A/N: Okay, you guys I wrote this up sometime last summer, and I told myself I wasn't going to post it until it was at least part way finished. Well, technically I have three chapters, but this chapter is the only one that is complete. I've tried working on my other stories, but my muse is still in mourning over what happened in 4x22, and she wanted a tiny break from the stories following canon. This is AU, and partially supernatural, I just won't be getting into that heavily like I've done in my other stories. Thank you in advance for giving this a try. This starts off in my usual lemony fashion. Just a fair warning.

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

He studied my body like it was a Grey's Anatomy textbook, and he always knew where to put his scalpel and make an incision. His strokes were always deep and strong. He knew my body better than an art historian knew Rembrandt, and that was only because I trained him that way.

Damon Salvatore never came too quick or too early. He always arrived right on time. I never had to direct him like I was landing a plane or parking a car. Silent communication was the key with us. It never took more than a simple look or the placement of our lips for the other to know either you fucked up or you just made my day. I knew him and he knew me.

Right now I imagined it was his fingers tickling me between my legs, playing me like a guitar. I imagined it was his breath I felt fanning against my neck instead of the wind pouring in from the open window. I imagined it was his artful tongue flicking across my stiff nipples, making them feel as if they would explode.

He wasn't here, but the memory of him was. It was enough to get me off.

Sunlight poured into the room and I was sure I was giving some lucky soul an X-rated show. I didn't care about being seen, I just needed to detox after another horrific week at work. I needed to forget what an anal asshole I worked for. I needed to be reminded that the clothes I strapped on to work everyday might have been stiff, and starched to perfection, but underneath the suit I was a sensual woman with a healthy sexual appetite that was hard to sate.

Quickly my fingers worked their magic. I added a little heat to my tips while simultaneously cooling my skin trying to get the right balance of hot and cold to further trick my mind into thinking Damon was doing this and I wasn't. Sweat pebbled across my top lip. My legs fell apart a little wider to make room for him. His breathing had increased against my skin, his fingers working like a locomotive. He was whispering raunchy things in my ear and I was close.

You like it when I finger fuck you don't you, Bonnie?

Hearing the phantom sound of his voice was my undoing.

I whimpered and cried out as I was thrown into the abyss, tumbling into the middle of the sun. Every single muscle in my body was tight, and I held my breath, as my inner muscles contracted and released. For as wonderful as it felt when the euphoria wore off I still felt irritated and like crap. My horniness didn't even budge. If anything I just made myself even more randy. If I wanted to put myself out of this torture that would mean swallowing my pride and calling him, but I had a strict rule about that.

No more hooking up with ex-husbands.

I rolled to a sitting position, and slapped my feet against the floor. With all the blood being redirected away from my shaved cat back to my head, I suddenly came down with a severe case of vertigo. I always tried to loiter in bed after getting myself off to avoid that feeling, but I needed to move. I had less than forty-five minutes to get to work, and my boss was the last person you wanted to be tardy for.

Music was playing softly in the background on my iPod home system. My room smelled of unfulfilled sex, crushed dreams, left over brown rice and chicken, and stale wine.

I had a rager of a night last night. Pigging myself out on takeout, cheap wine, and a Scandal marathon.

How I wished the President of the United States was obsessed with me. Instead I got a lunatic ex-husband with a grievance and a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas who just happens to be a blood-sucking vampire.

I never should have gone on that show Blind Date.

Okay, I'm exaggerating on that last part. I met Damon during my senior year of high school. We didn't hit it off right away considering our vast age difference. Long story short, he came to town looking to be reunited with an old girlfriend, only to find old girlfriend wanted nothing to do with him. He enlisted my help as well as the help of my grandmother to find her. A bunch of disappointing shit happened, and then one day I was on my back with my legs up in the air with him between them.

I just knew Nickolas Sparks was waiting to write out our fantabulous love story.

Damon and I have history. Lots of it. Dated for six years, got married and stayed married for five years until one day I realized I had married Mussolini. The final year of our marriage is what I like to refer to as the dark ages. Trouble had a way of finding us, my life went up in smoke, and nothing was ever the same again. To be honest I don't like to think about it because it only led to things catching on fire, and already I have fire marshals giving me major side-eye.

