Damon rolls off of her after long minutes spent peppering kisses on her nose and eyebrows and lips, and he smiles as he turns her face, holding her delicate jaw between his fingers. Her green eyes are sparkling with happiness, though she won't say the words. With time, he thinks, he'll help her come out from the iron shell she's built around herself, and he'll enjoy the little concession she makes for him and mark the day on the calendar because it will be memorable.

"This is amazing," he says, brushing the tip of his index finger over the cupid bow of her swelled lip, "And I'm not talking about the sex, because the sex has been stellar, especially considering this was only the introduction."

Bonnie rolls her eyes at his arrogance. "You have fifty/fifty of the jury set on that score," she mocks him before playfully biting at his finger. If she concedes to him, now, she will never hear the end of it.

"The other fifty was too busy chanting my name to do the required math," he quips.

"Whatever," she replies, faking an annoyed sigh and looking away. She feels like she made the ultimate error. He was fucking cocky before – and kinda adorable at that – now he will be outright impossible.

Bonnie can feel his eyes on her face, the fact that they are laying naked on a limping bed and she has just started to learn how it feels to have him inside is something strange to reconnect with, but exhilarating and beautiful. Of the too good to be true sort, and all she wants to do is get to enjoy this while it lasts.

His eyes have a kind of new sweetness to them as he looks at her with a tender fascination, his head tipped to the side like he's watching something he's never seen before. Her cheeks warm up and she can feel a thin, piercing pain in her chest.

"What?" she asks, embarrassed and hesitantly happy.

"You should marry me," he says, making her giggle at his impression of a smitten lover.

"You're such an idiot," she accuses him before his eyes and the breathy tone he used start to draw on her, "What?" she asks again, suddenly sobered up.

"You should—" but before he can finish his sentence she slaps his hand away from her face, sitting up on the bed, shaking her head. "Oh my God!" she groans, pained, hands briefly covering her face. She's so ashamed of herself.

"I should have known!" she protests angrily, uncaring of the confused look on Damon's face. She's the one getting the shortest end of the stick, here, and she can't worry about his feelings too. "My God!" she exclaims, using one arm to cover her breasts as she stands from the bed—trying to avoid the fragments of glass from the broken mirror sprinkled on the floor—to retrieve her garments, scattered at the foot of the king size bed.

"What now?" Damon asks, watching her pick her panties off the parquet. The curve of her ass as she bends over would be more distracting if her disposition was different.

"I've been so stupid!" She hurriedly tries to dress herself.

"You're not making any sense, you know that?" He rushes in front of her so she won't be able to ignore him any longer. His rapid movements creates a gush of wind that makes her shiver, her nipples reacting by stiffening slightly and she puts on her t-shirt to try to cover her body's reaction.

"I'm making all the sense in the world," she mutters, her breathing increasing with her panic, "I ruined everything—"

Damon cups her face the moment she emerges from the neck of her t-shirt, trying to pull her closer. "What are you even talking about?" He's unabashedly naked, disgustingly beautiful, so close and smelling so good.

"I should have never trusted you!" she screams with pained eyes, hands wrapped around his wrists, trying to pull his hands away to no avail. "This is all a fucked up reaction to my death. You were scared, and what you felt made you think that you love me but in fact all this is adrenaline and a sick coping mechanism and I've been a fool to trust you!"

His blue eyes search her face for a brief moment before he sniggers at her words. "A coping mechanism," he says, nodding, tone clearly mocking her. "I didn't even know I was that sensitive, but it all makes sense now."

She'd like to believe otherwise but she can't let herself. Her instinct was right from the beginning. Damon can truly only ever love Elena, and this was really too good to be true, and the joke's on her for believing differently, for hoping she had a chance, for a little while.

And who in their right mind would pop that question after being together for a grand total of an hour, orgasms included? He hadn't even ever asked Elena something like that, how could he ask that to her?

"You don't realize it, now," she insists, trying to shake her head though he's got her face trapped between his large hands, "but tomorrow, or in a week, when this incident becomes just another bump in your centenarian road, and you've gotten over the shock, then you'll see and—"

His reply is to just kiss her reluctant mouth. "I'm shocked," he murmurs against her humid lips, tongue plunging into the heat of her hesitant mouth as she tries to free herself from his hold by pulling at his wrists without being able to move him an inch, "Comfort me."

