spanked."

Jesus. It's a good thing he can't see her face at the moment because she's definitely breaking character.

His hand fists in the delicate lace of her undies and drags them down and off her long legs, casually tossing them on the floor. "How many do you think I should give you?" he asks thoughtfully. "Five? Ten?" A finger traces the crack of her ass. "Or maybe I should keep going until my hand gets tired.”

“Please, Sir. I won’t do it again,” she begs, struggling uselessly against his hold.

“Too late.”

The first smack is followed by a second, a third, and a fourth, each one harder than the last. Her bottom warms under the assault, the burn spreading across her cheeks with every blow. When he reaches number seven, a moan slips past her lips.

His hand leaves her ass and delves between her legs, cupping her sex and rubbing his thumb across her damp folds. “Well, well. What have we here?” He slides a finger inside her, then removes it and holds it up for her to see. “Look how wet you are,” he murmurs, pausing to lick her juices from it. “Seems someone enjoyed having her ass spanked.”

Elena stifles a groan and wriggles in his lap. “May I go now, Sir?”

“Oh, no. I still have a few . . . grievances I’d like to address with you. Get up,” he snaps, his palm connecting with her behind again when she doesn’t move right away.

She yelps and scrambles to her feet, rubbing the sting out of her tender bottom. She tugs down her bunched skirt and bends to retrieve her discarded panties.

“Leave them,” Damon orders, sweeping his arm across the desk’s surface. Papers, pens, pencils, and paperclips litter the carpet like debris in the aftermath of a storm. He catches her elbow when she tries to scoot by him and pulls her behind the desk. “Bend over,” he instructs, applying steady pressure between her shoulder blades until she does.

The top of the desk is cool, and her nipples pebble beneath her bustier. Damon hikes her skirt up around her waist once more and nudges her legs apart. “I expect my secretary to perform better in the future. Let’s go over all the things you’re going to improve upon, shall we?” he mutters in her ear, his tie tickling her bare arm.

“Y-yes, Mr. Salvatore,” she stammers.

“Listen carefully and nod in response. I don’t want to hear a single word, understood?”

She shakes her head in agreement. The metallic clink of his belt buckle reaches her ears. The whisper of leather being pulled through the loops on his pants announces its removal, then he gathers her wrists and tugs them behind her back.

“What are you doing?” she squeaks. It’s getting harder to play the unsuspecting innocent card when she’s eagerly awaiting his every move.

The belt snaps against her right ass cheek, making her jump. “Quiet,” he snarls. The slight lick of pain combined with his harsh tone sends a flood of heat straight to her core.

He quickly wraps the leather around her wrists and secures it, but she doesn’t miss the slide of his fingers between the belt and her skin as her vigilant Dom checks to make sure her bonds aren’t too tight.

The rasp of his zipper, the crinkle of a condom wrapper, and her uneven breathing are the only sounds in the room now. The head of his cock presses against her entrance, and he slowly eases inside. Elena’s powerless to stop the loud moan that escapes her throat. “Ohhh . . .”

He immediately withdraws, and she whimpers at the loss. “Still can’t take direction, I see.” There’s another hiss of fabric, then the soft silk of his tie runs across her lips. “Open your mouth, you little minx.”

She complies, and he slips the material between her teeth, brushing her hair out of the way so he can knot it behind her head. “If you can’t stay silent, it won’t be long before everyone knows you’re getting fucked by the boss.”

She’s glad he gagged her because the urge to abandon her persona and start begging and pleading for him to take her is nearly overwhelming. As if sensing her desperation, he drives into her, filling her with his thick cock. The rhythm he sets is hard and fast, his hips slamming against her ass with every thrust. He grips the nape of her neck, holding her still for his rough fucking. Biting down on the tie, she clutches the edge of his suit jacket and hangs on for the ride.

Oh, god. So good.

In between punishing thrusts, he peppers her with questions.

“Are you going to be late for work again?”

She shakes her head.

“Are you going to have the reports on my desk first thing in the morning?”

She nods.

“Are you going to give me attitude when I ask you to do something?”

Shake.

Ecstasy is spiraling through her, pushing her closer to the brink with each stroke of his shaft. Her thighs start to tremble under the onslaught, her clit throbbing as her orgasm approaches.

“Are you going to come without my permission?” Damon rasps.

Shake.

“Good girl.”

He continues to pound into her, and just when she realizes she can’t stave off her release any longer, his voice fills her ears again.

“Are you going to be a model secretary from now on?”

Eager nod.

“Much better,” he hums. “Come for me, Ms. Gilbert. I know you’re dying to.”

The tie does little to mask her cries as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over her. It's one of those brutal but oh-so-satisfying orgasms that steals every last ounce of her strength and leaves her weak as a kitten, which is appropriate, she supposes.

Damon's cock jerks where it's buried deep within her, and he shouts her name as his own release hits. Sagging against her, he feathers kisses over her back and shoulders while spasms continue to wrack her body. If he wasn’t pinning her to the desk, she'd probably be in a heap on the floor.

After they have a chance to catch their breath, he loosens the knotted tie and slips it out of her mouth. His belt is next, and once she's free of her bonds, he gathers her in his arms and returns to the chair, cradling her in his lap. He smooths her hair out of her face while she fiddles with a button on his coat.

Trailing a finger from her cheek to the top of her cleavage, he seems momentarily dismayed about something. "The only downside to bending you over the desk is I didn't get to caress one of my favorite places on your beautiful body. Can’t have that." He lowers the zipper on her bustier, then parts the fabric, revealing her breasts. He brushes his knuckles over them, delivering a light pinch to each nipple that has her arching into his touch. “Is my wayward secretary going to behave from now on?” he husks, nipping her earlobe.

“She’ll certainly try, but she might need a reminder every now and then," Elena teases as she bats her long lashes at him.

He smiles and leans in to capture her lips, his kiss tender, reverent.

“I’ll look forward to keeping her in line.”

Chapter Text

"Mondays are a thing that really should not exist," Elena grumbles as she pushes through the door to Dr. Olly's office, coffee in hand and bad mood set on simmer.

Even though she knows Damon was mostly kidding when he suggested she could be his personal secretary, days like this tempt her to take him up on the offer, especially after this weekend. She's getting turned on again just thinking about it, and it's only eight o’clock. If she hopes to have any semblance of dignity left by the time patients start to arrive, she'd better cool it.

She's usually the first one in the office, and today is no different, so she takes a seat at the reception desk and spends a few minutes reviewing the day's appointments, enjoying the peace and quiet while it lasts. Satisfied that the schedule doesn't look too insane, she relaxes in her chair and sips at her coffee. She's staring at her computer screen and letting her mind drift when a reminder pops up, interrupting her reverie.

Dr. Maxfield's first day, it reads.

"Oh, shit," she groans. So much for dialing it in.

The door opens and a pair of heels click their way over to the desk.

"Good morning, Elena," the other receptionist chirps in her bright, too-enthusiastic-for-a-Monday-morning voice.

"Hey, Amy." She doesn't want to be rude, so she tacks on a "How was your weekend?"

"Ugh, so good. My boyfriend took me to Savannah. Have you ever been?"

"A while back, yeah."

"We had a blast." Her bubbly coworker pauses, and Elena has the distinct impression she's being stared at. "I'd ask how your weekend went, but if that hickey on your neck is a clue, it looks like it rocked."

Elena's head snaps around. "What?"

Amy points to a spot on her own neck. "Right here. About the size of a half dollar." Her eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. "I thought you said you weren't dating anyone?"

"Dammit." She knew she missed something. Rummaging in her purse, Elena finds the scarf she stuffed in there earlier and quickly drapes it around her throat before anyone else gets a gander at Damon's handiwork. His goodbye kiss on Saturday night included a detour down to her neck and chest. At least the mark adorning her left breast is easier to hide. "I wasn't, but I recently met someone, and now I am."

The other woman whistles. "I gotta get me one of those."

"You have a boyfriend."

"But he doesn't give me hickeys," she pouts.

I bet he doesn't spank you either. Elena smiles secretly and adjusts her scarf until she's sure the evidence is covered. "Doesn't mean he's a bad boyfriend," she points out.

"Still. I want someone who's adventurous and a little wild."

"Well—"

"Oh, I almost forgot," Amy squeals. "The new doctor is starting today! Do you think he'll be hot?"

Elena closes her eyes before the urge to roll them gets the best of her.

Mondays.

*****

When lunchtime arrives, Elena grabs her sandwich out of the fridge and makes a beeline for the break room. She's halfway there when Amy calls to her.

"Elena? There's a delivery for you." Pause. "Oh, my god. I'm so jealous!"

Wondering what the hell she’s talking about, Elena scurries to the front desk only to find a beautiful bouquet of flowers waiting for her. She sidles past a gaping Amy to admire the vase filled with lilies, yellow roses, blue delphiniums, and purple asters. The combination of colors reminds her of a sunny, spring sky.

She knows without a doubt who sent them, but she checks the card anyway.

My Elena,

I hope these brighten your day. Missing you.

Yours,
D

"You’re so lucky," Amy murmurs as she sneaks a peek at the card over Elena's shoulder. "What's 'D' short for?"

"Damon," Elena answers, rereading his message to her. There's one word she keeps coming back to.

Yours.

Tucking the card in her pocket, she pulls her phone out of her purse. "Excuse me, I have to . . ." she trails off, heading down the hallway for some privacy. Once she's relatively sure Amy isn't eavesdropping, she dials Damon's number.

He answers on the first ring. "Hello, kitten."

"Damon, they're gorgeous. I love them," she gushes. "You didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did. It's your least favorite day of the week, so I figured you could use a little cheering up."

I will not turn into a blubbering idiot. I will not turn into a blubbering idiot. I will not— "They definitely did the trick." Her vision blurs, and she tips her head back, trying to ward off the waterworks. "You're going to make me break my no-crying-at-work rule. Say something funny. Distract me."

He laughs. "It was either send flowers or drive over there and entice you into a little afternoon delight in the backseat of my car."

"Jesus," she whispers, fanning herself now. "I asked you to distract me, not kill me."

"Did it work?"

Her tears have dried up, replaced by a rampant blush. "Uh, yeah."

"Well, there you go."

If her smile were any bigger, it wouldn't fit in the room. "Thank you, truly. Consider my day made."

"Anytime, baby. I hope the rest of it flies by."

"Me, too."

They say their goodbyes, then she hurries to the break room to devour her sandwich and spend the rest of the hour daydreaming about a devastatingly handsome man who’s all hers.

*****

During a rare break in the action that afternoon, Dr. Olly stops by with the new doctor in tow.

“Ladies, may I borrow a moment of your time?” He smiles, emphasizing the deep-set lines around his mouth and eyes. His salt-and-pepper hair gives him a look of distinction, and Elena wonders for the first time if this other doctor coming on board means Dr. Olly is finally thinking about retiring. “I’d like to introduce you to Dr. Wes Maxfield. Dr. Maxfield, meet our wonderful receptionists, Elena Gilbert and Amy Sanders.”

So he’s the reason we’ve been buried under a mountain of paperwork for weeks. Dr. Maxfield appears to be in his early thirties. His sandy blond hair and blue eyes give him a sort of guy-next-door vibe.

He shakes hands with each of them, and while Elena is indifferent to the charm he oozes, Amy is definitely smitten. When he compliments her necklace, she giggles like a high school freshman who’s just been asked out by the captain of the football team.

He focuses on Elena next, studying her until she glances down to make sure she’s not wearing any of her lunch.

“Elena Gilbert?” he asks. “I recognize that name. You wrote a piece for the paper recently, didn’t you? It was about after-school programs for inner-city kids.”

Caught off guard by his knowledge of her other pursuit, she sputters a little. “Uh, yeah. That was me.”

“It was a great read. Your writing style is excellent,” he offers with a smile.

“Thanks.” While the praise is nice, Elena’s never been fond of the spotlight, especially now, when she can practically feel Amy glaring daggers at her.

His gaze drops to the bouquet. “Lovely flowers.”

“They’re from her boyfriend,” Amy seethes.

“Lucky man,” he murmurs, then nods to both of them and follows Dr. Olly as they return to the examination rooms to tackle the remainder of the day’s patients.

The entire exchange leaves Elena wishing the floor would open up beneath her feet and swallow her whole. Just what she needs is a semi-flirty doctor and a green monster for a desk mate.

How fun.

“Is it time to go home yet?” she groans to herself as Amy storms off to the ladies’ room, muttering under her breath about how some women aren’t satisfied with one good guy. They have to steal them all.

*****

“Bourbon, neat."

"Make that two," Alaric requests, sliding onto the stool next to Damon's.

Sammie's is their favorite bar, mostly because they always stock the best high-end liquor.

"You got it!" the bartender (Sammie herself) says brightly. "I haven't seen you two in a while. I was afraid y'all broke up."

And because the owner thinks Damon and Alaric are a couple, a misperception neither of them has bothered to correct. Damon's pretty sure it all started when Ric got sloppy drunk one night and kissed him on the cheek.

Sammie delivers their drinks, and Damon samples his first, sighing in satisfaction as the expensive alcohol burns its way down his throat. "Perfect. Thank you, darlin'." He winks at her and she smiles back, hurrying off to fill another drink request.

Ric takes a healthy swallow of his own then leans in, keeping his voice low. "So, you said you heard from Frederick.”

“I did, but the news isn’t good.”

“Tell me.”

Damon drags over a dish of peanuts and takes a handful, popping a couple into his mouth at a time. “He managed to find an in, but the guy told him the auction had already passed.”

“Shit,” Ric mutters, downing more of his drink. “Will there be another one?”

“I sure as hell hope not, but if there is, it probably won’t happen right away. Frederick’s source said they like to space them out in order to keep flying under the radar.”

“Typical.” Ric steals a few nuts, chewing thoughtfully. “I don’t know, man. I don’t think this is over.”

Damon nods in agreement. “Much as I hate to admit it, chances are you’re right.”

“I’ll pass along the latest to the guys at the precinct and tell them to keep an eye out for any other suspicious disappearances that fit the pattern.”

“Thanks.” He watches as Ric digs into the bowl again. “Why don’t you get a burger instead of acting like a squirrel preparing for winter?”

“I like peanuts. Don’t judge me.”

Damon chuckles as he shifts closer so he can whisper in Alaric’s ear. “Careful, buddy. ‘Peanuts’ sounds a lot like something else.”

As if on cue, Sammie reappears, sporting a huge grin. “Oh! Don’t let me interrupt.”

“No, it’s alright. He’s too shy for PDA. Unless he’s drunk,” Damon adds.

Alaric waits until Sammie gets called away by another customer before shooting Damon a look. “Thanks, asshole.”

“Someone has to keep you on your toes.”

“You don’t have to make it a full-time job.” He laughs and shakes his head as if something just occurred to him. "Better make sure you never come here with Elena. Sammie will be heartbroken."

“Very true.” Damon finishes his drink and considers ordering a burger himself. Lunch was—he checks his watch—a loooong time ago. “So, how’d your date go the other night? Did you two hit it off?”

“Not even close,” Ric mutters. “Maybe you should teach me how to wield a whip. Then the women would be falling at my feet. Literally.”

Damon claps his friend on the shoulder. “You don’t need the whip. She’s out there; you just have to keep searching.”

“Says the man who’s happily dating someone.”

“Don’t give up. I almost did, then look what happened.”

“Yeah, but that’s because you’re”—Ric gestures vaguely toward Damon—“you.”

“No, it isn’t. Trust me.”

“If you say so.”

He isn’t feeding Ric some bullshit just to make him feel better. In the aftermath of Charlotte’s stinging rejection, Damon had all but passed on the idea of a steady relationship. It was casual sex or bust.

Then Elena came into his life.

If only Alaric could find his match. The guy definitely deserves some happiness, he muses.

*****

Elena opens a new Word doc and starts typing. She’s three paragraphs into the draft of her next article when Caroline storms into the room, a determined look on her face.

Uh-oh. This should be good.

She hurries to finish her sentence before her best friend breaks her train of thought. “Hey, Care. What’s up?”

“When’s the last time we had a girls’ night out?” she demands.

“Um, a while ago.”

“We are seriously overdue.”

Instead of flopping on the bed next to Elena like she usually does, Caroline paces as if she’s trying to figure out the logistics of an important, covert operation.

“What did you have in mind?” Elena asks.

“How about shopping? There’s a new naughty lingerie store in the mall I’m dying to check out.”

“What a coincidence. My new piece is about the perils of being a shopaholic. I could interview you,” she suggests. “Don’t worry; I’ll change your name to protect the not-so-innocent.”

“Hey!” Care shoots back. “I’m not the only one who enjoys retail therapy.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never maxed out a credit card doing it.”

Caroline sighs and shrugs. “You got me there. So, what do you say? Friday? You could pick out something special to wear for Daaaamooooon,” she sings, dancing around the room and shimmying her hips.

“That’s not a bad idea. Speaking of Damon, he’s having some painting done at the club that night, but he invited me over to play at his place instead. He’s expecting me at nine, so we can’t stay out too long.”

Care stops twirling one of Elena’s bras over her head and hangs it on the back of the desk chair. “No problem. We can leave right after work.”

“Okay,” Elena agrees. “It’s a date.”

“Yay!” Caroline busts a few more moves, which means she’s been watching Step Up again, and heads for the door.

Elena calls to her, interrupting her performance. “Before you disappear, can I ask about this play party Nik’s hosting?”

“Of course. What do you want to know?”

Soooo many things. “Are they formal or more laidback?” is the first question that pops into her head.

“Depends. Nik’s tend to be on the classy side, so suits and dresses for the Dom/mes and fancy fetish wear for the subs,” Caroline explains.

“And what exactly happens at a play party?”

“There’s a dinner, lots of socializing, and plenty of activities.”

"What kind of activities?"

"A bunch of different things. At the last one I went to, there was a competition to see which sub could get their Dom/me off the quickest. Using only their mouth, of course," Care adds with a devilish grin. "There've been rope bondage challenges, which Damon usually wins. Sometimes they have a contest geared toward pain-loving subs to see how many lashes of the whip they can take without making a sound. Stefan's great at those."

“Wow,” Elena breathes, her mind spinning as she digests this new information. “Is it all group stuff, or is there private play, too?”

“There’s a mixture of both. Everyone hangs out together for a while, then people usually split off to have their own fun in the guest rooms or the dungeon.” Caroline pats her friend on the shoulder. “Nervous?”

“Um, a little. I’ve never scened in front of others before.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’m sure Damon will go easy on you,” she reassures her.

“Yeah.” The party is still more than a week away, after all. She has plenty of time to prepare.

“So, we’re on for Friday?”

Elena nods, a small smile creeping onto her face. “Friday it is.”

*****

When the clock hits five, Elena shuts down her computer, grabs her coat, tosses a “have a great weekend” at Amy—who grunts something vague in response—and runs out the door.

There are always hellish days, but she hasn’t had one quite this spectacularly awful in a while. Amy made a habit out of shooting Elena dirty looks, which only got nastier when Dr. Maxfield stopped by. He chatted with Amy, too, but apparently their conversation was a few seconds shorter than the one he had with Elena.

Elena even tried telling her again that she was just being friendly and had no romantic interest—at all—in the man, but she might as well have been talking to the wall.

After that debacle, Amy spent the rest of the day either ignoring her or blaming her for every little thing that went wrong.

Ugh.

Bursting into the apartment, Elena hurries to change her clothes, run a brush through her hair, and reapply her makeup before Caroline gets home. She also throws a couple things into an overnight bag while she’s waiting since Care agreed to drop her off at Damon’s after they’re done.

She’s deciding which pair of PJs to pack when Caroline appears in her bedroom doorway, all smiles and bright eyes.

“Ready?”

“I think so.”

“Let’s go!”

“Hold on. Which one is better?” She holds up her two choices. “Shorts and a cami, or the teddy you bought me last summer as an incentive to start dating again?”

Caroline giggles. “It’s adorable that you think you’re going to be wearing anything to bed. Even if you did, he’d tear it off you in five seconds.”

“Y’know, you might have something there.”

Elena manages to grab her bag before Caroline latches onto her arm and hauls her out of the room.

“You. Me. Mall. Now.”

“But—”

“We’re wasting time. C’mon.”

Deciding it’s useless to argue with her determined friend, Elena gives in and lets herself be ushered out the door.

*****

Holy . . . shit.

Elena is surrounded by more lingerie than she’s ever seen in her life. The racks are dripping with lace, satin, and silk in every color and style imaginable. She runs her hands over a midnight blue baby doll nightgown, complete with matching thong, and wonders how she’ll ever get out of here without emptying her entire bank account.

They even have a kinky section with crotchless panties, leather bustiers, and various see-through items. Caroline made a beeline for it the moment they entered the store, and going by the squeals of delight filling the air, she’s hit the clothing jackpot.

Aiming for something a bit more romantic, Elena sticks to the main displays, adding a few pieces to her basket that she hopes Damon will like. She splurges and picks out new undies and bras, happy she has a reason to get a little sexier with her undergarments these days.

Pleased with her selections, she heads to the checkout counter. While she rummages around in her purse looking for her wallet, she realizes her phone is missing. She’s about to go into panic mode when she remembers her bag tipping over in Caroline’s car. A bunch of stuff fell out and she thought she found it all, but apparently not.

Making a mental note to keep an eye on the time, she searches for her bestie, who emerges from the sea of racks a couple minutes later with a basket full of sinfully seductive items.

Elena’s gaze lands on a bra and panty set, and she takes them out to get a better look. The undies have a big slit in the front and the cups of the bra are the kind that peel off and reattach with tiny snaps.

“What’s the point?” she murmurs. “Just go commando.”

“It’s lingerie that doesn’t get in the way of . . . things. Maybe I’ll buy you a set for your birthday and you can wear them when you go out to dinner with Damon. See what happens then,” Caroline teases, waggling her brows.

She pays for her purchases, then they visit Bath & Body Works and Sephora before making their way to the food court for a treat. Each armed with a dish of frozen yogurt, they find a table and engage in their favorite mall pastime: people watching.

They’re busy laughing at a group of teenagers having a gummy bear eating contest when Elena looks up and catches sight of the clock on the wall. 9:02 pm. Her heart seems to stop for a moment before resuming at a pounding pace. Still, maybe there's a chance it's wrong.

"Um, Care?"

"Yeah?" Caroline's pawing through one of her bags of goodies, oblivious to Elena's mounting anxiety.

"What time does your phone say?"

She fishes it out of her purse and smiles at whatever she sees on the screen. "Nik sent me a text. Wait till he sees what I bought.” She pauses, her grin fading. “Refresh my memory on when you’re supposed to be at Damon’s."

"Nine," Elena whispers.

“It’s 9:02." Caroline's voice rises with each word, and she turns wide eyes on Elena.

"Fuck!" they shout in perfect unison and take off in a race for the door. By some miracle, they manage not to steamroll anyone on the way out.

When they reach the car, they toss everything in the trunk, then Caroline's driving like she's on the last lap of the Indy 500.

"Slow down, Care. If anything happens to you, Nik will kill me, and I already have to deal with one Dom."

"I'm so sorry, Elena. I should've been paying attention to the time,” Caroline frets.

"It's not your fault. Don't worry about it." Judging by the giant pit of dread formerly known as her stomach, Elena’s worrying about it enough for the both of them.

As Caroline eases her foot off the gas and the car slows to a more reasonable speed, Elena searches for her phone. Her first sweep comes up empty, and that’s when she realizes it must’ve slid under the seat. After embracing her inner contortionist and clunking her head on the dash more than once, she finally locates it.

She checks the screen just as Caroline pulls to a stop in Damon’s driveway. There's a missed call and a text from him which simply reads, Did something happen?

“Damn,” she whispers. “I’m in so much trouble. I think we’ll save the lingerie for another night. Can you just toss my stuff in my room when you get back?”

Her best friend nods and offers her a sympathetic look. "Call me tomorrow, or whenever he finally unties you."

Caroline leans over and gives her a hug, then Elena's out of the car, clutching her overnight bag in one hand and staring at the front door. She takes a deep breath, trying to imagine the impending confrontation with the man likely waiting just beyond the threshold.

Damon is a fair, protective, and attentive Dom. She hopes he's also a merciful one.

*****

Elena's hand trembles when she raises it and knocks gingerly on the solid oak. She's greeted by silence, and for one wild moment, she wonders if he left or was needed at the club. Maybe something came up for him, too, and I won't be in deep shit after all. She starts to feel a little lighter, a smidge calmer, then Damon's voice drifts through the thick wood, shattering the illusion.

"Come in."

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. She grips the handle and turns it, easing the door open an inch at a time. It's dark inside the house, the only light coming from a few stray candles. The atmosphere gives her the distinct impression that she's stepping into the lion's den.

She doesn't spot Damon right away, but when she closes the door, she discovers him sitting at the bottom of the stairs. One elbow is propped up on his knee, his chin resting on his fist. His other hand taps out a staccato rhythm on the banister.

She jumps, dropping her bag on the floor. "You scared me."

He says nothing, just continues to watch her with an unreadable expression. It might be annoyance, it might be indifference. She can't quite tell.

"Did you get into an accident?" he asks after letting her squirm for a few minutes. His tone is straightforward, neutral.

"No. I—"

He holds up a hand, halting her explanation. "'Yes' or 'no' answers only. Traffic jam?"

"No."

"Car trouble?"

"No."

"Battery die on your phone?"

"No."

"Battery die on Caroline's phone?"

"No."

"Were you out in the wilderness with no access to any of the various means of modern communication?" The tapping of his fingers is faster now, his irritation no longer hidden.

Elena shakes her head, wishing for invisibility, a spontaneous sinkhole, anything to hide her from Damon's scrutiny. "I'm sorry," she whispers. She knows she's ignoring his order not to speak, but the need to apologize is overwhelming.

He stands in one fluid motion and stalks over to her. Once they're toe to toe, he reaches out and combs his fingers through her long locks once, twice, and it's such a gentle gesture—completely at odds with his current mood—that it throws Elena off her guard. His hand leaves her hair and grips her chin, tipping her head back until she's looking at him. She can read the emotions in the depths of his eyes even in the near darkness—fear, concern, anger, relief, disappointment.

"Hmm.” A shiver races from the top of her spine to the soles of her feet. He seems satisfied with her reaction and releases her. "Go to my office and wait for me there."

"Master, ple—"

"Not another word, Elena," he snaps. "Go."

*****

The last time Elena remembers climbing a set of stairs this quickly, she was in high school doing some state-mandated physical fitness test while her gym teacher barked at her to pick up the pace. Faster, Gilbert!

His voice spurs her on now, and she takes them two at a time. She reaches the top and dashes around the corner, heading in the direction of the office. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears, and it speeds up even more when she hears Damon's boots on the stairs.

She skids to a halt inside the doorway, then slowly approaches his desk and stands beside it, head bowed and hands knotted in front of her. With no idea what he has planned as her punishment, she’s not really sure what to do, but this seems like the best option at the moment—short of dropping to her knees and begging for his forgiveness the second he walks into the room.

He appears a minute later but doesn’t join her. “Strip,” he instructs, “then assume the proper position I taught you and don’t move until I return.”

“Yes, Master,” she murmurs.

He leaves her to it, and she hears him move down the hall toward his bedroom. She hurries to obey his orders, shedding her clothes and stacking them in a neat pile on the floor. Then she kneels, clasps her hands behind her back, spreads her legs wide, drops her gaze, and adjusts her posture so her breasts are prominently displayed.

And waits.

*****

The ticking of the clock on the wall is starting to drive her insane when Damon finally reappears after what feels like an hour but is probably only a quarter of that. He slowly approaches until she can just see the tip of his boots.

"Look at me." His voice is calm, quiet; his tone firm.

She does, her eyes searching his for a hint of what he might be thinking. The anger she'd glimpsed there earlier seems to be gone now, but he's far from happy, that much she can easily tell.

"Please let me explain," she whispers, sighing in relief when he nods his assent. "I dropped my phone in Caroline's car before we went in the mall. After I realized I didn't have it, I tried to stay aware of the time, but it . . . got away from me. I'm so sorry. Are you mad at me?"

"No. Disappointed, yes, but I would never punish you while I was angry."

She's grateful for Damon's levelheadedness, but she's a little leery of what this punishment might entail. The current situation is worse than the time she let her sassiness get the best of her. Will he spank her again? Paddle her? Flog her?

While she chews on the possibilities, Damon steps around her, and she notices the duffel bag he has slung over his shoulder.

That can't be good.

"Come here," he calls to her, and she stands and moves to join him. She watches as he rearranges the large pillow she used during her last visit until it's next to his office chair. He unzips the duffel bag and takes out her collar and cuffs. Once those are in place and he's clipped her wrists together behind her back, he pulls a series of leather straps from the bag.

Knowing better than to ask him what those are for, she stands absolutely still as he loops the first one around her upper body, just below her collarbone. He tightens and secures it, then repeats the process with a second beneath her breasts and a third around her waist. When he's finished, she can move her hands, but her arms are completely immobilized.

“Kneel on the pillow,” he directs her, tapping the center of it with his foot. She lowers herself onto the spot he indicated, then he eases her onto her side so she’s not lying on her bound arms.

The next object in his bag of tricks is something vaguely resembling an egg, only slimmer. Longer, too. He rolls it between his palms while he studies her.

“Do you know why I’m punishing you?”

“Because I was late and didn’t let you know what was going on,” she softly answers.

“That’s part of it, but there’s more. Not knowing if you were okay made me feel helpless. Frustrated. My mind went into worst-case-scenario mode. All I could think about were the recent kidnappings, and I started to panic.” He takes a deep breath and scrubs a hand over his face. “What if they’d somehow gotten to you? Taken you? The idea alone is unbearable.” He produces a small tube of something from his pocket and crouches beside her. “I’ve decided your punishment will reflect that helplessness and frustration.”

Oh, god. She hadn’t even considered the missing subs. Feeling like a complete asshole for making him worry, she wishes her arms were free so she could throw them around him and reassure him she won’t make the same mistake twice. “I’m sorry,” she repeats lamely. “It won’t happen again. I accept the punishment, whatever it is.”

He nods, squeezing some of the contents of the tube onto his fingers and using it to coat the egg thing. Lube, she realizes. “Spread your legs for me. You can rest one on my shoulder if you need to,” he says, acknowledging the awkwardness of her position.

She does as requested, and he works two fingers into her before withdrawing and replacing them with the egg, which she’s guessing is a vibrator.

Grabbing more straps from the duffel, he places them around her thighs, knees, and ankles, ensuring her legs are secured together and there’s no way to dislodge the vibe. The last item he holds up is a black ball gag.

“Before I put this on you, I’ll explain the rules. The vibrator is set on random—it’ll kick on and off, and the speed will vary. I have some work to do for the next hour which requires my full concentration, so I expect you to be quiet. Any noise that’s too loud earns you another five minutes. Understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

She obediently opens her mouth, allowing him to insert the gag and buckle it into place. His hand drifts to her breast, and he rolls her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a quick pinch. She jerks against the restraints and swallows a groan.

“I’d warn you not to come, but I don’t think that’ll be an issue,” he says as he rises and settles himself in the chair. He fires up his laptop and checks his watch. “Your time starts . . . now.”

*****

Vibrators are the devil’s handiwork, Elena thinks to herself. Or at least this one is. She’s pretty sure it’s labeled with the phrase “Manufactured in Hell.”

The first couple of times it turned on, it was gentle. Nice. Easy to ignore.

The next few after that? Not so much. She's beginning to understand why Damon isn’t concerned about the possibility of her coming.

As if the damn thing can read her mind, it springs to life again, feeling like a jackhammer has taken up residence inside her. She attempts to focus on something else—the pictures hanging on the walls, the moon she can just see a sliver of through a gap in the curtains, the ravelin hanging off Damon's sweater—but her body has other ideas. Even though she tries to reason with it, convince it that it's being played, it won't listen.

Her clit is definitely on board, and if she shifts the wrong way, the vibe rubs against her G-spot. As much as she fights it, the familiar sensations start building in her lower belly. She desperately wants to come, but she's afraid of the repercussions. An orgasm would probably get her in even more trouble.

The vibrator makes the decision for her when it stops abruptly, leaving her high and . . . well, not so dry. She groans, shifting restlessly on the pillow, wishing she could rub her thighs together—anything for some relief.

Damon glances at her, the way he has been since the punishment began—checking on her, she assumes. "I heard that," he murmurs. "Five more minutes."

Fuck. The urge to make a fuss is strong, but she reins it in, positive he won't let anything slip and she'll be tortured with the vibe for the rest of the night.

At least she only has twenty . . . er, twenty-five minutes left to endure. Totally doable.

Right?

*****

The alarm on Damon's watch beeps, and Elena heaves a sigh of relief. It's an exhausted sigh, brought on by the last sixty-five minutes of being aroused beyond belief one second and left wanting the next. Her skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and the muscles in her pelvis and inner thighs continually spasm. There’s no doubt the punishment was effective: she’s never felt more helpless, and she’s absolutely certain it’s not humanly possible to be more frustrated than she is now.

Thankfully, Damon doesn't let her linger in that state for long. He shuts his laptop and kneels beside her, quickly undoing the series of straps. The vibrator is the next to go, and she couldn’t be happier to get rid of the thing. Evil device.

All of her twisting and rolling has left her hair hanging in her face, and he pauses to brush the damp strands out of the way. He scoops her into his arms without removing her cuffs, collar, or gag, and carries her down the hall to his bedroom.

After arranging her in the center of the bed with her wrists chained to the headboard, he strips off his sweater and jeans. His cock is hard, and it bobs against his lower belly as he saunters over to get a condom out of the nightstand. Before slipping it on, he gives his dick a couple slow strokes, his eyes locked on Elena’s.

He climbs up on the mattress, settling himself between her spread thighs. “Now you’re going to help me alleviate my frustration, pet. I haven’t made up my mind yet about whether or not to ease yours,” he adds, rubbing the tip of his cock against her clit until she squirms.

Please let me come soon, she silently begs. A long moan is wrenched from her throat when he stops teasing and surges forward, filling her to the hilt. Before she has a chance to savor the feel of him buried deep inside her, he retreats. It’s only a temporary delay, then his hips are working against hers at a furious pace, their bodies slapping together with every thrust.

Elena writhes underneath him, her mewls of pleasure mixing with his harsh exhales. His mouth drops to her throat, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts, and he nips her heated skin. When his teeth close around her nipple and tug on it, she arches off the bed, a muffled cry escaping past the gag.

So close. So fucking close. She lets her eyes drift shut, preparing for the bliss that’s about to consume her.

“No.” Damon slaps her inner thigh hard enough to get her attention and break her concentration on the orgasm that’s creeping closer by the second. “You are not to come until I allow it. If you do so without my permission, you won’t have another orgasm for a month. Am I clear?” he growls. “Nod your head if you understand.”

She nods and bites down on the ball in her mouth. She needs to focus on something, anything other than her sensitive clit, which throbs in time with Damon’s thrusts. He doesn’t make it any easier on her as he grips her hips and pounds into her with abandon.

The phrase “mind over matter” pops into her head. She can do this. She won’t disappoint him again. Thinking of the longest words she knows, she spells them out. Does it again in reverse. m-s-i-n-a-i-r-a-t-n-e-m-h-s-i-l-b-a-t-s-e-s-i-d-i-t-n-A.

It works for another few minutes, and Damon smiles in approval. “Good girl. I’m impressed.” His thumb settles on her clit, and she loses track of all words, long and short. “I think it's safe to say you’ve learned your lesson.” He strums her nub with each powerful thrust, pushing her closer to the edge again. Dangerously close. “Come for me. Now,” he demands.

Her release slams into her, and Elena screams into the gag. She clamps down on his cock, sending him spiraling into ecstasy with her.

“Holy fuck, Elena!” he shouts, fingers digging into her hips as he thrusts into her one last time, then his body blankets hers, slick skin on slick skin. He nuzzles her belly and the underside of her breasts, and she’s only distantly aware of him reaching up to unbuckle the gag and remove it. Her jaw is a little sore, but his touch is soothing as he massages away the discomfort.

He releases her wrists next, then her cuffs and collar disappear, leaving her feeling oddly bereft without them. When he pulls out, she moans at the loss. He cups her sex and feathers his thumb over her clit, but she whimpers and presses her thighs together to fend off his gentle probing. Even the lightest stroke is too much for her oversensitive nub. Damon nods in understanding and withdraws his hand.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, kissing her forehead and leaving the bed. As Elena gives in to the exhaustion pulling at her and closes her drooping lids, she hears the squeak of the bathtub faucet and the sound of running water.

*****

Damon pours some of the vanilla bubble bath he bought for Elena into the water and watches as mini mountains of suds start to form. They'll both smell like baked goods when they get out, but he doesn't care.

Returning to the bedroom, he finds her exactly as he left her—eyes shut, fingers curled in the duvet. The little puffs of breath leaving her parted lips tell him she's started to doze. He hates to wake her, but the bath will relieve her tired, achy muscles.

Gathering her limp form off the bed, he carries her to the bathroom and steps into the tub, sinking down in the warm, sudsy water with her still held securely in his embrace. She stirs, moaning softly. "Just relax," he soothes, grabbing a clip and pinning her hair up in a messy twist. "I'll take care of the rest."

"Okay," she whispers, resting her head on his shoulder.

He soaps up a washcloth and runs it over her arms, chest, and stomach, paying particular attention to her breasts. Her nipples tighten in response, and he caresses the firm peaks, earning him a sigh of pleasure from Elena. He gently washes between her legs, then works his way from her thighs to her toes. By the time he finishes, the water has started to cool, so he quickly cleans himself off and helps her out of the tub.

After wrapping her in a fluffy towel, he rubs her down, making sure to get every last droplet clinging to her skin. She shivers when he catches a couple stray beads of water with his tongue. He frees her hair from the clip and carefully combs it, letting the long strands slide through his fingers.

Once he’s finished, he carries her back to bed and crawls under the silk sheets with her. She snuggles close, her fingers idly playing with the damp curls at his nape. “I really am sorry about tonight,” she murmurs. “I hate that I disappointed you.” She gazes at him with those big, brown eyes, and he detects a hint of sadness there.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing, baby. The punishment’s over. Done. In the past,” he stresses. “I’m not going to hold it over your head.”

She chews on her bottom lip, looking uncertain. Something’s still bothering her. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

His arms tighten around her and he hugs her to him. “Not gonna lie, I was five seconds away from getting in the car and driving to the mall to make sure you were okay.” She ducks her head, but he nudges her chin up again. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re safe and sound and here with me. That’s the important thing.”

Elena smiles a little then tries to stifle a yawn, the fatigue brought on by her ordeal catching up to her once more.

“Get some rest, ‘Lena.” His lips find hers, kissing her tenderly but thoroughly until she relaxes against him, the remnants of her unease melting away. She buries her face in her favorite spot—the crook of his neck—and he listens to her breathing, slow and deep, as she falls asleep.

He studies the beautiful woman wrapped in his arms, grateful beyond belief that nothing happened to her today. The thought of her being harmed is enough to send him into a tailspin, the protective Dom in him ready to snarl at anyone who comes too close. Even though they haven’t known each other very long, the essence of who Elena is calls to him, to the part of him no one’s reached yet, and that feeling only intensifies with every minute they spend together.

It’s invigorating, intoxicating, and he can’t wait to see where the road ahead leads them.

Chapter Text

As Elena stares into the bathroom mirror and combs her fingers through her hair, she wishes Caroline were around to fill the air with her colorful commentary on everything from which shoes to wear to the state of the national economy. She can always count on her friend's chatter to soothe the part of her brain that likes to fret about every little thing—the part that’s currently driving her bonkers.

Satisfied that she caught all the damp spots, she rolls up the cord on the hair dryer and sticks it back in the closet. She's not worried about what Damon will require of her at the party; she trusts him to know how much she can handle. It's the fact that she's the newbie of the group, the only sub who hasn't been to a play party before and has a fraction of the experience the others do.

Squaring her shoulders, she levels her gaze at her reflection. "No mistakes," she coaches herself. "Dumb or otherwise."

There's a knock on the apartment door, and Elena tucks her towel tighter around her on the off-chance it's someone other than Damon. "Be right there," she calls as she hurries to answer it.

After fighting with the persnickety lock, she flings open the door to reveal Damon, who's dressed to devastate in a sleek, black suit with a matching tie. "Hi," she murmurs, clutching the doorframe for support.

"Hi, yourself." The corner of his mouth quirks as he notices what she's wearing. "Nice towel."

"Thanks. Picked it out myself." She hikes up the bottom of it like it's the voluminous skirt on a Victorian gown and curtsies.

"I definitely approve." He tips up her chin and leans in for a kiss, his lips soft and warm against hers. It ends way too soon, but she remembers they’re due at Nik’s in an hour, so she tries to keep the pouting to a minimum and steps back so he can enter.

He has a bag under his arm, and she peers at it, her curiosity piqued. He notices and holds it up so she can get a better look, but the name of the store isn’t familiar to her. “As much as I love your outfit, I don’t think it’s going to pass muster at the party. This will though.” He pulls a handful of leather and lace out of the bag. She reaches for it, but he shakes his head. “You’ll need help. There’s a zipper in the back.”

He catches her hand in his and leads her down the hall to the bathroom. Once there, he tugs on the towel, loosening it until it falls to the floor.

“Mmm. Too bad we have to leave shortly. Otherwise . . .” He winks, mercifully leaving the thought unfinished.

He unfolds the first piece, which appears to be a dress. She slips her arms into it, then he adjusts it around her body and brushes her hair over her shoulder so he can fasten it in the back. While he deals with the zipper, she checks it out in the mirror. There are leather panels in the front and back resembling a bustier with a split between her breasts that’s loosely laced. The rest of it, from the straps to the short, unevenly cut skirt, is patterned lace. Speaking of the skirt . . .

“It’s beautiful,” she comments, swaying her hips until the material flutters around them. “And breezy.”

Damon chuckles, plucking the other scrap of fabric off the counter. He bends, lifting one of her feet then the other as he slides a pair of skimpy undies up her legs.

“This is different. You’re usually taking things in the other direction.” She smiles, but it falters as her nerves flare up again, and she fidgets with the tiny diamond studs in her ears, a gift from Jenna last Christmas.

“That’ll come later,” he promises, pausing when he sees her expression. “You’re thinking too much again.”

She fluffs her hair and leans closer to the mirror to do a last-minute makeup check. “I’m fine.”

He turns her to face him. “No, you’re not.” His thumb strokes her cheek, and she leans into the gentle touch. “You’re forgetting that reading you is one of my specialties, kitten. I can see the worry. Plus, you’ve been mauling your bottom lip for the last five minutes. Let up on it,” he murmurs, soothing her mouth with his.

When he pulls back, she takes a deep breath, gathering her resolve. “I can do this,” she whispers.

“That’s my girl.” His praise is another confidence booster, and she grins at him. “Ready?” he asks.

“Ready.”

*****

When they arrive, they’re greeted by their host, who’s looking dapper as ever in a dark gray suit. He takes her coat and shoes, which Damon had already warned her about during the drive over. Footwear isn’t a necessity this evening, at least as far as the subs are concerned.

Nik shakes hands with Damon then gives Elena a visual onceover. “Stunning, love,” he compliments her.

“Thank you, Master Nik.” She scans the room, spotting Caroline—who's chatting with Elijah and Rose—Katherine and Stefan, Trent and Jack, Pearl and Rebekah, and a few other couples she recognizes from the club but doesn’t know by name.

“Feel free to help yourselves to the hors d’oeuvres while we wait for the rest of the guests to arrive,” Nik offers as he ushers them into the main room. “Then the fun will truly begin.”

She patiently waits as Damon slips her collar and cuffs on her, then they join the others to mingle and sample the delicious food. Damon introduces her to the people she’s never met, and they’re in the middle of catching up with Jack and Trent when Nik calls for the group’s attention.

“Welcome, everyone, and thank you for coming. Now that we’re all here, I’d like to start things off with a game that will put our submissives’ senses—and their ingenuity—to the test. If the Masters and Mistresses would gather beside me, I’ll explain the rules.”

She glances at Damon, and he smiles. “You’ll do fine,” he reassures her, squeezing her hand.

Elena attempts to smile back, but it feels a little wobbly and unconvincing. While Damon saunters off, Caroline appears and hooks her arm through Elena’s, leading her toward the other subs. “Relax,” she whispers. “You look like you’re going to toss your cookies.”

“I might,” she mutters, rubbing her belly.

Once the two groups are separated, Nik addresses the gathering of subs. “You’re all familiar with your Master or Mistress’s touch, and you have the feel of his or her body committed to memory, I’m sure.” He pauses, an impish grin emphasizing his dimples. “But what if you didn’t have the use of your hands? Or your sight?”

“Sounds ominous,” Elena whispers, exchanging a dubious look with Caroline.

“Your task in this particular challenge is to correctly identify your Dominant from a lineup while blindfolded and with your hands cuffed behind your back. Once you feel you’ve located the correct person, you’ll kneel in front of him or her. If you succeed, you’ll be rewarded. If not . . .” he trails off, clearly insinuating what will happen to anyone who fails. “Be clever, and use your remaining senses to your advantage. Good luck to all!”

Someone nudges Elena’s elbow, and she glances over to find Stefan standing beside her. “Don’t worry. It’s not possible to mess up worse than I did the first time I tried this.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “What happened?”

“I ended up kneeling in front of Elijah,” he grumbles.

Quiet laughter breaks out among some of the other subs, and Jack smacks Stefan on the arm. “That was hilarious, man.”

“Glad you enjoyed it. Unfortunately, Mistress didn’t think it was funny. I couldn’t sit for days.” He winces and rubs his backside as he recalls the painful memory.

Elena offers a grimace of sympathy, then the chatter dies out as Frederick approaches and, one by one, carefully slips a blindfold over each sub’s eyes and clips their cuffs together. Elena’s gaze fleetingly connects with Damon’s before everything goes dark and she’s left alone with her thoughts, which are a jumble of how-the-hell-do-I-do-this.

As she waits for her turn, she listens closely, trying to gauge the others’ progress. Stefan is the second one to go, and after an agonizing string of minutes, Katherine’s delighted clapping fills the air. Relief for Stefan quickly becomes anxiousness for Caroline as her best friend is chosen next. She crosses her fingers for luck and holds her breath.

When Nik’s “Well done, love!” breaks the silence, Elena releases the air trapped in her lungs, happy that Care succeeded. Before she has a chance to relax, however, a hand settles on her arm.

“Your turn, little one.” Frederick leads her forward until she’s where she needs to be. “I’ve chosen a random position for you in front of the line. You may move to your right or left.”

He releases her, and she stands still for a moment, trying to get her bearings. She has the sense she’s quite close to someone, and when she sticks her foot out to see how much room she has to work with, it connects with a shoe. She stumbles a little, but a hand reaches out to steady her. A gloved hand.

Interesting. So even if one of them touches her, it won’t be obvious who it is.

The person’s hand is on the small side, so she takes that to mean she’s in front of either Pearl or Katherine. The tip of the shoe was extra pointy, too—a stiletto? That’s it! Inspiration strikes, and Elena edges to the left, using her bare feet to her advantage. She encounters the rounded toe of a boot next. Visualizing Damon’s dress shoes, she inches along, testing the footwear in her path. When she locates a pair with squarish tips and minimal stitching, she pauses.

Leaning in, she samples the scents around her. She catches a whiff of cologne, but it’s not his. She keeps going past a pair of strappy something-or-others—probably Katherine’s—until she comes to another set of shoes that might be a match. This time, she detects a hint of woodsy-smelling soap and leather, like the Camaro's seats and the jacket he loves to wear.

Praying she gets it right, she gingerly drops to her knees and waits. After a few seconds, a gloved finger skims the underside of her chin, tipping her head back. The blindfold is loosened and removed, but she squeezes her eyes shut, afraid to even peek.

“Look at me, kitten.”

Damon’s voice.

She cautiously opens one lid to find him peering at her with a huge grin on his face. He chuckles at her antics and tugs her up and into his arms while applause breaks out around them.

“You did it, just like I knew you would.” His mouth covers hers, and he kisses her until she can’t think straight. Or at all. “You’re going to enjoy your reward,” he promises when their lips finally part. “I’m sure of it.”

Yes, please . . .

*****

After dinner, Nik clinks a spoon against his glass, once again requesting the group’s attention.

“Most of you know that I consider you lot my family, regardless of whether or not we’re actually related.” He winks at Rebekah and Elijah, who smile in return. “That's why it gives me the utmost pleasure to have you all gathered here for a very special announcement. Caroline, would you join me?" He holds out his hand to her, and she takes it, a curious smile blooming on her face. "You fell into my life, quite literally, the very first time you went to Midnight. You were all nervous excitement, too busy looking around to notice where you were going, when you tripped and landed—gracefully, I might add—in my lap. I haven't been the same since that day, and I never want that feeling to change. You’re my Muse, my love, my beautiful submissive, and you’d make me the happiest man if you would accept my collar and be mine for however long we're lucky enough to be together in this world."

Elena gasps, a hand flying to her mouth and the other gripping Damon's sleeve. Tears blur her vision as she watches Caroline fling herself into Nik's arms.

"Yes, of course!" she cries, hugging him tight.

He laughs, holding onto her as she peppers him with kisses. "I'm not done, love. I have one more question for you."

"Oh, my god," Elena whispers. "He's going to ask her to . . ." she trails off, her gaze darting to Damon, who nods and smiles. "You know?"

"I had a pretty strong suspicion."

Damon's hunch is confirmed when Nik drops to one knee and produces a little velvet box from his pocket, still holding Caroline's now-trembling hand. "Caroline Forbes, would you also do me the incredible honor of being my wife?"

She's barely able to squeak out a "Yes!" and let him slide the ring onto her finger before the tears—and the cheers—start in earnest. Elena tries to clap and wipe her eyes at the same time, which is not the easiest thing to do. Damon offers her his handkerchief, and she dabs at the steady stream, grateful she went light on the makeup.

"Damon," Nik calls over the ruckus. "How do you feel about another collaring ceremony at the club?"

"All for it, my friend!" Damon hollers back, raising his glass to the newly engaged couple.

Elena twists around in his lap and leans in so she can be heard over the ongoing flurry of congratulations. "Can I go see them for a minute?"

"Of course, baby." He kisses her cheek then she's off, darting across the room and into Caroline's waiting arms.

"I'm so happy for you!" They half hug, half attack each other, tears and laughter mixing together until neither one can understand what the other is saying.

Caroline finally drags in a shuddering breath and clears her throat. "So, you'll be my maid of honor, right?" she asks, as if they hadn't already made this promise years ago.

Still, Elena can't resist teasing her a smidge. "I don't know. It's a lot of work, and you're so demanding . . ." She almost loses it at the last part, only barely managing not to burst into a fit of giggles.

"Meanie." Caroline puts on her best pout until Elena can't stand it anymore.

"It's so easy to get you going," Elena says, shaking her head. "I would love to be your maid of honor."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Care chants, twirling her around until they're both dizzy.

Nik joins them just in time to catch Caroline before she trips over her own feet and lands in a heap. "Ah, just like the day we met," he chuckles. "She's very good at reenactments, even unintentional ones."

Once he steadies her, Elena leans in for a better look at the ring. "Perfect. Now you can hold her still so I can see," she adds with a wink.

"My pleasure."

The heart-shaped diamond he chose is stunning. Elena tilts Caroline's hand, admiring the way it sparkles. "It's gorgeous. Congratulations, both of you. You deserve a lifetime of happiness."

She hugs Nik and her bestie—again—thrilled beyond belief that they found each other. Without them, she wouldn't have met Damon.

Funny how fate has a way of bringing certain people into your life when you had no idea you needed them, she muses. But you absolutely do.

*****

Damon finishes congratulating his friends, graciously accepting Nik’s invitation to be one of his groomsmen. He scans the room for Elena and finds her deep in conversation with Rose, gesturing animatedly about something or other. He’s making his way over to them when his path is blocked by a brunette in a skin-tight, leather mini dress.

“Good evening, Damon.”

“Kat,” he greets her. “Enjoying yourself?”

“I will be soon. Stefan and I are overdue for a good session.” She pats the coiled whip attached to her belt. “And you?”

“Can’t complain.”

Katherine’s gaze follows his, beading in on Elena. “She’s a lively one. How’s her pain tolerance?”

Damon recognizes the glint in her eye—one he’s seen countless times before. “We’re still exploring it, but I can guarantee you she’s not the type who craves a lot of pain. Just a taste here and there, which is fine by me.”

“Pity. A nice set of pink stripes across her ass and the back of her thighs would look amazing. Sure you’re not willing to share? I’d let you watch,” she wheedles, bumping his arm.

“Not my style and you know it.”

She heaves a sigh. “Too bad.” A bright red fingernail taps her bottom lip, her expression brightening with every passing second. “What about a tattoo? I could do your initials in a fancy script right above her puss—”

“No,” he interrupts, cutting her off. “I’m not having Elena tattooed. I don’t need my name inscribed on her body to know that she’s mine.”

Katherine shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Thankfully, Nik chooses that moment to announce the next activity, bringing their disagreement to an end.

“Since there are so many here with a talent for rope bondage, this challenge is for our Dominants.” He holds up a jar with a number of folded slips of paper in it. “This contains a selection of the most popular ties and positions. For whichever one you pick, it’s your turn to show off. Be extravagant, be strict, be a perfectionist; the choice is yours.”

“Right up your alley,” Katherine comments. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Damon.”

Same ol’ Kat. Underneath all the leather and sass, she’s still the competitive woman who used to take him on in everything from beer pong to bowling. The stakes might be different now, but the feel is familiar.

“You’re on.”

*****

Elena returns to Damon’s side just as Katherine spins on her heel and strolls off to collect Stefan. “Are we participating in this one?”

“Definitely.”

“What do I have to do?”

He smiles, trailing a finger over the front of her bodice and dipping it into her cleavage. “Stand still and be beautiful while I tie you up.”

She smiles, her confidence growing after her earlier success. “I think I can handle that.”

“Good.”

He curls his hand around hers, entwining their fingers, and they approach Nik, who holds out the jar for Damon to pick a piece of paper. He selects one and reads it, a wide grin stealing over his face.

Passing it to Nik, he leads Elena over to a bondage table, and she waits there while he gathers several coils of rope.

Nik peruses the paper. “Ah. Master Damon will be executing a hogtie on Elena.” He reads Katherine’s next. “And Mistress Katherine will contort Stefan into a ball tie. This should be fun.”

Damon cringes on his brother’s behalf. A ball tie involves being bound in the fetal position—not an easy or particularly comfortable pose, especially for someone of Stefan’s size. Good luck, Stef.

Other Dominants come forward with their subs to pick their assignments from the jar, and Nik reads each out loud, but Damon’s focus is on Elena now as he unwinds a bundle of rope. He runs it through his hands, then pulls her in for a quick kiss and removes her cuffs before getting to work.

He starts with her arms, guiding them behind her back and looping the first length of rope just above her elbows. His technique is careful but precise, and the next stretch of time is a flurry of hands and rope as he turns her this way and that, checking tightness and position. When the initial step is complete and her arms are bound, he steps back to examine the ties.

“How we doing?” he asks, searching her eyes for any hint of discomfort.

She smiles, and the sight makes him want to abandon his task and lay her down on the nearest soft surface so he can get lost in her. “I’m fine, Master.”

“Remember what I said about any tingling or numbness?”

She nods. “I’ll let you know.”

“Good girl.”

He lifts her onto the table and situates her so she’s lying on her stomach. After securing her wrists, he nudges her knees apart and starts on her legs. He bends them until her ankles meet the back of her thighs then wraps more rope around them so they’ll stay that way. He’s in the process of tying off the ends and twisting the excess rope into an elegant column running the length of her back when Nik stops by to check on his progress.

“The non-traditional approach,” his fellow Dom comments. “I love it.”

“I’m a big fan of the accessible version,” Damon explains, “which allows me to do this.” His hand delves between Elena’s legs, stroking the damp lace of her panties until she squirms against her bonds, moaning softly. Tugging the material to the side, he slips a finger inside her then adds another, stoking her fire.

“I can see why you would be.” Nik claps him on the shoulder. “Excellent job, my friend, as usual.”

Damon nods his thanks, observing the other couples as the rest of the Masters and Mistresses put the finishing touches on their ties. All the while, he continues to explore Elena’s slick heat, keeping her in a state of perpetual arousal.

Nik inspects the others then makes his way back to Damon and Elena. “Such a difficult decision seeing as everyone’s done impeccable work. I’ll have to break it down by individual components. Does that sound fair?”

“I think so,” he agrees, curling his fingers until Elena cries out.

“Well, then. You win for most pleasing aesthetic,” Nik concludes with a smile.

“I’ll take it.” Damon runs his free hand through Elena’s hair, sifting the long locks.

Nik commends the rest of the participants as well, doling out titles such as “most creative use of knots,” “toughest tie,” and "best rope design." He deems Katherine’s work “most devious tie”—thanks to the addition of a few extra ropes threaded strategically between Stefan’s legs—which seems to satisfy her. She winks at Damon and pats Stefan’s ass appreciatively.

Damon leans down and puts his mouth to Elena’s ear. “Hear that, kitten? Master Nik thinks you look spectacular like this, and so do I.”

She grins, then a shiver rolls through her as he nibbles on her lobe. “You’re still teasing me though.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” she hisses as his thumb lightly presses against her clit.

“Oh, right.” He removes his hand, and she groans in disappointment. “Don’t want to spoil your reward.”

If the desperate glance she gives him is any indication, she’ll be more than ready when the time comes.

*****

“Fuck, Elena,” Damon rasps, catching a fistful of her hair and tugging on it. His other hand is wrapped around the leash connected to her collar, and he uses both holds to guide her movements as she takes him deeper into her mouth. His head lolls back against the chair and he briefly closes his eyes, soaking up the feel of her tongue caressing the underside of his cock.

It doesn’t help that the room is filled with a symphony of erotic sounds. People are draped over couches and chairs, or bound to various pieces of bondage equipment. He manages to drag his lids open so he doesn’t miss another second of Elena’s soft lips running up and down the length of his shaft. She’s watching him, too, her dilated pupils leaving nothing but a sliver of brown in her irises.

He wasn’t sure if she’d be ready for this, but she surprised him when she very bravely—and politely—asked for permission to please him. Although they’re off to the side of the room, they’re still in plain view of the others, who likely aren’t paying them much mind since they’re occupied themselves.

A quick glimpse reveals Caroline strapped to a spanking bench as Nik takes her, candlelight flickering over their half-naked bodies. Katherine is heading toward the dungeon, whip in hand, while Stefan follows after her on all fours. Elijah has Rose bent over the arm of the couch, fucking her from behind as she digs her nails into the plush cushions. Not far from them, Pearl is straddling Rebekah on the loveseat, a hand curled loosely around her sub’s throat as she kisses her. The crack of a paddle against someone’s flesh draws Damon’s attention, and he spots Trent warming Jack’s ass with the implement while the other man strokes his Master’s cock.

Elena makes a soft sound, pumping the base of his penis until he feels the familiar stirrings of an orgasm. “That’s it, baby,” he groans, rocking his hips as he thrusts into her mouth. “Remember not to spill a drop.”

She bobs her head in agreement, adding a gentle scrape of teeth that has him gritting his own. She repeats her little trick twice more, causing a frisson of pleasure to rocket up his spine. The release that arrives moments later is made all the more powerful by Elena, who stays with him, massaging him with her throat as she swallows his seed.

When she finally lets his cock slip from her mouth, she’s panting and wearing a radiant smile, obviously pleased with herself.

“Well done, pet,” he purrs, cupping her cheek. “Now it’s your turn.”

After tucking himself back into his pants, he stands and lifts her up, tossing her over his shoulder. He chuckles at her surprised squeak then navigates his way through the mass of entwined bodies until he gets to the stairs.

Next stop? One of the guest rooms for some alone time with his sub . . .

. . . and an overdue reward.

*****

When Damon sets her down beside the bed, she immediately notices the collection of bondage essentials laid out on top of the bedside table like the kinky version of hotel toiletries. She spots rope, two sets of cuffs, a couple dildos, a ball gag, a handful of condoms, and an industrial-size bottle of lube.

“Wow,” she murmurs. “Nik’s prepared for everything.”

“He wants his guests to have a good time, so he provides the basics. Everyone usually brings their own toys, too, but this is a nice backup.”

“And did you?”

“What?”

“Bring your own toys.”

“Maybe,” he says with a waggle of brows, which roughly translates into “You bet I did.”

Damon unclips the leash from her collar and slowly undresses her, lowering the zipper an inch at a time. He caresses each part of her body as it’s revealed to him, starting with her back and shoulders, and working his way around to her breasts, belly, and hips. The material pools at her feet, but before she can step out of it, he hooks his thumbs in the elastic of her undies and slides them down her long legs where they join the discarded dress.

He nudges her toward the bed, and when the back of her knees meet the mattress, she tumbles onto it. She watches as Damon sheds his own clothes then bends down to retrieve something she can’t see. When he straightens, she sees he’s holding a vibrator—the powerful kind that plugs into the wall so you don’t have to worry about the batteries dying.

Visions of her last encounter with a vibrator fill her head, and she scrambles to the other side of the bed. “Oh, no. Uh-uh. You can’t be serious.”

Damon catches her ankle before she gets very far and tugs her closer, climbing up on the bed with her. She tries to wriggle out of his grasp, but his grip won’t budge. Their brief tussle comes to an end when he easily pins her underneath him, her arms over her head and his thigh wedged between hers. There's joy in surrender, however, Elena acknowledges as her body lights up with arousal.

Being restrained by Damon himself—one hand gripping her wrists, his legs immobilizing hers—is more erotic than being bound with ropes or straps. He nuzzles her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. “Are you going to behave?”

“Maybe . . .”

His fingers dance over her ribcage and dig into her sides, and she shrieks as he subjects her to a round of tickle torture. “Try again,” he growls once the torment ceases.

“Yes, Master,” she gasps. “I’ll be good.”

“Mmm.” He stays put a little while longer, and she can feel his erection prodding her hip. Seemingly satisfied she won’t attempt to evade him again, he crawls off her and sits with his back to the headboard, patting the duvet in front of him. “Come here.”

She does, but not without casting a leery glance at the vibrator, which is lying on the bedside table. He settles her in the vee of his legs and reattaches the wrist cuffs he removed earlier. Clipping them together, he urges her to lean back against him, trapping her arms between their bodies. His legs slide over the top of hers, and he locks his ankles around hers. When he spreads his legs, hers go, too, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

He picks up the vibe and turns it on—low, by the sound of it—and circles her nipple before gently pressing it to the firm peak. “You’re squeamish about these after your punishment, but this one’s different. I control it,” he stresses, “and it’s going to make you come over and over and over again, until you think you can’t possibly have another orgasm. But you will.”

Damon cups her jaw, forcing her to look up. “See that mirror across from us?” he whispers, his breath tickling her ear. “I want you to watch yourself. I want you to see what I see every time you come for me. How perfect it is. How beautiful you are.”

Jesus. She opens and closes her mouth, but she can’t seem to form any words. He smiles at her predicament, rubbing his stubble-roughened cheek against hers.

“Say ‘Yes, please, Master. I’d love to watch myself come.’”

Elena licks her lips and clears her throat before giving it a shot. “Yes . . . please, Master. I’d love to . . . w-watch myself . . . come.”

“I thought you might.” He runs a finger over her bottom lip then slowly slides it into her mouth. “Suck."

She shudders as a blast of heat burns through her. Her tongue swirls around the digit, and the sight of herself in the mirror, aching with need as he thrusts his finger past her lips the same way he did with his cock not so long ago, is almost too intense to take. Already.

Once he's satisfied with her work, he removes his finger and skims it down her chest and stomach, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake. When he reaches the apex of her thighs, he pauses for only a moment to make sure she's paying attention then gradually eases it inside her.

Damon fucks her at a leisurely pace, switching the vibrator—which she'd nearly forgotten about—from nipple to nipple until she squirms.

"Looks like my kitten's ready for more," he husks. "Aren't you?"

"Yes," she moans, trying to move her hips to meet his fingers—two, now—but his legs' hold on hers won't allow it.

The first touch of the vibrator on her clit has her bucking, hard, against him. Withdrawing his fingers, slick from her juices, he delivers a pinch to each nipple while increasing the speed of the vibe. An orgasm crashes into her almost immediately, and she cries out, her head tipping back onto his shoulder.

"Keep watching," he hums before his mouth latches onto the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat.

True to his word, Damon is relentless in his pursuit of wringing orgasm after orgasm out of her, and she’s helpless to do anything but stare at her reflection as she goes over the edge again and again. She tries to force her eyes to stay open, but it becomes more difficult with each wave of bliss that consumes her.

Through her haze, she notices his finger hovering near the vibe’s control switch. “Please,” she pants, shaking her head weakly. “Don’t think . . . I can take . . . anymore.”

His gaze meets hers in the glass, unyielding. "I want another one. Give it to me, 'Lena. Scream for me."

He kicks the vibrator up to its highest setting while simultaneously tweaking her nipples, rolling them between his finger and thumb. The combination is enough to make her see stars, and the scream that tears out of her throat is so loud she’s sure she’ll wake the whole neighborhood. Her vision goes a little fuzzy around the edges, and she wonders for one wild moment if she might pass out. Thankfully, the sensation passes after a second or two.

Damon eases her down from her high in the way only he can—stroking her trembling limbs, murmuring praise and reassurances in her ear, and gently massaging her scalp as she relaxes against him.

The vibrator disappears at some point, as do her cuffs and collar, then he’s coaxing her to drink a few sips of water before wrapping her in the duvet and cradling her in his arms.

“So perfect,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple while her fingers drift across his chest, drawing invisible designs on his skin. “And all mine.”

She recalls what he wrote on the card attached to the flowers. Yours. “Are you mine, too?”

He smiles his tender smile, and something inside her melts a little more. He’s got it wrong, she thinks. He’s the one who’s perfect.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “I’m yours, too.”

Chapter Text

“I’ve missed picnics.” Elena plucks a grape off a cluster of them and pops it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “My parents used to take me and Jeremy on them when we were kids. I could sit there for hours watching the birds and the squirrels. Guessing the shapes of the clouds. At least until my brother decided to dump dirt on me or put a bug in my hair.”

She snickers at the memories and Damon does, too, jostling her head where it’s resting on his stomach.

“Little brothers,” he concurs. “Stefan didn’t try to pull much on me ‘cause he knew I’d get him back. Mom would bring us to the park all the time. My father couldn’t be bothered, of course, but she’d let us run around, play catch with us, pick us up and dust us off when we wiped out, kiss our scrapes and bruises.” He sighs, winding a lock of her hair around his finger. “Those were good times. She would’ve liked you,” he murmurs. “Mom had a great sense of humor. She loved to laugh.”

Elena twists around so she can see him better. “She sounds wonderful. My parents would’ve liked you, too. Dad’s hackles would probably be up until he got to know you, but you’d be fine after that. He used to question every guy who came within a five-foot radius of me, especially once I started high school. I had to date my first boyfriend on the sly. So sly that we only met up whenever Dad was out of town for a conference.” She smiles, recalling the lengths they went to just to share a pizza on a Friday night. “I loved Dad dearly, but he was a tad overprotective.”

“I know exactly where he was coming from,” Damon agrees.

She playfully nudges him with her shoulder. “You do have quite the protective streak.”

He nods. “It started with Stefan and only grew stronger when I became a Dom.”

Elena selects another grape and feeds it to him. “Speaking of family, I decided I couldn’t keep putting off my trip to see Jenna, so I’m going to visit her next week.”

He sticks out his bottom lip, and she laughs as she tries to poke it back in. “How long will you be gone?” he asks.

“Probably until Friday. I’ll be back that weekend.”

“I miss you already.”

“I’m right here.” She takes her phone out of her pocket and flips through her pictures. “Knowing my aunt, she won't let me sleep, or possibly even get out of the car, until I show her a photo of you.” Finding one she snapped of him at Nik's exhibition, she holds it up. "What do you think?"

“We can do better than that. Scoot up here next to me.”

She passes him the phone and resituates herself until her cheek is pressed to his, her hand resting on his chest. She breathes in his scent—a mixture of clean laundry, sunshine, and a hint of spiced cologne.

“Ready? On three. One . . . two . . . three.” He hits the button, taking the shot. It’s a great picture—both of them are relaxed. Happy. She makes a note to set it as her new lock screen photo.

“Let’s do another.” Before she can decide on a pose, he cups her jaw and turns her face toward his. As their lips meet, her lids drift shut, and the camera clicks.

When she opens them again, Damon is grinning at her. “This is my favorite.” He shows it to her, and she immediately agrees.

Their eyes are closed, lips pressed together, smiling into the kiss. “I love it.”

She slides down so she can lay her head on his shoulder. His arm curls around her waist, and they stay that way for a while, soaking up the gorgeous spring weather. A warm breeze ruffles her hair, and a few of the strands dance across Damon’s chest. “So beautiful,” she murmurs, gazing at the vibrant, nearly cloudless sky.

“Mmhmm. The scenery’s not bad either.”

Her cheeks heat, like they almost always do in his presence. “You’re incorrigible,” she whispers. “So, Nik and Care set a date. The third of September.”

“That’ll be here before we know it.”

“Don’t remind me. There’s only a million things to do in preparation.” The next few months are going to be short on free time, that's for sure. “While we’re on the topic of the wedding, am I going to have to protect Elijah from you?” she inquires sweetly, bringing up Nik’s best man and her escort down the aisle.

Damon chuckles. “No, he’s safe as long as you save me a dance or two. Or three.”

“I can definitely do that.”

He reaches for her hand, entwining their fingers. "The other night at Nik's party, I saw your confidence start to shine through. You're getting more comfortable with the things we're doing.”

“I am.” She smiles as she remembers how it felt to see Damon standing over her with a proud grin on his face when she successfully found him in the lineup.

“Good. I’ve been thinking that it’s time to show you off. What would you say if I suggested a scene in the main room at the club?”

She stills for a moment, considering his proposition. “Would it include sex?”

His thumb rubs her knuckles in a soothing gesture. “Not if you’re uncomfortable with the idea. We could go upstairs to one of the private rooms afterward.”

“Okay. What did you have in mind?”

“Some sensation play. You’re always amazingly responsive to it.”

“Would I be naked?”

“Partially,” he reveals, covertly caressing her breasts through her blouse. Her nipples tighten in response, and she arches into his touch.

She thinks back to the last time they were in the communal play area. There were quite a few couples scening on the various pieces of equipment, and the attention of the observers was split, their gazes jogging back and forth like they were viewing a tennis match. As long as she and Damon aren’t the main attraction, she can probably handle it.

“I’ll give it a shot,” she decides.

“That’s my brave kitten.” Without warning, he rolls them over, her back meeting the blanket as he settles on top of her.

“What are you—” He silences her with a kiss, his tongue slipping past her lips to tangle with hers. His hips grind against hers, letting her feel the hard ridge of his erection. When there’s a temporary pause in the make-out session so they can drag in a few much-needed breaths, she combs her fingers through his tousled hair. “Not that I’m complaining, but what’s with the sneak attack?”

“There was a guy watching us who seemed a little too interested in you,” he explains, leaning in to nuzzle her throat. “I thought I’d save him the trouble and clear up any misperceptions about you being available.”

She shivers as he places a kiss there. “Did he get the hint?”

“Oh, yeah. He took off like his ass was on fire.”

Elena grins at him, a thrill running through her at his show of possessiveness. If it means she no longer has to worry about being approached by random creeps looking to get her into the sack, she’s more than okay with it.

*****

Elena shifts in Damon’s lap, her gaze darting around the room. The club is busy tonight, as it is most Saturdays. Several couples are gathered on the couches and chairs, chatting about techniques and discussing possible scenes. Others are already playing, the clink of chains and the slap of a flogger reaching her ears.

“I’m thinking of a number between one and five,” Damon says, interrupting her train of thought. “Pick one.”

“What for?”

“You’ll see.”

“Um . . . how about four?”

“Excellent. I couldn’t make up my mind which piece of equipment to use, so you’ve just decided for me,” he explains. “St. Andrew’s cross it is.”

He helps her up and leads her over to the imposing structure. She shivers as she runs a hand across the polished wood. “I feel like I’m about to be tortured.”

“You are.” When her eyes go wide, he chuckles, tipping her chin up for a kiss. “Sensually,” he clarifies. He walks her backward until her back is flush with the cross. “Ready, pet?”

She takes a deep breath, calming her racing pulse. “Yes.”

“Very good.” He nudges her legs farther apart, lining up her ankles with the O-rings at the bottom and securing her cuffs in place. Her wrists get the same treatment, then his hands drift down to her leather halter top, and he reaches behind her to undo it. He slips it from her body, the cool air making her nipples pucker.

Glancing over Damon’s shoulder, she notices more than a few interested gazes aimed their way, conversations dying down as the people gathered in the near vicinity turn their attention to the scene slowly unfolding in front of them. Damon brushes his knuckles across her bare breasts, drawing her focus back to him.

“Ignore them,” he murmurs. “Eyes on me—nothing else. Understood?”

“Yes, Master,” she whispers.