I really didn't have time to go gun slinging down memory lane. I needed to step into my professional persona.

So I rifled through my closet and pulled out a Casper The Friendly ghost white button down, a heather gray pencil skirt, a sexy pair of leather ankle strap platform heels, and pair of flesh-tone lace stockings.

My boss had a very strict dress code. Being I was his third personal assistant, I had signed a contract agreeing to wear skirts when the weather was nice. They could only be pencil skirts with a hem that stopped no more than two inches from my knee. It had to be tailored. I could pair my skirt with any type of shirt I liked, so long as it came in white.

At first I was thinking this man was too neurotic for me to work for. Who the hell cares what their employee wore so long as you dressed and looked professional? He was seriously adamant about his employees being a representation of him. Oh, but he didn't just stop with the clothes. Nails were to be kept short and immaculate at all times—preferably in the French tip manicure style. No artificial tips, but natural nails. Hair, if worn down had to be either pin straight or wavy. If worn up it had to be styled in a high ponytail, bun or a chignon.

I didn't even know what the hell a chignon was until I got this job. You know how most employers are worried about their employees stealing company time, supplies, secrets, files, and money this man placed more emphasis on the aesthetics. I was ready to say no thanks until he show me how much I could earn in a year once the three-month probationary period ended.

Can you say great googily moogily? I had never seen so many numbers in my life just for being a third-rate assistant. It made me doggedly curious what his first two assistants made if he was willing to pay me close to seventy-five thousand a year.

Right now I'm entering my eight month in working for Christian Grey Industries. He's an interesting man to say the least, and I'll touch on him a bit more later. Right now, I seriously needed to hustle if I were to get to downtown in the next thirty minutes.

Putting on my "uniform" I decided to wear my hair in a ponytail because I wasn't in the mood to curl it and that would eat my traveling time. I did a full face of makeup in less than ten minutes, grabbed my keys, my portfolio, my mug of coffee, and walked out of the door.

In the foyer of my apartment complex I saw my old neighbor Mrs. Flowers. She lived alone with her six-year old bishon that hated everyone's guts. I smiled at Mrs. Flowers who returned the gesture. She was one of the few people who never really tried to pry into my business when I first moved into these upscale apartments in Boulevard City about a year ago.

Alimony from Damon had paid my rent until I landed the job with CGI, and now his alimony was covering my wardrobe. Not everything I owned was designer but it was getting there. I traded shopping at Charlotte Russe and Wet Seal for Nordstrom and Lords & Taylor.

It was summer, but the heat hadn't turned stifling yet. I still had a good two weeks left before I'd have to forgo wearing my hosiery. There was nothing worse than wearing business clothes in the summertime.

The streets were already alive and buzzing with activity at seven in the morning. People hustled along the cracked sidewalk talking into their Bluetooth or cell phone, or their fingers furiously typed on their keyboards, or they surfed the web on their iPad. No one looked at anyone anymore on the street and mumbled good morning. There was nothing but silence except for those yapping away giving a vivid retelling of their exploits the night before or screaming at an incompetent member on their team from work.

As you can imagine there was a Starbucks on every corner in my little district. And of course at every single one the line was wrapped outside of the building. I didn't need to spend close to ten dollars for a cup of java and a slice of cake. The coffee at CGI was top notch, imported, and some of the best I've ever tasted. Luckily it wasn't my job to make the coffee because I would have burned it everyday.

That was just one skill I never cared to master.

CGI was about seven blocks away from where I lived. I was close enough that even if I was running late I could still get there on time, but far enough away that I convinced myself I lived in an entirely different city from it. Normally I took the bus into work. I never attempted to walk, especially not in my heels. I did own a car but parking was such a pain in the ass, that it stayed benched in the garage under my building.

I waited in line at the corner where I caught my bus. Pulled out the novel I had been reading for forever it seemed because the ride was so short I only managed to read about three to four pages each day. As usual, getting on the bus was another event I hated. Men sometimes bumrushed the line, pushing women out of the way just to get on the public limo. And then of course there was always the possibility of being groped by strange hands especially on Monday mornings. As the days passed the line usually tapered off. Monday's were the worse, but I knew when to avoid the rush so I could at least get a seat.

