Author's Note: Hellllllllooooooooo, my lovies! *throws arms open for a big group hug.* I missed you guys SO MUCH. Like, SO MUCH. *pets your hair lovingly*…yes YOU!

Here we are, back in River Deep, Ocean Wide land for the first installment of my two-part continuation of the RDOW epilogue. If you are new here and have not read my aforementioned AU/AH fic, filled with angst and smut and romance and a version of Elena that doesn't make you want to shake your fist at Julie Plec in protest, WELCOME, and also, why don't you check it out? And while you are doing so, please leave me little review breadcrumbs on your way back here. One thing you will learn very early on in your RDOW reading experience that I am an unabashed, groveling review-whore. They just make me happy. Don't you want Nightlight to be happy?

And to all of my old friends, THANK YOU for being patient with me. I know you had to wait a long time for this, but I hope I'll be forgiven when you see the little surprise I left for you all in this first chapter. ;) Mt Princeton, this is for you.

It might be useful for you to know that the DSM-V stands for "Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders - Fifth Edition" and is considered the universal authority for psychiatric diagnosis in the United States.

Chapter 1: Flint

I slide the key into my lock, jiggling it a little when it sticks a quarter of the way through the turn like it always does. I must have accidentally given Damon my original when I made him his key because it's never worked quite as smoothly since.

But all in all, if that and an ongoing disagreement over how much clothing is acceptable to wear to bed are the biggest hiccups we've had to deal with since he agreed to move in with me, I'd say were doing just fine.

"I still can't believe you knew Ric was going to propose to Jenna!" I exclaim, the faint buzz of the alcohol in my bloodstream just enough to make all the hard edges of the world delightfully fuzzy.

"There's no way I would have been able to keep a secret that massive. It would've just burst out of me when I wasn't…" I start, but have to trail off, my hands stilled on the key where it sits in the opened lock.

Damon's fingers are stealing under the dark curtain of my hair, his rough knuckles skimming over the back of my neck with the lightest of touches. He gathers the long strands in his hand, gently but deliberately slipping them over one shoulder. The fine hairs he's exposed at the base of my hairline stand on end, a shiver darting into my scalp, then sizzling down to my lower belly.

"…paying…attention..." I breathe, letting the words still left on my tongue slip out on my next exhale even though I've forgotten what they were supposed to mean.

The cool air chills the skin he's uncovered for a mere second before I feel the heat of his body stepping into place behind mine, and then his parted lips are at my shoulder, teasing the skin that peeks out from my cap-sleeved dress with the barest of touches. I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow, letting myself savor the luxurious feel of him that I still can't take for granted, even after all this time.

His warm breath bathes my chilled skin, sending another shiver straight to my sex, making my nipples harden under my dress so that even the scratch of my lace bra moving against them with every inhale and exhale feels incredible. His lips travel the line of muscle that leads to the sensitive dip where my shoulder curves into my throat and I swallow a whimper, trying not to let on to the fact that I'm already panting when he's barely begun to touch me.

"You know I hate keeping secrets from you," he says, his tone low and intimate, the feel of his lips moving over my skin when he speaks so unexpectedly sensual, I have to wiggle a little against the answering pulse that throbs between my legs.

"But I thought you might forgive me for keeping this one," he says huskily. The warm wetness of his tongue peeks out to taste me, the contrasting scratch of his stubble providing just enough sharpness to make me extra aware of every sensation.

An assenting "mmmm," is my only reply.

At that, he presses himself flush against my back, wrapping his strong hands around my hipbones, and I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder with a sigh. His body against mine feels so amazing, as though he is made up of a different substance than the rest of the universe, a type of matter perfectly calibrated to catalyze mine. His fingers flex gently as he pulls me back, fitting my hips tightly against his, the length of his already rock-hard arousal a more then welcome surprise.

"Well, well, well," I manage, trying and failing to sound playfully seductive instead of needy. "Looks like somebody's excited we're home."

"And you're not?" he rumbles into the sensitive hollow just behind my ear. A snappy rejoinder attempts to form but is dead in the water when he touches his tongue there, shamelessly exploiting what he knows is my fatal weakness in order to make his point.

I press my lips together against the moan fighting its way out of my throat, letting it simmer and fade before I release the tension in my neck under his lips, letting my head fall forward and out of his way, giving him plenty of room to continue doing exactly what he is doing.

