#[tvd]

[meluneira]

[duchessripper]

“why do you still use tumblr?”

listen— i have to keep track of my hyper fixations somehow

[vanillacinnamqn]

in another life I’m a teen living in the 2000s

[knight-in-shimmering-armour]

Vampirism be like "your physical health will be pitch perfect forever, but your mental health is between you and god."

[auriane555]

2010s supernatural small town teen drama is just so me

[wholoveseggs]

I have I request/fic idea that’s kind of a flip on the usual. Reader & Elijah are dating and he can tell that’s she’s been holding something back when they have sex and is determined to get her to let go so he really pulls out all the stops. Reader is a biter, especially in situations she needs to be quiet (& maybe even a bit of a scratcher ie kinda claws at his back) but a previous boyfriend told it was weird so she’s super self conscious about it and is always a little distracted during sex fighting the instinct to bite him. Elijah succeeds and she latches onto that area between the neck & shoulder and turns out, not only is Elijah totally fine with it, he really REALLY likes it.

Bites

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader} You were afraid to bite him. Until he told you to do it again.

♡♡ hiii anon I love your mind && Happy day one of mikaelson week!! I've missed ya'll ~xo ♡♡

3.2k words - Warnings: smut, praise kink, riding, biting kink (the blood-free kind ... although Elijah absolutely wouldn’t mind...), overwhelmed reader, feral elijah && warm fire...

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering light across all of the ancient books lining the walls. Everything felt still and quiet, that kind of soft silence that only came when you were wrapped in warmth and safety. It was your favorite kind of evening, curled under a soft blanket on the sofa with your favorite person tucked close.

You still weren’t sure how you managed to pull a man like Elijah. You met a while ago, when he walked up to you like he already knew what you would say. All dark eyes and smooth charm, tailored clothes and quiet confidence. He had disarmed you instantly. From the first moment, you sensed something different about him. Though you didn’t know then just how true that would turn out to be.

And now, months later, here you were. Nestled against one of the oldest living creatures on earth, with his arm around your waist like it belonged there. He could have had anyone. And yet, he chose you.

You certainly weren’t going to argue.

A soft sigh slipped from your lips as you pressed in closer, wrapping the blanket tighter around both of you. You looked up at him, studying the familiar lines of his face in the firelight. His hair fell softly across his brow, his dark eyes tracking the lines of his book. But the way his hand moved, slow and precise, long fingers flexing just enough to remind you how they felt against your skin. That was what made your heart flutter.

Your gaze moved up to the column of his throat, the curve where neck meets shoulder. A place you kissed before many times, gently, reverently. But tonight, you didn’t want to kiss it. You wanted to bite it.

The thought hit fast and hot. You swallowed hard, shifting under the blanket as heat pooled between your thighs. It wasn’t the first time you had felt it. That deep, aching urge always crept in during quiet moments like this. When you felt content and safe around him, overwhelmed by love and want and intense feeling.

But just as quickly, shame curled through you like smoke. You shouldn’t want that. Not like this. It was too much. You were too much.

The last time you followed that instinct, let it slip past your lips in the heat of the moment, your ex hadn’t understood. He laughed. Pulled back. Shut down. Called you intense. In that tone people use when they mean something else. When they mean weird. When they mean wrong.

You pretended it didn’t hurt, but it stuck. It lived in you. Ever since, you kept that part of yourself locked away. Bit your own lip instead. Dug your nails into the sheets instead of skin. Avoided the feelings that threatened to swallow you whole.

And now here you were, held in the arms of the most perfect man you had ever known. Still too scared to show him the whole of what you wanted.

Elijah turned another page, but he hadn’t read a single word in the last five minutes. He could feel your body pressed against his side, warm and restless, your breaths coming shallower now. And he could practically hear the thoughts racing behind your silence.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just watched you from the corner of his eye, taking in the way your gaze lingered on him a little too long, the way your lips parted like you might say something, then thought better of it. Your breath caught.. just barely. But he noticed. He always did.

There was a flush rising beneath your skin, a certain tension in your frame that made his chest warm. You were trying so hard not to let it show. He could feel it in the way you tucked yourself a little closer, like you needed him to notice without asking. He found it very sweet.

He didn’t know what you were holding back, not exactly. But he could feel it, some small ache just beneath the surface. Something you thought you needed to hide.

He could wait. He would wait. But it was hard not to smile when you got like this. All quiet and shy…and clearly about two seconds from climbing into his lap.