He adjusts a switch on the wall, dimming the lights overhead and eliminating the feeling that she’s standing in the spotlight. When he returns to her side, he makes sure she’s watching then drops his mouth to her breasts, swirling his tongue around her nipples and gently tugging on them until they’re impossibly hard. Flicking at the sensitive peaks one last time, he straightens, pulling something from his pocket.

She catches the glint of a thin chain and grits her teeth, preparing for the impending pinch of the clamps. Damon applies the first one, gauging her reaction as he gradually tightens it, leaving her less slack than he previously did. She hisses at the slight twinge, squeezing her eyes shut and letting her head fall back onto the wooden frame behind her.

“Elena,” Damon warns, his voice low.

She forces her lids open, glancing down to find him attaching the second clamp. Once it’s in place and she swallows a few choice curse words, he lifts up the chain on the tip of his finger until it’s hovering at her mouth.

“Open,” he instructs, rubbing the cold metal against her bottom lip. When she does, he carefully slips the chain between her teeth. “Hold that for me, would you? Don’t drop it. I’d hate to have to interrupt what I’m doing to redden your ass.”

She tries to nod then abruptly stills at the sharp tug on her nipples. He’s clever, she muses. Devilishly so. This setup will keep her from moving her head very much at all in order to avoid further tormenting her poor nips.

Damon steps aside to peruse the rack of implements hanging on the wall. “What to use, what to use?” he mutters to himself. He selects a paddle, slapping it against his palm. The sound makes her jump, and she groans as the chain jerks again. He returns the paddle to its proper place, his fingers ghosting over the handle of a flogger. He gazes at her, studying her closely. “Soon, but not just yet.” The item he ultimately settles on looks so sinister, she’s tempted to beg for the flogger instead. He takes the metal tool from its hook, quickly stuffing something else she can’t see into his back pocket.

Returning to her, he holds up his choice—a thin-handled device with a wheel at one end, which is covered in tiny spikes. It seems better suited for a medieval torture chamber, and she shudders, trying to imagine those miniature teeth biting into her skin.

"This is a Wartenberg wheel," he explains. "Originally created for medical purposes, but it works nicely for kinky purposes as well."

She watches as he runs the wheel over her stomach, just above the waistband of her mini skirt, the touch so light it barely registers. It’s a little ticklish and a tad unnerving, reminding her of the sensation of a bug skittering across her skin.

Oh, hey. It’s not that bad. He moves it to her upper thigh, pressing just hard enough to deliver a slight prick, but it’s still a long way from serious pain. When it reaches the top of her breasts, she has to use every ounce of her concentration not to fidget. He trails it down her side, and she’s so focused on trying to guess where it’ll end up next that she nearly misses the feeling of something soft skimming the underside of her breast.

Her eyes widen in surprise as the mystery item comes into view—a paintbrush. If her mouth wasn’t occupied, she’d be tempted to ask if he’s been raiding Nik’s art supplies. The smooth bristles circle her clamped nipple, and when he teases the sensitive tip, she groans and pulls against her restraints. The pressure of the clamps combines with the gentle strokes of the brush until she starts to wonder if she could orgasm from the stimulation of her nipples alone.

The Warty-something-or-other wheel distracts her from the growing bliss as Damon uses it to chart a path down the inside of her arm. It leaves a fleeting sting in its wake, which he counters by flicking the brush over her neglected nipple and laving the other one with his tongue. A loud moan escapes her, and she thrusts her hips forward as far as her bonds will allow, wishing he’d slide his hand inside her panties. He doesn’t oblige her, however; instead, he merely smiles at her desperate, body-language-only plea and continues what he’s doing.

The longer he subjects her to the mixture of pain and pleasure, the more the sensations combine until it doesn’t matter what he touches her with—mouth, brush, wheel. Each one sends a jolt of arousal straight to her clit.

She’s aware of the buzz of hushed conversation surrounding them, and she has the vague sense that more people have gathered to watch, but they seem far away. It’s only her and Damon in this moment.

He crouches in front of her, rolling the wheel over her calf while the brush tickles a spot behind her knee and works its way higher to the inside of her thigh. She finds herself tipping her head back just enough to enhance the pull of the clamps. She sighs at the incredible feeling, and Damon straightens, catching her chin in a light grip and locking his gaze with hers.

“Look at you. I bet every one of your nerve endings is lighting up right now. That orgasm is close, isn’t it?” His lips skim over her jaw, stopping just below her ear. “Are you ready to be fucked, pet?”

He takes the chain from her mouth so she can answer. “Yes, Master. Please,” she gasps.

“Mmm.” He fiddles with one of the clamps. “I’m going to take these off, but you’re not to come. I want to feel you flutter around my cock when I finally allow you your release.”

She nods and drags in a deep breath, trying to prepare for the tidal wave of pleasure/pain that’s about to hit. He removes the first one and she grunts, biting her lip until she tastes a hint of blood. He’s right there to soothe the ache, gently swiping his tongue over her nipple then closing his lips around the throbbing nub. Continuing to suckle her, he undoes the other clamp. She cries out, on the verge of orgasming right then and there. She fights back the urge, but if he were to so much as blow on her clit, she’s sure she’d be a goner.

Mercifully, he finishes tending to her breasts but doesn’t tease her further. He releases her cuffs from the cross, steadying her when her shaky legs won’t support her weight. Scooping her into his arms, he eases them past the people who observed the scene, and Elena catches snippets of the group’s appreciative comments. She smiles tiredly and uses Damon’s shoulder as a pillow as he heads toward the stairs.

*****

After he deposits Elena on the bed, Damon’s mind goes into checklist mode. Her wrists—cuffed to the headboard; his pants—off; condom—on; shirt—fuck it. He leaves it on along with her skirt and thong. This is going to be hard. Fast. Neither one of them needs more warming up. His dick is already stiff. Aching.

Ready for her.

Splaying her legs wide, he settles between them and flips her skirt up around her waist. Tugging aside the damp crotch of her panties, he traces her slit with the head of his cock then pushes inside, groaning as her slick heat surrounds him. After a few shallow thrusts, he drives deep, filling her to the hilt.

As he starts to move in earnest, she arches up to meet him, rocking her pelvis against his. He kneads the firm cheeks of her ass, fantasizing for a minute about how amazing it could be if she lets him take her there. Shelving the thought for now, he leans down and tongues her still-sensitive nipples, grinning when she shivers underneath him. He curls a hand around her throat, just above her collar, and rotates his hips, hitting a spot inside her that makes her whimper.

“Please,” she pants. “Please . . .”

“Not yet. I haven’t had my fill of you,” he growls.

He pounds into her, guiding her legs around his waist. She hangs on, gripping him with her thighs while her nails bite into her palms. Damon fucks her with abandon, soaking up the sight of her lost in the throes of passion, her hair fanned out in wild disarray, her skin gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, her full breasts bobbing with each brutal thrust. When he feels her sheath tighten around him, he knows she’s close.

So close.

His own orgasm is bearing down on him, his rhythm faltering. “Ask me for it,” he demands, teeth closing around her nipple and tugging on the taut nub.

“Ah! May I come . . . Master?” She gazes at him, pleading with her eyes, clearly hanging on by a thread.

He can’t deny her any longer. “Yes, kitten. Come for me,” he rasps. “Squeeze my cock.”

The words have barely left his lips when she clamps down hard on his shaft, her loud cries filling the room. Her release sets off his own, and he buries himself as deep as he can go, his hips jerking against hers.

When the last shudder ripples through him, he drops his head to Elena’s chest, resting it there while he waits for their breathing to return to normal. Just as he kisses the valley between her breasts and she heaves a sigh of sated satisfaction, there’s a knock on the door.

“What,” he snaps, in no mood to be interrupted.

“It’s Alaric,” comes the muffled response.

This is unusual for him; Ric never bothers anyone if he can help it, especially if they’re in the middle of things, so to speak. “Fucking hell. Give me a minute.”

Muttering a few more ripe curses, he reluctantly pulls out of Elena’s delectable body and releases her cuffs. Making a trip to the bathroom, he quickly cleans himself up, knots a towel around his hips, and runs a washcloth under the tap. He returns to Elena, who blinks at him drowsily, and removes her skirt and undies before gently wiping the sweat from her skin with the soft cloth. He dips it between her legs as well, earning him a quiet moan when it skims over her clit.

After tucking her under the covers, he pads to the door and opens it. Alaric doesn’t say anything at first, but if the look on his face is any indication, this isn’t an oh-hey-I-was-just-in-the-neighborhood-and-thought-I’d-drop-by type of visit.

He clears his throat and digs his hands into his pockets. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Who?”

Ric shakes his head, his eyes darting to where Elena is resting. I’ll tell you later, he mouths.

“Be right there.”

Alaric nods and leaves him to it. Shutting the door, Damon rifles through the dresser, searching for something for Elena to wear. Finding a baby doll nightgown in her size, he approaches the bed and rubs her arm to rouse her.

“Hey, sleepyhead. We have to go downstairs again for a bit.”

She stretches and scrubs a hand over her face. “S’wrong?”

“Nothing.” I hope.

She navigates her way out from under the covers, and he slips the nightie over her head, tying the satin sash in a loose bow at the small of her back. Ditching the towel, he drags his pants back on and buttons his shirt, combing his fingers through his hair to tame the unruly strands.

When they return to the main play area, Damon scans the room, searching for someone who can keep an eye on Elena while he’s gone. Spotting Katherine lounging on one of the nearby sofas, he approaches with Elena in tow.

“Good evening, Katherine. Where's Stef tonight?"

She tears her attention away from the scene she’d been observing, a small smile curling her lips when her gaze lands on the two of them. “Well, hello there,” she murmurs, her eyes lighting up. “He's swamped grading papers. Did you change your mind about my offer?”

"No. I need a favor,” Damon says, cutting to the chase. “Can I leave Elena with you for a little while? Alaric has to run something by me.”

“Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

He pulls Elena in for a brief kiss, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She nods, and he glances over her shoulder at Katherine. “Behave yourself,” he mutters at the smirking Domme.

“No playing with the kitten?” she pouts.

“Kat,” he warns.

“Okay, fine.” She unfurls herself from the couch and drags one of the oversized pillows closer to her. “Have a seat, Elena.”

Damon waits until she’s settled, then he heads off in search of Alaric. He finally finds him in the front foyer with Henry, the two of them deep in conversation.

“Where’s this mysterious visitor?” he asks, looking around for the person responsible for tearing him away from his cool-down time with Elena.

Alaric and Henry both turn in his direction, but it’s Ric who answers.

“You’re not going to believe who showed up, expecting to just waltz right in.”

A surge of unease twists his gut. “Tell me.”

*****

Damon opens the door, stopping abruptly when he sees the man waiting on the other side of it. Despite Alaric clueing him in beforehand, it still catches him off guard. Some things from the past are better left buried there.

“Enzo. What the hell are you doing here.” His words are clipped. Cold.

The bastard has the nerve to smile. “Hello, to you, too, Damon. Bit of a rude way to greet an old friend, don’t you think?”

“We’re not friends.”

“We used to be.”

“Yeah, two years ago. Before I found out what an abusive asshole you are,” he hisses.

“How is Rea, by the way? I miss her.”

“None of your goddamn business. I’m only going to ask this once more. Why. Are. You. Here.”

Enzo shrugs. “Curiosity.”

“About what.”

“There's word going around that the irresistible, highly regarded, much-sought-after Dom Damon Salvatore has finally taken another sub. They say she’s a real beauty.” He pauses, tapping his chin speculatively. “And here I was thinking dearest Charlotte had broken your heart beyond repair.”

Damon grimaces at the mention of his former sub.

“Forgot you told me the whole pathetic tale, didn’t you?” Enzo sneers.

“I thought I could trust you, but you proved me wrong.”

“And as payback, you took it upon yourself to smear my name and blacklist me, telling all your pals in the community to shun me. Quite a reach you have. It used to frustrate me, you know, but it doesn’t matter anymore." He nonchalantly waves a hand through the air. "I have new friends now. Friends who respect me.”

“Respect you?” Damon scoffs. “You don’t deserve respect. You never wanted a submissive. You never cared about consent. You wanted a sex—” He stops, alarm bells sounding in his head. “A sex slave.” His suspicions growing, he advances on Enzo, backing him up against the side of the house and grabbing the lapels of his coat. “You,” he snarls. “You’re the one kidnapping subs from the clubs downtown.”

“That’s a nasty accusation, mate. Do you pin it on everyone who’s not good enough to be a member of your precious club?” Enzo fires back.

“No, just rotten fucks like you.”

“Ouch. I heard there was a kidnapping problem in the area. Pity. I hope they catch the culprit soon.” He peels Damon’s fingers off his jacket. “As fun as this little visit’s been, I think I’ll be going. Places to be and all that. Say hello to your new pet for me. I would’ve loved to meet her.”

“Enzo,” Damon growls. “Don’t ever come back here. Ever. If you do, I’ll have the cops on your ass so fast, you won’t even get a chance to blink.” He stalks closer, lowering his voice. “And if I find out you have so much as a whisper of something to do with those kidnappings, you’re done. Period.”

Enzo smiles pleasantly as if he hasn’t just been threatened to within an inch of his life. “Have a lovely evening, Damon.” With that, he saunters down the driveway, heading toward a car parked out by the road.

Damon waits until it pulls away, then he goes back inside, locking the door behind him. Alaric hovers by Henry’s desk, both of them watching Damon with matching expressions of concern.

Alaric is the first to speak. “What happened?”

“He came here because he found out about Elena. He didn’t mention her by name, but he knew I’d taken another submissive.” Damon drags a hand through his hair, pacing from one end of the room to the other. “Can your connections at the APD run him through the system to see if he has a record? Anything that could tie him to the disappearances?”

“You think it’s him,” Ric says. Not a question.

“I don’t know for sure, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“I’ll check. Full name’s Lorenzo St. John, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You got it.”

“Thanks, man.”

While Alaric heads to his office to make a phone call, Damon turns to Henry. “If he dares to show up again, let me know. Immediately,” he stresses.

Henry nods. “I will.”

*****

As Damon re-enters the room, his gaze is immediately drawn to the sofa in the far corner where he left Elena in Katherine’s capable hands. His breath catches in his throat and his heart bangs against his ribcage when he spots Katherine’s signature mop of brown curls but no Elena.

He rushes forward, easing his way past a gathering of Doms engaging in a lively discussion about the merits of whips versus floggers until he has a better view of the sofa. Relief slows his stride as Katherine leans back and he finally sees Elena, still on the pillow by the other woman's feet. He watches as Katherine plucks a raspberry out of the bowl of fruit she’s holding and presses it to Elena’s lips. Elena opens her mouth, taking the treat Katherine offers her.

Damon moves closer, arriving just in time to hear Elena’s murmured “Thank you, Mistress Katherine.”

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” he asks, trying to fight down the wave of possessiveness that burns through him at the idea of another Dominant touching his sub without his permission, even if it is Katherine. She's always been the give-her-an-inch-and-she’ll-take-a-mile type, and tonight is no exception, apparently.

“Relax,” Katherine purrs, looking up at him from beneath her thick lashes. “As much as I didn’t want to, I played by the rules and didn’t lay a finger on her.”

His irritation eases, but he’s itching to run his hands over his sub’s smooth skin and assure himself that she’s safe and sound. Sinking down onto the sofa next to Katherine, he catches Elena’s wide, anxious gaze and holds his arms open for her. “Come here, baby.”

She scrambles off the pillow and into his lap, and he buries his face in her hair while she wraps herself around him and rests her head on his chest.

He notices Katherine observing them, a flicker of concern crossing her face. "What happened?" she inquires, keeping her voice low so others won't hear.

"A blast from the not-so-pleasant past decided to pay me a visit. I'll fill you in later." He tilts his head to indicate Elena, not wanting to delve into the whole mess right at the moment.

Katherine nods in understanding. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do. Thanks for staying with her."

She smiles, selecting a strawberry from the bowl and biting into it. "Anytime."

After Katherine leaves in search of another scene to watch, Damon focuses his attention on Elena, massaging the nape of her neck with one hand while the other caresses her arm in a soothing motion. Her skin is cooler than normal, and he considers grabbing a blanket from the back of the sofa, but she’s gradually relaxing, the tension leaving her body as he continues his ministrations. She shifts even closer until her nose bumps the underside of his chin. He doesn’t miss her soft moan or the way her breathing evens out as she starts to doze.

A quick check of the clock on the wall reveals it’s only a half hour until closing time. Deciding to call it a night, he stands with Elena still in his arms and moves toward the exit. Opting for the blanket after all so he can cover her with it when they get in the car, he collects one on the way.

Just before they reach the inner doors that lead to the entryway, Damon notices Elijah strolling over to them.

“Heading out?” he asks, his gaze drifting over Elena. “You’ve exhausted the poor dear.”

“She had a big evening,” Damon explains. “It was her first time scening in the main room.”

“Congratulations. I’m sorry I missed it.”

“I’m sure you’ll catch the next one. Hey, would you mind closing up tonight with Alaric? I’d like to take her home.” His purpose in asking them to close is twofold—Ric can get Elijah up to speed on the Enzo incident.

“Of course. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Thanks, E. I appreciate it.”

They bid each other goodnight, then Damon stops long enough to check in with Henry, who assures him everything’s been quiet since Enzo left. He helps him drape the blanket over Elena’s bare legs and holds the door for them as they leave.

Damon scans the parking lot, checking for any unfamiliar vehicles. Finding none, he carries her to the car, and they’re almost there when she stirs, murmuring his name.

“It’s okay, ‘Lena. Go back to sleep,” he soothes.

“Wha’ happened,” she mumbles. “You’re all tense.”

“I’ll tell you about it in the morning. Is Caroline staying at Nik’s?”

“Think so.”

“How do you feel about coming to my place?” He absolutely, one-hundred percent isn’t leaving her alone tonight in that apartment with the shitty lock a two-year-old could pick.

She sighs and snuggles closer, one hand gripping his shirt as if she’d like to crawl inside it. “Sounds good to me.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Elena smiles, and within seconds, she’s out again.

Now that Enzo’s blown back into town and might be even shadier than he was before, Damon plans on keeping the exquisite—even when she’s snoring—woman he’s holding as safe as possible.

Chapter Text

“Shouldn’t you have done this days ago and not hours before you’re supposed to leave?” Caroline asks from the doorway, cocking an eyebrow in typical I’m-trying-not-to-judge-but-I-can’t-help-it fashion.

Elena shrugs and tosses another shirt in her suitcase. “I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, exploring Damon’s sheets.”

Elena’s temperature rises a few degrees as visions from her night, and morning, at Damon’s house fill her head. She can still feel the cool leather beneath her cheek from where he bent her over the back of the couch and sank to his knees between her spread legs, his mouth working its way up the inside of her thigh until he arrived at her sex. It got pretty noisy at that point. She never considered herself a screamer before being exposed to his brand of pleasure, but he had her hitting octaves she didn’t know she was capable of reaching.

And later, when they were entwined in his bed, he had his hand fisted in her hair while he whispered to her about the things he planned to do to her. The way her body aches is a delicious reminder of how he kept his word.

She shoots Caroline a look. “You and Nik were playing Scrabble, I suppose?”

Caroline sighs in defeat. “Okay, fair.”

“Hand me a bra from the top drawer, would you?”

“Here.” Her friend presses a wad of material into her outstretched hand, and Elena tosses it into her bag. “Wait a second. What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

“Thanks to your habit of strewing clothing all over your bedroom, I’ve seen every pair of unmentionables you own . . . except these.” Elena turns to find Care holding up a lacy, pale blue thong. “And there’s a matching bra, too. Funny how they’re almost the same color as a certain someone’s eyes,” she muses.

Busted. “Those are new. I stopped at that lingerie store in the mall after work the other night,” Elena admits.

“You went without me? I’m crushed.”

“It was a spur of the moment thing.”

Caroline winks. “I’m sure. Anyway, I approve. You should wear these for Damon on his birthday.”

Elena pauses in the middle of folding a pair of jeans. “Is it soon?”

“It’s a few days before yours, actually—June eighteenth.”

“Good to know.” Tucking away the helpful tidbit of info for future reference, Elena wanders over to her closet to collect more clothes. “So, did you hear the latest?”

“About what?”

“That guy Damon kicked out of the club—Enzo? He showed up again.” She emerges with another armload of stuff and drops it unceremoniously into her bag.

“Enzo?!” Caroline bristles. “What the hell did that disgusting worm want?”

“To see me, apparently,” Elena mutters.

“What. Why?”

She shrugs, trying not to make a big deal out of it so Caroline won’t go into worry mode. “He heard Damon had another sub.”

“So he thought he’d just drop by?” she asks incredulously.

“He didn’t get far. Henry wouldn’t let him in. Damon ended up reaming him out in the parking lot.”

Caroline relaxes a smidge. “Good.”

“There’s something else.” She chews on her nail, knowing this next reveal will push her friend squarely into the panic zone. “Damon suspects Enzo might be involved in the kidnappings.”

“Oh, god.” Caroline sinks onto the bed. “And if he is, he could be targeting any of us.” She swallows hard and glances at Elena. “He could be after you.”

Elena plops down next to her and takes her hand, giving it a squeeze. “We don’t know for sure yet, so don’t let it get to you. Alaric’s doing some digging to see what he can find. In the meantime, just be careful.”

Caroline nods. “What about you? Should you really be driving to Charlotte alone?”

“Well, if Enzo’s in town, maybe the best thing to do is get out of it for a few days.”

“I guess so. Promise you’ll text me as soon as you get to Jenna’s, okay?” She smiles and leans in for a hug. “And I expect you to check in at least once a day until you come home.”

“Yes, Mother.” They share a laugh then Elena returns to the business of trying to stuff two pairs of shoes into her already cramped bag. “Between you and Damon, I’ll be spending all my time on the phone.”

“At least you don’t have to sext me. Damon, on the other hand . . .”

“Caroline Forbes, you’re impossible.”

“It’s part of my charm.”

“Keep reminding me of that.”

*****

The last thing Elena wants to do before she hits the road on Monday morning is stop by the office, but she needs to make sure Amy’s up to speed on the week’s appointments and other goings on since she’ll be handling everything solo.

“This should be fun,” she mutters as she gets out of the car. To say Amy’s mood toward her hasn’t improved would be an understatement.

A huge one.

She spots her fellow receptionist already sitting at the desk, all smiles as she adjusts the low neckline of her blouse until it’s flirting with indecency. The second Amy notices Elena walking toward her, her grin evaporates.

“I thought you were on vacation.” Amy sounds almost offended at her presence.

Elena tries for a smile, but it feels more like a grimace. “I am, but since you were out on Friday, we didn’t have a chance to compare notes.”

“I can take care of things. I’m not an idiot, y’know.”

“I never implied you were.” Elena sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Listen, it’s a lot to keep track of by yourself, so I just wanted to review the schedule with you to see if you had any questions.”

The next few minutes are as agonizing as they are long, and when Elena has her fill of talking while Amy only pretends to listen, she decides she’s wasted enough time.

“Well, you seem like you have everything under control—”

“Elena,” Dr. Maxfield cheerfully greets her as he approaches the desk. “You do know vacation means the opposite of coming to work, right?”

Amy sits up straighter and bats her eyelashes, which are weighed down by two coats too many of mascara, but when he only spares her a brief glance before refocusing on Elena, she gets out of her chair and stalks off. Her foot connects with Elena’s purse in the process, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Oops,” she mutters without stopping. “Sorry.”

Rolling her eyes, Elena bends to retrieve her things, stuffing her phone and wallet back into her bag. “I just stopped in for a quick visit before getting on the road,” she explains.

A tube of lip balm rolls over by Dr. Maxfield’s shoe, and he picks it up and hands it to her. “What a nice surprise. Going somewhere fun, I hope?”

“Thanks.” She tosses the tube in her purse and stands. “My aunt’s. I haven’t seen her in a while, so I’m looking forward to the trip.”

“Sounds lovely. Travel safely, Elena.”

“I will. Have a good day, Dr. Maxfield.”

“Call me ‘Wes,’ please.” He drops his gaze to the floor for a moment, seemingly embarrassed. “Or ‘Dr. Wes,’ if the other sounds too unprofessional. ‘Dr. Maxfield’ just seems so . . . stuffy,” he says with a laugh, shrugging off the awkward moment.

“‘Dr. Wes’ it is,” she agrees, not willing to take the first-name-only bait for obvious reasons. She turns to go, hiking her purse over her shoulder. “See you next week.”

Just as she pushes open the door, he calls to her again. “I think you missed something.” He jogs over to her and holds out a small, black rectangle.

Elena’s eyes widen as she realizes it’s Damon’s business card. She takes it and hastily tucks it away, hoping he didn’t see what’s written on it. Thanking him, she waves and heads to her car, more ready than ever for her vacation to truly begin.

*****

Damon knocks on the door to Alaric’s office, and when its occupant only grunts in response, refusing to tear his eyes away from the computer screen, Damon enters and plops a paper sack on the man’s desk.

“What’s that?” Alaric asks after a minute.

“He speaks.” Damon sinks into a chair across from him and props his feet up on the corner of the desk. “It’s a tarantula, fresh from the exotic pet store. I thought you could use a friend to keep you company.”

“Thanks,” Ric mutters, clearly oblivious to what he said.

Damon rolls his eyes and leans forward to redeposit the bag on the keyboard in front of Ric, effectively breaking his focus. “It’s lunch, you pain in the ass. You have the culinary tastes of a college freshman who’s used up his entire meal plan one week into the semester, so I got you some real food.”

Ric grins. “This is about the Hot Pockets, isn’t it.”

“You could stand to eat something that wasn’t prepared by Chef Microwave.”

Alaric shakes his head and chuckles. “Now you sound like my mother.”

“Then you should probably listen to us.” Damon takes his phone out of his pocket and balances it on his knee. It’s still too soon to be hearing from Elena, but he checks the screen just for the hell of it.

Nothing.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Waiting isn’t his forte at the moment.

Ric follows his gaze, gesturing toward the phone. “She’s not there yet?”

“No. She should arrive in about half an hour, depending on traffic.”

Alaric nods and opens the bag in front of him, peering into it first before pulling out a bundle wrapped in wax paper. “Smells delicious. Thanks, man.” When he uncovers the sandwich, he cocks a brow at Damon. “There’s a shit-ton of lettuce on here.”

“I’m surprised you can identify it,” Damon deadpans.

His head of security flashes him the finger then digs into the sandwich, lettuce and all. He pauses after a few bites to type something into the keyboard. “I heard back from my guy, and unfortunately, Enzo’s pretty much gone ghost since he left here. The only thing on his record is a speeding ticket, and it’s not recent.”

“Figures.” Damon picks a piece of lint off his jeans. Checks his phone again. Still nothing.

“I did a little poking around of my own, and here’s where it gets weird,” Ric continues. “Turns out he was in California about a year back, working as a mechanic in some guy’s garage. After that, the trail goes cold. No current address or job, local or otherwise, no outstanding debt, not even a credit card.”

Damon straightens from his semi-slouch, intrigued by the latest info, or lack thereof. “He doesn’t want to be traced.”

“Seems that way,” Ric agrees, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Or he could be using a fake identity. The more I think about it, the more I feel like he’s just a cog in the machine. If he is involved in this crap, he’s not wily enough to be the kingpin. Not for a sex trafficking operation. Someone else is pulling the strings.”

“Could be. Frederick said there are a slew of middle men.”

“Doesn’t make him any less dangerous,” Alaric points out. “Especially since he has an axe to grind and knows about Elena.”

“I know,” Damon murmurs. “Believe me, I know.”

They sit in companionable silence while Ric finishes his lunch and resumes typing. The rhythmic clicking of the keys lulls Damon into a near-doze until his phone sounds with a new text. He immediately glances at the screen, his blood pressure returning to normal when he sees Elena’s name there.

Or his nickname for her, rather. She’s in his contacts as “Kitten.”

I’m here! All’s well. Miss you already, her message reads.

Glad you made it. Miss you, too, baby. Have a great time with Jenna, he writes back.

Will do. Btw, did you leave a bag in my back seat?

So she found his surprises. Plural. I did. Call me tonight and don’t peek until then. Might wanna hide it from your aunt, he adds.

Sneaky. Ttyl :*

I’ll be waiting ;)

He slides his phone back into his pocket, and Ric gives him a knowing look.

“I take it that was Elena?”

“Yep.”

“You gonna survive the next five days without her?”

Damon nods. “But I won’t like it.”

Nope, not one bit.

*****

As predicted, her aunt doesn’t let more than an hour pass before bringing up Damon.

Setting a glass of tea on the counter in front of her, Jenna perches on a stool and smiles expectantly at Elena. “So?”

“So . . . what?”

“Don’t play coy. Tell me all about how things are going with Damon.” She leans forward, resting her chin on her hands. “And there better be pictures.”

Bingo. Elena pulls out her phone and finds the shots they took during their picnic in the park. Sliding the phone over to Jenna, she sits back and waits for her aunt’s reaction.

It doesn’t take long.

“Holy . . . wow. Were you on The Bachelor and you didn’t tell me?”

Elena laughs and sips at her tea. “Not last time I checked.”

“He’s gorgeous.” She moves her fingers over the screen, enlarging the picture. “And those eyes! Is this club he owns a strip joint where he’s the main attraction?”

Getting warmer . . . “Nice try, but no.”

“Aren’t you the lucky one.” Jenna hands the phone back. “Does he have any single pals?”

“Most of his friends are in relationships,” Elena reveals, “but I’ll let you know if I find any who’re available,” she adds with a wink.

“Thanks. If I have to go stag to Caroline’s wedding, I’m gonna cry.” Jenna pouts as she points at the refrigerator behind her where Caroline and Nik’s “Save the Date” magnet is attached to the stainless steel door.

“It’s still months away,” Elena reassures her. “I bet you’ll have a date lined up in no time.”

“Here’s hoping,” her aunt mutters, sounding unconvinced.

*****

Elena stifles a yawn and settles deeper into the pillows on the comfy guest bed. She already made sure to shut the door behind her for privacy because, knowing Damon, their conversation won't be tame for long.

She dials his number, unsurprised when he answers on the first ring. They briefly chat about the drive to North Carolina, and she can tell he still has reservations about letting her go alone, but this is what they’d agreed on—she’d skip town for a few days in case Enzo’s run-in with Damon spurred him into trying to track her down, and in the meantime, Ric and Damon would dig up any dirt they could find on the creep.

After Damon fills her in on their lack of success so far, he changes the subject, clearly not wanting to dwell on the frustrating topic.

“So, did Jenna demand to see pictures?” There’s rustling in the background, and she visualizes him sliding between the sheets on his behemoth bed. It’s an unintentional tease, she’s sure, but a tease nonetheless. The mental image sends a shiver of desire through her.

“Absolutely. She’s starting to suspect the whole you-owning-a-club thing is a ruse, unless it’s a strip club and you’re the star. She also asked if I found you on a reality show. Like Who Wants to Marry a Studly Dom or something?” She giggles then stops short when she realizes what she’s said. Holy whoa. “Er, you know what I mean,” she hastily adds.

He chuckles, putting her at ease. “Could be a hit. Think we should pitch it?”

She smiles as her cheeks heat. “Maybe. It’ll never see primetime though.”

“You’re right. Too racy. Speaking of, I think you should peek in that bag now.”

She slides off the bed and retrieves it from her suitcase where she’d tucked it away from her aunt’s prying eyes. “Got it.”

“Take a look. These’ll remind you of me while we’re apart.”

A scrap of lace catches her attention, and she pulls it out first. Holding it up, she discovers it’s a pair of underwear. Crotchless undies, to be exact. The rest of the surprises are in boxes, and her eyes widen a little more with each one she opens. When she’s done, she has a lapful of kinky: a bottle of lube, a dildo with all sorts of interesting bumps and curves, a tube of gel that, when applied to the clit, claims to result in orgasms that are on par with a religious experience, and two silver balls attached by a cord with a loop at the end.

“Wow,” she murmurs, studying the last item. “What do the balls do, dare I ask?”

“They’re called Ben Wa balls,” he explains. “You work your inner muscles to help keep them inside you, but the real magic happens when you move around. You’ll see,” he adds slyly.

Oh, boy. “Do I use these whenever, or . . . ?”

“I’ll let you know when I want you to use each one. Think of it as long-distance playtime. You remember the last time we did that, right?”

The phone sex. She swallows thickly and shakes her head before realizing he can’t actually see her. “Vividly.”

“Perfect.”

Their conversation leaves hot-and-heavy territory, and Elena listens while Damon tells her about a tattoo he’s considering getting. As expected, Katherine would be the one giving him the ink, but a warm, fuzzy feeling unfurls inside her when he asks her to accompany him if he decides to go for it.

“I’d love to.”

Another yawn sneaks up on her, and she can’t deny this one.

“Is someone about to nod off on me?” Damon murmurs. “I should probably let you go. You’ve had a long day.”

Even though she’s beat, she doesn’t want to end the call. Every time he speaks, the warm timbre of his voice curls around her like an embrace she never wants to leave. He could read a Physics textbook to her and it would sound like the sweetest bedtime story.

“This is gonna seem ridiculous, but could you keep talking, just until I fall asleep? It can be anything—the weather, an inventory of what’s in your closet, Stefan’s lesson plans. I’m not picky.”

“The closet inventory would be interesting,” he points out, and she can tell he’s smiling. “Sure, baby.”

She snuggles deeper into the blankets and heaves a sigh of contentment. “Thank you. Goodnight, Damon.”

Her lids drift shut, and she lets his words wash over her until sleep claims her.

*****

Elena sits gingerly on the porch swing and releases a shaky breath. The swing rocks a little, encouraging the balls nestled inside her to do the same, and she plants her feet, bringing it to a stop. She barely kept her cool while helping Jenna with dinner. Thanks to a text from Damon requesting she use the Ben Wa balls, she's been in a state of pleasurable torment most of the evening. At least she was sitting still during dinner, so she could more or less ignore the toy, but now . . .

Jenna reappears holding two glasses of wine and hands one to her. Elena eagerly accepts it, reminding herself not to chug the whole thing in one go. Jenna settles beside her on the swing and, much to Elena's chagrin, starts to rock it. She briefly considers asking her to stop, but that would be the world’s most awkward request: “Please don't rock the swing because it’ll make me too horny.”

Gritting her teeth as the balls get with the program, she attempts some idle conversation. "Have you heard from Jeremy lately?"

Jenna sips at her wine and looks thoughtful for a moment. "Not for a couple weeks. He has a new artsy girlfriend, so they're probably busy making out at a gallery somewhere."

"Sounds like something he'd do," Elena agrees. "I didn't know about the new girlfriend. I'll have to call and harass him for leaving me out of the loop."

"Then you can tell him about Damon," Jenna suggests with a sly smile.

She winces. "Maybe later." Jeremy might be younger than her, but he's never been shy about voicing his opinion of anyone she dates. Yet another man in her life with a protective streak.

"Oh, c'mon. Damon's a good guy, obviously, or you wouldn't be with him."

"Yeah, but you know Jer. He always assumes the worst." The Ben Wa balls shift inside her, rubbing against her G spot, and Elena bites her lip to stifle a groan.

"Are you okay? You look really flushed all of a sudden."

"It must be a combination of the wine and the humidity." For once, she's grateful to have the muggy North Carolina air to use as an excuse.

Jenna fans her with her napkin. "You're worrying too much about Jeremy. It's not like he's going to uncover some deep, dark secret."

"Er . . ."

"Can you imagine though?" her aunt continues, oblivious to Elena's attempt to interrupt and steer the conversation in a different direction. "What if Damon was some kind of kinky perv with a dungeon in his basem—"

Elena chokes on her wine, coughing and sputtering until Jenna pats her on the back.

"Whoa, what was that? Did I hit on something there?" she asks jokingly, but her smile falters when she sees the expression on Elena's face. "Oh. My. God. You're not serious."

She meets Jenna’s gaze and opens her mouth, but the words won’t come out.

"You are serious!" The swing stops, mercifully, and her bewildered aunt stares at her. "Don't get me wrong. I love a good fantasy, but he's really into that stuff? Are you?"

Elena sighs and polishes off the rest of her wine, figuring she could use the extra liquid courage. "Yes to both. And he's not a perv. It's a mutual agreement. Well, more than an agreement. It's a relationship. We trust each other. We care about each other."

More staring. "But you've only known him for a few months. Are you sure this is safe?"

"Yes, I promise. Damon would never do anything to hurt me."

"But isn't hurting someone part of the whole . . . shebang? Whips and chains and whatnot?"

"If it's what a person wants or needs," Elena explains, trying to phrase it in a way that won't make Jenna freak out worse than she already has. "Nothing happens without consent and lots of discussion beforehand."

Jenna sits back, looking stunned but, thankfully, not repulsed. "He truly makes you happy?"

"He does." No hesitation.

"Well, that's the important thing," she concedes. "Just be careful."

"I always am." Elena leans in to hug her aunt. "I can't wait for you to meet him at the wedding. You'll like him. I know you will."

"As long as he treats my only niece right, I think I can manage it."

Jenna finishes her wine, and Elena jumps at the chance to get away from the damn swing. “Ready for a refill?”

“Please.”

Elena collects their empty glasses and escapes to the kitchen. It still involves walking, however, and she's flushed once again by the time she sets the glasses on the counter and starts working the cork free.

"Nothing like accidentally revealing your kinky relationship to a family member while dealing with the effects of a sex toy," she mutters to herself.

Wait till she tells Damon about this one.

*****

As much as she loves visiting her aunt, by the time Wednesday rolls around, Elena needs some breathing room. After wandering aimlessly through the mall and popping into store after store with no real purpose or goal in mind, she finds herself outside a shop for men's dress apparel, a place she wouldn't have had a reason to check out before now considering Jeremy can only be forced into a suit and tie for weddings and funerals, if they're lucky.

Damon, however . . .

Recalling his upcoming birthday, she figures it couldn't hurt to take a look around. An hour and a very helpful salesman later, she has the perfect gift ordered and a promised delivery date well in advance of the special day. Pleased with herself for not procrastinating like she usually does, she decides to take part in one of her and Caroline's favorite pastimes, even if she has to do it solo this time: a personal fashion show.

Slipping into the first ridiculously overpriced clothing store she comes across, she peruses the racks, selecting enough skirts, blouses, jeans, tees, and dresses to keep her entertained for a while and heads off in search of a dressing room.

Halfway through her runway-worthy strut in a cute sundress she's tempted to buy even if it threatens to break the bank, her phone chirps. Returning to her room and rifling in her purse until she finds it, she breaks into a grin when she sees who's calling.

"Hey, you," she answers, twirling in front of the mirror as the skirt billows around her legs.

"Hey, yourself," Damon greets her. "Sounds like you're having fun."

"I'm just goofing around in the mall. A real vacation must-do, right up there with zip lining and parasailing."

He laughs—a deep, sensual rumble. "Doing anything in particular or just browsing?"

"Trying on clothes I can't afford just for the hell of it." She picks a flowery, silk scarf out of the pile and ties it around her neck for extra flair.

"Mmm. Wish I was there to watch the show." He pauses, and she gets the sense he's up to something. "Are you wearing what I asked you to?"

Her pulse thumps harder as her excitement grows. "Yes."

"Excellent. You’re in a dressing room?"

"Yep."

"Then have a seat, kitten," he purrs, "and get nice and comfortable."

She settles on the bench and takes a deep breath, eager to find out what he has up his sleeve.

“Do you know what I’d do if I were in that room with you?”

“I can think of a few things.”

“I’d turn you around and pin you to the wall so I could grind against that sexy ass of yours,” he murmurs. “Then I’d use my belt, or maybe my tie, to bind your wrists behind your back. After that, it’s a toss-up, but I think I’d start by dropping to my knees and burying my face between your thighs, worshipping you with my mouth. When your legs began to quiver, you’d look over your shoulder, those big, beautiful eyes wide as you realized anyone in the vicinity could hear you if you weren’t careful. You’d struggle a bit, but I’d hold you still, coax that orgasm a little closer.”

She gasps at the image his words create and presses her thighs together under the visual onslaught.

“Turned on yet?” he asks, and she can picture the smug grin he’s likely sporting.

Like there was ever a doubt. “Uh-huh.”

“Better check just to make sure. Let me know what you find.”

She lifts her skirt and skims an unsteady hand over the top of her sex, her access unimpeded thanks to the crotchless panties. Exploring further, she slides a finger between her slick folds, swallowing a groan.

“I’m wet,” she whispers.

“I didn’t quite catch that. Speak up, baby,” he prods.

She repeats herself, louder this time, and it’s his turn to suck in a breath. “I bet you are. Don’t stop what you’re doing. Keep stroking,” he instructs. “Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. I’d keep you on the very edge until you couldn’t stand it anymore. Until you begged me for release. And I’d give it to you, tonguing your clit until you came. Hard.”

“Yes . . .” Her thumb rubs her sensitive nub, and a soft moan breaks the silence surrounding her.

“Slip a finger inside—no, two. Tease yourself while I tell you what would happen next.”

She does as requested, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as a surge of pleasure rockets through her.

“While you were still trembling from your orgasm, I’d take you from behind, right against the wall of that dressing room. You wouldn’t be able to stay quiet for long, so I’d cover your mouth with my hand while I whispered to you about how good it felt to be so deep inside you. I’d reach down to tweak your clit, and you’d rock your hips to match my thrusts, more than ready for that next dose of bliss,” he rasps. “Fuck yourself, Elena. I wanna hear you panting.”

A door to one of the adjacent rooms opens and closes, and she jumps. Damon might not be here with her, but she’s still in a public place where anyone with a keen enough ear could easily pick up on what’s she’s doing. It’s an unnerving thought but also strangely thrilling.

"When I had you just about ready to come for me again, I'd caress your breasts and pinch your nipples, giving you that extra zing to get you off. Once you were spiraling into ecstasy, clamping down on my cock while you shattered in my arms, I'd let myself go, biting your shoulder to keep from shouting your name. I'd do it just hard enough so you'd be able to look in the mirror the next day and see the mark I left behind on your gorgeous skin."

Her breathing is ragged now, and she's sure he can hear it. All this talk of release has her wanting it, craving it, and her fingers work faster as she strives for her goal, eavesdroppers be damned.

"You're close, aren't you," Damon husks.

Her voice is a thready whisper. "So close."

"Let go, Elena," he demands.

His words push her the rest of the way there, and she quickly stuffs her fist in her mouth to muffle her cries. With any luck, it'll sound like she—

Someone knocks on her door. "Miss? Is everything okay? Are you in pain?"

Oh, shit. Cue a visit from the concerned store employee.

She gulps in a few lungfuls of air so it won't seem as if she just ran a marathon. Damon's soft snickering in the background doesn't help.

"Fine, thanks," she calls out. "Just stubbed my toe."

There's a brief hesitation as if the woman doesn't quite believe her, but then comes a cheerful, "Alright. Well, let me know if you need anything."

She walks away and Elena straightens her dress, laughing when she notices its wrinkled state. "I guess I'm buying it now."

"Nice save, kitten," Damon chimes in, "although I'm not sure you fooled anyone with your raspy, just-had-a-nice-big-orgasm voice."

"It's all your fault," she mutters even though she can't keep the huge grin off her face.

"Shame on me," he scolds himself with mock-seriousness. "Dare I ask which store it is you've debauched?"

"Neiman Marcus, and . . . hey! You're the one responsible for the debauchery."

"I'll remember that next time you're begging me to fuck you."

"While I’m tied up and helpless in your kinky lair," she counters.

He chuckles. "Touché. I suppose I should get back to work, so I'll leave you to it. Thanks for an entertaining end to an otherwise boring afternoon, 'Lena."

"Anytime. Thanks for, y'know, rocking my world from hundreds of miles away."

“My pleasure.”

They sign off, then she finishes changing, does one more lap around the store to make sure she didn’t miss anything, and takes her purchases to the counter, where the waiting sales clerk beams at her.

"Ms. Gilbert?" he asks.

Uh-oh. I’m in trouble now. "Yes?"

"I'll ring these up, then you're all set. Mr. Salvatore's taken care of it."

"What a sneak," she murmurs, making a note to pay him back. After all, these clothes don't fall under his stipulation about things he chooses for her to wear during playtime . . . or do they, considering what happened in the dressing room?

Smiling to herself, she collects her bag, thanks the clerk, and heads for the exit. Even if Damon refuses her money, she'll find another way to repay him.

Two can play this game.

*****

Damon drops into one of the comfortable leather chairs and glances around the main play area. It’s busy for a Thursday, which should be a good cure for his restlessness, but it’s not helping. The club’s always been his solace—a place to kick back and enjoy life’s more hedonistic pleasures without fear of being judged—but tonight, he can’t seem to settle into the vibe. There’s an occasional throb in his temples that’s threatening to turn into a bitch of a headache, and he keeps flexing his hands like he’s ready to reach for something.

Or someone.

But she’s not here. Although they’ve talked daily, and he’s enjoyed teasing her from a distance with the toys he sent along with her, he misses seeing her. Touching her. Holding her.

Before he digs himself an even deeper hole to wallow in, he seeks out a distraction, something to take his mind off his current situation.

His gaze lands on Nik and Caroline, who’ve just finished an intense paddling session at the St. Andrew’s cross. Caroline’s ass and the back of her thighs are a splotchy red, and she whimpers when her Dom caresses her heated skin. The pair have a taste for exhibitionism, so Damon is wholly unsurprised when Nik lowers the zipper on his pants and takes out his cock, stroking it lightly while his free hand drifts between Caroline’s legs.

He works two fingers inside her, and she pushes back against him, mewling in pleasure. “Please, Master. I need you,” she whines.

“What is it you need, love?” Nik rubs the head of his penis across one of her rosy cheeks, leaving a faint trail of wetness in its wake.

“Your cock,” she gasps.

“And where do you need it most?” He kneads her ass, parting her cheeks and running his thumb from her slit to her other, puckered entrance.

Caroline mumbles something indecipherable, and Nik smiles.

“Since you can’t seem to make up your mind, let’s do it this way. Now,” he murmurs, cupping her sex. He moves higher after a moment, dipping his fingertip into her back passage. “And later.”

She nods eagerly, clearly on board with the plan. Nik chuckles and slowly eases forward, his cock disappearing an inch at a time as he slides it past her folds. Once their bodies are flush against each other, he withdraws, nearly pulling out completely, and Caroline starts to protest.

“Hush, sweetheart.” A hand tangles in her hair and the other locks onto her hip as he thrusts deep. Her words instantly dry up, replaced by sighs and throaty moans.

They settle into the familiar give-and-take rhythm, Nik’s palm occasionally connecting with Caroline’s ass as he fucks her, riding her hard until they’re both on the verge of orgasm. Nik, gentleman that he is, rubs her clit in time with their movements, ensuring she’ll be the first one to topple over the edge.

Sure enough, her scream of release fills the air minutes later, making Damon’s ears ring. Nik manages a few more punishing thrusts before following her into oblivion. He presses his cheek to Caroline’s back then turns just enough to drop a kiss between her shoulder blades.

The tender gesture strikes a chord in Damon, and he hoists himself out of the chair, ready to escape to his office and the bottle of bourbon that awaits him there. He’s more restless than ever, and there’s no respite in sight. He needs quiet and a chance for the pounding in his skull to die down.

He needs her.

*****

Elena’s phone goes off as soon as she gets back to her room. Suspecting either Caroline or Damon, she gathers it from the nightstand and checks to see who it is.

Damon.

“Evenin’, handsome.”

There’s a ragged sigh on the other end. “Just two words and I already feel better.”

He sounds beat, and she worries that he’s come down with something. “Are you sick?”

“No. I miss you.” She hears the clink of glass and a rush of liquid. He must be pouring himself a drink. “A lot.”

“I miss you, too.” She wishes she could see him . . . “Hang on a sec.” Pulling up the screen, she switches the call to FaceTime. “Better?” she asks once the connection is made and they’re actually looking at each other.

“Much.” As she suspected, he’s holding a tumbler of his favorite bourbon, and going by the art on the wall behind him, he’s in his office at the club. “Did you have a nice night?”

“Yeah. Jenna and I went out for drinks. She got pretty tipsy, and I just finished pouring her into bed. She was asleep before I shut the door.” A whole pitcher of sangria will do that to a person.

Damon smiles. “And you?”

“Pleasantly buzzed.”

“Jenna still giving you side-eye about us?” he asks.

“Not really. She’s processing, but she’s coming around.”

“That’s good.” He sighs and rubs his temples. “Think she’ll speak to me when we finally meet?”

“Of course she will,” she reassures him. “Headache?”

He nods. “Unfortunately.”

She eyes the toy bag on the floor. “Maybe I can help you unwind . . . Master.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that.”

She digs in the bag and finds the item she hasn’t used yet. Taking out the dildo, she picks up the phone again and shows it to Damon. “Imagine I’m doing this to you—a much smaller version of you.” She smiles and kisses the tip of the toy.

Damon’s eyes darken as he sets down his drink and leans back in the chair. The rasp of his zipper makes her heart beat faster. “Ready when you are, pet.”

Settling in for the long tease, she swirls her tongue around the fake cock, working her way down the sides and back up before pushing it past her lips. She sucks on the toy, taking it deep, then pulls it out of her mouth with a loud pop. Damon’s lids are at half-mast and his lips are slightly parted as he watches her lick the dildo, exploring its bumpy surface.

When a long, drawn-out groan leaves his throat, she knows he’s enjoying what he sees. His arm muscles flex as he strokes himself faster, but the desk is blocking her view.

“If you’re pretending that’s me,” he rasps, “you know where I’d be right now.” Their eyes lock, and heat pools in her belly.

She gives a jerky nod, but she wants to hear him say it.

“Inside you.”

*****

The second the words leave Damon’s mouth, Elena gasps and his dick twitches against his palm.

“Grab the tube of gel, not the lube. You won’t need that.”

She props up the phone and moves out of sight, reappearing moments later with a small box. She dumps out the tube and reads the side of it. “Jesus.”

“Set it aside for now and give me a show, kitten. Use that dildo like it’s my cock.” He slows his strokes, not wanting to reach the finish line before his girl gets started.

His gaze is glued to the screen as she strips off her clothes and reclines on the bed, splaying her legs wide. He chews his lip and watches while she spreads herself open and glides the tip of the toy over her slick sex. Once she’s had enough teasing, she eases it inside, withdrawing and working it deeper with each flick of her wrist.

Her head falls back on the pillow, and she moans. Damon squeezes his shaft in response, wanting more than anything to join her. She tweaks her nipples with her free hand while she undulates her hips in time with the thrust of the dildo. As she picks up the pace, Damon matches her so their movements are in sync. His hand is unnecessary at this point; he could get off on the sheer sight of her writhing on the bed.

“Rub a drop of gel onto your clit,” he instructs. “A drop’s all you need, trust me.”

As soon as she does, he sees the realization dawn on her face. Her rhythm falters, her nails digging into the sheets.

“Don’t stop fucking my cock. You’re not ready to come just yet.”

“God,” she rasps, her hips jerking as the effects of the gel really start to kick in. The warm, tingling sensation is probably driving her wild right about now, he muses.

After a couple minutes pass, she’s begging him for relief, the toy doing its job as it stimulates her G-spot while the gel on her clit has her in a frenzy of need. “Master,” she pants, her eyes meeting his.

“That’s it, baby. Give into it,” he murmurs, allowing her the release she so desperately craves.

She cries out as her orgasm crashes into her, her back bowing off the bed. He gives his cock one final tug, her name leaving his lips on a groan as he comes with her, his seed spilling onto his hand, his pants, the hem of his button-down. He hardly notices, his attention riveted on Elena as she lies still in the aftermath, her chest rising and falling as her breathing evens out.

One thing’s for certain—the weekend can’t get here soon enough. He wants her back in his arms. His bed.

She’s the sweetest addiction, and he’s ready for his next fix.

*****

Elena tosses her suitcase in the trunk and hugs Jenna, thanking her for a wonderful time. It won’t be long before their next visit since her aunt will be making the trek down to Atlanta for the wedding. After promising to keep in touch and be careful—Jenna doesn’t specify Damon as the reason for the extra caution, but it’s implied—Elena backs out of the driveway and heads for the highway, anxious to be home again.

The drive isn’t too bad, but an accident along the way delays her long enough to hit rush-hour traffic in the city. By the time she navigates through a maze of impatient drivers intent on taking each other—and her—out, she’s exhausted.

She manages to dump her stuff inside the apartment door, lock it, and stumble to her room before she collapses on the bed. She sends quick texts to Jenna, Caroline, and Damon, letting them know she made it.

All of them respond, glad she arrived in one piece, but Damon’s message piques her curiosity:

I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow night. I’ll be at your place at 7. Consider it a play date. ;) Sweet dreams, baby

As she drifts off to sleep, she can’t deny the spark of excitement that runs through her. It won’t be long until she’s with him again.

Sweet dreams, indeed.

*****

At 6:58, there’s a knock on the door, and Elena trips over her own feet in her haste to answer it. She swings it open without bothering to check the peephole and finds Damon standing there in a tux with a garment bag draped over one arm and another smaller bag hanging on his wrist.

She smiles so wide it makes her cheeks hurt, barely giving him enough time to set the stuff down before running into his arms. He chuckles as she feathers kisses over his cheeks, nose, brow, and chin, but when he cups her face to hold her still for his kiss, everything slows to a crawl and the temperature in the room jumps by ten degrees. The first touch of his lips on hers is heaven, and she considers not moving from this spot for the rest of the night.

When the need for air makes them pause for a moment, he rests his forehead against hers. “I’m glad you’re back,” he whispers, his breath stirring her hair.

“Me, too.” She can’t resist leaning in for another kiss, drinking him in and savoring the feel of his body pressed against hers. "Is the club closed tonight?” she asks, nipping his bottom lip as they part.

His tongue swirls over the spot, and her eyes follow its movement. “No. I left Elijah in charge for the evening.”

Wow. “Maybe I really will get you to abandon this workaholic thing, huh?” He laughs at that, and she flicks the corner of his bow tie. “Fancy. Are we roleplaying as 007 and one of his Bond girls?”

“Tempting, but no.” He unzips the garment bag, revealing a sleek, black evening gown with an open back and lace accents.

Elena gapes at the dress. It’s gorgeous, no doubt, but it must’ve cost a fortune. “Please tell me we’re leaving the tag on this so you can return it tomorrow?”

“Hardly.” He starts to tug on the tie of her bathrobe, but she catches his hand in hers, stopping him.

“Damon, you can’t keep buying me all this clothing.”

His brow scrunches in confusion. “Why not?”

“You should at least let me pay you back for it.”

“We’ve already had this discussion,” he points out.

She trails her fingers over the soft material. “This isn’t fetish wear for the club. Besides, I haven’t given you anything in return,” she says sadly.

“Elena.” He pulls her close and kisses the tip of her nose. “That couldn’t be less true. What you’ve given me is more beautiful and valuable than anything money could buy—the gift of your submission. It’s precious to me, and so are you.”

Her breath hitches, and she buries her face in his chest. “You can’t say stuff like that,” she mumbles into his jacket.

“No?”

“‘Cause my eyes will start leaking, and this mascara isn’t waterproof.”

He laughs, gently rubbing her back while she frantically tries to blink away her tears. Once the crisis is averted, he helps her out of her robe and into the dress, which fits like a dream, naturally. Everything Damon chooses for her is impeccable.

As she slips on the matching heels, he opens a box and takes out three items that are both familiar . . . yet not.

“A collar and cuffs?” He nods, and she studies them closer. They’re different from any style she’s worn before; these are softer-looking, with ribbons in place of buckles and rows of pearls instead of grommets. In fact, they resemble jewelry more than the kinky accessories she knows them to be. The collar could be mistaken for a choker, and the cuffs could double as bracelets. “They’re lovely,” she murmurs, holding out her wrists then lifting her hair so he can put them on her.

“Glad you like them. One last thing and we’ll be good to go.” He kneels in front of her and hikes up her skirt. “Hold this for a minute.”

She hangs onto the hem and watches as he dumps the contents of another small box into his palm: a black egg and a miniature remote.

This man lives to torture me. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an obsession with vibrators?”

“Is that a problem?" he asks silkily, an unmistakable glint in his eye. He's challenging her, and she's tempted to rise to the bait, but she also wants to be able to sit through dinner without a stinging behind.

She shakes her head, looking down as he tugs her thong out of the way and eases a finger inside her. When he removes it, she sees it's coated with the evidence of her arousal.

A devilish grin blooms on his face, and he kisses her thigh. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” He inserts the egg and adjusts it until he’s satisfied, brushing over her clit in the process. When he’s finished driving her crazy for the time being, he straightens her panties and dress and tucks the remote in his pocket. “There. Shall we?”

She takes his arm and they walk outside, but she comes to a halt when she spots the car idling at the curb. “Did you hire a driver?”

“Guilty. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my eyes on the road, so this is the safest option.” He winks, causing her insides to flutter.

The driver gets out and opens the rear door for them.

“After you,” Damon says, helping her into the car.

Whatever he has planned, she’s sure it’ll be a night to remember.

*****

“So, what are the rules?” Elena glances around the swanky restaurant and sips her sparkling water. They’re seated at a table in the corner that offers a fair deal of privacy, but people sitting nearby are still within earshot.

Damon smiles and reaches for her hand, caressing her knuckles with his thumb. “It’s a simple challenge. If you can stay relatively calm, cool, and collected throughout the evening, I’ll reward you,” he explains.

“What if I need to”—she drops her voice so she won’t be heard—“come?”

“You’ll wait.”

“But—”

“Can’t have you spoiling your potential reward.”

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t realize she’s scowling at him until he taps her knee in warning.

“Sheathe the claws, kitten,” he murmurs, “unless you’d like to experience your first public spanking.”

She instantly schools her expression. “Sorry.”

He scoots closer and leans in, his lips brushing her ear. “Remember what’s in my pocket? I could go easy on you, or I could keep you hovering on the edge . . . all . . . night . . . long.” His teeth close over her lobe and tug. “You were saying?”

A shiver ripples through her, and she turns to face him, their mouths a breath apart. She closes the distance between them and kisses him, softly at first. Patiently. Her hand curls around the back of his neck, and the other settles on his cheek where she can feel a hint of stubble beneath her palm. Each caress of her lips and subtle swipe of her tongue act as miniature apologies of their own, and when she pulls back, she meets his darkened gaze.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“Much better.” He grins in approval and picks up where she left off, kissing her senseless until she forgets they’re in a room full of people.

Food is the last thing on her mind. Right now, all she needs is Damon.

*****

Damon presses the button on the remote, observing Elena as she thanks the waiter for refilling their water glasses. She grips the table a little tighter, but other than that, she takes it in stride, managing to ignore the teasing of the vibe.

For the most part, anyway.

When he first turned it on while they were placing the order for their entrees, she jumped as if she didn’t recall she had a toy nestled inside her. After that, she barely reacted aside from an occasional blush and some subtle shifting in her seat.

He’s careful not to start it up when she’s in the middle of eating or drinking so as not to make her choke, but otherwise, he’s enjoyed testing her, especially whenever their server appears, which is fairly often.

As if on cue, the man returns to take their dessert orders. Elena’s still perusing the menu, waffling between a slice of something called “Chocolate Decadence” and her usual favorite: strawberry cheesecake. Damon waits until her lips part in preparation to reveal her choice, then he activates the vibe.

A surprised squeak leaves her mouth, and she coughs in an attempt to cover it up.

“Are you alright, miss?” the man asks, concern evident on his face.

She takes a deep breath and clears her throat. “Fine, thanks. I must’ve swallowed the wrong way or something.”

Nice one, pet. Her poise is impressive despite his unpredictable teasing and the fact that the vibrations get stronger every time he switches on the toy. Her reward is drawing nearer by the second.

He gives her a break during dessert, but after feeding her the last bite of decadent cake—tonight, chocolate beat out strawberries—and requesting the check, he tests her once more.

Elena bites her lip, her head resting on his shoulder as she squeezes his hand for support. She manages to stay still while he pays the bill, and as soon as the well-tipped waiter departs, Damon turns off the vibe. She sags against him and releases a shaky sigh.

“Well done, baby.” He tips her chin up for a kiss, tasting a hint of the rich chocolate left behind on her lips. “Ready to get out of here?”

“Please,” comes the soft response—the only thing he needs to hear.

*****

As soon as the car door shuts behind them, Damon’s mouth is fused to Elena’s, his fingers skimming across her bare back before drifting lower to undo the zipper on her dress. He eases her out of it, leaving her clad in her garter belt, thong, thigh-highs, and heels. His jacket becomes a makeshift blanket as he drapes it over the seat and lays her down on top of it.

He grips her cuffed wrists in one hand and pins them above her head. “Leave them there,” he murmurs, trailing his lips over her jaw and down to her throat. He nips his favorite spot just below her ear, and she moans, shifting restlessly beneath him.

Sitting back on his heels, he takes a moment to admire her. She oozes sensuality, from her bedroom eyes, to her flushed cheeks and chest, to her pert nipples, to her sinfully long legs, one of which she hooks around his hip in invitation. “You look like the sexiest pin-up girl I’ve ever seen,” he purrs.

The car’s engine hums to life and Elena freezes, the spell temporarily broken as she glances warily at the closed privacy window hiding them from the driver’s view.

Damon lowers his own zipper, reclaiming her attention. “Don’t worry about him.” He gestures toward the front seat. “I told him to turn up the radio and ignore anything he might hear back here.” A generous tip goes a long way toward garnering discretion.

She seems to relax at that, and he works his cock free of its confines, watching as Elena’s gaze locks on his rigid shaft. He gives himself a few languid strokes while his other hand cups her sex, his thumb feathering over the soaked crotch of her panties. She presses into his touch, clearly eager for more.

“Do you want something that will satisfy you so much better than this little vibrator?” he asks, fingers slipping inside the material and delving past her slick folds to retrieve the toy. Carefully removing it, he sets it aside and waits for her answer.

“Yes, Master,” she breathes. “Please fuck me.”

His dick jerks in excitement as her words push him to a whole new level of arousal, and he quickly grabs a condom from his pocket and sheathes himself with it. “Such a good girl. I wouldn’t dream of denying you.”

Tugging her thong to the side, he nudges her entrance with the tip of his cock then presses forward, seating himself deep inside her. They groan in unison at the exquisite sensations of filling and being filled. Her legs grip his waist, holding him to her, and he leans down to nuzzle her breasts, his tongue flicking at her nipples.

Before long, his hips start moving of their own volition, rocking into her with a steady rhythm. She meets him thrust for thrust, arching her back to take him deeper. He loves how she’s learning to anticipate his movements, his desires. As if she can read his mind, she flexes her inner walls around him until his eyes threaten to roll back in his head.

“Christ, Elena. You’ll be the death of me, I swear.” He pumps into her faster, licking her collarbone, savoring the sweet saltiness of her skin. His tongue dips into the hollow of her throat, collecting a bead of sweat he finds there. The telltale trembling in her thighs alerts him to her impending orgasm, and he slips a hand between their straining bodies. His thumb settles on her clit, rubbing it in tight circles. With the way she’s squeezing him, he won’t be able to hold out much longer.

Elena bucks her hips and mewls in pleasure, her nails digging into the leather seat. “Need to c-come,” she stammers. “May I, Master . . .”

“Yes, baby,” he rasps. “Now.”

Her cries fill the car as her release bears down on her, and radio or no radio, there’s no doubt the driver’s getting an earful. Damon follows shortly after, his shout muffled against her heated skin. While aftershocks continue to ripple through them, he eases her onto her side and curls his body around hers. He strokes her hair, her back, the curve of her hip, and she snuggles closer, leaning into his caresses.

“Stay the night with me,” he whispers. “I just got you back. I don’t wanna let you go.”

She smiles, and his heart skips a beat—or two—at the beauty of it. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Whatever she was going to say next is smothered by his kiss, and her surprised giggle fades into a moan when he shifts his hips, reminding her they’re still joined.

With Elena in his arms, he feels grounded again. Collected.

Whole.

Chapter Text

A sharp crack of thunder startles Elena awake and she sits up, dislodging the arm from around her waist. She’s disoriented at first, and she reaches for the lamp on her nightstand before remembering she’s not in her own room.

She’s in Damon’s.

Ever since she returned from North Carolina, she’s been spending weekends at his place. With Caroline rarely at the apartment because of work, wedding preparations, and the slow but steady transfer of her things to Nik’s house as she prepares to move in with him, Damon invited Elena to stay with him so she wouldn’t be alone every night, especially considering Enzo’s whereabouts remain a mystery.

“‘Lena? S’wrong?” Damon mumbles, his voice rough from sleep. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“No, I—” She jumps as a bright flash of lightning illuminates the bedroom, and she closes her eyes in anticipation of the racket to follow. Seconds later, a deep rumble rattles the pictures on the walls. “That was close,” she whispers.

Damon props himself up on an elbow and rubs her arm. “Hey. Talk to me.”

She turns to look at him, running a hand through her unruly hair. “I have a love-hate relationship with storms. When I was a kid, lightning struck a tree in our neighbor’s yard, and I was outside when it happened. It scared the ever-loving shit out of me, and since then, I haven’t been much of a fan.” Another clap of thunder makes her flinch, and he tugs on her wrist until she sinks back into the pillows.

“That’s understandable,” he murmurs, trailing a finger over her cheek. “Storms are dangerous, but they can also be beautiful. The sound of the rain on the roof, the way lightning makes it bright as day but only for a split-second, and thunder . . . it can give you a kind of rush when you feel it roll through you.”

“When you describe it like that, it sounds so much nicer.” Unfortunately, a bolt of lightning ruins the moment, and she skitters under the covers and pillows, burrowing into her own little cave.

Damon’s hands go questing for hers, and after a few minutes, he manages to extricate her from the pile of bedding. “Here’s a better idea. How about we replace the bad memory with one that’s much more . . . pleasurable, hmm?”

Before she can ask what he has in mind, he rolls her onto her back and hovers over her, settling just enough of his weight on her to be grounding. Comforting. His mouth finds hers in the darkness, kissing her tenderly before drifting lower to her throat and collarbone, each swipe of his tongue distracting her from the storm raging outside.

Her fingers tunnel into his hair, alternately caressing and tugging on the dark strands. Just as his lips close around her nipple, she feels his hand flirting with the top of her sex. Spreading her legs to give him better access, she’s immediately rewarded when he eases a finger past her folds, teasing her with the lightest of strokes.

As he suckles her, occasionally switching sides so he can lavish attention on both breasts, he locks his gaze on hers. It’s an extra reassurance—and a much-needed one—as the crash of thunder has her grabbing another pillow to hide behind.

“Easy there,” he soothes, plucking it out of her grip and tossing it aside. He resumes his ministrations, his thumb joining in as he gently rubs her clit until her hips undulate in time with his fingers—a silent plea for more, more, more.

Just as she senses the first stirrings of an orgasm, he goes still and reaches for something beneath his pillow.

She groans in frustration. “Don’t stop. Please.”

“Oh, I’m not stopping anytime soon.” He pulls his hand back, a triumphant grin on his face as he holds up a small, silvery square. Tearing open the wrapper, he sheathes himself with the condom, fisting his hard shaft while he watches her. “I keep those there for whenever my kitten needs loving.”

“That’s a go—” The rest of her statement fades into a moan as he traces her slit with the head of his cock then gradually enters her, letting her savor every exquisite inch. “A good stash to have,” she finishes with a sigh.

“Thought you’d appreciate it.” He rotates his hips, lighting up all the sweet spots inside her. Withdrawing and surging forward again, he sets a steady rhythm of slow, deep thrusts.

Elena takes his hands in hers, entwining their fingers and pulling him down to her until their lips meet. She loses herself in the feel of their bodies moving together, the erotic sensation of skin on skin. Rain spatters the windows, but she’s only dimly aware of the downpour and continuous roar of thunder. Her only focus now is Damon and the way he breaks the kiss to whisper her name like it’s a prayer.

When the lightning flashes again, she catches a glimpse of the clear, brilliant blue of his eyes. She’s beginning to understand the raw, untamed beauty he sees in storms. It’s the perfect backdrop to their sensual communion.

Her last coherent thought vanishes as he nibbles her earlobe, then his mouth fuses to her throat, sucking and nipping until she cries out in ecstasy.

“Damon . . .”

*****

Several hours—or maybe days—later, the two of them are sprawled in a messy, satisfied heap. A single pillow is left on the bed, the duvet and sheets either on the floor or clinging precariously to the mattress. With the exception of their mingled breathing, everything is quiet once again, the storm long over.

Damon’s head rests on her chest, his arms circling her waist so that even if she wanted to move, she couldn’t. Something tickles the swell of her breast, and she realizes it’s his eyelashes. As he feathers butterfly kisses across her skin, she runs a finger over the raised marks on his shoulder. She doesn’t recall digging her nails into his back, but it’s not hard to believe it happened.

She lost count of the positions he had her in and the number of times she came for him. Flashes of their sometimes-slow-and-gentle, sometimes-rough-and-demanding sex filter through her mind—screaming into the pillow while he fucked her from behind, each thrust brutal but so, so good; the serene look on his face as she rode him, taking extra care to make sure he went over the edge first; the way he held her after her last orgasm, when the sensations overwhelmed her and tears started to fall.

“Thank you,” she murmurs softly, stroking his cheek.

“For what?”

“Being you. Distracting me, comforting me, making me see stars, not laughing at my stupid fear of storms—which you’ve probably cured. All of the above.”

He catches her hand in his, placing a kiss on her palm. “It’s not a stupid fear, and you don’t need to thank me. I do it because I want to.” He turns slightly so they’re looking at each other. “Because you’re you. Because you’re mine.”

There’s no stopping the shiver that races through her. “I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

“Good.” His smile is visible even in the darkness. “Because I’ll never get tired of saying it.”

*****

Elena’s halfway through the door of her go-to lunch spot when a brightly colored flyer taped to the window catches her eye. Stepping back outside for a better look, she discovers it’s an advertisement for Karaoke Night at one of the popular bars downtown. She smiles as she remembers the last time she and Caroline went there. It involved one too many margaritas, some cheesy ‘80s power ballads, and a killer hangover the next morning.

She doubts Care will be free for this one, but there’s someone else she could ask . . .

After ordering a sandwich and an iced coffee to get her through the rest of the day, she sits at her usual table in the corner and dials Damon’s number.

“An unexpected call from my favorite girl,” he greets her. “What’s up, kitten o’ mine?”

“You better mean ‘only girl’ or this kitten’s going to have a word with you later,” she mumbles through a bite of her sandwich.

He laughs. “Just making sure you’re paying attention.”

“Very funny. So, I have an idea for date night.”

“Lay it on me.”

“Kar-a-o-ke,” she reveals, emphasizing each syllable.

“Oh, god,” he groans. “My last experience scarred me for life.”

“It couldn’t’ve been that bad.”

“Believe me, it was. You haven’t had to sit through Nik’s attempt to woo Blondie by butchering ‘Sweet Caroline.’ Unless you have, in which case, my sympathies,” he adds with a chuckle. “Needless to say, Nik’s talent for painting doesn’t extend to his singing.”

Her snort of laughter turns more than a few heads in her direction. “I can’t even imagine. I guess I dodged a bullet.”

“Lucky you,” he drawls.

“So, what do you say? I promise not to offend your eardrums.”

“Hmm . . .”

“C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

“I’ve heard that before.” He sighs, but she can tell he’s yanking her chain. “How about this—let me cook you dinner tomorrow night, and I’ll take it under consideration.”

“I see what you’re doing. You just want me to come over to your house again. Pretty soon, you’ll have me staying there seven days a week instead of two.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

The earnestness of his question catches her off guard. “No, I . . .” She swallows and tries again. “That came out wrong. What I meant is I’m sure you don’t want a clutterbug like me leaving piles of clothing and other stuff all over your well-kept house.”

“Have I complained yet?”

“You haven’t seen me at my messiest.” She sips her coffee and glances around the café. It’s always busy during lunch, and today is no exception. She’s about to return to her sandwich when she notices a man sitting at a table across the room. Unlike everyone else, he’s not eating, chatting, or checking his phone. There’s a drink in front of him, but it looks untouched. He’s sporting a baseball cap and a pair of Aviators, and although she can’t see his eyes, she has the sense they’re on her.

“Elena? You still there?” Damon’s voice cuts through her mounting unease.

“Sorry. Yeah, I’m here.”

“Are we on for dinner?”

“Of course. Can’t wait,” she murmurs. Sunglasses Guy hasn’t moved, and she hooks her purse over her shoulder, ready to make a quick exit if need be.

“You okay?” Damon asks. “You’re quiet all of a sudden.”

“Um, it’s just—” She’s about to blow the whistle on the creep when a woman and two small children enter the shop. The man gets out of his chair, and the kids squeal and run into his waiting arms. False alarm. She releases the breath she’d been holding, the tension draining from her body. “I thought someone was watching me, but I must’ve been imagining things.”

“Are you sure?” She detects more than a hint of protectiveness in his tone. “I can be there in ten minutes, tops.”

“No, it’s fine. Thank you, though.”

They say their goodbyes, and she hurries to finish her sandwich before her hour is up. After she tosses out her trash, the cashier waves to her, gesturing her over. When she reaches the counter, he smiles and hands her a paper bag.

