Okay, so I don't know if this is even the kind of story anyone wants to read, but it's the one that's been in my head and wouldn't go away until I wrote it down, so I might as well share it. It's not going to be soft and fluffy, until maybe the very end. Rather, it's going to be tense and anguished and tormented, and D/E are going to fight and say nasty things to each other that they don't mean and have angry sex when they can't deny the passion between them. They'll get their happy ending, but the journey towards it will be rough and painful and they'll have to work for it. So, anyway, be forewarned. :)

This story starts right after 3x22 when Elena dies and awakens with vampire blood in her system. There's no being kidnapped and taken to Pastor Young's farm or any of that. She simply returns home and makes the choice to become a vampire. She then has to live with the consequences of that decision.

"Go away, Stefan, please."

There was a moment of silence before his voice filtered through her closed bedroom door. "You shouldn't be alone right now, Elena."

"Please, just go. I can't - " She closed her eyes. "I just can't right now, okay?" she finished lamely. She wasn't trying to be cruel to Stefan, she just needed to be alone right now, to process everything that had happened, everything she'd lost since the moment of her death.

With her newly magnified hearing, she actually heard the rustling of his clothes as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, as though he were conducting an internal debate. With his enhanced strength, her door was no actual barrier should he decide he wanted in, but to her great relief, he ultimately complied with her wishes. His footsteps faded away as he went downstairs and out the front door.

Her eyes slowly reopened, and Elena stared at her reflection in the mirror above her dresser. She was a vampire now. Had been for about an hour now. How could she still look exactly the same when everything felt completely different? Her mouth was filled with the coppery taste of blood, and it was delicious, which completely freaked her out. The world around her, the same room she'd slept in her entire life, was now an abrasive assault on her senses. Lights were too bright, sounds too loud, smells too intense.

When she'd first awakened after drowning in Wickery Creek, she'd clung to the hope that there would be some loophole, some way out of this awful choice: become a vampire or die a second time. But, as usual, Damon was right. There'd been no door number three. None of her friends managed to scrounge up a cure or a magic workaround. So at the last second, as her body weakened and she felt herself withering away, she surrendered hope and fed on human blood from a blood bag that had been delivered by a scornful Damon who snapped, "For when you feel like facing reality," before he deposited it in the fridge and left. The blood was delectable, heavenly, the best thing she'd ever tasted in her entire life, and she squeezed every last drop down her throat and, still craving more, turned into a vampire. A monster. She was ashamed of her choice, but in those final moments facing a true death, feeling the fragility of her mortal body as it weakened and atrophied, she realized she wasn't ready to die, no matter that she'd told herself she was. It was just too soon. She hadn't seen enough, done enough, experienced enough. Not yet. So she became a monster.

To make matters worse, on top of dying and becoming a vampire, she was … remembering things, things she'd been compelled to forget when she was human, and she couldn't face them with Stefan around. The memories were too complicated, too overwhelming.

The first memory to come flooding back was one of her and Damon right here in her bedroom. She watched her memory replay like a remote third viewer as Damon confessed his inadequacy as well as his love for her and returned the necklace Stefan had given her. When a single tear leaked from one pale blue eye, her heart twisted painfully.

Before she had time to even try and process the thorny tangle of emotions that stirred up, something else, another memory struggled to rise to the surface of her mind, something she didn't think she could bear knowing, a memory that would shatter her in half if she let it in. There was this piece of her brain shrouded in grey mist, and she desperately wanted to keep that mist in place, to maintain that concealing cover over whatever lay beneath. She didn't want the grey to clear, didn't want things to come into focus. Whatever it was would only make this already terrible day worse.

She jumped at a loud splintering sound only to realize that she had caused it. Her fingers had dug into the top of the dresser and cracked the wood. She stumbled away, making her way to the wide ledge under her window, and collapsed on the cushions, drawing her legs to her chest and resting a cheek on top of a knee, fighting the resurgence of forgotten memories with all her strength.

Despite her resistance, piecemeal flashes embedded themselves like little splinters in her brain and wouldn't let her look away, no matter how much she couldn't bear to deal with the truth they told. No matter how hard she tried, the pieces continued to accumulate until the fog whisked away as if it'd never been at all. The memory swallowed her whole and she remembered everything.

"Katherine."