"You just felt guilty—" she tries to explain before he recaptures her mouth with his own.

"Every now and then," he confirms, before kissing her again. "Mostly after a very dirty thought," he grins unapologetically, letting her take his hands off her face only to grip her waist and drag her against his chest. "Wanna hear about them?" He's amused as she presses her palms against his defined pectoral muscles and pushes him away with all her strength.

"No."

He lets her, just because he enjoys the chase.

Bonnie runs to the door, hands gripping the knob ready to leave the room in underwear and a wrinkled t-shirt, but as the door opens Damon's hand pushes it closed again, towering over her from behind, mouth curved into a smile next to her ear.

"We already did this part." His tone is quiet and intimate. "Remember?" he asks, one arm stretched out to keep the door closed, the other hooked around her waist to keep her close.

"Open the door." She tries to sound threatening when all she feels is scared. She can already feel her reason crumbling away under his hot breath and she'd like to cry. She would if she wasn't so proud.

"No," he replies with a grin.

"I'm serious," she says, breathlessly, cheeks reddened with desire and humiliation. She was better at this. A couple of orgasms ago she was a master at this, at telling him no and putting him in his place. Why can't she do it now?

This is my place, he had said while licking her femininity.

"And you think I'm not?" he asks, breathy, lustful, nose brushing tenderly against the curve of her ear. "You hope I'm not?" he asks again. His lips close around her lobe, teeth gently pulling at the soft flesh, making her lash tremble and her stomach fall.

"Remember that time, years ago, when I asked you to dance with me and you flat out refused me? Speaking to me like I was dirt under the sole of your shoes?" he asks, wondering cheerily along memory lane as he leans his body into her. "No one refused me. Ever. That was the first time I wanted to kiss you."

"Because you were always a narcissistic bastard and you wanted to prove your point," she retorts, trying to force her brain into working her way out of his charm. She could do it then, she even hated him then, she just needed a little of that attitude right now.

She can hear the sound of his smile, the awkward happy sigh because she knows him so well and it's absurd.

"Nothing ever made me happier than being able to aggravate you—"

"Because you enjoy the attention," she tries to rebut.

"—and kill your boyfriends."

This is absurd. He's trying to worm his way into her head and he's succeeding, but she can't be that stupid again. "You didn't have feelings for me."

"Oh, no, not exactly those kind of feelings, yet," he replies, amused, "It was some sort of territorial instinct that made you the epicenter and the target of all my bad moods," he admits, kissing her cheek with an innocent peck, like a child asking for forgiveness, before rocking himself against her backside to make her feel his hardness.

"Damon—" she tries protesting, but must bite her lower lip to keep herself from moaning. The flimsy fabric of her panties and her t-shirt are the only barriers separating her from Damon and what he can make her feel, but she needs to stick to her refusal.

"Remember how unbearable I was when we were alone on the other side? I wanted to come back so bad, I couldn't wait to come back, because if I were to stay another day stuck there with you I wouldn't have been able to stay faithful."

"I was the only one around and you're not one for celibacy," she reasons, trying to squirm out of his hold only to rub herself against him. She can hear his deep groan, can feel his nose brush against her shoulder when he lower his head to breath her in, and her breath heaves in an euphoric panic as she grows wet between her legs.

"All those times you witchy-migrained me?" he says, fingers playing with the embroidered band of her lace panties, "Those were like foreplay to me… my veins popped, and after, the blood rushed down faster than if you had shoved your hands into my jeans."

"A physical side effect that has nothing to do with me."

"I beg to differ, though you'll be doing most of the begging today, Bon." He grins, one finger sliding past the elastic band of her panties and brushing over the mound of her sex.

"We can't do this." Her voice is trembling, most of her attention fixated on the exact point the tip of his finger can reach, so close and yet not close enough.

"We already did," he reminds her. "I gave you a choice, and you made it. And loyal girls like you stick by their choices."

"This cannot happe—"

"Why won't you believe me? Huh?" he asks, sex pressed against the plump curve of her ass, the dipping sweetness of her back. "Why is this so difficult to accept for you?" He would sound almost sad if only his body wasn't so hauntingly hard. If only she didn't know better. He's been a rollercoaster of innocent pecks and dirty revelations, taking the ground out from under her feet whenever she felt like she could control the moment.

"You asked me to marry you!"