His book was forgotten. His eyes were on you now, wearing that unreadable expression he saved for when he was studying something closely. Not judging. Just observing.

"W-what?" you asked, trying not to squirm. "You’re very distracting, you know that?"

Elijah gave you a small, amused smile. "I haven’t done anything."

"Exactly," you said, returning the smile. "You sit there looking like that and expect me to concentrate on anything else?"

He hummed, low and content, and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. "I was under the impression we were just reading."

"I was trying," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips brushed your skin. "Then your hand turned a page and my brain completely stopped working."

"That sounds serious," he said, voice dropping just a little, all low and velvet-soft as his fingers slipped beneath the blanket. "Should I be concerned?"

You giggled breathlessly just before he caught your mouth in a soft kiss. His hand trailed up your thigh, pausing just beneath the hem of your dress. Then, with careful ease, he dipped under the fabric. Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t pull away.

His palm slid higher, warm and steady against bare skin. He smiled into the kiss, then shifted, lifting you effortlessly into his lap. The blanket slid down, pooling around your waist as your knees braced on either side of his hips. He only broke the kiss long enough to lift your dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

He hadn’t expected his evening to go like this. Elijah had planned to read, maybe kiss you once or twice and fall asleep with you curled against his chest. But now you were in his lap, bare and radiant, and all he could do was stare. The way your skin flushed under his palms, the way your fingers trembled as they touched him. It always undid something in him.

Your hands moved to the front of his shirt, fumbling slightly with the buttons. He didn’t rush you. He liked watching you like this. A little nervous, focused, so clearly wanting him. You got halfway down before he leaned in and kissed your jaw, a whisper-soft encouragement. You pushed the fabric back off his shoulders and down his arms, quickly tossing it aside.

His hand slid down your back, firm and possessive, pulling you tight against him. He was already hard, and the pressure of it beneath you made your breath hitch. He guided your hips with slow, deliberate movements, coaxing you to grind against him. The friction stole your focus, made your fingers tremble against his skin as the heat between you deepened, hungry and sweet and impossible to ignore.

You let your hands roam across his chest, drinking him in. His skin was warm under your palms, his muscles carved and defined. Your fingertips traced the ridge of his collarbone, slid up the curve of his neck, tangled in his hair. He felt like something meant to be worshipped.

You reached between you, breath shaky, and undid the fastenings of his pants. He let you, his eyes never leaving your face. You pushed the fabric down just enough to free him, and the second your hand wrapped around him, he groaned, the sound rumbling through his chest.

You stroked him slowly, deliberately, savoring the feel of him in your hand. The way he exhaled like you were undoing him. The way his fingers dug into your thighs, the ways his pupils dilated, making them somehow even darker.

The firelight flickered across your back, casting the two of you in molten gold. He leaned in, breath warm against your throat, and you tipped your head back as he kissed along your neck, his mouth open, tongue teasing. His hand moved between your legs, slipping beneath your panties and pushing the fabric aside.

His fingers teased you gently, not enough to satisfy, just enough to make your hips shift, seeking more.

"Go slow for me. Let it ache a while," he murmured. "I'll take care of you."

Your body trembled with anticipation, with need, and you bit your lip, stifling a whimper. He kept his touches light, too light, just barely brushing the surface, then a little deeper, circling and coaxing until your legs began to shake.

You tried to stay in control. Tried to hold back the part of you that wanted to claw, to bite, to take. The part that always felt too hungry.

But then he pulled away, slow and deliberate, and shifted beneath you. He pressed the head of his cock right where you wanted him most and held there, unmoving, letting the need twist hot and sharp inside you.

You held your breath as he pressed against you, and then, slowly, you began to sink down. You let out a quiet moan, savoring the stretch and the way his hands tightened around you, steadying you.

You started to move, slow and careful. Lifting just enough to feel the pull before sinking down again. Every motion was thick with wet heat, achingly slow. Sweet friction that built fire with every pass.

Your muscles burned with the effort of staying in control, and your heart pounded like it was trying to claw its way out of your chest. Your nails digging into the sofa.

His hands slid along your spine, grounding you as he let you set the pace. But it was not enough to hold back the rush building in your blood.

It was too much. The pleasure. The pressure. The unbearable fullness of him, deep and steady, everywhere.

And still, you tried to hold it together.

Still, you held back.

He felt it in the hitch of your breath, in the tremble that started in your thighs and worked its way through you like a current. Your heart was a wild, beautiful thing beneath your skin. Fluttering against your ribs, echoing in his ears like a siren’s call. And your scent… god, the warmth of it, the way clouded all of his senses as you eased down onto him. It nearly undid him.