Elena looked up and spotted the most startlingly attractive man she'd ever seen, a man who'd appeared out of nowhere. "No – um – I - " She darted a glance over her shoulder. Surely, he wasn't talking to her. But there was no one else in sight. "I'm Elena."

"Oh, you – you just look ..." His gaze swept over her. "I'm sorry, you just really remind me of someone. I'm Damon."

She gave him a quizzical look. "Not to be rude or anything, Damon, but it's kind of creepy that you're out here in the middle of nowhere."

"You're one to talk. You're out here all by yourself."

"It's Mystic Falls. Nothing bad ever happens here." Her eyes met his, and she took the opportunity to study him. He wore a black leather jacket, black jeans, and black boots. Even his hair was a shiny, artfully mussed jet black. Only his flawless, almost unnaturally pale skin and the most intense pair of glacial blue eyes provided any color. Though he had a total bad boy vibe going on, she felt drawn to him, like she could talk to him and he would listen, understand.

Maybe that's why she opened her mouth and volunteered, "Got into a fight with my boyfriend."

"About what?" He raised his hands placatingly. "May I ask."

"Life, future, he's got it all mapped out."

"And you don't want it?"

"I don't know what I want."

"Well, that's not true. You want what everybody wants."

"What, mysterious stranger who has all the answers?"

"Hm, well, let's just say I've been around a long time. I've learned a few things."

She narrowed her eyes. He didn't look all that old. Older than her, certainly, but young enough to be a college student. Maybe he went to Whitmore College, the local school only an hour away? "So, Damon, tell me. What is it that I want?"

He moved nearer, and her body prickled with awareness. "You want a love that consumes you. You want passion, an adventure, and even a little danger."

Okay, that did sound pretty amazing. "So, what do you want?"

His mouth opened, and there was a second of hesitation where he didn't move or say anything, just looked at her as if she'd asked him a confusing question and he wasn't quite sure how to answer. Then, faster than the eye could follow, he appeared directly in front of her, close enough that she felt his warm breath on her face. His scent permeated her senses – rich leather from his jacket and a hint of dark spices that was all him. It was wonderfully masculine and deeply arousing.

Her eyes met his, and she couldn't look away. His pupils dilated, and it was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. He had stunning, gorgeous, incredible eyes. The most amazingly beautiful eyes. They were so … blue.

He spoke, and the words floated into her brain and stayed there, quickly becoming as real as her own thoughts and as indistinguishable. "I want you to call your ride and tell them to turn around. You decided to stick around a little while longer."

Immediately, she did just that, raising her phone to her ear. She got her mother on the line and repeated that she'd changed her mind about leaving. Her mother asked if she was alright, and Elena assured her that she was, though she did sound a little robotic and off, even to her own ears. Whatever. It wasn't important.

Once she'd convinced her mom and hung up, her attention returned to the man standing in the road with her. He smiled wickedly, one corner of his mouth turned up higher than the other. "Good girl. Now, without a fuss, you're going to go for a ride with me."

"Okay," she agreed, still mesmerized by his piercing blue eyes. "Where's your car?"

He stepped back and gestured with a gentlemanly sweep of his arm for her to proceed down the road away from the party.

Inhaling a deep breath of crisp night air, she set off gamely. It was a lovely, tranquil night. Trees stretched toward the sky on either side of the road. The moon shone like a bright, swollen eye, making it easy to see the sexy baby blue muscle car waiting on the side of the road just around the first bend. He opened the door for her, and she got in. As he started the car, she snuck a surreptitious glance in his direction, trying to hide the direction of her gaze through a veil of long lashes. He was striking, exotic, utterly out of place in quiet, boring Mystic Falls, and she couldn't help but wonder what he was doing here and why he'd taken an interest in her. Was it simply because she reminded him of someone he knew? And why in the world had she agreed to go somewhere, anywhere, with someone she didn't even know?

Her appraisal wasn't as covert as she'd hoped, and he looked at her sideways. "Yes?"

Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze to her lap. "It's just – I never do this sort of thing, and I'm not really sure why I am now."

"Never do what?"

"Go for rides with strangers."

"We're not strangers." His mouth quirked up smugly. "I'm Damon and you're Elena. See?"

She raised her eyes to his and smiled sweetly.

He maneuvered his car into the road and took off dangerously fast, heading out of town.

To break the silence, she asked, "So, Damon, what brings you to Mystic Falls?"