“What’s this?”

“Someone bought it for you earlier and said to give it to you before you left,” he explains.

She peeks inside and discovers her favorite treat: a chocolate chip muffin.

“Who was it?”

“He didn’t give me his name, and he didn’t use a credit card, so I couldn’t get it from there. Said he was paying it forward.” The cashier shrugs. “People like to do that sometimes.”

“Huh.”

Baffled by the mystery baked-goods buyer, she heads for the door, hoping that’s the end of the day’s weirdness.

*****

The only sounds in the kitchen are the clicking of the keys on Elena’s laptop and the sizzle of the frying pan as Damon sautés mushrooms to add to their burgers. She puts the finishing touches on her latest article and reads through it again before sending it off to the editor. She shuts down her computer and stuffs it back in her bag just as Damon places two plates on the bar and slides onto the stool next to hers.

“Perfect timing,” he says, leaning in for a quick kiss before they dig into their meal. They’re both starving, so dinner is a relatively quiet affair until Elena pushes away her empty plate and rubs her overly full belly.

“That was amazing, although I wish you weren’t such a good cook,” she mutters. “I always pig out when I’m here.”

“Thanks . . . I think.” He grins and collects their plates, taking them to the dishwasher.

“You could open a restaurant. Seriously.”

“Tempting, but I already have a business. One I enjoy very, very much.” He winks, and her cheeks grow warm at the reminder that the man standing in front of her in a pair of low-slung jeans and a black tank top is perfectly capable of satisfying more than her appetite for food.

Before she falls under the spell of his hypnotic eyes, she returns to their discussion from yesterday. “Have you thought about my suggestion for date night?” She flutters her lashes at him, laying it on thick in the hope that he’ll cave.

“I don’t know . . .”

She tugs on his shirt until he leans down so she can brush her lips over his. “Please? For me?”

“When you put it that way, how can I refuse?” He captures her mouth, and her fingers knot in the fabric, holding on under the delicious onslaught.

After a thorough make-out session that progresses until she finds herself sitting on the counter with her legs wrapped around his waist, she calls for a brief timeout so she doesn’t forget the idea that just popped into her head.

Damon groans and tips her backward so he can nuzzle her throat. “Babe, you’re killing me.”

“It’ll only take a minute or two. Promise.” She pats his back pockets, sneaking in a squeeze here and there.

“If you keep that up, timeout’s over,” he growls, nipping her heated skin.

“Okay, okay. I was looking for your phone. Do you have it on you?”

He slips a hand between their bodies, pressing against her core in the process, and produces the object in question from his front pocket.

“Was that really necessary?” she asks, moaning as he drags his knuckles over the seam of her jean shorts.

“Absolutely.”

“Tease,” she chides. “Do you keep your music on here?” He nods, and she collects her own phone from the top of the bar where she left it. “Here’s my idea: we’ll shuffle each other’s songs, and the first ones that come up will be the ones we sing. It’ll be a secret. I won’t know yours and you won’t know mine until that night. Deal?”

“Works for me, but be warned—Stefan messed with my phone a few weeks ago, so don’t be surprised if I end up serenading you with a Weird Al classic.”

She snickers. “Sounds like a viral video in the making.” She opens her music app and holds up her phone so he can’t see the screen. Guiding his hand to the right spot, she waits while he presses the shuffle icon. A song comes up, and she immediately pauses it so he won’t hear anything. When she realizes what he’s chosen, she bursts out laughing. “I love this song, but you’re gonna have to pick another one. Either that or we’ll need to move Karaoke Night to the club,” she manages between giggles.

“Lemme see that.” He turns her hand and peers at the screen, his laughter joining with hers.

His random selection for her is Green Day’s “Fuck Time.”

“You have excellent taste, but you’re right. I’ll choose something else, but only if you treat me to a private performance of this one.”

He waggles his brows, and she can’t help but agree to his request. “You got it. Give it another shot, and try not to let your dirty thoughts influence the song choice this time.”

“My dirty thoughts? That came from your music library, not mine.”

“Good point.” He shuffles the songs again, and the second time is the charm. Pleased with the outcome, she mutes it and tucks her phone away. “My turn.”

He positions her finger above the screen, and she presses the appropriate spot and sits back to await the results. Whatever comes up makes Damon smile—not his usual sexy, seductive grin but something softer, more tender. “Perfect,” he murmurs, sliding the phone into his pocket.

His reaction leaves her burning with curiosity. She’s dying to know what song he’ll be singing.

Date night can’t come soon enough.

*****

They relocate to the living room so he can finish some work before they go out for ice cream or watch a movie—or both—and Elena keeps herself occupied by mindlessly browsing the internet on her phone. She stumbles across a website that sells fetish wear and bondage supplies, and after perusing the goodies it has to offer, she gets the most evil idea. It’ll probably end with Damon taking her over his knee, but it’s too late to turn back now. Her mischievous side is ready to come out and play.

“Damon?” she calls innocently.

“Yeah?” he answers without looking up from his laptop.

“Would you like it if I shaved myself bare?”

He abruptly stops typing, and the room descends into total silence. He blinks a few times then glances at her as if he can’t wrap his head around what she just said. “Beg your pardon?”

“We never really discussed it, but I’ve been wondering if you’d prefer it if I shaved or got a Brazilian.”

More blinking. “Your body’s perfect just the way it is, baby, but if you did that, my mouth would be a permanent fixture between your thighs. More than it is already.” He licks his lips, and she shivers with delight. “And I’d probably never let you leave the bed. Your ankle would be chained to the bedframe,” he adds with a devilish smirk.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m absolutely sure you wouldn’t.”

Note to self: schedule a wax.

Damon resumes his typing, and she prepares her next distraction. Scrolling through the site, she finds a leather chest harness with removable bra cups. “Ooh. This one is nice,” she murmurs to herself, speaking loud enough so he can hear. “I think I’d pair it with nipple clamps to give it the full effect.”

The typing stops again. “Elena?”

“Yes?”

“As much as I’m enjoying your inner monologue, I can’t think straight when my jeans are cutting off my circulation.” She fights back a smile as he adjusts himself. “How about saving whatever it is you’re looking at until I’m done here. Then we can discuss the kinky possibilities to our hearts’ content.”

“Sure.”

“Great.”

She lets a few minutes pass then continues browsing. In the toy section.

“Mmm. I bet that would feel so good inside me,” she croons. “Long and thick, just like someone else’s I know.”

His gaze locks onto hers from across the room. “I see how this is going to go. I adore that mouth of yours, but you do realize I have a whole slew of ways to keep you quiet, right?”

“Sorry,” she murmurs, sticking out her bottom lip. “I’ll behave.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He watches her, daring her to tease him one more time. She pulls up a book she’s been reading and feigns interest while she waits for him to get back to work. The clicking of the keys eventually starts up again, and she begins a mental countdown.

3 . . . 2 . . . 1

“Look at the pretty jewel in the base of that plug—”

The laptop snaps shut, and she tries to scamper away, but Damon’s too fast. He pounces before she has a chance to get far, and her surprised squeal echoes off the walls as she happily lets him pin her to the couch.

*****

Damon enters the last figure in the spreadsheet and hits the save button. It’s amazing what he can accomplish with a little peace and quiet, he muses, turning off the computer and setting it aside. He stretches and glances at the couch where his formerly misbehaving kitten is lying on her side, trussed by her wrists and ankles in an impromptu hogtie. She hasn’t made a peep in over a half hour, thanks to the bright red ball gag filling her mouth.

As pleasing as it is to admire her bound form, the aesthetic he always strives for isn’t quite there. It has nothing to do with Elena; she’s a vision. It’s lacking because the rope he had to use is too short and the tie itself isn’t his best work. Still, the gag looks nice, as it always does on her. She wears them well.

She notices him studying her and makes a soft sound that he recognizes as a request to come sit with her, touch her, hold her. Any or all of the above. She hasn’t struggled against the ties since he finished the last knot. In fact, with the exception of his absence, she seems content in her current position. Her lids are even drooping like she’s on the verge of falling asleep.

He gets up and saunters over to her, perching on the edge of the cushion. He strokes her hair, finger-combing the silky strands. She leans into his caresses, and he dips down to kiss the corner of her mouth, the ball nestled between her lips, her cheek, her eyelids, her forehead.

“Are you done pushing my buttons?” he murmurs.

She nods, and he loosens the rope and unbuckles the gag, slipping it from her mouth.

“Be glad I didn’t put you in a straightjacket. I seriously considered it.” Catching her hands in his, he massages her wrists then moves on to her ankles. “Next time you’re jonesing to be tied up, how about asking me for it instead of slowly driving me insane?”

“I guess I didn’t realize I needed it.” She tugs on his arm, and he goes willingly as she pulls him down with her on the couch. Once he’s stretched out alongside her, she snuggles closer until there isn’t a whisper of space between them. “This sounds bizarre, but whenever you tie me up, I stop worrying about stuff. I feel relaxed. Safe.”

“That isn’t strange at all,” he counters. “It’s not unusual for submissives to find comfort—freedom, even—in being bound.” He kisses the top of her head, relishing the serenity that comes with having her in his arms. Talk about comfort. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

Her fingers tangle with his, and she brushes her lips over his knuckles. “Me, too.”

*****

The instant Damon opens the door, they’re greeted by a wall of sound: people chatting, beer bottles clinking together, chairs and stools scraping against the floor, music playing on the jukebox that can barely be heard over the ruckus. The bar is hopping, no doubt because of the popularity of Karaoke Night—the reason he’s here and not at the club.

He doesn’t mind, really. Any chance to spend time with Elena is one he’ll always jump at, even if it involves getting bombarded by overwrought ballads and worn-out standards in serious need of being put out to pasture.

Elena slips past him, shooting him a saucy wink, and he’s tempted to drag her back to the Camaro so he can keep trying to persuade her into revealing which song she’ll be singing. He almost wheedled it out of her; thirty more seconds at that sweet spot on her throat and she would’ve caved. Instead, she pulled away, grinned like the minx she is, and scrambled out of the car before he could complete his mission.

He lets his gaze drift the length of her body, soaking up the vision that’s his girl. She’s a total knockout in a mini dress and pumps, and for once, he’s glad he didn’t wear his snuggest jeans. Things are already getting tight down there, and there’s no sense in being in agony the entire evening.

They search for a table, and Elena draws more than a few glances as they squeeze their way through the crowd. With his arm securely looped around her waist, he takes pleasure in staring down anyone who shows too much interest. Once they find a place to sit, he grabs a beer for himself and a mojito for Elena.

They’re only a few sips into their drinks when the first brave soul takes the stage. The guy launches into a shaky version of “Livin’ on a Prayer” that gets better as it goes along, but the same can’t be said for the next selections. After sitting through takes on Britney, Sinatra, Vanilla Ice, the Spice Girls, and Journey, he’s seriously considering going on the hunt for a pair of earplugs. Thankfully, a surprisingly decent rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” saves the night, ending in a bar-wide sing-along.

“How the hell am I supposed to follow that one?” Elena grumbles once the crowd quiets and it’s her turn to go.

“You’ll kill it, babe,” he reassures her, but instead of looking relieved at his vote of confidence, her eyes widen in dismay. “I meant that in the best possible way.” He chuckles and pulls her in for a quick kiss. “Good luck. Not that you’ll need it.” With a wink and an inconspicuous pat on the ass, he sends her toward the stage.

The music starts, and he recognizes the song as one of the tunes on the current playlist for the club. In fact, they danced to it during her first night as his sub. Funny how it ended up in her music collection.

Elena’s gaze locks on his as she croons the lyrics, putting special emphasis on one particular line:

“Let me show you how proud I am to be yours . . .”

She sways to the beat, her hips rocking from side to side as she teases him with the perfect aural seduction. All of the meticulous details make sense now—the glittering diamond studs in her ears, her smoky eyes, the dress that hugs every curve, her glossy, pink pout.

“Gonna wear that dress you like, skin-tight
Do my hair up real, real nice
And syncopate my skin to how you're breathing . . .”

“Fuck,” he mutters, willing his raging hard-on to cool it. He may have to request a private performance of this one as well, preferably without a stitch of clothing on either of them. The bed can easily double as a stage.

“Trust me, I can take you there
Trust me, I, trust me, I, trust me, I . . .”

Oh, there’s no doubt she can and has taken him there many, many times, and he can’t wait for the next opportunity. Truth be told, he’s ready right now. If only they weren’t in the middle of a crowded bar.

The song draws to a close, and applause fills the room along with hoots and hollers of the drunk-male variety. She’s barely left the stage before she’s intercepted by two admirers—frat boys, by the looks of them. Elena attempts to politely shake them, but they insist on blocking her path. One of the pair latches onto her elbow and tries to steer her over to a table, and Damon’s out of his seat like a shot, plucking the guy’s hand off her arm and stepping between her and Things 1 and 2.

“What the hell, dude. We’re just talking’s all,” the first one slurs.

“Then go chat up your buddy there. Seems like you two are made for each other,” Damon answers without taking his attention from Elena.

After some useless grumbling and weak insults lobbed at Damon’s manhood, the idiots depart to go drown their sorrows at the bar.

“I could’ve gotten rid of them, but thanks for the intervention. I’m sure that guy’s balls appreciated it.” She smiles up at him and drapes her arms around his neck.

“Anytime.” He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, rubbing her lobe between his finger and thumb. “That was quite the performance. I loved it.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. Unforgettable.” He pulls her tight to him, and her eyes flare as the unmistakable ridge of his erection presses against her belly. “My turn. Have a seat and prepare to be serenaded by yours truly.” He steals another kiss for luck, then he’s climbing the steps to the stage. Time to face the music. Literally.

Only for Elena.

*****

As Damon adjusts the mic, Elena takes a moment to admire his classic rock getup: jeans that hug him in all the right places, a V-neck tee, and his signature leather jacket. A quick glance around the room tells her she’s not the only one swooning; the ladies who were busy chatting or checking their phones while she was up there are riveted now.

“Sorry, girls,” she murmurs, smirking to herself before taking another swig of her drink.

The first notes of the song nearly make the glass slip from her hand. She might not be a dedicated rock fan like Damon, but she knows enough of the big hits, and this one . . .

She’s not sure she’ll survive it.

“Childhood living is easy to do
The things you wanted I bought them for you . . .”

His eyes find hers, easily holding her gaze as he sings to her.

“You know I can't let you slide through my hands . . .”

His voice is strong and sure, caressing each word with the same passion he oozes when his hands are exploring her body. She’s never caught him singing in the shower or in the kitchen while he’s cooking, or belting out something on the radio while they’re in the car, so this is a new experience. She’ll have to convince him to do it more often.

When he reaches the chorus, she knows she’s in trouble.

“Wild horses couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away . . .”

Although she’s always associated the song with darker meanings and emotions, he manages to give it light, emphasizing that it’s also about love.

Love.

A little, four-letter word that’s been floating around in her mind for weeks now. Maybe longer. Is that what Damon’s implying—that he might be starting to feel the same way? Before she lets her brain get too tangled up in the idea, she puts it on hold so she can enjoy the rest of his performance.

By the time he hits the last chorus, she feels the familiar sting of tears. If nothing else, Damon seems to possess the ability to make her cry more than any other person on the planet, Caroline included, which is saying something.

Applause erupts around her as he finishes the song, and she joins in while he gives a little bow and leaves the stage. When he’s within tackling distance, she flies into his arms, and he laughs as he uses her momentum to spin her around. Once her feet meet the floor again, Damon pulls back, his smile slipping as he notices her expression.

He uses the pad of his thumb to wipe at the wetness on her cheek. “What’s this?”

“Sorry.” She raises a hand to scrub at her eyes but stops when she remembers the mascara situation. “In case you haven’t noticed, I have a habit of getting overly emotional around you. You must bring it out in me.” She searches for a napkin to mop her face with, and he helpfully offers the hem of his t-shirt. “Thanks,” she murmurs, grinning as she lifts it up enough to catch a glimpse of his toned stomach. “That was beautiful, by the way.”

“Glad you liked it. It was my mom’s favorite Stones song, and I remember her singing it all the time when I was a kid. It’s always had a special place in my heart.” He leans in for a kiss, and she grips his jacket as his lips gently graze hers. “And now it means even more to me.”

Her breath hitches at the sincerity of his words. It doesn’t matter that they’re in the middle of a packed bar while someone wails “Stairway to Heaven.” Everything fades into the background as they sway together, dancing to a rhythm of their choosing.

Lost in their own world.

*****

Damon’s bare feet enter Elena’s field of vision, and she notices he’s wearing his leather pants instead of his usual dark jeans. He must be planning a special scene.

He stands still—watching her, she’s sure—and she straightens a bit, spreads her legs a little wider. She’d been maintaining the proper position while waiting for him to join her in the playroom, but she always wants to be certain it’s pleasing to him.

Fingers skim across her cheek and down to the underside of her chin, pressing gently there. Following the nonverbal cue, she gets to her feet as gracefully as possible and lets her gaze roam over Damon’s chest and torso, stopping at the tantalizing trail of hair that disappears below the waistband of his low-slung pants. She’s itching to touch him—god, does she want to touch—but she knots her hands tighter together to keep from giving into the urge.

She studies his face—the strong line of his jaw, the well-defined cheekbones, and the sinfully soft lips combining to form an artist’s wet dream. His eyes lock with hers, and she can see the desire there, a sensual inferno that burns hotter with each passing second and threatens to consume them both.

“I think you’re ready,” he murmurs, “for something more intense than anything you’ve experienced so far. You’ve grown in this lifestyle so much already, stretching those beautiful wings. Let me take you on a journey tonight. What do you say, pet?”

“Yes,” she whispers in easy agreement. She wants this. Needs it.

He steps away for a moment, and when he returns, he’s holding her collar and cuffs. The collar circles her throat, and a rush goes through her as the leather and fleece make contact with her skin. He’s put it on her dozens of times, but there’s something about the scene that’s about to begin that makes the familiar ritual feel different. New, in a way.

The air between them is practically crackling with electricity. Anticipation. She gasps at the heady sensations, and her lids drift shut, but Damon’s voice quickly calls her back.

“Don’t float away on me just yet.” He nips her bottom lip, the slight twinge enough to help her resurface.

She opens her eyes in time to watch him secure the cuffs around her wrists, then he’s reaching above her, and she hears the rattle of metal links. A chain.

He connects the clip on its end to the D-rings on her cuffs, then he adjusts a pulley on the wall, gradually raising the chain until Elena’s arms are suspended over her head. Just before it hits the point where she’d have to stand on her tiptoes, he stops.

Collecting a spreader bar, he kneels in front of her and attaches a set of ankle cuffs. The bar follows, and he extends it until her legs are splayed wide. Not so wide that it’s uncomfortable, but enough to make her feel sufficiently vulnerable.

When he straightens, he cups her face, his palms warm and comforting. “How we doing?” he asks, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

“Okay, I think.”

It’s the “I think” part that catches his attention.

“Worried?”

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heartbeat. “No. Just . . . antsy.”

“Mmm.” He leans in, his nose bumping hers as their foreheads meet. “Breathe with me. Nice and easy.”

She listens to the flow of air as he draws it in, briefly holds it, and lets it go. Focusing on the rhythm of it, she mimics it until their breathing is in sync, their chests rising and falling together. They stay like that for what could be a few minutes or a few hours, and when he eventually pulls back, she’s calmer than she’s been all night.

“Better?”

She nods, earning her a smile from Damon.

“That’s my girl. Since this is a first for this particular activity, I’m going to be checking in with you throughout the scene. You’ll still have your safe words, but in addition to those, I’ll periodically squeeze your hand. If you squeeze back, that means all’s well. If you don’t, it’s time to stop.” He toys with the ring on her collar, gently tugging on it. “Sound reasonable?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good.” He dips his head, his lips claiming hers. A hand curls around her nape, gripping lightly as he deepens the kiss. Despite the charged atmosphere surrounding them, he explores her mouth at a leisurely pace. Every stroke of his tongue is soothing, and it helps her maintain her Zen-like focus. “I want you to concentrate on how everything feels. Let the sensations take over. Give into them,” he whispers when they finally part.

He disappears behind her—where the racks of implements and drawers full of toys live—and she strains her ears for any clues that will hint at what he’s up to, but he gives away nothing. She tracks his soft footfalls, craning her neck to get a glimpse of him. Predictably, he manages to stay out of her eyeline. With a sigh, she shifts her gaze to the wall across from her and waits.

It doesn’t take long.

Something tickles her calf and works its way higher up her leg. Intrigued, she glances down to discover the culprit: several individual strands of black leather lick at her skin, sliding over her knee and inner thigh.

Strands as in tails. Falls. Of a flogger.

She sucks in a sharp breath and holds it, preparing for the first blow. Instead, Damon runs the falls over her body—her ass, legs, back, breasts, shoulders, belly, feet, the top of her sex—until her nerve endings are singing. He wraps the tails around her chest, the cool leather making her nipples tighten, and puts his mouth to her ear.

“You’ve gone tense on me,” he husks. “Relax.”

Releasing the air trapped in her lungs, she lets go of the momentary anxiety brought on by the sight of the flogger and surrenders, putting herself completely in Damon’s more-than-capable hands.

He circles her, studying her from every angle. She shivers under the scrutiny, and when he stops, the falls slap against her thigh in the lightest of strikes. It’s more of a caress than a true blow, and he delivers several more of these, slowly easing her into the experience of being flogged. As promised, he squeezes her hand every now and then, and she returns it each time.

The next round begins with him putting more force behind each swing, the leather kissing her skin over and over as her flesh warms under his technique. It doesn’t particularly hurt, the blows landing with a blunt thud as opposed to a sharp sting. She embraces the sensations he’s creating, and before long, she finds herself leaning into his strikes.

“You like that, pet?” he murmurs, kissing her shoulder.

“Yes, Master.” Her voice is low and raspy, a side effect of the erotic torment he’s inflicting upon her.

Damon continues to work her over with the flogger, a slight lick of pain now accompanying every snap of the falls. It hurts, but it’s a good hurt—a dull throb that resonates through her body until it starts to feel nice. Better than nice, actually.

She enthusiastically squeezes his hand when he places it in hers, and a moan slips past her parted lips as he rewards her with a brisk swat on the ass. Another lands on her inner thigh. Her upper back.

The minutes trickle away and lose their meaning, rendering the passage of time irrelevant. Her world narrows until it’s just her, Damon, and the amazing flogging he’s giving her. Her mind goes fuzzy around the edges, and she feels light, almost like she’s soaring. Untethered, even though she’s still physically bound.

Whatever this place is, she never wants to leave.

*****

Every whimper and soft sigh from Elena sends a jolt straight to Damon’s cock. He reigns it in, shaking off the urge to toss aside the flogger and bury himself to the hilt in her slick heat. Tabling his body’s demands, he focuses on continuing to make this good for her. So damn good. Judging by the way she meets each blow, arching into it instead of trying to avoid it, he’s doing her just right.

Her skin is pinking up nicely, her ass and thighs turning rosy under his strikes. “You’re fucking gorgeous like this,” he growls, kneading her cheeks and savoring the warmth beneath his palm. She tosses her head back and mewls in delight, the ends of her hair tickling his wrist. Her reaction piques his curiosity, and he decides to explore a bit.

Tucking the flogger under his arm, he trails a finger along the crack of her ass, dipping it between the firm cheeks. He strokes the sensitive skin there, pressing lightly on her puckered entrance. Not enough to penetrate, but enough to tease and gauge her interest while she’s loosened up and in the moment.

He gets a pleasant surprise when she pushes back into his gentle probing, a long, drawn-out moan filling his ears like the sweetest music.

“Are you enjoying that, kitten?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Excellent.” He cups her breast with his free hand, plucking at her nipple. “You’ll take a plug for me next time, I think.”

Before he gets carried away at the idea of working a toy—to start with, anyway—into her irresistible ass, he resumes his strokes. He flicks the flogger over her calf then moves higher, raining the lightest of blows on her belly and breasts. She quivers, and a string of unintelligible words tumble from her mouth.

She’s going under, no doubt about it. The falls snap against the back of her thighs, and he sends the leather strands dancing across her fiery behind once more. With a harsh cry, she sags in her restraints, rattling the chain keeping her upright. One glance at her posture and he knows she’s reached her limit.

He calls her name, and she mumbles something he can’t quite catch. He tries again, getting only a faint sigh in response. His hand grips hers, and her fingers twitch, but she doesn’t squeeze back. “Thought so,” he murmurs, tilting her chin up so he can see her face. “Look at me, ‘Lena,” he says softly. Her eyes flutter open, revealing pupils that have dilated until there’s hardly any brown left in her irises. She’s not focusing, her gaze landing somewhere in the vicinity of his hairline.

Moving quickly, he removes the spreader bar and lowers the chain so he can unclip her cuffs. She droops into his waiting arms but not before he hears, “Don’t . . . stop. P-please.”

“You’ve had enough for tonight, baby.”

The telltale tremors are already starting to wrack her slight frame. Scooping her up, he settles on the couch with her cradled in his lap. He wraps her in a soft fleece blanket and tucks her against his chest, gently rubbing her arms to help ease her trembling.

While he waits for her to resurface, he’s content to hold her and tell her how well she did. And how proud he is that she’s his.

*****

Someone’s talking to her, but he sounds so far away. His voice is low and velvety smooth, and she lets it wash over her. She tries to open her eyes, but they refuse to cooperate. She’s bone-tired, like she could easily sleep for a month straight, but she’s also content. His arms are around her, and she’s wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and bliss.

“You’re a dream come true, Elena.”

Damon.

She finally manages to crack a lid, catching a blurry glimpse of mussed, dark hair, those beautiful, blue eyes, and a tender smile. She forces her other lid to get with the program, blinking a few times until he comes into focus.

“Welcome back,” he murmurs, stroking her cheek.

“Hi,” she whispers after she finds her voice again.

“How do you feel?”

“Tired, but good.”

“Sore?”

“A little.”

“I’ll take care of that shortly.” He uncaps a bottle of water and holds it to her lips. “Here.”

She sips at it slowly, reliving their scene in her mind. She’d always assumed floggers were meant for punishments, but the way Damon used it on her was incredible. There was pain involved, sure, but it wasn’t more than she could handle, and after a while, it faded into the most wonderful sensations.

“What was that feeling I had? It kept getting stronger the longer we played. It was like I was buzzed. Floating. Here but not here.”

He nods knowingly, smoothing a hand over her hair. “That was subspace, and you were in pretty deep by the end.”

“It was nice.” She rests her head on his shoulder, watching as he tears open the wrapper on a candy bar. “Take me back there whenever you like.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” He breaks off a square and brings it to her mouth, which is already open and waiting.

As soon as it hits her tongue, she moans in delight. “Dark chocolate, too? I’m in heaven.”

He chuckles and continues to feed her pieces of the sweet treat, occasionally taking one for himself. Once they’ve finished it, he tosses the wrapper aside and stands with her still held securely in his embrace, blanket and all. The leftover fogginess in her head is gone now, but she wouldn’t turn down more cuddle time, especially if she could get her arms free of her burrito-like wrapping so she can return the favor.

“Are we going to bed?” she asks hopefully.

“Close. That’s stop number two.”

“What’s number one?”

He kisses her temple as they leave the playroom. “A relaxing bath.”

*****

After letting the water run until it’s the perfect temperature, Damon adds a generous amount of bubble bath and waits until the suds are threatening to spill over the edge of the tub before helping Elena in. He sits behind her, settling her between his legs. He takes his time washing her, running his soapy hands over her body. She sighs and melts into his touch, any remaining tension draining out of her with each caress.

Once he’s finished, she wriggles against him—which gives his cock all sorts of ideas—and he hisses through clenched teeth.

“Careful, you little tease. You’ll get more than you bargained for,” he warns.

She glances at him over her shoulder, playfully batting her lashes. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

His response makes her pause, and her expression changes to one of curiosity mixed with uncertainty. “Earlier in the playroom, was I imagining things, or did I hear you say the word ‘plug’?”

“You did.”

“Oh, god. I remember now. Your hand was back there, and I-I wanted it. I wasn’t thinking . . . I wouldn’t have—”

He presses a finger to her lips, quieting her embarrassed rambling. “Did you like what I was doing?”

“Yes,” she whispers after a moment, her cheeks heating.

“Then that’s all that matters. There’s no shame in it, kitten. If you liked it, we’ll try it.”

“You want to fuck me there.” It’s not a question. She knows damn well he does.

His dick answers for him, growing even harder as it nudges her bottom. “Yes,” he murmurs, “but not until I see how you do with plugs and maybe a few other toys. I want you thoroughly prepared so you’ll be able to enjoy it.”

She nods, but he feels her stiffen slightly, the tension he thought he’d gotten rid of threatening to creep back in.

“We’ll go slow. Promise,” he soothes, his hand drifting down her belly until it reaches the apex of her thighs.

“I know. I trust you.” She gasps as he teases her slit with light strokes, gradually easing a finger inside her. “I just . . . I think it freaks me out more than the flogger initially did.”

“Understandable.” His thumb joins the party, strumming her clit as he works a second finger into her slick heat. “You ended up liking the flogger though, so I’m guessing you might—”

“Like that, too,” she finishes for him. She arches her back and moans as he picks up the pace, but it’s not until she slips a hand between their bodies that he realizes what she’s up to.

Her crafty fingers grasp his throbbing erection, and he almost hits the ceiling. His whole body jerks, sending a cascade of water and bubbles onto the tile floor. As she strokes him in time with his own thrusting fingers, his sigh of pleasure joins hers, and his lips explore her neck and shoulder, nibbling the sensitive skin there.

Thanks to the potent combination of their scene and the prospect of taking her ass, Damon’s so keyed up that Elena has him hovering on the edge in minutes. Determined to get her there first, he curls his fingers until he finds her proverbial self-destruct button. As her orgasm bears down on her, he massages her breasts, letting his slippery digits play over her nipples.

She loses it then, crying out his name and squeezing his cock until he’s coming with her, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he pumps into her fist. He hears the wet slap of more water splashing out of the tub, but he could care less at the moment.

He hugs Elena tight as she sags against him, completely spent, her inner walls still clenching around his fingers.

“Can we just sleep in here?” she murmurs.

“The water will go cold, and we’ll turn into prunes,” he points out.

“Mmm. Sexy prunes.”

“I’ve never seen a sexy prune in my life.”

“You must not have been looking hard enough.”

He laughs and grabs a nearby towel, tossing it on the floor to soak up the puddles so they don’t slip and fall on their asses. “You’re getting loopy, kitten. Time to put you to bed.”

*****

Damon squeezes another dollop of lotion into his palm and rubs his hands together until they’re coated with it. He glances at Elena, whose eyes are closed, her breathing slow and even. She’s not asleep yet, but she might be by the time he’s finished.

She’s lying on her belly in the center of the bed, and she doesn’t even twitch when he switches positions, straddling her hips. He runs his hands from her shoulders down to her back, massaging the lotion into her skin as he goes. He’s giving her a full-body treatment, working his way from her fingers to her toes. She went boneless as soon as he reached her neck, and she’s been like that ever since.

He hasn’t done this for anyone in . . . too long. It’s nice to have someone to look after.

“You’re spoiling me,” she mumbles into the pillow beneath her cheek.

“I enjoy taking care of you. Besides, you deserve to be pampered after an intense scene.”

He uses his thumbs to press gently along the length of her spine, chasing away any leftover stiffness in his path.

“I shouldn’t be surprised, but how are you so good at this?”

“We offer sensual massage classes at the club, so I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s one of my favorite aftercare activities,” he explains, returning to the bottle for another squirt of lotion before he gets started on her heart-shaped bottom. Her left cheek bears a fading pink mark from the playful swat he gave her when she plopped a pile of bubbles onto his nose while he was helping her out of the tub.

“Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Plenty of things. For one, I could never get into serious pain play, like the stuff Kat and Stef do on the regular.” He chuckles as he caresses her behind, relishing the feel of her supple skin beneath his hands. “I’d make a shitty sadist.”

“You definitely know your way around a flogger.”

“I spent hours and hours training with it. Honed my technique by working with all sorts of subs—from those who could barely stand any pain to others who were game for hardcore sessions. There was one sub, Darion, who could take anything, and I mean anything. He helped me define my own limits for what I was willing to dish out.”

“He sounds like a good match for Katherine.”

“He was one of her regular play partners before she met Stefan. When she wasn’t available one night, Dare asked me to fill in.”

Elena’s toes curl as he gives her hips a generous rubdown. “God, that feels good,” she groans. “Were you nervous?”

“Definitely, although he told me afterward it didn’t show.” He scoots back so he can work on her legs. Her thighs are his first target, her muscles—the ones he loves to feel locked around his waist while she’s in the throes of passion—utterly relaxed under his ministrations. It would be so easy to coax another orgasm out of her right now, but she’s already exhausted, and he doesn’t want to push her any further tonight.

“You were able to give him what he needed?”

“For the most part. He understood that I wouldn’t go as far as Kat. No breaking the skin, although I came damn close, at his request. Never again.” He shudders, recalling his fear of doing the man serious harm.

“Is Darion still at the club?”

“Yep. Kat hooked him up with a hard-ass Dom who’s a friend of ours, and they’re a match made in heaven. I’ll introduce you next time they’re there.”

“I’d like that. With all these—Holy Jesus,” she moans as he reaches her feet, digging his thumbs into her arches. “I’m going to owe you a week’s paycheck for this, or maybe a week’s worth of really amazing blowjobs.”

It’s Damon’s turn to groan. “I’ll take the latter. Gladly.” He pops each of her toes, making her purr like the kitten she is. “You were saying?”

“Oh, right. With all the subs you’ve trained and scened with, you were never tempted to start up a serious relationship, aside from Charlotte?”

He smiles at the way she says the other woman’s name, like it has a bad taste and she’s eager to spit it out. “I guess I was just looking, waiting for the person who would set off that spark in me. It wasn’t there with Charlotte, although I deluded myself into thinking it was.” He drops a kiss on the sole of her foot. “But then I found you, and here we are.”

Satisfied with a job well done, he stretches out next to Elena and pulls the covers over both of them. Just as she does every time they’re in bed together, she snuggles as close as she can possibly get, using his chest as a pillow. “I set off your spark, huh?” she asks, her cheeks dimpling as that impish grin of hers returns.

He frees the tangles in her hair, draping the long tresses over her shoulder. “Baby, you lit a blaze that turned into a wildfire.”

Chapter Text

“I can bang out five-thousand-word articles like it’s my job—well, I guess it is—but I can’t decide what to say in a card?” Elena mutters, tapping her pen on the table and cringing at her own ridiculousness.

Caroline pops her head around the corner. “Are you talking to yourself?” She notices the card and frowns. “What’s that?”

“Damon’s birthday card. I don’t know what to write,” she admits sheepishly.

“You have writer’s block because of a card?”

“Don’t rub it in.”

Caroline sinks into the chair next to hers and pats her hand. “Sweetie, just let your heart do the talking. Shut off your brain for once.”

“That’s the problem. I’m afraid I’ll send him running for the hills.” Elena sighs and clicks her pen as she imagines all the ways this could go horribly wrong.

“Why would he do that?”

“Care, I think . . . no, I know. I’m in love with him,” she whispers, a mix of apprehension and relief flowing through her as the words leave her mouth.

Her best friend beams at her. “Then tell him.”

“But what about the whole Charlotte situation? What if he’s still gun-shy and doesn’t feel the same way? I mean, I suspect he might, but—”

“Elena,” Caroline interrupts her rambling. “Have you noticed the way he looks at you? Acts around you? Treats you?”

She nods.

“I’ve known Damon for a while, watched him interact with a lot of people,” Caroline continues. “Sending flowers, cooking dinner, goofing around at a karaoke bar? That’s all for you. Besides, if you don’t tell him, how will you know what he’s feeling?”

Damn her sound logic. “What am I going to do without my voice of reason?” Elena asks ruefully.

“I’ll still only be a phone call or a very short drive away,” she points out. “It’s not like I’m moving to another country.”

“True. You’re still leaving me though,” Elena teases. “Speaking of which, I mailed out the invitations for your bridal shower.”

“I knew you’d be the best maid of honor ever!” Caroline swoops in for a hug and a noisy kiss on the cheek. “Tell him. Trust me,” she reiterates. With a wink, she’s off, probably to start packing another box.

Taking her roomie’s advice, Elena puts her pen to work, letting the words flow and her feelings with them. She’s doing pretty well until she gets to the closing. Does she fess up or play it cute?

Closing her eyes, she makes a decision and signs her name. She’ll explain when he reads it. At least that buys her some more time.

Sliding the card into the envelope and sealing it, she flips it over and writes his name on the front in big, loopy letters. It’s no calligraphy master class, but it’s a decent effort.

“There. One thing down, a hundred more to go.”

Planning the ultimate birthday surprise is a tall order, but she’s up for the challenge.

*****

Perched on the edge of the mattress, Elena watches Damon while he sleeps. It’s a rare treat since he’s almost always up before she is, but this morning, she managed to sneak out of bed without waking him.

She brushes a few strands of hair off his forehead and he stirs, dark lashes fluttering as he slowly opens his eyes. He yawns and stretches, and Elena beads in on every tantalizing flex of muscle.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, frowning as he plucks at the hem of her blouse. “What time is it?”

“Ten minutes to nine.”

“You’re dressed.”

She laughs at his wry observation. “Busy day. Lots to do.” Leaning in, she presses a kiss to his cheek then his eager mouth, doing her best to erase his disappointment. “Happy Birthday,” she whispers as she pulls back.

He seems surprised for a moment, his hand curling around hers so she can’t dart away. “Thanks. Who let that slip? My brother? Caroline?”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Aren’t you mysterious.” Before she can maneuver out of his grasp, he hauls her up on the bed and straddles her hips. “What are you up to?” he asks, slipping his hands under her shirt and letting his fingers dance across her ribcage until she’s squirming beneath him. “You hate getting up early on weekends, but you’re awake and already dressed.”

“Damon!” she shrieks, trying to bat his hands away. “Cut that out!”

“Why so sneaky, kitten?” he persists, continuing his tickle torment until she’s gasping for breath.

“If you don’t stop . . . torturing me,” she pants, “your breakfast will get cold.”

His hands still, and he arches a dark brow. “You made me breakfast?”

She nods. “But you’re going to have to leave me be to go eat it.”

“You’re not eating with me?” he pouts, transforming from devious boyfriend into sulky five-year-old in two seconds flat.

“There’s that lip again. I can’t; I have a ton of errands to run.”

“But it’s my birthday.” He settles on top of her and trails a line of hot, wet kisses down her throat. “You smell like vanilla and oranges . . . and sunshine.”

Damon pops the top button on her blouse and explores the patch of skin that’s revealed with his mouth. Elena almost caves, almost lets him have his way with her, but a quick glance at the clock brings her to-do list back into focus. She gently tugs on his hair until he’s looking at her instead of unhooking the clasp on her bra.

“I’m gonna be late.” She cups his cheek, and he leans into her touch. “It’ll be worth it, trust me.”

“I suppose I have to let you up,” he sighs, fixing her button and straightening her blouse. “How is it that you know my birthday, but I don’t know yours?” He reluctantly rolls onto his side, and she scrambles off the bed before he gets any other ideas.

“Can’t tell you,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks toward the door. “I have this weird selective memory, and I’m not great with dates . . .”

“I’ll find out,” he says softly, his confident grin promising payback.

“I don’t doubt it.” She pauses long enough to blow him a kiss. “Later, birthday boy.”

*****

No sooner has Damon polished off the rest of his freshly squeezed orange juice and eaten the last bite of Elena’s blueberry smiley-face pancakes when there’s a knock on the front door.

Opening the way, he discovers his brother with a package tucked under his arm.

“Sorry, no solicitors,” Damon announces, pretending to shut the door. He only gets it halfway closed before he can’t contain his laughter any longer. Throwing it wide again, he grabs Stefan by the shirt sleeve and tugs him over the threshold.

“I almost kept this for myself, so you better be nice to me,” Stefan says pointedly, setting the gift aside and pulling Damon in for a hug. “Happy Birthday, you pain in the ass.”

“Thanks, Stef.” He shakes the neatly wrapped box for clues—an old childhood habit—and is greeted by the slosh of liquid. Tearing off the paper and slicing into the box, he discovers a bottle of his favorite bourbon. “You’re the best, baby bro.” He grins, clapping Stefan on the shoulder. “My stash was running low.”

“So, what are you up to today?” Stefan takes the bottle out of his hands and saunters to the kitchen with Damon trailing after him. He slides onto a stool, and Damon snags the bourbon back, tucking it safely behind the other bottles on the counter.

“I’ll probably head to the club and finish some paperwork,” he says with a shrug.

Stefan makes a face. “Working on your birthday? Lame.” He glances around, eyes widening. “Um.”

“What?”

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at the lamp in the living room. “Redecorating?”

Damon follows his gaze and chuckles. One of Elena’s thongs is draped across the shade. He vaguely remembers flinging it aside last night in his haste to be inside her. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“It’s nice to see you ditching the fortress-of-solitude vibe. How’s the weekend arrangement going?”

“Good.” He smiles to himself as he pictures Elena padding around the house in nothing but his t-shirt, if that. He’s recently introduced her to the delights of naked breakfasts, and now she’s just as enthusiastic about them as he is. “Really good.”

“Still no word on Enzo?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm. You’re looking pretty happy these days,” Stefan comments in typical, I’m-trying-to-get-you-to-spill-the-beans fashion.

“I am.” Friday nights, Saturdays, and Sundays are the best. Whenever she’s around, he feels like everything in his life is falling into place.

“‘Bout time.” Stefan goes in search of coffee, and Damon passes him a mug. His brother fires up the Keurig, all bright eyed and up to something, Damon surmises. “Screw work. Let’s play a round of golf or shuffleboard or whatever it is old folks like you enjoy doing,” he teases.

“Y’know, I was considering getting Kat that bull whip she’s always wanted for Christmas, but I might have to change my mind.”

“Or basketball,” Stefan hastily adds. “That’s a youthful sport, right?”

A lightbulb goes off in Damon’s head, and he puts his suspicions to the test. “You’re distracting me. Did someone put you up to this?” He levels a hand just below his nose. “About yea high, brunette, soulful brown eyes, absolutely fucking gorgeous, and just happens to be my girlfriend?”

Stefan doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. We always hang out on your birthday.”

It sounds innocent enough, but Damon knows he’s in cahoots with Elena. First, the mystery errands, and now Stef’s stuck to his side?

What is she up to?

*****

Elena sets the camera on a shelf and adjusts it until she’s satisfied with the angle. She presses the record button and does a test run, moving around the room to make sure the shot lines up. She’s rearranging a pile of multicolored pillows when Alaric appears in the doorway.

“Need any help?” he asks, jamming his hands into his pockets in his usual awkward-slash-endearing way.

“I think I’ve got everything figured out, but thanks for the offer.” She ties back one of the silk curtains and goes to fiddle with the camera some more.

“Working on a little film project?”

A blush stains her cheeks at his question, and she nods. “Trying to anyway.”

He chuckles, putting her at ease. “No judgments here.”

She smiles at their laidback camaraderie. Coaxing Alaric out of his office—and his shell—is no easy job, but she’s making progress. “How’s Operation Keep Damon in the Dark going?”

“So far, so good. Stefan sent me a text a little while ago. Damon suspects something, but his brother’s keeping him busy,” Ric reports.

“Perfect. If Stefan calls for backup . . .”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Ric.”

He grins and scuffs his shoe on the carpet. “No one’s ever done this”—he gestures around the opulently decorated room—“for him before. Parties and gifts, sure, but on a romantic level? Not so much. You’ll probably leave him speechless, which would be a feat in and of itself.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. That’s what I’m hoping for.” Her phone beeps, and she finds a text from Caroline.

Alaric wishes her luck, and she gives him a little wave as he departs. Turning her attention to her phone, she checks her friend’s message.

How’s it going? You all primped and ready?

Good. Groomed to within an inch of my life ;) Nervous as hell

You’ll be fine. Anything I can do?

All set, thnx

K. If I don’t see you later, relax and have fun

I’ll try

And don’t forget to tell him! :) Caroline’s reminder is followed by a string of emoji hearts.

Elena’s stomach flip-flops as she reads it.

I won’t

Setting her phone aside, she grabs her bag of goodies and arranges them on a pillow. One in particular makes her pause, and she studies it for a moment, running her fingers over the toy’s smooth surface. How such a small and harmless-looking object can be so intimidating is beyond her.

It’s going to be a big night for her and Damon.

For more than one reason.

*****

Damon breezes through the club’s front door, half hoping to find Elena waiting for him in the entryway. When all he discovers is a whole lot of nothing—not even Henry—he rereads Elena’s text to make sure he got the time right.

I’ll be at Midnight at 8. See you there! :*

It’s eight on the dot, so . . .

“Where the hell is everyone?” he mutters.

As if on cue, the inner doors open and Henry appears. “Good evening, Damon,” he greets him, “and Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks.” After spending most of the day without her, Damon’s more than ready to see his girl. “Is Elena here somewhere?”

“She is.” Henry smiles and pushes a box across his desk. Resting on top of it is a rolled-up piece of paper with a blue ribbon tied around its middle.

Intrigued, Damon removes the ribbon and unfurls the note, slowly perusing it.

Most Honorable Prince Damon—

On the anniversary of your birth, we are bestowing upon you a gift befitting your regal station. May your present bring you much enjoyment and pleasure.

We remain,
Your loyal lords

He has to read each elegantly written word twice before reality sinks in. “Did she . . . ?”

Lifting the lid on the box and parting the tissue paper, he uncovers the velvety sleeve of a royal blue jacket with detailed silver embroidery. Underneath it are a pair of black pants and a white, flowy shirt.

“Henry,” he murmurs. “I’m officially the luckiest sonofabitch on the planet.”

*****

On his way to get changed, Damon spots Alaric at the top of the stairs leading to the club’s lower level. Concerned that there might be a problem in the dungeon or one of the theme rooms, he hurries over to his head of security.

“Did you notice something on the feed?” he asks, ready to go have a discussion with one of his members if need be.

“No, I was just . . .” Alaric scratches his head and stares at the painting on the wall beside them. “Uh, I was checking in with someone,” he finally admits.

Ric might be evasive and tight-lipped about his personal life, but he never dodges work issues. “Filling in as a Dungeon Monitor? I didn’t know you were such a multitasker.”

“That’s not really my speed.” He briefly meets Damon’s gaze before looking away again. “A sub needed some props that were missing from one of the rooms, and I brought them to her.”

Her. Lightbulb moment the second.

“You sneaky bastard.” Damon cuffs Ric on the shoulder, and the other man can’t quite keep a small grin from forming. “First my brother, now you? How many accomplices does Elena have?”

“I didn’t admit to anything.” Alaric chuckles and raises his hands in a show of innocence. “You’re the one jumping to conclusions.”

“Uh-huh. Normally, the only way to get you out of your office on a Saturday night is to set off the fire alarm, but here you are, casually visiting subs in the theme rooms.”

“I wasn’t visiting. I was helping,” Alaric emphasizes. “Anyway, don’t you have someplace you’re supposed to be?” he asks, eyeing the box Damon’s carrying.

Damon cracks a grin of his own. “Trying to get rid of me now? I’ll remember this, Saltzman.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go have fun.”

They clap each other on the back, then Damon’s jogging toward the stairs. Before he disappears from sight, Alaric calls to him.

“Drinks on me at Sammie’s whenever you want. Happy Birthday, man.”

“Thanks, Ric.”

He’s halfway down the stairs when everything catches up to him, and he stops for a moment. Without the incredible people in his life—his family, blood-related or not—all of this would be meaningless. He’d be holed up in a dreary office, alone and miserable like his father.

Whether it’s fate or sheer luck, he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

*****

Dressed to the nines in the costume Elena chose for him and more excited than he’s ever been to immerse himself in a roleplay scene, Damon draws in a deep breath and opens the door to one of the most lavish theme rooms the club has to offer. Stepping inside, he’s instantly transported to another place. The walls, carpeting, and furniture are awash in a sea of vibrant colors—deep blues and purples, rich reds and oranges—and the gauzy, silk curtains surrounding the luxurious divan create an elegant haven made for erotic delights.

In the center of it all, kneeling in a nest of pillows, is his gift. He stares, transfixed by the woman now prostrating herself before him, her chocolate waves tumbling over her shoulders and grazing the floor.

“Your Highness,” she says softly, and he bites his lip to stifle a groan.

Fuuuuuuck. Keep it together, he reminds himself. “Stand up. Let me look at you.”

Elena rises amidst a chorus of tiny, jingling bells, courtesy of the delicate belly chain encircling her waist. He skims a finger along her bare midriff—fully aware of the shiver that runs through her at his touch—and the bells ring out again as he flicks at them.

Her outfit is stunning, done in the same shade of blue as his jacket. The bikini-like top is accented with embroidery and miniature crystals that glitter in the low lighting. The sheer sleeves have slits in their sides, and her skirt, if you can call it that, resembles a collection of silk scarves that have been sewn together, some more diaphanous than others.

Lifting his gaze to her face, he memorizes every detail—her full, dark lashes; parted lips shimmering with a hint of gloss; soft, rosy cheeks; eyes accentuated by smoky shadow. The ends of her hair have a freshly trimmed curl to them, but she didn’t alter the length by more than a few inches; it’s still gloriously long, just the way he prefers it.

Unable to help himself, he reaches for her hand, admiring the pale pink polish adorning her nails before pressing a kiss to her palm. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

The flush that spreads over her skin only enhances her loveliness. “How may I serve you, Master?” she asks, a touch of shyness in her voice as she embraces her role.

He’s about to answer when he notices an array of items arranged on one of the pillows. Moving closer, he finds another note:

A selection of accessories to accompany your gift.

There are several scarves of varying lengths, a dildo, a pair of nipple clamps with bells dangling from them, a crop, and . . .

Christ. A butt plug.

He glances at Elena, who’s pointedly studying her toes, but her cheeks darken the longer he watches her. She knows what he’s found.

His adventurous little sub is throwing him for a loop. Time to regain the upper hand.

Selecting the clamps, he returns to her and spends a few minutes massaging her breasts through the satin of her top until her nipples tighten into hard buds. Tugging down the cups, he latches onto her with his mouth, teasing her with teeth and tongue as she arches into him. Just as her eyes close in delight, he affixes the first clamp. She groans as he repeats the process with the other one.

When they’re both in place, he leans in and nuzzles her throat. “Dance for me,” he murmurs against her skin.

She nods, a small smile playing on her lips. “I would love to.”

Taking a seat on the edge of the divan, he observes her as she slowly begins to sway, each movement flowing into the next as she treats him to a sensual seduction. Every gyration of her hips sends the bells into a frenzy, and he imagines hearing those same sounds as he drives into her with his cock. The suggestion transports him from ready-and-waiting to so-hard-it-hurts.

She seems to pick up on his predicament, cupping her breasts and toying with her nipples until her head falls back in bliss. When she turns around and shimmies her ass, flashing a sliver of bare cheek, his hand flies to the button on his pants. As he works his dick free of its confines, he crooks a finger at her.

“Come here,” he commands, rubbing his thumb over the head of his shaft.

Her eyes light up, and she’s on her knees in front of him before he’s hardly spoken the words. He grins in approval, fingers tunneling into her hair as he strokes the silky locks and gathers a fistful to guide her with. She enthusiastically takes him in her mouth, caressing his cock with her tongue. One of her hands circles the base, gently gripping him while that spectacular suction starts up. When she relaxes her throat so he can thrust deeper, he grabs the edge of the divan and squeezes until his knuckles turn white.

Damon’s so caught up in the sensations that he almost misses her hand as it slides along her thigh and disappears beneath her skirt. She rocks back and forth, her lids drooping in bliss. As her muffled moan vibrates around his stiff length, he realizes his naughty concubine is covertly stroking herself.

“Did I give you permission to touch yourself?” he growls, fingers tightening in her hair as his penis slips from her mouth.

She shakes her head and drops her gaze.

“Bring me one of the scarves and the crop.”

She scurries off to do his bidding, and when she returns, he uses the length of silk to bind her wrists behind her back. “I’ll decide when to give you pleasure. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good. Let’s try this again.” He taps her cheek. “Open.”

He eases past her lips, sighing in relief as he resumes fucking the warm, wet haven of her mouth. He runs the crop over her ass, delivering a couple sharp snaps for her disobedience. She groans but doesn’t cease her ministrations. Instead, she begins to hum, driving him closer to orgasm.

The crop dips between her thighs, and he teases her clit with the tip. She shifts to give him better access, and her skirt parts, revealing a hint of gloriously bare skin. He freezes, his building release forgotten.

“Stop,” he rasps. Her eyes widen in dismay, but she obeys, pulling back with one last, longing lick. He lifts her onto the divan, retying her wrists above her head so she won’t be lying on them. Brushing aside the filmy layers of her skirt, he nudges her legs apart, his gaze riveted to her sex. He can’t resist letting his fingers play over her smooth mound, the meticulously trimmed patch of hair now completely gone. He parts her soft, pink folds, which are glistening with her arousal. “You did this for me?” he whispers in awe.

She beams at him, thoroughly pleased with herself. “Of course, my Prince.”

“I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect gift.” Bracing his hands on her knees, he leans in and presses a kiss to her slit. His tongue delves inside, and she squirms in his grasp.

“No, wait,” she protests. “I wasn’t finished with you.”

“Shhh.” She twists against his grip, but he easily holds her still.

“You didn’t get to—”

“Later.”

“But—”

“Hush.” Snagging another scarf, he knots it in the center and slips it behind her teeth, effectively putting an end to the backtalk. “I’m suddenly ravenous, and I know exactly what will sate my hunger,” he purrs as he ties off the makeshift gag.

Settling in for a treat that’s so much better than cake and ice cream, he laps at her, purposely avoiding her clit so he can draw this out as long as possible. He takes his time exploring her, occasionally retreating to dust kisses along her inner thigh while she writhes in frustration. He wasn’t kidding when he told her he’d happily worship her with his mouth for hours on end. Days, even. Her scent, her taste, the feel of her against his tongue . . .

Pure heaven.

When he finally relents and turns his attention to her sensitive nub, she bucks her hips, her stifled pleas ramping up his own desire.

“Would you like to come?” he asks sweetly.

“Mmm!”

He chuckles as she nods emphatically, the flush spreading across her chest deepening with her need. Coaxing her closer with rapid flicks of his tongue, he pauses until her eyes meet his.

“Scream for your Master.”

His demand makes her do just that, the scarf no match for her loud cries as her orgasm slams into her. He stays with her while spasms wrack her body, gentling his strokes until she goes limp in utter satisfaction.

Giving Elena a few moments to recover, he locates a condom and slips it on. When she stirs, looking dazed but happy, he scoops her up and trades places with her on the divan, positioning her astride his lap. Loosening the gag, he captures her mouth, his tongue caressing hers so she can taste herself there.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he manages between kisses. “I have to be inside you.”

“Yes . . .”

Gripping her waist, he raises her up until the tip of his cock nudges her slick entrance. As she gradually sinks down on his shaft, they both let out a ragged moan. He’d be content to stay buried deep within her indefinitely, but Elena has other plans. Placing her bound hands on his chest for balance, she rides him, the sinuous rhythm of her hips combining with the chiming of the bells to create a stunningly erotic vision that will be permanently seared into his memory.

Whenever he gets her in this position, she usually takes to it with wild abandon, throwing her head back and chasing the ecstasy that’s never far from reach, but tonight, she’s more restrained, a look of concentration on her beautiful face. There’s an intensity in her eyes that burns into him until he can feel it in his very core. Flexing her inner muscles, she squeezes him just the way he likes, repeating the delicious maneuver again and again. He shudders and bites his lip, trying to stave off the release she’s determined to give him. He’d rather she join him; dual orgasms are better than a solo performance.

She dips her head and plants an open-mouth kiss at the base of his throat. His fingers dig into her hips, and he takes over, increasing the pace as their bodies slap together with every urgent thrust. Elena’s soft panting, the puffs of warm breath against his skin, are nearly his undoing.

His gaze drops to the spot where they’re joined, and he uses his thumb to tease her swollen clit until her legs start to tremble. She tightens around him, dragging him to the edge along with her. For the finishing touch, he swiftly removes both clamps, and she squeals as he soothes the aching peaks with his tongue.

“May I p-please co—”

“Yes. God, yes,” he groans. “Now.”

Her powerful orgasm triggers his and she screams into his shoulder, her hands clutching at his jacket. With a hoarse shout that can probably be heard along the entire lower level of the club, Damon hugs her to him, savoring each quiver rippling through their bodies.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, fingers curling in the damp hair at her nape.

She pulls back, regarding him with a serene expression. “You’re happy with your gift? It wouldn’t do to displease the Prince.”

“Deliriously happy.” He seals his words by tenderly brushing his lips over hers. “More than you know.” He eyes the toys they didn’t use yet, zeroing in on one in particular. “In fact, I think we should go to my palace so I can continue enjoying the best present I’ve ever received.”

“I like that idea,” she agrees with a smile.

“Perfect.” Untying her wrists, he rubs at the faint pink marks left behind by the scarf then, much as he hates to, helps her off his lap, immediately missing the feel of being sheathed inside her.

After they partake in a quick cleanup session in the attached bathroom, the door to which blends in with the wall so it won’t disturb the scenery, he pockets the remainder of the toys, and glances at Elena, who’s crouched in the corner, packing her clothes, phone, and whatever else she brought with her into a bag. They’re still dressed in their costumes because he can’t wait to show her off on their way to the car.

“Ready to go, pet?”

“Yep.”

Bag in hand, she approaches the door, but he catches her wrist and tugs her to him. “I’ll take this,” he offers, reaching for her bag. “And you.”

Before she realizes what that statement implies, he hoists her over his shoulder, locking an arm around the back of her thighs to ensure she doesn’t slip from his grasp. Chuckling at her surprised gasp and feeble demands that he put her down, he grabs her bag in his free hand and heads for the exit.

When they arrive upstairs, they’re greeted by a barrage of hoots, hollers, and whistles, along with a chorus of “Happy Birthday”s. Nik and Blondie wave, Elijah nods in approval, Trent gives them a thumbs-up, and Kat winks from across the room. Have fun, she mouths.

They run into Stefan in the entryway, who can’t keep the shit-eating grin off his face. “Was it worth being stuck with me all day?”

“You bet your ass it was.”

And the celebration’s not over yet. He has plans for his girl that involve his bed, a healthy dose of romance, and new, sensual explorations.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

*****

Elena stares at the flickering candle flame, one of dozens casting mesmerizing shadows on the walls surrounding the bed, and reflects on her successful plot to surprise Damon. She wasn’t sure she could pull it off, but Stefan and Ric helped her out, distracting him while she took care of the preparations. With a happy sigh, she nuzzles the pillow beneath her cheek, reliving their scene in the harem room. If she’s lucky, maybe Prince Damon will pay her another visit in the near future.

She picks up on the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, where Damon’s been for the past fifteen minutes or so. Tension creeps into her neck and shoulders, and she closes her eyes, focusing on trying to calm her racing heartbeat. This was your idea, she reminds herself, drawing in a deep breath and slowly releasing it. He wants her as relaxed as possible, a task she’s finding increasingly difficult as the minutes tick by.

As if her anxious state has the power to summon him to her, she feels the mattress dip as Damon climbs up on the bed. A warm hand smooths over her back, fingers trailing the length of her spine. “Someone’s not very relaxed,” he whispers in her ear, nibbling the lobe.

“It’s easier when you’re here with me.” She leans into his touch as his lips skim down to her throat. Her hair is still damp from her earlier shower, and he brushes it out of the way so he can press a line of soft, wet kisses across her skin.

“Having second thoughts?”

“No,” she admits. “Just being my usual panicky self. What if I don’t like it? I mean . . . I hope I will because I know you do, and I want to do this for you, too, but—” She stops rambling, burying her face in the pillow instead. “Sorry,” she mumbles into the down. “Maybe you should gag me.”

He chuckles as he checks the tightness of her cuffs, curling his fingers around hers and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Not this time, lover. You need to be able to talk so you can tell me how things feel. If you end up not liking it, we’ll try again later, or just table it for now.”

“Really?”

“Of course. We’re taking it slow, remember?” He adjusts the spreader bar, widening it ever so slightly, and pauses to tickle the bottom of her foot until she giggles. Grabbing a couple pillows from the head of the bed, he tucks them under her hips. “Raise up your sexy ass just a little bit more . . . perfect,” he murmurs as she complies with his request. Stretching out beside her, he strokes her cheek as their eyes meet. “When I check in with you, I expect honest answers, not what you think I want to hear, especially for this.”

She nods in agreement. Somehow, she suspects she wouldn’t be able to hide the truth from him even if she wanted to.

“Good.” He holds up the plug so she can see it, and she realizes it’s different from the one she chose. He notices her confusion and grins. “Yours was a tad too big for a newbie. This one’s called a princess plug,” he explains, showing her the pink, heart-shaped jewel in the base, “which is appropriate, I think.”

“Why’s that?”

“I thoroughly enjoyed our roleplay tonight, believe me, but in my version of the fantasy, you’re not a concubine,” he reveals. He traces the edge of her collar, slipping a finger between the leather and her throat, and she sucks in a breath. “You’re the princess. My princess.”

Elena doesn’t recall ever blushing to the tips of her toes before, but there’s a first time for everything, she supposes, as heat spreads through her at his words.

“I won’t lie to you—it’s going to feel strange,” he explains, indicating the toy, “but it shouldn’t hurt. If there’s even the slightest hint of pain, let me know. Immediately.” His tone leaves no room for arguments.

“Yes, Master.”

He leans in for a kiss, and the touch of his lips is an instant comfort. He coaxes her into opening for him with gentle sweeps of his tongue, swallowing the moan that bubbles out of her. When he pulls back, she tries to follow, pouting as her restraints prevent her from moving more than an inch or two.

“Relax, baby. I’m gonna make it so fucking good for you,” he promises with a wink.

Damon disappears behind her, and the waiting begins. She’s imagining him dragging over a gallon-size jug of lube when his hands settle on her ass. He kneads her bottom, giving her a mini massage and working his way to her hips and back. If he ever gets tired of the kink club business, heaven forbid, he’d make a hell of a professional masseur.

When he parts her cheeks, those explorations she remembers from the other night in the playroom start up again. He’s careful as his fingertips brush her tight entrance, getting her used to the unfamiliar sensation of being caressed there. It’s not bad, really. She can totally handle this—

The soft swipe of his tongue replaces his probing fingers, and a shrill screech splits the air. It takes Elena several seconds to realize the startling sound originated with her. “Whoa . . . w-what . . . huh, um,” she stammers, craning her neck to try and spot Damon. She finally catches a glimpse of those blue eyes, crinkled slightly at the corners as he snickers at her reaction.

“Did I catch you by surprise?” he asks, repeating the action when she doesn’t answer right away.

“Yes!” she squeaks, her bound hands fluttering and grasping at nothing as he does it again.

“Good to know I’ve still got it.” Her smug Dom continues his ministrations despite her occasional squeals and, once she gets past her initial qualms, shivers of delight. Just as she’s becoming accustomed to the newest trick in his arsenal, a dribble of cold gel on her sensitive skin shocks her into stillness.

She gasps and bites her lip, bracing for what’s sure to come next.

Damon plants a kiss on her right cheek. “You’re doing great.” Something warm and slick—his finger, she’s guessing—presses against her, slowly working its way inside. While she focuses on keeping her cool, he uses shallow thrusts and a generous amount of lube to make it as easy on her as possible. She fidgets at the unusual invasion, and he trails a hand up her inner thigh until he’s cupping her sex. “How’s that feel?”

“O-okay. It’s . . . odd, but not unbearable.”

“That’s my girl.” He removes his finger, and the smooth tip of the plug takes its place. As it gradually enters her, he distracts her with light strokes to her clit. She shudders at the sudden jolt of pleasure, moaning as the toy slides deeper. He gently fucks her with it, and she finds herself pushing back, ready for more. There’s a few moments of discomfort when she encounters the flared end of the plug, but Damon soothes her, rubbing her throbbing bundle of nerves until her toes curl.

With one last push, it’s filling her completely. She wiggles her ass, trying to get used to the weird intruder. Before she has a chance to think about it too much, he presses harder on her clit, delivering a quick pinch. “Oh, god,” she gasps into the pillow, bucking her hips as the potent combination threatens to drag her over the edge.

“Yes,” he husks. “Give it to me.”

She cries out as she’s swept up in waves of ecstasy, her whole body trembling under the onslaught. The frenzy spirals on as Damon’s fingers delve past her folds—exactly where she wants them to be. She rocks against him, shamelessly seeking more of his attentions.

“Mmm. Needy little thing, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his palm connecting with her backside and jarring the plug.

With an eager nod, she glances back at him, their gazes locking. “Please fuck me, Master.”

His eyes darken at her breathy plea, and he growls a curse as he tears off the corner of a condom wrapper with his teeth. The head of his cock prods her entrance, slipping inside then retreating, and it requires every ounce of her self-control not to beg him to stop teasing her. However, she soon realizes why he’s going so slowly—taking both the plug and Damon’s thick shaft has her feeling as full as he once promised she would be. He was right about something else, too . . .

She can’t tell which is making her hotter.

His hand tunnels into her hair, tugging on a fistful of the soft strands. “You still with me, kitten?”

“Uh-huh.” There’s a dreamy quality to her voice, which shouldn’t be surprising considering the effect he always has on her.

Gripping her hips, he eases into a steady rhythm, each thrust drawing whimpers and blissful sighs from her. The encouragement spurs him on, and he picks up the pace, driving her closer to orgasm with every stroke of his hard length. He taps the base of the plug, and she jerks, clenching around him reflexively. “Christ,” he groans. “That heart nestled between your cheeks is a fucking beautiful sight.”

He resumes caressing her clit until the feather-light touch is almost too much to bear. She cries out, tremors starting in her thighs and working up her spine.

“Ready to come for me?” he rasps, hips pistoning away as she digs her nails into her palms, wishing she had something to hold onto.

“Yes . . . Master.”

“Then let go, princess. I’ve got you.”

The force of her release steals her breath and erases everything except the incredible pleasure surging through her. She’s vaguely aware of Damon’s shout as his own orgasm hits, and he blankets her back, nipping her shoulder. The slight sting triggers a string of aftershocks, and another rush of heat floods her core.

She sags to the mattress, completely spent but satisfied. The restraints and the plug eventually vanish, then she’s enfolded in the safety of Damon’s arms. At some point, she’ll need to summon the energy to grab his present, but for now, maybe she can take a nap. Just a little one . . .

*****

Elena stirs in her sleep, mumbling his name, and Damon smiles. His hand is buried in her silky locks, unmoving, from where he’d paused his stroking long enough to study the dark eyelashes fanned out above her cheeks. “Don’t worry. I’m not stopping,” he whispers, continuing to comb through her tousled hair.

He traces random patterns on her hip, marveling at how special this day has been and all the effort she put in to make it happen. Lucky is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to translating his feelings into words.

She shifts again, murmuring something he can’t quite catch. Her lids flutter open, and she blinks up at him, a small grin tugging at her lips.

“Hey.”

He kisses the tip of her nose. “Hi.”

“How long was I out?”

“A little while.”

She stretches and drapes an arm around his neck. “What time is it?”

A glance at the clock tells him his birthday is almost over. “About twenty minutes to midnight.”

“Your present!” She bolts upright, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp. “You need to open it before—”

“That can wait, unless it’s going to self-destruct or something,” he adds with a chuckle. “First, I need to know where you’re at.”

“I’m right here,” she answers cheekily, flattening her tongue and dragging it over his nipple.

He hisses and retaliates by smacking her ass. “You know what I mean.”

She chews on her bottom lip, looking thoughtful. “I enjoyed our scene. The plug felt as strange as you said it would, but once I stopped dwelling on it, it wasn’t bad. Plus, you were pretty good at distracting me.”

He wants her to associate pleasure with anal play, so he’s happy to hear the verdict. Still, he can practically see her wheels turning. “Did you like it enough to have me train you?”

“What would that entail?”

“Gradually increasing the size of the plug until you’re ready for me,” he murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You think I’ll be able to?” Elena gazes at his cock where it’s nudging her lower belly. “You’re really . . . big.”

“Why, thank you.” He waggles his brows, and she cuffs his arm.

“You know what I mean,” she parrots.

“It’ll take time, but we can give it a shot, if you’re willing.”

Her lip disappears between her teeth again, then she squares her shoulders. “Okay.”

Before he has a chance to respond, his determined kitten reaches up and kisses him then scrambles out of his hold, gets her foot tangled in the sheets . . . and promptly tumbles over the edge of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor.

“Elena!”

“I’m good!” She’s off and streaking through the house before he can catch her. Little minx.

She returns a few minutes later, carrying a small package topped with a silver bow, which she deposits in his lap. He checks her over to make sure she didn’t hurt herself after her fall, and when he’s satisfied that she won’t have more than a bruise or two to show for it, he peels off the paper, revealing a gift box. Lifting the lid, he discovers a pair of cufflinks engraved with his initials.

“These are beautiful, baby. Thank you.”

“And there’s this, too.” She holds out her hand, fingers curled into a fist so he can’t see what’s in it. Whatever this is, it’s turning her face red as a rose. “I thought you might like to keep tonight as more than a memory.”

More than a memory? Did she . . . He carefully peels back her fingers, uncovering a memory card, like the kind that fits in a digital camera. His eyes widen at the sight. “Elena Gilbert, did you make a sex tape?” he asks incredulously.

She looks down at the duvet, trailing her hand over the stitching. “If you hate it, or if the angle’s shitty, I can delete it. I kinda winged it. Or we can make another one that you, y’know, know about,” she quietly adds.

His girl truly is as kinky as he is. Imagine that. “I wouldn’t dream of deleting it, but I may take you up on your offer to film a second one because”—he tips her backward onto the mattress and settles over her, placing a kiss just below her ear—“two are better than one.”

He nuzzles her throat, following a path to the swell of her breast, but she interrupts his explorations, tapping him on the shoulder with a white envelope. “Wait! Your card.”

He slices it open and reads the sweet message inside, his gaze drawn to the heart she drew above her name.

“Listen, about the heart—I know it’s dumb. And childish.” She rubs a hand over her face. “What I meant to write is—”

“It’s perfect, all of it. I love it.” He dips his head, capturing her mouth and kissing her with every ounce of passion, gratitude, and affection he possesses. “I love you, ‘Lena,” he whispers when they part to drag in a few unsteady breaths, and again, louder this time. “I love you.”

“Wait . . . what?” she gasps, her voice full of wonder. “That’s supposed to be my line.”

“I’m not just saying it because of everything you did for me today, which was amazing and above and beyond what anyone’s ever done for me. I started falling for you the day we met, the very first moment I held your hand, but the shit from my past kept getting in the way, reminding me how hard it is to put yourself out there and risk being shot down.” He brushes a finger over her lips, which are swollen from his kiss. “But you’re so different, open and trusting. Kind. Caring. I can’t pretend what I feel for you is anything less than love. I won’t.”

“Damon . . .” Her eyes briefly squeeze shut, and when they reopen, they’re bright and brimming with unshed tears. “I wanted to tell you before now, but I was afraid it was too soon. That it would seem insincere and rushed, or that you wouldn’t be ready to hear it. To believe it.” A tear slips down her cheek, and he catches it with the pad of his thumb. “I love you, too.”

He has no idea who initiates the kiss that follows—maybe they both do—but what he does know is he can sense the emotion, and the intention, behind it right to his very soul.

And he’s never, ever going to let go of it.

Chapter Text

“Elena . . .”

She groans and pulls the pillow over her head, turning to face the wall and ignoring the sound of her name being called.

“Elenaaaa . . .” the voice whispers again.

“Go ‘way,” she mutters. It’s too early to be awake. Her alarm hasn’t even gone off yet.

“C’mon, get up. It’s time to celebrate!” comes the chipper reply.

“It’s time to sleep. Lemme be.”

Her bed starts to shake as her persistent roommate bounces on the mattress.

“It’s not a trampoline, Care.” Figuring she isn’t going to win this one, she ditches the pillow and tosses back the sheet with a sigh, squinting at the bright morning light filtering through the curtains.

“Happy Birthday!” Caroline pounces, and Elena finds herself on the receiving end of an attack hug. “Twenty-five! We’re getting so old,” she frets, diving under the covers and tugging them up around both of them.

“Thanks.” Elena grins and wipes a piece of glitter off her friend’s cheek. “You make it seem like we should be picking out rooms in a nursing home.”

“As long as yours and mine are next to each other, I’m cool with it.” They burst into laughter, then Caroline’s smile falters. “This is the last birthday morning we’ll have together.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think Nik would appreciate me climbing into bed with you two,” Elena points out, trying to lighten the mood.

“It’s the end of an era.” Caroline’s voice cracks, and she rubs her watery eyes.

“No,” Elena corrects, wrapping her arms around her bestie and squeezing her tight. “It’s the beginning of a new adventure.” When she pulls back, she takes Caroline’s hand in hers and brushes a thumb over the glittering diamond on her finger. “And it’s going to be amazing. We’ll come up with a new birthday tradition.”

“Promise?” Care asks, her smile returning despite her tears.