"I didn't ask," and highlights the word by sinking his hand down into her panties and penetrating her with one long finger, "technically speaking," Damon adds, after basking in her gasp.

"Oh God," Bonnie shuts her eyes. She doesn't need them to picture his horrid, grinning mouth as she opens her hands over the surface of the closed door to hold herself up and provide the leverage she needs to rock herself back on his finger, if she wanted to rock herself back on his finger, which she wants to do so bad she could cry.

"That would require a man to get on his knees," he explains, using his other hand to pull at her panties "I'm old fashioned like that," he says, sliding down against her, kissing his way down her spine as he kneels behind her and guides the flimsy fabric down. He grips her flesh with one hand while he changes the angle of penetration of the other, and uses his tongue to lick her, bottom up.

It takes her by surprise, his intrusion, and Bonnie opens her eyes to look down between her now-spread legs.

"The first time I thought of you as my wife we were fighting over which laundry soap to take from that supermarket we always went to," he explains, breath hitting her sex as he watches his finger work her and easily adds another. His voice is husky, lowered as he speaks. "I thought I could love that hellish hole of a deserted town if you were to marry me," he says quietly, to not overcome the wet, slippery sound of her body giving in to him. "That's what made me lose it. That's why I wanted to come back so bad," he says, kissing the curve of her ass before standing again, his member finding her needy humidity, caressing it with his length in a teasing slide. Forward and back, forward then back again, until she's so enraptured by the promise of him that her hips start to undulate back and forth.

"I thought If we could leave that place I would be able to go back to before I loved you," he says, mouth at her ear once again, tip of him barely inside as he takes the hem of her shirt and pulls the offending clothing up and away from her.

"I tried to cheat myself. But there's no going back, Bonnie. I don't think it ever existed, that before," he explains, voice amazed as Bonnie bends forward a little more to be able to look back at him. His eyes hold her own. There's something burning behind the blue that stares at her as he stays still, letting her sink back on him. One hand is holding her waist, the other is playing with the loose ends of her hair, heel of his hand pressed against the middle of her back as his fingers wrap around curly strands.

He's telling her the truth, she knows, but she doesn't know how to handle that, how to accept his feelings and her own and a future as good as she never imagined it could be. So she tries to let her body do the talking instead, pushes herself back on his erection, but the hand gripping her side prevents her from having more of him. Just the large tip and his blue eyes, that's all she got.

"Please," she says, pleading. "Please," she repeats. I'm sorry I doubted you, she means to say. And he knows. He must know that.

"Now, if you'd do me the honor of having me, Bon…" he growls, pushing his length into her a little more before retracting, "Say yes."

She tries once again to shove herself back on him, "Damon," she begs again, almost on the verge of crying, the need so insistent in her mind and between her legs she's tempted to use her own fingers to relieve the tormenting emptiness tearing at her, but she needs both her hands to keep herself up or she'll fall miserably down on the floor.

"Have me, Bonnie," he urges her, the pulsating tip of him a reminder of what he can give her. "Have me, as long as we both shall live, so deep inside that you don't know where I end and you begin," he promises, every muscle of his body tense and hard and large as his eyes pin her to the closed door. "We're made for each other," he insists. Her heart slams against her ribcage, trying to push the word out of her.

"Say you'll have me," her eyes tear up from the effort it takes not to convulse around the solid, throbbing hint of his shaft, and he leans into her, kissing the curve of her spine, dragging one hand down until he can hold himself and use the tip of his length to rub her lips insistently, "Say it."

"Yes," she surrenders, "Yes." She repeats it when he doesn't immediately sink into her. He groans against her skin, relieved, jubilant, and one hand reaches up to her breast as he thrusts forward and eases himself past her soaked lips.

"Damon, yes." She can't care about anything else but the way he takes up space in her needy body, into her human life, into a heart that belonged to him from the start. Bonnie shudders, whispering his name in awe as he fills her tight walls to the brim.

It makes her panic, the feel of him withdrawing from her, and she almost whines at the loss, but his arm presses against her breast — palm cradling her stiff nipple — reassures her that he won't leave her hanging, not now. Damon slides his hips back, guiding his cock in reverse inside the wet warmth of her, only to thrust forward, burying his length deeper into her core.