"Let's just say I have some unfinished family business."

"You have family here? Who?" Chances were good she'd know them. Mystic Falls was the sort of place where everyone knew everyone else.

"Last name's Salvatore."

"Oh, then you must mean Zach Salvatore who lives at the boarding house."

His lips curled, indicating amusement. "Yes, he's a … distant relative."

When he didn't volunteer any more information, she asked, "Where are we going?" She expected him to say something like a restaurant or a store – though it was already pretty late and not much was still open in Mystic Falls at this hour.

What he said was, "My hotel room."

She started. "Your hotel room?"

He smirked. "Yeah, you know that thing you rent when you need a place to spend the night?"

"I can't go to a hotel with you!"

"Well, you are, so…" He shrugged and shot her a predatory look that left her unsure whether she wanted to be captured or not.

The rest of the short drive was completed in silence. Soon, he pulled off the main road and parked in front of their final destination, a run-down motel just beyond the farthest outskirts of town. There was only a handful of other cars in the parking lot. As he exited the car, she debated what she should do, but really, what were her options? She could stay with him, or she could sit here in his car by herself. Even though she knew next-to-nothing about him, she trusted her gut, and her gut insisted that he wouldn't hurt her. Praying she was right, she got out and followed him through one of the many doors on the outside of the building.

The room they entered was old and had clearly seen better days. An anemic-looking bedspread covered the double bed, the carpet was worn and drab, and the color scheme was washed out and far from trendy. The only source of light, a small lamp above the bed, graced the room with more shadows than illumination.

"Nice, very homey," she commented sarcastically.

He shed his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a chair. That left him in a tight, v-neck black shirt that clung to him like a satisfied lover. "I can't have people knowing I'm in town yet," he informed her, "so I'm stuck out here where the accommodations are less than ideal."

"Why can't anyone know you're here?"

He leveled a censorious stare at her, though his lips curved up slightly to soften the look. She blushed.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "that was rude and none of my business."

Moving with the uncanny grace of a jungle cat on the prowl, he sauntered away from her towards the tiny table on the opposite side of the room. "Sorry, there's not much in the way of … anything. I can offer you some bourbon." He held up the bottle to show her.

"No, thanks," she declined demurely. She'd downed a few beers at the party and felt slightly buzzed, but she figured it'd be a good idea to preserve what wits she had left. Besides, straight bourbon sounded disgusting.

He poured himself a glass, then said, "So, tell me more about this boyfriend of yours."

"Matt?" She laughed once, a short, staccato sound. "What do you want to know?"

"Do you love him?"

"Yes," she said quickly, defensively. Inhaling deeply, she continued more softly, "We've been best friends forever, and I do love him. But I don't think I'm in love with him, and that's the problem. The person you're with should make you feel free and glad that you're alive, not trapped or obligated. Don't you agree?"

Rather than answer, he asked, "So that means you're planning to break up with him?"

"Yeah, I just need to find the right way to do it. I don't want to hurt him."

"Good luck with that. You seem like the sort of girl who'd leave a guy devastated."

Her eyes narrowed. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Just a hypothesis based on my own personal experience." He raised his glass to his lips and took a sip. Several raven strands of hair tumbled haphazardly across his temples.

"Have you ever been in love?"

His mouth tightened. "Once. It was painful and overrated, and I don't recommend it."

She recalled their conversation in the middle of the road. "Katherine?"

He didn't answer, but she could read the affirmation in the tense lines of his body.

"I remind you of her," she observed.

"Very much so." He stared at her with the bold stare of someone who knows that you know you're being stared at but doesn't care and continues to stare anyway. A shiver raced down her spine. She'd never been looked at like that by a man before. It was a hot, hungry look that made her brain want to run away screaming but her body want to stay and investigate the promise in that look. The promise of something she had no experience with but recognized deep down as deeply, darkly sexual.

She wrapped her arms around herself, unnerved by his brazen appraisal. "You shouldn't give up on love just because of one girl. I'm sure you'll meet the right one someday."

"Doubt it." His tone was cold, his words clipped.

She didn't know how to respond to that, so she turned and looked at the scratched, beat-up dresser behind her. There was nothing on it, no clues about the personal life of this man. In fact, there was nothing personal in here at all, just his black leather jacket now slung over the back of the only chair and a bottle of bourbon along with a couple of glasses probably scrounged from the bathroom.