“Promise. I could stand outside your bedroom window with a megaphone and sing to you,” Elena suggests.

“I’ll take it.”

“Or what about—” A knock on the door interrupts her next idea, and she scowls at the clock. “Who the hell could that be? It’s only five after six.”

“You can’t think of anyone else who’d want to pay you a visit today?”

“Not this early in the . . .” Caroline’s smug expression tells her everything she needs to know. “You told him.”

“Of course. Fair is fair!” Her friend hops out of bed and goes to answer the door, and Elena runs a hand through her hair so she won’t resemble something that just crawled out of a lagoon. Just as she’s wiping her face to make sure there’s no leftover drool, Damon saunters through the doorway, looking like he just left a GQ shoot in a navy V-neck tee, her favorite snug jeans, and his leather boots. He’s carrying a paper sack in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” he greets her, handing over the much-needed coffee before swooping in for a kiss. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks, although this is about as far from beautiful as it gets.” She gestures to her ratty t-shirt, but Damon’s gaze is drawn to the hem of the shirt, which is flirting with the tops of her thighs.

He pushes it higher on her hip, revealing the edge of her lacy boy shorts. “I thoroughly disagree,” he murmurs, sinking down beside her on the bed.

Caroline taps on the door to get their attention. “I’m gonna take a quick shower. You two behave, or don’t,” she adds with a wink, disappearing from sight.

Elena rolls her eyes and refocuses on Damon, running a hand down the front of his shirt. “I can’t believe you woke up at the crack of dawn and brought me coffee. How did I get so lucky?”

“Not just coffee.” He holds up the sack. “Breakfast, too.”

“I knew I loved you for a reason.” Her cheeks warm as she pokes around in the bag and pulls out a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich. “I really like saying that out loud.”

“And I really like hearing it.” He steals another kiss then sits back so she can dig into her food.

“So, what are your plans for today?” she asks between bites of yummy goodness.

“Hmm, let’s see.” He pretends to flip open an imaginary planner. “I’m dropping you off at the office, picking you up at noon”—so sneaky Caroline told him about her half-day, too—“taking you to lunch, then we’ll see what other trouble we can get ourselves into. Does that work with your schedule, Ms. Gilbert?”

She smiles at him over the rim of her cup. “It certainly does, Mr. Salvatore.”

*****

Things are going smoothly until about ten o’clock when a huge bouquet of red and pink roses arrives. Elena knows who the sender is without checking the card, but she reads it anyway, a thrill running through her at the words written there.

Happy Birthday, gorgeous. These flowers have nothing on you.

See you soon.

Love,
D

The sight of the flowers sends Amy scurrying off to file some paperwork, muttering all the way. They also attract Dr. Wes’s attention, and he strolls over, admiring the bouquet.

“Very pretty,” he murmurs, dipping his head to sniff at one of the lush blooms. “From your boyfriend, I presume?”

“Yes.” Elena hopes that’s the beginning and end of the conversation, but then he notices the card.

“I had no idea it’s your birthday. I should send Amy out to grab a cake.”

Just what she needs—another reason to hate me. “Um, no, thanks. It’s really kind of you to suggest that, but I don’t want to trouble anyone. Plus, I’m taking a half-day, so I’ll only be here for a few more hours.”

He smiles and leans on the counter, seemingly content to keep chatting. Elena glances at the schedule; his next appointment isn’t for another fifteen minutes. Swell. “That’ll be fun. Is someone throwing you a party later? Friends? Family?”

“Uh, maybe. Friends, that is. My family doesn’t live around here.”

“Ah. That’s too bad.”

The bell over the door jingles, and Elena gets a reprieve when Dr. Wes’s ten-thirty strolls in, her gaze drifting unabashedly over the doctor’s lean frame. Mrs. Brody knows how to get her flirt on, too.

“Dr. Maxfield!” she coos. “What a pleasant surprise. Since I’m here early, perhaps we’ll have a chance to catch up.” She bats her lashes, and Elena barely manages to hide her grin.

“Perfect,” he mutters then turns to greet the woman. “Of course. Right this way, Mrs. Brody.” He ushers her toward the exam rooms, and before the inner door closes, Elena hears her ask to be called by her first name—Genevieve.

“He’ll love that,” Elena whispers to herself, remembering his attempt to get her to call him Wes.

Karma’s a wonderful thing.

*****

Just before Elena tucks her phone in her purse, it beeps with an incoming text from Jenna.

Happy Birthday! Have a good time with loverboy! :)

She grins, shaking her head as she writes a quick message back to her aunt, which includes a plea not to drop that nickname in Damon’s presence when they finally meet. As she types the last word and hits send, the bell jingles again, and she glances up to find her hot lunch date standing in front of the reception desk.

He runs a finger over one of the red roses, watching her closely as he strokes the velvety petals. The seductive display pays off when she shivers, eager—as always—for his touch. “Nice flowers,” he murmurs. “Wonder where they came from.”

“Yeah, it’s a real mystery,” she says in what Damon likes to call her sex-kitten voice. She clears her throat, shelving it for now before Dr. Wes picks up on it—

Speak of the devil.

He breezes out of his office, heading in their direction, and Elena has the sudden urge to hide Damon under the desk. Sending up a silent prayer that Dr. Wes dials down the flirty behavior, she braces herself for the impending encounter. One super awkward meeting, coming up!

Sure enough, the doctor makes a beeline for them, his usual amiable smile plastered on his face. “Getting ready to leave us for the day?” he asks, passing her a stack of patient files that she sets aside for Amy to take care of later.

She nods, noticing the way Damon straightens to his full height. “Just finishing up one last email.”

“Good.” He turns, studying the man who appears to be guarding the desk like a sentry at the castle gates. “Who’s your friend?”

Damon visibly bristles at the “friend” label, and she quickly jumps in before the tension threatens to choke them all.

“Actually, this is my boyfriend,” she clarifies. “Dr. Wes, meet Damon. Damon, Dr. Wes.”

The doctor holds out his hand, grin still firmly in place and seemingly not abashed in the slightest. “Damon. What a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” Damon says tightly as he grips the other man’s hand and gives it a brief shake.

“You’re quite the lucky guy,” Dr. Wes continues, apparently oblivious to just how thin the ice is upon which he’s currently skating. “Elena’s a real gem.”

Damon’s gaze turns positively frosty. “I’m very aware of that fact.”

Elena sends the email she’s been working on, proofreading be damned, and gathers her purse, more than ready to get the hell out of here. “We should probably go—”

“Are you kidding me?” Amy’s shrill voice cuts through her weak attempt at an escape. “This is your boyfriend?”

Perfect. Exactly what this circus needs is a third ring.

Elena doesn’t bother turning to meet the daggers likely being glared into her back. “Yes, and we have reservations”—a fib, but a necessary one—“so we’re leaving. See you tomorrow!”

With a nod to Dr. Wes, who wishes her a happy birthday, she grabs the vase of flowers so Amy won’t maul them in her absence and gladly lets Damon steer her out the door.

Once they’re safely in the car with the roses balanced on her lap, she hazards a glance at Damon. “Well, that was fun.”

He rolls his eyes and turns the key in the ignition, revving the engine in pure muscle-car-pissing-match fashion. “Dr. McFlirty’s a real charmer.”

“You have nothing to worry about, trust me.”

He cups her cheek, his stormy expression clearing and the smile she loves so much taking its place. “I’m not doubting you, baby. The creepy doc though . . .” He stares at the clinic’s door as if he expects Dr. Wes to reappear at any moment. “Can’t he lurk around Amy instead? She seems nice.”

Elena’s eyes widen, and Damon chuckles at her reaction. “Nice!? She’s probably making a voodoo doll as we speak. If I drop dead later, you’ll know why.”

“No dropping dead allowed. Ready to eat, birthday girl?”

“Yes, please,” she answers gratefully, anxious to forget about the office drama for a while and enjoy spending the rest of the day with Damon.

*****

“I’ve never seen someone devour a BLT that quickly in my life.”

Elena shoots a look at the smartass in the driver’s seat and finishes twisting her hair into a messy bun. “I was starving, and you dragged me out of there before I could order dessert.”

Their trip to her favorite diner was cut short when Damon insisted they take off for their next destination, which—judging by the rustic scenery they’re breezing past—is somewhere in the sticks. There were at least five different kinds of pie she’d been ready to bury her face in, but no . . .

“Don’t pout, kitten. There’s a pretty good chance you’ll get that dessert you’re dying for later.” He winks, and she can’t help but smile a little. Just a little. She really wanted that pie, dammit.

“Are you saying you’re making me a cake?”

He mimes locking his lips and tossing away the key. She’s contemplating creative ways to get the answer out of him when he turns onto a dirt road and follows it to the edge of the woods, bringing the car to a stop by a thick stand of trees. She glances out the windshield at the forest before them, noticing an opening in the underbrush, which must be the start of a trail. It’s a lovely spot, no doubt, but it also has a slight horror flick vibe to it.

“Finally had enough of me, huh?” she teases. “You drove me out here to get rid of me. On my birthday, no less.”

He laughs and turns around to rummage in the back seat. “I’ll never get enough of you, so you know that’s not true.”

At least she can blame this blush on the sticky summer weather. “What’s the plan? We just ate, so it’s not a picnic.”

“Blondie told me you haven’t been on a hike in a while.” Uncertainty flickers across his face. “That’s still something you enjoy doing, right?”

She nods, impressed that he recalled that particular tidbit from their first breakfast together. “You remembered.”

“I did.”

She carefully sets the flowers on the floor by her feet and picks a piece of dandelion fluff off her pencil skirt. “I’m not dressed for the occasion. Unless you plan on carrying me,” she adds. Heels and uneven ground do not mix.

“I came prepared.” He plops a bag in her lap, and in it, she finds a pair of shorts, a tank top, socks, and sneakers.

The ruffled edging on the shorts gets her attention, and she pulls them out for a better look. “Um, Damon? These aren’t shorts.”

“What?”

She holds up the garment for him to see. “This is a skirt. A short one.”

His eyes widen and he bites his lip, probably to keep from laughing. “Oops?”

“You did this on purpose!” she accuses, not buying the innocent act for a second.

“I didn’t, I swear.” He holds up his hands to ward off a potential attack. “I was in a hurry. Sorry, babe.”

“There are ticks in the woods.” And plenty of other insects she’d rather not have crawling on her.

The look on his face tells her exactly where his mind’s at before he even says the words. “Don’t worry. I’ll check you over thoroughly when we’re done.”

With an exasperated sigh, she unbuttons her blouse, shooing him away when he offers to help her out of her bra, too. “Uh-uh. No copping a feel unless this hike ends on a bug-free note.”

That doesn’t mean she’s not going to enjoy teasing the hell out of him in the meantime.

*****

Caroline was right; it’s been too long since Elena took a break from the busy city life and lost herself in the peaceful surroundings of nature. The rustling of leaves, the birdsong, the woodsy scent, the sound of water flowing lazily through brooks and streams—pure balm for the soul.

It doesn’t hurt that the man walking beside her, his fingers entwined with hers, is the reason she’s able to unwind and enjoy it. When she’s with him, it’s easier to stop focusing on annoying coworkers, article deadlines, wedding stress (on her bestie’s behalf), and other day-to-day hassles. She’s free to let go and take it all in.

A break in the trees piques her curiosity, and she heads toward it. They step into a small clearing where sunlight filters through the branches overhead, dotting the ground with patches of shade. Glimpses of brilliant blue sky, partially hidden by the canopy of leaves, enhance the beauty of the place. It has a spiritual feel to it, like an outdoor cathedral.

“It’s so pretty,” Elena murmurs as Damon leads her over to a fallen log. He sits down and pats the thick bark beside him. She grimaces, not loving the idea of plunking her barely-covered behind on the scratchy surface.

He laughs and tugs her closer. “C’mere, cupcake. I’ll protect you from the bugs.”

She sinks onto his lap, shifting around until she’s comfortable. It takes her a moment to notice Damon gritting his teeth.

“Having fun?” he mutters.

“Why? Am I bothering . . . oh.” Something’s prodding her hip, and she’s relatively certain it’s not his phone. “Getting excited, are we?”

He groans and lifts her up slightly so he can do a little rearranging. “If you hadn’t bent over every five seconds, flashing your sexy ass at me, I might not have this problem.” He cups the back of her neck and kisses her, nipping her bottom lip in retaliation. “I should take you against one of these trees.”

She knows better than to think he’s joking. “Sex in the woods isn’t high on my fantasy list. We’d probably scare off the wildlife.”

“Could be.” He fiddles with the edge of her skirt, but it’s more of a contemplative maneuver than a seductive one. “So, I have a question for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“What are your plans after Caroline moves out?”

It’s easy to read the glaring subtext. This isn’t the first hint he’s dropped. Still, it would be a big step—huge, actually—for both of them. “Um, our lease is up at the end of September, so I guess I’ll stick it out solo for the rest of the month and then go from there.”

He frowns, clearly not digging that plan. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone. At all,” he stresses.

“What do you suggest?”

“Come live with me.” Damon’s gaze is fierce in its intensity. The time for jokes has clearly passed.

She swallows and ponders how to navigate this slippery slope. It’s not that she doesn’t want to, it’s just . . . a lot to process. “You’re still worried about Enzo.”

“I’m constantly wondering what the fucker’s up to. The fact that he’s done nothing since he showed up at the club is unnerving. It’s like he’s biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to swoop in and raise unholy hell.” His arm circles her waist, holding on as if he’s afraid she might vanish. “What happens if he finds you when you’re by yourself in a building with nonexistent security where anyone could walk right up to your door?”

“What if he’s decided to back off? Maybe he’s not even here anymore.” Blind optimism isn’t usually her go-to approach, but it’s better than the alternative. “I haven’t noticed anything suspicious, weird muffin gifting aside.”

He cocks a brow. “What?”

Oh, shit. She was too focused on Karaoke Night and what they might get up to afterward, and it slipped her mind. “Remember when I was eating lunch and I called you because it felt like someone was watching me?” He nods, encouraging her to keep going. “Before I left, the cashier gave me a chocolate chip muffin some guy bought for me as a pay-it-forward type of thing.”

“Those are your favorite,” he points out.

“They are,” she agrees, her voice small as she realizes how creepy the whole situation seems.

“Which means you were being watched. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think much of it at the time. A muffin’s not very threatening.” She sighs and leans her head on his shoulder. “I guess I won’t be going there again.”

He doesn’t respond, and she closes her eyes, listening to a pair of birds call to each other. A few minutes pass, then Damon’s thumb skims across her cheek.

“‘Lena?” he says softly.

She glances up at him, noticing the concerned look on his face. “Yeah?”

“You don’t have to decide today, but promise me you’ll at least consider it. Soon. I want you to be safe. And happy.”

“I know, and I’m happiest with you, which means there’s a good chance I’ll take you up on your offer.” She pauses to gauge his reaction, pleased to see the beginnings of a smile. “I just need to sort out some stuff. Getting the apartment with Care was the first thing that made us feel like real adults. Step one to conquering the world. Without her there, it won’t be the same, so I’m sure that’ll help me let go of my sentimental attachment to it.” She returns his grin with one of her own. “Does any of that make sense?”

“It does, believe me.” His mouth brushes hers in a tender kiss that nearly melts her on the spot. “Ready to finish our hike?”

“Ready.”

*****

They’re almost to the edge of the woods when Elena senses Damon right behind her, so close she can feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. “What are you—”

He spins her around, pinning her against a tree, his knee wedged between her thighs. “I’m supposed to inspect you for ticks and other creepy-crawlies, remember?”

It starts out innocently enough with a quick check of her sneakers and socks. The devilish glint in his eyes when he rolls up her tank top tells her things are rapidly heading in a different direction. The clasp on her bra is his next target, and he undoes it with a twist of his fingers. He examines each breast, circling her nipples with his thumbs until they tighten into hard buds. Dipping his head, he takes one in his mouth, suckling her while she writhes in his hold.

“How’s that . . . supposed to help?” she gasps, her hand finding its way into his hair.

He releases her nipple and flicks at the other with the tip of his tongue. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

“Sure you did.”

Sinking down in front of her, he lifts her skirt and traces the pattern on her lacy thong. “Hmm. Nothing so far, but I should probably take a closer look.” He tugs the damp crotch of her panties to the side and parts her folds, lightly stroking her clit.

“Damon!” she cries, grasping his shoulder for support.

“Just being thorough.” He plunges a finger into her wetness then adds another, thrusting them deep and withdrawing until a low moan leaves her throat. She’s preparing herself for the hair-pulling, toe-curling orgasm that’s sure to come—pun intended—when Damon removes the digits, slowly licking them clean of her juices while she watches. “Delicious, as always,” he murmurs, smacking his lips. “Good news, kitten. You’re in the clear.”

“Please don’t stop.”

He stands and leans in close so he can whisper in her ear. “I thought you didn’t want me to fuck you in the woods.”

“Well, this tree is digging into my back, so if you have a better idea, I’m all for it.”

“I do, actually. Hang on.” He scoops her up, and she hooks her legs around his waist. She’s not sure where he’s headed until he lowers her onto a cool, hard surface. Her hand connects with something metallic, and she glances to the side, noting the expanse of blue beneath her.

The hood of his car.

“What if someone sees us?” she squeaks as Damon returns his attention to her breasts, laving her nipples with soft swipes of his tongue.

“We’re far enough off the beaten path, so to speak.” He nips one of the stiff peaks, smiling as she arches into him. “I think we’re safe.”

“Good, because I’ve had about enough of your teasing.” Elena frisks his pockets, first the front then the back, seeking what she needs. Her fingers finally close around the small packet and she tears it open while yanking at the zipper on his jeans.

He chuckles and takes pity on her, undoing the button and freeing himself before she claws through the denim. “Can’t wait to get at me, can you?”

“No.” She grips his cock, slowly stroking him from base to tip. “May I?” she asks, holding up the condom.

“Be my guest.” His gaze is riveted on her as she rolls it over his hard length, getting in a squeeze here and there until he groans. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Very much.” She grins and guides him toward her sex, rubbing herself against the head of his penis.

Snarling a curse, he grabs her wrists in one hand and pins them over her head. “You’re not the only one who’s done with the teasing,” he growls in her ear. “Since it’s your special day, I’ll let you choose. This can be a rough fuck where you come screaming my name, or the slow and gentle kind that brings tears to your eyes, but I need to be inside you. Now.”

She doesn’t have to think twice about her decision. “God, yes. Rough.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” His mouth latches onto her throat as he surges forward, filling her to the hilt. He only gives her a moment to savor the glorious feeling of having him buried deep within her before his hips are pumping wildly, flesh slapping against flesh. As promised, there’s nothing tender about the way he drives into her while sucking on her pulse point—leaving his mark behind for all to see.

And she wouldn’t change a thing.

“So good,” she moans, her nails biting into his hand. She loves watching him like this, his dominance on full display as they rock together, their breathing ragged, the sensations building to a fever pitch.

He pinches her nipples in time with each brutal thrust and trails a line of hot, open-mouth kisses from her neck to her jaw and the curve of her cheek. His lips find hers, his tongue demanding entrance, and she’s only too happy to give it. Damon licks his way inside then mimics the motion of his hips, fucking her with his tongue and his cock.

Every touch is a claim. Every kiss, every tug of teeth, every stolen breath. He owns her—heart, body, and soul—and she entrusted those into his keeping knowing he’d cherish them. Cherish her. No one but Damon could make her feel like this: restrained but free, frantic but centered, frayed at the edges but whole. No one.

He pulls her out of her reverie when his thumb settles on her clit, massaging her throbbing nub. “I don’t hear any screaming yet,” he rasps. “Let’s have it, kitten.”

The combination of his words, his grip holding her down, his shaft lighting up all the sensitive spots inside her until her nerve endings are singing, his mouth ravaging hers—it’s too much. She tightens around him, digging her heels into his back. “Fuck . . . I n-need . . . to . . .” she pants. Understanding her struggle, he rubs her clit harder, and his name is torn from her lips on a loud, echoing scream that startles a flock of birds from the tree above them.

“Beautiful, baby.” His cock jerks deep within her, then he’s surrendering to his own orgasm, his shout muffled against her sweat-slicked skin as he nips her shoulder. He collapses on top of her, nuzzling her breasts and pressing lazy kisses across her collarbone. He releases her wrists, and she drapes an arm over his neck and strokes his hair, basking in the afterglow.

“I hope whatever you have planned for the rest of the day,” she murmurs, sifting through the silky strands, “doesn’t require a whole lot of energy. Or walking.”

She can’t see his smile, but she feels the twitch of his cheek where it rests against her chest. “Did I wear you out?”

“You could say that.”

He turns to look at her, his grin as wide as she knew it’d be. “Think you can handle blowing out some candles?”

“I might be able to manage it.” Elena plucks a leaf off the hood and tries to tickle him with it. He gets her back by shifting his hips, reminding her that they’re still joined. A little moan escapes her and she closes her eyes, wishing every day could be like this. Simple. Laidback.

Perfect.

*****

Damon pops the cake in the oven and sets the timer. Glancing at the clock, he judges how long he has until Elena finishes her shower. Five minutes? Ten? Leaving her alone in that steamy glass stall was the hardest decision he’s made in a while, but he didn’t want to risk delaying dinner—and it would be delayed. By at least two orgasms.

Surveying the backyard to ensure the preparations are complete, he jogs up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom. He finds Elena struggling with the zipper on her sundress and cussing like a pirate. An adorable one.

“Want some help?” he asks, catching her hands in his before she tears the damn thing off.

“Oh . . . sure. Thanks.” She stops twisting and yanking and lets him take over. Freeing the snag, he finishes zipping up the dress and curls an arm around her waist, tugging her against him.

He brushes her freshly curled hair out of the way and drops a kiss on her bare shoulder. She smells like jasmine with a hint of vanilla—a potent, tempting combination. His palm slides over her belly, and it lets out a growl so vicious he can feel the reverberations. “I think I need to feed you.”

She laughs and turns to face him. “You gave me quite a workout earlier, and it had nothing to do with the hike.”

“Very true. Before we go eat, there’s one more thing I need to do.” Opening the top drawer of his dresser, he finds the item he hid there this morning—an accessory he borrowed from the playroom. It swings from his finger as he saunters toward her.

Elena’s eyes widen, her gaze flitting from the blindfold to him and back again. She swallows and her lips part, but all that comes out is a breathy “Um.”

He can practically read the thoughts bouncing around in her head. “This isn’t for a scene, baby. If it were, you’d be wearing a lot less than that cute sundress.” He taps his chin, mulling over the possibilities. “Rope, cuffs, collar, and . . . that’s it.”

God, does he love teasing her like this. The right combination of words can make her just as wet as a well-executed session of foreplay. She gasps when he slips the blindfold into place, gripping his arm as her world goes dark.

“I’m having a hard enough time walking as it is, and now you want me to do it when I can’t see?” The crinkle in her brow gives away her hidden scowl.

“I suppose I could carry you since I’m the reason your knees are wobbly.” He scoops her up, chuckling at her surprised squeak. “Better?”

“Much.” She makes herself comfortable for the trip downstairs, resting her head on his chest. “I could get used to this.” Her cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his shirt. “Today’s been wonderful. Thank you.”

“It’s not over yet.”

When they reach the kitchen, she perks up and sniffs the air. “Ooh. I smell cake.” She starts to lift the edge of the blindfold, but Damon catches her.

“If you take that off, you’ll get your birthday spanking sooner rather than later,” he warns.

Elena shivers and stills, managing to behave herself until he sets her on her feet and opens the back door. Guiding her onto the deck, he lets the suspense build for a moment then removes the blindfold.

“Surprise!”

He steps back to make room for the hug fest that’s about to ensue. When he spread the word to their close friends at the club that he was planning a party for Elena, everyone eagerly accepted the invitation. Even Ric came out of hiding to take part in the celebration.

Caroline’s up first, and she gives her best friend a squeeze. As they part, her gaze shifts to the hickey Damon left on Elena’s throat, and he can’t help but be a little proud.

“Did you get mauled by a wild animal in the woods?” Caroline asks, shooting him a look that’s the nonverbal equivalent of her favorite word: “Seriously?”

Elena smiles and rubs at the spot, pink tinging her cheeks. “Something like that.”

While everyone swarms his girl, he inspects the decorations. As he knew she would, Caroline worked her magic. Fairy lights and lanterns adorn the trees and bushes, multicolored streamers crisscross the yard, a clump of balloons is attached to a chair designated for Elena, each table has a vase of flowers at its center, and candles and Tiki torches add extra ambiance.

“You outdid yourself,” he murmurs as Caroline walks over to him.

“Thanks. She hasn’t let me throw her a party in years, so this is a nice change.”

He nods and waves to Stefan, who’s cooking burgers and marinated chicken on the grill. “Why not?”

“She’s not big on being the center of attention. She’d rather fuss over someone else than have someone fuss over her.”

He suspected as much. Getting her used to the idea of being cared for won’t be easy, but he’s not one to back down from a challenge.

A peal of laughter catches his attention, and he watches as Rose whispers something in Elena’s ear. The giggling continues as Elijah joins them and pulls Elena in for a hug, her snort only partially muffled by his shirt. Seeing her relaxed and happy, palling around with people he’s known for years—his family and hers now, too—is the highlight of his evening so far.

Caroline shifts beside him, resting her hands on her hips, which usually means there’s a scolding coming. “Very subtle with the giant hickey. You could’ve saved that for later, y’know.”

And there it is. “You’re lecturing me after some of the marks you’ve sported in public?” He cocks a brow, daring her to deny it.

“Okay, fine. You got me there.” She ignores his satisfied smirk. “I need a drink. If Katherine makes it strong enough to melt my brain, you’re in charge of cake and presents.”

Kat’s fondness for one-and-you’re-trashed cocktails is the reason he rarely lets her fill in as bartender at the club. “Grab Rose. She’ll keep it on the light side,” he suggests.

“Good idea.”

Alcohol dilemma solved, Caroline sets off to find Rose, and Damon heads back inside to collect the rest of the food. They’ll need it if they have any hope of getting through the party with nothing more than a pleasant buzz. The last thing he needs is a houseful of boozy guests when he has plans for Elena tonight that involve the two of them and zero interruptions.

*****

“Is that a raccoon?”

Elena’s question makes Damon do a double-take at the slice of cake balanced in her lap. He didn’t mess it up that badly, did he?

“Um, no. Try again.”

She pokes at the frosting with her fork. “A bear . . . with whiskers? Ooh! A red panda?”

Holy shit. His art skills really are garbage. “Nope. It’s, uh, a kitten. Icing’s kinda hard to draw with, but maybe if you squint . . .”

Her eyes widen, and she glances back at the pink blob. With whiskers. “Oh, I see it now!” The corner of her mouth twitches, and she quickly covers her face to hide her smile, but he peels her hand away.

“You minx! You knew what it was.” Swiping a finger through the frosting, he aims for her nose, catching her before she can dodge the attack. One eardrum-rattling shriek later, Elena has a smear on her cheek and the tip of her nose, and she returns the favor by gifting him with a bubblegum-colored streak in his hair.

“I like it,” she says once the battle comes to an end and they’re picking crumbs off each other. “You should dye it that way.”

“I don’t think so, princess.” He gets the worst of it out with a napkin then starts on Elena, whose pink nose matches the kitten’s he tried to Picasso onto her cake. When it only makes things worse, he switches tactics, using the lick-your-thumb method instead.

“Some mess you made,” she murmurs, grinning as he scrubs at the frosting.

He’s not above using everyone’s favorite toddler-style comeback. “You started it.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault your artwork is a little sketchy.”

“You’re just made of sass, aren’t you?” He’d intended to keep going with clean-up duty, but her mouth is too damn tempting, even when she’s using it to be snarky. Between one breath and the next, he’s kissing her, sampling the sugary sweetness left behind by the icing. He sucks on her bottom lip, and Elena moans, shifting closer as his hand slips under her skirt.

The clearing of a throat brings things to a screeching halt.

“Um, I hate to interrupt your hot and heavy PDA, but we need to do presents.” Caroline rattles the gift bags she’s holding as if she hopes that will make them focus on something besides each other.

Elena pulls back and straightens her dress, cheeks heating as she realizes they were giving their guests a hell of a show. “Presents?” she asks, eyeing the bags. “There’s only one or two, right? Having everyone here to celebrate with me is more than enough.”

“Well . . .” Caroline steps to the side, revealing a table piled high with gifts.

“You can’t be serious.” She tries to wave away the first bag, but her friend places it in her lap. “It’s too much,” she protests as the group gathers around to watch her open them. “You guys went overboard. I can’t accept these.”

“You might want to see what they are before you give anything back,” Katherine suggests with a wink. “I predict you’re going to love mine.”

There’s a 99.99% chance it’s a kinky present because Kat wouldn’t have it any other way. Still, Damon’s curious about what’s inside the sparkly red bag with the tuft of black tissue paper sticking out of the top of it.

They keep track of which gifts come from whom, and while Elena tugs on the bow to Caroline’s package, Damon reviews the list: a huge bouquet of wildflowers from Elijah’s garden, a pair of handmade earrings from Rose, a painting of a stunning ocean view from Nik, a set of massage oils and lotions from Jack and Trent, a gift certificate for a spa day from Pearl and Rebekah, a leather-bound, gilt-edged edition of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland—Elena’s favorite book—from Stefan, a tripod and backup memory card from Alaric, aromatherapy candles from Henry, and, as predicted, Katherine gave her fur-lined handcuffs and a paddle with a heart-shaped cutout in its center that’ll leave the same design on her rear.

He’ll have fun with that one and so will his girl, no doubt.

He stops daydreaming long enough to jot down Caroline’s first present—a friendship necklace he helps clasp around Elena’s neck—and waits to find out what’s in the box she’s carefully unwrapping.

“This is for both of you,” Caroline explains with a sneaky grin.

Elena parts the tissue paper and holds up a skimpy black dress with frilly white ruffles and an attached apron that draws instant approval from the group. She frowns and glances between him and the sexy French maid costume.

“I don’t know, Care. I think this might be a tad small for Damon.”

As her roommate dissolves in a fit of giggles, he leans in to whisper in Elena’s ear. “Keep it up, kitten. When you wear that for me,” he stresses, “I’ll make sure you have a well-spanked ass to go with it.”

The little dance she does in her seat proves she heard every word. Satisfied with her reaction, he hands her a card and a box tied with gold ribbon.

“My turn,” he murmurs, anxious for her to open his gift. He’s been waiting for this moment since he brought it home.

Elena studies the box, curling the ribbon around her finger. “This better be a gumball. You’ve given me way too much already.”

“Stop worrying and open it. Card first, please.”

She does as requested, a tear sliding down her cheek as she reads what’s written inside. The words flowed easier than he expected, but then again, after coming clean about his feelings for her, there’s nothing left to hide.

“It’s beautiful.” Elena wipes her eyes and checks out the P. S. he added below his name. “We’re going to Savannah?”

He nods. “You pick the weekend. Make it a long one if you like. There’s a B&B that caters to people with our particular . . . tastes, so we’ll do touristy things and squeeze in some playtime where we can.”

Elena beams at him. “I can’t wait.”

“Me either.” He taps the box in her lap. “Now this one.”

She lifts the lid and carefully removes the little felt bag inside. “It doesn’t feel like a gumball,” she mutters. Pulling the item from its pouch, she gasps at the sight of the rose-gold bracelet with diamond accents. She rubs her thumb over the locking heart clasp in the center, her lip trembling ever so slightly. “Damon . . .”

Reaching into his pocket, he shows her the matching chain with a miniature key dangling from it. “Elena, will you accept this bracelet as a promise for the future—when we’re both ready to take that step—that you’ll wear my collar and be mine, always?”

“Oh—” Her reply is cut off when she covers her mouth with her hand, blinking hard against a fresh onslaught of tears. “Yes!” she finally answers, her voice soft but sure. She holds out her wrist, and he secures the bracelet, slipping the key’s chain around his neck when he’s finished.

Cheers surround them as he gathers Elena in his arms, hugging her tight. Caroline goes into bodyguard mode, keeping their friends at bay while they bask in the tender moment.

It may be Elena’s birthday, but the gift she just gave him is one he’ll treasure forever.

*****

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” Nik squeezes Elena one last time then releases her from the embrace. “Is my old chum preparing to pummel me, by any chance?” he asks, dimples in full force as he glances around, likely checking for any sign of an imminent attack.

“No, you’re safe.” She spots Damon over by the deck, deep in conversation with Alaric and Stefan. “Thank you, and I love the painting. It’s gorgeous.”

“I’m glad you like it.” The two of them turn to watch as Caroline’s favorite song starts playing and she drags her soon-to-be sister-in-law to the center of the yard for a sloppy slow dance, courtesy of the drinks she drained tonight. Rebekah doesn’t seem to mind, dipping Caroline and twirling her around until they nearly collapse in a heap. Nik chuckles at the sight. “Has my lovely future wife spoken with you about our ceremony at the club?”

“Not yet.” She hopes nothing has interrupted their plans. This is the first collaring she’s been invited to, and she’s dying to see what happens.

“We’d be honored if you and Damon would be our attendants. Elijah will officiate, and we’d like our closest friends to stand at our side during the special occasion,” he explains.

“I’d love to!”

“Fantastic. I’ll relay the good news to Caroline when she’s more likely to remember.”

“What would I have to do?”

“There will be a rehearsal of sorts beforehand. It’s an easy job.” He winks, easing her fleeting panic at being the only newbie in the bunch.

“Count me in.” Her phone chirps, and she checks the screen, semi-surprised to see her brother’s name flashing on it. “Will you excuse me? I should take this.”

“Of course.”

Nik waves and goes to collect her tipsy roomie while she answers the call.

“Hello? Who’s this? I don’t know any Jeremy Gilberts,” she teases.

“Very funny,” he greets her with the same wry tone she’d recognize anywhere. “Happy Birthday, sis.”

“Thanks. How’s everything in LA?”

“Eh, the same.” A man of few words, her brother. “Did Caroline take you out? I can hear the music in the background.”

“Damon threw me a surprise party.” Here it comes. Time for the interrogation.

“Damon,” he repeats. The line goes quiet, and she wonders if the call was dropped, but then he continues. “The new guy?”

“You make it sound like I have a different boyfriend every week.” She doesn’t care if he can tell how annoyed she is; she’s done with the instant-disapproval routine.

“Jenna told me you two are getting pretty serious,” Jeremy says, seemingly oblivious to her mood.

“You and Jenna gossip like a couple of old ladies,” she mutters.

“How else am I supposed to know what’s going on in your life?”

Oh, he did not just go there. “Maybe answer my calls once or twice a year, or at least return them? You’re one to talk, by the way. I barely know if you’re still alive.” Overdramatic? Sure, but he had it coming.

“I worry about you, ‘Lena,” he finally relents, sounding more like the concerned little brother who used to let her snuggle with his stuffed rabbit when they were kids. “The guys you dated in college were assholes. I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I understand, but Damon’s nothing like that. He’s a good man. He loves me, and I love him.” That tidbit will go over well, she’s sure.

He doesn’t disappoint. “Isn’t it a little early to be dropping the love bomb?”

If steam coming out of a person’s ears were a real thing that could happen, she’d be fogging up the entire yard. “Okay, listen. You’re my brother and I love you, but this is my life. My relationship. My decision. Tone down the judgment, Jer.”

He sighs as if he’s on the verge of exasperation. “Alright, fine. What’s Damon’s full name, anyway?”

“Why, so you can go digging for nonexistent dirt on him? Not gonna happen.”

“If there’s no dirt, what’s the big deal?”

There might not be dirt, but the club is tied to Damon’s name, and her brother absolutely doesn’t need to know about that. Ever. “Je-re-my. Enough.” She opts for a change of subject to clear the air. “Are you coming out for Thanksgiving?”

“That’s the plan. It’s at Nik’s house again, right?”

“Yep, although it’ll be Nik and Caroline’s house come September,” she reminds him.

At least that gets a laugh out of him. “She already threatened me when I told her I couldn’t make the wedding. If I don’t show up for Thanksgiving, she’ll disown me.”

Care’s always claimed Jeremy as her adopted brother. “Sounds about right.”

They talk about his latest design project, her recent op-ed that was picked up by the LA Times, and his new girlfriend, and Elena manages to coax some of the details out of him. The woman seems nice, but then again, Jer isn’t one for deep and lasting romantic attachments, so it’s probably not worth pressing him for more information. Chances are, he’ll show up solo in November. After a few minutes, they say their goodbyes so he can grab dinner and she can get back to the party.

They have five months before he and Damon meet. With any luck, it won’t end up being the most dysfunctional family dinner ever.

*****

When Damon steps out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower and gloriously nude, he’s walking on the ceiling. Or at least it looks that way from Elena’s vantage point. She’s draped across the bed with her head hanging over the edge, the cool draft from the air conditioning soothing her bare skin, and she reaches for him as he struts into her orbit.

“Ooh, c’mere.” His rigid cock is practically begging for her attention, and she attempts to guide him toward her waiting mouth. He dodges her efforts and climbs up on the mattress, tugging her with him.

“Trying to fall off the bed again, I see.”

“Just waiting for you.” She sighs and curls a damp lock of his hair around her finger. “So . . . Jeremy called earlier.”

“I was wondering why you disappeared.” He smooths a hand over her forehead, erasing the worry lines there. “You don’t sound very happy about it.”

She rolls her eyes, remembering her brother’s antics. “He thinks every man I date is bound to be an asshole. To be fair, I’ve had some doozies, but that was years ago.”

Damon shrugs. “He’s being protective.”

“He’s being annoying. Maybe we can skip Thanksgiving dinner this year. I already feel a nasty cold coming on.” She fakes a cough and a few sniffles.

“Don’t jinx yourself. Caroline would kill us both and you know it,” he points out with a wry grin.

“True. It’ll be her first time hosting as Mrs. Mikaelson, after all.”

He leans in until their noses bump then kisses her slowly and thoroughly, his tongue caressing hers and easily chasing away the anxiety brought on by the phone call. “Don’t think about it now,” he whispers against her lips as they part. “There are things we should be doing that are much more”—he pauses to lick a trail from her collarbone to her earlobe—“enjoyable.”

“What did you have in mind?” she purrs, grabbing the furry handcuffs Katherine gave her and dangling them from her fingertip. “Maybe a scenario involving these?”

“Let’s save those for later.” He tosses the cuffs on the nightstand and rolls them over so she’s straddling his waist. “I’d like to try something I’ve never done with anyone before. You’ll be the first. And only.”

“I’m intrigued.” What could it possibly be that Damon, whose kinky résumé is a mile long, hasn’t experienced yet?

“Tonight, I’m handing over control to you. I’m yours to command.” He cups her ass, giving her cheeks a playful squeeze. “But I’m going to need very specific instructions because my mind tends to wander when I’m fantasizing about how many times I can make you come before you beg me to stop.”

The shiver that rolls down her spine is so strong it shakes Damon, too. “Does that mean I get to tie you up?” she asks, eyeing the cuffs.

“Not so fast, kitten,” he chuckles. “No restraints allowed, but I’m sure you’ll think of other creative ways to keep me in line.”

Hmm. Given his wily nature, topping her Dom is going to be . . . tricky. Still, he’s not the only one capable of surprises.

“Where to start?” Oh, she knows exactly what her first move will be, but she wants to make him wonder a bit.

Damon’s tongue slips past his lips as he mimes lapping at her. “Put me to work.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d love it.”

“I might let you, but only if you’re a good boy,” she teases.

His blue eyes flare, and she just manages to stifle a laugh. He was right; this is going to be fun.

She entwines their fingers, pressing his hands into the pillows above his head. Leaning in, she tempts him with a barely there kiss, occasionally retreating to the corner of his mouth or his cheek then returning to let her tongue tangle with his, giving him a taste of what it feels like to be claimed. His soft groan spurs her on and makes her braver. Bolder.

Reluctantly breaking the kiss, she sits up, tsking when he tries to reach for her. “Did I say you could move?” she asks sweetly. “Leave your hands where they were.” Wow, okay. The words and the tone sound strange coming from her, but the unexpected thrill left in their wake is undeniable. She’s no switch, but their temporary role reversal is giving her a kind of rush.

Damon, however, is chewing his lip and frowning like he’s already reconsidering his offer. “If I can’t move, you’re gonna have to help me out. Scooch up here closer so I can get between those sweet thighs of yours.”

“Sorry, babe. I’m in a mood to explore, plus I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

He quirks a brow. “The whole point is for me to please you.”

“You are. Now, relax and, as you’re so fond of telling me, hush.” The deep growl that rumbles in his throat reminds her of an untamed tiger preparing to pounce, but to his credit, he stays still and says nothing.

Taking that as a good sign, she shimmies further down his body, dusting kisses across his chest and tonguing his nipples. She teases his navel the way he loves to tease hers, and when she reaches his abs and the prominent jut of his hips, she pauses to study his reaction to being at her mercy. He’s watching her closely—lids drooping, mouth slightly open.

She inches lower, her chin bumping the head of his cock. “You wouldn’t let me have my treat on your birthday, but it’s my birthday now, and I’ll kiss, and lick, and suck you if I want. Here”—her lips caress the tip of his shaft, eagerly gathering drops of pre-cum before they spill—“and here”—she drags her tongue over his hard length—“and most definitely here.” Abandoning her impromptu speech, she takes him deep, using every trick and technique she knows to drive him mad.

“Holy fuck, Elena,” he gasps, hips arching off the bed. There’s no hope of holding him down, so she waits until he calms somewhat before continuing.

“No moving,” she reminds him, slipping a hand between his legs to gently massage his balls.

“How the hell am I supposed to do that when you’re doing that?” he grits out.

“Try,” she says simply, flashing him a shameless smile.

She worships his cock, admiring the sight of Damon as he starts to come undone, gripping the headboard while he struggles to keep his eyes open and on her. Memorizing every detail, from the way the light catches the chain resting against his skin as his chest heaves with each unsteady breath, to the beautifully vulnerable, dazed expression on his face, she stores them all in her mind. She circles back to his admission that he’s never let anyone have control over him before, and that coupled with the sheer amount of trust he’s placing in her is enough to steal her own breath. It’s staggering, and her heart gives a little kick at the realization.

The subtle jerk of his penis breaks her reverie, and she focuses on giving him the most earth-shattering orgasm she can manage. Her tongue strokes the sensitive underside of his shaft while her grip tightens around the base, pumping him with a steady rhythm.

“I can’t wait,” he rasps, his gaze locking onto hers with a hint of something that’s dangerously close to pleading.

“I know. I’ve got you.” The bracelet on her wrist spins wildly as she brings him to the very edge. She loves that the only items they’re wearing are the symbols of their bond as Dom and sub; it’s overwhelmingly erotic. “Come for me,” she whispers.

Damon’s hoarse shout rings in her ears as his release rips through him, and she dutifully swallows every drop of his seed. She’s still licking her lips when he refocuses on her, sated but with an unmistakably hungry gleam in his eyes. “You’ve wiped me out, kitten, so until I recover, it’s your turn.”

“You behaved for the most part, so I guess you’ve earned it.” She crawls up his body and hovers above him with her sex only inches from his mouth. Bracing herself for the first flick of his tongue, she grabs the headboard and holds on with a white-knuckled grip . . . except nothing happens.

She glances down at him, perplexed. “Something wrong? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?

“Absolutely, but I need your help. See, I’m not supposed to move, so I can’t use my hands,” he reminds her.

Sneaky sneak. She may have to change the rules eventually, but for now, she’s not going to cave. “Okay, fine.” Lowering herself further, she waits for him to “get to work,” as he phrased it earlier.

Still nothing.

“Put your mouth on me,” she coaxes.

He plants a kiss on her thigh. “You can do better than that,” he chides.

She knows he’s baiting her, and it’s working. “Use your tongue.”

Damon smirks and licks a stripe over the same spot he just kissed. “Gotta be more specific,” he sing-songs.

“Use your tongue . . . on my body.”

“Where on your delectable body?”

“Dammit, Damon.”

“Where,” he repeats in his Dom voice—the one that never fails to get her attention.

“Here.” She spreads herself open for him, hoping that’ll shut him up.

No such luck.

“Where’s here?” He chuckles at her frustrated groan. “I’ll teach you to talk dirty yet. C’mon, baby.”

This must be payback for what she put him through earlier. “My puss—” She swallows hard and tries again. “My pussy. Lick, please.”

“Ah, I thought you’d never ask.” Before she has time to argue the point, his mouth is fused to her sex, his eager tongue exploring her folds and teasing her entrance. She’s grateful she’s hanging on because the first swipe over her clit has her bucking her hips, ready for more.

Her free hand drifts from his hair to her breasts and back again—a tug here, the pinch of a nipple there. She’s really starting to regret the no-moving thing. His caresses are always a constant, and it seems wrong without them.

“You win,” she pants as his tongue slips inside, fucking her with little shallow thrusts. “Touch me. Anywhere. Everywhere. Just . . . I need it.”

Her grip on the headboard slips, but he catches her before she slumps forward, guiding her hands behind her to rest them on his chest. His fingers curl around her wrists, anchoring them in place, and heat pools low in her belly as he wrests back a sliver of control. Just then, a delicious idea takes shape, and she decides to put it to the test.

“Whatever happened to my birthday spanking?” she murmurs. “Was that an empty threat?”

He pauses mid-lick, and his palm connects with her ass, the sharp crack echoing off the walls. “I don’t do empty threats.”

That’s what I’m counting on. In a combination designed to make her lose her mind, he laps at her clit while stinging swats land on her backside, one after another as she counts them off in her head. When he reaches number twenty-five, she’s chanting his name, her whole body trembling as her orgasm nears.

“Ready to come?” he asks between flicks of his tongue.

“Yes, n-now.”

“Then do it.”

He sucks on her clit, hard, and she topples over the edge, crying out in ecstasy. Damon stays with her, holding her up as she’s wracked by spasms. When she’s had all she can take, he gently lowers her to the mattress and brushes her wild mane of hair away from her face. Without a word, he tucks her against his side, cuddling her while she drifts in a sensual haze.

*****

“Did you enjoy your day?”

“Everything was wonderful. You went above and beyond, per usual.” Damon shifts his hips, and she moans as he slides deeper. Nothing like a round of slow, tender lovemaking to finish off the night, er, early morning. A quick check of the clock reveals it’s well past midnight.

“It was my pleasure.” His smile is radiant, and she reaches up to stroke his cheek. “Oops, I almost forgot. I have something else for you.”

“Damon . . .”

“Hang on.” Without missing a beat, he grabs a black, rectangular box from the bedside table.

“Haven’t you given me enough?” she asks, examining the mystery package for clues.

“Not even close. I would’ve had you open this earlier, but I figured you might not want to do it in front of the others.”

Now she’s really curious. “I’ve never opened a present in the middle of having sex, so this is a new experience.”

“I’m all about new experiences.” He winks and nudges her arm. “Open it.”

She does, gasping at the contents within. Lined up in a row, nestled against the red velvet interior, are a set of butt plugs, each one slightly larger than the last. All of them have a heart-shaped jewel in the base, exactly like the one he first used on her. “Holy . . . wow. These are for my training?”

He nods and takes the box from her, setting it aside. “Do you like them?”

“I do. Thank you.”

“I can’t wait to see you wearing them for me.” He resumes his lazy thrusts, nuzzling her breasts as she clings to his shoulders and arches to meet the graze of his lips over her heated skin.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’m kind of excited about it. In a nervous sort of way,” she adds with a jittery laugh.

“That’s good to hear.” He kisses her so sweetly that she nearly melts into the mattress. “Do me a favor and don’t worry so much. I’ll take excellent care of you, kitten.”

“I know you will.” She hooks a leg over his hip, encouraging him to fill her completely—an invitation he happily accepts. “I love you,” she whispers, soaking up the incredible feeling of having him buried inside her. It’ll never get old. Ever.

“I love you, too,” he murmurs, claiming her mouth in an unhurried kiss that matches his languid movements.

Here, in this moment, cradled in Damon’s arms, it’s not hard to imagine all is right with the world.

Chapter Text

“What do you think about this one?”

Elena’s been staring at the same snapdragon for five minutes, but Caroline’s question and the basket of lilies and pink roses that suddenly appears in front of her face demand her attention.

“It’s nice,” she answers a little too quickly, desperate to focus on something that doesn’t require the use of the few brain cells she has left.

“You said that about the last two centerpieces,” Caroline mutters, clearly not happy with her friend’s lack of enthusiasm.

Elena pats her arm and tries to muster a smile. “They’re all lovely, Care. Really. I’m sorry I’m kinda out of it, but my decision-making powers are shot.”

From the dress shop, to the caterer’s, to the church, to the beautiful botanical garden where the reception will be held, and—finally—to the florist’s, the day has been filled with nonstop questions: Should the train be a few inches shorter? Tiara or headband? Veil or no veil? How many vegetarian dishes? Does anyone actually eat quinoa? Music before the ceremony? Classical or modern? Decorate the pews with flowers or ribbon? Receiving line inside or out? Dancefloor in the center or off to the side? Where should the cake table go? Pictures in the rose garden or on the gazebo? Sunflowers or lilies? Baby’s-breath or greenery?

A dull ache throbs in her temples and her stomach’s been rumbling for the past half-hour, a reminder that lunch only consisted of a few samples from the caterer. She’d kill for a cheeseburger and a nap right about now.

“I’m beginning to understand the appeal of eloping,” she mutters. “Throw on a bikini, hit the beach, exchange vows, and call it a day.” She prepares for the imminent “Oh, no you don’t!” from Caroline, but her bestie is already mulling over another potential arrangement and chatting up the florist.

Decisions, decisions—the bane of her existence lately. In the two months since Damon asked her to move in with him, she’s been too absorbed with writing deadlines, the ongoing soap opera at the office, and helping Caroline with the wedding to give it much thought. Damon’s not shy about bringing it up every chance he gets, especially since Care moved in with Nik ahead of schedule, but the moment she tries to puzzle through the logistics of packing, Craigslist-ing, etc., on top of everything else on her too-long to-do list, her mind shuts down.

Hoping to clear her head, she drifts around the shop, admiring the impressive variety of colors and scents. She’s almost back to the counter where Caroline appears to be finalizing her selections when the extra accessory she’s sporting shifts inside her. She squirms, shimmying her ass until the weird sensation passes.

Care looks up from the check she’s writing and arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Are you inventing a new dance?”

“Um, no. Just trying to get the feeling back in my feet,” she lies. Dammit, blush. Not now.

Her former roommate smirks, clearly not buying the bullshit she’s selling. “Sure you are.” She strolls over, leaning in to whisper in Elena’s ear. “Plugged, are we?”

“Caroline,” Elena hisses, her cheeks burning.

“Oh, relax. No one can hear me.” She winks and hooks her purse over her shoulder. “I know the feeling all too well. Probably explains why you haven’t been able to concentrate.”

Ain’t that the truth. Her training has gone relatively smoothly thanks to Damon’s guidance and care, but she gets distracted more often than not, especially whenever she happens to be wearing a plug in public.

Like now.

There’s no point in denying it, so she opts for an abrupt, less-than-suave subject change. “How are you going to incorporate a leather collar into the lace, chiffon, and Swarovski mix? Does it count as ‘something new,’ or does that honor go to the remote-control vibrator Katherine gave you as a bridal shower gift?”

Her friend laughs and shakes her head. “God, Mom would have a stroke if she saw my other collar, and that’s a ‘no’ on the vibrator. I’ll have a necklace—a day collar—to wear when we’re not scening. Less conspicuous, like this.” She taps Elena’s bracelet. “By the way, you haven’t mentioned the move in a while. You are still considering it, right?”

Elena braces herself for another round of nudging and not-so-gentle persuasion. “I am, but it’s a low priority until after the wedding of your dreams goes off without a hitch. Then, once things calm down, I’ll deal with my living situation.”

“Seriously? You have a giant cookie right in front of you, waiting to be eaten, but instead, you’re just going to stare at it longingly and torture yourself.”

“Wait . . . is the cookie supposed to be Damon or his house?” Caroline’s come up with shaky analogies in the past, but this one tops them all. “Or is it both?”

“Ugh. Never mind.” She takes Elena’s hands in hers and gives them a squeeze. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

“You sound like him.” Elena sighs, wishing she could crawl into bed and shut out the world for a bit. “I know you’re looking out for me, and I love you for it, but doesn’t it seem a little rushed? You just moved in with Nik after dating for a couple years, and you’re about to get married. It’s only been six months for Damon and me.”

“Does it feel right?” Caroline counters. “Living with him—would it make you happy?”

Waking up with Damon every morning, sharing meals, laughing and joking, telling each other about their days, going to the club and visiting the playroom, falling asleep in his arms every night . . .

That’s not to say there wouldn’t be disagreements or spats along the way. No relationship is perfect, but she’ll take this one, potential hiccups and all.

“It does. It would.”

“Then what are you waiting for? It doesn’t matter what other people think. Your brother, for instance,” her friend mutters.

“I know. I just need some of the craziness to pass. Let me catch my breath first, ‘kay?”

“Fine, I’ll back off,” she concedes. There’s no chance of her giving up this easily, but Elena will gladly take the reprieve, however short-lived it may be. “In the meantime, I’m counting on Damon to do the rest of the convincing for me.” Caroline eyes the bracelet again. “He’s already laid his claim, and he can be very persistent.”

“I’m aware.”

They share a laugh over Caroline’s painfully obvious observation, and it feels good to release some of the tension that’s been building over the course of the day. With Elena’s stress level temporarily lowered, exhaustion creeps in in its place.

She checks her phone while trying to stifle a yawn. “Are we all set here?” Caroline nods, and she almost weeps in relief. “Would you mind if I take off? I’m starving and in serious need of sleep before Damon comes over.”

“Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry for dragging you everywhere, but I couldn’t do this without you.” Caroline envelopes her in a hug and kisses her cheek. “I can’t wait to return the favor someday. Speaking of which, take it easy tonight. Are you sure you’re up for a play date?” she asks, her voice tinged with concern.

“I’ll be fine.”

Ever since her schedule shifted into overdrive, her time with Damon has been severely lacking, so no matter how tired she is, she’s not canceling.

*****

“I’d like to use the St. Andrew’s cross. It was a tough choice to make, seeing as there’s so much beauty in every piece. You understand, of course.”

“Sure, Nik. Whatever you want,” Damon replies absently as he stares out the window, his thoughts bouncing around in his head and his concentration only partially on the task at hand. He taps his pen on the notepad tucked under his elbow but doesn’t jot anything down.

“You still in there, mate?” Nik waves a hand in front of his face, and Damon snaps out of his daze, refocusing on the man sitting across from him.

“Yeah, sorry. St. A’s cross.” He scrawls it on the pad, cringing at his rushed, messy handwriting. It’ll be a miracle if he can actually decipher this once the meeting is over. Counting on his memory to fill in any blanks left behind by his poor note-taking skills, he glances at Nik, waiting for the next directive. “Will you need a whip, or a flogger, or . . . ?”

While Nik considers his options, Damon checks for any texts or voicemails from Elena but finds none. She and Blondie must be up to their asses in last-minute wedding prep. Still, he was hoping for a little something—even an emoji or two. Unable to resist reaching out to her, he types a quick note.

Hope you’re still sane. Xo

He waits for a few seconds, willing the damn dots to appear, but there’s only silence. He sets his phone aside with a sigh and resumes tapping the pen.

“Let’s go with a crop,” Nik decides. “One with a nice, sharp snap to it.” His grin verges on devilish, and Damon wonders if Caroline has any inkling of the treat she’s in for at her collaring.

“You got it. Anything we missed?” He peruses his scribbles, ticking off the essentials.

“I believe we’ve covered every base.” Nik’s chair scrapes lightly on the hardwood floor as he stands and circles the desk to clap Damon on the back. “Thank you, my friend. I won’t forget your many kindnesses, and I look forward to helping with the festivities when you collar your love as well.”

Nik saunters out of the office, leaving Damon alone with his thoughts, which have gone wild since his fellow Dom alluded to his future with Elena. The details—already vivid—flash through his mind like a slideshow: the suit he’ll wear, the way he’ll dress her, and her collar . . .

He doesn’t have to imagine that one.

Before he gets carried away and starts making his own wish list, Alaric appears and raps his knuckles on the door, his expression unreadable. Damon waves him in, and he sinks into the chair Nik just vacated.

“If it’s bad news, you can keep it, Ric,” Damon mutters, capping his pen and tossing aside the pad. The last time his head of security popped in for a chat, he revealed that one of his APD pals had spoken with the cashier at Elena’s favorite café about the creep who’d been watching her. Unsurprisingly, the guy couldn’t recall many useful details other than the man’s accent, which he thought might be British. The cop flashed an old picture of Enzo, but the cashier could only give it a firm “maybe.”

That was all the confirmation Damon needed.

“It’s not bad. It’s not even news, really. Just an update.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“The department’s being proactive about the possibility of the kidnappings starting up again. They’re visiting the clubs downtown and passing around a sketch of this dick.” Ric holds up the drawing of Enzo, and Damon’s blood pressure rises just looking at it. At least it’s a recent rendering, which is better than the photo. “They’re encouraging people to report any kind of suspicious activity, whether or not the person involved matches Enzo’s description. Hopefully, that’ll expose at least one of these sick fucks.”

“Yeah.” Damon rakes a hand through his hair and glances at his trusty bottle of bourbon. He could use a tumbler of the soothing liquor, but he’s not going to jeopardize his evening with Elena.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I appreciate what they’re doing, but Enzo’s target isn’t at those clubs.”

It’s Alaric’s turn to sigh. “I know. They wondered about using Elena to lure him out, but I—”

Damon slams his hand on the desk, rattling everything scattered on top of it. “Absolutely not.”

Ric blinks at the violent outburst. “Before you tear the messenger a new asshole, I was about to say I shot them down. I knew you’d never go for a plan like that and neither would I. It’s too risky.”

After a few deep breaths, Damon’s fury cools a degree or two. “Sorry. That wasn’t directed at you.”

Alaric nods in understanding, seemingly unbothered by the whole thing. Damon’s never been more grateful for his friend’s calm demeanor. “We’ll make sure Elena’s safe. You’ll get through this.”

He wants to share Ric’s optimism, he really does, but until Enzo’s no longer a threat and the trafficking ring is shut down, he’ll always be worried—waiting for the happiness he’s building with Elena to be torn apart piece by piece.

*****

Freedom. Elena would skip through the parking lot if she had enough energy for it. Her phone beeps with a text she must’ve missed while she was saying goodbye to Caroline, and she smiles when she sees Damon’s message. She sends one back to let him know her sanity’s more or less intact.

I survived! See you soon :*

She slides into the car and jams the keys in the ignition, torn between what to do first when she gets home—shower, nap, or devour everything in the kitchen—but then she notices the black SUV parked two rows over. The windows are tinted, making it almost impossible to see anything inside the vehicle. She detects a hint of movement on the driver’s side . . . or maybe she imagined it.

A chill skitters down her spine. It could be her paranoia running wild, but it feels like someone’s watching her. Again.

Just to be on the safe side, she copies the license plate number to pass along to Alaric. Trying not to dwell on her suspicions so she can concentrate on driving, she starts the car and eases into traffic, checking her mirrors every few minutes to see if she’s being followed. There’s no sign of the SUV, so she turns on the radio and sings along until the adrenaline rush passes. At least she’s wide awake now.

She’s ten minutes from the apartment when she does one last check behind her . . .

“Fuck!” Three cars back, there it is. The traffic was so thick before that she must’ve missed it. She stomps on the brakes, nearly avoiding the bumper of the car in front of her. “Okay, breathe,” she murmurs, giving herself an impromptu pep talk. “Getting into an accident isn’t going to help.”

Recalling every how-to-shake-a-tail trick she’s seen on TV and in the action movies Jeremy used to subject her to, she weaves her way through the city, executing a series of quick turns and erratic direction changes. The SUV manages to stay with her for a while, but then it vanishes after she pulls a maneuver that would make a stunt driver proud.

Heart thundering in her chest, she grips the wheel with shaky hands and races home as quickly as she dares, hoping she’s seen the last of the creepy stalker-mobile. She’s not looking forward to telling Damon about the incident.

If she’s terrified, she can only imagine what his reaction will be.

*****

Damon arrives ten minutes early for their date, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to see her. Bounding up the stairs and down the hall to Elena’s apartment, he hikes his bag over his shoulder and knocks on the door. After a few seconds go by without a response, he tries again and presses his ear to the wood, hoping to hear her approaching on the other side.

Silence.

Huh. Maybe she’s in the shower? He has a key, but if the extra deadbolts he installed are locked, it won’t do much good. Still, it’s worth a try. Fishing the key out of his pocket, he twists the finicky knob to test it, only for the door to swing open beneath his grip.

“What the . . . hell,” he whispers, his voice failing him as a dozen different but equally horrific scenarios play out in his head. His heart sinks until it’s somewhere in the pit of his stomach, and he drags in a shaky breath.

No. This can’t be happening. She’s fine. She has to be.

“Elena!” Flinging the door wide, he rushes inside, turning on lights as he goes. He looks for signs of a struggle, but everything appears to be in order. No tipped-over furniture, nothing strewn on the floor, no broken glass or makeshift weapons in sight. No blood. “Jesus, please just be here. Elena!” he hollers again, not giving a single fuck if he disturbs the whole neighborhood.

A soft sound, like a sigh or a yawn, catches his attention, and he darts into her bedroom, relief flooding through him when he discovers her draped across her bed, lost in a deep sleep.

Rushing to her side, he gathers her in his arms as gently as he can, but the movement startles her awake. She struggles weakly in his hold, blinking groggily and trying to free herself. “Shh, it’s me. I’m sorry I scared the shit out of you, but I couldn’t stop myself. I had to touch you, make sure you’re okay.”

“Damon?” she gasps as his hand ghosts over her cheek and shifts to her hair, absently stroking the long strands. “What happened?”

“The door . . . the fucking door was open, and I thought—” He can’t bring himself to put his greatest fear into words.

A puzzled look crosses her face, then her eyes widen. “Oh, god. I must’ve forgotten to lock it. I was a ball of nerves when I came home, but the minute I stepped over the threshold, everything caught up to me. I barely made it to the bed before I collapsed.”

He nudges her chin, tilting her head back until her gaze meets his. “What had you so wound up?”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out again. Then another. “You’re not going to like this,” she finally admits.

“Tell me.”

“Someone tried to follow me after I left the florist’s. I wrote down the license plate number so Ric or one of his buddies could trace it. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to shake whoever it was.”

“What.” Damon’s blood turns to ice in his veins as he processes this latest tidbit.

She snuggles deeper into his embrace, her arms locking around his waist. “It was a black SUV. Tinted windows. It was sitting in the parking lot when I came out, then I spotted it behind me in traffic.”

Helplessness returns with a vengeance, and he holds her tighter to him. “Elena . . .” The rest of his plea fades, cut off by the surge of emotions brewing within him—anger at the sonofabitch who frightened her and put her in danger, the horror of what could’ve been, gratitude that she managed to get away unharmed.

Please stay with me and let me keep you safe.

She stirs, a few wisps of her hair tickling his chin. “Shit. I need to take a shower and eat. I meant to be ready for you when you got here, but—”

His finger settles on her lips, quieting her worried rambling. “You’ve had more than enough excitement for one day. Playtime can wait.”

Her eyes find his in the semi-darkness, desire and desperation evident in their depths. “I don’t want to think right now, but my mind keeps hitting the replay button. Help me make it stop. Please,” she begs, tears threatening to fall.

Damn. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t agree to her request to prevent her from exhausting herself more than she already has, but he can’t deny her this time. He knows what she needs, understands it on a level most people couldn’t grasp.

He nods, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Go hop in the shower. I’ll fix you dinner, then we’ll see where you’re at.”

“Thank you.” Her fragile smile breaks his heart, and he gives her another hug before reluctantly releasing her. He’ll do anything in his power to make her happy again.

Anything.

*****

“I’m sorry for dragging my feet. I’m such an idiot.” Elena stares into her soup bowl, swirling the spoon around in the broth.

“No, you’re not, and what exactly are you apologizing for?” Damon asks, more than a little distracted by the bare thigh peeking out from under her t-shirt.

The spoon clangs against the bowl as she stops stirring. “For not taking the Enzo threat seriously and acting like it was no big deal. For stupidly clinging to this apartment.” She picks at the crust on her grilled cheese, popping a piece of it into her mouth. “I’ve been tabling my decision because I felt like everything else was more important and it was too soon for us to be living together. I thought I needed time to let the dust settle, but I’m tired of waiting. This place is so empty without Care. I want to be with you, and I’m not just saying that because of what happened today.”

“Does that mean what I think it means?” He’s not getting his hopes up. Nope, not a chance. Ah, fuck it. That’s exactly what he’s doing.

Her lips curl into a tiny grin. “It means I have a lot of packing to do.”

The rampant fear that’s had him in its grip since he arrived eases a smidge. “Screw the packing. I’ll hire someone to do it for you.”

“Um, I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather not have some random person tossing my underwear in a box.” She laughs a little at that. An encouraging sign. “Plus, most of the furniture needs to be sold.”

“Fine,” he grudgingly agrees. “I’ll help with the packing and selling, but you’re staying with me, starting tomorrow. Not gonna lie, I was seriously considering tying you up and tossing you in my back seat if you didn’t give me an answer tonight.”

“You’re such a caveman.”

“And you love me for it.”

“I do.”

Elena pokes at her sandwich but doesn’t continue nibbling. He gathers up the soup bowl, taking over spoon duty. “You know what the best part about supper is?” he asks sweetly.

“Hmm?”

“Eating it.”

With some coaxing and literal spoon-feeding, he manages to get her to finish her meal. Dropping hints about how she’ll need the energy doesn’t hurt either. When the last sip of soup disappears, she licks her lips, her gaze roaming from his face to the now-prominent bulge in his pants.

Seems one of his kitten’s hungers has been replaced by another.

*****

Damon’s hands move methodically over Elena’s body, massaging the tension from her knotted muscles until she’s completely relaxed. Candlelight bathes the bedroom with a warm glow and fills the air with soothing scents. As he rubs at a stubborn spot between her neck and shoulder, she shifts, moaning softly.

“I know, baby. I’ll get it.” After the muscle finally loosens, he switches directions, fingers skimming down her back and across the curve of her ass. He kneads her cheeks then plants kisses along the length of her spine. “Ready?” he murmurs, his tongue darting out to taste her skin.

“Yes, Master.”

His cock is already trying to punch through his jeans, and those two little words don’t help the situation. Ignoring his overeager dick, he focuses on preparing Elena for a much-needed play session. Securing her collar and cuffs, he pulls the first item from his bag of tricks. He doesn’t bother showing it to her; he’d rather have her feel it instead. He slips the straps around her thighs to hold it in place and turns it on for a few seconds to test that it’s where it needs to be.

She jumps then rocks her hips at the unexpected stimulation. “What is that?” she gasps.

“Butterfly vibrator. It’s going to keep your clit happy while I’m busy elsewhere.” As he lets her mull over what he means by that, he tucks a couple pillows under her hips, which presses the vibrator firmly to her sex. “How’d you do with the plug?” he asks, reaching for the next item in his bag.

“Not bad, but I couldn’t think straight all day,” she admits.

“You’re not supposed to be able to think straight. That’s the fun of it.”

“If you say so,” she answers dryly.

“Watch it,” he warns, delivering a quick swat to her bottom. “In fact, that’s enough talking.” He dangles the gag in front of her face, chuckling as her eyes widen in surprise.

“What’s that?” She bites her lip as soon as the words leak out, realizing her mistake, but it’s too late. His hand connects with her ass again.

“The only thing that can save you from yourself, apparently. It’s called a penis gag, and I find it has a nice pacifying effect, especially on stressed subs. Plus, it’ll muffle your screams when you come so hard you forget about everything but the feel of my cock deep inside you, fucking you through the ecstasy,” he says in her ear, his teeth latching onto the lobe and nipping it sharply.

“Oh, god,” she whimpers, her lips parting to accept the gag.

He buckles it snugly behind her head and kisses the leather panel covering her mouth. “Good girl,” he murmurs, stroking her cheek. “Pretend it’s a miniature version of me and suck on it. That’ll keep you busy.”

Her lids drift shut, and he watches her jaw flex as she tongues the small dick. He imagines those pink lips wrapped around his own shaft and stifles a groan. Maybe later.

Coating his fingers with a generous amount of lube, he parts her cheeks and begins gently working her open. She squirms and tenses up, balking at the intrusion. “Relax,” he soothes. “Let me in.”

Once she calms, he slowly thrusts his fingers deeper, feeling the effects of her training. The plugs are gradually stretching her, loosening the rings of muscle.

“You’re almost there. Soon you’ll be ready to take me. Isn’t that right, kitten?” She nods, moaning enthusiastically. “I bet you’re wet just thinking about it.” He can’t resist testing his theory, and he holds up the evidence for her to see—his finger, slick with her juices. “Just as I suspected. Until then, I have something else you’ll enjoy.”

His latest toy acquisition, a string of anal beads, is the perfect tool to help wring an explosive orgasm out of her. He slathers the first bead with lube and presses it against her tight entrance. She wriggles until it disappears inside her, followed by another.

“Be still,” he instructs, rubbing her back comfortingly.

When the rest of the beads are nestled in her ass, he pulls away long enough to sheathe himself with a condom, then he settles between her legs, spreading them wide. He teases her with the head of his cock, tracing it up and down her slit.

“Now for the best part.” He gathers a fistful of her hair and tugs on it, guaranteeing he has her full attention. “You’re not to come until I allow it. It won’t be easy, but you’ll do it for me.”

“Mmhmm!” Her response is muted but eager. The slight twitch of her hips tells him she’s struggling not to push herself back onto his hard length. She manages to behave, stilling until he surges forward, filling her inch by inch.

Ready to complete the devious trifecta, he flips the switch on the vibrator, leaving it on the lowest setting. As it springs to life, buzzing away against her sensitive clit, he pictures her face when he finally lets her have the orgasm she’ll desperately be needing.

Won’t be long now.

*****

Oh. My. God.

Damon’s trying to kill her, no doubt about it. The combination of the beads massaging her from the inside out, the soft vibrations on her clit, and his cock fucking her with slow, deep strokes has her fearing for her sanity. How the hell is she supposed to keep from coming when waves of pleasure are already crashing into her, threatening to drag her under?

Focus.

But it feels so good.

Ignore it.

I can’t . . .

Arguing with herself isn’t helping, but a distraction would be nice considering there’s no escape from the erotic onslaught. Even the fake penis in her mouth is making her hot. She swirls her tongue over the head, taking Damon’s advice and fantasizing that it’s him she’s caressing. Her lids droop as she concentrates on pleasing her Master. She can’t wait to swallow every last drop—

“Open your eyes,” he commands, smacking her cheek. “I want to see all your reactions. Don’t hide them from me.”

The sharp sting on her behind centers her, drawing her attention away from Damon as he increases the pace, latching onto her hips with a bruising grip. She sucks harder on the cock, her tongue and lips working in unison.

“Look at you go,” he purrs. “That’s fucking sexy, baby.”

The beads abruptly shift, and her focus disappears. There’s a tugging sensation, a hint of pressure. She’s gloriously full; it’s almost too much, but yet, not enough. That changes as the first bead slips from her ass. Her whole body jerks, and for one terrifying second, she’s afraid she’s going to come. She breathes through the panic, waiting for the near-orgasm to pass.

Holy hell. How many beads are there? Five? Six? She should’ve been counting. This is going to be torture, pure and simple. Couldn’t Damon be in a multiple-O mood instead?

There’s no reprieve in sight as he removes another bead. And another. Fucks her faster. Harder. Sweat dampens her skin, and her hands twist in the cuffs, clenching into fists. When the fourth bead pops free, she clamps down on his shaft, bucking her hips at the mounting pleasure. She can’t take much more. She can’t . . .

“Please,” she begs, but all that comes out is a garbled mess.

“Not yet,” Damon rasps, easily deciphering her cry.

Helpless to her Master’s whims, she braces herself for bead number five—

“Ohhhh.” The trembling in her thighs is relentless, and her ragged moans and whimpers are on a continuous loop.

Damon slaps her ass, but the pain blends seamlessly with the ecstasy until she’s teetering on the very edge.

Please god please god please god please god

“Only one bead left, kitten.” His voice just barely breaks through her haze. “Know what that means?”

Oh yes oh yes oh yes oh yes oh yes yes yes

Without warning, the vibe jumps to its highest speed and Damon thrusts deep, tugging the final bead from inside her. “Come. Right now,” he demands.

What starts as a silent scream gradually gains power—and volume—becoming one long, shrill wail. Her brain short-circuits, turning sounds to colors and colors to sounds. If it wasn’t for the restraints and Damon’s unyielding grip, the force of her release would have her levitating above the bed. The waves of bliss go on and on, sapping every last ounce of energy until she’s struggling to hang onto consciousness.

“Fuck!” Damon’s hips slam against hers as his orgasm hits, and that coupled with the vibrator still pressed to her clit sends her into oblivion again. “That one’s a bonus,” he growls in her ear, quickly unbuckling the gag and tossing it aside so he can claim her mouth, swallowing her weakening cries.