You were trying so hard to stay composed. He could see it in the tension at your jaw, the way your fingers dug into the leather behind you instead of into him. It made something sorrowful ache in his chest. You were holding back. Still afraid. Still unsure if it was safe to fall apart with him.

He wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to be. That he could take it. That he wanted it. Wanted you to be hungry, wild and unrestrained. But he didn’t speak. Not yet. He didn’t dare interrupt the soft, sacred rhythm you set.

One of his hands slid across your shoulder, fingers trailing down your arm until he found your wrist. He brought it forward, pressed your palm to his chest, his skin hot beneath your touch.

“Touch me,” he said softly, steady as a heartbeat. “You don’t need to hold back.”

Your pulse jumped. The warmth of his skin, the steady thump under your palm, was too much. Too intimate. Too good. Your other hand followed, splayed flat over his heart. His hands returned to your waist.

You moved again, hips rolling deep and slow. You arched into him, nails dragging red down his chest. The pleasure built and built. And still, it wasn’t enough.

Your body trembled, caught between the instinct to take and the fear of being too much. You kissed along his jaw... that beautiful jaw. Just a little bit of stubble, sharp enough to cut. You kissed along it, slowly, breathing him in, afraid and desperate in equal parts to sink your teeth in.

Your mouth lingered there. Open. Wanting. But not daring.

His fingers flexed at your hips.

"Take it," he murmured, voice wrecked. "Whatever you want. Take it."

And finally you gave in.

You sank your teeth into the curve where neck met shoulder. Not enough to break skin, not on someone like him, but enough to hurt. Enough to shake him.

Elijah’s groan was guttural, the sound of a man utterly undone. His head fell back, and hips jerked beneath you, a sudden, uncontrolled thrust, and your body clamped down around him so tight it made your breath catch.

“Fuck.”

He swore under his breath, more primal than polished now and his hands squeezed your ass, guiding your hips.

“Again,” he hissed. “Harder.”

Your chest clenched. No one had ever enjoyed your intense side. No one had ever asked for more. The shame that always curled beneath your ribs was gone, burned out by the raw need in his voice. He wasn’t tolerating it. He was loving it.

And you were helpless to resist.

You bit him again, harder, and the strangled sound that escaped him sent a thrill down your spine. Your hands were shaking, fingers pressed tight against his chest, and your heart was pounding, but everything else felt perfectly, blissfully clear.

"Yes," he breathed, and his hand slipped between you, his fingers stroking over the spot where you were joined, and then up, rubbing in insistent circles over your clit, "Yes, love, yes..."

You moaned against his neck, the sound muffled. It was too much. The feel of him moving beneath you, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his skin, the press of his fingers, his hand against your back. The sounds he made. That beautiful, wrecked voice saying yes, over and over again.

Your mouth was everywhere, rabidly moving along the line of his jaw, the sharp ridge of his throat, the flushed skin you already marked once. You bit down over and over, teeth dragging just enough to make him groan, filthy and low. You felt drunk on it, dizzy, like the whole world was spinning around you and he was the only thing that could keep you upright.

Your hips bucked hard, your rhythm lost, and he began to bounce you, lifting your hips and bringing them back down with a punishing force. Every thrust drove a ragged sound from the both of you.

“Elijah,” you gasped, already breathless, fingers curling into his shoulders.

“Again,” he growled, voice sharp now. “Fucking bite me.”

The command in his voice hit like a punch to the gut. A moan tore from your throat as you did, harder this time, the taste of his skin flooding your tongue. His pace increased, his whole body shuddered, and his cock twitched deep inside you as he cursed under his breath. He started moving you even faster, every thrust hit something perfect, something devastating, and your moans turned into broken little sobs.

Your hands scrambled for his skin, digging into his chest, his shoulders, holding on as you bounced in his lap, thighs burning, body slick with sweat and slick and spit.

“Look at you,” he gasped, voice gone completely hoarse, his dark eyes wide and wrecked. “So fucking sweet like this. Look at how you ride me…wild fucking thing-”

You didn’t even recognize the sound you made. You were too far gone.

It wasn’t even sex anymore. It was heat and hunger and something feral. You bit him again, just under his jaw this time, and he groaned, his hips losing their rhythm, and you didn't care. You didn’t care how loud you were, how your teeth tore at his skin, the way your nails left angry red marks down his chest.