"No fair," I say, trying not to let on just how short of breath I am already. "I had that extra drink tonight after you stopped so there's no way I'll be able to resist you now. I'm, like, this helpless, wounded gazelle…"

Damon snorts an adorable but decidedly un-sexy laugh against my neck. "Oh, really? So does that make me the big scary lion?"

"More like the sweet, sexy lion," I correct, placing my hand over his where it sits at my hip. "Though I won't argue with the big," I say, arching my back and pressing my backside against his length, wiggling just a little for good measure. He drops his forehead to my neck and hisses through his teeth and a victorious smile tugs at my lips.

"And I'm like, your weak, defenseless little dinner," I purr poutily, playing on my momentary advantage as I lift the hand that is not bracing me against the door up to braid my fingers into his hair. I scratch his scalp lightly with my fingernails before slipping my hand down to his face to press him closer, nuzzling the stubbly-softness of his cheek more tightly against my throat.

"More like dessert," he growls and then nips at my shoulder muscle, turning the knob of the door and pushing us inside. I squeal and make a quick grab for the keys we are both about to forget are still in the lock and the awkward motion sends me stumbling non-too-gracefully over the threshold. He catches me around the waist, laughing, and then kicks the door shut behind us in one enviably coordinated movement.

He holds me steady until I regain my feet, and I turn to face him, grinning happily as the last of my giggles subside. But instead of returning my goofy smile I see his breath catch, his eyes turning sparkling-clear and soulful. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, his lips slightly parted as he lifts his hand to tuck my mussed hair back behind my ear.

His expression is so full of bare, smoldering devotion it makes my heart squeeze protectively in my chest, makes me want to light a fire on Katherine's grave and dance until even the memory of her is ash, to show up on Giuseppe's doorstep with a machete and a tank full of Koi-Piranhas and at least two grenades and sword and maybe even a switchblade.

"Except I do prefer my dessert to be wearing a little less clothes," he says huskily, and I barely catch the warning glint of mischief that passes over his expression before he disappears from view and I am being scooped up over his shoulder, muscle and bone digging into the soft skin of my belly and his taut forearm locked over the back of my legs.

"Damonnn!" I squeal, but a firm swat to my behind is his only reply, his strides long and determined and not the slightest bit altered by the burden of my weight as he makes his way to bedroom.

He sweeps my pumps off of my feet with a single brush of his arm and kicks the already ajar door to the bedroom open and then I am falling, my back hitting the mattress with a soft thump instead of a bounce because it's made of memory foam instead of cotton and creaky springs like the one he used to have at his place.

"Hey," I grouse, frowning as I lean up to rest on my forearms.

"Sorry," he murmurs automatically, but he looks anything but. His expression is the picture of depraved hunger, the victorious curve of his lips sending goosebumps sweeping over my skin. His eyes lick over me slowly, as though he is debating exactly how to devour me.

I can't wait.

Damon

"Turn over," I command, keeping my voice low but firm so there will be no room for argument. The delicate flush I catch painting her cheeks before she obliges me tells me I've struck the right note, and thank God because I am in the mood to take control, to take her.

If there is anything in this world I crave more than the sight of her coming, the feel of her melting under my mouth, clamping down on my fingers, stretched tight around my cock, I cannot remember it now, lost as I am to the sight of her flawlessly-shaped ass peeking out from under the bunching hem of her dress, adorned in crimson lace the color of my dreams.

It never gets old, the sight of this magnificent woman giving herself to me, this woman I loved for so long, always close enough to touch but so far out of reach. It has taken me awhile to get used to how open we are allowed to be now—that I can touch her in public, that when she asks, "What are you thinking?" when I've been caught looking at her too long, I can answer honestly.

In the beginning, it was such a shock: her lips brushing a casual peck at my jawline, her hand slipped quietly into mine. And I've never thought to ask her if it was the same for her, though the gentle blush that often touched her cheeks afterwards makes me think it must have been. As for me, though the stab of adrenaline that followed even the most casual of displays of affection has lessened over the course of this year, it's never really gone away completely.

Maybe that's why things between Elena and me have always felt like an explosion, from that first time when I followed her here after Stefan and Caroline's wedding to now, almost a full 365 days and a countless number of touches later. Her body is gasoline under the flint of my fingers and there is nothing to do but enjoy over and over again the beautiful power of what it is like to burn.