After the last spasm subsides, drowsiness kicks in. She wants to sleep. Desperately. For hours. Weeks, maybe. But she also needs to be held. Soothed. Her nerve endings feel like they’ve been rubbed raw.

Unable to fight it off any longer, she succumbs to a doze, briefly rousing when Damon runs a warm washcloth over her skin, gently dipping it between her legs. He disappears, and she curls into a ball, clinging to the rumpled bedding.

“I’m here,” he murmurs when he returns seconds later. He carefully pries the sheets from her grasp and tucks them around their bodies. Pulling her close, he kisses her tenderly. Lazily. “You’re perfect in every way, ‘Lena.”

“Even when I’m sassy?” she asks, her lips trailing down to his jaw.

He chuckles softly. “I take it back.”

“Too late now.” She nuzzles his throat, placing a kiss there before the exhaustion catches up with her and she slumps into his arms. “That was exactly what I needed.”

His smug grin tells her he already knew that, but he refrains from pointing it out. Although she’s beat—the kind of tired it takes days to recover from—she’s not thinking about her stressful day, or the wedding, or work, or deadlines, or moving. Her mind is quiet. At ease.

As she closes her eyes, Damon brushes his lips over her temple. “Sleep well, lover,” he whispers.

She doesn’t have to worry about nightmares or insomnia tonight. Her dreams, if they come, will be pleasant.

Peaceful.

Chapter Text

“How’d I do?”

Elena secures the last stray curl with a bobby pin and passes the mirror to Caroline so she can critique her work. She stands back while Care turns her head this way and that, studying every angle.

“It’s perfect!” The mirror clatters on the dresser as Caroline tosses it aside but, thankfully, doesn’t break, avoiding a mountain of bad luck no one needs. Her best friend wraps her in a hug, hanging on tightly. Maybe a tad too much.

“Wow, Care,” Elena wheezes. “Have you been overdoing it at the gym?”

“Oops. Sorry!” Caroline’s arms loosen enough for her to breathe, but she doesn’t let go.

“Is everything okay? You’ve been extra clingy today.”

“It’s fine. Everything’s good,” she quickly answers, but not without a hitch in her voice.

Elena pulls back and cups her friend’s cheek. “Don’t start with the waterworks. You’ll ruin your impeccable eyeliner. And mine.”

Caroline giggles and fans her face, trying to keep the tears from falling. “It’s just . . . you’re here. Of all the special occasions we’ve shared in our lives, I thought this might be one you’d miss.” She pauses to suck in a deep breath. “This ceremony is a big deal, almost more than the wedding in a way, but so many people don’t understand, y’know? I can’t tell my mom or my coworkers. Well, I could, but the responses wouldn’t be pretty. The fact that I get to have my best friend, who’s been with me through it all—horrible hair decisions; crappy, pay-the-bills jobs; embarrassing bar debacles—stand at my side while Nik claims me as his sub for the rest of our lives? It means the world to me, and so do you.”

So much for not crying. Grabbing enough tissues to prevent a complete makeup disaster, she passes a few to Care, then they’re hugging again.

When the sniffles finally subside, Elena manages a reassuring smile. “I wouldn’t be anyplace else, and I love you, too, even if you test my waterproof mascara on a daily basis lately.” She dabs at her eyes, then tosses the tissue in the wastebasket. “God, if we’re like this now, how the hell are we going to survive the wedding? I’ll have to put a bag over my head before giving my speech.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Caroline mock-scolds. “I want to see every tear and lip wobble.”

“Even the snot?”

“Even the snot.”

“As long as you keep it off Instagram.” Her phone beeps, and Elena checks the screen, spotting a text from Damon. “Fifteen minutes till we get this party started. I need to go check in with Elijah. You all set?”

Caroline nods, her smile radiant. “I am. Thank you for everything.”

“Of course. See you in a few!”

Elena waves and dashes downstairs, hoping the Master of Ceremonies, as Damon once called him, won’t be too difficult to find.

*****

The main play area—more intimate than ever with candelabras filling the room with warm light and rose petals scattered on the floor—boasts quite a few dapper gentlemen in expensive suits, but no Elijah. He’s not at the bar, or in the entryway, or in Damon’s office. Checking the lower level on the off-chance he needed something from the dungeon or one of the theme rooms, she pokes her head through each doorway, calling his name as she goes.

Silence.

She pauses outside the exhibition room, her gaze roving over the mammoth bed. When Damon first gave her the tour, she’d filed this one under “Not for Me,” but as she stares at the duvet with its deep red and black swirls, she can picture the two of them sprawled on the mattress, their bodies pressed tightly together while voyeuristic club members stop to watch them fuck. The bedding is even pulled back at the upper corner in an invitation to jump right in . . .

“One of the best rooms in the house, if I do say so myself.”

The unfamiliar voice startles her out of her reverie, and she turns to find an extremely handsome, ready-for-the-cover-of-GQ man beside her. “Um, I’ve never tried it,” she reveals, sifting through her memory for any hint of who it is she’s talking to. She doesn’t recall seeing him at the club before, but on the busiest nights, there’s no way to keep track of everyone.

“That’s a shame,” he comments with a smile that’s as devastating as the rest of him. “My apologies for rudely interrupting your quiet moment. I’m Darion.”

She brightens at the name. “Damon told me about you. It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Elena,” she greets him, holding out her hand for a shake.

He surprises her by clasping it gently and raising it to his lips for a kiss. “I can get away with that since your Dom isn’t here to catch me, although I suppose I’m not much of a threat.” He winks, making it impossible not to be charmed by his vibrant personality. “The pleasure’s all mine, cher. I knew the person who finally broke down Damon’s walls would be somebody special.”

“The wall-breaking was mutual,” she says with a grin, already at ease in Darion’s presence. He lacks the intimidation factor many at the club possess.

“Ah, even better. I can’t believe he hasn’t sweet-talked you into that bed. Damon always did enjoy putting on a show.”

Her cheeks heat as she peers into the room again. “He’s definitely not shy, but I am,” she admits. “I’m getting better, though. A little.”

“You’re both gorgeous creatures. People would love to watch you,” he points out, his slight Cajun accent and the warm timbre of his voice turning the simple statement into something downright seductive.

Her blush burns hotter, threatening to send her entire body up in flames. “I’m not so sure I want them watching me though.”

“You won’t even notice they’re there. Trust me.”

As she ponders the possibilities brought on by his suggestion, Elijah appears at the end of the hallway and strides toward them. He nods to Darion, who flashes her another knee-weakening smile.

“I’m happy you and Damon found each other. Maybe we can continue our chat another time?”

“I’d love that.”

They say their goodbyes, then Darion heads in the direction of the stairs while she and Elijah trail after him.

“I’ve been looking all over for you. I didn’t expect to find you down here flirting with Darion. I wonder what Damon will think,” Elijah teases, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

“Likewise, and I was not flirting.”

“Oh, I think you were, little flower.”

“Elijah . . .”

“Yes?” He arches a brow, clearly waiting for a slip of the tongue that will end with her draped over Damon’s knees later. Elijah’s new favorite activity is pushing her buttons, and he’s better at it than she’d care to admit.

“You’re trying to get me in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” His grin tells her he absolutely would, but she’s not going to call him on it now. “Shall we join the others?”

“I’m ready if you are.”

He chuckles and offers her his arm as they climb the stairs. With any luck, Elijah will forget to tell Damon his tall tale about her and Darion.

*****

“Would the attendants please take their places?” Elijah asks, crooking a finger first at Elena then at Damon, beckoning them to him.

Elena’s grip tightens around the velvet pouch in her hand, and she tamps down a sudden flare of nervous energy. Walking slowly so she won’t trip and fall on her face in front of everyone, she focuses on Damon, meeting his gaze as he approaches from the opposite side of the room. The suit he’s wearing is one of her favorites—hell, they all are—and she can’t wait to feel the soft material under her palms. Preferably while she’s helping him undress.

His approving smirk tells her he knows exactly what she’s thinking. When they come to a stop on either side of Elijah, she wrangles her wayward thoughts, turning her attention to Nik as he appears in the entryway.

“Master Nik, please come forward.”

At his brother’s request, Nik saunters to the front of the room. His custom-made suit is especially fitting, with leather accents on the lapels and sleeves. The handle of the crop he’s carrying gleams in the candlelight, and Elena shivers as she envisions Damon walking toward her with the implement of pleasure/pain.

Nik passes the crop to Damon, who’s also holding a plain black box. Elena knows what’s inside, but she hasn’t actually seen it yet. Damon wouldn’t let her peek.

“And now for the lovely Caroline. Join us, my dear.”

Care’s white dress is simple but elegant, and the hem brushes her thighs as she pads down the center aisle in her bare feet. She beams at Nik, her eyes never leaving his. A broad smile brings out the dimples in his cheeks, reflecting the sheer joy radiating from both of them. Once she’s standing beside Nik, their hands clasped and fingers intertwined, Elijah addresses the group.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Dominants and submissives—family all—we are gathered here to celebrate this couple and to bear witness as they seal their bond and commit themselves to each other, mind, body, and soul. A collaring is symbolic of the profound connection between Dom and sub, not to be undertaken lightly. It is the continuation of your journey, a promise you agree to honor and nurture from this day forward.”

Nik and Caroline nod in unison, and Elijah continues.

“Master Nik, I believe there’s something you’d like to ask your sub?”

After clearing his throat, Nik begins, the depth of his feelings evident in his unwavering gaze and the slight hitch in his voice when he says his beloved’s name. “Caroline, my dearest Muse, my sweetest solace. Before you came into my life, I never thought I’d be lucky enough to claim another as my own. To find someone whose desires mirror mine—the other half of myself. You put your trust in me, and I promise to never take it for granted or neglect the responsibilities of a dominant. I will be fair and mindful of your needs, and your wellbeing will continue to be of the utmost importance. I will cherish the gift you’ve given me and honor it always. I’ll guide you as you continue to grow and thrive in your submission. Most of all, I vow to protect and care for you each and every day.”

There’s a brief pause as Nik turns to Damon, who opens the box for him to retrieve its contents. Collar in hand, he faces Caroline once more.

“Will you accept this collar and wear it as a sign of your devotion and love for me, and mine for you, sweetheart?”

Although Elena can’t see Caroline’s reaction, the soft sniffling gives her away. Nik comes to her rescue, gingerly dabbing at runaway tears with his handkerchief. Once he’s mopped up the last one—for now—she squares her shoulders, clearly determined to give him an answer without falling apart.

“Master, it would be my greatest joy to wear your collar. I accept, pledging myself to you and only you. I’ll strive to anticipate your needs and put them before my own. Nothing will make me happier than to serve you, to learn from you, to please you, and to love you. I promise to respect you and the values that are so important to our relationship. I entrust myself into your capable hands without doubt or regret. For as long as I am yours and you are mine, I will be at your side.”

As Caroline’s elegant speech comes to a close, she gracefully sinks to her knees in front of Nik, who bends to slip the band of pink leather around her throat. Elena’s vision blurs as she observes the emotional exchange, and she frantically tries to blink away her tears. A light touch on her elbow gets her attention, then Elijah presses his handkerchief into her palm. She mouths her silent thanks, grateful for the save.

Glancing around the room, she notices she’s not the only one. She spots several tissues in amongst the sea of beaming faces. Couples have shifted closer to each other, fingers knotted together, arms around waists. The sight of Jack resting his head on Trent’s shoulder, both of them likely reliving their own ceremony, has her on the brink of a second sob-fest. Her gaze returns to Damon, and she wishes she could go to him, but that’ll have to wait a little longer. His reassuring smile is comforting—the non-verbal equivalent of “soon.”

Once Caroline’s collar is in place, secured at the back by a miniature heart-shaped lock, Nik helps her to her feet. When Care turns to peer into the crowd, Elena notices the small charm dangling from the O-ring: a silver tag with Muse engraved upon it.

“For the next portion of the ceremony, I will require assistance from the attendants,” Elijah intones.

Following his cue, Elena removes the thin chain from the pouch in her grasp and approaches the couple, who are once again hand in hand. She and Damon circle the pair, carefully winding the chain around them. Every brush of her fingers against Damon’s sends a current through her, raising goosebumps on her bare arms. Her response isn’t lost on him, of course. He continues to tease her with barely there touches until her whole body is humming in anticipation. When the final links are draped over Nik and Caroline’s hands, she and Damon return to their respective places, but not without sharing another longing look.

Elijah nods his thanks, a sly grin indicating he wasn’t oblivious to their antics, and continues. “This chain represents your bond—the tie that has drawn you together. Each link is a step on your journey. They form the rare and precious connection you share, one that will flourish as you do. They are the trust you’ve given to each other, the respect you have for one another, and the commitment you’ve just made.” He pauses, gesturing to the group surrounding them. “We are blessed to have witnessed your joining on this most special of occasions, and we celebrate with you now as you seal your claim with a kiss and your first scene as Master and collared submissive. Brother?”

At Elijah’s prompt, Nik leans in and captures Caroline’s lips in a searing kiss while the room explodes with applause and cheers for the happy couple. The commotion eventually dies down, and Nik and Care part to catch their breath, chests rising and falling in sync. They don’t seem to notice Damon and Elena as they remove the chain and tuck it back in the pouch for safekeeping. Once they’re free, Nik collects the crop from Damon and leads Caroline to the St. Andrew’s cross, stealing another kiss before cuffing her to the imposing structure.

Damon drifts over to Elena as they watch Nik lift Caroline’s skirt and run the smooth tip of the crop across her bare behind. Even though she’s not on the receiving end, Elena still jumps at the first crack of leather on skin.

“Why so jittery, kitten?” Damon murmurs, tugging her back against his chest while his arms circle her waist.

“Just keyed up, I guess,” she admits. “And I was thinking . . .”

“About?”

The crop snaps Caroline’s ass again, and her soft moans fill the air. Elena imagines herself in the same position, her body pressed to the cool wood as Damon wields the crop. Or a paddle. Or a flogger.

“When we’re . . . ready for this, will I be chained to the cross, too, or will you choose something else?” she asks tentatively.

His lips find her temple, leaving a tender kiss there. “Not sure. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“But you’ve thought about it.”

“More than you know, baby. More than you know.”

While she lets his revelation sink in, she refocuses on the scene taking place in front of them. After delivering a series of rapid, sharp blows to Caroline’s bottom and the backs of her thighs, Nik unclips her cuffs and spins her around for another fierce kiss. He pulls back long enough to nip her bottom lip and whisper something in her ear that makes Care whimper and nod in eager agreement.

The familiar heat of arousal blooms beneath Elena’s skin, and she shimmies her hips, enjoying the feel of Damon’s erection nudging her ass. He palms her nape, his grip tightening just enough to deliver a promise of what’s to come.

“After we mingle and offer our congratulations, I’m taking you upstairs. Understood?” His voice is a deep rumble in her ear, demanding yet seductive.

“Yes, Master,” she answers breathlessly.

There’s nothing she wants more.

*****

As soon as the lock clicks and they’re alone in the private room, Damon presses Elena to the nearest flat surface—the double doors of an armoire—enjoying the way her hot, lithe body writhes against his. Her breasts heave within the confines of her bustier with every unsteady breath, and he can’t resist dropping his mouth to the smooth swells, sampling the sweetness of her skin with his tongue.

She moans his name, tugging on the lapels of his suit jacket and fumbling with the buttons. Pinning her with a glare, he pries her fingers free of the material and gathers her wrists behind her back in a firm grip.

“What did you say?”

Her eyes widen at her mistake. “Master, I’m sorry.”

“Hmm. Seems we haven’t been visiting the playroom enough. You’re getting out of practice.” He yanks at the fastenings on the front of her bustier, smirking as each one gives way with a satisfying snap. Tossing the garment aside, he latches onto a pert nipple, suckling then nipping at her just hard enough to elicit a squeal. “Watch it, pet.”

“I’ll do better,” she hastily answers, clearly hoping to avoid a punishment.

“Good.”

Turning her around to face the doors, he hikes her skirt up over her hips, exposing the cheeks of her ass and the thin wisp of black lace nestled between them. He hooks his thumb in the edge of the skimpy thong and drags it down her legs until it lies in a puddle at her feet. As he soaks up the sight of her beautiful, bare bottom, his cock twitches in anticipation. Pulling her hips back until her ass is flush with the rock-hard bulge in his pants, he grinds into her, giving her a taste of what she could be rewarded with later.

If she behaves.

His hands drift to her breasts, kneading the supple flesh and tweaking her nipples until her head lolls onto his shoulder. He kisses a path up her throat, stopping briefly at her collar to savor her scent as it blends with the rich leather. The heady combination sends another jolt of pleasure to his dick, and Damon reluctantly steps away, reining in his urge to fuck right here, right now. No need for the party to end before it’s even properly begun.

Elena whimpers at the loss, wriggling her hips in an attempt to entice him to return for another round of bump and grind. “Please,” she murmurs, “don’t be a tease.”

Strike number two.

She gets her wish, although probably not the way she intended, as he flattens her against the armoire once more. “I’ll tease you as much and as often as I like. You should know that by now,” he growls in her ear, pinching her nipple until she yelps. “Looks like it’s time for a lesson in patience, and luckily for you, I’m in a teaching mood.” He releases her and shrugs off his coat. “Remove your skirt and go wait by the bed.”

Her slip-ups are minor in the grand scheme of things, but a little role reinforcement never hurt anyone.

His sub quickly obeys, casting him a nervous glance as he ditches the rest of his clothes and gathers supplies. Several bundles of rope, two sets of cuffs, a pair of nipple clamps, and a tube of lube later, he joins her at the edge of the mattress. As he unwinds a length of rope, he gestures toward the center of the bed.

“Lie on your back,” he instructs, watching as she complies with his order. She splays her legs wide, expecting him to bind her in the spread-eagle position. He chuckles to himself as he cuffs each ankle, draws them back together, and threads the rope through the D-rings, securing it to a hook on the bottom of the bedframe. He loops more rope above her knees, eliminating her last bit of wiggle room; she won’t be able to create enough friction to get any relief. “If you want me between those thighs tonight, you’re going to have to earn it.”

“Mast—”

His finger settles on her lips, cutting off her plea. “Not a word. Not even a squeak. You’re going to be quiet and stay completely still. Patience, remember?” He plants a kiss on her cheek then trails his mouth down to her ear, nibbling on the lobe. “When I want you to beg, I’ll tell you,” he husks, smiling at the shiver that rolls through her.

After cuffing her wrists to the headboard, he grabs the clamps and dangles them above her breasts, dragging the cold chain over her nipples. Back and forth he goes, admiring her struggle not to react to the ticklish slide of the metal. With one last pass, he attaches the first clamp, feeds the chain through the ring on her collar, and fastens the second one. Elena grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut but manages to stay silent.

“Well done. Let’s see if you can keep it up.”

Her expression is half curiosity, half apprehension as he uncaps the lube and squirts a generous dollop into his palm. Straddling her waist, he grasps his cock and strokes it from base to tip, hissing at the coolness of the gel on his over-sensitized dick. He rubs his thumb over the head, and she tracks his every move, her gaze locked on his hand as it glides up and down his shaft, taking a brief detour to massage his balls. He can tell she’s getting anxious, her desire warring with the need to submit. Her lips part and her lids grow heavier the longer he fists his hard length.

Damon grunts as the pleasure builds, noticing the way Elena quells a moan. His little sub loves working him over with her hands and mouth, and as much as he enjoys having her worship his cock, denying her one of her favorite treats is necessary to enforce the lesson. He knows her wants and needs, has them cataloged in his brain, but their power exchange isn’t about instant gratification. It’s the thrill of the tease, the joy of surrendering to another’s control, trusting that the outcome will be fulfilling for both of them.

His dick slips from his hold, and he focuses on her chest, his fingers playing over her clamped nipples. “I’ve never fucked these gorgeous tits of yours.” Dipping his head, he flicks at the engorged tips with his tongue. “Now’s the perfect time, don’t you think?”

Her eyes flare as he eases forward, resting his cock in the valley between her breasts. Cupping the soft mounds, he presses them firmly against his shaft, moving slowly at first. Every thrust is ecstasy—smooth skin on skin. Elena bites her bottom lip, stifling a whine at the constant tug on her nipples.

“Bet you’re wishing I gagged you, but that’d be too easy, wouldn’t it, baby?”

She quietly huffs in frustration and resumes mauling her lip. Picking up the pace, he rocks his hips in a steady rhythm, riveted by the sight of his penis cushioned by her breasts. His thrusts are less gentle now, the growing pressure at the base of his spine driving him on and pushing him closer to his release. As if sensing his slipping concentration, Elena’s tongue sneaks past her lips, aiming for the head of his cock. Before he can call her on it, the pink tip disappears and she switches tactics, pleading with those soulful brown eyes of hers.

She wields her patented wounded-kitten look like a weapon—one that usually makes him cave, but not tonight. Not until he’s thoroughly convinced she can be patient.

Growling her name, he keeps pumping into the deliciously snug haven created by her breasts, hovering nearer to the edge with each thrust. Pulling away before he gives her a facial—another item on his to-do list, just not this time—he roughly jacks himself the rest of the way off, his orgasm stealing his breath like a punch to the gut. His cock jerks against his palm as he comes on Elena’s chest, painting her body with his seed.

He sits back on his heels, reeling in the aftermath of his release. He’s always thought of a satisfying orgasm as the cherry on a sex sundae, but with Elena, it’s like a second sundae on top of the first one. With extra hot fudge, nuts, and whipped cream. Definitely more cream, he muses, studying the mess he left on her breasts.

Stretching out beside her, he trails a finger across her skin, studying her reaction as he scoops some of the sticky substance onto the tip. Despite being mere inches away from what she wants—judging by her heated gaze and laser-like focus—she doesn’t open her mouth or make a sound. Doesn’t even blink.

He teases her, grinning shamelessly as he smears his cum-coated finger over her nipples. “Should I give you a taste?”

She swallows thickly but doesn’t answer.

“Are you going to let impatience get the best of you again? You may speak.”

“No, Master,” she whispers.

“That’s my good girl.” He brings his finger to her lips, and they part in anticipation. “Ready for your treat?”

She opens for him, and he pops his finger inside, groaning as her tongue swirls around it, licking it clean with gentle swipes. When she switches to sucking on the digit, mimicking her stellar blowjob skills, his dick perks up again, prodding her hip as if he didn’t have an explosive orgasm only minutes ago.

Damn thing’s got a mind of its own.

He gives her another taste, stroking her cheek while she hums happily around his finger. Leaving her side long enough to grab a washcloth, he carefully removes the clamps and wipes the rest of his cum from her breasts. Elena winces when the cloth comes into contact with her nipples, and he uses his mouth instead, soothing the tender buds with his tongue.

After one last, lingering lick, he loosens the rope circling her thighs, admiring the marks left behind. He traces the patterns on her skin, eager to guide her deeper into the world of rope bondage. A vision of her bound and fully suspended—a living work of art—forms in his mind. His dick throbs just thinking about how stunning she’ll be wrapped in his ropes, perfectly positioned for a flogging or a nice edging session followed by a thorough fucking. Maybe all of the above.

Shelving the fantasy for now, he releases her ankles and pushes her legs up, bending them at the knee and tying them shin to thigh in a classic frogtie. He threads more rope through the bindings on her legs and secures it to hooks on the sides of the bed, leaving her spread wide and vulnerable. His mouth waters like a starving man’s at a buffet as he stares at her glistening sex. The only thing on his agenda for the rest of the evening is to make his lover scream in ecstasy, preferably loud enough for the whole damn club to hear.

“You had your treat. Now, it’s my turn,” he purrs, rubbing his cheek on her inner thigh while she squirms at the light scratch of his stubble. “You’re not going anywhere, princess. Not until I’ve had my fill of you . . . and that could take hours.” He parts her folds, dipping a finger in her wetness. She’s always ready for him. Always.

And he fucking loves it.

“You’re so soft and pink. So slick,” he murmurs, lazily trailing his lips along her slit. “I could feast on you morning, noon, and night, and never get tired of it.” His tongue dances over her clit, and she moans at the light teasing, encouraging him to keep going. He ignores the not-so-subtle hint and peppers kisses across her thighs and lower belly while she writhes, tugging uselessly at the restraints. “Should I explore your sweet pussy with my mouth?” he asks. “Or would you rather feel my fingers in your tight ass?” He flattens his tongue and drags it from her puckered entrance to the top of her mound. “Or both?”

“Oh, god,” she gasps, clawing at the pillows.

“Tell me what you need, Elena. Beg for it.”

“Mmm, want both. Please, Master!”

“You read my mind, baby.”

He pats around for the lube, eventually finding it in the rumpled bedding. Elena shivers when the first drop lands on her sensitive skin and dribbles between her splayed cheeks. Coating his fingers with it, he gently presses the tip of one inside her, waiting for her to relax so he can move. The moment her muscles loosen, he thrusts deeper, demonstrating the way he’ll soon claim her with his cock.

Expecting at least some resistance, he’s pleasantly surprised when her only response is to watch him with a hooded gaze as he adds a second finger. There’s a slight wriggle as she stretches to accommodate him, but that’s it. No fuss, no sassy remarks. She’s opening up nicely, and he rewards her by sealing his mouth to her sex, his tongue snaking out to sample her juices. He smacks his lips, pleased with himself at the heat that rises to her cheeks. He wasn’t lying when he told her he’d happily stay buried in the cradle of her thighs; she’s the only sustenance he needs.

He fucks her faster with tongue and fingers until her lips part and her soft panting reaches his ears.

“You’re being so good,” he rasps, flicking at her little bundle of nerves. She cries out, her body undulating at his ministrations as she gears up for her impending release. “You like that, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.” When he concentrates on a particularly sensitive spot, she clamps down on his fingers. “So . . . close. May I come, Master? Please?”

“You can hold out for another minute or two.” Truth is, he’s enjoying himself far too much to stop now.

She groans but doesn’t argue, obediently enduring the sensual torment he’s inflicting upon her. The strain of staving off her release starts to take its toll as spasms wrack her body. Deciding he’s ready to give her what she needs, he roughly tongues her clit while maintaining the rapid thrust of his fingers.

“You’ve earned that nice, big orgasm. Let me see it, kitten,” he orders, sucking hard on her throbbing nub and plunging his digits deep inside her ass.

She instantly flies apart, head thrashing on the pillow and hips bucking wildly as she fights against the ropes. He stays with her while she rides the waves of bliss brought on by her powerful release, only gentling his strokes when the last aftershock passes.

Satisfied with his work, he props his chin on her hip and admires the vision before him. Elena is beautifully wrung out, her skin damp with sweat and locks of her unruly hair strewn across her face.

“Thank you, Master,” she whispers once she calms enough to speak.

“Of course, but I’m not finished with you yet.”

“More?” she asks weakly, lashes fluttering as she struggles to look at him.

He nods, placing an open-mouth kiss on her shaky thigh. “So much more.”

*****

A string of scream-inducing, back-arching, leg-trembling orgasms later, Damon massages Elena’s shoulders while she’s draped half on top of him, completely drained and motionless except for an occasional twitch. Savoring the peaceful aftermath of their scene, he lets his mind return to the ceremony.

He’d found himself glancing at Elena more often than not, studying her reactions, especially during the vows—the joy on her face and the tears that followed. He wanted to go to her then, take her in his arms, and tell her how much he loved her and how he couldn’t wait until they were the ones standing there, hand in hand, promising themselves to each other.

Hell, he’d even begun thinking about the things he’d say to her on their special day. The words came easily, which should’ve been a tad startling, but instead, it felt right. Natural. As natural as holding her, the way he is now, like she’s always belonged in his embrace. Before her, he hadn’t realized such a vital piece of his life was missing. Now, he can’t imagine surviving without it.

The soft press of lips on his chest draws his attention back to Elena. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t feel her stir. She stretches, reaching up to cup his face, her thumb brushing his cheek.

“What are you thinking about? Seems serious,” she murmurs.

"Us.”

“What about us?”

“Our future.”

"Good things?"

He nods, turning to kiss her palm.

“So you’re not ready to call the whole thing off and kick me to the curb?” she asks with a mischievous grin.

“Never happen.” He tugs on the ring to her collar, hooking a finger through the warm metal. “You’re mine, remember?”

“As if I could forget. Not that I’d want to.”

“I’ll enjoy reminding you every chance I get.”

“Mmm.” The tip of her nail circles his nipple, ticklish as fuck, and it hardens instantly, much like another, more insistent, part of his anatomy. “So, there’s something on my list of ‘oh-hell-no’s that I want to switch to ‘maybe-someday-when-I’m-feeling-extra-brave.’”

Curiosity piqued, he catches her hand in his, redirecting her wandering digits to the chain around his neck. At least that won’t slowly drive him insane. The shift from sleepy to playful was subtle at first, but now she’s clearly in an impish mood. Where and how she found this burst of energy is beyond him. He thought he’d worn her out for the rest of the evening.

Apparently not.

“And what would that be? Gonna let me strap you to a spanking bench and fuck you in front of whoever wants a front-row seat to the hottest show on earth?” he guesses. That would be a hell of an idea, if only she—

“Um, actually, it’s related to that. Sort of,” she admits sheepishly. “I was thinking maybe we could visit the exhibition room. Not tomorrow or anything, but . . . eventually.”

I’ll be damned. “What changed your mind?”

She fiddles with the tiny key on his necklace, using it to draw designs on his skin. “I was downstairs earlier looking for Elijah, and when I stopped outside the door, I could see you and me in that huge bed. Then I met—”

“Darion,” he finishes for her, struggling to suppress a smile as her eyes widen in surprise.

“You knew?”

He lowers his voice to its signature you’re-in-trouble tone. “Elijah told me you were quite the flirt.” One good tease deserves another.

“What? We talked, mostly about the exhibition room . . . and you, but there was no flirting, I swear!” she pleads.

“I know.” He rolls her onto her back and leans in to capture her mouth, caressing her tongue with his. Her fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to her as she shifts restlessly, rubbing against the thigh wedged between hers. Reluctantly breaking the kiss, he nips her bottom lip before raising his head to gaze at her. “Relax, baby. I’m just kidding.”

“Oh, good,” she sighs as he explores the column of her throat, pausing to suck lightly on her pulse point. “Darion’s nice.”

“I’m glad you two had a chance to talk.” He palms her breast, smiling when she presses into his touch. Oh, yeah. She’s insatiable tonight, and he’s only too happy to oblige her.

“Me, too, although you could’ve warned me about his voice.”

He chuckles, plucking at her nipple until she moans. “Amazing, isn’t it?” That deep Cajun-infused rumble could entice anyone to crawl between the sheets.

“Definite bedroom material. Ah!” she gasps as his mouth takes over for his fingers. “He said people would enjoy watching us.”

“Mmhmm. They’ll get off watching me get you off. It’s a win-win.” He can picture it—clearly—and he likes what he sees. Very much. “I’m pleased you reconsidered.”

“I was already kinda fantasizing about it. I guess I just needed a nudge.”

Speaking of nudging, his hard-on makes itself known, the head poking at her lower belly. Elena notices his predicament and curls a hand around his stiff length, gently stroking him.

“Is there something you need, kitten?” he asks, slipping on a condom then hitching her leg over his hip in preparation for filling her so completely that there’s no telling where he ends and she begins.

She nods, squeezing his cock while guiding him toward her slick entrance. “You.”

That one word is all it takes before they’re once again lost in each other, bodies straining and hearts pounding in sync. Reveling in the connection they share, the closeness he didn’t know existed until her, he cherishes each blissful moment, shutting out the echoes of the past and the what-ifs of the future.

The only thing that matters is being here with her now, loving her, and feeling every ounce of that love in return.

*****

“So, how’s it going with Damon?” Rose hollers over the throbbing beat of whichever EDM track the DJ’s spinning. After a while, they blend together into one never-ending bass fest.

“Pretty great,” Elena shouts back, swirling her straw through the pink, fruity concoction in her glass. She can’t remember the name of it, but it’s really good. I-think-I’ll-have-a-whole-pitcher-of-these good. “We’re figuring things out as we go, but it’s nice not being alone anymore. Plus, his place is a dream.”

“Spectacular, right?” Rose finishes her drink and signals to the bartender for another. “You must be loving all the space.”

“I am, believe me. I’m trying not to clutter it up with my junk, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s the one scattering my clothes everywhere.” Whenever Stefan or Alaric or any of their other friends come over, she has to scour the house first to make sure her bras and undies aren’t still dangling from the picture frames and light fixtures. “I’ve already been late for work twice.”

Rose leans closer. “Ooh, do tell.”

Elena feels a blush creeping across her cheeks. Could be the alcohol kicking in, or it could be the memory of her and Damon yesterday morning. “Um, I’ve learned that sharing the shower is great for water conservation and extremely bad for my punctuality.”

“I’m sure it was worth it.” Rose holds up the refill the bartender just delivered. “Here’s to lazy mornings and sexy shower shenanigans.”

Elena clinks her glass with Rose’s. “Cheers!”

“You could always blame your tardiness on traffic,” Rose suggests.

“Every morning?”

“Or not.”

Their laughter adds to the hubbub surrounding them, and Elena suddenly recalls a promise she made to Damon after kissing him goodbye: tease him mercilessly by showing him what he’s missing while she’s out partying with the girls.

Tugging down her halter top until her breasts threaten to spill free, she snaps a few quick shots of her impressive cleavage.

“What are you up to?” Rose asks with a giggle.

“Attempting to drive my boyfriend wild while he’s stuck at home and can’t do anything about it,” Elena explains, proudly divulging her wicked plan. If her phone happens to slip under her skirt at some point, so be it.

“You’re playing with fire. Knowing Damon, he’s not above crashing a bachelorette party.” Rose takes a big gulp of her drink and breaks into a celebratory dance when she polishes it off. “He’ll drag you to the bathroom for a quickie or two. Or three.” She hiccups. “Or four.”

Another rush of heat rolls through Elena, and she rubs her thighs together. “I wouldn’t complain.”

Their conversation is interrupted by Caroline, who treats her bestie to an impromptu lap dance. Her tiara is crooked and her “Bride-to-Be” sash is barely clinging to her shoulder, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Eleeeenaaaa!” she coos, grinding against her friend’s hip. “I love you so much. You know that, right?”

“I do.” Elena plants a noisy smooch on Care’s cheek. “I love you, too!”

“Ugh, how did I get stuck with all these sappy drunks,” Katherine grumbles, reaching past them to grab a salt shaker off the bar. “C’mon, girls. Time for shots,” she announces with the same authoritative tone she uses when there’s a whip attached to her belt. “This round’s on me.”

“Shots?” Elena eyes the leggy brunette over the rim of her glass. “We’re not going to remember anything about tonight.”

“That’s what hangovers are for,” Katherine says with a wink. “Hurts like a bitch, but you know you had a fuckin’ amazing time.”

Elena shrugs and links arms with Rose and Caroline as they follow her to a table overflowing with shot glasses. At least she doesn’t have to get up early tomorrow. Or at all.

I hope Damon has a giant bottle of aspirin.

*****

Damon groans as he stares at the image on his screen, studying every pixel. Elena’s breasts are magnificent, even when she’s using them to taunt him.

We miss you, reads the cheeky text accompanying the photo.

He glances at the man slumped on his couch, aimlessly flipping through hundreds of channels of nonsense. Alaric wouldn’t care if he abandoned him, would he?

Realizing he’s being watched, Ric pauses mid-surf, the remote still pointed at the television. “Warn me if the phone sex is about to start, will ya?”

“You’re safe. For now,” Damon adds. If Elena keeps sending him pics like that last one, all bets are off.

“Huh.” Alaric uncaps his bottle of water and sips at it, then rubs his forehead as if it’s still aching. “Is this thing loud, or is it me?” he asks, scowling at the TV.

“You’re probably still hungover.” Damon chuckles at the glare Ric shoots his way. “I didn’t tell you to guzzle half a bottle of Wild Turkey at Nik’s party last night.”

Alaric shrugs. “It tasted like more.”

“It always does. Look at the bright side—it introduced you to water. I thought the only beverages you drank were coffee and bourbon.”

Ric flashes him the finger and hits the H2O again. “Why aren’t you bitching and moaning?”

“Not my style and I didn’t indulge like I was at my first college mixer.” While his disgruntled head of security mutters under his breath about how not everyone has “an assload of self-control,” Damon types a reply to Elena’s text. Closing the club in favor of being on-call whenever Caroline and Co. are ready to be picked up was a solid decision, for a number of reasons. Alaric wouldn’t be handling it well if he were at work right now.

“Has it turned into a scene from Girls Gone Wild yet?” Ric gives up on the TV and tosses aside the remote.

“Possibly. Elena seems like she’s getting in the spirit.”

“Speaking of your girl, I finally heard back on the SUV that was tailing her. It was a rental—surprise, surprise—paid for in cash and registered to a Joe Smith.” He slaps air quotes around the obviously fake name and rolls his eyes. “Real original. According to the manager, the guy who came to get it doesn’t match Enzo’s description. Must’ve been a lackey.”

“Great,” Damon sighs. “Another dead end.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Thank your buddies for me. I appreciate their help.”

“Will do.” Ric finishes the rest of his water, crumpling the plastic bottle in his fist.

“Another round?”

“Yeah.”

As Damon strolls to the kitchen for a couple more bottles, he considers the insane amount of luck possessed by his former friend-turned-enemy. It’s bound to run out soon, and he sure as hell wants to be there when it does.

*****

Drifting deeper into the crowded dance floor, Elena lets her body flow with the rhythm of the music, swaying during the slow parts and bopping along to the fast ones. The club is packed—unsurprising for a Saturday night. She picked one of the city’s hotspots, and so far, it definitely lives up to the hype. It’s easy to see why there’s no shortage of patrons, especially if all their drinks are as good as those whatchamacallits she had earlier. And the shots. Can’t forget those.

A series of whoops and whistles rises above the din, and she glances behind her to find Katherine and Rebekah engaged in a three-way group grind with a woman she doesn’t recognize. Caroline and Rose have some new friends as well, including a guy whose sole focus seems to be Care’s ass. Elena snickers as she watches her try to shake him. She eventually succeeds with a little help from Rose as the fierce, pixie-haired bartender steps in as Caroline’s partner and tells the creeper to fuck off.

A hand brushes Elena’s arm, and a flare of excitement courses through her at the thought that maybe Damon had enough of her teasing and decided to join the party, but it’s only an interested club-goer attempting to draw her closer for some one-on-one action.

Sorry, buddy. Not tonight. Or ever.

She slips away from Mr. Touchy-Feely and gravitates to the edge of the writhing, sweaty mass of people, singling out a place where she can still groove to the music without getting groped. Damon must be busy with Alaric, discussing club business or some other topic. Sports? The news? Britney’s Vegas show? She still has no idea what Ric’s interests are aside from top-notch bourbon and food he doesn’t have to cook himself.

Maybe it’s time to take her photo game to the next level. She checks her phone, grinning at the response to her last pic: Keep it up, princess. After I get my hands on you, you won’t have the strength to leave the bed for a week.

Uh-oh. What about the wedding?

We’ll work around it ;)

Elijah will have to carry me down the aisle . . .

The only one doing any carrying will be me, he texts back, followed by a devil emoji.

Does that mean you’re feeling wicked? Or horny?

Both

Even better. See u in a bit :*

Tucking her phone in the pocket of her skirt, she shimmies her hips to the thumping beat of the DJ’s next track. More people are navigating their way onto the dance floor, filling up the empty spaces until Elena’s nudged back into the throng. Going with the flow, she glances around, hoping to locate the others. Standing on her tiptoes, she spots Caroline and Rose on the opposite side of the room, but there’s no sign of Katherine and Rebekah. They must’ve wandered to the bathroom or gone outside for a breather.

Just as she starts inching her way toward her friends, some rando bumps into her from behind. The person doesn’t apologize, and she figures whoever it is is probably too tipsy to care. Shrugging it off, she moves another step or two before her path is blocked by the press of bodies. A guy grabs her by the waist, and she strives to break his hold, but it won’t budge.

“Very funny, jerk. You can let go now,” she mutters, attempting to twist free of the snare. She glances over her shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of his face, but he dodges her efforts. Elena raises her foot, preparing to stomp the hell out of the asshole’s toes, when there’s a sharp sting on her arm.

“Ouch!” Her yelp of pain loosens the man’s grip, and she stumbles away from him, rubbing at the sore spot. The lighting’s too dim to see what caused it. Probably a zipper or a ring.

The next song is more manic than the last, and the crowd thickens again, everyone thrashing around like they’re fucking with their clothes on. Mosh pits are easier to navigate than this melee.

She slinks past one near-orgy and almost bypasses another when a wave of dizziness slams into her. Shit. Revenge of the shots. She steadies herself on an available elbow and continues her trek, anxious to find Caroline and tell her she’s ready to call it a night.

The spinning in her head gets worse with every passing second, and her stomach’s roiling. Fighting back the nausea, she yells her friend’s name, but it’s immediately swallowed up by the racket surrounding her. She tries for Rose with the same dismal results. No one can hear her. Hell, she can hardly hear herself. Her heart pounds so loudly in her ears that she mistakes it for the throbbing beat of the music. Even though she’s standing still, or at least she thinks she is, her pulse is racing.

“What’s happening?” she whispers, struggling to stay on her feet as her vision blurs. There’s a tug on her waist as if someone’s pulling her backward. “Wait. Stop!”

Her chest is tight, her lungs greedy for air, but there isn’t enough. It’s like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. Spots dance before her eyes, and she sags against the person hauling on her. Her legs give out, and she sinks to her knees.

“Elena!” She recognizes Katherine’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

At the sound of the other woman’s approach, the arm circling her waist disappears. She droops onto the floor and shakes her head weakly. “Don’t know,” she wheezes.

Katherine barks out orders, something about calling for an ambulance. Elena can’t focus on what she’s saying. Everything’s fuzzy, and it’s too hard to stay awake. Too hard to breathe.

“Oh, god! Elena?” That might be Rose. Or Rebekah. No. Caroline, maybe?

As the darkness grows thicker, she hears Katherine again—frantic, this time.

“Call Damon. Now!”

*****

The flutter of an eyelash. The twitch of a finger. Damon would give anything for even the slightest hint of movement, the smallest indication that Elena’s waking up.

That she’s coming back to him.

“I’m here, baby,” he says softly, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. He hasn’t released her hand since they let him in to see her, which was two—

He blinks and glances at the clock on the wall. Three hours ago.

The scent of antiseptic, the fluorescent lighting, the bustling nurses, the beeping machines—all of it reminds him of sitting in the waiting room while a doctor drew his father aside and explained why his mother wouldn’t be making her famous brownies anymore, or cheering him on at track meets, or kissing him goodnight. He remembers the doctor’s hushed words: “aneurysm” and “there was nothing we could do,” mostly.

Then there were the drop-offs and pick-ups after his old man tried to shuffle off his mortal coil before his time. And the last visit, when the alcohol won out and the hereafter he’d been chasing finally caught up to him.

Now, it’s Elena lying beneath those pristine, white sheets, attached to IVs and monitors. He strokes her pale cheek, rage and worry warring with the rest of his jumbled emotions. Someone had the balls to drug her in the middle of a crowded club and, according to Kat, attempt to drag her off like she was incapable of walking because she’d overdone it on the booze. Who the fuck—

No, he knows exactly who, and he’s relying on the APD and the club’s security footage to give them the proof they need to hunt the bastard down, throw him in jail, and toss away the key.

A ragged inhale followed by a feeble cough draws Damon closer, his heart thundering in his chest.

“Elena?”

Her lids briefly flicker open then close again as if they’re too heavy to lift. She sighs and frowns, patting her face and trying to dislodge the oxygen tubing under her nose. Damon catches her hand in his, stilling her agitated fumbling.

“Easy, kitten. That’s there to help you.” He fixes it for her, unable to resist pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “God, I’m so glad you’re awake,” he murmurs, his breath stirring her hair.

“Damon?” she rasps. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

She glances at the monitors beside the bed and the clip on her finger. “I was dancing, having a good time, then . . . I don’t know. Nothing.”

He swallows hard, detesting the words that are about to leave his mouth. “You were drugged.”

“Drugged?”

“Katherine interrupted the fucker’s plan. Stopped him before he took you,” he growls, his anger at himself growing with each additional revelation.

She rubs her temple, wincing like she has a hell of a headache. “Enzo?”

“There’s no proof yet, but I’d bet my life on it.”

She nods, then her gaze lands on the IV in the back of the hand he’s holding. “I hate needles,” she groans. “And hospitals.”

He quickly covers the patch of tape sealing it to her skin so she won’t fixate on it. “Me, too.”

Damon’s considering pressing the button to summon the nurse so Elena can get some painkillers just as one breezes into the room, smiling when she sees her patient awake and alert.

“Welcome back,” she greets her, methodically checking her vitals. “My name’s Jenn, and I’ll be taking care of you. How are you feeling?”

Elena hesitates for a moment. “I’m . . . okay. I think.”

The nurse studies her closely. “You sure about that?”

Damon squeezes her hand, prompting her to be honest.

“Actually, it feels like there’s a construction crew inside my head slowly demolishing my brain.”

Jenn laughs softly. “We’ll get rid of that pesky crew as soon as I finish up here.”

A lock of Elena’s hair slips past her ear when she turns to watch Jenn jot some notes on the dry-erase board next to her bed, and Damon tucks it back into place, gently tugging on her lobe. She leans into his touch, resting her cheek on his palm.

The monitor beeps faster to match the jump in her heartrate, catching the nurse’s attention.

“What do we have here? Oh, I see.”

The barest hint of a blush tinges Elena’s skin, and Damon’s relieved to see a bit of her color returning.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

“Don’t apologize, sweetie. If I had Prince Charming at my bedside, my heart would be doing cartwheels, too.” She winks at Damon, and he smiles for the first time since Katherine’s phone call.

Elena manages a small grin of her own then squares her shoulders and tilts her chin up. Damon recognizes that look all too well. Trouble’s sure to follow.

“So, I can go home now, right?” she asks even though she’s clearly exhausted and in no shape to go anywhere.

Home. Not “Damon’s house” or “my boyfriend’s place.” It’s a damn good thing there’s no machine keeping track of his pulse because it would be off the charts.

Jenn shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. We’d like to keep you overnight for observation. That was a nasty dose you were given, and we want to make sure there aren’t going to be any other dangerous side effects.”

“I’m fine. Really.” She tries to prove her point by struggling to sit up, but the nurse tsks and eases her back against the pillows.

“You’re a tough cookie, but you need to relax and get some rest. If you can do that for me, you’ll be out of here in no time.”

Elena deflates, the fight draining out of her. “Okay, I’ll behave. Maybe,” she quietly adds once Jenn leaves the room to grab her a couple aspirin. She’s back within moments, passing Elena a plastic cup and two tiny pills. Once she pops them in her mouth and chases them down with the water, Jenn slips out to check on her other patients.

The stark reality of the evening returns with a vengeance, reigniting Damon’s frustration. How could he have been so stupid, leaving her unprotected in a place like that? He practically invited Enzo to kidnap her right then and there. If it weren’t for Kat, he probably would’ve.

“Damon?”

Elena’s voice breaks through his self-disgust, and he turns to find her stretching her free hand toward him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can’t . . . reach you,” she huffs.

Rising from the chair, he perches on the edge of the bed and leans in, allowing her to guide him closer for a kiss. His lips carefully brush hers, and her fingers slip into his hair, tightening her hold when he tries to retreat.

“I’m not gonna break. Let me feel you.”

Her breathy plea wears away at his control until he gives in, claiming her mouth in a languorous kiss that sends the monitor into a tizzy again and leaves her lips pink and swollen.

“Much better,” she sighs happily, sinking deeper into the mound of pillows.

“Like that, did you?”

“I did.” She pauses, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. “I know you’re upset. Mind telling me what you were thinking about earlier?”

“How much of a jackass I am and how I almost lost you because of it.”

She frowns. “Damon, you didn’t do this to me. He did.”

“Didn’t I?” he asks tiredly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m the reason he’s after you.”

“No, you’re not. This is on him. He’s a sick, twisted psycho. You’re not responsible for his actions.”

She’s doing her best to convince him, she really is, but he can’t let go of the idea that he’s to blame. If he’d been more vigilant and taken extra precautions, she wouldn’t be in the hospital recovering from a near-overdose.

“You need sleep.” He pulls the blanket around her, hoping she won’t call him out on the abrupt subject change. Thankfully, she doesn’t argue.

Elena tries to stifle a yawn, but it won’t be denied. “It’s selfish of me to ask since you’ve already been here for hours, but could you stay with me?”

He smiles and drops a kiss on her palm, right over her heart line. “I’m not going anywhere.” He’d rather be beaten raw with a cat-o’-nine-tails than leave her alone and vulnerable. “I won’t let anything happen to you again, I promise. I love you, ‘Lena.”

“Love you,” she murmurs, eyes closed and already half in a doze, still clinging to his hand.

Tomorrow will bring a flurry of questions and visits from detectives and concerned friends, but for now, he wants to shield her from the world and watch over her while she sleeps, safely tucked away from the one who’s determined to take her from him.

Chapter Text

“So, Damon’s taking good care of you?”

“My feet have hardly touched the floor since I got home,” Elena assures her anxious ex-roomie.

“As it should be.” She pictures her friend nodding on the other end of the line, satisfied with Damon’s methods. This is the first time Caroline’s been deprived of playing Mother Hen, and she’s not handling it well.

“How was the lasagna? Did you like it? Were the noodles overdone—”

“Your cooking is amazing, and you know it. There’s not even a bite left. I would’ve eaten the pan, too, if Damon hadn’t pried it out of my hands and tossed it in the dishwasher.”

Care giggles. “That makes me feel a little better.”

“Listen, the wedding is two days away. You don’t need to be stressing over me.”

“Elena, you were in the hospital. It’s not like you stubbed your toe or scraped a knee,” she points out. “Of course I’m going to be worried about you. Oh! Did he make you a sundae?”

Shortly after they moved in together, she and Caroline decided there were few problems that couldn’t be solved by copious amounts of ice cream. A hot fudge sundae was devoured in the aftermath of every sprained ankle, messy breakup, family spat, flat tire, and outrageous credit card bill.

“He did, although most of the toppings ended up on me instead of the ice cream,” she mutters, playfully scolding the man stretched out beside her on the bed, randomly popping buttons free on her shirt. Correction: his shirt. He slipped it on her after their bath this morning. She fully intended to dress herself, but he had other ideas.

“They eventually made it to your mouth,” Damon chimes in, his hungry gaze landing on her breasts as the final button gives way. He draws slow circles around her nipple until it tightens then dips his head and flicks at the hard nub with his tongue.

“Yeah, after you got me all . . . sticky,” she finishes with a moan, her fingers tunneling into his hair, tugging on the dark strands. He drizzled chocolate syrup from her collarbone to her thighs, and a plop of whipped cream ended up in her navel.

“I cleaned you up afterward. The sugar high was so worth it,” he murmurs, turning his attention to her other nipple. Elena squirms as he suckles her, struggling to keep any other telltale sounds at bay. Despite her efforts, a squeal sneaks past her lips as he gently nips her.

“Ooookay, that’s my cue. Damon, I know you’re close enough to hear me. Don’t wear her out before the rehearsal dinner,” Caroline warns.

“Don’t worry, I will,” he purrs, nuzzling the underside of Elena’s breast.

“Don’t worry, he won’t,” Elena corrects.

Damon proves he has other ideas as he smooths a hand over her belly, gradually drifting lower until he reaches the waistband of her boy shorts. He plucks at the cream-colored lace then nudges her legs apart, cupping her sex and rubbing his thumb across the damp material.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow. Love you!”

“Can’t . . . wait.” He presses lightly on her clit, and Elena gasps, the phone slipping from her grasp.

Damon catches it with his free hand. “Love you, too, Blondie. Ciao.” Ending the call, he tosses the cell on the bed and drops a kiss on her hip. His mouth explores her inner thigh, then he hooks a finger in her undies and pulls them to the side, exposing her bare mound to the cool air. He traces her slit, teasing her with soft, ticklish strokes.

The urge to roll him onto his back and ride him to several screaming orgasms is too powerful to ignore, or at least it would be if her aunt wasn’t due to arrive in an hour.

“Not that I don’t love where this is headed, but we’re going to be late picking up Jenna,” she reminds him, poking his arm.

He cocks a brow, pausing mid-lick to glance at her. “There’s no ‘we’ about it. I’m going to pick up Jenna, and you’re going to take a nap. That’s the deal, remember?”

“I’m perfectly fine, and I can prove it.” She wriggles out of his grip and bounds off the bed, dancing over to the dresser to find something more substantial to wear. “See? No problem . . . whoa.” The room spins, and she snaps her eyes shut, holding onto the drawer to steady herself. Damn dizzy spells. The doctor warned her they might stick around for another day or so.

“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.” Damon’s at her side in an instant. He scoops her up and deposits her back in bed, arranging the pillows behind her and letting her snuggle with his.

“When is this going to end?” she groans. She loves feeling helpless in bondage, but this dizziness nonsense? Not so much.

He sits beside her, and she reaches for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “Probably when you learn what ‘get plenty of rest’ means.”

She huffs at the gentle rebuke. “I did rest. In the hospital.”

“If you’re referring to all the time you spent using Caroline’s get-well cookies to try to bribe the doctor into releasing you early, then yes, you did a lot of that.”

He has a point, even if she doesn’t want to admit it out loud. “I knew you’d bring that up.”

He chuckles and leans in for a kiss, his lips lingering on hers. “Are you going to behave while I’m gone?”

“Dunno yet,” she murmurs. “I might throw a party and invite the whole block. Do a keg stand or two.”

“The sass is back, so that’s something. I could tie you up,” he suggests, “nice and snug, then you’d have no choice but to stay put.”

“Mmm. Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Damon kisses her again, each pass of his mouth tender and unhurried, as if he doesn’t have to run out the door in five minutes. One last peck lands on the tip of her nose, then he rises from the bed and throws on a change of clothes, running his hand through his hair in an attempt to tame the unruly strands.

He pauses in front of the mirror, winking at her reflection in the glass. “How do I look?”

“Like a sex god, so brace yourself. Jenna’s going to be flustered.”

“You planning on telling her what happened?”

“Yep.” She smiles as she admires the view of his backside. Those jeans hug him in all the right places. “When she’s eighty and too senile to remember.”

“That might be wishful thinking, babe. Everyone in the wedding party knows, so it’s bound to slip out sooner or later, especially once the champagne starts flowing.”

“Crap. Hadn’t thought of that.”

“It’ll be better coming from you.”

“You say that now, but wait until she tries to drag me back to North Carolina with her. And she absolutely cannot tell Jeremy. God, what a nightmare that would be.”

They both cringe at the mention of her brother. If he found out she’d been drugged and nearly kidnapped, he’d be on the next flight to Atlanta. It’s truly a blessing in disguise that he can’t make the wedding.

“Thank you for doing this.” She blows him a kiss as he pockets his phone and wallet and collects his keys from the top of the dresser. “I’ll pay you back with whatever you want: a cake, a massage, breakfast in bed, a thousand French kisses, the best orgasm of your life. You name it,” she promises.

“Damn. That’s a tough decision. How about all of the above?”

“Deal. Be careful.”

“Always am. Get some sleep, lover. I’ll be back before you know it.”

She settles into the nest of pillows, burying her face in Damon’s and inhaling his scent. The result is more effective than a cup of chamomile tea or a lavender aromatherapy candle: she’s out before his car leaves the driveway.

*****

The airport is a mob scene, per usual, packed with weary travelers, screaming kids, and enough coffee kiosks to power a small city. Damon sinks into an empty chair while he waits for Jenna to appear and checks his phone. He could’ve sworn he felt the thing vibrating while he was navigating the crowd.

Sure enough, there’s a text from Alaric accompanied by a blurry shot of a man dressed in a hooded sweatshirt, dark jeans, and boots. He’s in the process of pushing the hood back, revealing black hair and brows. His hair’s shorter than it was last time their paths crossed and he’s clean shaven, but Damon would recognize the sonofabitch anywhere.

Enzo.

It’s your guy, the text reads.

The photo matches Kat’s description. She told the police Elena’s attacker was wearing a hoodie and his face was partially covered, so she couldn’t get a good look at him. It didn’t help that he disappeared as soon as she showed up. Knowing Kat, she would’ve chased his ass down if Elena hadn’t been in danger.

Is this from the club’s security footage? he types back.

Yeah. The detectives finished combing through it. He got into a van that was idling out back

Can they run the plates?

They’re working on it now. Probably another dead-end rental

Perfect

He’s on their radar. They’ll find him

He wishes he had Ric’s confidence. How do you track a ghost?

He’ll slip up sooner or later

I’d prefer sooner

Agreed. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else

Thanks, man. Appreciate it

He tucks his phone in his pocket and scans the board of arrivals and departures. Maybe he should buy two one-way tickets and whisk Elena to a cozy bungalow on a quiet beach somewhere until this mess blows over. They could spend their days basking in the sun and the surf, and their nights wrapped up in each other.

His vision of paradise fades and reality returns as an exasperated-looking redhead rounds the corner, dragging a suitcase with wobbly, squeaky wheels behind her.

“Jenna!” he calls, waving to her until she notices him. She stops dead—not a great idea—and blinks at him. A man with two small children in tow narrowly avoids plowing into her, and she apologizes and moves out of the way, warily approaching Damon as if he’s a wild animal that’s gotten loose at the zoo.

“Damon?” she asks once she’s close enough to be heard over the ruckus.

“That’s me.” He smiles and holds out his hand.

She takes it after a few moments and gives it a shake. “Wow. Um . . . huh.” Her cheeks redden and she focuses on a spot just slightly above his head. Like aunt, like niece. “God, be more awkward, Jenna,” she chastises herself before locking gazes with him again. “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you, and I should probably apologize in advance for any inappropriate things that leave my mouth for the next three days, especially if alcohol is involved, and it will be because there’s an open bar in the near future, and . . . I’m babbling. Fantastic.”

He chuckles and gathers her bulging, over-packed suitcase, carrying it so the rickety wheels won’t drive them insane. “Not a problem,” he reassures her. “I’m glad you could come down. We’ve been looking forward to your visit.”

Jenna glances around like she’s searching for something. Or someone. “Speaking of Elena, where is she?”

“The wedding prep got to her, so she’s taking a little catnap back at the house.” Not a complete lie.

“Are you sure it’s the wedding that’s tiring her out?” She eyes him suspiciously, reminding him she’s well aware of his and Elena’s extracurricular activities.

“I’d gladly take the credit if I were to blame.” He smirks, waiting for her reaction to his cheeky comment.

She doesn’t disappoint.

“I bet you would.” Feisty, too. Another family resemblance. “I know that you two like . . . what you like, but if you hurt my niece—”

“You can kick my ass up and down the East Coast,” he vows. “I love Elena, and I would never hurt her, Jenna. I swear. Her safety and wellbeing are tops on my list.”

She lets him twist while she studies him, likely weighing the truth of his words. Her lips curl into a smile at last, and she nods in approval. “I like you, Damon.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” Now that they’ve bonded over their fiercely protective natures, it’s time to go home and check on his girl. With any luck, she’ll still be in bed. “Ready to get out of here?”

“Hell yes.”

*****

The drive back to the house is relatively painless. As a businessman, albeit not a typical one, he’s well-versed in the art of small talk, so he keeps the conversation flowing. They discuss the usual—the weather, hobbies, various likes and dislikes—until Jenna brings up an article on BDSM she read in Cosmo.

“Is it really like that?” she asks, sounding genuinely curious. “If you’d rather not get into it, I understand.”

“I don’t mind. To answer your question, yes and no.”

“How so?”

“It’s not just about the stereotypical whips-and-chains stuff. Elena and I share a connection I’ve never had with anyone else. It’s as emotional as it is physical, sometimes more,” he explains. “That level of trust, respect, and love . . . it’s hard to describe exactly how it feels, but it’s incredible. Sorry, I realize that’s probably not very helpful.”

“No, it is. Thank you.”

He pulls into the driveway and parks the car, noticing that the living room seems brighter than when he left it. If she’s been up this whole time . . .

Grabbing Jenna’s luggage from the trunk, he follows her to the front door and unlocks it, disengaging the alarm on his way in. Ever since Elena moved in with him, he’s made it a rule that the security system be activated whenever he’s not there.

“Jenna!” Elena hoots as soon as her aunt crosses the threshold. She walks toward them, slowly for once, and hugs Jenna, the two of them giggling like teenagers at their first sleepover.

They launch into an impromptu catch-up session, the rapid, back-and-forth chatter making Damon’s head spin. He focuses on Elena’s outfit instead, admiring the snug tank and cutoffs she’s sporting. Her lack of a bra has him fantasizing about turning up the AC. Before he can put his plan into action, Jenna’s voice drifts over.

“If I’m being honest, I was expecting more leather. And chains,” she adds. “Definitely chains.”

He shrugs and grins at her. “They clashed with the décor.”

“Too bad. Any Dom worth his salt should have chains.”

“Couldn’t agree more. It’s a good thing I have a whole room full of them.”

Jenna’s mouth falls open, then she closes it, shaking her head. “I set myself up for that one. Very funny, Damon.”

“I thought so.”

The scent of freshly grilled burgers lures him to the kitchen, and behind him, he hears Jenna mutter, “He’s not kidding, is he?”

“Not even a little.”

Damon’s smile grows wider at Elena’s unapologetic tone. She’s a big fan of said chains, after all.

This is going to be one interesting visit.

*****

When Elena brushes past Damon en route to the wine rack, she deliberately bumps his hip. An arm snakes around her waist, and instead of picking which vintage will make her aunt the tipsiest, she finds herself pinned between her boyfriend and the counter.

He nudges her chin up, stealing a quick but tender kiss. “You were supposed to be sleeping.”

“I took a power nap.”

“Then you decided to cook dinner.”

“Jenna deserves something better than takeout on her first night here.” Pizza and wings almost won out, though.

“Sure you’re ready to play hostess?”

She smooths a hand across his brow, trying to erase the worry lines there. “I’m fine.”

He shakes his head as if he doesn’t quite believe her. “If I see you weaving even a bit—”

“Right back to bed.” Clinging to his shoulders, she raises herself up for another kiss, Damon’s lips parting so her insistent tongue can slip inside.

“Exactly,” he murmurs, both of them slightly breathless in the aftermath. “I’ll take over here. Go relax on the deck with Jenna. And behave,” he adds, swatting her jean-clad ass with a spatula.

“Don’t I always?” she asks sweetly, batting her lashes.

“Rarely.”

“Admit it. You love it when I sass you.”

Her laughter rivals the string of intriguing threats that follows as he shoos her out of the house. Maybe if she provokes him enough, he’ll make good on a few of them.

A girl can dream.

*****

They manage to finish dinner with a minimum of awkwardness, which is a miracle considering Jenna has yet to interrogate Damon. In fact, they seem to be getting on remarkably well despite Jenna’s reservations about their lifestyle.

Once the last French fry disappears, Damon excuses himself to go clean up the kitchen, but Elena knows he’s giving them one-on-one time so she can fill her aunt in on her recent hospital stay. Topping off Jenna’s wine glass, she stretches out on the chaise lounge and plucks the mini umbrella—a nice touch, courtesy of Damon—out of her iced tea before sipping at it.

“So, I expected you to grill Damon. Impressive restraint.”

Jenna smiles over the rim of her glass. “We had a discussion at the airport. And in the car.”

“Ah.” He forgot to mention that part. Hopefully, that means things weren’t too tense. “Did you threaten to castrate him with a rusty spoon if he ever hurt me?”

“Basically.” Jenna gestures to her tea. “You didn’t want the strong stuff?”

“Alcohol and I are taking a brief break,” she mutters.

“Party too hard with the other bachelorettes?” Jenna surmises.

Here goes nothing. “Sorta.” She chugs more tea to bolster her courage, wishing it were wine. “I have something to tell you, but I don’t want you to freak out.”

“Ooh, intrigue. You have a part-time job as a stripper?” she guesses.

“Um, no. Not even close.” Damon would kill someone. Possibly several someones.

Jenna’s eyes widen and she leans forward, whispering, “You’re pregnant.”

“Whoa. Uh . . .”

“You’re pregnant, but it’s not Damon’s?”

Elena sets down her tea. There’s no point in risking choking to death during this insane game. “God, Jenna. You’ve gotta stop watching Lifetime movies.”

“You eloped and robbed your aunt of the joy of seeing her only niece get married?” Jenna studies Elena’s fingers, likely searching for the ring that’s not there.

“No. There was an incident at the party the other night,” she blurts out. Better to just rip off the Band-Aid, right?

“What kind of incident?” Jenna asks skeptically.

“I was drugged and . . . almost kidnapped,” she quietly admits.

“You were what!?”

She holds up her hands at the outburst. “It’s fine. I’m fine, mostly. The cops are looking for the guy. Don’t worry.”

“How am I supposed to not worry?” Elena’s seen that expression before. Jenna’s undoubtedly attempting to figure out the easiest way to stuff her into her suitcase and cart her back to Charlotte.

“I’m safe here,” she stresses, hoping to soothe the frazzled woman clutching the stem of her glass in a white-knuckled grip, “but please don’t tell Jeremy. Like, ever. He’ll blame Damon then rant and rave about how I’m probably dating a serial killer.”

Jenna sighs and glances at the vivid red and orange streaks in the evening sky. “I won’t tell him, but I need you to promise me you’ll be extremely careful, especially until that man is caught. I’m serious, Elena.”

“I know, and I will. One of Damon’s friends is a former detective, so he’s been helping as much as he can. Plus, this place is like a fortress,” Elena says, nodding at the house.

“Good.”

Jenna’s still not completely at ease, but she seems less panicked than she did a couple minutes ago—an encouraging sign. Hoping to relax her even more, Elena reaches for the wine bottle.

“You’re trying to get me drunk so I won’t remember our conversation.”

“Would I do such a thing?” Elena asks innocently.

Her aunt laughs a little at that, and Elena quickly switches topics, launching into the story of how she almost spilled a whole cup of iced coffee on Caroline’s dress during the final fitting.

Crisis averted, in both cases.

*****

Running in a gown has never been Elena’s forte, and she’s done enough of it in the past two hours to last a lifetime. She ditched her heels as soon as they arrived at the church, and now she can’t remember where she left them, but that’s a problem for later. She’d rather spend the rest of the day barefoot and blister-free anyway.

Grabbing a handful of pale pink taffeta, she hikes up her skirt and jogs as quickly as she dares toward the room where Caroline is one accessory shy of being ready to walk down the aisle. The dizziness hasn’t returned since the spell in Damon’s bedroom, and she’d like to keep it that way. She’s not going to flake out on her best friend’s wedding day, dammit.

Liz is waiting outside the door with a tissue clutched in her hand. As Elena approaches, the other woman offers her a watery smile.

“Is everything okay? Did something happen?” Elena asks, preparing herself for a variety of disasters: food poisoning, a torn dress, missing rings, a case of cold feet. The last one is highly unlikely, but it’s best to be ready for anything.

Liz dabs her eyes and releases a shaky breath. “Just having a minor, Mother-of-the-Bride meltdown. My baby’s about to get married, and here I am reliving her first step, her first day of Kindergarten, her first dance. She wasn’t supposed to grow up this quickly. I blinked, and . . .” She trails off, glancing at the slab of sturdy oak hiding the bride from everyone’s view. “Soon, she’ll have a family of her own.”

Another tear rolls down Liz’s cheek, and Elena pulls her in for a hug. Caroline’s impending switch for Ms. to Mrs. bumped their cozy BFFs/roommates world off its axis, so she can only imagine what Liz must be feeling. If Damon hadn’t swept into her life—or did she do the sweeping?—Elena would be lost.

“Those will be the most adorable kids anyone’s ever seen. Dimples galore!” Elena hopes her prediction about Nik and Care’s future offspring will coax a laugh out of Liz, and sure enough, it does.

“Oh, Elena. You’ve always had a knack for cheering me up,” Liz murmurs, squeezing her tight. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” When they part, Elena recalls the reason for her latest dash. Taking a small, velvet box from her purse, she passes it to Liz. “Could you give this to Caroline for me and tell her I’ll be right back? I just need to make sure everyone’s accounted for and good to go.”

Liz absently rubs the box’s soft lid. “May I peek?”

“Of course.”

She carefully opens it, gasping at the sight of the ring nestled within. The brilliant sapphire glitters as it catches the sunlight streaming through the window. The family heirloom has been passed down from mother to daughter, starting with Elena’s great-grandmother. It rarely leaves its protective box, but today is the perfect occasion to bring it out.

“It’s gorgeous, honey. Caroline’s going to scream and tackle-hug you, so be prepared,” Liz warns.

“I’m used to it.”

As Elena turns to go, Liz taps her on the shoulder. The woman who’s been like an adopted mom to her is grinning as if she has a juicy tidbit of news she’s just dying to share.

“I saw you and Damon at the rehearsal dinner,” she murmurs coyly.

Elena panics for a second, wondering exactly what she saw them doing. They didn’t get up to anything inappropriate, did they? The wine was flowing, and her memories of last night are a tad fuzzy. She remembers making out like a couple of sex-starved teenagers once they got in the car, but unless Liz was spying on them with a pair of night vision goggles, she wouldn’t know about that.

Would she?

“No matter where you were in the room, he had his eyes on you. And only you,” she adds. “The hand holding, the stolen kisses—you’re clearly very much in love. My daughter was right. You two are perfect together, and I’m so happy you found each other.”

So am I. Relieved Liz didn’t stumble upon a bathroom quickie, she leans in and hugs her again. “He’s wonderful, and he’s keeping me sane in Care’s absence.”

“That’s always a plus.”

Leaving Liz to deliver the ring to Caroline, Elena sets off to complete the remaining items on her to-do list. After that, the wedding she’s been helping to plan for months can finally begin.

*****

Groomsmen accounted for? Check. Bridesmaids present? Check. Groom waiting at the altar? Check. Guitarist ready to start strumming Pachelbel’s “Canon in D”? Check. Elena’s shoes and bouquet?

Missing.

“I don’t have time for this,” she mutters, peering under a bench. “Where the hell are you?” They’re not in the dressing room or the car. If they don’t show up in the next five minutes, fuck it—

“Looking for these?”

She spins around to find Damon with her peep-toe pumps dangling from one hand and her bouquet in the other.

“Spotted ‘em in a pew and figured you might need them.” His grin falters as he studies her face. “You’re flushed. Are you alright?”

“Yep. Just resolved a ‘something blue’ emergency,” she explains, taking the shoes from him. “You’re a lifesaver.” Gripping his arm for support while she slips on the heels, she lets her gaze wander from his dark hair, a few strands always in artful disarray, to his polished wingtips. “You look good enough to marry, Mr. Salvatore,” she murmurs as she struggles to fasten the last buckle.

“Is that a proposal, lover?” Damon crouches beside her and fixes the strap before she tears it off in frustration.

She blushes to the roots of her hair, her skin burning hotter when his hand disappears under her skirt, fingers trailing up the inside of her leg. “Tempting, but this is Nik and C-care’s day,” she stammers. “Plus, I could do so much better than that.”

“Now who’s the tease?” He reaches her thigh—and the top of her stocking—eyes widening at the discovery. “Thigh-highs? Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Damon, we’re in a church,” she hisses as he plucks at the elastic and edges northward, his knuckles rubbing against her core through her lace panties.

“Then let’s slip into one of these side rooms so I can worship you.” His smile is unrepentant. Pure seduction.

“I think they’ll notice if we’re missing.”

“Only one way to test that theory,” he suggests, waggling a brow.

She tries to brush his hand away, but he doesn’t budge, continuing the devious torment. “We’re going to delay the wedding.”

“These things never start on time.”

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” she bites her lip as pleasure swirls deep in her belly, “but if you can refrain from anything orgasm-inducing until the reception’s over, you can have your wicked way with me when we get home.”

“Like that was ever in question.” He chuckles and slowly removes his hand, but not before teasing her clit with one last, lingering stroke. “I suppose I’ll relent. For now.”

Elena sags in relief, clutching his shoulder. “I know you’ll more than make up for it later.”

“Better believe it, babe.” As she imagines what carnal delights he has in store for her, he tugs his handkerchief from his pocket and passes it to her. “In case you need it.”

After a thank-you kiss and a few deep breaths to cool her simmering arousal, Elena directs everyone to their appropriate places and partners then goes to collect the pièce de résistance: the bride.

*****

A teardrop lands on the silky petal of a white rose, and Elena watches as it rolls across a leaf and disappears inside the massive bouquet. Dabbing her eyes before another one falls, she returns to the reading Elijah just finished, the words still fresh in her mind. Love truly is patient and kind. It’s also risky and messy at times, but if found with the right person, it’s worth the gamble.

The couple standing in front of her is proof of that. Caroline is glowing in her strapless lace gown, the long train flowing down the stairs beside her. Her blonde tresses are pinned up in loose curls and adorned with sprigs of baby’s-breath. A comb that used to belong to her grandmother holds her veil in place. Her jewelry is minimal but elegant: the simple diamond stud earrings complement the silver band circling her throat, a pink stone at its center—the day collar gifted to her by Nik. Rounding out the ensemble is the ring Elena lent her, sparkling with every movement of her hand.