Suddenly, she sensed him behind her, like right behind her. His presence was a wall of heat at her back, his breath a dark breeze on her skin. Hair stirred on the nape of her neck. Was he smelling her hair? She whirled around accusingly.

He was so close that she lurched back and bumped into the dresser. His dark, spicy scent filled her lungs, intoxicating her. Every cell in her body sparked to life, and her heart fluttered like a small bird trapped beneath a cat's paw.

"How did you do that?" she snapped, off-kilter by his unexpected proximity.

"Do what?" He wore a lazy, arrogant smile.

"You were just standing on the complete opposite side of the room."

"Huh, that is weird." His eyes did that dilation-thing again, ensnaring her gaze. "Tell me what you're thinking at this exact moment."

Words spilled unbidden from her lips before she was even aware of what she was saying. "I'm thinking that I should be completely freaked out by you, but I'm not. I mean, you are freaky, but mostly I just feel drawn to you, and I don't know why." Her gaze went to his mouth. "And I – I want to know what it's like to kiss you."

WHAT? Why did she say that out loud?! She touched her temple and frowned slightly, mystified by her behavior. She was acting so oddly tonight.

Surprised flickered in the icy depths of his blue eyes. "You're not afraid of me? What if I was a serial killer?" He sounded almost insulted.

Her hand fell away from her face. "You're dangerous, I can feel that, but no, not in a way that scares me."

A muscle ticked in his cheek and he snapped coldly, "Then you're an idiot."

Biting her lip, she looked away.

"But," he conceded, "I have to admit, I also find myself curious." He snagged her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her face back to his with enough pressure that she winced. Leaning close, he brushed his lips over hers, a feather-soft lingering that heated her blood and sent her heart racing. That one exploratory kiss affected her more than the heaviest make-out session with Matt ever had. It wasn't even a close contest.

He didn't stop with her mouth but continued down along the line of her jaw, then lower, over the throbbing pulse in her neck. A split-second of sharp pain penetrated her hazy lust and she jerked away from him, slapping her hand to her neck. Her palm encountered wetness, and without even needing to look, she knew she was bleeding.

"What the hell?" she gasped, and then her pain was forgotten as she got a good look at his face. The whites of his eyes had been consumed by red, and veins pulsed and danced around his eyes just beneath the skin. There was a tiny smear of crimson on his bottom lip, and she watched horrified as his tongue darted out and swiped it away. He looked like a monster.

"What are you?"

He failed to respond.

"What are you?" she demanded. "Are you a demon?"

"Definitely not an angel," he drawled as the veins regressed and disappeared and the red drained from his eyes, so that he once again looked like nothing more than a stunningly gorgeous man.

She swallowed hard. "Are you evil?"

His smile slipped. "Sure you don't want that drink?"

She recognized his question for what it was: an evasion tactic. Wonderful. There was only one reason someone would avoid answering that question: because they were evil. She pressed trembling lips together and collected her wits enough to nod. She would take that drink right now, thank you very much.

When he moved away, finally granting her enough space to breathe, she took an abrupt seat on the bed, hands gripping the edge with white-knuckle force.

While he poured her a glass, she briefly contemplated jumping up and trying to make a run for the door. But she recalled how quickly he'd moved on the road and again when he'd come up behind her just a minute ago, far faster than any human had the ability to move. She sensed she wouldn't be able to outrun him.

He noticed her death grip on the mattress. "Don't start being afraid now. You'll get really boring really fast."

Earlier, he'd made what she thought was a joke about being a serial killer, so she asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

His head tilted to the side and his eyelids lowered a fraction of an inch. "I haven't decided yet."

He handed her a filled glass. She took it with a shaky hand, concentrating on bringing it up to her lips without spilling or dropping it. She tilted the glass back and drained the entire thing in a few huge swallows. Oh my god, it burned like the fires of hell. It scorched off the top layer of skin on her tongue and throat. Eyes watering, she coughed several times. She shuddered and handed the glass back to him. "Another."

He made an amused sound low in his throat and obliged her. As he passed the refilled glass back to her, she caught sight of black lettering on the inside of his forearm: Hic et Nunc.

"What does your tattoo say?" she asked. Okay, yeah, that question was completely inane, but she was desperate to think of anything other than what she'd just seen. Maybe if she kept him talking, he'd be too preoccupied to hurt her. Unlikely, but it was all she could come up with.