There were about ten people standing in line ahead of me. That was a good sign because usually there's close to thirty people waiting. I smiled at the woman standing in front of me and dropped my eyes to my book.

I might have read a paragraph or two when I got the itch to look up and to my left.

I've seen handsome men before. Hell, my ex-husband was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, could cause a woman to cream just by smirking at her. I worked with some of the best dressed, well-groomed, and most articulate men in the world, but the guy strolling down the avenue looked like something straight out of an erotic graphic novel.

He reminded me of Damon. He had ice-blue eyes and dark hair, but where Damon was about average height for a man, the guy talking on his cell phone was tall, like a basketball player tall, like a glass of water with three ice cubes tall, and I would put his weight at about two-o-five. He was dressed in a European cut suit that was all the rage nowadays in men's fashion, which meant the gunmetal-blue suit he wore hugged him in all the right places. His face was angular and even from the distance separating us I could see the stubble of a mustache above his upper lip. There was a cleft in his chin, and then he did the unthinkable by smiling. Dimples! Yes, come to mama!

I didn't make a habit of preening for guys, but I turned my back a little in his direction so he could see my rounded, high booty, and my calf muscles. I had Zumba and aerobics to thank for my figure, as well as good genes. I looked over my shoulder, a bit coyly to see if he may have noticed me. I wasn't sure if he was coming to stand in line, or if he was merely walking by.

The man stopped right next to me and tapped me on the shoulder. I didn't look at him right away.

"Yes?" I asked and craned my neck to stare up at him.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to bother you," he said in a voice riddled with an accent. I didn't want to assume but he sounded Australian but he could be British or Irish or any number of "ish". But I will say his voice reminded me of Eric Bana's voice. Shiver me timbers.

"Oh, it's no bother," I said and smiled, not too much. Didn't want him to think I was flirting with him.

"Is this where you catch the," he dug in his pocket to retrieve a piece of paper. He read what was written on it. "Is there where you catch the number 15 express to Lorton?"

I had to think about that before responding. I wasn't sure where this bus went after it dumped me off at my stop, but I knew Lorton wasn't before it.

The woman standing in front of me answered the question. "Yes it is. You'll want to get off after the Metro Court stop."

"Thank you," he said to the woman and brought his eyes back to me. "I'm new to the area. Just trying to find my way around. I'm Erik Mauer."

He extended his hand and I shook it. Nice tight grip. Warm palm. Soft hands. I stood a bit taller in my heels.

"Bonnie Bennett, nice to meet you Erik. How long have you been living in Seattle?"

"Not long. I only relocated here three weeks ago from Auckland, New Zealand."

My eyebrows lifted off my head. I had never met anyone from New Zealand before. I had made some friends in college who lived in different part of the US and even had a friend who hailed from France, but no one south of the equator and on the other side of the world.

"What brings you to the US? You don't have to answer if you don't want, too."

Amazingly twin pink dots formed on his cheeks. Was he blushing? Was little ole' me making this tall glass of water blush? Say it ain't so.

"Work and a bad engagement gone south, I'm afraid. I asked for a transfer and my boss granted me one. Our office here was having some troubles so I'm merely here to be of soon assistance to manage it."

"I'm sorry to hear about your engagement," I murmured. I really wasn't but I still had to exercise caution and tap my heels together saying "Please don't be gay".

"As they say, it's her loss."

Bingo!

The bus naturally chose that precise moment to pull up. I checked the time on my Amex. I had about twenty-five minutes left before I had to be at my desk, ready to do the bidding of my three bosses. My happy mood after a failed quickie with my fingers and the possibility of a potential date deflated slightly.

We all lined up like ants and swiped our fare card to get on the bus. It was practically empty which was another plus. I sat down at a window seat facing front and wondered if Erik might take the empty seat next to me.

He did.

At first he didn't say anything and I wasn't exactly sure where to start a conversation either. Instead I inhaled deeply and locked into memory the smell of his cologne and after shave. I had gotten good at naming brands by scent because I used to buy Damon his toiletry items and I liked to switch up his fragrance every few months or so. Whatever Erik was wearing, it was definitely masculine but not overbearing. It was a bit woodsy but I picked up a whiff of something citrus as well.

The silence between us stretched but it only made me more aware of him. The heat from his body was beginning to make me shiver.