The ache in you was so deep. It had been there for months, burning like an ember in your core. And now, finally, the fire was burning through you, scorching everything else away. There was nothing but this moment.

You came with a cry, body clenching down around him in waves, your whole body shaking, lips still pressed to his skin. You couldn't stop. You didn’t want to. You kept licking, kissing, moaning into his neck as the pleasure overtook you completely.

He followed you, voice wrecked and raw, hands still guiding you through it as he spilled inside you with a shudder that wracked his whole frame.

Slowly, the world came back. The crackle of the fire, the cool leather of the couch, the heat of his body, and the gentle press of his lips against your cheek, your neck, your shoulder.

Your limbs felt like lead, and all the air left your lungs in a shaky exhale.

"Holy shit," you managed, still gasping for breath.

"That is," he murmured, the ghost of a smile on his lips, "One way to put it."

You laughed, still dizzy, and collapsed against his chest. He pulled the blanket back up around the both of you, his hands smoothing along your spine, soothing you as your breath came in pants.

The fire had burned low. Most of the room had fallen into shadow, and the chill of the air was starting to creep back in. Without a word, Elijah shifted, carefully disentangling himself from the mess of limbs and blankets.

“No,” you mumbled, arms wrapping tighter around his middle. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He chuckled softly. “Nowhere far, sweetheart.”

You let him go reluctantly, flopping onto your side as he stood. And then … well. You definitely didn’t regret letting him go.

The firelight kissed every plane of his body in soft orange-gold. You watched as he moved to the fireplace, unhurried and utterly unbothered to be naked, every muscle flexing as he bent to adjust the wood in the hearth. Strong shoulders, defined arms and the curve of his back… he looked like he should be carved into stone. He didn’t even have to look at you to know what you were thinking.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking back.

“You’re naked,” you shot back, pulling the blanket up to your chin, flushed and smiling.

He gave the fire one last nudge and turned, smiling in that infuriatingly composed way. “So I am.”

He crossed the room with slow, easy steps, the light catching the curves and ridges of his torso. Your gaze drifted lower, and he laughed, a low rumble in his chest. “You alright?”

You nodded, blushing.

He climbed back onto the couch, leaning in to kiss you, long and languid. When he pulled back, you were grinning, and he looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Was that alright?” you asked, voice small. “I know I can get… in my head. And the biting thing, it’s…”

He shook his head and kissed you again, gentle and certain, as if to hush every doubt before it could reach your lips.

“My love,” he said, brushing a knuckle down your cheek. “You are speaking to a vampire. You think I’d be scandalized by a few enthusiastic nibbles?”

You giggled, a little fluttery in your chest. He pulled the blanket closer, settling in beside you. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then the tip of your nose, then down to your jaw. He continued like that, peppering soft kisses all along the line of your jaw until he reached your ear. “I meant what I said. I want all of you. Even the parts you think are too much. Especially those.”

Your heart clenched.

You peeked up at him again, shy. “Even if I want to bite you like… all the time?”

He grinned. “Especially that.”

[vampygirrlll]

INNOCENT BABYGIRL

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Reader

Warning: Sensual content, and might be +18

♱The innocence of her made him wilder ♱

The Gilbert house was too quiet at night. Without Elena’s soft footsteps or Jeremy’s music leaking under his bedroom door, silence stretched across the living room like a blanket. You weren’t used to being alone here — not really — and it made the creaks of the floorboards louder, the tick of the clock sharper, the shadows outside the windows heavier.

But when the knock came, sharp against the wood, you didn’t jump. Somehow, you already knew who it was.

You pulled the door open and there he was. Damon Salvatore. Leaning one shoulder against the frame like he owned it, wearing that half-smirk that made you feel like he could see right through your skin and into your thoughts. His eyes, impossibly blue even in the low light, lingered on you a second too long, the way they always did.

“Hi, Dam,” you said, your voice lighter than the way your chest tightened.

His mouth curved up slowly, deliberately. “Hey, angel.”

That nickname again. The one he’d been using since the first time he met you, as if he’d claimed you with a single word. You always laughed it off, rolled your eyes, told him he was ridiculous. But every time, it made your stomach flip in a way you couldn’t explain.

He straightened a little, tilting his head. “Are you gonna invite me in?” His voice was velvet — low, smooth, a little dangerous.

You shook your head with a soft laugh. “I don’t need to say it. You know you can.”

The innocence you maintain, the fact that you don't know anything, not he's secret or everything that it hides behind, he loved that.