"It's Latin. Here and Now. It's a subtle reminder not to dwell on the past."

"Does it work? I mean, does it help you to forget?"

"Given that I'm here to settle some old family business, not as well as I'd like."

"This family business, does it involve Katherine?"

He hesitated before responding with, "I like you. Beautiful and clever."

Her heart skipped a beat. He thought she was beautiful? "How'd she hurt you?"

He stared down into his whiskey glass, lips pressed into a thin line. He appeared to be debating not what he should say but whether he should say anything at all. At last, he remarked, "I have this brother, younger, less handsome, much less charming. He would like you, by the way. You're his type." Damon smiled as if he'd just told a joke. "Anyway, Katherine decided she wanted us both. It didn't end well." All humor fled. "It was never just me."

The tortured look on his face lasted only the length of a heartbeat, but it summoned all of her compassionate and nurturing instincts to the fore. Her fear melted away as she realized that underneath the defensiveness and cynicism was pain. A lot of it. And for some reason, that mattered to her.

She rose and ventured close, wary because she felt a bit like some naïve idiot who was going to try and pull a thorn out of a panther's paw and would no doubt wind up getting eaten in the process, but also unable to deny her need for him – to comfort him, she amended quickly, sharply, not at all pleased by her mental Freudian slip.

After setting her glass down on the table, she turned into him and ghosted fingertips over his forearm, along the tattoo that stood out vividly against his pale skin, startling herself with her daring. Muscles flexed like cords of steel at her touch, and he frowned down as if surprised by her voluntary caress.

The tremor of desire that coursed through her at the simple contact was shocking and utterly nonsensical. She ought to be too terrified to feel any desire. But then nothing about this night had made any sense ever since her moonlit conversation with this enigmatic man while standing in the middle of the road.

She stared up at him, and their eyes locked together. The moment stretched out between them, pregnant with possibility, and she could swear she detected the slightest vulnerability lurking in those hooded, predatory eyes. As if he feared that she would hurt him. Which was ridiculous.

"I'm sorry she hurt you," she whispered.

"It was a long time ago," he whispered back.

And yet it obviously still bothered him.

Her hand rose and with gentle fingers, she touched his face, pale as moonbeams in the shadowy motel room. She explored the sharp slash of cheek bone, the slight hollow below, the generous, pink curve of his lips, unable to stop thinking about what he'd said to her in the road.

Passion.

Adventure.

Danger.

He represented all of those things, and right now she couldn't come up with a single reason why she shouldn't seize this moment with both hands and hold on for the ride. Of course she knew that reasons existed, she just couldn't remember any of them. And, hey, she'd already done a bunch of really out-of-character things anyway, so why stop now?

Deciding to stick with that motto, she pressed her lips to his for the briefest of moments, and it felt like being shocked with an electrical current. When she drew back, he was looking at her like she was something remarkable, something he didn't quite understand but desperately wanted to. Then he blinked and the look vanished.

He warned, "I'm the wrong person to tease, little girl."

"I'm not trying to tease you," she said.

"What are you trying to do?" His eyes were narrow, suspicious.

She answered him by rising on her tip toes and kissing him again, more firmly than before.

He quickly took over, changing the tone of their kiss to one that was wild and senseless and strangely liberating. His mouth tasted simultaneously sweet and fiery like the bourbon he'd been drinking, and his tongue expertly stroked hers. Her body responded instantly to the overwhelming sensory overload, fire sizzling in her veins. One of his hands grabbed the back of her head to prevent her from pulling away and the other snagged her waist and molded her into the hard lines of his body, including one particular hard, swollen line that pressed insistently against her belly.

As his mouth moved covetously over hers, she wondered what on earth she was doing. She would never in a million years do something like this, and yet here she was in a hotel room with a man (maybe?) whom she barely knew, and they were making out, and she wasn't stopping him because she didn't want him to stop.

And it didn't help that he was so mind-bogglingly sexy.

Obviously, her brain had short-circuited completely. He was right – she was an idiot.

The hand in her hair tightened abruptly, her scalp prickling with discomfort. He abandoned their kiss and pressed his forehead against hers, breathing with labored inhales and ragged exhales. His powerful frame thrummed with tension, like a rubber band about to snap at any moment.