Elena stretches her arms toward the headboard, arching her back so her dress rides further up and her perfect ass pushes further into the air. Good God, this woman is going to end me before I even begin. She begins to slide her legs apart slowly, purposely, revealing herself inch by torturous inch. My dick throbs in response, eager to accept her invitation, to surge up and inside of her and lose myself in the tight heat of her body, the desperate sounds of her pleasure. Elena wants it too, her entire body vibrating with excitement and desire, ready to cash in on the promise of my rough treatment when I carried her in here.

If this were any other night, I would fuck her like she wants me to. But this isn't any other night.

I kissed her ring finger at the restaurant.

And even though I could feel the effort she was putting into keeping her disposition easy, the steady patience of her devotion trying to tell me without words that it's okay, that she won't hold me to it, I don't know how to tell her that I want her to.

I loosen the top two buttons of my shirt and pull it up over my head, then step out of my jeans as quickly as I can, suppressing a smile at the way she wiggles anxiously and swallows an almost inaudible whimper at the sound of my belt buckle and zipper coming undone. She turns her head so her cheek is resting on the mattress and, fuck me, she is biting that luscious, plump lip of hers, her eyes resting shut in easy trust and it hits me like a fist to my chest, snagging my breath jaggedly in my lungs.

I want more than anything to be worthy of that trust.

Slow, Salvatore, slow.

I take a deep quiet breath and blow it out carefully, ignoring my almost painful hard-on as I reach for her ankles, encircling them gently before sliding up. She sighs with relief at my touch, settling herself into the mattress. I drink in the silkiness of her skin with my fingertips, the long lines of her toned flesh guiding them where they want most to be. I splay my hands wide as I move beyond the dip behind her knees, my thumbs skimming the buttery softness of the inside of her thighs. I see her body growing taut, fighting the urge to squirm as she anticipates my destination. I keep my languid pace, undeterred.

When I reach the line where the red lace of her boyshorts gives way to flesh I trace it smoothly with my thumbs, ignoring the way she is straining for me to move my touch inward. I swallow hard against the siren song of the wetness that is already darkening the crimson of her panties there, my teeth grinding together with the effort of resisting. I slide my palms up and over the curve of her ass instead, then trace the line where the swell of her flesh and the back of her thighs melts together, first with my fingertips and then with my tongue.

She moans and presses back towards my mouth and I nip at her skin with my teeth in playful warning, making her jump and squeak a small sound of surprise. With her sufficiently caught off guard, I grab ahold of her hips, keeping them in place at just the angle I need to finally allow myself the taste of her I've been craving. I dip my tongue into the innermost part of her thigh, running it along the silky skin just outside the barrier of her panties and she lets out a long low moan, wiggling against my grip as she tries to position my mouth closer to the center of her.

"Ah, ah, Signorina," I say hoarsely. "Good things come to those who wait."

"We tried waiting remember?" she breathes, her body restless against the sheet despite the effort she is making to keep her voice casual. "We sucked at it."

A chuckle rises from my chest. "Fair enough," I say, dropping a kiss to the back of her thigh. "So, what does my impatient gazelle want from the future author of her inevitable demise?" I ask.

"That it be less inevitable and more imminent," she says flatly.

I laugh out loud in spite of myself, and she pouts.

"You of all people should know it's not nice to laugh at a desperate woman," she says. I open my mouth to reply but have to snap it shut when she raises her hips and draws her knees under her, driving me to the floor and onto mine as she positions herself at the edge of the mattress, her dress bunching around her torso and her cheek still pressed against the sheets in a posture of submission that is doing nothing to relieve the thick throb of blood drumming its way south of my navel. She is peering back at me with a look of triumph that I don't even have a prayer of refuting.

I swallow hard, my voice so raw it is almost a whisper when I speak. "And what are you desperate for, exactly?" I ask, holding her eyes.

"For my boyfriend to fuck me," she says without even the slightest flutter of her eyelashes, the sound of her tongue licking the syllables vibrating straight from my eardrums to my cock.

All but the very last thread of resistance I was hanging on to in the name of sexual strategizing officially disintegrates and it is all I can do to remind myself that if I stand up and take her now like she wants me to, there's a chance I'll hurt her. God, I don't want to hurt her. So I hold her hips in place and throw a Hail Mary, leaning in to run my tongue firmly along the center of her through the damp lace.

She makes a strangled sound and presses back for more but I hold her in place, comforting the backs of her thighs with my thumbs once so she'll know I've heard her unspoken plea—a reminder that I've never left her unsatisfied and I don't plan to start now.