Nik’s as dashing as she knew he’d be, donning a black tux with a rose the same shade as Caroline’s cheeks attached to his lapel. His smile is brimming with happiness, and his gaze has been locked on hers from the very first moment she appeared at the end of the aisle. The depth of their feelings is tangible; they radiate adoration for each other.

Elena clutches Damon’s handkerchief, absently rubbing the damp silk between her thumb and forefinger. She doesn’t dare glance at its owner until the wave of emotion passes. One look into those pale blue eyes, and she’ll lose it again. She’s been a wreck ever since “Dearly beloved,” and she’d like to see at least part of the ceremony clearly instead of through the blur of tears.

“May I have the rings?”

So much for not bawling.

Elijah produces two velvet boxes from his pocket and passes them to the minister, who places Caroline’s band in Nik’s palm.

The groom, a touch misty-eyed himself, says nothing for a moment, just beams at his wife-to-be. There’s love and adoration in the way he looks at her, along with excitement and the unrivaled joy of someone about to realize his dreams. Clearing his throat, he takes Care’s hands in his and begins.

“On our first date, you intimidated the hell out of me,” Nik admits with a chuckle. “You were—and are—so vivacious and inquisitive. My car broke down on that back road, and while I was cursing the universe, you were chasing fireflies. You reminded me that beauty is often right in front of us, yet we often fail to notice it. Before you, I was jaded, indifferent, and I’d all but given up painting. I thought I’d lost that creative spark, but you brought art back into my life and put life into my art. You inspire me every day, dearest Muse, and I can’t wait to embark on this journey as husband and wife. As partners, friends, and lovers.” He pauses to wipe a tear from Care’s cheek, the tender gesture drawing sniffles from the crowd. “I’ll fill your days and nights with laughter, and I’ll always be by your side, whether skies are bright or bleak. When we have children, I hope they’re just like their mother, but even if they take after their father, I’ll love them with all of my heart and soul, as I love you.”

He slowly slips the elegant ring onto her finger, a slight tremble in his voice as he continues. “I promise myself to you, now and forever. You are my everything, and my love for you will remain constant throughout this life and into the next.”

Caroline hiccups, fighting back a sob, and after a few deep breaths, she manages to deliver her own vows.

“We came into each other’s lives by accident, mostly because I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” She giggles at the reference to their first meeting at the club, earning knowing smiles from those who were present, Damon included. “We were both looking for the same thing, not knowing we would find exactly what we needed with each other. It’s funny how it all worked out, and whether it was fate, or divine intervention, or something else, I’ve never been more grateful.”

Her friend’s powerful statement resonates with Elena, stirring her own memories. What would’ve happened if she’d been braver that night at the open house and approached another Dom? What if someone else had caught Damon’s eye? What if she’d never gone at all? Who would Damon be to her now? A handsome stranger or a passing acquaintance she only knew as a friend of Nik and Care’s? The realization that they came dangerously close to not connecting is a sobering one, and Elena sends up a silent thank-you to the powers that be for letting their paths cross and igniting that initial spark.

“You’ve turned my world upside down in the best way,” Caroline murmurs. “You’ve grounded me, supported me, embraced my quirks, listened to me rant about deadlines until I couldn’t stand the sound of my own voice, and believed in me when I didn’t think I could accomplish my goals. No one gets me quite like you do, and there’s no one else I’d rather share my life with than you. I’ll be your rock and your sounding board. I’ll tell you corny jokes to make you laugh when you’ve had a bad day. I’ll be your confidant and your number one fan.”

Another tear drips from her lashes as she slides the matching band past his knuckle. “Most of all, I’ll be your wife—the crazy girl who’ll start a family with you someday and whose love for you grows with every beat of her heart.”

Vows spoken and rings in place, the bride and groom gaze at each other like they did at the end of Caroline’s collaring: as if they’re the only people in the room. Taking his cue, the minister spreads his arms wide and smiles at the gathering of loved ones.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!”

He hardly gets the words out before Nik wraps Caroline in his arms and dips her, kissing her deeply. Applause joins with celebratory music as they briefly part for air, then their lips meet again, whipping the crowd into a frenzy of hoots and whistles with the passionate display.

Elena chances a glance at Damon, unsurprised to find him already looking at her. He’s watching her with an intensity that makes her quiver, and her body responds in kind, her legs turning to jelly and wetness pooling between her thighs.

The next few hours will be a test of her self-control. One she’s not sure she’ll pass.

*****

Elena picks at the food on her plate, aimlessly poking a tomato with her fork. She’s only eaten a bite or two of salad, and Damon notices the way she rolls and unrolls the napkin in her lap. She’s anxious about making sure the reception, like the wedding, is handled perfectly, but right this second, she’s stressing about her toast. Just as he scoots his chair back to go talk with her, she does the same, raising her champagne glass and gingerly tapping it with her spoon.

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” The room quiets and all eyes settle on her as she unfolds a piece of paper, gripping it with an unsteady hand. “I don’t know if this is any good, but here goes.” She pauses, scanning the words she wrote before tossing the paper on the table. “This could get messy, so brace yourselves,” she warns with a jittery laugh. “Caroline,” she begins, “you’re my best friend and the sister I never had. I wasn’t going to let just any man run away with your heart. When Nik came along, I questioned him, threatened him, and I even spied on a couple of your dates.”

“You did?” Caroline asks, mouth agape as she looks at Nik then back at Elena.

Elena nods, proud of her well-kept secret. “I hid behind the bushes at the coffee shop once, and I used a newspaper for cover when you had lunch at the café.”

“You little sneak!” Caroline jokingly chides between giggles while Nik applauds Elena’s efforts. Damon grins and gives her a thumbs-up. He wouldn’t expect anything less from his girl.

“Anyway, I saw how you lit up around him, how easily he made you smile and blush,” Elena remembers, her own cheeks turning pink, “and I knew this was something special. Nik and I became friends, despite my occasional badgering, and I was lucky enough to witness the first part of your love story, one that’ll continue for years to come.” A tear threatens to fall, and she reaches for Damon’s handkerchief. “Even though there were times when I wanted to kick you out of the apartment for . . . reasons I won’t discuss here, I love you both, and I couldn’t be happier for you. What you share is precious and unique—the kind of love that’s written about in Celine Dion songs and Nicholas Sparks novels. The, um, non-tragic kind,” she quickly clarifies. “Here’s to a blessed marriage and a wonderful, long life together. Cheers!”

She sips her champagne, and everyone else joins in. Caroline tugs on her hand, and Elena stoops to hug her tight, planting a kiss on her cheek. The crying starts in earnest now, and they cling to each other, smiling through the tears. Nik is next, and after another hug and kiss, Damon hears Nik murmur his thanks for all she did, and is still doing, to help with the wedding.

Damon hopes she’ll take Elijah’s empty seat when he stands to give his speech, but she sinks into her own chair and reaches for her glass, nearly draining her bubbly. A waiter appears and replenishes it for her, and she gratefully accepts the refill. The group listens attentively as the best man bestows congratulations and good luck to the newlyweds, laughter rippling through the audience when he tells them how his brother nearly set fire to his house the first time he attempted to cook for Caroline. As soon as he finishes and Elena polishes off her champagne, she steps away from the table, disappearing down one of the paths that leads to the garden.

Concerned the day’s events are wearing on her, Damon trails after her and finds her on a bench surrounded by enormous rose bushes. The air is filled with the rich scent of the flowers, and he watches as Elena strokes the velvety petal of a deep red bloom.

“Aren’t they gorgeous?” she murmurs.

“I hadn’t noticed.” The garden is nice, but the woman in front of him is far more striking than any plant. He joins her on the bench and brushes his thumb along the line of her jaw. She turns at the gentle touch, smiling softly, then shifts closer so she can rest her head on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?” he asks, entwining his fingers with hers.

“I’m okay. I just needed a break from the emotional overload.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” She’s quiet for a moment as Damon pins a loose curl back into her updo. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“I think you have that backwards.” Every morning he wakes up with her beside him—or better yet, in his arms—he has to remind himself he’s not dreaming. This is real.

She grins and presses her lips to his cheek. “Let’s just say we’re both lucky.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

With a sigh, she stands and tugs him up with her. “As much as I want to stay here, we should probably get back. I need to wrangle the photographer for pictures.”

He grips her hand, not willing to release her just yet. “I’ll let you go on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Save me a dance.”

She leans in and steals a kiss, her mouth lingering on his, making him wish it were time to leave.

“You can have as many dances as you like,” she promises.

*****

“Any single ladies out there? Come to the dance floor, now’s your chance!” the DJ announces, Beyoncé’s shoulda-put-a-ring-on-it anthem blasting from the speakers. Shrieks erupt from the women rushing to take their place behind Caroline, anxiously waiting for her to throw the bouquet, and Elena sighs and rolls her eyes. She’s not in the mood to get trampled by a horde of bachelorettes eager to be the next one to say “I do.”

Despite her flirty comments to Damon earlier, she has no plans to walk down the aisle any time soon. Spotting the perfect opportunity to sneak away, she edges toward the door, hoping Caroline doesn’t notice her stealthy retreat.

She manages a few steps before a stern-looking brunette materializes in front of her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Katherine asks, blocking her path when she tries to dodge the impending confrontation.

“Uh, the bathroom. Is that a problem?”

Kat arches a brow, obviously unimpressed with her answer. “If I didn’t know any better, Elena, I’d think you were deliberately trying to skip out on the bouquet toss. At your best friend’s wedding,” she points out.

If it’s guilt Katherine’s going for, she hit her mark. “It’s not that big a deal. Those things are crazy anyway, and I’d rather not get tackled. Plus, I’m not exactly unattached,” Elena reminds her, flashing the bracelet on her wrist.

“I don’t see a ring,” Katherine argues, glancing pointedly at her left hand. “That means you’re technically still a ‘single lady.’”

“Kat . . .”

The other woman loops an arm through hers and pulls her onto the dance floor. “Humor me.”

“But—”

“Relax. I won’t let them attack you. If you should happen to catch it, that is,” she adds with a mischievous wink.

“Great,” Elena mutters once Katherine releases her. She slinks behind the others, spying Rose, Rebekah, and Jenna in the mix. Elena drifts all the way to the back, knowing there’s no chance the bouquet will reach her here. Caroline’s throwing ability is spotty at best.

“Ready, girls?” Caroline hollers. “Three . . . two . . . one!”

Hands shoot into the air as the flowers sail over everyone’s heads, eluding even the most desperate leaps and hops. Unfortunately, Care launched it like a Frisbee at a beach party, and it’s heading directly for the cake.

Perfect.

Elena didn’t survive two hours of her best friend waffling over frosting and filling flavors for nothing. I will get you back for this, Katherine. I don’t know when or how, but I will, she vows, snagging the bouquet before it crashes into the three-tiered red velvet confection.

Amid disappointed moans and groans and one snide remark about how “it’s always the pretty ones,” Elena hears Caroline squeal. Seconds later, she’s engulfed in a hug while Care bounces up and down like a kid on Christmas morning.

“I knew it’d be you! I knew it,” she repeats, twirling Elena around. “That means you’re next,” she adds slyly.

“I guess so.” Katherine strolls by with a satisfied smile, and Elena shoots her a glare, ignoring the cutesy wave she gives her. “Revenge will be sweet,” she grumbles.

“What?” Caroline asks, likely confused by her lack of enthusiasm.

“Nothing. Do you have Kat’s number by any chance?”

“Yeah, but . . . why do you need it?”

“She agreed to give Jenna a ride home if she decides to stay longer than us,” Elena fibs. What’s a tiny white lie between friends?

Caroline rattles off the digits, and Elena enters the number into her contacts, a deliciously evil idea forming.

This is going to be fun.

*****

Someone taps Damon on the shoulder just as he finishes ordering another drink for Alaric. His friend didn’t ask for one, but judging by the guy’s gloomy expression, he could use it. While the bartender scoops ice into a glass, Damon turns to find his brother watching him with an expectant look on his face.

“What’s up, Stef? Shouldn’t Kat be dipping you on the dance floor?”

“Very funny,” Stefan answers drily. “Speaking of which, you better get yourself out there.”

“Why?”

“Nik’s about to toss the garter,” he explains.

“No offense, but that’s not really my scene.”

Stefan chuckles and nudges him toward the men eagerly gathering behind the groom. “It’s about to be. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Damon plants his feet, refusing to budge. “Nice try, baby bro. I’m going to pass on this one.”

“Fine. Your loss,” Stefan shrugs and gives up trying to coerce him onto the floor. “I’m sure whoever catches it will be thanking his lucky stars.”

Something about his brother’s tone stops Damon in his tracks. His next words leave his mouth even though he already knows the answer. “Who caught the bouquet.”

Stefan grins and claps him on the back.

“Elena.”

*****

Damon shoulders his way into the crowd, ignoring the men who are tripping over themselves at the opportunity to slide the garter up his girlfriend’s leg.

“Not on my fucking watch,” he snarls, glancing at Nik with a look that says, If that thing ends up in anyone else’s hands but mine, we’re gonna talk.

Stefan, Henry, Trevor, and Elijah wisely decided to sit this one out, and Alaric couldn’t be bothered to participate if you paid him, so it’s down to Damon and a gaggle of randos vying for the chance to cop a feel with Elena.

He glares at the dickheads on either side of him, and they shrink away, giving him plenty of space. More withering stares thin the group until the competition is nearly nonexistent with the exception of four cocky bastards who blatantly ignore his intimidation tactics.

“Ready, gents?” Nik asks, a glint in his eye as he winks at Damon. “Have at it!”

As the men move closer in anticipation, Nik hooks the garter over his finger and pulls it back like a rubber band. He aims high and lets it fly, easily keeping it out of the reach of the goons in front of him. Damon’s caught a fair number of Nik’s passes over the years, and although a tiny scrap of lace is a far cry from a football, he still manages to grab it before anyone else does.

Waving it above his head as if it’s a victory flag—and it is, in a way—he grins at Nik as he saunters over, obviously pleased at the outcome.

“Well done, mate,” the groom congratulates him. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less. Aren’t you glad you didn’t pummel me on sight?”

Damon snickers and slings an arm around his shoulders. “I was tempted for a second, but it is your wedding after all.”

“Lucky me.” Nik’s laughter blends with Damon’s as he surveys the room. “Now, the next hurdle. Where has your lovely lady wandered off to?”

Damon’s gaze flits from table to table, but his friend’s right. The maid of honor is nowhere to be found.

“She was just here a minute ago . . .”

*****

Rounding the corner, Elena pauses to smooth her dress and collect the bouquet from the umbrella stand where she left it. She’s a little afraid to find out who won the garter toss. Whoever it is is going to find themselves in Damon’s crosshairs. Imminently.

She cautiously reenters the reception, expecting to run into Caroline or Katherine, but she narrowly misses colliding with Rose instead.

“There you are. We’ve been looking for you,” Rose frets, examining her from head to toe.

“Bathroom trip,” Elena explains, sighing in relief as the perfect opportunity presents itself. “Here, take this.” She presses the flowers into Rose’s hands and nudges her toward the dance floor. “Tell them I need to call the limo driver to confirm he’s still on schedule to pick up—”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Elena freezes as Damon’s voice interrupts her frantic instructions. She glances at him warily as he retrieves the bouquet and passes it back to her, curling her suddenly boneless fingers around it to prevent her from dropping it. He smiles at Rose and tilts his head in the direction of the festivities.

“Go ahead. I’ve got this.”

As Rose drifts out of sight, Elena’s panic level soars. “But, Damon, I don’t want . . .”

Her words falter as he holds up the garter, balancing it on the tip of his pinky.

“You caught it?”

“Yep,” he answers smugly, offering her his arm. She takes it without hesitation and lets him lead her through the doorway. “Still regret catching the bouquet?”

A small grin forms, and she tries to downplay it by hiding behind his sleeve.

“I saw that.”

“I figured, and no, no regrets,” she replies. “Not anymore.”

*****

“Have a seat, kitten,” Damon murmurs, indicating the chair beside her. She gingerly settles into it and automatically crosses her legs, arranging her skirt so it covers everything but the very tip of her pumps.

The DJ gives Damon the green light, and the crowd gathered around the dance floor cheers him on with whistles and hoots of encouragement. Elena observes him closely as he crouches in front of her and loosens the buckle on her shoe. After he eases it off her foot and sets it aside, she cups his face with both hands and leans in close so he can hear her over the music and mayhem.

“Jenna and Liz are watching, along with Nik’s grandmother and several other elderly relatives,” she reminds him. “We’re aiming for family friendly here, not pay-per-view.”

“You trust me to strip you naked, tie you in knots, and fuck you senseless, but now you’re worried?” he counters with a raised brow.

She laughs softly and lands a quick peck on his lips. “Mostly I was concerned about causing a string of heart attacks.” Her bare foot skims up to his knee and back down again, and he grips her leg, his eyes darkening with desire.

“If you don’t want to be responsible for multiple cases of cardiac distress, I suggest not starting something you can’t finish,” he warns in a low, seductive tone that makes her thighs clench together.

“Noted.” She bites her lip to keep from smiling. She’d rather continue teasing him, but that’ll have to wait until later. “Better get to it, then. Don’t leave your audience in suspense.”

“Can’t have that, can we?”

Fingers curl around her ankle as he slips the scrap of lace over her foot and begins a slow ascent up her calf, playing the will-he-or-won’t-he game with the finesse of a pro. When it reaches her knee, he stops and glances over his shoulder at the throng of excited onlookers.

“High-er! High-er!” they crow, egged on by the bride herself, who’s orchestrating the chant.

Signature smirk firmly in place, Damon’s hands disappear under her skirt as he inches the garter closer to her thigh. He pauses every few seconds and fiddles with it, snapping it lightly against her skin, feigning nerves and inciting more squeals from the crowd.

“You’re too much, you know that?”

“I can still put on a show,” he murmurs. “Doesn’t have to be X-rated, though those are my favorite.”

Heat burns in her cheeks as he tugs the garter to its appropriate place at the top of her stocking and strokes her leg once more before removing his hand, straightening her skirt, and slipping her shoe back on.

Another round of whistles and applause fills the air as he helps her to her feet and presses a chaste kiss to her palm, just as he did the first night they met.

“See? I was a perfect gentleman.”

“For now.” She’ll be treated to a much different side of him once they’re alone.

“For now,” he echoes, his devilish grin full of sinful promise.

*****

“Here.” Damon waves a bite of cake in front of Elena, waiting for her to take it. When she doesn’t, he prods her bottom lip with it, leaving a dot of frosting there. She cleans off the sugary smudge with her tongue and finally tears her gaze away from the candle flame she’s been staring at for the past five minutes.

“So that’s why you wanted me to sit with you. Or on you, rather,” she clarifies, shimmying slightly in his lap. “You were planning to force-feed me cake.”

“You’ve hardly eaten anything all day. Plus, who needs to be force-fed cake?”

“True.” He pops the forkful in her mouth, and she chews thoughtfully, her attention drawn to the bar. “I have to fix that. I can’t stand it anymore.”

“Fix what?” Damon glances around the room, trying to spot the problem. People are dancing, drinking, laughing, and generally having a good time, unless you count the two standing at opposite ends of the bar, looking as miserable as two dateless wedding guests could possibly be. “Oh.”

“Exactly.” She hops off his lap and tugs on his suit jacket. “C’mon. I might need you as backup.”

Elena marches toward the bar while he trails after her, wondering how she’s going to work this particular miracle. One part of the equation shouldn’t be too difficult, but the other . . .

Climbing Everest in a pair of flip-flops would be easier.

“Jenna!” she chirps, flinging her arms around her unsuspecting aunt.

“Uh, hey. You’re chipper for someone who’s been going nonstop for the last nine hours,” she says warily. She’s right to be nervous considering what he’s fairly certain Elena is up to.

“I am. Mostly because there’s a guy I want you to meet.”

Yep, there it is.

Jenna grimaces and reaches for her wine glass. “I’m gonna pass on playing the Match Game tonight.”

Elena’s eyes narrow, and Damon recognizes the look of determination that flits across her face. Before she can launch into phase two of her plan, he pulls her aside, dropping his voice to a low rumble so Jenna won’t hear.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Absolutely. She’s a great cook, he thinks ovens are Satan’s invention. He’s an introvert, she’s outgoing. Opposites attract, right?” she asks, her excitement growing with each word. “If all else fails, they both have an appreciation for the finer booze in life. Trust me.”

She has a point. Several, in fact.

Curiosity piqued, Damon nods and steps back, content to watch her mission unfold. Coaxing a still-protesting Jenna to come with her, Elena approaches his head of security with the other woman in tow.

“Elena, what’s up?” Alaric greets her, his gaze darting from her to the redhead who’s halfheartedly trying to loosen her niece’s grip on her arm.

“Hi, Ric.” She flashes him an adorable smile—well, Damon thinks it’s adorable; Alaric’s probably terrified right about now. “My aunt’s in town for the wedding, and I’m taking her around and introducing her to my friends.”

The hint-hint subtext isn’t subtle at all, and Alaric fumbles for his glass of bourbon, swallowing several mouthfuls.

“Jenna, this is Alaric. Alaric, Jenna.”

They stare at each other for several silent, awkward moments, then just as Damon’s bracing for an impending disaster, a flicker of something that might be that rare form of instant attraction Elena was banking on alters his friend’s expression from aloof to kinda-sorta-maybe-if-you-squint-you’ll-see-it interested.

Alaric sticks out his hand and clears his throat, his voice finally catching up with him. “Nice to meet you.”

It’s a little gruff, sure, but it’s not bad for a man who finds most social interactions as pleasant as a root canal.

Jenna gives it a shake, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s lovely to meet you, too.”

Elena beams as she witnesses the exchange. “Ric works with Damon,” she explains.

“Oh.” Jenna’s smile slips a fraction of an inch. “Are you into the tie-me-up-tie-me-down stuff?” she asks bluntly.

Alaric’s roar of laughter is as unexpected as it is refreshing. Damon hasn’t seen him like this in . . . too long.

“I’m not.” He shakes his head, still chuckling. “Sorry if that’s a deal breaker.”

“No, actually, it’s great.” Jenna’s grin regains some wattage, and Damon finds himself smiling along with her.

“See, Ric? Told you the whip’s not necessary,” he murmurs, recalling the conversation they had months ago at Sammie’s. The guy has charm, he just buries it under layers of why bother.

“You should tell Ric about the time you were reigning beer pong champion in your last semester at Tulane,” Elena suggests, dancing out of the way before her aunt can retaliate.

“Elena!” Jenna casts an apologetic glance at Alaric, but he brushes it off.

“You can’t drop that nugget of information and leave me hanging. Let’s hear the story,” he gently prods.

“Well . . .” Jenna hesitates for a second then calls to the bartender for a refill on her wine. “Okay, why the hell not.”

Elena has a bounce in her step as she blows Jenna a kiss and waves to Alaric, clearly satisfied with her turn as Cupid.

“You two have fun,” she calls over her shoulder as Damon’s hand finds hers and they weave their way back to the table. “Now, how about the rest of that cake? And maybe a second slice?”

“You can have as much as you want, baby.”

*****

“I’m stuck.”

Caroline wobbles back and forth as she tries to move, stalling their dance mid-twirl.

“Oops. Probably because I’m standing on your dress.” Elena lifts her foot and frees the swath of lace she’d been trampling. “Some partner I am.”

“You’re doing just fine.” Caroline wraps her arms around her bestie, and they sway to the music—Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World,” which is especially fitting at the moment. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you did to make today so special. We couldn’t have pulled it off without you.”

“I didn’t do that much,” Elena protests. “You were the mastermind behind the whole affair. I just helped with some of the details.”

“More like all of them.” Caroline spins and dips her then almost drops her when they burst into laughter at their own shenanigans. Once Elena’s upright again, Care gathers her hands in hers and squeezes. “You’re an amazing maid of honor, just like I knew you’d be, and a once-in-a-lifetime friend. I love you so much.”

“Oh, god. I don’t think I have any tears left.” She sniffles, feeling the familiar wetness on her cheeks. “No, wait. There they are.” Elena scrubs them away, refusing to sob all over Caroline’s gorgeous gown. “I love you, too.”

“We’ll be gone for a couple weeks, but after we get back, I’ll call you so we can make plans to see each other. Doesn’t matter if it’s lunch, dinner, a movie, a manicure, or a walk in the park. We are hanging out at least once a week, and I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Care says resolutely, still teary herself.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It’s Elena’s turn to spin and dip the bride, and another fit of giggles ensues as she gets tangled in Caroline’s voluminous skirt, nearly sending them both into a heap on the floor.

“Damon’s shown impressive restraint tonight,” Caroline comments, still clutching her side while she fights to catch her breath. “You danced with Nik, Trent, Stefan, Elijah, and Jack, and they lived to tell the tale.”

“That may be about to change,” Elena murmurs, spotting her approaching boyfriend.

“Oh, I’m the one who’s the threat? I’m honored.” Care winks as Damon clears his throat, making his presence known. “I suppose you’re here to steal her away,” she huffs, sticking out her bottom lip.

“I believe she owes me a dance.” Damon’s gaze settles on Elena, and her heart rate instantly speeds up. She’ll be lucky if she doesn’t combust the second he touches her.

Caroline grins knowingly and releases her. “That’s my cue. I think I hear my husband calling.”

Damon chuckles and kisses Care on the cheek before she departs, then it’s just him and Elena and a cloud of sexual tension so thick it raises goosebumps on her skin.

“Shall we?”

He holds out his hand, and she eagerly takes it, letting him pull her close. Her head settles on his chest as they start to sway, Damon effortlessly leading her across the floor. For the first time since arriving at the church, Elena closes her eyes and relaxes, soothed by the music and the comfort only he can provide.

*****

“When I find out who gave my number to these idiots, I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

Katherine’s snarled threat as she stalks past makes Elena burrow deeper into Damon’s arms, hiding her face and the smirk growing on her lips.

“I’m sure they were only looking for a good time,” she says once the other woman is safely out of earshot.

Damon nudges her chin up, regarding her curiously. “You had something to do with that?”

“Petty revenge for dragging me into the bouquet toss,” she sighs. “I may have left her digits on the stall wall in the men’s room.” At his bark of laughter, she rushes to finish her explanation. “I felt guilty, so I erased it after a few minutes. That’s a crappy thing to do to someone who helped save my life.”

“How naughty of you,” Damon agrees, although there’s humor glittering in his eyes, “but I suppose she had it coming. Those guys are in for a hell of a surprise.” He smooths the crease in her forehead and places a kiss there. “Don’t worry. Kat can handle herself.”

“Can she ever.”

“So, are you done with your duties?” he asks. “No more photo ops to organize or pranks to pull?”

“Nope. I’m all yours.”

“There was never a doubt about that,” he growls softly, his arms tightening around her.

The song changes to a slow, romantic tune, and she hums along to the melody, enjoying the stripped-down version of the track with its soulful piano and cello riffs. Damon’s lips brush her ear as he sings the lyrics to her, each ticklish wisp of breath making her shiver. Well, that and the words themselves.

“Now I’ve got you in my space,” he croons. “I won’t let go of you. Got you shackled in my embrace . . .”

If their relationship had a soundtrack, this would be the lead single, she muses. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if Damon specifically requested the song. Coincidence or not, it’s perfect.

Losing herself in the music, she doesn’t realize the song is over until Damon’s no longer singing to her but talking instead. She blinks and shakes her head to clear the dreamlike fog she’d slipped into.

“Did you say something?”

“I asked what you were thinking about earlier, during the vows. You seemed shaken. Sad, even.”

The man really is too intuitive for his own good. “I’ll tell you later.” She doesn’t want to ruin the mood by bringing up the depressing what-if-we-never-met scenario that was swirling through her brain at the ceremony.

Thankfully, there’s no time to dwell on it as she catches a glimpse of the couple on the opposite side of the floor. She does a double-take, unsure if she should believe what she’s seeing.

“I’ll be damned,” Damon murmurs, echoing her thoughts as they pause to watch a blushing Jenna and a slightly clumsy Alaric dancing together, her hand on his shoulder, his arm circling her waist. Ric is lacking in the rhythm department, but Jenna has enough for both of them, which Alaric appears to appreciate.

A lot.

“See? And you said it wouldn’t work,” Elena reminds him, breaking into a victorious grin.

“I didn’t think Ric had it in him,” he admits.

“She’s lonely. He’s lonely, even if he tries to deny it. They both needed a push, or in his case, a mighty shove, but this is a start.”

Damon nods, his smile mirroring hers. “A good one, by the looks of it.”

*****

“By popular request, this last song goes out to all the lovebirds,” the DJ announces, and the jazz-infused notes of a familiar tune drift through the air. A host of emotions swell up in Elena along with memories, both fond and bittersweet, she hasn’t revisited in a while. As the poignant lyrics about finally finding the one fill her ears, she hugs Damon tighter to her, singing along with the classic melody.

“I found a dream that I could speak to,” she hums. “A dream that I can call my own.”

Her voice cracks when she attempts the next line, and she swallows thickly, hoping Damon won’t notice the hiccup.

“Elena?” Warm lips brush her temple in a tender kiss. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Tell me.”

She grips Damon’s shirt, rubbing her cheek on the soft material. After a few calming breaths, her eyes drift up to his. “This song reminds me of my parents,” she reveals. “It was the first one they danced to at their wedding. I remember Mom playing it while she was cooking dinner, and Dad would hear it and come find her. I used to watch them sway together, eyes closed, so in love. I was sneaky, so they usually didn’t even know I was there.”

A vision of Grayson and Miranda slow dancing in the kitchen forms in her mind. The music, the smell of her mother’s delicious eggplant parmesan, the sight of her parents full of life and joy . . .

She snaps her lids shut to keep the tears at bay. The pain of missing them is always present, but some days are tougher than others, and this is one of them.

The pad of Damon’s thumb passes beneath her lashes, then his hand settles on her nape, massaging away the tension there.

“They would be glad to see you so happy,” he murmurs. “It’s hard, I know, but they’re never far from your heart.” He clears his throat, covering the sudden roughness in his voice, and Elena wonders if he’s thinking about his own mom.

“She would be happy for you, too,” she whispers.

Damon blinks a few times, his gaze shining with the raw emotion they’re both feeling, then his mouth claims hers in a kiss so gentle and sweet it quiets her grief, replacing it with desire. Her feet leave the floor as he lifts her, the tips of her bright-pink-polished toes skimming his shoes. She clings to his shoulder, her fingers delving into his hair as she deepens the kiss, telling him without words how much he means to her.

When he finally sets her on her feet, she’s dazed and flushed, her blood pounding in her ears. Her knees won’t cooperate, threatening to buckle under the weight of her yearning for him, but Damon keeps a snug grip on her waist.

“Take me home,” she purrs, releasing the top button on his shirt and teasing the hollow of his throat with a languorous swipe of her tongue.

He groans, squeezing her tighter.

“There’s nothing I’d rather do.”

*****

The door slams with a resounding bang, and Damon pins Elena to the smooth surface with one hand while he reengages the security system with the other.

“Jenna went with . . . Ric . . . to the . . . bar,” she manages between fevered kisses and the thrust of Damon’s tongue. “Will be . . . back . . . late. Plenty of . . . time . . . for—”

“Us,” he finishes with a growl, his hips digging into hers as his palms drift down to cup her breasts. He tugs on her bodice, but she stops him with a single touch.

His heavy-lidded gaze lands on hers, concern warring with longing. “Elena?” he asks hesitantly.

Instead of answering, she wiggles free of the tight press of his body and stands behind him, waiting for him to turn. When he does, intently tracking her every move, she sinks to her knees, her skirt settling around her in a pink puddle. Dragging in a calming breath, she bows her head, clasps her hands at the small of her back, and spreads her legs, although they’re hidden beneath the bulky fabric of her dress.

She hears rather than sees Damon’s reaction. His sharp inhale tells her all she needs to know.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he rasps, hooking a finger under her chin and tilting it up until their eyes meet. “Would my kitten like to play?”

“Please, Master.” She licks her lips in anticipation, hoping he’ll agree. “I’ve made so many decisions today. I don’t want to think anymore; I just wanna be.”

“How could I deny a request like that.”

She smiles as he deftly scoops her into his arms, carrying her upstairs.

Her feet meet the plush carpet as he stands her beside the bed, his hands roaming over her sides and down to her hips. “This dress is beautiful on you, princess,” he husks, finding the zipper and lowering it inch by agonizingly slow inch. “But I much prefer it off you.”

He peppers kisses along her throat and across her bare shoulders, teasing her with nips and flicks of his tongue. The bodice loosens as he finishes unzipping the gown, and Elena makes no move to stop it as it falls away from her body, exposing her breasts. Her nipples instantly harden, aching to be caressed, suckled, tweaked.

Knowing exactly what she needs, Damon palms the smooth swells and rolls her tight buds between his thumb and forefinger, pinching them lightly. She moans at the heady mix of pleasure and pain, restlessly rubbing her thighs together. She’s slick, beyond ready for him, and when he finally peels off her thong, she may sob with relief.

The whisper of fabric sliding over her legs blends with her shaky exhales as the dress pools at her feet and he helps her the rest of the way out of it. He plucks at her undies, snapping the elastic on her skin, and she gasps as the tip of a finger slips underneath the damp lace, lazily stroking her slit.

“You’re dripping,” he groans. “If I filled you with my cock right now, you’d come on the spot.”

“Oh, god.” She grips his arm for support, dangerously close to climaxing from the suggestion alone.

“That’s what I thought.” His cheek rests against hers, and she can feel rather than see his smile. “I bet I could talk you to an orgasm. Get you off without going anywhere near your clit. Think I could do it, pet?”

Her hips buck in response as he continues to tease her, dipping his finger past her folds and retreating again. “Y-yes.”

“Glad we agree. Might have to try it sometime.”

His hand disappears from her sex, and she bites her lip to stifle a frustrated cry. Her thong vanishes a moment later as he roughly tugs it off and tosses it across the room, leaving her clad only in her garter belt, stockings, and heels. She shivers, not from the AC, but from the sound of drawers opening and closing, and the mystery of what he has in store for her tonight.

The fleece lining of her collar brushes her neck, grounding her, easing her into the calm, focused mindset of a submissive. The soft snick of the buckle is a call to let go, to surrender herself into her Dom’s care, and she willingly gives in.

Damon pulls the pins from her hair, and they rain onto the carpet one by one. Her curls tumble past her shoulders, and he buries his face in the thick locks, inhaling her scent. Spinning her around to face him, he walks her backward until she bumps into the mattress. Lifting her onto the bed, he crouches between her splayed thighs, trailing a line of open-mouth kisses along the inside of her leg. The higher he goes, the more her nails scratch at the duvet, hoping, praying he’ll put her out of her misery.

He stops at the top of her stocking, his attention drawn to the garter she’d completely forgotten. “I thoroughly enjoyed putting this on you, but it’s time for it to go.”

Latching onto the lace ruffle with his teeth, he gradually draws it down her leg, pausing every few seconds to make sure she’s watching. Recalling the significance of the bouquet and garter toss, she imagines what would happen if they were the next couple to tie the knot, however far into the future that may be. If he’s like this now, she’s not sure she’d survive the wedding night.

Once the garter’s off, he flings it onto the dresser, sheds his clothes, and crawls up on the bed. The clink of metal alerts her to the pair of handcuffs in his grasp—specifically, the furry ones from Katherine. His other fist is closed around something, or possibly several somethings, hiding them from view.

She scrambles to sit up as he fluffs the pillows and stretches out, looking every bit like the lord of the manor. His long, lean frame is the kind that haunts the wet dreams of painters and sculptors. She’s riveted by each flex of sleek muscle in his arms, his toned stomach, and his thighs as he idly strokes his already stiff cock, his darkened gaze burning into her, scorching a path from her parted lips to her sex. He’s as ready for her as she is for him, but she tamps down the urge to pounce. After her lesson in patience, she’s eager to show him she’s capable of learning from her mistakes.

Noticing her hesitation, he smiles, slow and seductive, and crooks a finger at her. “C’mere.”

She prowls toward him on her hands and knees, stopping just shy of his hip. There’s a tug on her collar as he pulls her in for a kiss, nibbling on her bottom lip before his tongue delves inside, tangling with hers. Her breathless moan is swallowed up by Damon as he ravages her mouth, leaving her panting with need when he finally releases her.

“You waited, just like I knew you could,” he murmurs. “You’re so good, baby, and you’ve pleased your Master very much. That’s why you deserve one hell of a ride.”

“A ride?” she echoes, tilting her head in confusion.

He chuckles at her bewildered expression. “You’ll see. Straddle me.”

She lifts her leg in preparation for sliding it over his waist, but he halts her progress and twirls his fingers in the air.

“Other way around.”

Turning her back to him, she spots their reflection in the mirror propped against the wall. Her pulse quickens as she realizes the reason for the about-face. He wants her to watch.

Hovering astride his hips, she stares at herself in the glass while he gathers her wrists behind her and secures the cuffs. She twists her hands, testing the strength of the restraints, happy to find they’re almost as soft as the leather ones she usually wears. Her chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, and splotches of pink appear as Damon sheathes himself with a condom. Her irises are the color of dark, rich coffee, and her pupils expand as he tantalizes her with the head of his cock, nudging her clit then trailing along her slit and beyond, brushing the crack of her ass.

She quivers at the reminder that, very soon, he’ll take her there—claim her ass just as he’s claimed every other part of her. What will it be like, she wonders. How will it feel to have him deep inside her, introducing her to new sensations and ecstasies? Her training has worn down her inhibition and woken up her wilder, freer side. What she once considered taboo is now a main ingredient of some of the most world-shattering orgasms she’s ever had.

Her thoughts are derailed when Damon ceases his teasing and grips her hips, guiding her onto his hard length. He fills her easily, grunting in satisfaction when she sinks all the way to the base, their bodies flush with one another. He holds her still, but there’s no need; she’s content to stay just like this for a few moments, savoring every glorious inch.

“Something’s missing,” he muses, excitement palpable in his voice. “Ah, I almost forgot.”

A smooth, silver toy appears in front of her face. It’s longer and a bit wider than the previous plugs he’s used on her, and a moan slips out as she braces for the familiar probe of his fingers. What she doesn’t expect is for him to pop the flared end into her mouth.

“Mmm?” she squeaks, meeting his smug gaze in the mirror.

“Warm that up, will you? Unless you’d prefer a cold plug.”

“Nuh-uh!” She swirls her tongue over the toy’s surface, sucking at it like a lollipop until the coolness fades.

“Let’s find out if you did a good job, shall we?” Damon asks, retrieving it from between her puckered lips.

A generous dose of lube later, the slickened tip is pressed to her entrance. He gently but firmly works it past her tight muscles, seating it in her ass. She wriggles as she stretches to accommodate it, clenching around the plug and Damon, who groans and digs his fingers into her hip.

“I fucking love it when you squeeze me like a vice. Do it again,” he orders.

She flexes her inner walls, clamping down on his shaft. A harsh growl makes her skin prickle, then he’s moving—and moving her—raising and lowering her on his cock, impaling her over and over while she cries out in pleasure.

“It gets better, pet. Just you wait.”

Before she can figure out what he means, the plug springs to life, buzzing away in her bottom. She jerks at the unexpected vibrations rolling through her, but he keeps her rooted in place with his unyielding grasp.

“Master,” she gasps, “I . . . oh . . .”

“Yes?”

“It’s . . . god, it feels incredible.” So much so that it’s stealing her ability to form a coherent thought.

“You like?”

“I love.”

“Then you should have the full experience.”

The vibrator jumps to the highest setting as Damon switches gears, his hips pistoning away beneath her, flesh slapping against flesh while he bounces her on his dick. The vision of the two of them in the mirror is suddenly too intense, too much for her overloaded senses to handle. She glances at anything but the glass until his palm connects with her ass in a series of sharp swats.

“Keep your eyes on us,” he growls. His hand drifts to her sex, parting her folds so she has a clear view of their joined bodies. “Have you ever seen a sight so erotic? So perfect?” His thumb settles on her clit, rubbing in slow circles, and she tightens around him with a ragged moan. She’s teetering closer to the edge with every word, every caress, every thrust, and he seems determined to push her over it sooner rather than later.

“Ohhh . . .”

“You’re almost there, aren’t you, baby?”

“Yes!” she whines as he pumps his cock into her faster.

“Thought so. Spread your cheeks for me.”

As she eagerly complies, he shifts the plug, working it back and forth, fucking her with it and lighting up nerve endings she didn’t know existed. The vibrations are pure bliss, especially when he buries it deep. The mounting pleasure reaches a peak, and her nails bite into her skin as she fights to hold onto her last shred of self-control. “Please let me come, Master.”

Her eyes lock with his pale blue ones while she pleads, hoping he’ll grant her the release she so desperately craves. He grits his teeth, his dick twitching as his own orgasm nears, and slams into her with jerky thrusts, his usual finesse faltering.

“Think I should?” he grounds out, raking strands of sweat-dampened hair off his forehead.

“Yes. Yes. Yesyesyes.”

“I could make you wait . . .”

“Please, no. No, no, no. Pleaseplease, Master.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying her plight. “That would be cruel, and you’ve been so well-behaved tonight.” Without warning, the plug fills her to the hilt and he returns to her clit, roughly stroking her nub. “Give it to me. Now. Show me how much you love riding my cock.”

The scream that rips from her throat would bring people running to her rescue under normal circumstances. Thankfully, the neighbors aren’t within earshot. She squeezes Damon’s shaft as blinding pleasure consumes her, dragging him into oblivion with her.

“Fuck, yes!” he roars. “That’s my girl. Take it, baby. Take all of me.”

They stay tangled together until their frenzied movements still, the last wave of ecstasy passes, and every ounce of energy fades. In the aftermath, there’s only soothing caresses, whispered words of love and comfort, and the safety of Damon’s body curled around hers.

*****

Elena stirs, disoriented from sleeping so soundly. Once the momentary where-am-I-what-day-is-it confusion passes, she pats the sheets and pillows next to her, expecting to find Damon sprawled there. When her hand doesn’t come into contact with warm skin or soft, mussed hair, she sits up and peers into the darkness blanketing the bedroom. It’s unusual for him to be absent; he rarely leaves her side for hours while they wind down from play, preferring to have her wake in his arms.

“Damon?” she calls, her voice rough from sleep. She struggles to free herself from the tangled bedding, prepared to go look for him, when his silhouette appears in the doorway.

“I’m here.” He climbs into bed and tugs her close, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Sorry, lover. I thought you’d still be asleep. Everything okay?”

“I’m good. Just a little foggy.” She traces his collarbone with the tip of a finger, then takes a second pass with her lips. “Where’d you go?”

“I was getting Jenna settled in the guest room. She finally returned from her bar adventure.”

Oh, shit. Between her post-wedding exhaustion and the leftover sex haze, she’d completely forgotten about her aunt. “Some hostess I am, and an even crappier niece.”

“Not to worry. I doubt she’s going to remember much about last night.” He glances at the glowing red digits on the clock. 3:17 am. “Or this morning.”

Elena yawns and nuzzles his chest, ready for another doze. “Did she have fun with Ric?”

“Seems like it.” He chuckles, probably recalling some juicy tidbit from their conversation. “She told me he has nice lips, so I’d wager it was a success.”

A laugh bubbles out of her as she imagines Alaric’s reaction if he’d heard that, although it’s possible she said it to him, too. Jenna’s filter disappears in the presence of alcohol.

“Speaking of confessions, you still haven’t come clean about what was on your mind at the wedding.”

“Going to torture it out of me?” she asks with a grin.

“That could be arranged.” His hand hovers above her ribs, ready to launch a tickle attack, but she bats it away.

“Oh, no you don’t.” She plumps her pillow and slips back under the covers, watching as Damon does the same. He loops an arm around her waist and pulls her nearer until their noses bump. “I was thinking about the night we met. Specifically, what would’ve happened if we hadn’t. I almost didn’t go. If it weren’t for Caroline . . .” I’d be alone right now in an empty apartment, she muses. Or worse, having a throwaway fling with some guy I picked up at the wedding.

“You know what I think?” he asks, sifting his fingers through her hair.

“Hmm?” God, that feels good. If he keeps it up, she’ll be asleep again before he finishes his thought.

“I think we would’ve found each other eventually. I was always intrigued by the mysterious roommate Caroline raved about—how kind she is, how sweet, how beautiful.” His mouth brushes hers, and when their lips meet, a shiver skitters the length of her spine. “She was absolutely right.”

“You believe in fate?” Elena murmurs between kisses, beaming at his approval of Care’s description.

“I do.” Her heart leaps at his reply, the truth of it reflected in his unwavering gaze. “You and I, we were meant to be.”

His conviction steals her breath, and as his mouth settles over hers again, she realizes she believes it, too. Their soul-deep connection is no coincidence.

She was bound to be his, just as he was bound to be hers.

*****

“Where are you headed, Casanova?”

Damon pauses with his hand on the knob of the club’s front door, surprised by his friend’s jovial tone. This new, non-sullen side of Alaric is unfamiliar territory. “Sorry, I mistook you for someone whose preferred form of communication isn’t a series of grunts.”

Ric laughs, clapping him on the back. “You’re hilarious. That doesn’t answer my question, though.”

“I’m meeting Elena at the apartment to pick up the last of her stuff.” He checks his watch, noticing it’s later than he thought. “She should be on her way back from dropping off Jenna at the airport.” He doesn’t miss the sudden interest in Alaric’s expression at the mention of Elena’s aunt. “Speaking of Jenna, you two seemed to get on pretty well at the wedding. And afterward, at the bar. And at yesterday’s secret lunch rendezvous you didn’t think I’d find out about.”

“Uh, yeah.” Ric scratches his head, shifting from foot to foot. “I like her. She’s great. Really great.”

“‘Really great’? That the best you can do?”

“She’s nice,” he adds. “And gorgeous.”

“And capable of reducing your language skills to a first-grade level.”

“More like preschool,” Ric sighs.

“You have a crush on Jenna,” Damon announces. “I’m proud of you, Saltzman.”

He shrugs but doesn’t try to deny it. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me. You and Elena practically got engaged on the dance floor.”

He’s not wrong, but still . . .

“Smartass.”

He shoots Alaric the finger and gets the same in return. Some things never change.

Jogging to the car, Damon jams the key in the ignition and turns it over, listening to the engine purr. His phone pings with a new text, and he glances at the screen, expecting a message from Elena. Instead, the display reads Unknown.

He’s tempted to ignore it, but then he sees it’s not just a random note. There’s a photo attached. Opening it, he’s startled to find a picture of Elena outside her apartment. She’s carrying a box to her car, wearing the purple tank and jean shorts she had on when she left the house a few hours ago.

The text that follows makes his heart stutter then race as if he’s in the last stretch of a sprint.

So lovely and unsuspecting. How many thousands do you think she’ll go for? Surely someone would pay a steep price for such a stunning slave. The question is . . . who will it be?

Chapter Text

Tires screech against asphalt as Damon slams on the brakes, nearly running a red light. The last thing he needs is a fucking ticket. He has bigger, far more terrifying, problems. Namely, why his girl isn’t answering her phone.

He hits redial again and sends up a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening. “If you took her, you sonofabitch, I’ll scour every inch of this goddamn city until I find her—”

Hi, it’s Elena! I’m busy with something or other, so leave a message. You know the drill.

The sound of her voice sends his heart soaring before it sinks to the pit of his stomach. It’s only the same recording he’s heard a dozen times since he tore out of the club’s parking lot. The light changes to green, and he hits the gas while he waits to make his next plea.

Beep.

“Baby, please pick up.” Silence. “If you get this, and I sure as hell hope you do, stay inside and lock your door. Someone’s outside the apartment, watching you. Maybe Enzo. I don’t know.” His grip tightens on the wheel until his knuckles turn bone-white. “I’m on my way, and so are the cops. Just . . . hang on. I’ll be there soon. I love you.”

He presses harder on the pedal beneath his foot, racing down the street as fast as he dares. He’s five minutes out, maybe ten if traffic worsens. He’s never been one to beg, but when it comes to Elena, he’ll gladly get down on his knees.

Let her be safe. Please.

*****

Balancing a stack of empty boxes in her arms, Elena unlocks the door and nudges it open just enough to get through. It snicks shut behind her as she drops her load of cardboard on the floor and snags a bottle of water from the fridge, enjoying the blast of frigid air on her sticky skin. After chugging half of it, she turns her attention to the pile of dishes beside the sink. She drags a box over and starts loading pots and pans into it, the clang of metal on metal almost drowning out the ping of a new message on her phone.

Collecting it from the counter, she’s surprised to find several missed calls and nearly as many voicemails from Damon. They must’ve come in while she was tossing stuff in the trunk.

“What the hell?”

The back of her neck prickles as she listens to the first message. There’s only one explanation for the rising panic in his voice.

. . . being watched . . . Enzo . . .

With that asshole’s name still bouncing around in her skull, she lunges toward the door and flips the main lock, the deadbolt, and the two other backup locks Damon installed. The phone slips from her hand as she scours the kitchen for knives or anything else she can use as a weapon, remembering too late that they’re already packed and gone. A giant cast-iron skillet catches her eye, but she’d have to get close to him to use it. Too close, especially if he’s packing another dose of the drug he used on her at the club. Or a Taser.

Grabbing the can of pepper spray from her purse, she grips it in her sweaty palm and waits. Waits for Damon to arrive, for the police to show up . . .

For the door handle to rattle.

She gasps, her heart pounding so loudly she wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard could hear it. Taking the skillet with her as backup, she warily approaches the door and peers through the peephole. She’s seen plenty of pictures, but the sight of him—a cruel leer on his face as he pulls a lock pick from his jacket pocket—makes her stomach churn.

He jams the pick into the lock and jimmies it until the mechanism gives. Elena glances at the handle as it twists and turns, but the other locks hold, barring his entry. For now. Thank fuck.

“That’s not playing fair, love,” he growls, slamming his fist against the wood. She jumps and almost drops her pan as the door shudders in its frame.

“You expect me to just let you waltz right in? I don’t think so, jackass,” she shoots back.

He laughs, brushing off her insult like it’s a speck of lint. “Feisty. I could get a lot of enjoyment out of taming that mouth of yours.”

“Fortunately for you, that’ll never happen.”

“So you say.” He bends down, temporarily disappearing from sight. When he straightens, she sees the next item in his arsenal: a crowbar. “Shall we do this the hard way, then? Your choice, pet.”

Rage sets her blood simmering as her fingers curl tighter around the pepper spray, ready to use it if need be. “You do not get to call me that,” she snarls.

“Because your backstabbing lover does?” he scoffs. “You should be glad I chose something so polite. It’ll be much kinder than what your future owner uses.”

That terrifying, infuriating grin returns, and for one wild moment, she actually wants to fight him. Wants to yank open the door and go after him with everything she has. It’s not smart, or sane, but it’s all she can think about.

“Why are you doing this, Enzo?” she asks, choosing to ignore his taunt.

“Nothing personal as far as you’re concerned, for me anyway,” he adds with a shrug, wedging the flat end of the crowbar into the narrow space by the doorframe. “But the one you let crawl between your thighs and fuck you until you scream bloody murder—he needs to know what it’s like to lose everything.”

His face is devoid of emotion as he speaks those chilling words, but the anger is there, just beneath the surface, and it’s about to boil over. He pushes on the crowbar, and the wood creaks ominously. A second heave tears one of the hinges away from the wall.

Elena braces herself for the moment the final hinge breaks, dragging in unsteady breaths to try and calm her racing pulse. Even if he gets in, she’s not going to wave the white flag. He snuck up on her at the club, but she’s ready for him now. Let him give it his best shot.

Adrenaline flooding her body, she launches forward when the last hinge snaps, but a frantic shout stops her momentum as quickly as if she’d collided with a brick wall.

“Elena!” Damon hollers, his voice closer this time.

“The white knight has arrived. How predictable,” Enzo sneers, glaring at her through the gap separating the ruined door from the wall. “Until we meet again, pet.”

With that, he darts down the hall at a dead sprint, likely heading for the emergency exit that leads to the side parking lot. When the cops show up in front of the building, he’ll already be long gone.

“Elena!” Damon calls again as he rounds the corner, his boots pounding the floor. “Holy . . . shit,” he hisses when he skids to a halt outside the apartment, warily assessing the damage to the door. After a handful of seconds that crawl by like hours, his worried gaze finds hers. “‘Lena, thank god. Are you—”

“I’m okay,” she whispers, hoping to ease the rampant fear in his eyes. She sets the pan on the counter, or at least attempts to, but her fingers won’t cooperate; they’re still firmly clenched around the handle as if they didn’t get the memo announcing that the threat has passed.

Damon rams the door with his shoulder, forcing it open enough to squeeze past, then she’s engulfed in a hug so tight she can barely move. The skillet lands on the carpet with a muffled thump and the pepper spray follows it as she clings to him, the tension slowly leeching from her limbs. It leaves her trembling in its wake, barely able to stay upright. If it weren’t for his secure grip, she’d be on the floor, too.

“Mr. Salvatore? Ms. Gilbert?”

She glances over Damon’s shoulder at the police officer standing in the hall, watching them with a concerned expression. She knows they need to let go of each other and answer the barrage of questions sure to come their way, but she can’t make herself do it. Not yet.

“Miss? Are you alright?” the officer tries again.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she quietly answers, projecting a sense of calm she’s nowhere near feeling. Her voice sounds hollow, even to her own ears, but she’ll have to settle for lies until she’s capable of putting the truth into words.

*****

Blinking and breathing. Those are the only indications that the woman nestled against him is a living being and not a statue. Ever since they made it home and collapsed on the couch, she hasn’t said a thing. Hasn’t hardly twitched.

He strokes her hair, her back, her hip, wishing she would yell at him. At Enzo. Scream out her frustrations. Tell him what a shit job he’s doing of keeping her safe. Anything but the silence surrounding them like a thick, suffocating blanket.

The vision of her waiting just beyond the door, armed with a goddamn frying pan and a can of pepper spray, prepared to fight that fucker if, no, when, he came after her . . . it’ll haunt his nightmares, along with the one that already does—Elena lying in that hospital bed, unconscious, pale as a ghost.

There are solutions to the problem, of course. The first is more of a fantasy than a feasible plan, but he’d do it for her in a heartbeat: drop everything and go. Whisk her away to some peaceful place where she couldn’t be found by the scum targeting her. The second option is much simpler but far less appealing. Still, if it protects her until this mess is finally over, he has to try.

“Baby, we need to talk,” he murmurs, not wanting to startle her. It’s been quiet for so long that the sudden intrusion of his voice is jarring.

“I didn’t think.”

“What?” He wasn’t prepared for her to actually take him up on his suggestion.

She lifts her head from his chest, and he immediately misses the intimate contact. There’s sadness in her eyes as she looks at him, and worry, and . . . resignation?

“I should’ve waited for you or met you at the club so we could’ve gone together.” She sighs, dragging her fingers through her hair. “I gave him the perfect opportunity to come after me, and he did. I deluded myself into thinking he’d give up, especially with the cops on his trail, but I need to wake up and realize that this is my life now. Enzo’s always going to be lurking until he gets what he wants.”

“He isn’t getting jack shit,” Damon growls, cupping her face and rubbing his thumbs across her cheeks. “The whole mess is my fault.” She opens her mouth to protest, but he settles a finger on her lips. “There’s no denying it anymore, not after he blatantly admitted this is a revenge scheme. I was late, and I shouldn’t’ve been. I let my guard down, again, and he took advantage of that. I’m the reason this is happening, and I fucking despise myself for it.”

Elena kisses the tip of his finger before prying it away from her mouth. “Damon, stop. You can’t protect me twenty-four-seven. There are going to be times when I’m vulnerable, no matter how careful I am.”

“I can’t accept that.” He rests his forehead against hers, savoring the scent that’s so uniquely her: vanilla and a strawberry-like sweetness blended with the floral notes in her perfume. “I made a promise that I’d protect you, and I broke it. All I’ve ever wanted is to keep you safe. Every cell in my body, every instinct I have, demands it. I’m hardwired to look after those I love, especially you—because you’re mine.”

She smiles a little at that, her lids drifting shut as her lips play over his, teasing him with barely there pecks before deepening the kiss. He loses himself in the comforting, affectionate gesture—although he deserves neither of those things—hoping to prolong the moment. Delay the inevitable. Still, regardless of how long he waits, it’s not going to get any easier. Pulling back so he won’t just say “fuck it” and dodge the conversation in favor of tossing her over his shoulder, carrying her upstairs, and making love to her until they both pass out, he releases a ragged breath and collects his scattered thoughts.

“The last thing I want is for you to be unhappy, but I can’t take another second of you being at risk.” He closes his eyes, rubbing at his temples as a headache forms. When he opens them, Elena’s watching him curiously.

“Damon?”

“You should quit your job at Dr. Olly’s office.”

There. It’s out in the open now, and he hates that it’s come to this.

“What?” she asks with a frown, sitting up straighter.

“Every time you’re away from the house, away from me, he strikes. If he doesn’t have that chance anymore—”

“I can’t quit. My freelance work is picking up, but it’s not enough to cover all my bills.” She takes his hands in hers, squeezing gently. “I know what you’re thinking, but I can’t stay cooped up here.”

“Then come with me to the club,” he urges. “You can hang out while I do paperwork and deal with the day’s business. Nap, eat, write, play pranks on Ric—whatever you want. After that, there’d be plenty of occasions for more enjoyable activities. Speaking of which, I haven’t bent you over my desk yet,” he points out, attempting to lighten the mood.

“As wonderful as that sounds, we already discussed this,” she reminds him, a soft sigh disturbing a tendril of hair she dislodged earlier. He can’t resist curling it around his finger before tucking it back behind her ear. “You’d never get any work done, and I’d still be lacking in the funds department.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the money,” he argues.

“I do! Damon, you already spoil me. You won’t let me pay rent, I hardly buy groceries because you make sure the fridge and pantry are always fully stocked, and that’s on top of the outfits, the jewelry, the toys . . .”

“That’s called taking care of you.”

“I know, and I love and appreciate everything you do for me.” She releases his hands and strokes the line of his stubble-darkened jaw. “But what you’re suggesting would be too much. I’d feel like a kept woman.”

Part of him understands. It really does. The other part, however—the primal, possessive one—is snarling, prowling inside him like an untamed beast. And that’s the part that won’t be appeased, that won’t settle for anything less than a scenario where she’s completely out of harm’s way.

“What’s it going to take, Elena?” he demands, his frustration spilling over. “How many more car chases? How many close calls and hospital stays? Something has to change. If it means letting me help with finances until his ass is behind bars where it belongs, so be it. No one would think less of you, least of all me.”

He rises from the couch, abruptly separating himself from her soothing touch. Stalking toward the fireplace, he balls his hands into fists at his sides, his muscles drawn tight with tension. The carpet in front of the hearth that was so inviting with Elena’s stunning, naked body sprawled atop it is a reminder of all he stands to lose. Life without her . . .

He can’t go back to that. He won’t.

“The fucker asked me how much I thought someone would pay for you. To have you as a slave,” Damon reveals, spitting the words from his mouth. They don’t belong there. Including Elena and slave in the same sentence is nauseating.

When she remains quiet, he turns to find her on her feet as well, any trace of color drained from her face. It’s then that he realizes he never told her what was in Enzo’s text.

She swallows audibly, glancing at the floor, the wall, the door, the stairs—anywhere but him. “He called me ‘pet.’ Said it was nicer than what my future owner would use,” she mutters. “I almost went after him for that. I wanted to.”

Damon grits his teeth so hard he half expects to crack a molar. “What.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says with a shrug. “He was trying to get me riled up, and it worked.” The spark of defiance he’d seen in her eyes seconds ago is gone, replaced by weariness.

The urge to postpone the discussion until after she rests is strong, but he powers through it. They can’t go on like this.

“The hell it doesn’t.” He takes a step closer, and another, until they’re only a breath apart. “He wasn’t joking, Elena. He meant what he said.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you being so stubborn?” He grips her shoulders, tempted to shake some sense into her if all else fails. “I’ll do anything—anything—to keep Enzo from getting his hands on you again, but I need you to meet me halfway.”

Her gaze, shiny with unshed tears, connects with his for a moment, then she backs out of his hold. “I just . . . I can’t think right now. I’m terrified and anxious, and so angry I could pummel Enzo myself, but mostly, I’m exhausted.”

Damon reaches for her, the anguish in her voice cutting into him like jagged shards of glass, but she raises a hand to stop him.

“Give me some time, please. Alone,” she quietly adds.

As she slips out the door that leads to the backyard, he fights the impulse to follow her. He shouldn’t have sprung his idea on her so soon after what took place at the apartment. She deserved peace and tender, loving care, not a confrontation.

Congratulations on being a fucking idiot, Salvatore.

Even though every fiber of his being is crying out for him to do otherwise, he lets her go.

*****

Today seemed like it’d be pretty decent. On paper, anyway. Sure, she was bummed that Jenna had to leave, but the afternoon was supposed to be spent packing up the rest of her stuff then having dinner with Damon, maybe catching a movie, and relaxing for the remainder of the evening.

Instead, a psycho showed up at her door, tore the thing off its hinges, and was seconds away from charging in to abduct her. Now, her well-meaning boyfriend wants her to quit her job and let him support her until the whole mess is resolved, which sounds nice on the surface, but . . . it’s a lot to process.

“Why can’t anything ever be easy?” she mutters aloud to no one. With the exception of a pair of butterflies and an acrobatic swallow swooping through the air, she’s by herself in the yard, lying in the cool grass and staring up at the green, leafy underbelly of the tree towering over her. She fully expected Damon to trail after her, but so far, he’s kept his distance.

The thought of him brings her back to her ridiculous question. Some things in life are easy—as easy as breathing—and for her, that was falling in love with a man who’s a captivating blend of intense and sweet, gentle and rough, dominant and nurturing. He’s been protective since the night they met, but this time it felt almost . . . smothering.

She knows he’s freaking out. Hell, she is, too, but there has to be another solution. As she tries to cajole her tired brain into coming up with a brilliant plan that will satisfy both of them, her phone chirps in her pocket. She takes it out and glances at the screen before setting it aside. She doesn’t have the strength required for this particular conversation.

Predictably, the caller won’t be ignored. She lets it ring until it threatens to drive her insane before caving and answering it.

“Hey, Jer. How’s—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in the hospital?” he snaps, interrupting her less-than-enthused greeting and skipping his entirely.

Thanks, universe. I needed another heaping scoop of what-the-fuck to top off this nightmarish day. “Can we not do this? I’m really not in the mood.”

“Do you think I was in the mood to hear that my sister was almost kidnapped?”

Brace yourself, buddy, ‘cause it nearly happened again, she thinks to herself. No way she’s telling him, though. “Jeremy . . .”

“No, Elena. No more beating around the goddamn bush. What’s going on?”

It would be a shitty thing to do, but she’s tempted to hang up and blame it on a dead battery. Knowing her brother, he’d alert the cops. “First of all, how did you find out?” It couldn’t’ve been Jenna. She’s probably just getting home.

“I called Caroline to congratulate her and Nik. She was on her third Mai Tai and it slipped out,” he reveals. “Does this have something to do with him? Are you in danger because of him?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“That’s enough,” she snarls. “None of this is Damon’s fault.”

“Did you tell Jenna?”

She says nothing, curling her fingers around a tuft of grass and tugging until the blades tear loose. Unfortunately, her silence speaks for itself.

“You did. Were you ever planning to fill me in?”

“No,” she replies bluntly.

“Why the hell not?”

“For this very reason. Treating me like a five-year-old who needs her hand held isn’t going to solve anything!”

“I’m coming out there. I can catch a flight—”

“No, you’re not,” she cuts him off. “What exactly do you think you’d be able to do that the police can’t? I already have plenty of people looking out for me.”

“And they’re doing a real fan-fuckin’-tastic job, aren’t they?” he hisses.

Elena’s patience runs out like the final grain of sand passing through an hourglass, and she sits up so quickly it makes her head spin. “We’re done here!” She’s shouting, but she doesn’t give a damn if Jeremy’s eardrums are rattling. Maybe he’ll finally hear her. “I’ve had all I can take of your condescending attitude. Stop assuming Damon is a monster who’s ruining my life. You don’t know him, so keep the snide comments to yourself. Don’t plan on randomly showing up at my door, either. I won’t be there.”

She ends the call without giving him a chance to argue and powers down her cell in case he tries to ring her back, and he will. Her voicemail will be overflowing with pissy messages when she checks it again, but she can’t bring herself to care. Oh, and that last bit where she hinted about her recent change of address? That’ll go over well, too.

Hugging her knees to her chest, she closes her eyes and shuts out everything but the calming sound of rustling leaves and birdsong. It eventually quiets her mind enough for her to relax, lulling her to sleep.

*****

Elena stirs, slowly shedding the leftover grogginess from her nap. Chirping crickets and the hoot of an owl tell her she’s been dozing for hours. She stretches, glancing at the sky overhead, now dotted with stars. Really bright stars. As she puzzles over what could be causing this mysterious celestial event, the realization of what she’s seeing finally gets through to her muddled brain.

Those aren’t stars; they’re the fairy lights Caroline strung in the trees for her birthday party. She loved them so much she kept them up.

“Idiot,” she mutters to herself, rolling over on the soft grass, expecting her clothes to be clinging to her skin, dampened by the dew . . .

Strange. She’s completely dry, and there’s something fuzzy beneath her palm. A blanket?

“I deserve that.”

Her gaze lands on Damon, who’s sitting at the base of the tree, his back flush with the trunk. His black tee and jeans blend in with the darkness surrounding them, and if he hadn’t spoken, she probably wouldn’t have registered his presence.

“Uh, actually, that was directed at me, not you,” she clarifies, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Still fits.” He shifts as if he wants to come closer but stays rooted to the spot.

She gestures to the blanket, although the answer is obvious. “Did you . . .”

He nods. “I came out to check on you a couple hours ago and found you curled into a ball, sound asleep. The ground’s a shitty excuse for a bed. You could’ve caught a cold,” he points out, his tone edging into unhappy-Dom territory.

Always putting her first, even after the less-than-stellar discussion they had earlier. She waves him over, hoping he’ll accept the offer to join her. Now that her mind isn’t screaming for a timeout anymore, she doesn’t want space. She wants him. His touch. The distance between them—physical and emotional—is a hellish kind of torture.

She scooches to the side to make room for him, and he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach those haunting, pale eyes. He hesitates a few seconds longer then abandons his place by the tree and settles next to her on the navy blue fleece. She leans into his warmth and nuzzles his shirt, bunching the material in her fists as she clings to him. An arm circles her waist and another drapes across her shoulders, enfolding her in a breath-stealing hug. His lips find the curve of her throat, her jaw, and finally, the shell of her ear, leaving kisses there.

The words are lined up in a queue, ready to go, and she opens her mouth, swallowing past the lump in her throat—

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, beating her to it. “I lost it in there. I thought about that text, and when I got it, I . . . for a moment, I was sure he’d already taken you. I had a panic blackout. I don’t remember putting the car in drive. Then, at the apartment . . .” His voice falters, and he squeezes her tighter. “The busted door. You, on the other side, braced for a fight with that piece of shit. I fucked up, royally, then made it worse by trying to force you to make a huge decision five minutes after everything happened.”

“And I bolted because I couldn’t face the idea that a chunk of my life—and part of my freedom with it—is about to become collateral damage. It made me want to hurl. It still does. But you’re right; something has to give. I didn’t mean to blow you off when you were only trying to help. I guess I’m still getting used to not relying solely on myself. You must think I’m an ungrateful jerk,” she mutters.

“Elena.” He pulls back and catches her chin in a gentle but unyielding grip, preventing her from dodging his gaze. “That’s the last thing I would ever think. You reacted the way anyone would in that situation. Hell, I drove you to it.” The anguish is still there, swirling in the depths of his eyes, and it tears at her to see him like this.

“Hey.” She lays her hand on top of his, her thumb rubbing over the bump of each knuckle. “We had a disagreement. It’s not the last battle of wills we’ll have.” Her submission isn’t a fulltime gig, and he’s well aware of that, but she also suspects he’s not accustomed to having his ideas torpedoed, especially when he’s in overprotective mode. “I need to be extremely careful, but I can’t stop living my life. I can’t let him win. I won’t.” Damon’s nod is barely perceptible, but it’s an encouraging sign. He’s still with her, so far. “What about a compromise?”

He frowns a smidge, uncertainty setting in. “What kind of compromise?”

It’s not an outright refusal. She can run with this. “The job thing isn’t just about the money. I can’t quit with no warning. Dr. Olly took a chance on me when I was fresh out of college with an anemic résumé, and I owe it to him to handle this as professionally as I can. Plus, I don’t trust Amy not to burn down the office,” she adds with a shudder, imagining the kind of destruction the other receptionist would cause. “I’ll talk to him to see if I can trim my schedule to three days a week. I’ll use the other days to boost my freelance stuff.”

Damon’s jaw clenches then shifts as if he’s grinding his teeth. “I don’t want you going anywhere alone. What if I drive you to work and pick you up?”

“Um, well . . .” Another ugly scenario comes to mind, much as she hates to mention it. “I should have my car with me in case I need to hightail it the hell out of there, but I promise I won’t leave for lunch. I’ll bring food and eat in the break room.” Amy would rather yank her own fingernails out than talk to her, but she won’t be able to escape Dr. Wes if he’s in a chatty mood. Still, it beats offering herself up to Enzo by going out for a sandwich.

His sigh reflects the frustration they’re both feeling. “Fine. If I can’t play chauffeur, I’ll follow you. Be your own personal escort. I’ll do you one better for lunch, too—I’ll come get you and we’ll go out.”

“Every day? Damon, that’s a lot of chasing. Brown-bagging it won’t kill me.”

“Every day. And I don’t care,” he says, refusing to budge an inch.

“Are you forgetting about your job? How are you going to get things done at the club if you’re constantly driving to the city to look after me?”

For the first time that night, his grin is genuine. “That’s one of the perks of being the boss, baby. Ric and Henry can lend a hand, and Elijah, if need be. We’ve got it covered.”

“You’re sure?”

He’s beaming now. “Absolutely.”

“Our building has security. When I talk to Dr. Olly, I’ll ask if they can watch for anything suspicious, namely Enzo.” Hopefully, that little tidbit will sweeten the pot.

“Good.”

Damon traces the bow of her upper lip, the smooth glide of his finger distracting her from her thoughts. “If my freelancing grows, I’ll give some serious consideration to ditching the receptionist job. How are we doing on this compromise thing?”

“I think it’s working quite well,” he murmurs, his mouth ghosting over hers.

“So, we have a deal?”

“We do.”

They seal their agreement with a kiss, then Damon’s guiding her down onto the blanket. He stretches out beside her, snaking an arm around her hip and cupping her ass, squeezing her through the snug denim. As they lie tangled together under a clear, starry sky, the drama of the day dissipates, worry and exasperation giving way to desire.

*****

The scent of lavender grows stronger as Damon approaches his room. Their room. He pauses in the doorway and props himself against the jamb, admiring the ambiance. A lamp on the nightstand fills the space with warm, welcoming light, aided by the glow from a dozen candles in multicolored glass jars. The patterns they cast on the walls are mesmerizing, but not as enthralling as the woman lounging on the bed, pillows scattered around her while she thumbs through a worn, dog-eared copy of The Princess Bride. Her outfit—if you can call it that—is a snug, black cami and a pair of thin, cotton shorts that ride high on her thighs. They’re practically fused to her skin, so panty lines would be easy to spot, but . . . there are none.

Her chest rises and falls with each inhale and exhale, but it’s not relaxed, just-doing-some-casual-reading breathing. At least not anymore. She knows he’s watching; the jut of her nipples beneath the tight fabric of her top tells him that much. Oh, and the way she bends one leg and lets the other fall carelessly to the side, gifting him with an excellent view of her barely covered sex.

Tease.

Hands itching to peel off her cami and fill his palms with those glorious tits, he crawls up on the bed and hovers over her, waiting for her to react to his presence. When she blatantly ignores him—all but her cheeks, which instantly turn pink—he plucks the book from her grasp, marks the page, and tosses it aside.

“That wasn’t nice,” she pouts.

Never one to bypass an opportunity to steal a taste, he catches her plump bottom lip between his teeth, nipping gently then sucking on it until she shifts restlessly beneath him. “What’s even less nice is making me play second fiddle to a romance novel,” he growls.

“But I love that book.”

“Is there anything else you love?” He leans in and nuzzles her breasts, flicking at the tips of her nipples with his tongue. “This, maybe?” Latching onto one of the hard buds, he suckles her through the material, smiling as she arches into him, eager for more. His hand delves under the cami, massaging her other breast and tracing circles around her areola.

“Yes, definitely that,” she sighs, digging her nails into his shoulder as he plucks at her nipple and draws the one getting the Dyson treatment deeper into his mouth.

“Thought so.” He abruptly releases her and sits back, his gaze roving over her flushed skin. He wants to see more of her. More of those beautiful breasts straining for his touch. “Arms up,” he orders.

She complies without hesitation, and he whisks the cami over her head and onto the floor. With no barrier between him and the soft mounds, he descends again, rolling and pinching her stiff peaks then soothing them with lazy swipes of tongue. She raises an unsteady hand, likely aiming for his hair to hold him in place.