His smirk sharpened, his body shifting closer, close enough that the air between you felt heavier, warmer. His lips dipped toward your ear, his words brushing over your skin like a touch.

“I can what…” he whispered, dragging the pause just long enough to make you swallow. “Say it.”

Your throat went dry, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. “You can come in,” you said softly, almost steady, though your cheeks betrayed you with heat.

Damon chuckled under his breath, pleased, and stepped past the threshold. But not without leaning close, his breath ghosting against your jaw as he murmured, “Inside the house, or…”

You froze for half a heartbeat before you caught the smirk tugging at his lips, the mischievous spark in his eyes.

“Damon.” You rolled your eyes, your blush deepening, but a laugh slipped from your mouth all the same.

He grinned like he’d won something, brushing past you with casual arrogance as if he’d lived here all his life. You shut the door behind him, still fighting the smile tugging at your lips, and turned to see him already pouring himself into the living room, hands tucked into the pockets of his black jeans.

“You know,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at you with mock seriousness, “most girls would scream if a man showed up at their house uninvited this late. You, on the other hand…” He let his gaze drift slowly down the length of you and back up, unhurried, shameless. “You look like you were waiting for me.”

“I wasn’t,” you said quickly, crossing your arms.

“Mhm.” He flopped lazily onto the couch, stretching out like a cat that owned the place. “Sure, angel. I believe you.”

Your arms tightened across your chest, though you couldn’t fight the curve of your lips. Damon was always like this — toeing the line, leaning too close, saying too much, and leaving you unsure if he was serious or just playing. Most of the time, you laughed it off. But when it was just the two of you, no Elena, no Jeremy, no distractions, it was harder to ignore the way his words lingered in the air, thick and electric.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you muttered, though it lacked any bite.

“Mm, but I am,” he said simply, tilting his head back against the couch cushion, his smirk softening into something hungrier as his eyes found yours again. “And you’re not throwing me out. So…” He patted the empty space beside him. “Come sit, angel. Unless you’re scared.”

You hesitated. Damon watched you like he was reading every flicker of hesitation, every racing heartbeat.

And he liked it.

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

The movie flickered on the TV, shadows dancing lazily across the walls of the living room, but neither of you had been paying attention for a while. The silence had stretched, comfortable yet heavy, and you found yourself fiddling with the hem of your silk pajama dress, staring at the images on the screen without really seeing them. Finally, to break the quiet, you asked the first thing that popped into your mind.

“Can you imagine if vampires really existed?” Your voice was soft, curious, carrying that innocent lilt Damon had become addicted to.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned his head slowly toward you, the corner of his mouth curving in that trademark smirk, though his eyes gleamed with something sharper, something darker. “Would you be afraid of them?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with amusement, like he already knew your answer and was daring you to surprise him.

“That depends,” you replied, tilting your head with the same kind of innocent thoughtfulness that made him lose his composure.

Damon’s gaze lingered on you, and for a dangerous second, he forgot the game. He forgot the teasing, the sarcastic banter, all of it. Because the way you looked at him — wide-eyed, unguarded, pure — was enough to unravel centuries of practiced self-control. He drowned in it, over and over again, as if every beat of your pulse was another wave dragging him under. He wanted to rip that innocence to shreds, to tear the bandana from your eyes and show you exactly what kind of monster you were so recklessly inviting closer.

His gaze slid down, tracing the line of your white silk pajama dress. The delicate fabric clung to your body like a whisper, and the contrast — your softness wrapped in something so fragile — made his jaw clench.

“I’m sure you’d make someone fall in love,” he said suddenly, his voice softer, lower, carrying more weight than you expected.

You blinked at him, lips parting in surprise, before the warmth of his words painted your cheeks red. Damon lifted his hand slowly, deliberately, the pad of his fingers brushing against your skin in a feather-light caress that lingered at your cheek. His thumb traced the curve of your blush as if he’d put it there himself.

“Do you believe that?” you asked softly, almost in a whisper, as if you were afraid to break the moment.

“Oh, I know that,” he assured you, his voice thick with certainty, his eyes locked onto yours like a predator who had cornered prey he didn’t want to scare off too quickly. He leaned closer, the scent of bourbon and leather enveloping you, and the air around you tightened until it was impossible to breathe normally.

"Come closer" he whisperd.

The world seemed to stop. Your body went still, frozen not out of fear but out of something deeper, heavier — the overwhelming gravity of him. Every nerve in you felt awake, waiting.

“Don’t make me repeat that, angel,” Damon whispered, his breath grazing your lips, his eyes piercing through every shield you thought you had.