I dip lower to massage my tongue against her clit through the lace and she rolls her hips subtly, eagerly against me, making tiny, almost inaudible whimpering sounds in the back of her throat in time with the movement of her hips. I pull back and slip my tongue up along the seam of the fabric, then press under it to sneak a taste of her bare skin, already silky with desire. God, she tastes fucking incredible.

She groans along with me, pushing hard against my grip, which I didn't realize until this moment had grown hard enough to bruise. I release her hips and pull her panties aside in apology, taking a long lazy taste of her, starting at her clit and drawing my tongue upwards with just the right amount of pressure to give her a hint of the edge of her orgasm but no more.

She mutters my name incoherently and I know she is given over, one hundred percent at my mercy. Warmth expands in my chest and protectiveness weaves itself into my spine. She is mine.

I pull away and run my hands up to her hips, brushing my knuckles across the quavering skin of her belly just under the hem of her panties before I slide them downward. I drag them over the rise of her backside, just a hair slower than is absolutely necessary. She tenses at my easy pace and I allow myself a smile that she can't see.

I coax the lace down her thighs one at a time, and when she returns to her kneeling position on the edge of the bed, all the delicate layers of her on glorious, unencumbered display, I have to take an extra breath to appreciate the sight. She shifts her weight on her knees impatiently and I decide to put both of us out of our misery.

I flatten my tongue and twirl it in a broad wet circle, slipping over her clit once before I run up the center of her once more, pressing deeper. I lose myself in her soft slickness, the unique taste of her, erotic and intimate and sweet.

She whimpers achingly in response, and I push my tongue inside of her. She gasps my name jaggedly, so I give her one, two, three more thrusts of my tongue, and when I feel the first flutter of her walls around me I roll my tongue down to her clit, dipping my head low and tilting her hips up so I can get the angle I need to make her fall apart.

She cries out and jerks in response but my hands are firm around her hipbones. I swirl my tongue over her and she groans, lifting up onto her forearms and throwing her head back as she pushes against my mouth, guiding me to the rhythm she needs.

"Damon, please," she begs and her voice has that something, that unnamable quality that makes my scalp prickle and my dick swell impossibly harder and dear God I need to be inside of her. But not before she comes for me first.

I slide back up to enter her again, curling my tongue once more as I bring two fingers up to tease circles around her clit. She cries out in a raw sound that is a cross between a moan and my name, and then she is clamping down around my tongue, pulling at me with the waves of her release, the sweet taste of her flooding my senses. She is quivering so violently I have to wrap my forearm around the front of her thighs to keep her from falling off of the bed, flexing hard so she knows that I will hold all the weight she needs me to, that it is safe to let go.

When I feel her orgasm waning I let it, slowing my tongue and fingers to a stop before I pull back to drop a gentle kiss to the back of her thigh and release her. She collapses immediately into a boneless heap on the bed, panting into the hair that has fallen into her face so that it blows out and sucks into her face adorably with each breath.

I climb up and kneel between her legs, leaning forward to brush her hair off of her face with a patient tenderness that is at complete odds with the roaring demand of my cock, leaping helplessly at the sight of the woman I love completely undone by pleasure. I want her skin beneath me, not the fabric of this godforsaken dress, which has done nothing but taunt me all night long.

I uncover the tab of the zipper at her back and pull. I let my knuckles skim the line of her spine as I reveal it, earning a shiver that would usually make me smile, but right now, only makes my mouth feel unbearably dry. She is so responsive in the moments after orgasm and I want to lose myself in the sound of my name on her lips and the gasps of her pleasure and the hazy drug of her body answering my command, lost to everyone and everything but me.

Her zipper ends just below the red lace of her bra, so I pop the clasp open before reaching back under her skirt, running my hands up her body and pushing both the offending articles of clothing up and over her head as best I can without more than a few twitches of halfhearted assistance from the woman I am undressing.

The dress gets caught under the weight of her ribcage and I can't help but chuckle.

"Help me out?" I rumble, tugging fruitlessly from my awkward angle.

"Mmmnnocando. Immdead, mmember?"

"Dead, huh? Well that's too bad. I've never been one for necrophilia."

"Shh. Yurbigwords rrr ruininmyorgasm."

I chuckle. "Oh is that so?" I ask, before bending down to whisper into the sensitive hollow behind her earlobe, keeping my voice low and husky and filled with the promise of everything I still want to do to her.

"Looks like I'll just have to give you another one then."

She shivers and I smile as she lifts her body up without a word, giving me room to tug the fabric up and over her head.