He gathers her wrists and pins them to the duvet. “Leave them there.” Those words transform the mood from playful to dark and sensual. Heat prickles across his chest, and he yanks off his own shirt, tossing it so it joins hers. Elena stills, understanding the unspoken directive: I’m in charge now.

Her pupils expand as he tightens his grip, and her rapt expression turns slightly spacey. She slips into submission so easily; it’s like second nature. All it takes is the right touch or the no-nonsense switch in his tone. Of course, tonight is special, and she knows what to expect. Well, most of it. He has a few surprises up his sleeve.

The reward for her obedience is his favorite kind of kiss—consuming, fiery. He tilts her head back, controlling the angle to better explore her mouth. Every inch of her is sweet, and kissing her, caressing her tongue with his, is an indulgence he’ll never tire of. She’s so responsive, so giving, matching him stroke for stroke and peppering the corner of his mouth and jaw with little pecks of adoration when they part for air.

He trails his fingers up the inside of her thigh, working his way higher until he encounters those damn shorts. He rubs his thumb the length of her slit, groaning in satisfaction when a damp spot appears on the cotton. It grows as he drags his knuckles over her clit and down to the ridge of the plug that’s nestled in her ass. He circles the wide base before changing direction and cupping her sex.

“No underwear. Turning over a new leaf?” he asks, arching a brow.

She rolls her hips, seeking more of the teasing glide of his digits. “I knew you’d prefer me without them.”

“You know me well.” The flimsy material is soaked, but he continues running the tip of his finger along her folds. Her scent is intoxicating, and he almost caves. Almost rips her shorts open and buries his tongue in her slick pussy. Soon, but not yet. “So wet for me. What do you need, princess?”

“You.” Her breathless answer sends a jolt straight to his dick.

“Give me specifics. We’ve been through this,” he scolds, tugging on a hank of her lush hair.

“I need you inside me. Your cock,” she moans, shamelessly grinding against his hand.

“Mmm. Inside you, where I belong. You need to be fucked, isn’t that right?”

She nods then bites her lip and tries again. Properly, this time. “Yes, Master.”

“And you will be,” he promises. “Thoroughly, until you’re so exhausted from coming that you can’t even flutter an eyelash.”

Withdrawing his hand and leaving her wanting, he climbs off the bed and grabs her ankle, pulling her toward him so she’s perched on the edge of the mattress.

“C’mon, pet,” he murmurs, helping her to her feet. “A hot shower is in order. It’ll get your muscles nice and . . .”

He leans in close, his lips skimming her ear.

“. . . loose.”

*****

Damon adjusts the temperature of the spray, admiring the latest addition to his shower. He owes some ingenious Dom, or sub, with a penchant for bath-time play a serious debt of gratitude. He’s not shy about improvising, but these are far better than the old zip-tie or bathrobe-belt routine. The flexible cuffs are attached to the tile with large suction cups, and once he slips them on Elena, she’s not going anywhere. He tested the grip himself, satisfied when they didn’t budge. She can squirm all she wants, and judging by what he has planned, she most certainly will be.

He found them during a recent shopping spree, and he was pleased to discover they aren’t the only tub toys available. That suction-cup dildo could be fun. Stick it to the wall or bench seat and have his girl ride it until she’s teetering on the brink of release. He won’t let her go over, though. She’ll keep edging herself, and once she’s half-crazed with need, he’ll fill her with his cock. Then, after he’s fucked her to his heart’s content, he’ll finally allow her to come, screaming his name. Long-distance scenes aside, no fake dick gets the privilege of her orgasms. Those belong to him.

Elena sneezes behind him, pulling him from his reverie. He turns, taking a moment to admire her nude form—those mile-long legs are divine—now that she’s sans shorts.

“Bless you.” Tearing his gaze away from her bare sex before drool runs down his chin, he notices the pink smudges dappling her chest and cheeks. Pressing his hand to her forehead then her throat, he makes sure her rosy color is from desire and not fever. He bristles, picturing her asleep on the ground the other night.

“I feel fine,” she murmurs, attuned to his concern.

Thankfully, her skin isn’t burning from illness, but he knows there’s another blaze elsewhere. Dipping a finger inside her, he savors the slick heat that engulfs him. Christ, she’s like a sauna set to liquefy. “How about now?” he purrs, pumping the digit back and forth until her hips start to sway.

“Even better.”

At her first mewl of delight, he removes his finger, admiring the way it glistens with her juices. He’s tempted to lick it clean, but that would be selfish. A treat like this deserves to be shared.

“Open for me.” Her lips immediately part, ready to accept the offering. There’s no sign of shyness as her tongue swirls around his finger, collecting every trace of her essence. He’s riveted by her technique, his dick hardening until it’s a lead weight in his pants. Her lack of inhibition is as beautiful as the rest of her. “Fucking hell, Elena,” he rasps, “that mouth of yours is dangerous.”

“Maybe you should put it to work.” She blinks at him innocently, but there’s a hint of the devil in her eyes.

He tangles a hand in her long locks, gripping tight enough to get her attention. “One more saucy comment like that, minx, and the only thing your lips will be wrapped around is a pretty, red ball gag.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” she says softly, averting her gaze and staring at her polished toes, which are the same shade as the gag he just threatened her with.

“Dangerous, like I said. Think you can behave?”

She bobs her head, eager to please. “Yes.”

“Good.” He smacks her ass as a reminder that he won’t tolerate any other cheeky remarks this evening then nudges her toward the shower. “In you go.”

He shucks off his jeans, heaving a sigh of relief once he’s rid of the torturous denim. Erections and snug pants don’t mix.

Joining her under the warm spray, he shampoos her hair and lets her return the favor, then he douses a loofah with her favorite shower gel and takes his time scrubbing imaginary dirt from her delectable body. After soaping himself up—much to her disappointment, but he isn’t going to risk derailing his plans—he backs her against the wall, enjoying the way her expression brightens at the sight of the cuffs.

“Those are new,” she whispers, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

He nods and lifts her wrists, securing them in the restraints. “They stick to all sorts of surfaces. Countertops, mirrors, floors, windows . . .” The list goes on, and he doesn’t miss her sly smile as he ticks off each additional location. “Endless possibilities. Doesn’t that sound like fun, pet?”

“Mmhmm.”

Hitting pause on the reel of future bondage scenarios rolling through his brain, he drags his focus back to the present—specifically, the bound woman trailing her toes up the inside of his leg. Note to self: buy the ankle cuffs next. He steps out of her reach and crouches behind her, planting her feet firmly on the tile floor and as far apart as she can manage in the confined space. The shower’s big by most standards, but it’s no playroom.

“Keep your legs spread nice and wide, exactly like this. If you close them, everything stops and I paddle your ass instead. Got it?” he growls, rubbing his cheek on her thigh, abrading her sensitive skin with his stubble. Not shaving has its advantages.

“Y-yes, Master.”

Goddamn. The view she’s giving him is more breathtaking than the Grand Canyon at sunrise or the sprawl of Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower. She’s soaking wet, and not just from the water raining down on them. The lips of her sex are splayed, pink and puffy with her arousal, then there’s the plug—the largest of the set he gave her—filling her bottom.

His dick jerks in anticipation as he gently eases the toy free and probes her puckered opening with the tip of his finger. “Fuck,” he murmurs, a blast of heat surging through his veins. “You’re gaping, ready to take every inch of my cock.” He licks her rim, teasing the relaxed ring of muscle. She whimpers and leans into the unexpected stimulation, angling for more of his tongue. Obliging her with another soft swipe, he replaces the plug and drops a kiss on her cheek. “I’m proud of you, baby. You’re doing so well.”

Elena whines at the loss of contact, but he steels his resolve, determined not to bury himself in her tight ass until she’s several orgasms in and floating in a haze of ecstasy. Diverting her focus from one erogenous zone to the next, he tweaks her swollen clit, entranced by the wetness leaking onto his palm.

Enough waiting. It’s time to savor her.

“You had your taste. Now, it’s my turn,” he husks, gripping her hips and guiding her toward his mouth. “You’re begging to be devoured, and I’ve got one hell of an appetite.”

There’s nothing tentative about the way he fuses his lips to hers, sucking and nipping at her silky folds then dragging his tongue from her clit to her perineum with rough strokes, making sure she feels him in every crevice and nerve ending. Her legs begin to quiver as he laps at her entrance, and his hand shoots out to steady her.

“Who gets you so hot and fucking bothered that you drip with need, kitten?” he demands between flicks.

Her head is thrown back, her harsh panting echoing off the tile. “You, Master. Only you.”

“You’re damn right,” he snarls in approval, digging his fingers into her ass. He intended to prolong the religious experience that is being wedged between Elena’s thighs, but he’s ready for her to buck against his mouth as she comes, helpless to do anything but writhe at the full brunt of the pleasure he’s inflicting upon her.

He plunges his tongue inside her pussy, pressing in as deep as he can go. Kneading her firm bottom, he works her into a frenzy with rapid thrusts until she’s rocking her hips, riding his face with abandon. Her walls spasm around him, her muscles trying in vain to trap the slippery intruder in place as she reaches the height of bliss.

“Oh, god,” she wails, her entire body trembling like a leaf in the breeze. “So good. May I please come? Please?”

Her desperation sparks a wicked idea, and he smirks as the ploy takes shape. “You have five seconds. It’s now or never.” If she succeeds, and he’s fairly certain she will, he may consider training her to orgasm on command. How fucking amazing would that be . . .

“W-what?” she stammers, panic creeping into her voice.

“Are you questioning me?” He tongues her sex with renewed vigor, neatly avoiding her clit. That would be cheating. “Five.”

She frantically shakes her head, sprinkling him with the water sluicing from her hair. “No.”

“That’s what I thought. Four.”

“Oommph.”

He glances up to find her gnawing on her lip, stifling her would-be shrieks. “Don’t you dare muffle those screams,” he orders. “Let ‘em out. Three.”

“Fuck!”

The remaining two seconds are irrelevant as she cries out in release, nearly jerking free of his grasp. He stays with her, basking in the flood of juices that drenches his lips and chin. His hunger is only sated—temporarily—when he cleans the last of her cream from her quavering flesh. Waste not, want not.

And to think, the fun has just begun.

*****

Damon saunters toward the bed, studying the woman lounging in the center of it. She’s lying on her belly, limbs splayed as if she froze in the midst of doing a jumping jack. A horizontal one. If it weren’t for the glitter of her gaze as it follows his every move, he’d think she’d fallen asleep on him.

Can’t have that.

The candle he’s holding has a rich, soothing scent. Sandalwood and jasmine, if he’s not mistaken. He stirs the liquid pooled at the base of the wick, testing it on the back of his hand. Satisfied with the temperature, he joins Elena, kneeling in the vee of her legs.

He notices the way she tenses as he blows out the flickering flame. It’s an almost imperceptible tightening between her shoulder blades and a tic in her jaw that appears when her nerves shift into overdrive.

“Something bothering you?”

“Just thinking.”

Ah. He suspected as much. Tipping the jar, he pours a pool of warm oil into the dip at the base of her spine. She gasps, curling her toes as he dabs a finger in the puddle and traces a line northward, pressing lightly on each bump of her vertebrae. He stops at her neck and reverses, retreading the slick path.

“How does that feel?”

“Wonderful,” she hums, nuzzling the pillow beneath her cheek. “May I ask what that is?”

Perfect manners, even when she’s anxious. “It’s a massage candle. Worried I was about to douse you with hot wax?” Wax play on top of what he already has planned would be more than she could handle. Plus, that one’s still on her list of maybes, which means a discussion is in order before they delve into, or pass up on, that particular kink.

“The possibility crossed my mind, but I knew you wouldn’t spring that on me.” Her smile is soft, and his pulse throbs faster, thumping through his veins. Such a simple gesture but so full of trust.

He dribbles more of the fragrant oil onto her back and continues trailing his finger from her neck to the slope of her ass. “On each upstroke, I want you to breathe in, and on the way down, exhale. Can you do that for me, lover?”

“Yes, Master.”

The rhythmic caresses loosen her muscles bit by bit, and he finds himself breathing with her, both of them in sync, mind and body. The exercise lulls her into an almost trance-like state, and he eventually breaks from the pattern, running his hands over her shoulders and arms, then onto her sides, hips, and legs. The oil leaves a sheen on her skin, giving it an alluring glow even in the low lighting.

He drips the last of it on her bottom, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk as he draws his initials on her cheeks—D on the left and S on the right. He admires the marks of his possession, a deep, satisfied growl rumbling in his throat. As he massages the oil into her ass, smoothing his palms over her firm behind, he ignores the heavy sway of his cock as it bobs against his abdomen. The damn thing’s been leaking pre-cum since they left the shower, but it can wait. There’s something else he wants.

One hand drifts between her thighs, cupping her mound, while the other settles on the back of her neck, applying enough pressure for a surge of wetness to flood her core. His fingers dip into her sex, stroking her velvety sheath. With every thrust, she moans and rolls her hips, fisting the sheets.

“Is my sweet sub ready to come for me?” he purrs, tightening his grip on her nape.

“Always.”

As soon as the word passes her lips, he presses on her G-spot, rubbing the sensitive patch of nerves until she bucks against his hand. Without missing a beat, he drapes himself across her back, dusting kisses from her throat to her temple. She clenches around his digits, trying to pull him deeper inside her.

When he shifts his thumb to her clit, she nearly arches off the bed. He easily pins her in place, letting her feel the stiff ridge of his dick as it nudges her hip—reminding her he hasn’t taken his pleasure yet, but he’ll be remedying that situation.

Soon.

His hold on her neck loosens as his fingers tangle in her hair instead, tugging her head back. With his mouth hovering by her ear, he strums her clit, savoring each groan and ragged breath. The scent of her arousal combined with the massage oil is a powerful blend, engulfing his senses.

“Give me what I want,” he rasps. “Come, Elena!”

His teeth close on her nape, biting down just hard enough to leave little indentations in her skin. The primal display sends her careening into oblivion, crying out as her juices coat his fingers. He stays with her through her climax, refusing to relent until she goes limp beneath him.

“Good girl,” he croons, laving the faint bite mark with his tongue while she trembles in the aftermath. His lips return to the tender spot under her earlobe, gently sucking as he listens to her blissed-out mumbles. “Now, I’m going to claim the only place that’s never had my cock,” he says hotly.

The wait may have tested his resolve and occasionally given him rocks for balls, but he’d do it again. In a heartbeat.

*****

She can hardly move, but her mind is free, her body soaring. Damon’s palm cradles her cheek, tilting her face to the preferred angle for his kiss. The chain anchoring her collar to the headboard rattles as their mouths meet in an achingly slow brush of lips that quickly escalates into a well-choreographed routine of give and take: she opens for the smooth thrust of his tongue, he explores her thoroughly, like it’s their first time tasting each other. He pulls back so they can draw in some much-needed air, she nips his bottom lip to tell him breathing is overrated. Don’t ever stop kissing me. Please.

Her hands twist in the cuffs, futilely fighting against leather, metal, and rope. Trussed as she is—shoulders down, ass in the air, wrists tethered to ankles, legs spread wide—there’s no hope of touching him, much as she wants to. She has a love/hate relationship with her bindings, especially now, when his mouth leaves hers and he shifts just out of reach.

“Don’t pout, baby,” he soothes. “When you’re completely spent—too weak to lift a finger, too tired to think—I’ll kiss you. Your forehead, eyelids, and nose, then your cheeks, chin, and finally, your mouth, so the last thing you remember before you fall asleep is my lips on yours.”

The room blurs with the threat of tears, and she hurries to blink them away. How this man can say something so beautiful when he’s about to ravish her in every sense of the word is a perfect example of his unique mixture of tenderness and raw, untamed sexuality.

As if to prove her point, he follows up the sentiment by latching onto her nipple and teasing it into a tight bud until she squeals. Heat coils through her, sending a fresh wave of desire from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She’s already running wet between her thighs and he’s barely touched her. Hoping to entice him, she arches her back and wiggles her ass in invitation.

“What a sight. Do you know what that does to me?” he asks, cupping her behind. “It makes me ache, Elena, and it’s not going to stop until I have you.”

Jesus. He’s doing that thing again—the thing where a couple of sentences has her panting with need, and they’ve barely begun.

“Every part of you,” he murmurs, pausing to lick a stripe from her thigh to her hip, “belongs to me. Your sexy, sassy mouth, this tight pussy . . .” A finger caresses her folds, dipping past them for a tantalizing moment then disappearing, much to her disappointment. “And your hot, little ass. I own them.” He punctuates his point by pulling the plug partially out of her snug entrance then easing it back in, lazily fucking her with it. “They’re mine. You’re mine. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Master. All yours,” she cries, her voice husky and full of yearning.

“Exactly.”

The plug suddenly leaves her bottom, and she’s surprised by how empty she feels in its absence; it’s been her near-constant companion for weeks.

“Hmm. Seems I have a dilemma,” Damon announces, interrupting her train of thought. “So many scenarios. How will I ever choose?” A cold smear of gel lands on her skin, and she shivers as he slathers lube around her rim then eases his finger inside, carefully working her open until he can add another. And a third. “Should I fill you with a nice, thick dildo—maybe a ribbed one—and fuck you with it? Or I could put the plug back in and make you watch while I stroke my dick. You’ll drip on the duvet, desperate for release, as I jack myself off. If you’re really good, I’ll paint your lovely face with my cum. What do you think?”

“No, please,” she whines. He wouldn’t deny her once they’ve come this far, would he?

“You have a better idea?”

She knows what he’s longing to hear, but she chews her lip, hesitant to speak. A loud smack on her behind reminds her that he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

“Let’s have it, pet,” he growls.

“I don’t want a toy. I want you.” Her mouth is dry, and her sluggish tongue fumbles with the words. “Fuck me, Master.”

“Where.”

Goosebumps erupt on her skin at his demanding tone. “My ass. Just . . . please.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, and she catches a glimpse of him drizzling lube into his palm and slicking up his hard length. She’ll feel him, really feel him, for the first time tonight. No barriers between them, just as they agreed during the numerous discussions leading up to this moment, and there’s not a single regret in her mind.

“I’ve dreamed about taking you here”—he parts her cheeks, teasing her with the very tip of his cock—“and now you’re ready.”

“Yes,” she moans as he slips past her relaxed opening, each movement slow and measured, letting her accommodate to his size before pressing further. The initial thrust is tentative and shallow, but so good. So fucking good. Nothing she’s experienced thus far compares to the unusual but pleasant sensation of having him slip deeper into her back passage.

It’s exhilarating to give herself to him like this. To please him in a way she never thought she could.

Damon grunts as his thrusts gain more traction. “You’re so beautifully tight, kitten. You feel amazing wrapped around my cock.” His hand drifts to her sex, fingers playing between her folds and rubbing her clit with unhurried finesse. It’s nowhere near enough to push her over the edge, but it keeps her in a constant state of simmering arousal.

On the next stroke, the fullness becomes nearly overwhelming. It’s not painful, but it is uncomfortable. He isn’t completely buried within her, but he’s close. As tension creeps into her muscles, she gulps in a few calming breaths, willing her body to chill.

“Elena.” His soft, soothing tone acts like a balm as he pries her fingers loose from their grip on the bedding and smooths the pad of his thumb across her palm. It takes her a moment to realize he’s stopped moving. “Tell me where you’re at. Safeword if you need to, and if you don’t answer me, I will.”

“I’m okay. Can I . . . have a second?” she asks shakily.

“Of course. You’re not in any pain? No cramping?”

“No.”

“Good.” A kiss lands on the center of her back, followed by another on her shoulder blade. “When you’re ready, squeeze my hand.”

She closes her eyes, focusing on steadying her breathing. Replicating the inhale-exhale exercise he did with her earlier, she waits for the unnerving feeling to pass. While Damon murmurs his encouragement and caresses her sweat-dampened skin, she gradually adjusts, stretching to fit him. Jolts of bliss reignite, heat spiraling through her veins. She shifts, hesitant at first, taking more of his cock, getting bolder with each bob of her hips. The feather-light touch on her clit resumes as she grips his hand, signaling without words that she’s still all in.

Responding to her cue, he pumps into her, seating himself nearly to the hilt. “Push a little for me, princess,” he instructs, and she eagerly complies. “There we go.”

He sets a delicious tempo that builds until her only desire is to meet him thrust for thrust. His balls slap against her slick flesh as he fills her ass over and over. High-pitched cries spill from her lips, nearly drowning out his continuous loop of groans and curses.

“Not gonna last much longer,” he warns, his rhythm faltering. “You feel too goddamn incredible.”

She bucks in her restraints, hands twisting, grasping; toes curling and splaying. She’s hovering on the edge, so close to coming, but no matter how much her legs tremble and her pussy clenches, she’s not quite there yet. Tears prick her eyes, and her frustrated whine sounds pitiful even to her own ears.

Attuned to her struggles, Damon roughly strokes her clit, matching the rapid drive of his shaft. “That what you need?”

“God, yes.”

His hips stutter, his cock jerking as her muscles constrict around him. “Come, Elena,” he rasps, “right the fuck now. Wanna hear those screams while you milk my dick.”

That’s all it takes to break the dam. Her orgasm crashes into her with wave after wave of blinding pleasure, and she’s powerless to do anything but ride it out, writhing and wailing in never-ending ecstasy. He follows moments later, shouting her name as his release hits and he bathes her tight passage with jets of his seed.

*****

Elena stirs, her senses slowly rebooting. “Damon?” she croaks, too beat to lift her heavy lids. The last thing she recalls is hollering her throat raw while weathering the most intense climax of her life. After that, it was lights out.

“I’m here, lover.”

Normally, she'd reach for him, or at least try to, but even that simple act is beyond her capabilities.

“Where?”

He answers with his mouth, kissing her just as he promised he would, trailing his lips from her forehead to her cheek. When they eventually settle on hers, her eyes flutter open and she kisses him back as best she can, but it’s lethargic and uncoordinated. He smiles at her efforts, bumping her nose with his.

“How do you feel?”

“Um.” Aside from being exhausted, she hasn’t taken stock of the rest of her. She flexes her hands and stretches her legs, pleasantly surprised to find she’s not as stiff and achy as she expected. “Tired but kinda amazing, actually.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

She nods, blushing wildly. With her first anal sex romp behind her, she should be done with that shit.

“Lucky me. My girl loves having her ass reamed. In a good way,” he clarifies, smirking at his own joke. “Sore?”

“A little,” she admits. “It’s more like, uh, thoroughly . . . worked over?”

Damon chuckles and tucks her against his side. “I believe the term you’re looking for is ‘well-fucked.’”

“Smartass.” While testing her limbs, she did notice something else. After the massage oil and lube job, she was basically the human equivalent of a slip-‘n-slide, but there’s none of that now. “Did I shower in my sleep? I thought I’d be stickier.”

He nudges her thighs apart, just enough to fit his hand between them, and cups her sex. The gesture is purely possessive and warms her to the depths of her soul.

“I cleaned you up afterward, but I could easily make you dirty again,” he purrs, peppering more kisses along her throat and the curve of her shoulder.

“Maybe hold off until I figure out if I can still walk straight.” His soft hair brushes her skin, and she shivers at the ticklish sensation. “How am I going to survive work tomorrow?” she mutters.

“By passing the hours remembering who mastered your body. Every time you move, you’ll know exactly where I’ve been,” he says with that smug tone, entirely too proud of himself.

“You’re wicked.”

“I am, but you love me.”

“I do.”

More and more each day.

Chapter Text

Fifty-eight minutes to go. You can do this.

By this point in the day, her own motivational speeches are the only thing keeping her going. Well, those and the fact that she’ll be seeing Damon again in less than an hour.

Her hellish Monday began with a message from Amy claiming she was sick and wouldn’t be able to make it in. Her pathetic coughing sounded fake, but it’s not like Elena could call her back and demand she show up. She’s not the boss, after all.

In between wrangling the morning’s patients, Caroline sent her a string of texts apologizing for spilling the beans to Jeremy. After reassuring her friend that she wasn’t upset with her, Elena spent the remainder of the pre-lunch hours trying not to blush profusely every time she moved and her still achy body reminded her of last night’s adventures. Damon didn’t help matters, of course. His texts were as sinful as Care’s were sweet.

I can still feel you around me, so tight and perfect.

The way you begged me to fuck your ass was beautiful. Can’t wait to take you there again.

Your needy kitten voice keeps playing over and over in my head. It’s making me so goddamn hard for you.

She opened that last one just as a white-haired grandmother shuffled up to the reception desk, and Elena choked on her coffee so spectacularly that the poor lady was ready to summon one of the doctors or nurses to come to her aid. She drew the attention of the entire office, including a very concerned Dr. Wes, who patted her on the back until the fit passed.

The most jarring moments of the day came when the waiting room emptied and she found herself alone at the desk. While her indulgent, sensual weekend distracted her from the harshness of reality, every ounce of anxiety and paranoia came flooding back when she glanced out the window, expecting to see Enzo peering in at her—that same chilling leer on his face—or his black SUV lurking in the parking lot. She jumped at the slightest noise and the barest hint of movement. She was starting to feel unhinged, frayed at the seams.

Damon noticed her frazzled state when he picked her up for lunch, and he spent most of the hour reassuring her and coaxing her into eating her sandwich. She got half of it down but had to pass the rest to him because her stomach was a knotted mess. He watched with worried eyes as she constantly looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was spying on them. On the drive back to the office, he suggested she take the rest of the day off, but without Amy, that wasn’t an option. Damon’s parting hug and kiss were what gave her the strength to face the afternoon. Those precious extra seconds wrapped in his coat with him, rubbing her cheek on his soft button-down, did wonders.

With renewed determination, she met with Dr. Olly and made her request to trim her hours. She explained as much of the situation as she dared, substituting “stalker” for “henchman in a sex trafficking ring.” The doctor was horrified at what she was going through and easily agreed to her proposition. As it turned out, his granddaughter was joining the fold in two weeks, so she could pick up the slack in Elena’s absence.

Her next stop was the head of security, and with Dr. Olly’s blessing, she showed him a picture of Enzo and received a solemn promise that the officer would immediately report any sightings or suspicious activity. More at ease than she’d been since dragging herself out of bed that morning, she tackled the rest of the day’s work with a renewed burst of energy.

Now, that boost is long gone and she’s flagging, her only hope being whatever life-saving chocolate the vending machine has to offer. Spotting a package of M&Ms, she punches in the code and checks her phone, finding two missed calls and a text from her brother. She ignores all of it and tears into the candy instead, popping a handful into her mouth.

“Elena!”

Oh, shit. Chewing frantically, she manages to swallow before she gets caught with chipmunk cheeks full of chocolate. Clearing her throat, she turns to greet the other doctor, plastering what she hopes is a passable smile onto her face.

“Dr. Wes, hi.”

He approaches with his usual, amiable grin, hands in his pockets, his shoes lightly scuffing the floor.

“Dr. Olly tells me we’ll be seeing less of you soon. That’s unfortunate,” he murmurs, seeming honestly bummed by the news. “You’ll be missed.”

“Thanks.” She doesn’t know what else to say, so she rolls and unrolls the top of her M&M bag while an awkward silence settles around them.

Dr. Wes is the one to finally break it. “Is everything okay, Elena? You haven’t been your usual, cheerful self today.”

Dr. Olly must have left out the details. “Um, just a little stressed.”

Understatement.

He observes her closely as if he doesn’t believe she’s being completely honest with him. “That’s it? You’re happy otherwise? Things are good between you and Damon?”

When her brows shoot up in surprise, he dips his head and studies his loafers.

“Sorry, that was rude of me.”

Once the shock from his blunt inquisitiveness about her relationship with Damon passes, she waves away his apology. “It’s fine, and yes, we’re good.” Deciding there’s no harm in divulging a condensed version of her ongoing dilemma, she continues. “Someone’s been stalking me, and there were a couple . . . incidents. That’s why I’m cutting back on my hours. It’s less risky if I don’t leave the house.”

Her fragile wisp of a laugh punctuates the startling revelation. It’s inappropriate, but it beats bursting into tears in front of Dr. Wes, who looks as upset as Dr. Olly did.

“Why didn’t you say something before now?” When she shrugs, refusing to admit her own foolish stubbornness, his eyes widen. “If you wanted to quit, no one would blame you.”

“I know, but I can’t hide until this goes away. Working distracts me from worrying.”

He nods. “We can ramp up our security. It’s important that you feel safe here.”

She smiles, and this time, it’s genuine. “Already taken care of.”

“That’s a relief.” Dr. Wes checks his watch, and she glances at the clock. 4:22. “Why don’t you head home? You’ve had a long day, and you deserve a break.”

“That’s very kind of you, but your last patient will be here any minute—”

“I can handle it,” he interrupts. “Go.”

An extra half-hour to relax would be heaven, but she’s hesitant to cut out early. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He winks and shoos her toward the reception area. “Have a nice evening, Elena.”

“You, too.”

Munching on M&Ms as she rounds the desk, she quickly gathers her things and types a text to Damon.

I’m free! What do you say we put this thirty-minute bonus to good use? ;)

*****

Stretching her arms and twisting until her back gives a satisfying pop, Elena surveys the piles of clothing scattered on the floor of the walk-in closet. It’s all hers, of course. Damon’s clothes are in neat stacks or hanging in crisp, ironed, color-coordinated rows. The man excels at order and making the most of his time, a skill he displayed yet again when he took full advantage of her early departure from work.

The moment they crossed the threshold, her feet left the ground as he hoisted her into his arms. Two seconds later, her legs were wrapped around his hips, and his mouth was fused to hers. They made it as far as the kitchen before her skirt was rolled up to her waist and Damon’s pants had slipped to the vicinity of his knees. As her back met the cool surface of the stainless steel fridge, her hand was already circling his stiff cock, guiding him to where she wanted him most.

The sex was perfect—hard, fast, all-consuming—just what she needed after a long, tiring, frustrating day. She can still feel the slam of his hips as he drove into her and the rough press of his thumb rubbing her clit into a tight knot until she screamed from the sheer ecstasy. The echoes of their coupling make her cheeks burn with heat, and she glances at Damon, wondering if he’s noticed. Thankfully, he’s buried in his book, oblivious to her predicament.

Hoping to douse the blaze before she pounces on him again, her gaze skips around the room, landing on a framed photo of Damon and Stefan when they were kids. Damon’s arm is circling his brother’s neck in a loose headlock, and their eyes are crinkled with laughter, their joy genuine. The shot must’ve been taken while their mother was still alive. In fact, she was probably the one behind the camera.

Wistfulness transforms into a blast of ice-cold dread as Enzo’s words slither through her mind.

He needs to know what it’s like to lose everything.

The comment’s dark implication slices into her like the sharpest blade, and her hands go numb while her heartbeat thunders in her ears.

“Elena?”

He needs to know what it’s like.

“‘Lena? You’ve folded the same shirt five times.”

To lose.

“Hey.” There’s a soft touch on her shoulder then the curve of her throat, trying to get her attention, but she can’t seem to break the cycle.

Everything.

“Elena.”

Damon jerks her chin toward him a little rougher than he must’ve intended because his grip gentles as soon as she focuses on him. “Are you alright?” he murmurs, his fingers absently stroking her skin. “You looked like you were a thousand miles away.”

She shakes her head. “There was something Enzo said. At the apartment,” she quietly confesses.

“What was it?” Damon prompts.

She swallows thickly, the full brunt of the asshole’s words sinking in. “He said you need to know what it’s like to lose everything.”

“Yeah, he’d enjoy that,” Damon mutters, rolling his eyes.

His nonchalance is surprising, and she squeezes his arm as her anxiety spikes again. “This scheme of his is bigger than we thought. What if he gets tired of messing with me and goes after Stefan instead? I’m not the only person in your life,” she reminds him. “And the club. What if he tries to take that from you, too? He could kidnap the other subs . . .”

Damon cups her face, his touch lowering her panic level from boil to simmer. “Everyone knows the situation, and they’re taking extra precautions. Kat hardly lets Stef out of her sight.”

The reassurances fall on deaf ears as another terrifying scenario unfolds in her brain. “What if he comes for you?” she whispers.

“I’d like to see him try,” he counters smoothly.

“Damon, I’m serious!”

She expects him to brush off her concern, and she wads up the shirt in her lap, preparing for a fight. Safety is always a priority for him except when it comes to his own.

Instead of answering, he stands and tugs her to her feet then whisks her tank top over her head, peels off her shorts, and unclasps her bra, pushing the straps from her shoulders until it falls to the floor with the rest of her clothes. She’s left in nothing but a pair of skimpy undies, and she shivers as goosebumps dot her skin. He reaches past her and grabs one of his black tees, and she raises her arms, more than ready to be cocooned in the soft fabric.

Dressed in her favorite PJs, the hem of his shirt tickling her thighs, she studies him, searching for any hint of what he might be thinking. His expression is neutral as he ditches his clothes, dropping them in a heap with hers. If this tactic is meant to be a distraction, he succeeded because she can’t stop staring at his gloriously naked self.

She licks her lips, ignoring his smirk. “What are you—”

Her question is cut short when he scoops her up and carries her to the bed, settling beside her in their nest of down pillows and silk sheets. He hooks a leg over hers, scooching her closer.

“That’s enough worrying for today,” he murmurs, moving the collar of his shirt out of the way so he can leave a kiss on her collarbone.

“I’m worried about you.”

“Likewise.”

“You’re looking out for me, but who’s looking out for you?” she presses.

“I’ll be fine.” He shifts his hips, poking her belly with the tip of his cock. His very hard, very interested cock.

Oh, no you don’t. Refusing to give in and let him fuck her fears away, she cradles his cheek, his stubble scraping her palm. “You know how you’re always saying that if anything happens to me, you’ll lose it? Well, ditto. So don’t act as if it’s no big deal, Damon. Enzo’s unpredictable, and he’s proven he’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants.” She smooths a hand over his chest and places a kiss directly above his heart. “Please be careful.”

Damon nods, smiling tenderly. “I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

*****

“You really made it too easy, pet.”

The voice she knows all too well but wishes she didn’t fills the dank, suffocating space and sends her blood pumping faster through her veins. This can’t be happening. There’s no way.

A switch snaps, and the room is illuminated with the weak light from a single, bare bulb dangling from the ceiling. She blinks as her eyes struggle to adjust after being subjected to nothing but darkness for hours on end. When they finally focus on the sight in front of her, her heart stutters and a strangled gasp catches in her throat.

No, no, no.

She squeezes her lids shut, willing the scene to change, but when she reopens them, everything remains the same: Enzo is standing in the eerie halo of light beneath the bulb, a vicious, victorious grin on his face. Her gaze lands on the dull metal of the glock in his hand, following it to where it meets skin. She forgets how to breathe as he presses the barrel tighter to Damon’s temple. Tears cloud her vision as she fights against the cuffs locking her hands behind her back.

“Stop it, you sick fuck!” she screams through her sobs. “You have me. Let him go!”

“What would be the fun in that?” Enzo’s boot connects with Damon’s leg, sending him to his knees. “How does the saying go? ‘Kill two birds with one stone’? Well, I have my own version,” he reveals with a sneer. “Kill one bird and become ridiculously rich off the other one.”

“Please . . . no. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“That’s already a given.” The lecherous gleam in his eye makes her stomach heave, and she swallows the bile creeping up her throat.

She stares at Damon, twisting helplessly in her bonds. Her chest aches and every breath she forces into her lungs is agony. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers over and over. “It’s all my fault.”

Damon shakes his head, the gun biting into his skin. “It’s not, baby. Please believe that.” A tear rolls down his cheek and drops onto his shirt, staining the material. “I love you, and I always will.”

She can barely get the words past her trembling lips. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

“Tragic but a bit overdramatic if you ask me,” Enzo mutters dryly. “Let’s get on with it then. Say goodbye to your lover, bitch.”

“No!”

With the gunshot still ringing in her ears, Elena jolts awake, her heart pounding in horror and grief, her face wet with tears. A drowsy grumble from beside her draws her attention, and relief washes through her at the sight of Damon, unharmed but unhappy that his arm is no longer hugging her waist. He pats the sheets, searching for her, and she links her fingers with his, combing through his disheveled hair with her free hand. The soothing caresses lull him back to sleep, but she can’t seem to stop touching him, needing the reassurance that he’s healthy and whole.

All she can think about is the blood—so much blood—and Enzo’s laughter. With those gruesome reminders banging around in her skull, she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to sleep again. She tries closing her eyes and curling closer to Damon, holding onto him like a lifeline, but the scene plays on an endless loop in her mind, robbing her of rest. As the minutes tick by and turn into the early morning hours, she gives up and slips out of bed as quietly as she can without disturbing the softly snoring man next to her.

Tiptoeing downstairs, she wanders into the kitchen, aimlessly searching for something to either knock her out or distract her. A cup of chamomile tea would be nice, but she doesn’t want the screech of the kettle to wake Damon. She contemplates cracking a bottle of bourbon, but showing up to work half-drunk wouldn’t suit. Settling on a mug of hot chocolate, she takes it with her to the couch and grabs a blanket off the back. The house is warm, but she’s chilled to the bone.

While she sips the cocoa, she analyzes her nightmare. Maybe if she can dismantle it, the lingering panic will fade. It’s strange how different her dream iteration of Damon was from the real one. That version had been defeated and resigned to his fate, resembling the part of her that can’t shake the fear that there’s no way this shitstorm with Enzo will end well. If the terrifying situation were to ever come to pass, god forbid, she knows Damon would fight until the last second, even with a gun to his head. Trembling at the thought, she wraps her hands tighter around her mug, hoping it’ll chase away the cold.

“Elena?”

She jumps at the soft sound, spilling a few drops of hot, chocolatey milk on her thigh. Using the edge of the shirt, she mops up the mess, rubbing at the pink mark on her skin.

“Hey.” He sinks down beside her and peels back the blanket, studying the spot she’s scrubbing. “Are you okay?”

Not even close. “Just being a klutz.”

He takes the mug from her and sets it on the coffee table then shifts her legs into his lap. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Bad dream,” she quietly admits, avoiding his concerned gaze. One glimpse of his beautiful, pale blue eyes, and she’ll be instantly transported to the vision of him on his knees, moments from death, telling her how much he loves her. No, she can’t go there right now.

“Baby, you’re shaking.”

Damon pulls her to him, tucking her head under his chin and rubbing her back. She tightens her grip on him until her muscles burn, afraid he’ll vanish if she lets go.

“What happened in the dream?” he murmurs, rearranging the blanket and wrapping the fleece securely around her.

She doesn’t want to say the words, but they pour out anyway. “Enzo had us. I begged him to stop.” She pauses to catch her breath, her teeth chattering from the tremors battering her body. “He wouldn’t. He k-killed you in front of me,” she stammers, hiding her face against his chest, grateful for the warm skin and steady heartbeat that remind her he’s alive.

Minutes tick by as she tries to regain some sense of calm, failing miserably. She’s hovering on the edge of a full-blown panic attack when she feels Damon shift. Focusing on the gentle swaying motion, she realizes he’s rocking her and . . . humming?

The low timbre of his voice cuts through her anxiety, the tension gradually draining out of her. As she listens to the unfamiliar tune, the nightmare retreats to the depths of her mind, muted by Damon’s impeccable ability to give comfort. It’s like an aftercare session, relaxing her and easing her back to reality.

When the song ends, Elena’s struggling to stay awake. “What was that?” she mumbles into the blanket.

“Hmm?” His hand is buried in her hair, massaging her scalp.

“The song.”

“Mom used to sing it to me when I was a kid. I had a hard time winding down at night, but that always did the trick,” he explains.

“It’s nice.” She yawns and snuggles deeper into his arms, pulling the fleece over her face to cover the sudden burning in her cheeks. It was only a dream for shit’s sake. “Sorry for being such a flake.”

He sighs and untangles her from the blanket, cupping her chin when she attempts to look away. “You’re not a flake.”

“If you say so.”

He neatly sidesteps her halfhearted retort. “You need a break. It wouldn’t hurt to leave town for a few days.”

“Mmm.” It’s an appealing suggestion, but she’s too tired for any serious planning . . . or thinking.

“Still with me, kitten?”

“M’yeah.”

Damon chuckles and kisses her temple. “How do you feel about Savannah?”

The fog in her head clears at the mention of the getaway he promised in her birthday card. “For the weekend? Isn’t it too late to make a reservation?”

He shakes his head and flashes an enigmatic smile. “The owner of the B&B is a friend of mine. I’m sure she can squeeze us in.”

She? Stomping out the ridiculous flare of jealousy, she focuses on his proposition, formulating one of her own.

“Can I make a request?”

“Of course.”

Elena twists the bottom of her shirt into a knot, unsure of his reaction. “I’d like to give up control, the way I did when I stayed with you during the snowstorm.”

He studies her closely, brows cocked in surprise. “You’re sure?”

She nods. “I always feel safe with you, but when I’m collared and cuffed . . . it’s an extra layer of security. Things up here,” she taps her forehead, “quiet down.”

His smile returns as he pries her fingers from the wrinkled material of the t-shirt, stilling her fidgeting. “You’d wear my collar for the entire trip, even in public. Are you okay with that?”

“The usual one?” A chunky leather collar might draw unwanted attention from people who don’t understand its meaning.

“No. What I have in mind is much less conspicuous.”

Oh, good. She loves her play collar, but the fleece lining and warm, sticky weather don’t mix. “Cuffs?”

“Only in the B&B.”

“Any special rules?”

“Just one, and it’s very important.” She nods, waiting for his instructions. “I don’t want you worrying about anything or anyone. Leave it all to me. If you start to feel anxious, let me know immediately, and we’ll work through it. Can you do that for me, lover?” he asks, gently tugging on her earlobe.

It’ll take extra focus to table her fears, even temporarily, but she’ll do her best. “Yes.”

“That’s my girl.”

*****

Elena’s standing by the door, hands clasped loosely behind her back, when Damon brings their bags downstairs. The strapless, midnight blue sundress he chose looks stunning on her. The snug bodice shows off the generous swell of her breasts, and the skirt falls midway to her knees, appropriate but accessible. He neglected to give her panties—there aren’t any packed, either—and his dick twitches at the vision of what her dress is barely hiding. His hands are already itching to explore her, especially the warm, slick haven in the valley of her thighs.

“Ready to go, princess?” he calls to her, smiling as her eyes light up at the endearment. For the next two days, his goal is to keep the darkness haunting her at bay. He wants her relaxed, content, wet, and needy—not necessarily in that order.

“Yes, Master.”

He tilts her chin up for a kiss then pulls a box from his suitcase, removing the band of ruffled satin within. “Turn around for me.”

She spins on her heel, scooping her hair out of the way in anticipation. He slips the matching, deep blue choker around her throat and secures the clasp. It’s not a traditional collar, so it shouldn’t raise any eyebrows.

“There.”

He turns her so she can see her reflection in the door’s mirrored glass.

“It’s lovely,” she beams. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Once they’re settled in the Lexus—more comfortable for long drives than his usual baby—he adjusts the AC and glances at Elena, who’s scowling at her phone. She drops it in the cup holder and stares out the window, sighing softly. The screen flashes, revealing her brother’s name on the display.

“Jeremy’s calling.”

She makes no move to answer it. “I know.”

That’s . . . odd. “You’re not going to take it?”

“No.”

“Things okay between you two?” They clearly aren’t, but he’s counting on her to provide the details. Her relationship with her brother has been rocky lately (thanks to him), but ignoring Jeremy’s calls is a new wrinkle.

“Not really. He found out about my stint in the hospital, and he’s being an ass.”

The reason why isn’t difficult to deduce. “He blames me.”

“Bingo,” she mutters. “I told him it wasn’t your fault and to back off. He obviously didn’t get the message.”

“Maybe he’s cooled down.” He doesn’t know the guy, but he’s willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Unlikely.”

“Elena . . . it’s none of my business, but you can’t shut him out forever. He’s worried. If the situation were reversed, you’d feel the same.”

She sighs again, closing her eyes. “I know. I’ll call him when we get home. He’s not ruining my weekend.”

“Fair enough.”

As he shifts the car into drive, Elena relaxes in her seat, the tension leaving her shoulders. The situation with Jeremy is more stress she doesn’t need, and he adds it to the do-not-discuss-or-even-hint-at list.

It’s a good thing he has ample plans to keep her distracted.

*****

His girl nodded off as soon as they hit the highway. Damon was relieved she was finally resting, at least until she started writhing in her seat and moaning his name. At first, he suspected she was deliberately teasing him, and he was preparing to pull over and take her across his knee when the moans faded into snores. The wet dream may have passed, but the sweet scent of her desire is still filling the car, and his dick has been throbbing for an hour now, aching to be inside her.

Just as he’s fantasizing about laying her in the back seat and burying his tongue—and cock—between her folds, she shifts beside him, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

“Welcome back.”

She blinks a few times as if she doesn’t recall how they ended up in the car or where they’re going, then she graces him with a sleepy smile as the pieces fall into place. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour and a half.”

“Wow. That was supposed to be a power nap.”

Oh, it was powerful. “Have any good dreams?”

“Um.” Her eyes widen and she crosses her legs like she’s just discovered a certain . . . dampness. “I think so, but the details are a little vague.”

“Didn’t sound vague to me. In fact, it seemed like I had a starring role.”

She tangles her hands in her lap, her smile growing along with the blush staining her cheeks. “Now that you mention it, you might’ve been there, too.”

Such a minx. “While you were having a romp with dream-me, you left real-me to suffer with a raging hard-on, so you’re going to make it up to me. Spread your legs,” he growls. “Nice and wide.”

“But—”

“Now, Elena. Unless you’d rather have me pull into a rest stop so a horde of horny truckers can catch a glimpse of me paddling your ass?” he suggests. The rest stop’s actually a decent idea. He’s not waiting another two hours to lose himself in her silky heat.

She hurries to comply with his order, her legs falling open until her skirt rides high on her thighs. A few more inches and her sex would be on full display.

“Wider.” Once the material is just barely covering her slit, he pats her knee. “Much better, pet. Now, I want you to stroke your pussy and keep yourself wet for me. Slowly,” he warns as she gasps and her eyes flutter shut. “You’re not allowed to come. This is for my pleasure.”

She stifles a whine of protest, but her fingers go to work, gliding over her smooth mound. He grips the wheel as her scent floods his senses again, and he instinctively licks his lips. God, he wants a taste so fucking bad.

“Tell me how amazing you’re going to feel around my cock.”

“So good, Master,” she purrs. “I’m already dripping.” She lifts her leg to show him the moisture pooling on the leather seat. “You’ll slip inside so easily.”

Christ. He pulls her hand from between her thighs, admiring the juices coating her fingers. He meticulously cleans each digit, swirling his tongue over her knuckles, collecting every drop. “Divine, as always.” While sampling her essence, he hasn’t lost track of her other hand, which is creeping dangerously close to her clit.

Her hips jerk at his murmured praise, and her lips part as her head tips back against the seat. Her ragged exhales and the slight tremor in her thighs hint that she’s losing control despite her efforts to obey his no-orgasm rule. Can’t have that.

“Someone’s enjoying herself a little too much,” he chides. “Hands behind the seat. Lace your fingers together and don’t let go, understood?”

“Yes, Master.” She does as she’s told, whimpering at the loss of stimulation. She rolls her hips, desperately seeking another source of friction, her eyes pleading for his touch.

He cups her sex, his thumb skimming her slit. Parting her folds, he slips a finger into her sheath and . . . goddamn. She feels so heavenly that he’s tempted to fuck her right here on the side of the highway. An arrest for public indecency would derail their trip, so he reins in his body’s demands and focuses on keeping Elena teetering on the brink of release. Every time she gets close to tipping over the edge, he pinches her clit, breaking the spiral of ecstasy only to wind her up again seconds later.

Her moans of frustration grow louder with each orgasm he denies, but she doesn’t beg. She endures the torment like the well-trained sub she is, and a surge of pride slows his pace and softens his strokes.

“That’s a good girl,” he soothes, spotting the exit ramp ahead. This ache has been plaguing him long enough; he’s ready to cure it.

The rest area is crowded with cars, but he manages to find a slot away from the families with minivans full of kids and the gray-haired couples arguing over directions and senior discounts. Parking by a row of semis, he surveys the scene, ensuring they don’t have any unwanted company. The windows are tinted, so they’ll be shielded from prying eyes. Curious ears, however . . .

He glances at Elena, noting her rigid posture. Her legs remain splayed wide, but her gaze ticks back and forth between the tractor trailers as if she’s afraid the mob of truckers he mentioned earlier are about to descend upon them.

“Something wrong?” he asks, undoing her seatbelt then his own.

“They’ll see us,” she frets.

“No, they won’t, and if you can be a quiet kitten, they won’t hear us, either.”

She doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but she nods, accepting the challenge. She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin, a familiar look settling on her beautiful face: determination.

With his help, she climbs into the back seat, and he joins her, tugging her down to straddle his lap. His hands delve beneath her skirt, palming her ass and massaging her thighs. His knuckles brush her sex, revealing that she’s still wet and eager for him.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he whispers as he digs in his pocket for a condom and yanks open his fly. His dick springs out of his pants like it’s been waiting forever for this moment, and he grunts in relief, happy to be free of the confining material. Rolling the condom over his hard length, he presses the tip against Elena’s entrance then grasps her hips, thrusting up while she sinks onto his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” she rasps, gripping the collar of his shirt.

“Such a dirty mouth.” He slaps her ass, two hard swats on each cheek, then kneads away the sting. “But you’re right; that’s exactly what you’re going to do. You’re gonna fuck me.” His teeth close on her earlobe, nipping her. “You’re gonna ride my dick and squeeze me until I come, then maybe, if I’m feeling generous, you’ll get yours.” Spreading her cheeks, he lubes a finger with her own juices and teases her puckered opening, savoring the way she shivers in response. “Get moving, princess.”

“Yes, M-master,” she answers shakily, raising her hips until only the head of his cock is still inside her then engulfing him to the hilt. She’s the velvet to his steel, the give to his take. As she bobs on his shaft, she leans in to nuzzle the crook of his neck, muffling her cries against his skin.

“Faster,” he growls, circling her rim then easing his finger into her snug passage. She jumps at the unexpected sensation, impaling herself further on his digit while clenching around his dick. “That’s it, just like that.”

Fueled by his encouragement, she bounces on his lap, her inner walls gripping him when she rises then relaxing as she slides back down to the base of his cock. Her lips work at his throat, kissing and sucking on her favorite spot just underneath his jaw. He groans at the onslaught of bliss, his balls growing heavy. He won’t last a minute longer.

Elena mewls as he lazily fingers her ass, her muscles tightening with every thrust of her hips. “Shh, almost there. Keep fucking.”

The pace turns frantic as she drives him closer to release. She clamps onto his dick, and it jerks in warning. Gathering a fistful of her hair, he guides her mouth to his just before his orgasm hits. His strangled shout is swallowed by their kiss, and he holds her in place while she milks him for all he’s worth. Once the last shudder passes, he rests his forehead against hers, their shaky breaths mingling in the aftermath.

“Did I please you, Master?” she asks, her lips ghosting over his cheek.

He nods, his hand drifting to the spot where they’re joined, his thumb finding her clit. “Let me show you how much.”

Damon rubs the sensitive knot at the top of her sex, his finger still thrusting between her cheeks. A violent tremor wracks her body, and she clutches the curls at his nape as if she’s afraid she’ll fly apart too soon. He hasn’t granted permission yet.

She writhes at his ministrations, fighting not to succumb to the pleasure. He presses harder on her clit, and she bites her lip, nearly drawing blood. “I can’t,” she gasps. “If I scream—”

“I’ve got you.” He nudges her toward his shoulder, and she buries her face in his shirt, smothering a squeal. “Come for me, baby. You’ve earned it.”

Her hips buck wildly as an orgasm tears through her. The shriek that leaves her throat is muted but anyone close enough could probably hear it. A quick check outside doesn’t reveal any concerned passersby, so their secret is safe.

Elena sags against him, mumbling something he can’t catch then giggling at her own remark.

“What was that?”

She glances up at him with a loopy smile. “We’ve defiled both of your vehicles. Oh, and the fancy town car you hired when we went out for dinner that time. I didn’t realize you had such a car kink.”

He arches a brow. “Are you complaining?”

“No,” she says, laying her head on his shoulder, spent but sated. “Not at all.”

Chapter Text

As they pull into the parking lot of the B&B, Elena flips open her mirror to assess the damage. Her makeup didn’t suffer too badly—it’s nothing a lip gloss touch-up can’t fix—but her hair . . .

Total disaster. After they recovered from their initial back seat escapade, wandering hands and mouths led to another round of scream-muffling, mind-melting, fog-up-the-windows sex. Someone couldn’t stop tugging on her long locks, and no amount of finger-combing or fluffing can save them now.

“How do I look?” she asks, smoothing the disheveled waves as Damon cuts the ignition. Maybe she can pass it off as summertime, wind-blown, road trip chic.

“Beautiful,” Damon husks, the pad of his thumb grazing her bottom lip. “And also like you’ve been fucked six ways from Sunday.”

“Perfect,” she groans, straightening her dress and adjusting the bodice so her breasts don’t make a surprise appearance. She cleaned up in the rest stop bathroom, but she must’ve missed a spot because she’s still a tad . . . sticky.

Damon didn’t come away unscathed either, although mussed-but-still-sexy-as-hell suits him.

“We’re staying at a kinky bed-and-breakfast, babe, not a monastery,” he teases, hopping out of the car.

He opens her door and helps her to her feet, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. Such a gentleman, her Dom. As they approach the charming building designed in the signature Southern Gothic style and framed by statuesque oak trees dripping Spanish moss, she spots the sign bearing the establishment’s name.

“The Garden?” She glances at Damon for an explanation but he offers none. “The flowery type or the biblical, forbidden fruit type?”

“Bit of both,” he says with a sly grin.

The lobby is filled with vases of gardenias, lilies, and multicolored roses but is otherwise unassuming with the usual check-in desk, couch, and table covered in flyers for restaurants, tourist attractions, and shops. For a place billing itself as a B&B for kinksters, it’s kind of tame. Then again, Midnight has the same deceptively ordinary elements. A few layers have to be peeled back before its true nature is revealed.

The woman behind the desk hasn’t registered their presence yet. Her eyes are closed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She has a white-knuckled grip on the pen in her hand, but from the looks of it, she hasn’t been doing much writing. Must be one hell of a daydream.

Damon smirks and clears his throat, drawing the woman out of her trance. Long lashes flutter as she focuses on him, then a radiant smile blooms on her face.

“Mr. Salvatore, or should I say Master Salvatore,” she croons, pushing away from the desk and smoothing her bunched skirt. A disappointed groan sounds from somewhere beneath the oak behemoth, and she shoots a stern glance at the source.

Oh. Oh. Schooling her expression before she gets caught gawking at the shameless display, Elena braces herself for the impending meet-and-greet.

The woman approaches, emphasizing each step with a sultry swing of her hips. Her sleek black dress hugs every curve, and her fiery hair is wound into a flawless chignon. She’s tall, more so than Katherine, even with heels on, but they both exude the same confidence and subtle (well, not for Kat) air of don’t-fuck-with-me authority. So she’s friends with Damon and a Domme. Reassuring but also . . . curious. Did they date, too?

“I tell you not to be a stranger, and you do the exact opposite,” she mock-scolds him, her voice tinged with a slight Irish lilt. She leans in for a kiss, but Damon dodges it, the peck landing on his cheek instead.

Elena huffs, her hand tightening around Damon’s. He squeezes back—the nonverbal equivalent of relax—and she quells the urge to lecture the woman on boundaries. It’s only a harmless kiss from one friend to another, right?

“You’ll have to forgive the disappearing act. I’ve been too busy to do much traveling,” he explains.

“And what keeps you busy, business or pleasure?” The woman’s gaze rakes over Elena, and she tries not to fidget under the scrutiny.

Damon smiles, his pale eyes locking on Elena’s. “Both, though it’s more of the latter these days.”

“So I see. Who’s your lovely companion?”

“Elena.” Just the way he says her name has her running wet between her thighs. Again. “She’s my girlfriend and the sweetest sub a Dom could ask for. Elena, this is Mistress Isola.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Elena offers her hand and the woman clasps it in a surprisingly gentle grip.

“Likewise, my dear.” The light catches the diamonds in Elena’s bracelet, drawing Isola’s attention. “Spoken for already, I see. I didn’t think the day would come when you’d take another submissive, Damon.”

So she knows about Charlotte. Interesting.

“Neither did I, but then I met this beauty.” He raises their entwined hands and presses a kiss to Elena’s knuckles. There’s no stopping the shiver that rolls through her at the feel of his soft lips on her skin.

“I’m sure she looks exquisite in your ropes. I always did love your work. You were one of my best students,” Isola muses, tapping her chin with a manicured nail. “Have you suspended her?”

No wonder she’s so chummy. The woman must have a teacher-student kink.

“Not yet. We’re working up to it.”

Damon’s comment makes Elena’s pulse kick in anticipation. He’s tested various rope harnesses on her, breaking down the steps so she understands which ties he’s using and where they have to be placed to properly support her. The snug hold of the ropes felt so good she began to drift, flirting with subspace during a few of their sessions.

“You should join us tomorrow night,” Isola announces. “I’m sure you’ll find the scenes inspiring,” she adds with a wink, trailing a finger down the front of Damon’s wrinkled shirt. “Oh, my. Someone missed a button.”

Acting on instinct, Elena wedges herself between Isola’s hands and Damon, tending to the neglected button before Mistress Touchy-Feely. It’s not until he rumbles her name that she realizes her mistake.

Fuuuck. “I’m sorry, Master. I should’ve noticed it earlier.”

He narrows his eyes, and she wilts under the weight of his disapproval. “That’s not the problem, pet.”

“Oh.” She turns around, heat flaring in her cheeks, and meets the other woman’s calm, slightly amused gaze. “I apologize for being so rude, Mistress Isola. It won’t happen again.”

Isola studies her for a moment, then her heavily glossed lips curl into a grin. “There’s a bit of spice mixed in with that sugar, isn’t there?” she purrs. “Not to worry, my darling. All is forgiven.”

Elena sighs in relief at the pardon, but then there’s the displeased Dom standing behind her. Not even her best pout will save her from this punishment.

“Ryker!” Isola calls, and a man scrambles out from under the desk. He’s dressed conservatively in slacks and a polo shirt, but his most notable accessory is the leather collar circling his throat. “Take our guests’ bags to their room, please. They’re in 2B.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

As the man disappears with their luggage, Isola graces them with a knowing smile. “Your suite has all the amenities, of course, but I do hope you’ll mingle. Enjoy your stay!”

Nodding his thanks to their host, Damon takes her hand and leads her toward the stairs. His expression gives away nothing about what awaits her once they reach their room, but she suspects she’s going to have a sore, rosy bottom to show for it.

*****

When Isola said their room had all the amenities, Damon expected the king-size bed, private bath, and chest of extra supplies—toys, rope, condoms, lube, etc.—but he’s surprised to discover the suite also includes its own playroom. It’s an upgrade from his previous stay when the only available equipment was located in the basement dungeon. Now, he has a St. Andrew’s cross at his disposal, a padded table with a titanium suspension ring dangling above it, and a spanking bench, which is about to come in extremely handy.

Elena hasn’t made a peep since she apologized to Isola. Her shoulders are slumped, and her focus is on the plush carpet as he guides her to the bench. She remains still and quiet as he lowers the zipper on her dress, dropping the material at her feet. He slips off her pumps, replaces the satin collar with her leather one, and buckles cuffs around her ankles and wrists. Guiding her onto the bench, he positions her to his liking—back slightly arched and ass in the air—and secures her cuffs.

Crouching in front of her, he scoops her cascade of hair out of the way so he can see her. She tries a different evasion tactic, craning her neck to stare at the wall then closing her eyes when that plan fails and he grips her chin, forcing her to face him.

“No more hiding, kitten,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

Her lids drift open, and she hesitantly meets his gaze. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Well, that’s not true. I do, but . . .” She sighs and shrugs, rattling the clips on her cuffs. “I didn’t want her to touch you. I haven’t acted like that since some chick with a tramp stamp and a tongue piercing tried to steal my prom date. So much for being a sweet sub, huh?”

He’s witnessed plenty of jealousy meltdowns over the years and been guilty of a few himself. Elena’s transgression is barely a blip on the radar. “You’re still sweet. You’re also feisty when your buttons are pushed and a tad possessive, both of which I enjoy immensely.” Damon loosens his hold on her chin, cradling it in his palm. “Isola lets her fingers—and lips—do the walking, but you have nothing to worry about. We’ve never been, and never will be, more than friends.”

She brightens at the revelation, but the dimple in her cheek soon fades, replaced by a grimace. “I figured you probably didn’t date, but then there’s your history with Katherine . . .”

He smothers a grin at the memory of her introduction to Kat. He’d barely known Elena an hour, but she was less than jazzed when his ex-turned-trusted-friend cheekily stroked his lapel. He didn’t miss his sub-to-be’s fleeting moue of disappointment. She was already attached, even if it was too early to admit it, and so was he.

“Way to overreact,” Elena mutters.

And there it is—the root of the problem. Not her feelings but her actions.

“Do you know why you’re being punished?” he quietly asks.

“Because I was a jealous jerk.”

Damon considers her concise but exaggerated—jerk?!—self-assessment. “No.” She frowns, evidently confused by his answer. “Isola forgave you for the green-eyed monster routine, and I’m not in the habit of punishing someone for behavior that’s already been excused. What concerns me—and this is the reason you’re strapped to the bench—is you decided to handle the situation by yourself.”

She gulps, the sound unnaturally loud in the still room. “Oh.”

“Mmm. I distinctly recall you giving up control for the duration of our trip, but when you dove between me and Isola, you took it back.” He traces the rim of her collar, dragging his fingertip across her heated skin. “If you’ve changed your mind, just say the word and we’ll stop, but if you truly want me to take control, you have to surrender it. If you’re serious about letting go, I need you to let go.”

Her crinkled brow and lip nibble tell him she’s processing, mulling over the situation and likely replaying the scene with Isola in her mind. The intense deliberation continues for several seconds, then her tongue darts out to soothe her lip, red and swollen from the mauling it endured. “I want this,” she whispers.

He’s so focused on her mouth and the desire to taste her again that he almost doesn’t hear her. “What is it you want? Be specific, pet.”

“To let go. I give myself to you, Master,” she affirms, her soft tone infused with certainty. “Freely, completely. I’m yours.”

“Damn right you are.” He leans in until his lips brush hers, and she opens for him, expecting the smooth thrust of his tongue. He plants a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth instead, ignoring her dejected whimper as he rises and goes to collect an item from his bag.

Returning to her side, he runs the cool strip of leather over her bottom and down the back of her thigh, watching as goosebumps erupt in its wake. “Seven is a nice number,” he muses. “Maybe if we’re lucky, it’ll drive home the lesson so we don’t have a repeat of this debacle.” He slaps the paddle against his palm, pleased with the sharp snap of the impact. Decent sting, too. “Don’t forget to count for me,” he orders.

Elena bobs her head in understanding, and he skims the tool Kat gifted her for her birthday along her leg, pausing to tickle the sole of her foot while he draws up a mental blueprint of where he’ll strike. Each swat will require a fair amount of force in order to leave the heart-shaped mark on her skin, so he won’t revisit the same spot twice. It’s also why he settled on seven blows instead of ten; she’ll be sore when he’s finished, but he doesn’t want her in agony.

Taking aim, he lands the paddle on her right cheek with a satisfying crack. She jerks at the contact and squeaks out a “One!”

Within moments, a pale heart adorns her ass, surrounded by a splotchy patch of red. Unable to resist, he drops a kiss in the center of the heart, savoring the warmth radiating off her behind.

“Kat has impeccable taste in toys,” he murmurs appreciatively. Elena mumbles something under her breath, and he gathers a fistful of her hair, tugging on it in warning. “What was that? Speak up, princess.”

“Nothing, Master,” she instantly replies.

Naughty girl. The next hits fall in quick succession, and she barely hollers “Two!” before another follows on her upper thigh.

“Three!”

Time for a Q&A session to make sure she’s clear on their arrangement. “Who decides how to dress you?”

“You do, Master.”

Thwack.

“Four!”

“Who decides when to play with you and when to let you rest?”

“You do, Master.”

Thwack. A perfect heart blooms on the swell of her left cheek.

“Five!” she yelps.

“Who decides when to feed and bathe you?”

“You do, Master.”

Thwack.

She groans as the paddle connects with her other thigh. “Six!”

“Who decides when to tie you up and fuck you senseless?” he growls.

“Oh, god. You, Master.” She rocks her hips, giving him an excellent view of the splayed folds of her sex and the wetness seeping onto the padded leather beneath her. It’s an invitation to forget the spanking and get on with the fucking—tempting—but he won’t be swayed that easily.

“Be still.” Once her grinding ceases, he delivers the final blow.

“Seven!” she cries.

Tossing the paddle aside, he sinks to his knees and cups her burning cheeks. “Who’s in control?” he asks softly.

Her dark lashes flutter as she blinks back tears. “You are, Master.”

A single drop falls, and he wipes it away with his thumb. “Well done, baby.”

Freeing her from the restraints, he helps her off the bench and steadies her when she sways. He pulls her close until her bare body is flush with his clothed one. The bulge in his jeans prods her belly, eager to be inside her, but he’s not giving in. Not yet.

His hand curls around her nape, just above her collar, and eases the tense muscles there. She sighs, tipping her head into his palm as his fingers flex and release, massaging her into a state of total relaxation. The mirror on the wall behind her reflects her dappled bottom, and he soaks up the sight of his marks gracing her skin.

“We’re staying in tonight,” he decides. “I want you just like this, without a stitch on, so I can admire my handiwork. Look in the mirror, Elena.”

She glances over her shoulder and gingerly traces a heart, wincing when she encounters a tender spot. “It’s kinda cute, but . . . ow,” she pouts.

His girl truly is the most adorable creature on the planet. “I’ll slather you with cream”—in more ways than one—“to soothe the ache. The marks will fade eventually, but until then, they’ll remind you you’re mine to taste and tease, to touch, to tie. To take.”

She turns to gaze at him, lips parted, her irises a dark mocha. Her breasts press tight to his chest with each breath, her nipples puckering as they brush against his shirt. He’ll tend to them and the honey dripping down her thighs in a moment, but first . . .

“One more thing,” he husks, gripping her chin. His thumb caresses her lips, coaxing her to open wider for him, then slips inside. She sucks him in deeper, stroking him with her tongue while he fights the urge to push her to her knees and thrust his ever-ready cock into her waiting mouth. Pulling his thumb free, he captures her bottom lip between his teeth, nipping her. “You don’t need to be jealous. Not now, not ever. You’re it for me, Elena.”

A smile breaks through the haze of her desire, joy combining with raw sensuality in a potent combination. Her happiness is his; it’s infectious, warming him to the core and healing painful memories of unrequited love and commitment. All of it—the roles, the play, the rules, the lifestyle—is meaningless without her. She’s the center of his world, and although he holds the leash, she owns him, body and soul.

He seals the promise with a kiss, claiming her mouth and showing her the truth of his words with each swipe of tongue and tug of teeth. Leaving the punishment behind them, he gathers her in his arms, carrying her from the playroom to the four-poster heaped with ivory and powder blue bedding. The tranquil color scheme is fitting for an evening of R&R: a shared meal, a bubble bath, lazy kisses, heated caresses, and languorous sex that only winds down when the sun comes up.

*****

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who never wants anything for Christmas,” Elena mutters.

It’s the same tone she reserves for assholes who cut her off in traffic and jerks who don’t hold doors for elderly folks. He just didn’t expect it’d be directed at him after the pleasant day they’ve had so far—touring Savannah’s historic district, taking a riverboat cruise, strolling through Forsyth Park, listening to a guide tell them local ghost stories, and eating themselves silly.

It’s nice, being a tourist. He hasn’t gone on vacation since . . . when? The holidays, probably. A ski trip to Asheville with Stefan, Kat, and the Mikaelson brood. It’s funny; Elena was only a few hours away, celebrating at Jenna’s, but they didn’t know each other then. This year, he hopes she’ll join him.

But back to the current dilemma and his unhappy girlfriend, who’s glaring a hole into his t-shirt. It was the shopping. That’s when the trouble started.

“I didn’t say that.” He tosses a couple bills in the tip jar, scowls at the starry-eyed teen behind the counter who won’t stop ogling Elena, and somehow manages to lift the behemoth sundae without disturbing the mountain of whipped cream or the cherry on top.

Ushering Elena to a table, he sets the dish between them and scoops a gob of chocolate ice cream and hot fudge onto the spoon. He aims for her mouth, but she presses her lips together, denying entry.

Well, that’s a first.

“Trying to butter me up?”

“No.” She doesn’t seem convinced, but she relents on the second attempt, moaning as the sweet treat hits her tongue. “If I were trying to butter you up, I’d skip the ice cream, buy a can of Reddi-wip, and make my own dessert using you as the main ingredient.”

He waggles his brows, and her cheeks darken to match the cherry now perched on the spoon. “Incorrigible,” she declares, rolling her eyes at his antics. “There’s really nothing on your wish list?”

Damon should’ve known she’d circle back to their discussion in the gift shop. She’d been fishing for ideas, hoping he’d drop a hint or two. When it comes to holiday shopping, she believes in the it’s-never-too-early-to-start philosophy; the bags dangling from her wrist are proof of that.

Truth is, there are items on his wish list, but they’re future things. Things that can’t be bought in stores, wrapped in fancy packages, or stuffed in stockings: the much-dreamt-about moment she agrees to be his collared submissive and a “yes” when he asks her to spend the rest of her life with him, for instance.

“You’re my gift,” he answers easily, sneaking a taste of the loaded sundae. Whoa. Instant sugar high.

“Damon . . .”

“Just being honest.”

She huffs and drums her fingers on the table. “There must be something other than me you’d like to see under the tree.”

“Nope.” It’s quite an enticing visual, actually. “I’m thinking a roll of red satin ribbon, a few strategically placed bows . . .” He pauses mid-fantasy, recalling that they’re in a public place, not the privacy of their room. “You’d be the best present Santa ever brought me.”

“What if you’re on the naughty list?” she teases, her grin as mischievous as they come.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, and it definitely won’t be the last,” he admits with a chuckle, wiping a chocolate smudge from her lip. “Who knows? You might be there right along with me.”

The reward for his snarky remark is a blob of whipped cream smeared on the tip of his nose.

“That just sealed the deal,” he growls, nipping at her thumb as she cleans up the mess. “There’s no saving you now, kitten.”

“From what? Santa’s bad side or a certain Dom I just creamed, literally?”

Chairs scrape against the cement patio as he lunges for her and she scurries out of reach. Darting around the tables, she avoids his grasp, laughing like they’re a couple of kids playing tag. He loves seeing her like this—carefree, unbothered by the scene they’ve created. If only he could make it last.

The game ends when she trips on a chair leg and loses her balance. He catches her before she lands, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle her screech.

“Hush,” he murmurs. “You just can’t behave, can you?” He chuckles as she shakes her head, her lips curling into a smile beneath his palm. “What will I do with you? Maybe another paddling will straighten you out.” More shaking. “Or perhaps a different tool would be more effective.”

There’s a muffled gasp and a twitch of her hips. She’s not averse to the idea. Pressing a kiss to her temple, he drops his hand but keeps a firm grip on her waist, reluctant to let her go just yet. He nuzzles her throat, dragging his tongue over her fluttering pulse. When she stiffens in his hold, he expects to find her flushed with embarrassment at their indulgent PDA session, but her skin is pale. Unnaturally so.

“Damon.” Her voice rises on the second syllable of his name, and her nails bite into his arm. “It’s him.”

“What?” It can’t be. That piece of shit doesn’t have the balls to follow them here. “Where?”

“Across the street.”

He turns her away from prying eyes, tucking her against his chest while he scans the crowd. There—a glimpse of dark hair, a stubbled jaw, a worn leather jacket. He rips his phone out of his pocket, ready to dial the cops, then the guy shifts, giving him a better view of his face. No cold glare. No triumphant sneer. It’s not the dickhead who’s turned Elena’s life into a living hell, though the man could pass for Enzo’s nonexistent brother.

Thank fuck.

“It’s okay, baby,” he soothes. “False alarm. You’re safe.”

He hugs her tight, rubbing her back to ease her trembling. With her recent nightmare lingering in her mind, it’s no wonder she panicked. She deserves a break from the trauma, something to focus on besides a depraved stalker determined to kidnap her.

And he knows just the distraction she needs.

*****

Elena stares at her reflection as Damon pins the rose into her curls. The bloom is unusual—a velvety black tinged with deep blue to match the one on her Dom’s lapel. With the exception of her makeup and hair, he handled the rest. The latex bodysuit clings to her lithe form, the peekaboo cutouts revealing a generous amount of skin. Her breasts are nearly overflowing the snug cups, a feature Damon appreciates as he palms the soft mounds.

“You’re so beautiful,” he purrs, kissing her bare shoulder. “I’m dying to show you off.”

Her gaze slips to her bare feet, studying her polished toes to ensure there are no chips or smudges. She wipes her cold hands on her thighs, repeating her mantra for the evening over and over in her mind: he’s not here, no one will hurt you, you’re not in danger.