As he wrestled with himself for some reason that she couldn't decipher, she allowed her hands to begin a sensual exploration, slipping under his shirt and moving along hard ridges of muscle that clenched in the wake of her touch.

A soft puff of air floated against her cheek when he laughed. It was a low, seductive sound. "You definitely aren't making this easy."

"Making what easy?" she asked, hands never ceasing their journey. She found and circled a nipple which stiffened.

"Doing the right thing."

"And what is the right thing?" She was hoping he'd tell her, because her moral compass was desperately compromised at the moment.

"I honestly can't remember." His mouth slanted over hers again, and while their tongues tangled, she pushed his shirt up and he quickly, deftly discarded it. She caressed the smooth, taut skin with abandon, then took a step back so she could admire the body she'd just been wantonly stroking.

Holy crap. He was as perfect as any marble statue in a museum, every lean, white inch carved by the loving hands of a master sculptor. There were defined pectorals and chiseled abs and a yummy line of black hair descending from his navel that disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants.

With shaking knees, she backed up one more step and hit the bed, sitting down with an inelegant plop.

He stalked towards her, eliminating the gap between them, his motion so aggressively predatory that she instinctively scooted backwards up the bed. Without pausing, he followed, crawling across the bed towards her. Her head hit the pillow and he was on top of her, kissing her again, and then his hands were under her shirt, igniting every nerve in her body.

Her pink long-sleeve shirt disappeared, and she remembered that she was wearing just a plain, white bra. No lace or bows or sexy frills anywhere. She hadn't thought anyone would see it.

However, from the look on his face, she didn't have anything to worry about. He didn't look perturbed or disappointed. No, he looked … ravenous, like she was the first thing he'd had to eat in days, and he planned on devouring her whole in one sitting.

He filled his hands with her breasts, and she arched under him, moaning into his mouth. Then, her bra miraculously disappeared as well, and his lips began a thrilling descent down the elegant column of her neck.

"Damon?" she whispered, surprised she still retained the ability to speak.

"Hmm?"

"You can't do that biting thing again."

He just grinned and continued to bestow tingly kisses upon her flesh.

Panting breaths escaping her parted lips, she watched the top of his dark head as he kissed his way down her body. He laved the indentions of her collar bone, then lingered for a while at each breast, licking and sucking each tip with a skill that left her writhing. When he reached her naval, he glanced up, and his luminous blue eyes, so hot with desire, were like a lightning strike to her core. She'd never felt anything like this before. What was happening to her?

His gaze returned to her body as he peeled her skin-tight jeans down over her hips and off her legs along with her white panties. For a moment, she felt a twinge of self-consciousness. No guy had ever seen her completely naked before.

Then, all modesty fled as his mouth dipped down between her legs, right where she wanted him most, and her hips literally arched off the bed. Her hands locked in his hair, fingers threading through the thick, silky black strands, pulling him closer. Her arousal built fast as his extraordinary tongue stroked her, swirling, tasting, licking. It wasn't long before she was inundated with a pleasure that left her gasping and seeing stars.

As she recovered, he shifted enough to rid himself of his pants. Immediately, he was back, bracing himself above her, settling into the perfect cradle of her thighs with a heavy erection that made her tense.

"Hold on, wait," she gasped, struggling to preserve some semblance of rational thought, "shouldn't we – I mean, don't we need a…." She trailed off, blushing.

"Condom?" He smirked, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with an amusement she didn't understand. "Don't worry, I can't get you pregnant."

"Are you sure?"

"Scout's honor."

Yeah right, if he'd ever been a boy scout, then she was the Easter bunny. But all protests fled as she felt him nudging between her legs again.

Her fingers dug into the backs of his biceps as her body resisted the foreign invasion. She said breathlessly, "I've never done this before."

He laughed, but it was a gentle sound. "Believe me, I can tell."

"You can? How?" Mortifying.

"I can hear your heart. It sounds like it's about to explode out of your chest. Your blood is racing a thousand miles an hour. And you're shaking like a leaf. Afraid?"

She searched his sinfully handsome face, grateful because she grasped what he was really asking her. He was giving her one last chance to back out, to tell him to stop. She shook her head. "No."

Despite her bravado, she tensed up when she felt him seeking entrance again, not believing that there was any way he'd fit inside her. He meshed his lips with hers, delivering soothing, velvety kisses that robbed her lungs of air, made her head spin, made her insides liquefy into warm honey that pooled in her lower abdomen. Once she had relaxed, distracted by his kisses, he entered her in one smooth, easy glide, stretching her beyond what she thought she could handle.