My knuckles skim the swell of her breasts and she draws in a sharp breath, and suddenly I need more than anything to feel her nipples rasping against my palms, caught between my teeth. But then I see the line of her beautiful back stretched out under me, the graceful curve of her spine under all of that caramel skin and I can't help but run my hands over it, my thumbs brushing the delicately ridged line of her spine and my palms drinking in the smoothness of her flawless skin.

My thumbs kiss the dimples above her tailbone before I curl my hands around her hipbones, preparing to flip her over. But I barely flex my fingers before she is rolling up to face me, kicking her legs up and over my head in a fluid motion that has me composing gospel praise songs to her yoga teacher and vowing to make a sizeable donation to her junior high ballet studio. She plants her feet on either side of my body, then curls her shoulders up, leaning onto one propped forearm as she reaches for my hand.

"C'mere," she purrs, tugging lightly, the low command of her voice like the gentle stroke of her fingertips over my skin. I shiver, and the corners of her mouth quirk up knowingly.

I lean up and over her, lacing our fingers together and trapping her hand under mine on the bed in a roughly possessive motion that makes her eyes go hungry and wild. Her hair is splayed above her head like a dark phoenix falling to the earth in a burst of mahogany fire. I dip down to taste her lips, to savor the cherry-chocolate sin of her mouth, the hypnotizing smoothness of her tongue sliding, lush and luxurious against mine.

She wraps a toned leg around my waist in invitation so I leave a parting kiss at her lips and take my shaft in my free hand, guiding myself to the place where she opens to me. She bucks and shudders when I brush her clit, hissing through her teeth, her slender fingers tightening in mine. A current tingles up my spine in answer, at the warm and velvety softness of her sliding against the most sensitive part of me.

She slips her hand out from under mine and throws her arms around my neck, the muscles of her leg around my waist flexing in a silent plea. I groan behind my teeth as I oblige her, pressing forward so that the ridge at the head of my cock and only a bare few inches are buried inside of her. My vision blurs and the muscles of my supporting arm start to quiver because good fucking God, she feels amazing.

Elena gasps and spasms around me just once, beckoning me deeper. I drop my other hand to the bed beside her and blow out a slow, calming breath as I ease my hips forward, gritting my teeth as I grant myself another inch of her, then another. A shudder moves up my spine and she ripples around me once more, a low moan rolling softly in her throat and oh my God. I am too close, too fucking close.

I need to get ahold of myself or I am going to leave her hanging like a chump and I cannot let that happen.

It's a DSM-V kind of night. Again. I keep myself absolutely still and breathe, reaching through the fuzzy sensation-addled mush of my brain for the well-practiced names. Damn it, I have been having to do this way too often lately.

But how can I be blamed when I have this gorgeous creature in my bed every night?

Elena whimpers and starts to wiggle impatiently and fuck even that feels incredible but I force a sense of stillness to come over my mind even as I prepare my body to move, exhaling deeply as I call to mind the too-familiar recitation: Impulse control disorders. A class of psychiatric disorders characterized by impulsivity, a failure to resist a temptation, urge or impulse that may harm oneself or others.

I pull back, ignoring the sight of her wetness shining on the shaft of my cock. Good fucking God. Pathological gambing. Repeated betting behavior that interferes with a person's finances, job, family life or other relationships. I push back in while I'm still buried inside of her, pressing forward slowly, evenly, smoothly, giving her time to accommodate me and me time to settle.

I suck in a deep breath and prepare to pull away. But I don't manage even an inch of retreat before Elena pants, "More," and then she is hitching her other leg up and locking her ankles behind me as she flexes her abs and presses her hips up, taking me deeper inside of her. A desperate groaning sound escapes through her teeth as she stretches around me that makes my scalp prickle and my teeth ache and good God she is hot and slick and tight and suddenly everywhere and I have no hope. No hope at all.

"Fuck, Elena," I curse helplessly as the last thread of my already stretched-thin resolve decisively breaks. My hips jerk forward instinctively to meet her rolling thrusts and she moans desperately at the first perfectly-timed stroke and gasps my name at the second. The sound is like a jumpstart to the car battery of my sex-hazed mind, jolting everything into razor-sharp clarity.

I need her my way and I need her now.

I wait until her legs are at their tightest around me and I am buried deep inside of her before I lean back and catch her hips in my hands, carrying her with me as I bend my knees and sit onto my heels, letting her body drape over my legs and spill onto the bed like the best case for the beauty of the female form God has ever made.