Your heart hammered, reckless and loud, but instead of pulling away, you moved. Slowly, nervously, you shifted closer, your knees dragging across the couch cushions until you were right in front of him, your body leaning in as if drawn by some invisible tether. Your pulse was racing so fast you could feel it in your fingertips, but you refused to look away.

“So vulnerable,” Damon murmured, his eyes raking down the lines of your body, his voice thick with hunger. “So pure.”

Your breath caught when his gaze lingered on the silk draped across your chest, the unspoken implication hanging heavy between you. His lips twisted into a smirk, but his voice was darker now, rougher. “Completely pure.”

You swallowed hard, your name falling from your lips like a plea. “Damon…”

His hand, still cupping your cheek, slid back slightly, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you there, making sure you couldn’t escape his eyes. He leaned closer, his voice dipping into something dangerous and undeniable.

“I’m not even going to ask you,” he said, every word deliberate, dripping with certainty. “I know you feel it.”

The world collapsed into the space between your mouths, a space shrinking by the second, filled with tension and heat and something far bigger than either of you could deny. You didn’t even have time to think — to protest, to agree — before Damon moved in and pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t sloppy or eager. It was slow, sensual, deliberate. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world to undo you piece by piece, as if the act of taking his time was more intoxicating than the destination itself. His lips were soft, his movements smooth, and yet every tilt of his mouth against yours carried the dangerous promise of something far more consuming.

And for the first time, you didn’t laugh it off. You didn’t tell him he was ridiculous. You kissed him back.

His lips moved over yours with unbearable patience, every brush and tilt carefully measured, designed to make you dizzy. Damon didn’t kiss like someone experimenting; he kissed like someone who had perfected the art over centuries and was now enjoying the pleasure of unraveling you, one trembling breath at a time.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t with reluctance — it was with purpose. He left you chasing after his mouth without meaning to, your body betraying you as you leaned toward him. His smirk was waiting for you when you opened your eyes, smug and sharp.

“Mm,” he murmured, thumb dragging lazily over your bottom lip, as if tasting the echo of your kiss wasn’t enough. “Knew it.”

Your breath caught, your voice softer than you meant it to be. “Knew what?”

“That you’d taste this sweet,” he said, his tone a sinful mix of mockery and reverence. “Like sin dressed in white silk.”

Heat flooded your chest, your cheeks, and you tried to glare at him, to brush it off the way you always did. But his hand was still in your hair, his body close enough to steal your air, and you realized you couldn’t joke your way out this time. Not when every nerve in you was tuned to him.

“Damon…” you whispered, but your voice cracked in the middle, betraying you.

He chuckled low, savoring it, tilting his head as his eyes roamed down your body again — slow, unapologetic, as though he was memorizing the effect he had on you. “Relax, angel. I’m not going to bite.” His smirk deepened. “Unless you ask me nicely.”

Your lips parted, caught between protest and something else you didn’t want to name.

He leaned in again, this time brushing his mouth along your jaw, not quite kissing, just letting his lips skim your skin. The sensation sent shivers racing down your spine, and when his breath fanned against your ear, you almost forgot how to breathe.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice low and husky, each word sliding over you like velvet. “That little ache… the one you can’t explain.”

You closed your eyes, your hands tightening on the cushion beneath you. He was too close, too warm, too much.

“I don’t—” you started, but your words faltered as his lips ghosted down to your neck, pressing the softest, most fleeting kiss against your pulse point.

“Don’t lie to me, angel,” he murmured, his tone teasing but laced with something sharp. “Your body already gave you away.”

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering beneath his mouth, and Damon smiled against your skin, clearly delighted with the chaos he’d created inside you. He didn’t press further — not yet. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you again, his eyes dark, amused, hungry.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly, like he was announcing a secret only he could see. “And I haven’t even started.”

The smirk returned, wicked and slow. He leaned in until his forehead almost touched yours, his voice dropping to a whisper that forced you to listen, every syllable dripping with heat.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he challenged, his thumb stroking your cheek as if daring you to deny him. “Look me in the eyes, angel, and tell me to stop.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Your lips parted, but no words came. The silence was all the confession Damon needed.

His grin spread, triumphant. “That’s what I thought.”

Damon didn’t wait for you to recover. His mouth was back on yours, hungrier this time, stealing your breath before you could think. His kiss was still slow, but the pressure was firmer, his tongue brushing against your lower lip in a request he didn’t bother to voice — because he already knew you’d give in.