But then Eirk shifted a bit in his seat.

"Is your stop before my stop?" he asked.

"Yes, it is."

More silence ensured and then he asked another question.

"Do you ride this particular bus everyday?"

"I do. Whenever the weather is bad I drive into work."

"What do you do? If you don't mind me inquiring," he flashed a semi-flirty smile at least I think it was flirty.

"I work as a personal executive assistant at Christian Grey Industries." I couldn't tell him I worked for the CEO, president, and chairman of the board. I had to sign a no disclosure agreement when I was officially hired. By law, I was legally bound not to say that Christian Grey was my boss. He was essentially the man who ran this city. He had his hand in nearly everything. From publishing, to politics, to education. If word got out that I worked for him, the media hounds and gold diggers would be after me trying to get the inside scoop on the future Howard Hughes.

I waited for Erik to scrunch his nose in distaste at my profession. When I told most people that I'm an assistant they automatically assume I'm not college educated, and that I must have two children at home. In my opinion, assistants and secretaries run the company. We just allowed everyone else to take the credit for our work.

"I was an assistant once and I hated it. My boss…total prick. She couldn't do anything right."

I burst out into laughter. I managed to startle a few people who were sitting around us.

Erik was certainly blushing—profusely I might add.

"I only laugh because I expected your prior boss to be male. You know what they say when you assume something."

Erik nodded in understanding and then cracked a tiny indulgent smile. His dimple was winking at me and I was tempted to wink back and maybe flick my tongue against it.

Did I fail to mention that because of Damon I have a high sex drive, and the slightest thing can turn me on? No? My apologies.

I wouldn't say I was a man and thought of sex every ten seconds or so. I could look at an underwear or perfume add and conjure up an entire scenario on what the model was doing before, during, and after and it invariably involved nudity of some kind. If I found my mind wondering during our mandatory board meetings that were held bi-weekly every Monday, my mind would begin to think of the interesting places to have sex in the conference room.

I didn't think I was different from anyone else. But that was a matter of opinion. When I was near or saw a good looking man I dissected him down to the type of underwear he wore. Not to say that I imagined myself doing horizontal acts with random strangers. I just had a deep appreciation for the male body.

Sooner than expected we were approaching my stop.

"Do you like what you do?" Erik asked. "Is your boss at least pleasant to work for?"

I shrugged and decided to be vague and give a non-committal response. I could do no more than that anyways.

"He's a character. The work can be grueling at times and then very redundant at others, but it's a paycheck with an excellent benefits package and four weeks of vacation. This is my stop coming up."

"Oh," Erik said distractedly. He had been too busy watching my lips. He had some difficulty standing while the bus was still in motion. He would become a pro with more practice.

We stared at one another as I mentally told him to ask for my number.

He extended his hand again. "Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Bonnie Bennett. You've definitely made my first bus riding experience less anxiety filled."

"It was nice meeting you, too, Erik. Have a good day at work."

"Will do. Same time and place tomorrow?" he asked with a hopeful gleam to his lapis lazuli eyes.

It wasn't exactly dinner at Ruth Chris or a night at The House of Blues, but it was something. I nodded my head.

"Same time and place tomorrow."

Chapter end.

A/N: I know this was short and there really wasn't any Bamon interaction. It's coming, I promise if you're interested in reading more. And NO, this isn't TVD meets 50 Shades of Grey (exactly). I'm simply borrowing Christian Grey because well I can mwahahahaha. This is actually based off another book I read called Switch by Megan Hart (who writes erotica a thousand times better than EL James). And no again my plan isn't to turn Bonnie into Anastasia Steele, or Elena any other mediocre maiden as ipodchick would say :P, but to give her a much more adult voice and humanize her. I'll just go ahead and say this is the story in how Bamon work their way from being exes to recapturing why they fell in love and got married in the first place. If you want more let me know. If reviews are low, won't take it personally (that much) I'll just chuck it up to Bonnie stans feelings being too crushed to even read fanfiction, which I completely understand, I'm still struggling with my bitterness as well. All right, love you guys! I won't leave or forsake you, but I might take a hiatus. I'll let you know if I do.

*Also, I made a minor change to this chapter for continuity reasons.