She gasps in surprise, but when I pull out and slam back inside of her with more desperation than finesse a throaty cross between a whimper and a groan and a growl purrs in her throat and fuck I love that sound. Kleptomania. A persistent neurotic impulse to steal, especially without economic motive. I breathe deep and try not to focus on the artful beauty of the picture her body makes, sloping down from where we're connected and curving onto the sheets in a graceful arc that is imprinted in my mind like a snapshot, burned behind my eyes.

I retreat until I feel her entrance squeezing desperately at the line at the head of my cock and then I am plunging forward once more, locking her hips in place and angling towards her front wall as I surge into her in a long fluid stroke that has bright bursts of white threatening at the edges of my vision, sends blinding-hot pleasure crackling down my spine like lightning. Pyromania. The impulsive and repetitive urge to deliberately start fires. She cries out, throwing her hands up above her head and fisting the sheets for leverage, her eyes shut tight in pleasure as she strains her hips toward mine, arching up as I slam into her. I keep my angle precise and my rhythm steady so she will have no choice but to come for me exactly the way I am craving, hard and fast right now and yesterday and dear God not a moment too soon.

I feel her clench once around me and I don't think. My thigh muscles tense and lift and I am up on my knees and clutching her hips against me and she throws her head back with a jagged gasp and I plunge deeper, feeling her flutter around my length as I give her another stroke. My body is all tension, coiled and on the very edge of breaking as I disappear inside of her over and over again. My pulse pounds in my ears, the base of my skull, rushes down into my swelling cock. Not yet, not yet, not yet. Pyromania, Trichtillomania, Intermittent Explosive Disorder.

Fuck, maybe not that last one.

She clamps down once and calls my name and I say a silent prayer of thanks to God or Masters and Johnson* or the DSM-V or whoever is listening.

Her pleasure clasps me in wave after rolling wave and I surge after them, gritting my teeth and shouting her name as I forget everything but her body sheltering mine, her name searing my lips, and Elena, Elena, always Elena.

*Masters and Johnson (William H. Masters and Virginia E. Johnson) are psychologists who together pioneered research into the nature of human sexual response and the diagnosis and treatment of sexual disorders and dysfunctions from 1957 until the 1990's.

Also, it should be noted that the DSM-V references in this chapter are not actual quotes from the DSM-V.

Author's Note: Whew. So what do we think, fellow Delena lovers? Was it worth the wait? What did you think of the Damon POV twist? I really need your reviews on this one folks, because it took some serious blood, sweat, and more than a few mortifying (and graphic….and detailed) email exchanges between Trogdor19 and Goldnox to make this happen.

Speaking of those two, be sure and check out all of the amazing work these ladies are posting here on this site for your reading pleasure:

Trogdor19 has a heartbreaking, sexy, beautifully written three-shot entitled Tinkerbell Laughs, and she is about to post MY MOST FAVORITE DELENA CHAPTER I HAVE EVER READ EVER to her sexy and suspenseful epic masterpiece of a trilogy, In Time We Trust, so I recommend you get caught up immediately if you haven't already!

Also, the wonderful and talented Goldnox is working on her second AU/AH piece called Order Up, which I have had the distinct pleasure of being able to read ahead on and it is SO GOOD, you guys. Her characterization of Damon will make you melt with his sexy sweetness. She also posted a heartrending and gorgeously written one shot recently entitled Lay Me Down that you will not want to miss.

So off you go! Read to your little Delena-loving heart's content and leave reviews when you do! They are just good karma and frankly all three of us are sick to the point of obsession with how much we love them, so DO IT.

To my dear friends and fellow writers in crime: Goldnox, thank you for granting me access to the sex-position lexicon that is your dirty mind and your no-tolerance policy on word repetition. I am a better writer for your "viciousness" (Dragon's word, not mine). And Trogdor19, oh Trogdor19, my beloved beta, who writes me pretty pink candy-colored emails with sin-red content, who is not above searching the interwebs for videos of hamsters to cheer me up, nor querying your husband-google on certain...questions regarding...anatomical...um...femaleness, and who has permanently struck the healthy fear of fish and Boisian arms into the heart of my husband. For all of this and more, I thank you! Love you, girlfriend!

OKAY! Sorry for the longest AN ever! Don't forget to Favorite, and Follow so you don't miss the next and final installment of this piece, and PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! Love you all!

XOXO,

Nightlightbright