When you did, when you parted your lips for him, his groan was low and satisfied, vibrating through you as his hand slid down from your cheek to the curve of your jaw, then lower still, tracing the line of your throat with dangerous precision.

“You have no idea,” he whispered between kisses, his lips dragging across your skin as he moved to your neck, “how badly I’ve wanted this.”

Your breath hitched when his mouth lingered at your pulse point, sucking lightly, enough to make you clutch at the fabric of the couch.

“Damon—” His name left your lips like a plea, but you didn’t even know what you were begging for.

“Relax, angel,” he murmured, his lips brushing your collarbone. “You’ll like it.”

His hand, the one not tangled in your hair, began to wander lower. Slow. Purposeful. He traced down the edge of your arm, brushing his knuckles along your skin just enough to make goosebumps rise. Then, as if he couldn’t resist, he let his palm flatten against your hip, the silk of your pajama dress sliding easily beneath his touch.

You stiffened, just for a second, your innocence warring with the rush of heat flooding through you. Damon felt it, of course. He pulled back, his lips curving into a smug smile as his eyes locked on yours again.

“Nervous?” he asked, his tone mocking, though his hand never moved from your hip.

You swallowed hard. “A little.”

“Good,” he said simply, his grin widening. “Means I’m doing it right.”

He leaned in again, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that left no room for laughter this time. His hand slid further up, fingers teasing along your waist, brushing dangerously close to the curve of your ribs. Every touch was maddeningly slow, as though he was enjoying the torture of holding back more than the release itself.

When he finally pulled back, his lips swollen from the kiss, his voice dropped to a whisper that dripped heat into your veins.

“You have no idea how easy it would be to ruin you,” he said, his thumb stroking your skin through the thin silk. “And the worst part?” He smirked, leaning close enough that his lips almost brushed your ear. “You’d let me.”

Your breath caught, your protest dying before it formed. Damon chuckled low in his chest, clearly delighted by your helplessness, and his hand wandered further up, grazing just beneath the swell of your breast before retreating deliberately, as if to remind you he was in control of the pace.

“Please…” The word slipped out before you could stop it, and your face burned instantly with the realization.

Damon froze, his blue eyes flashing with a darker hunger as his smirk widened. “Oh, you have no idea what that does to me,” he drawled, his thumb brushing dangerously close to the underside of your breast. “Begging already? And here I thought I’d have to work harder to corrupt you, doll”

You should’ve been offended, should’ve pushed him away, but instead your body leaned into him, desperate for more of the contact he was still teasing you with. Damon laughed under his breath, low and sinful, like he’d just won a game only he knew you were playing.

In one fluid movement, he shifted, guiding you back against the couch cushions, his body hovering over yours. His hand slid up your thigh now, dragging the hem of your dress higher as he went. The contrast of his cool skin against your heated flesh made you gasp, your fingers curling into his shirt as if to anchor yourself.

“Mm, that’s it,” he murmured against your neck, pressing kisses down the line of your throat. “So soft, so responsive. You’re killing me, angel.”

His hand finally reached the top of your thigh, squeezing lightly, his thumb brushing the delicate edge of your panties. He didn’t push further — not yet — just traced the line slowly, deliberately, watching the way your body arched at the contact.

“You want me to stop?” he asked suddenly, his voice husky but mocking, daring you. “Because if you don’t say it now…” His lips dragged along your jaw, back to your mouth, hot and demanding. “I won’t.”

Your eyes locked with his, wide, conflicted, burning. But the words wouldn’t come — not to stop him. Not when every part of you was screaming for more.

And Damon knew it.

His grin returned, sharp and sinful. “That’s my girl.”

He shifted his weight, letting one knee press between your thighs, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your panties to graze your wetness. The sensation made you arch again, a shuddering moan escaping your lips as he lingered just enough to make you desperate.

“You’re mine tonight, angel,” he said, voice rough with hunger. “Every inch of you, and you’re going to love it.”

His lips trailed down your neck to your collarbone, kissing and sucking, while his fingers explored freely, pushing boundaries, teasing, making you cry out. When he finally pressed two fingers inside you, slow and demanding, your back arched, your hands clutching his hair as you gave in to the fire he was igniting inside you.

“Damon…” you gasped, voice trembling between need and disbelief.

“Yes, angel, say my name,” he whispered, fingers moving with a perfect, torturous rhythm. “Say it like you mean it. You know you want it.”