His body against hers feels like a bow, pulled to the extreme and ready to strike its enemy, and yet Damon takes her with slow and deep strokes. The way he eases his wet erection inside her, an anguish so sweet she wants to die around him. Her fingers contract and twitch on the door's surface. She'd like to turn her head over her shoulder and steal a look at him but she has to concentrate on breathing before she passes out.

"You have no idea…" His warm breath hits the nape of her neck, "What it feels like… to love you," and Damon begins sucking on her pulse point as he pumps himself slowly inside of her, igniting smalls shivers that make her tremble into his hands.

"Tell me," she encourages him, pushing back on his member. She wants to hear him and feel him and be filled with him until her entire universe shrinks down to Damon and never goes back. She wants the mark of his lips on her skin, the bite of his fingertips on her hips, the stretch of his gorgeous length inside her.

"You," he says, talking against her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo until his lungs are filled with it, "Make me feel like a man," he grunts, as he buries into her once again. "I want to live with you, and die for you, and pull your leg and eat you out," he says, savoring the buildup. "You won't regret it," he promises, fingers rolling the tip of her stiff nipple to bring her pleasure to an agonizing level as he pumps a little faster.

She wants to hold him so bad, but in this position she can only take what he gives; so instead, she clenches her walls tight about his large throbbing shaft, closing her eyes to try to listen to the wet sound of his length forcefully pushing into the tight core of her. "I know," she says.

Both of his hands grip at her hips now, and she knows she's finally made him snap, ready to take her harder, faster, deeper. Bonnie looks back for this, to see his face, the want naked and raw across his handsome features as he thrusts himself into her. It takes the breath out of her, forcing her to breathe though her mouth. His gentle bruising drives her body making her angle the way he wants her, burying himself so deep for a moment she fears the consequences of it.

Bonnie sucks in a short breath and throws her head back as she adjusts to the throbbing size of him. Once she's learned his merciless rhythm, his hands reach for her breasts, massaging them in a roughly. It makes her feel all the more present, all the more needed, and she moans as he uses his fingers to tug at her nipples, driving hard inside of her. Through the grip on her breasts he guides her upward, straightening her against him as he continues his relentless assault on her cunt. Her knees are so weak from all the sensations he's burying her in that it's only his strong arms that keep her up.

"Say you love me," he tells her, almost orders her, and when she doesn't he flips her around, her legs latching around his hips on their own as the word spins around her. "Say you love me," he repeats, looking up into her eyes as he slams himself inside her once again, like he's making a point.

He wants to hear it, he needs to hear it, and "I—" she wants to say it, but his pumping breaks the formation of words inside her head. Bonnie bites her lower lip, looking down into his eyes as her fingers try to grip his naked, tense shoulders. One arm is holding her, crushing her breasts against his chest while the other cup her ass. The friction is heavenly, and he thrusts up repeatedly, and hard.

She shuts her eyes at the violent pleasure, nods frantically, "I…" before letting the scattered words leave her mouth. "…I love …you."

"Look at me," he hisses, and she obeys out of the need she feels to please him, to make him feel as important as he is making her feel. Bonnie can't help but moan at the intensity of his eyes, of his urgent ramming, and she leans to kiss his mouth.

Their kiss is as hungry and needy as their frantic fucking. They'll have a lifetime to make love and take it slow, right now is about marking each other, about making space in each other's lives and never leaving it. She feels the pulsing start, the gentle and inevitable throbbing of her walls as they start contracting around him. He uses two fingers to rub her clit, together with his member, pushing her over the edge, making her whimper in lecherous approval.

But, if he doesn't come with her, she thinks, she'll be robbed. She'll be robbed of something that belongs to her. So she presses her lips to his ear, uses her sweet, quivering voice to beg him. "Come inside me," she beckons him, "I need you to come inside me."

The resistance of her tightening walls offers a vigorous stroke to his large shaft and he presses her down on the limping bed to focus his attention on the sole purpose of slamming himself into her, to grant her wish.

"Damon," she moans, dripping around him as he snaps irrevocably, bucking his hips harder and nibbling at her pretty chin. Damon grunts at the mirrored need of her — translated into words and looks and a promise she'll have to keep — and spends himself inside her body, shameless and unabashed and happy.

And as they both come down from their shared high, breathing hard and still tangled in each other, Damon pushes back a strand of hair from her forehead and knows. "You'll look beautiful in white."

She'll probably make him fall in love with her again.