Initially, she experienced extreme discomfort, and it must have shown on her face, because he whispered, "It won't hurt anymore, I promise."

Then his hips started to move in and out with slow, almost imperceptible thrusts and, oh god, he was right, it definitely didn't hurt anymore. Gradually, his tempo increased, and she matched him stroke for stroke. It was like dancing or breathing, a rhythm she intuitively felt deep in her bones, and that heavenly pressure built once again, a slow detonation of exquisite sensation.

This orgasm wasn't like the one before. Before it had been sharp and bright and quick. This one was slow, glorious, white-hot eddies of pleasure that rippled through her, urging her to a height she'd never achieved before. The eddies transformed into a tidal wave, then finally a tsunami that crashed over and swept through her as she cried out and clung to him with all her strength.

While drifting weightlessly on a current of pure bliss, she felt him pump fiercely a final few times, then stiffen and groan hoarsely. Still throbbing, he collapsed on top of her, burying his face in her neck.

Smiling, she wrapped her arms around him. Even though she barely knew this man, there was something between them which she found hard to explain, an intimacy that went beyond simple physical pleasure. And he felt it, too, if the way he was brushing his mouth reverently over the pulse in her throat was any indication, his lips subtle as the feathery-soft edges of a dark angel's wing.

"Is it always like that?" she inquired curiously.

He froze. "No," he answered, lifting his head and glaring down at her. He sounded almost angry. Violently, he pushed up onto his knees. Taken aback by his abrupt mood shift, she started to scoot away, but he grabbed her thighs with enough force to leave finger-shaped bruises on the delicate, tan flesh.

"Ooww, what're you doing?" she protested, but he didn't respond, and she couldn't even tell if her words had registered with him. He was too focused on her inner thighs where there was the slightest smear of bright red blood visible – her virgin's blood. One of his hands reached out, and two fingertips trailed through the fluid. His nostrils flared. Eyes closed, he stuck his fingers between his lips and sucked them clean. He groaned softly, and dark, spidery veins crawled across his skin, just like when he'd drawn blood on her neck. He exhaled as if he'd just tasted manna from heaven. Then, his eyes snapped open, and the whites were crimson red.

"Go," he snarled gutturally and she glimpsed a flash of elongated white fangs behind his full lips.

She blinked at his harsh tone, frightened into immobility by his demonic appearance. "What?"

"Go now before I rip your fucking throat out."

That galvanized her into action. She jumped up, grabbed her clothes where they lay in a heap beside the bed, and raced into the bathroom. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, chest heaving.

After taking a few moments to pull herself together, she hurriedly dressed and sat down on the closed toilet seat, thoughts racing, heart pounding like a runaway train. What she had just seen was some straight up horror movie stuff. She waited in silence for a monster to bust through the door and kill her, but nothing happened. In fact, she heard only silence on the other side of the door. Working up her courage – if she was going to die, she might as well get it over with – she yanked the door open.

He stood on the other side, as though he'd been waiting for her, fully dressed once more. Before she could react, he snared her with his gaze and intoned persuasively, "Call your ride and tell them you're ready for them to come get you. I'm going to drive you back to the party, and once you get out of my car, you won't remember anything about me or what just happened here."

"I'm going to call my ride and I won't remember anything," she repeated woodenly.

His smile betrayed a touch of wistfulness. "Good girl. Let's go."

Elena remained on the window ledge, too heartbroken to move now that she remembered.

Damon had driven her back to the spot where they'd met. Her parents picked her up, and then they'd gotten into the accident on Wickery Bridge that resulted in their deaths and changed her life forever. She was the sole survivor, though she'd received her fair share of injuries: discolored bruises, sore muscles, scrapes, a head ache that wouldn't go away for days. Every inch of her had been thoroughly banged up. So, the bruises on her inner thighs shaped like fingerprints, the soreness between her legs – she'd never thought to question where they came from, simply chalking them up to the accident, just more trauma her body went through.

But they weren't from the accident.

She and Damon had met first, and they'd slept together. He'd been her first.

The ability to breathe abandoned her, and hot tears streaked their way down her cheeks.

She'd slept with Damon, and he'd known this entire time, and he'd never told her.