Your body betrayed you, responding to every touch, every kiss, every teasing comment, and Damon’s grin widened, hearing the sounds he’d been craving. He increased the pressure, curling his fingers inside you, matching your quivers, while his mouth returned to yours in a heated, claiming kiss.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured against your lips, his tongue brushing yours as his fingers moved faster, teasing, demanding. “So… perfect. All yours, angel. Mine to ruin.”

The words alone, dirty and possessive, sent shivers down your spine as your climax crept closer, each stroke of his fingers perfectly timed with the kisses, the nips, the teasing. When he finally pressed a thumb against your clit, gentle at first, then firm, your hips bucked uncontrollably, and a loud moan ripped from you.

Damon groaned, pulling back just enough to watch you, his eyes dark with triumph and lust. “That’s it, angel. Let go for me. Let me hear you scream my name.”

Your body convulsed beneath him, shivering, trembling, caught between overwhelming pleasure and the dizzying sensation of being completely, utterly taken over. Damon held you, kissed you through it, whispered filthy little praises as your body softened against his, still trembling under his touch.

When you finally came down, breathless and trembling, he didn’t stop. He pulled you into his lap fully, pressing his body against yours, teasing, exploring, leaving no inch of you untouched. Every kiss, every groan, every movement was Damon claiming you

“You’re dripping for me, angel,” he murmured, lips grazing your earlobe. “All mine. Can’t wait to feel you fully.”

Before you could protest, he tugged the thin fabric of your pajamas aside, exposing you completely. Your skin tingled under his gaze, and the blush that had never left your cheeks deepened. Damon’s eyes drank you in, slow and possessive, his smirk wicked.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he whispered, sliding a finger inside you again, curling it expertly, making you gasp. “So tight, so wet… so damn ready for me.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a scorching kiss, teeth lightly grazing your bottom lip as his other hand found your breast, kneading it with a possessive grip. You moaned into his mouth, your body trembling, craving more, needing more.

“You’re mine tonight,” he growled, his lips dragging down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. “Mine to take, mine to ruin. And you’ll love it, angel. You’ll love it so much.”

His fingers moved faster inside you, curling expertly, pressing just the right spots as he brushed his thumb over your clit. You arched uncontrollably, hands clutching at his shoulders, teeth sinking into your lower lip to keep from screaming.

“Damon… please…” you gasped, voice broken and needy.

“I’m not stopping,” he whispered, his tone dark, commanding, as he finally positioned himself, brushing against your entrance. “I want to feel every inch of you, angel. You want that too, don’t you?”

Your knees trembled, and you could only nod, unable to form words as he pressed into you slowly, carefully, giving you a moment to adjust. The stretch, the friction, the fullness of him — it was overwhelming, every nerve in your body screaming, and yet, your mind was hazy with desire.

“You feel so perfect,” he groaned, hips moving with a slow, punishing rhythm at first, letting you feel every inch, teasing you. “So tight, so wet… god, angel, you’re killing me.”

You whimpered, digging your nails into his back as he picked up the pace, thrusting harder, deeper, groaning low in your ear. His dirty words mixed with the slick sound of skin on skin, echoing through the quiet house.

“Look at me,” he growled, one hand gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you’ve never wanted anyone like this before.”

“I… I’m yours,” you moaned, voice trembling, body arching into him as he slammed into you, slow at first, then faster, punishing and urgent. “Only yours, Damon…”

He smirked, brushing a lock of hair from your face, letting a hand roam freely over your body as he whispered filthy little praises between rough, deep thrusts.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, lips brushing your ear. “So wet for me, so perfect… god, angel, you’re going to come for me again, aren’t you?”

“Yes… yes!” you cried, voice breaking as he hit the perfect angle inside you over and over, his rhythm relentless, dragging you toward the edge again. Fucking you as if just the thought of stopping could make him die.

“Good girl,” he growled, biting your shoulder gently, watching your face contort with pleasure. “That’s it… come for me, babygirl. Let me hear you scream my name.”

And with that, the world shattered into heat and pleasure, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as Damon held you, kissed you, whispered filthy, possessive things into your ear while he rode out the fire with you, every thrust, every groan, every motion consuming and claiming you utterly.

When the tremors finally subsided, he collapsed against you, lips finding yours in a softer, lingering kiss. His hands still held you close, possessive and protective, though the hunger in his eyes never fully faded.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, voice rough but tender now. “God, angel… I can’t get enough of you.”

You shivered against him, exhausted and overwhelmed, body still tingling from every touch, every thrust, every sinful word. And deep down, you knew… this was only the beginning.