Damon bends to fasten a set of cuffs around her ankles, then her wrists, and she starts to believe the words she’s been telling herself for hours now. When the wide band of latex circles her throat and the clasp snicks into place, she knows them to be true. Her bonds are a security blanket, quieting her anxiety. With every tug of a buckle or a zipper’s rasp, the fear evaporates like fog burning away after sunrise. She’s safe in her Master’s care.

Metal links chime as he clips a leash to the large O-ring on her collar, and she focuses on the devilishly handsome man holding the lead. His crisp suit and tie are paired with a silk button-down several shades darker than the cool hue of his eyes. The tips of his polished shoes shine in the bright light of the bathroom.

“I’m underdressed,” she observes with a lopsided smile.

“Not at all, though I prefer you undressed.” A cheeky remark hovers on her tongue, but he turns her to face him before she can let it fly. “Gorgeous,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. “Ready, pet?”

He watches her intently, waiting for her answer. He’s checking on her, making sure she’s in the right headspace for the night’s activities. If he detects the slightest hint of unease, they’ll be ordering takeout and cuddling in their PJs instead.

She leans into his touch as he strokes her jaw. It’s time to set aside her worries and immerse herself in the gathering occurring downstairs. She’s ready for this. She craves it.

“Yes, Master.”

*****

The room resembles a mini theater with its stage, tiered seating, and dim lighting. Guests mill about, laughing and chatting, filling the space with the hum of conversation. The Dominants, anyway; the subs stand quietly by their sides, eyes lowered, hands clasped. The air is heavy with the scent of leather, Dior cologne, and the smoky notes of incense. It’s familiar, yet . . . not. The crowd is similar to a busy Saturday at the club, but these are strangers, not friends and acquaintances.

As several glances—some curious, others covetous—are cast their way, Elena braces for a flare of shyness at being so exposed in front of people she’s never met, but it doesn’t come. Warmth spreads across her skin and simmers in her veins, but it’s not embarrassment. It’s excitement and a lick of pride. She’s Damon’s and he’s hers, and she wants everyone to know it as readily as they know their own names.

Trailing a step behind him and slightly to his right, she keeps her chin up and her gaze averted. Damon explained that Isola enjoys high protocol at her events, so subs are meant to be seen, not heard. With nothing to say unless spoken to, she’s free to put her energy into serving her Dom—a task she’s happy to accept.

Damon glares at anyone who gets too close to her, wordlessly warning them if they’d like to remain upright, they’d better keep their distance. A cocky twenty-something drenched in enough Axe to make Elena’s eyes water asks if Damon’s into sharing, and he bristles at the ballsy request. Refusing to let the man so much as breathe in her direction, Damon steers her toward an empty seat, leaving the guy sputtering in their wake.

Sinking into the overstuffed armchair, he taps a spot on the plush carpet, and she kneels beside him. His hand tangles in her hair, looping her curls around his fingers. The constant contact is soothing, and she relaxes against his leg, shifting her attention to the stage.

It’s dark but not enough to obscure the gleam of the ring hanging from the ceiling. A padded mat covers the floor beneath it, and to the side is a basket heaped with coils of rope. Suspension bondage. She’s watched tutorials online, mesmerized by the intricate designs and the positions the riggers manipulate their subs into. It must be unnerving, relying on the ropes to support you and keep you from falling, but once you’re used to it, it could be like flying, she thinks. She’s excited to witness it live for the first time, and maybe with a little persuasion and lash batting, she can convince Damon she’s ready to put his teachings into practice.

The lights above the stage flicker then brighten, and Isola appears, garbed in a catsuit and a boned corset that accentuates her slim waist and full breasts. Her hair is twisted into a tight bun atop her head, and she runs a gloved hand over the crop attached to her belt as she surveys the room. Ryker hovers in the wings, tracking the path of his Mistress’s fingers and quivering in either anticipation or trepidation. Could be a blend of both.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman, new friends and old”—Isola’s gaze lands on Damon, but Elena refuses to be baited by her flirtatious wink—“and welcome to The Garden. I have a special surprise for our rope enthusiasts, so sit back, relax, if you can,” she teases with a grin, “and enjoy.”

As she departs with Ryker at her heels, a shirtless, heavily muscled Dom packed into a pair of snug leather pants saunters onto the stage. A petite woman and a tall, tattooed man, both nude and collared, trail after him. The woman stands on the mat while her Dom cups her face and speaks in a hushed tone. She nods, and their lips seal in a tender kiss. He holds out a hand to the other sub, who places a bundle of rope in it.

The Dom wraps it around her chest and over her shoulders like a cupless bra then trusses her arms behind her as Elena observes the scene, transfixed. Once the tie is complete, he attaches a length of rope to the center of the harness, nestled between her breasts, and secures it to the ring, lessening the slack until she’s almost on her tiptoes.

He weaves another harness for her hips and threads the excess rope through the ring, pulling and slowly lifting the woman into the air. When she’s hovering waist-high to her Dom, he knots off the rope, ensuring it won’t slip. Her legs are bound shin to thigh in a frogtie, and for the finishing touch, he adds a ring gag, leaving her mouth open and vulnerable to his whims. Testing her bonds—fingers slipping under ropes, tweaking, finessing—he mirrors the look of deep concentration Damon frequently sports, then checks her comfort level. When she nods, giving him the green light, he smiles and pats her ass.

A sub in a rubber French maid getup with a bust two sizes too big for her costume picks that moment to flounce over and take Damon’s drink order, interrupting Elena’s reverie and nearly crashing into her. Rolling her eyes, Elena adjusts her position, subtly nudging the girl out of her personal space. Damon chuckles and gently tugs on her earlobe, a gesture of praise for not snarling at the clumsy sub.

Refocusing on the stage, she studies the bound woman. The ropes cradling her body remind Elena of a sex swing, one she wouldn’t mind trying herself. After fitting the man with a similar chest harness but leaving him otherwise untethered, the Dom says something too soft for the audience to hear, claims his sub’s mouth in a searing kiss, and gags him just as he did the woman, a large metal ring wedged behind his teeth.

The Dom eases the man to his knees with his face inches from the woman’s splayed thighs. Elena’s breath catches in her throat as the Dom takes his place near her head and pops the button on his pants. He lowers the zipper, freeing his cock and idly stroking himself before rubbing the engorged tip across the woman’s parted lips.

God. Damn.

Her tongue sneaks past the gag, lapping at his hard shaft. Once his dick is glistening from her efforts, he pumps it into her mouth with shallow thrusts. Her gurgled moans break the silence, courtesy of the other sub, whose enthusiastic tongue is working at her sex. Elena’s not into voyeurism—or am I?—but the ménage à trois playing out in front of her is hitting all the right buttons, mostly because she’s imagining herself trapped in Damon’s web of ropes while he fucks her mouth. Her temperature ratchets, and she squirms as her desire builds. If only she were allowed to touch, just enough to alleviate the ache. Hell, she’d settle for grinding on Damon’s leg if he’d let her—anything for some friction.

A drop of ice-cold liquid hits her breast, and she jumps as if she was poked by a cattle prod. Damon leans over her shoulder and presses the culprit, a glass of water, into her hands.

“Hold that for me, would you, pet?” he murmurs in her ear. “Have a sip. Maybe it’ll help cool you off.”

Doubtful. The sheer need blazing through her won’t be quelled so easily. Wait a minute. A glimmer of hope rises in her as she stares at the glass. He chose water, not bourbon. She sighs in relief; they’re scening later. She can keep it together a little longer. Probably.

Back on the stage, a gruff command from the Dom triggers the woman’s orgasm, and she jerks against the ropes, her cries muffled by his cock. The other sub isn’t granted release, and Elena whimpers, sympathizing with his plight. Denied even the lightest caress, his shaft is painfully erect and leaking a steady stream of pre-cum.

The man’s luck changes as the Dom withdraws from the woman’s mouth and hoists him to his feet, trading spots with him. His Master guides him closer until the head of his penis breaches her gag, and the sub groans at the initial flick of her tongue. The Dom steps between the woman’s spread legs and, without warning, buries himself inside her, driving to the hilt.

Elena shudders, and the water sloshes in the glass, dangerously close to spilling on her lap. A hand grazes her chest, plucking at her nipple, then slides over her taut belly and into the valley of her thighs. Damon strokes her sex through the latex, skimming past her insistent clit.

“Like what you see?” he asks, teasing her until a desperate whine leaves her lips. “Tell me, kitten. You may speak.”

“Yes, Master,” she gasps as he pinches the other nipple. “It’s . . . it’s . . .”

“Arousing? Making you wet?” He presses on her throbbing bundle of nerves, and her hips twitch, seeking more.

“Very.” She glances at the Dom and his sub spit-roasting the helpless woman while she wails in ecstasy. “I want that. Not the threesome part. Just you . . . and the ropes. I wanna know what it feels like.”

Damon smiles and rubs his cheek against hers. “Not a full suspension, not yet, but I’m willing to take you halfway there. What do you say?”

She doesn’t need to mull it over; her decision is already made. “Yes, please.”

The melee on stage reaches its climax, sweat dripping off the trio as they each strive to find the sweet spot. The ropes vibrate with the woman’s tremors, and the other sub’s thrusts have dwindled to a weak sway of his hips. The expression on his strained features is a medley of eagerness and fear; he’s dying to orgasm but afraid of disappointing his Master by losing control.

The brutal slap of skin on skin continues until the Dom rams his cock home with one last, powerful jab and snarls at his subs. “Come for me, sluts!”

The man wastes no time spilling himself into the woman’s mouth while she frantically swallows between stifled mewls as she weathers her own release. The Dom completes the trifecta by pulling out and marking the woman’s breasts and the man’s belly and thighs with jets of his seed.

Elena’s too stunned to move, engrossed in the erotic finish, until Damon tugs on her hand. “Let’s go,” he rasps, helping her up and leading her to the exit.

They’re not the only ones affected; several audience members are fisting cocks or strumming clits. Others are being tended to by their subs’ talented tongues.

As the scene ends, the Dom lowers the woman onto the mat, cradling her head in his lap. He removes her gag and cleans her face then does the same for the man. The untying process commences with the Dom murmuring a steady stream of praise while he works.

Damon holds the door for Elena, and she pauses to witness the tender kisses the Dom shares with his subs. The transition from rough and demanding to calm and soothing never fails to amaze her. It’s one of her favorite parts, the aftercare—like the gentle, lulling rain following a storm. She’ll experience it soon enough.

But not too soon.

*****

“Too tight?”

It’s just right, the ropes squeezing her in a never-ending embrace, like being permanently wrapped in Damon’s arms. Her brain switches gears, sharpening her senses, opening her up to feel, not think. Each breath draws her bindings snug against her ribcage and breasts. There’ll be marks when the scene ends—shallow furrows on her skin—and she can’t wait to see them. To wear them like badges of honor.

“Nuh-uh.” In her head, she’s fast-forwarding to the peak of their scene, picturing herself thrashing in her bonds while Damon barks at her not to dare come without his permission. Her knees wobble, but he grips her waist, steadying her.

He kisses her throat, bestowing a love bite above the edge of her collar. “Your words, princess. Use ‘em.”

The pinch of his teeth snaps her out of her daze. “No, it’s fine.”

“Good. Arms behind your back.”

Rope circles her elbows and wrists, mimicking the grip of cuffs. The ties are snug but not uncomfortably so. The position forces her to arch her spine and thrust her breasts toward the unseen air currents tickling her nipples. They’re already hard, waiting for Damon’s touch or, better yet, his mouth.

“Hop up on the table,” he instructs, patting the padded surface.

She scooches and wriggles her way onto the piece of equipment, giggling at her lack of finesse as she lies sprawled across it with her legs dangling over the edge. Damon grins and shakes his head before climbing up with her and helping her to her knees. He threads a length of rope through her chest harness, knotting it between her shoulder blades, and secures it to the suspension ring above. The buttery leather of his pants rubs against her bound arms, and her fingers go exploring, settling on the stiff ridge of his barely concealed cock. Giving it an experimental squeeze, she earns herself a resounding swat on the ass.

“Minx,” he hisses, shifting out of reach so she won’t be tempted to try again.

He tugs on her ankles, pulling her backward. She gasps as she loses her balance, worried she’s about to face-plant, but it never comes. The ropes easily hold her, leaving her upper body hovering over the table.

Damon rubs her shoulder. “All good?”

She nods. “It just surprised me.”

“Which was the whole point.”

Smug, as usual.

He nudges her knees apart then winds rope around her thigh, knots it at her hip, and attaches the excess to the ring. Her other leg gets the same treatment, the ties providing extra support and balancing her weight on multiple points instead of one. Damon runs additional lines to and from the ring to reinforce them and tethers her ankles to hooks on each side of the table. Braced on her knees with her legs spread and her ass in the air, it’s like doggy style, only hotter.

Her eyes drift shut as he works—tugging here, tightening there. The ropes are a part of him, an extension of his control and his care. His love. He’s creating this space for her, a place to let go, to fall knowing he’ll be there to catch her. She’s safe in her bondage, free from worry: no Enzo, no kidnappings, no nightmares.

Damon gets down, jerking her out of her trance with a feather-light caress from her clit to the tight pucker between her cheeks. “Just making sure you’re not slipping away on me,” he murmurs as she blinks at him. “How’s everything feel?”

She tests her bonds, swaying in the ropes. Nothing gives, and the thrill of being captured—with no escape (not that she’d want it) from Damon’s cock, his toys, his mouth—sends another jolt of arousal to her core.

“Amazing,” she says once she remembers how to speak.

“Nothing pinches?”

“Nope.”

She wiggles her hips to show him how ready she is, unashamed at the steady trickle of moisture seeping from her sex.

“I’m all yours.”

*****

Fuck, she’s beautiful, strung up like a carnal sacrifice to the gods, and his for the taking. And he plans to take, but not until she’s half out of her mind with need, begging to release all that pent-up lust and desperation.

But first, a test: he can sweetly coax Elena to the edge, or he can drag her there, kicking and screaming. It’s a matter of reading reactions, and he has hers memorized to the last twitch and shimmy. He trails a finger from her ribcage to her hip and onward until he reaches her foot. He kisses each toe, swirling his tongue around her pinky toe.

She squeals and bucks against the ropes, and he’s never been more grateful he immobilized her legs. Calling off the scene because of a concussion would be a disappointing end to the evening, to say the least.

“Damon!”

“Excuse me,” he snarls, setting his teeth on the tender skin of her arch.

“Master,” she gasps, correcting herself.

The brief pinch of pain jogs her pulse, and her breathing hitches before resuming its normal rhythm. Interesting. He moves higher, pressing feathery kisses to her thigh, her back, the side of her throat. He cups her breast, circling her nipple with his thumb but not applying pressure, and she hums at the pleasant caress.

Then he tries something different. He locks onto a hank of her hair and tugs her head back, hard. A shiver wracks her entire body, and—fuck—did she just pop her hips and present her pussy to him?

She did.

He puts his mouth to her ear. “You don’t want a soft touch. You want to struggle in those ropes. You want to fight for that big ‘O’ before you give in and go under.”

“I—”

“Quiet.” Her jaw snaps shut and her pupils explode, nearly swallowing her irises. Oh, yeah. She needs a firm hand and a rough fuck (but not yet), and he’s more than happy to deliver. He’s going to tease her mercilessly. Edge her until she pleads. Until she screams. Maybe even cries. He’ll free her from the riot inside her mind as only he can.

Gathering tools and toys from his bag, he keeps two of them out of sight for now, tucks one in his pocket, and holds the last up for Elena to see.

“Since your mouth already got you in trouble once, let’s curb that little problem.”

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she stares at the ball gag. They’re one of her favorite kinks, gags. Limit her ability to speak, crank up the helplessness, and she runs even slicker between her soft thighs. It’s positively delicious.

He doesn’t have to tell her to open for him; she does so on her own, lips parting to accept the bright red ball. After buckling it into place, he produces the next item from his pocket.

Cue the head shaking and squeaks of protest.

“You don’t want these weights pulling on your sensitive nips?” He dangles the clamps in front of her, and her eyes anxiously track the small silver balls hanging off them. “I’ll give you a choice, pet. They can either go here”—he tweaks her nipple—“or here.”

She frowns, not following, as he strolls to the other end of the table. His meaning finally clicks when he parts her folds, pressing the cold clip against her labia. She jerks and a string of garbled but indignant-sounding words spill past the gag.

“I take it that’s a ‘no.’” He chuckles and returns to her side just in time to catch the full brunt of a glare from his sub. “Lose the attitude,” he warns, tapping the tip of her nose, “or I’ll choose where they end up.” She sobers at that, and he displays the clamps again. “What’s it going to be: pussy”—she growls—“or tits?”

She reluctantly nods, but her body’s telling him the idea isn’t a horrible one. Her nipples are hard as pebbles, ready and waiting for the bite of the clamps.

“Tits it is.” He adorns her stiff buds with the clips, and she sucks in a breath only to relax when she realizes the pull from the weights is minor—an ounce or two—instead of the five-pound barbells she’d likely been imagining.

“Let’s warm you up.”

He collects the flogger and draws the falls over her feet, up her thighs, and across her ass and bound arms. It doesn’t take much to send Elena tumbling into subspace, so he’ll have to vary his technique to keep her from slipping too deeply too quickly. Thanks to his secret weapon, a powerful Hitachi vibrator, that shouldn’t be a problem.

The tails brush her shoulder then tumble down to tickle her breasts, setting the weights swaying. She moans at the unexpected sensation, glancing at the flogger in Damon’s grasp with her lids low and her tongue playing over the ball nestled in her mouth.

“That’s right. You remember how I sent you soaring last time we played with one of these. Is this what you want?” He snaps the falls against his palm and is rewarded with a nod and another mewl of desire.

A good flogging can be therapeutic, and Elena needs it—a mild dose of pain to strip away those distractions and worries. With nerve endings singing, lighting up her body from the inside out, there’ll be no room left for thinking.

“Thought so.”

Swinging the flogger in a wide arc, he flicks it on her belly, her calves, and the soles of her feet. They’re delicate touches, barely felt, but it’s the promise of more to come that has Elena wiggling in the ropes.

“Did I miss a spot?”

“Mmmph.”

He rubs the hilt of the flogger along her folds, lubing it up with her juices. Once the leather glistens, he dips the handle in her pussy, teasing her with three or four inches of the thick rod. When it stills, she huffs and tries to coax it deeper.

“Enough,” he scolds. “A thorough fucking is a privilege, not a right, and you haven’t earned it yet, princess.”

She whines as he withdraws the flogger and smears the remnants of her wetness on her thigh. A second round of the slap of tails on skin quiets her protests, turning them into a steady purr of satisfaction. Setting aside the flogger, he grabs the vibrator. Can’t have her getting too comfortable. His sub’s world needs a jolt.

He switches the vibrator on, and she freezes, probably hoping it’ll land on her clit. Sorry, lover. Defying her expectations, he drags the pulsating head across her leg and hip, avoiding her sex, and on to her sides and the sharp line of her collarbone. A wicked jag of inspiration strikes, and he touches the Hitachi to the weights hanging from her nipples, first one then the other. She groans at the contact, her eyes rolling back as the vibrations travel up the clamps.

“Ohh huck.”

He smirks at the jumbled curse. “Like that, do you?”

She nods enthusiastically, and that’s his cue to move on. The vibrator gets a break, and so do Elena’s nipples, much to her dismay. He works her over with the flogger again, enjoying the color rising in her skin as he focuses on her ass and inner thighs, landing hits close enough to her sex to frustrate the hell out of her.

Another pass with the Hitachi has her fighting against the ropes, desperately trying to grind her clit on it. It disappears whenever she’s too close, buzzing anyplace on her body except the one that can trigger her orgasm. She’s not quite at the begging stage; she’s irritated because he keeps disrupting the flow—she can’t come, and he hasn’t overwhelmed her senses (yet) and sent her into subspace, so she’s stuck in limbo, waiting for him to set her free.

As he crosses in front of her, he’s struck by her beauty. She’s always gorgeous, but with her hair hanging in a riot of curls around her face and her dark eyes tracking him, she looks like a wild thing: a sensual creature caught in his trap, wanting to be tamed. Craving it. Her cheeks are flushed, and her nostrils flare with each ragged inhale. A string of saliva clings to her bottom lip, but he doesn’t wipe it away; it completes the vision of her helplessness.

Twenty more minutes, he thinks. That’s all it’ll take to have her exactly where he wants her—crying for relief while slipping under. He wields the flogger with expert precision, slapping the underside of her breasts and the swell of her mound, pairing it with the vibrator until she’s screaming and babbling into her gag. In a final bid to unravel her sanity, he reddens her ass with quick strikes while running the Hitachi along her dripping slit.

That’s when he hears it—a muffled but easily decipherable wail: “Please, Master!”

He abandons his tools and nudges her chin up, studying her dazed expression. “There we are,” he murmurs, brushing her hair out of her heavy-lidded eyes and catching a lone tear with his thumb. “I bet you’re all fuzzy. Everything feels so fucking good, doesn’t it.”

She leans into his touch, nuzzling his palm. “Uh-huh.”

Goddamn. He rips open his zipper and yanks out his dick, amazed he has any circulation left. “Is this what you need?” Elena bobs her head, her gaze following his fingers as they travel from base to tip, stroking his rock-hard length. It jerks in his grip, eager to be inside her.

He leans in close, his tongue tracing the shell of her ear. “Happily for both of us, I agree. You’re going to take my cock like a good girl, aren’t you.”

She arches her back and thrusts her ass into the air. “Mmhmm.”

He wants to shuck his pants and bury himself deep, but he forces himself to go slowly. Tease her a little longer. He peels off the leathers one leg at a time then—the fun part—lazily fists his cock while she watches, her soft whimpers urging him on. He tears into a condom and rolls it over the lead pipe passing as his dick, nearly swallowing his tongue when he glances at Elena.

Or her hips, rather.

She’s rolling her pelvis like he’s already pounding into her, and the smooth, sinuous movement is sexy as hell, but it should be him behind her, ropes creaking as he fucks her until they’re both on the verge of a bliss blackout.

“Don’t start without me.” He hooks a finger through the ring on her collar while he licks a stripe from her throat to her cheek. Her scent, her taste—the saltiness of tears and sweat blended with her unique sweetness—everything about her consumes him, leaves him starving for more. “Remember, no orgasm unless you ask politely,” he reminds her.

She bumps her forehead against his and gives a tiny nod. His heart kicks at her kittenish display of affection, and he kisses her gagged mouth, his lips lingering on her parted ones before pulling away.

Up on the table, he pauses to appreciate the sight of Elena spread wide for him, partially suspended in his ropes, her body vibrating in anticipation. She’s a masterpiece, priceless and coveted by many, but his alone. All his.

“Mine,” he rasps, the primal need to possess, to claim, flooding his veins. His cock prods her entrance, slicking the tip with her juices. She’s pure heaven, and he grits his teeth at the rush of pleasure that travels straight to his balls. If he doesn’t regroup, he’s going to blow his load like a fucking rookie.

Take a breath. Another. Good to go? Then move.

He surges forward, filling her to the hilt on the first stroke, and holy shit, is it glorious. It feels like weeks since he’s had her, but it’s been, what, eight hours? Their post-breakfast shower. She was covered in powdered sugar and peach juice, and his tongue was busy for a long, long time.

Elena cries out at the sudden intrusion and he does, too—a harsh growl of approval—before settling into a demanding rhythm. It’s a moment or two before she finds the flow, but once she does, she’s meeting the drive of his hips, pushing herself back onto his dick. He loves watching her chase her pleasure, straining against the ropes as she seeks the perfect amount of friction. He knows what she’s after, and he withdraws until the head of his cock brushes her G-spot. She goes off like a lit fuse, writhing and pleading for permission to come, as he rocks into her with shallow thrusts.

“Oh, no. You’re not gonna get it that easily.” He’s been stoking her fire juuust right, making her burn hotter with every touch and tease; it’d be a shame to let it go. He’d rather push her harder, take her higher.

His denial leaves her a panting, trembling mess. He glides a hand over her belly and up to cup her breast. A half-sob turns into a coo of delight as he tugs on her clamped nipple.

“I could listen to those sweet noises all day.” He slows his hips, barely moving now. “That’s it. Moan for me, baby. Let me hear how much you want it.”

She’s not shy, not now. Unlike their tryst in the car, she’s oblivious to anything but him: the slide of his cock, his lips skimming her arm, his fingers caressing her tits. Her soft purr builds into a continuous whine of please-fuck-me, and his dick twitches with each frenzied sound that escapes her throat.

Latching onto the ropes anchoring her hips, he rewards her by seating himself deep. No more teasing; he’s ready to make her toes curl and her pussy clench. God, she’s like molten silk wrapped around him. It’d be so easy to lose it and combust on the spot, but he’s not giving in until she’s had hers and had it spectacularly. No half-assed orgasms for his girl. She deserves to go supernova, and he’s damn well going to take her there.

He resumes his brutal pace, pistoning into her while she quivers and weakly shakes her head as if it’s too much yet not enough. “Wanna come, don’t you,” he grunts between thrusts.

Elena squeals and clamps down on his cock, spurring him closer to the edge. Definitely a “yes.”

“Mmm. You’re so close, squeezing me so tight.” He punctuates every other word with a sharp snap of his hips, catching a fistful of her hair in his grip. He’s relentless, pumping into her until her shaky thighs indicate she’s reached her limit. “Say the magic words, pet,” he prods.

She stumbles on the first attempt, then her muddled request, easily translated, slips past the gag: “May I please come, Master?”

“Yes,” he hisses. “Scream for me, Elena. Nice and loud.” Releasing her hair, he snakes a hand around to her chest and the swaying weights pulling on her nipples. With a flick of his fingers, he releases one clamp then the other, letting them fall to the table.

Her shrill wail fills the room as her long-awaited release plows into her. He fucks her through her orgasm, savoring every flutter of her muscles as she tries to keep him snug inside her. A second wave drags her under again, then it’s game over. He shouts her name, bracing himself for the current of bliss racing up his spine followed by a shudder that rattles his teeth. She’s the insistent one now, milking him for all he’s got.

When the last ounce of ecstasy is wrung from their bodies and Elena droops in her bonds, Damon slumps against her, beat but humming with contentment—he gave his sub exactly what she needed.

*****

A palm cradling her chin. A soft voice in her ear. Lips pressed to her temple.

Damon.

Her brain has been replaced by a giant wad of cotton and there’s a weird buzzing in her head—static, almost—so she can’t hear what he’s saying. It clears after a moment, and she clings to every word.

“You were amazing wrapped in my ropes,” he murmurs. “Such a good girl for me. I’m so proud of you.”

He gently tugs the gag from her mouth, then his thumbs massage her achy jaw. A cool cloth skims her cheek, and she jumps at the unexpected contact. Her nerves are raw, seared like the forest floor after a wildfire, but it’s not from pain. Damon overloaded her senses, and she’s struggling to reboot.

“Easy, lover. Just relax.”

He smooths her hair away from her sweaty face and cleans her up, holding the cloth to her forehead to soothe her feverish skin. If her heart wasn’t hammering, she might be able to doze off.

“Let’s get you out of these, hmm?”

Damon’s either a magician or she’s lost all sense of time because he’s lowering her onto the table before she even realizes he’s moved. She flexes her legs as he helps her stretch out, but when he frees her arms, it hits.

Panic.

The ropes are gone. Her secure cocoon has been unraveled. The adrenaline spike sends chills through her body, and she pants as her pulse skyrockets, her lungs struggling to find enough air. She opens her mouth to call for Damon, but he’s already there in her blurry field of vision, all wild hair and pale, worried eyes.

“Focus on me, sweetheart. You’re safe,” he soothes. “Breathe through it. It’ll pass, I promise.”

Her fingers tangle with his, and he holds on with a firm grip, grounding her. He presses their clasped hands to his chest so she can feel the steady beat of his heart. She focuses on the comforting thump-thump, thump-thump until the tightness in her chest subsides.

“There you go. Deep breaths.” He strokes her disheveled curls, and with each tender pass, the tension drains out of her. “Nothing can hurt you. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

He drapes a fleece blanket over her and carefully lifts her in his arms, carrying her to the bed. Once she’s nestled in his lap, she closes her eyes, waiting to sink into that perfect place where it’s calm and warm and she can drift for hours. Instead, she’s swamped by a snarl of emotions—things she’s kept buried below the surface—and the wall she’s built to shield herself from the shit trying to tear her life apart crumbles.

The tears trickle down her cheeks, silent at first, then she’s sobbing, her gasps catching in her throat. Damon pulls her to him, murmuring reassurances in her ear, as she shivers and cries into the crook of his neck.

“Let it all out, baby. I’ve got you.”

It goes on until there’s nothing left. Until her eyes sting and her head throbs. Until Damon’s skin is damp. Until her sobs quiet to hiccups and sniffles.

He’s her rock, holding her while she shatters, telling her how much he loves her, how strong she is, and that’s what gets her past it. She blinks at him through wet lashes as he dabs at her face with the blanket. He looks like he’s in pain, his eyes searching hers as if he’s afraid he caused her tears.

“‘Lena?”

He sounds gutted, and she wishes she had enough strength left to give him the kind of hug he deserves. She settles for tiny kisses that mostly land where they’re supposed to—his shoulder, his jaw, the spot beneath his ear that makes him bite his lip.

“I’m okay,” she rasps.

She feels lighter, freer. The weight dragging her down disappears, leaving her relaxed and sleepy. This is it, what she’s been hoping to find.

Peace.

*****

There’s something skimming her hip, pressing lightly as it circles her thigh. The silence is broken by a faint whisper, but she catches a few words: “beautiful” and “adore you” and “so precious.” She pats the space around her. Whole lot of soft and fluffy. Pillows, sheets, blankets.

And Damon’s touch.

They shared a bath after she crashed in his lap, post-sobfest. She remembers him running a washcloth over her skin, shampooing her hair, then it gets fuzzy. She must’ve passed out again.

“There’s my girl.”

“Hi,” she croaks, scrubbing at her eyes to clear her vision. Things are still hazy.

Damon trails a finger under her breasts, and she squirms at the ticklish sensation.

“How do you feel?” He traces another line below her collarbone, following the depressions the rope left on her skin.

“Good. A little out of it.” She’s fascinated by the slight indentations. They’re like temporary tattoos, a reminder of Damon’s mastery of her body. He kisses a mark just above her elbow, and she smiles, combing her fingers through his mussed, half-dried hair. “Thank you for tonight, for taking care of me and”—god, I’m such a baby—“letting me cry all over you.”

“About that.” He doesn’t return her smile and hers wilts.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Never. You were perfect.” His thumb brushes across the pulse point on her wrist. “Was it too much, the scene? Did I push you too far?”

Elena recalls how worried he looked when she broke down. He thinks it was his fault. “Not at all. It was intense, sure, but incredible,” she explains in a rush, hoping to ease his fears. “I love the ropes”—she rubs the mark on her thigh—“and these. You blew my mind.”

“Then what was it? I can handle a crying sub, or at least I used to be able to, but seeing you like that . . .” He wipes at her cheek as if the tears are still there. “It wrecked me.”

“I’m alright, really.” She holds his gaze, willing him to believe her. “Everything sort of caught up to me. Constantly checking over my shoulder, waiting for Enzo to make his next move, imagining the horrific things he could do to you—I lost it. But it helped, getting it all out. I’m not drowning in it anymore.”

“Yeah?” There’s a hint of relief in his voice now.

She nods. “You stayed with me, and you didn’t let go.” With a gentle nudge, she eases him onto the pillows and curls into his side. “You brought me back.”

A small smile tugs at his lips as he pulls her closer, his mouth finding hers. “Always,” he murmurs.

When kissing fades into yawns and lazy caresses, Damon tucks the covers around them, and she lays her head on his chest. Before sleep claims her, a thought barges into her brain.

“I wanna fight.”

He cracks a lid. “Hmm?”

“I’m done being terrorized and taunted by some jackass who thinks he can ruin my life,” she mutters. “I want to be prepared, learn how to protect myself. I won’t let him win.”

“Whatever you need, it’s yours.” He strokes her arm, and she beams at him. “Sweet dreams, my warrior princess.”

“Goodnight, Master.”

*****

“Back to the grind.”

“I thought that’s what we’d been doing.” Elena snickers at her own joke and bumps her hips into Damon’s as he unlocks the door, leading her inside.

“Touché.” He drops their bags and hooks an arm around her waist. His hands delve beneath her hair, loosening the clasp on her collar. After wearing one all weekend, she feels strangely naked without it.

Absently rubbing her bare throat, she tilts her head, her lips poised for a kiss. He obliges, teasing her with a slip of tongue when she opens for him. They’re both out of breath as they part, and she waits to thank him until she’s not panting like a marathon runner in the home stretch. It’s the best weekend she’s had in ages.

“It was exactly what I needed. Can we visit again sometime?”

He grins at her request. “I’m already looking forward to it.”

Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she glances at the screen. A text from Jeremy. She knew this was coming, but it doesn't make it any easier to face the impending drama.

"I have to deal with my brother."

"Good luck. I'm gonna check in with Elijah, see if the club's still standing. Catch you upstairs, babe."

Pecking his cheek, she turns to go. "I'll be the one in your shirt."

He whistles at her retreating behind. "Can't wait."

Once she's in her happy place—aka Damon's room—she sprawls on the bed and dials Jer. He answers on the first ring.

"Elena, hey." She was bracing for annoyed at the very least and severely pissed off at the worst, but he seems fine. Cheerful, even. "I'm glad you finally called."

“Sorry about that. I went to Savannah for a few days.”

“Have fun?”

“I did.” And you will never, ever be privy to the details, she silently adds. “It was nice to take a break.” Okay, here goes. “Listen, we left things on a bad note, but I’m ready to put this behind us. Clear the air.”

“Sounds great.” He’s quiet for a moment, then, “Can we talk about it over dinner?”

“You, me, FaceTime, and enough General Tso’s chicken to feed an army? I’m in,” she laughs. Who is this levelheaded guy, and what’s he done with her brother?

“Actually, I was thinking of that diner you love on Piedmont.”

Wait, what. “Jer, are you—”

“I’m in town for a friend’s birthday and thought I’d surprise you. You remember my old roommate, Tyler?”

She doesn’t, but she responds with a vaguely affirmative grunt. Jeremy’s here in Atlanta. To see her. And probably wring Damon’s neck.

“Oh, god.”

Chapter Text

“This is going to be a disaster.”

“No, it’s not.” Caroline switches on the oven light and peers inside. “The cake might qualify, though.”

“Shit!” She completely forgot about the damn thing.

“Relax, sweetie. It’s nothing a little frosting can’t disguise. See?”

Caroline sets the slightly crispy cake in front of her, and Elena sighs. It’s not burnt, but they’ll probably drain a gallon of milk trying to get through it.

“This was a mistake.” She needs to call Jeremy and cancel this ridiculous dinner. It seemed like a good idea—better than meeting him at the diner—when she was still in her happy, post-Savannah bubble, but now she regrets everything. “Where’s my phone?”

“Whoa, wait. What are you doing?” her best friend asks warily.

“What I should’ve done in the first place.”

She spots her phone on the counter, but Care snatches it up before she can reach it. She gathers Elena’s hands in hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“Repeat after me: It will all be fine.”

“We’re all going to die.”

“Elena!”

“Sorry. It’s just . . .” She chews her lip as visions of her brother tearing into her boyfriend fill her mind. “There’s no way this is going to end well. Jer hates Damon, and I’ve been making the situation worse by leaving him out of the loop. He doesn’t even know I live here now.”

Caroline shrugs and smiles, ever the optimist. “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think. Damon’s a smooth talker, and he’s excellent at unruffling feathers.”

“He’s never had to smooth-talk Jeremy. It’s like trying to soothe a cranky gator, especially when he’s in overprotective mode,” she huffs.

“True.” Caroline’s expression softens, her grin fading. “Potential impending drama aside, how are you?” Before Elena can answer, her friend pokes her arm in warning. “And don’t sugarcoat things the way you have for the past two weeks. What Damon told Nik differs wildly from the ‘everything’s fine’ nonsense you gave me.”

So much for that tactic. “You were on your honeymoon, Care.”

“It wouldn’t matter if I were in a hot tub with Idris Elba or getting a massage from Channing Tatum,” she scolds. “I want to be here for you, always.”

“Does Nik know about these celeb fantasies?” Elena teases.

“You’re deflecting.”

“No, I’m—” Caroline’s scowl and patented told-you-so head tilt kill her argument. Might as well spill it. “Fine, I am. Enzo’s stint at the apartment really got to me. His threats made me realize all the people he could hurt—you, Damon, Stefan, the other subs at the club. Savannah was just what I needed. I relaxed”—in between orgasms—“and decided to stop letting my fears control me. Enzo and his bullshit vendetta aren’t going to destroy my life.”

Care’s eyes brighten in approval. “I like that plan. Look at you, Wonder Woman.”

Elena grabs a pan lid for her makeshift shield and strikes a pose. “Damon’s going to teach me some self-defense moves, and Stefan invited me to tag along to his next Krav Maga class.”

“Stefan might be the better bet,” Caroline points out with a snicker. “If you and Damon get sweaty together, defending yourself will be your last priority.”

“Says the person who can’t go jogging with her husband without cutting into the woods for a quickie. I have more self-control than that,” Elena sniffs.

“We’ll see.”

Her grin slips as she glances at the clock. “Jeremy will be here in half an hour,” she frets. “Distract me with vacation stories.”

A dreamy look settles on her bestie’s face. “When we weren’t swimming or napping in a hammock by the beach, we went sightseeing and shopping, sampled every restaurant in a five-mile radius, and even took dance lessons.”

“Sounds amazing, but you left out the part about the housekeeper walking in on you and Nik while you were trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

Caroline’s mouth falls open as she turns seven shades of red. “How did you—” she sputters. “Nik told Damon, didn’t he.”

“Uh-huh. You didn’t really think that debacle would go away quietly, did you?” Elena teases.

“Remind me to hide Nik’s favorite toys,” Care mutters. “Revenge will be sweet.”

“Good luck with that. How’s newlywed life treating you, aside from the nonstop sex?”

Her former roommate swats her ass with an oven mitt and Elena yelps, rubbing her bottom.

“Brat. No wonder Damon’s always taking you over his knee.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m an angel.”

They burst into laughter at the outrageous statement.

“One with a crooked halo,” Caroline jokes. “The sex is amazing, but marriage isn’t that different from our pre-‘I do’ lives.” She winks as she pulls plates from the cupboard and starts setting the table. “You should try it.”

Heat floods Elena’s cheeks at the suggestion. She and Damon were so tangled up in each other in Savannah that two waiters, a tour guide, and an Uber driver mistook them for a married couple. Damon didn’t bother to correct them.

“Jeremy would have a heart attack.”

Speaking of her brother and his imminent arrival . . .

“Damon!” she hollers. “Twenty minutes!”

“Almost done, babe!” comes the answering shout from upstairs.

“Huh,” Caroline muses. “You two sound just like me and Nik.”

Elena snorts at her friend’s implication as she plucks a bottle from the wine rack. Alcohol might be the only key to surviving dinner.

*****

“How the hell did I get stuck with dildo duty?”

Damon rolls his eyes at Alaric’s bitching. He already offered him an absurdly expensive bottle of Jim Beam for his troubles, the whiner. He scoured the house earlier in search of stray toys and other bondage accoutrements, but he could use another set (or two) of eyes, hence the buddy patrol.

“Because you said you needed to talk to me, so spill. I don’t have time for a sit-down right now, Ric.”

“You work in a fetish club, mate,” Nik chimes in. “Don’t tell me you’re squeamish around sex toys.”

“As the person in charge of security, not the clean-up crew.” Alaric shudders and points at a crop perched on Damon’s desk. “Implement of pain, twelve o’clock.”

Damon tosses the crop in a drawer and locks his office as an extra precaution. The bedroom and playroom are also sealed up tight in case Jeremy gets too inquisitive.

“You’re so delicate, Ric.”

“Fuck off.”

Alaric’s phone pings with a new text, and he yanks it out of his pocket, eyes roaming over the screen.

“Sexting with Jenna again?” Damon asks.

Ric shoots him the finger while Nik snickers and claps their disgruntled friend on the back.

“Chin up, Alaric. What Damon neglected to tell you is that Elena threatened him with a week of sleeping on the couch if Jeremy discovers any tools of his trade, so to speak.”

“You would bring that up, you smug bastard.”

Elena’s warning might be real, but it would be so easy to call her bluff. Sure, he’d sleep on the couch, but he wouldn’t wear a stitch. Watch her try to stay away then.

Ignoring Nik’s sly grin and ridiculous dimples, he turns his attention back to Alaric.

“So, what is it you need to tell me?”

Ric stuffs the phone in his jeans, slipping into detective mode. “Since Enzo’s gone underground again, the cops are focusing on a different puzzle: his past. Specifically, whatever the dickbag was up to in California. The feds snagged a guy he used to work with at the garage, someone with ties to several international transport networks. The man claims he was never told about the product he was moving. Just assumed it was drugs or guns.”

“Let me guess—Enzo made a friend and landed himself a second job,” Damon mutters. “And the cargo was people.”

Alaric nods. “They intercepted an outgoing shipment and found several trafficking victims, although none were from this area. Enzo probably climbed his way up the ranks and weaseled himself into the circuit that’s active here.”

“Bastard,” Nik snarls, hands clenching into fists as if he’s imagining wrapping them around Enzo’s neck. Damon can relate; nothing would make him happier.

“If the guy they took into custody coughs up any useful names,” Ric continues, “they could unravel at least part of the operation. Until then, it’s a waiting game.”

Isn’t it always, Damon muses. He’s tired of schemes and games. He wants his girl and his family safe.

“Thanks for the update.”

Ric raises a hand. “There’s more. The APD told the feds we have someone who’s in the loop regarding the auctions, so they’ll want to talk to Frederick. Might be a good idea to give him a heads-up.”

“You got it.”

They resume scouting for more kinky paraphernalia in companionable silence until Nik cracks the lid on an antique chest.

“Uh, Damon,” he calls, gesturing to its contents.

Perched on top of a stack of old books is a bright pink, monster-sized dildo in all its obscene glory. The thing has no business being inside anybody, gold-medal sexlete or not.

“Dammit, Kat,” Damon mutters, snatching it from the chest and stalking to his office to chuck it inside. The toy she affectionately dubbed “Godzilla” was a gag gift from last year’s Christmas party. He assumed she took it with her, not hid it in his house for him to find later.

When he rejoins the group, Ric’s face is just beginning to regain some of its color. He shakes himself and scrubs at his eyes, likely trying to erase the image from his mind. As they set off down the hall, Damon catches his faint whisper.

“Poor Elena.”

*****

A pan of steaming eggplant parmesan? Check. A spotless house with all its naughty secrets concealed? Check. Enough wine to wipe tonight from her memory if everything goes south? Double check.

Caroline offered to stay and act as a buffer, but Elena refused to subject her friends to the most awkward dinner of their lives. Besides, they’ve only been home a day. They deserve to relax and cuddle like the adorable newlyweds they are.

Alaric, however, had no qualms about leaving. He practically ran out the door after giving her a hug and the most sympathetic glance she’d ever seen. Oddly, it didn’t seem Jeremy related. She’ll have to ask Damon what his deal was.

Speak of the handsome devil.

Dressed in a casual V-neck tee and jeans, he strides into the kitchen, as calm and confident as ever. She wishes she could relate.

“Dinner smells amazing.” He tilts her chin up for a kiss, his lips lingering on her freshly glossed ones. “Mmm, strawberry. My favorite.”

She wipes a pink smudge from his mouth, smiling as he gently catches her finger between his teeth. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe Jeremy will be reasonable. Maybe he and Damon will get on like long-lost pals.

Yeah. Right.

“So, what’s the plan, sugar plum?” he murmurs, swirling his tongue over the tip.

“We should dial down the flirting, for one,” she sighs, withdrawing her finger. “He doesn’t need another reason to be grouchy.”

Damon nods. “How much do we tell him about us?”

This is the sticky part. “I won’t lie to him, but I don’t owe him the explicit details of my personal life, either. He’ll get the abridged version.”

“Seems fair.”

“And the club? Jeremy is scary good at digging up information on people.” After meeting her last boyfriend, Jer phoned the following day to inform her the guy had starred in two pornos and used to work at Chuck E. Cheese’s.

“Midnight’s site is discreet and my name isn’t listed. He’d have to rifle through city records to make the connection. I did a test run to see what he could find on the web, and the worst thing is a picture of me at a college track meet in a pair of skimpy-ass shorts,” he mutters, grimacing at the discovery. “I had to borrow a pair because I forgot mine. The damn things tore on the last hurdle.”

Elena claps a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. “That’s terrible,” she commiserates, rubbing his arm. “Remind me to Google you later. For science.”

She squeals as he spins her around, pressing her against the refrigerator. “Minx,” he growls in her ear. “You’ll be too busy screaming my name to even remember that photo exists.”

“I’m always up for a challenge,” she teases breathlessly.

“Consider it accepted.”

The chime of the doorbell douses the heat simmering in her veins, and Elena jumps, her nerves returning in full force.

“Relax,” Damon soothes, stroking her cheek. “It’ll be fine.”

She leans into his touch, enjoying a few more moments of peace. “I like your optimism, but I don’t share it. Listen, whatever he says, just ignore it. He’ll try to rile you up. I’m sorry, I really am.”

“Don’t apologize.” He grins, and his lips find hers in a quick peck. “Let him try. I’m cool as a cucumber.”

At least one of us is.

*****

“Quite the place. Did it come with servants?”

He’s been in the house for a minute. Thirty seconds, more like. Barely enough time for a hug and a hi-how-are-ya.

“Jeremy,” she warns. “Don’t start.”

“Just a nest of squirrels in the garage, but they washed the lights with the darks, so I had to let them go.” Her boyfriend grins and steps forward, extending a hand. “Damon Salvatore. It’s great to finally meet you.”

Jeremy glances at the offering, unmoving and uninterested, until her glare threatens to set him ablaze. He finally grips Damon’s hand and cranks it once, twice, the way you would an old water pump, flexing his biceps.

“You, too,” he greets him with the enthusiasm of a bear that’s been woken up mid-hibernation.

Well, this is fun.

“C’mon, dinner’s ready.” She nudges her brother toward the kitchen. “Save the flexing for later.”

Jeremy smirks at that. An encouraging sign.

“We have wine, or beer if you’re still on your brewery kick.” She examines the bottles on the counter. Maybe she can sneak in a shot or two of tequila. “Or there’s the hard stuff.”

“I’ll go with a beer, thanks.”

Damon jumps in, rattling off a bunch of terms that are meaningless to Elena: IPA, malt, stout, pilsner, hoppy. She doesn’t speak beer but her brother does, and for as long as it takes to pour herself a glass of wine, gulp down a third of it, add more, and bring the eggplant parm to the table, they carry on a civil, if incomprehensible, conversation.

Once they’re seated and passing around the salad and bread, the brief thaw passes. Now that the beer bonding is over, Jeremy’s mood reverts to its stony state.

“I noticed you used ‘we,’” he says. “You live together, don’t you.”

She stabs a piece of eggplant, the tines of her fork scraping shrilly against the plate. “We do. The apartment was empty without Caroline, so I decided to give it up.”

“Hmm.”

Elena attempts some small talk to ease the tension, but her appetite dwindles with every sparse answer. New girlfriend (unsurprising), LA is a hot, hazy mob scene (still), his job keeps him busy (predictable), he thought about adopting a dog (has been for three years). When the well runs dry, she resorts to wine, draining her first glass (and a third) and starting on the second.

“So, Damon, what do you do?”

Oh, shit.

“I own a club,” he replies smoothly, swirling the wine in his glass.

Jeremy’s gaze flits over the stainless steel appliances, the pristine table linens, the paintings on the walls—Nik’s, mostly. “Must be a hot spot. Is it a front for drugs, or money laundering? Warm bodies for the right price?”

Damon stiffens at the last one, and she hisses her brother’s name. “That’s enough.”

“I hate to spoil the villainous backstory you’re crafting for me, but it’s none of the above,” Damon supplies, ignoring the barbs. “I’m a good businessman. I work hard and it pays off.”

Jeremy shrugs, unimpressed, and shifts his focus to Elena.

“That where you met?”

“Yes. We clicked from the start”—don’t you dare blush—“and, honestly, I’ve never been happier.” She sets down her glass with more gusto than she intended and wine sloshes onto the tablecloth. “Shit,” she growls, scrubbing at it with her napkin.

“And how does the part about you almost getting kidnapped fit into this fairytale?” Jeremy snaps.

She white-knuckles the table, torn between throttling her brother and guzzling wine straight from the bottle, until Damon gently pries her fingers loose and entwines them with his.

“You don’t know the whole story, Jer.”

“Then enlighten me.”

Damon stays quiet but offers a small smile and squeezes her hand. Drawing in a deep breath, she reminds herself which details to skip. Anything involving Doms, subs, and kink clubs, basically.

“Damon threw someone out of the club a few years ago. They used to be friends, but the guy betrayed his trust and violated the rules.” Understatement. “Turns out he was an egomaniacal asshole on a power trip, and when Damon revoked his membership and made sure the woman he’d been abusing stayed out of his reach, he took it personally. Now, he’s out for revenge and that’s where I come in.” She shivers, remembering Enzo’s cruel taunts. “He wants to hurt Damon by taking me from him.”

Jeremy scowls at Damon. “Did you know this piece of shit was gunning for you when you decided to date my sister?”

“No. He disappeared after I booted his ass then showed up again a couple months back. Said he heard I was with someone. That’s what he’d been waiting for, apparently.”

“What is he hoping to get from taking Elena?” Jeremy presses. “Ransom money? Ownership of the club?”

Damon laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Fear he can’t hide brews in the depths of his pale eyes—the same fear Elena saw when she woke up in the hospital and after the near break-in at her apartment.

“I wish it were something that trivial.” He sighs and tightens his grip on her hand. “The bastard is a trafficker. He plans to sell Elena to the highest bidder.”

His revelation is met with silence. Elena pushes her plate away, unable to stomach another bite. Damon finishes his wine and sets his glass aside. As they wait for the imminent explosion, Jeremy stares straight ahead, his expression blank, his hand curled around the neck of his beer bottle. She wouldn’t be surprised if he hurled it across the room after learning of Enzo’s true intentions.

“Jer—”

“Why didn’t you let her go,” he seethes, turning the full brunt of his glare on Damon. “You knew what that sick fuck wanted to do to Elena, but you still kept her in your life. I was right.” He jabs a finger in Elena’s direction. “He’s the reason you’re in danger, and he’s too goddamn selfish to see it.”

Her pulse pounds harder as she absorbs every word of his accusation. This is why he agreed to come tonight, not to visit her but to blame Damon. Face to face. Her hand trembles in Damon’s grasp as she quells the urge to scream. It would relieve the damn of emotions that’s threatening to burst at any second, but it won’t solve the real problem.

“I told you—it’s not Damon’s fault. You think him breaking up with me is the answer?” she asks incredulously. “Leaving me to deal with this alone?”

“You could’ve moved in with me. Or Jenna.”

“And what’s to stop Enzo from following me? I wouldn’t put either of you in danger like that.”

Damon clears his throat and levels his cool gaze at Jeremy. If it was painful to listen to her brother spew his bullshit, it doesn’t show. He’s collected. In control.

“You don’t understand this—us. It’s too fast for you, too new, but we’ve . . . bonded. Elena’s everything to me. I love her,” he states firmly, allowing no room for argument. “You might not believe it, but Enzo sure as hell does. I hate that she’s in this mess because of me, but he’ll come after her whether we’re together or apart, and I would never abandon her. I will protect Elena any and every way I can. If it makes me selfish for staying with her, then so be it.”

The chirp of her cell interrupts the charged moment, and she hesitates, glancing from Damon to Jeremy. There’s a tic in Jer’s jaw, but he’s no longer strangling his beer. She excuses herself, hoping he won’t use her temporary absence as an opportunity to tear into Damon again.

She checks her phone, startled to find her editor’s name on the screen. Must be important—

“Dammit!” While she was busy catching up with Caroline and preparing for the impending storm, she forgot to submit her article, which is now—she looks at the clock—four hours late. At least it’s written; she just needs to proof and send it. “I missed my deadline. I have to take this.” Of course it would happen tonight. “I’ll only be gone fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops.”

Damon gestures for her to go. “We’ll be fine.”

She locks eyes with Jeremy, pleading with him to give it a rest. He nods curtly and resumes nursing his beer. Maybe the alcohol will help him unwind.

With a tepid wave, she darts for the stairs.

*****

Eating dinner with someone who outright despises you is an experience, and so far, it doesn’t rate high on Damon’s list of favorite things. Social gatherings are his strong suit. He has the gift of gab, as his mother used to call it. He can carry on a conversation with just about anyone, except when that person isn’t interested in a word he has to say.

Like Jeremy.

Silverware scrapes and squeals on fine china as they poke at the remnants of their meal. It was delicious, as usual. Elena’s a fantastic cook, and it’s a shame the rampant tension kept them from enjoying it. She hardly touched her food.

He was hoping to connect with Jeremy, and they did for a split second. Over beer. A short-lived victory. Tonight went a hell of a lot differently in his head. Of course it would be awkward and uncomfortable in the beginning, but then they’d talk it out, maybe share a few laughs. Tell stories. Crack jokes.

Like a family.

He stands and collects their plates, offers Jeremy another beer—which he declines using the bare minimum of syllables—and departs for the kitchen. Inspiration strikes while he’s loading the dishwasher, and he returns to the table with a plan.

“Normally, I’d give you the tour, but I’m guessing you’d rather watch paint dry.” Jeremy’s mouth twitches, just a little. Progress. “There’s something I’d like to show you, though.”

Damon waits for Jeremy to shoot down the invitation or tell him to fuck off. Or both. Instead, Jeremy pushes his chair back and motions for Damon to lead the way. The trip to the garage is a quiet one, at least until Elena’s brother lays eyes on his baby. The one with a fresh wax job. And four wheels.

“Is that a ’69?”

“Yep.” He smooths a hand over the hood, his mind flooding with images of Elena splayed on its shiny surface. Now is not the time. “I bought it my sophomore year of college. Spent most of every measly paycheck to fix her up. I lived on Ramen and the freezer section at 7-Eleven, but it was worth it.”

Jeremy nods, examining the sleek car. “Our dad used to have an old Camaro. He drove us everywhere in it when we were kids.”

No wonder Elena adores Blue—the nickname she recently bestowed on his beloved convertible.

While Jeremy studies the Camaro, Damon flips open a panel on the wall, revealing an Alaric-approved surveillance system with several mini screens that feed to larger ones in his office. There are views of the backyard, the driveway, the front and back doors, the deck.

“Security?” Jeremy asks, appearing beside him.

“This is the new-and-improved version I had installed when Elena moved in.” He taps a screen showing a tiny ball of gray fur darting through the yard. “It alerts me if anything bigger than a squirrel comes within twenty feet of the house.”

Jeremy grunts in response, his gaze flicking from one screen to the next. It’s impossible to tell if his intense interest in the security system means he approves or if he’s just using it as an excuse to ignore Damon. Jeremy might never change his opinion of him, might never care about what he has to say, but fuck it—he’s going to hear it anyway.

“You don’t trust me, and it would probably make your day if I spontaneously combusted. You’re protective of your sister. I get it. After my mother died, I spent years shielding my brother from our father’s right hook.” The old, familiar anger rekindles in Damon at the thought of Giuseppe. Miserable bastard. “Then Stefan was parentless at seventeen, still in high school, so I looked out for him. Helped him pack and drove him to college in the fall. We were all each other had.”

Jeremy turns, a hint of something in his expression Damon hasn’t seen before. Sympathy?

“I’m not fishing for pity,” he clarifies. “You and Elena lost your parents, too. I told you so you’ll understand that I would do anything to keep Elena away from Enzo. She means the world to me. When I found out she was almost kidnapped, I was terrified, more than I’d ever been in my entire fucking life.” His heart pounds at the memory of that night. It plagues his mind, a permanent nightmare. “Her wellbeing is my top priority. That’s why I asked her to live with me. Why I follow her to and from work every day. Why I break out in a cold sweat at the idea of losing her.”

Jeremy says nothing, and the silent treatment drags on until Damon can’t stand the stillness. The pointlessness. It’s like talking to a wall. If total honesty won’t work, what possibly could. Closing the panel that conceals the security system, Damon heads for the door. Elena will be thrilled with the progress they haven’t made. At least Jeremy didn’t take a swing at him. Yet.

“You really love her.”

Damon stops, his hand on the knob. “I do, absolutely.”

Jeremy’s next to him now, his dark brown eyes—so like Elena’s—boring into him. “See, I’ve heard that before. You’re not the only one who’s claimed to love my sister. The last guy said pretty shit, too, then Elena walked in on him while he was screwing his side piece. And let’s not forget the med school jackass who broke up with her because writing isn’t a, quote, unquote, ‘prestigious profession,’” he spits in disgust. “I don’t want her to get hurt again.”

Something tightens in Damon’s chest, and he absently rubs his sternum. No wonder Elena’s been vague about her exes. “Doozies” is too generous. Complete fuckheads, more like. Undeserving, entitled wastes of space. God help them if they ever try crawling back to her.

“Neither do I,” Damon agrees, meeting Jeremy’s stare head-on. “My last relationship imploded. Spectacularly. I was all in and she was halfway out the door. I didn’t date for years after that.” First his father, now Charlotte. He didn’t intend to give Jeremy a highlight reel of the shittiest points of his life, but here they are. “I had my love thrown back in my face. I wouldn’t do that to Elena.”

Jeremy shifts his weight, drops his shoulders, digs his hands into his pockets. Less anger, more awkwardness. He glances at the Camaro, and Damon recognizes the look: longing. The ache that reminds you things were simpler, once.

“Jenna and Elena, they’re the only family I have left,” he says gruffly. “The only ones that give a shit about me, anyway. I can’t let anything happen to them.”

“I know.” He pictures Jeremy and Elena riding in the car with their dad, maybe hitting the local ice cream stand or going to the park. Ah, fuck. There’s that twinge again. He scrubs at his hair, still tiptoeing through the minefield of Jeremy Gilbert’s emotions. “I want this to work.” He gestures between them. “With us. It’ll take time, but I’m willing to put in the effort if you are. Elena deserves happiness and a big hodgepodge of family and friends who love her, and she has that. If the day ever comes, and I sure as hell pray it doesn’t . . . if Enzo”—he clears his throat to dislodge the rest of the words that burn like battery acid on his tongue—“If he gets to her, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Never.

The thought of Elena at the mercy of a man who has none makes his stomach churn.

The last bit grabs Jeremy’s attention. He peers at Damon closely, without the usual sneer, and opens his mouth just as Elena hollers to them from inside the house.

“Guys? Where’d you go?”

She probably has the first aid kit with her, just in case.

“Coming!” Damon answers.

Whatever Jeremy was going to say will have to wait, but he nods at Damon, acknowledging their unfinished business, and follows him to the kitchen.

*****

The cake’s not bad. A little dry. They drain half a gallon of milk, then Jeremy cracks a joke about how it’s better than the mud pie—complete with tufts of grass and a fat earthworm—she made him for his fifth birthday. They all laugh, Elena snorts, and for once, it feels natural.

Damon braces for another round of uncomfortable silence after the moment passes, but the reminiscing continues. More stories. There was the time Elena hid Jeremy’s Xbox and left him a trail of clues so complicated it took him a month to find it. He retaliated by telling every guy on the football team she needed a date to the prom. Their parents weren’t amused by the flood of phone calls and doorbell ringing that followed. Neither was her boyfriend.

Pink spreads in Elena’s cheeks as she wipes her eyes, half draped in Damon’s lap while she recalls a camping incident where her brother mistook a skunk for a cat. She’s laughing too hard to finish the tale, so Jeremy takes over. Then he asks for that second beer.

Elena sprinkles in new memories, too. She tells Jeremy about the snowstorm, their karaoke date, her surprise birthday party—complete with frosting war—and their trip to Savannah (the G-rated bits). Damon drops in a few details but mostly sits back and enjoys Elena’s wine-slash-sugar-fueled giggles. Her head lolls on his chest, and he shouldn’t push his luck, but he hasn’t kissed her since before dinner, dammit. It’s a quick, chaste peck on the forehead, but Elena has other ideas.

Curling her arm around his neck, she tugs his mouth to hers and there’s nothing family-friendly about the way she nibbles his bottom lip. He’s prepared to devour her, but then he remembers their guest.

A guest who probably wants to kill him. Slowly. Painfully.

Elena notices Damon’s hesitation and stills, eyes wide. They’re wearing matching oh-shit looks, he’s sure. They glance at Jeremy, waiting for the fallout, but he’s more interested in picking at the label on his bottle. When he catches them staring, he shrugs and takes the empty to the kitchen.

“Oops,” Elena whispers, not sorry at all. She uses her brother’s absence to her advantage, sneaking another kiss before he returns.

They’re mostly composed by the time he strolls into the room, but the evidence is there: swollen lips, ruffled hair, Elena’s little gasps as she tries to steady her breathing. Jeremy shakes his head and mutters something about getting a room, but the tone is less I’ll-murder-you-for-touching-my-sister, more save-the-horny-teenagers-act-until-after-I-leave.

The conversation picks up where it left off, and Jeremy stretches out in his chair, filling in some of the specifics he denied earlier. His new girlfriend is nice. She’s a gamer, the captain of her roller derby team, and he thinks it might work out. He even reveals her name, accidentally, and it’s a good thirty seconds before the shock passes.

“Wow, Jer. Sounds serious,” Elena teases. He tosses a pillow at her and she lobs it back, missing him by a foot, maybe two.

She pries for more scoop, but when the yawns outnumber the questions, Jeremy digs the keys to his rental out of his pocket and stands to leave. Damon wanders to the kitchen, giving them privacy to say their goodbyes without him hovering. He pours himself a nightcap and sips the smooth bourbon while he waits. Elena’s laughing again as she reminds Jeremy about Thanksgiving. Probably an order from Caroline.

It gets quiet after that and Damon assumes he’s gone, but the scuff of boots behind him tells him otherwise. He tosses back the rest of his bourbon and turns, ready for the parting threats. Instead, Jeremy sticks out his hand.

“I see it. I didn’t want to, but it’s there. She hasn’t smiled like that since our parents . . . uh, yeah.” Jeremy holds Damon’s gaze as he accepts the offering and they shake. “Sorry for giving you shit. It’s hard, living so far away. I can’t protect her, but I believe you when you say you’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”

Damon nods. Distance isn’t a problem for him, but the fear is the same. “I will.”

With a new, shared understanding between them, Jeremy waves at his sister and disappears out the door.

*****

Damon stares at the racks of clothing in front of him, forgetting why he’s here. Oh, right. Business meeting. A Dom from Nashville is flying in tomorrow to tour Midnight and collect some pointers on starting his own club. He opts for a dark gray, double-breasted suit but waits on the tie. Elena likes to pick those, but she’s on the phone with Jenna, filling her in on Jeremy’s visit.

He spots his camera case and pulls it from the shelf. While he’s at the club, he’ll take some shots of the new equipment and theme rooms to add to the website. There’s a flogging post and another stockade he just installed in the dungeon. The latter could come in handy next time his kitten gets too feisty.

“There you are.”

Hands dive under his t-shirt, sliding it up while she blows warm, ticklish puffs of air on his bare back. He grips the hem and tugs it over his head so she’ll have better access, tossing the shirt on the floor.

“What’s the suit for?” Elena asks, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“Meeting at the club. Which tie?”

“Hmm.” Her purr vibrates against his skin, and he savors the soft rumble. “Navy blue,” she decides.

“Perfect choice.” Damon drapes the tie over the jacket, tucks the camera case under his arm, and catches Elena’s hand in his, leading her into the bedroom. “How’s Jenna?”

“Relieved you’re still standing. Oh, and she convinced Alaric to join Skype. Can you imagine?”

He chuckles at the visual of Ric video chatting, bourbon in one hand and a Hot Pocket in the other. “He’s got it bad.”

“He does,” she agrees, “and it’s adorable. Just don’t tell him I said that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He sets the case on the dresser and cups her ass, pulling her flush to his chest. After their tense evening, he wants to cuddle with his girl and forget everything else but the feel of her body entwined with his.

“Planning that shoot you teased me with once?” she asks, glancing at the case. “Should I get ready for my close-up, Mr. Salvatore? I’ve been told I look good in rope.”

Oh, he likes this idea. Scratch that—he fucking loves it. He wasn’t sure she’d remember their conversation at Nik’s gallery all those months ago, but he’s glad she did. “Would you like that, kitten?”

“Very much.”

“Then I’ll make the arrangements.” He’s already visualized the scene and the shots he wants, but staging it is half the fun. He can’t wait to transform the playroom into a studio.

Elena shifts, the excited gleam in her eyes fading. “About tonight,” she murmurs, draping her arms loosely around his neck. “I’m sorry for the way my brother acted. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You don’t need to apologize, baby.”

“No, there’s no excuse—”

“Jeremy already did.”

She blinks in disbelief. “What?”

“We talked before he left and it ended on a good note. We’re not in a fantasy football league or anything, but it’s a start.” He smiles as she tries to process this turn of events. “Shocking, I know, especially after he implied I was a criminal kingpin, then there was the awkward exes convo—yours and mine both.”

Elena cringes. “I should’ve stayed.”

“It’s fine,” he soothes, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. “Those assholes you dated never deserved you.” He hugs her tighter to him, amazed for the millionth time at what a lucky bastard he is. “Their loss is my treasure.”

Her skin heats beneath his touch. “How did you change Jeremy’s mind?”

“I was honest about how much you mean to me. He doesn’t want to lose you, and neither do I.”

She grins and leans in for a kiss. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He walks her backward until she bumps into the mattress. “The only place you’re going is to bed. Our bed.” She tumbles onto the duvet, tugging him down with her. He straddles her hips, working at the buttons on her blouse. When the last one pops free, he hovers over her, admiring the way her breasts threaten to spill out of her bra with every uneven breath. “This is new,” he hums, palming her lace-clad tits.

“Thought you might like it,” she murmurs, arching into his caress.

“I love it.” He swoops in, tonguing her nipples through the cream-colored lace while his hand dips inside the waistband of her jeans.

“Damon!” she moans as he strokes her sex, pressing her soaked panties against her clit.

“Say it again.”

God, how he adores it when she cries out his name. It’s a mantra that falls from her lips as she comes for him. Over and over. Until they’re fucking spent.

And he’ll never get enough.

*****

Elena knocks on the door to the playroom and adjusts the belt on her coat. She taps her foot on the carpet, a little jittery. It’s a good kind of nervous, though—wondering what Damon will do, anticipating his moves while planning her own. He’s a quick thinker with a vividly filthy imagination (that she adores) and years of experience at executing the perfect scene. It’s still intimidating, but she’s up to the challenge.

And she has a few surprises in store for her Dom.

Her shoes are ridiculous. Five-inch heels, real fuck-me pumps. She almost fell down the stairs (twice), but the way they make her legs look . . .

Damon doesn’t stand a chance.

She strikes a pose, flashing a glimpse of thigh. She’s a sassy, sensual goddess in a trench coat, prepared to bring her photographer to his knees.

The door swings open to reveal Damon in an open button-down, sleeves rolled up, bare chest begging to be stroked or kissed. Or licked. Focus, dammit. His jeans are so low-slung it’s indecent, his hip bones peeking above the waistband. She follows the trail of hair from just below his bellybutton until it disappears beneath the skin-tight denim. Those pants need to go. They’re blocking her view.

Is it too late to switch roles? She’d rather snap some shots of her own.

“Ah, you must be Elena. Nice headshot, great nudes. I never forget a pair of perky tits,” he says, voice pitched deep so every word is like a flick of tongue between her thighs. He frowns at the coat as if he was expecting lingerie or a string bikini, then his gaze travels from head to toe, darkening as it glides down her legs and lands on the shoes. “Beautiful but overdressed. We can remedy that.”

“And you’re Devon. No, wait. Dean? Dave?” She snaps her fingers, feigning deep concentration and trying not to laugh. It’s only been a minute. She can’t blow this already. “Damien!”

“Damon,” he corrects, a dangerous glint in his eyes. She loves teasing him, even if she’ll pay for it later. “I’m sure you won’t have trouble remembering it when we’re through here.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Both.” He steps aside and gestures for her to enter. “After you.”

Game on.

She saunters past him, rolling her hips and showing off more leg. He grins at the non-subtle display of skin, his hand skimming her ass as he follows her into the room. He’s done some rearranging and concealing—a folding screen hides his rack of whips and other hurts-so-good toys. The St. Andrew’s cross and spanking bench have been pushed into the far corner and covered with a sheet. The bondage table is still there, disguised as a catch-all with a robe, his camera case, and a black duffel laid on top of it. A flash of white draws her attention: the plush rug from in front of the fireplace.

“All warmed up now?”

“Nice and toasty.”

Heat spreads from her chest to her core as the memory of that night fills her mind. It was the first time she stayed at his house. The first time her hands roamed freely over his body while they made love.

“If you want to do a touch-up, go for it, not that you need it. You’re a natural beauty.”

Damon pulls her back to the present, indicating the antique mirror he’s transformed into a makeshift vanity with a small table and stool. He passes her the robe, sliding the soft material across her palms. Silk, probably.

She stares at her reflection and twirls a curl around her finger. Fusses with her eyeliner. Freshens her lip gloss. Builds up her courage for what she’s about to do next.

While Damon plays with the lighting, she tosses the robe aside. She loosens the belt on the trench and shrugs out of it. Now what? She could pose again. Or not. What if she ruins the vibe . . .

“Screw it,” she mutters under her breath. She’s come this far; own it. Hands on hips, she spreads her legs just enough to give him a decent view of her smooth sex—freshly waxed. “How do you want me?” she purrs.

He turns, eyes flaring as he ogles her bare body. She walks a slow circle around him, flaunting her best angles and watching the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. Time to go in for the kill. Stopping with her back to him, she bends at the waist, her fingertips brushing the carpet, and wiggles her ass. There’s a sharp intake of breath, and she basks in her victory. Now that he’s distracted, she can—

“Eager. I like it.”

Shit. So much for the shock factor. When she faces him, he devours her with his gaze, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He lingers on her breasts then shifts his focus to her sex like he’s considering her question, cataloging the ways he wants her: where, how, and in what positions.

The longer he looks at her, the wetter she gets. She rubs her thighs together and he follows the movement, humming in approval. He’s not even touching her and she’s ready to beg.

“Flexible, too. That’s a bonus.” He smirks, clearly enjoying seeing her squirm. “Go ahead and stretch. It’ll be a while before I let you loose.”

“You think I’ll pull a muscle posing?” she scoffs. “It’s a nude shoot, not a gymnastics meet.”

He steps closer, encroaching on her personal space. “Someone didn’t read the fine print. It’s not just any nude shoot, E-len-a.” His tongue caresses each syllable of her name as if it tastes particularly sweet, his breath tickling her cheek. “It’s for a fetish site that sells all the essentials. Toys, rope, gear, clothing,” he explains, ticking off the items on his fingers. “For the next four hours, you’re going to be my bondage doll.”

Good. If she’s arguing with him, she won’t be tempted to touch him. Or lean in and kiss the sensitive spot below his collarbone. “What? I didn’t agree to that,” she huffs, folding her arms over her breasts, hiding them from his view.

“You signed the contract, sweetheart, so technically, you did.”

“But . . . that’s . . . I wouldn’t . . .”

“Never been tied up before?”

“I didn’t say t-that,” she sputters, playing the innocent card, which would be more convincing if she wasn’t just strutting around like a porn star.

“You didn’t have to.” He tugs on her arms, prying them away from her chest. “Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you, for a little while,” he adds, dragging his fingertip from her navel to the swell of her breast.

She slaps his hand as it inches toward her nipple. “There’s no clause in the contract that allows you to cop a feel whenever you like.”

“Sure about that?” He arches a brow and dips his head, his lips brushing her ear. “Maybe I added one.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“No? Did you read any of it?” When all she offers is her fiercest glare, he chuckles and grips her waist, pulling her body tight to his. “Here’s the condensed version: you’re mine for the duration of the shoot.” She gasps and tries to shimmy out of his grasp but gets nowhere. “I saw you squeezing your thighs, hiding how fucking wet you are. You might be a bondage virgin”—she stifles a laugh—“but you want this. Admit it.”

His hard-on is digging into her belly through his jeans, impossible to ignore. What she really wants is to take him in her mouth and work him over with her tongue until his eyes roll back, but she’ll have to table that impulse. For now.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” He wins this round, but she’s not giving in. “Doesn’t mean I’ll enjoy it.”

His smile grows into something dark and wicked, and her body answers the call, burning with need.

“Let’s begin.”

*****

“A drink before we get started?” Damon asks, holding out a glass of ice water.

She accepts it, sighing as the cool liquid soothes her parched throat. In her rush to get ready, she forgot to down her usual bottle, but it’s only a photoshoot. How strenuous could it be? She guzzles half the glass then passes it back to him.