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Pain.

So much fucking pain.

As women, we face so much pain, whether it be childbirth, beauty treatments, heartbreak, or death—from birth, we are destined for pain.

In this day and age, women are pushing back against the standards placed upon them. Old white men still have their hands in the affairs of women, saying whatever they please.

"Now, as the state of Pennsylvania faces more and more pushback for its decision to legalize abortion and other means of contraception, many Americans in red states fear for their healthcare, opting to fly to these bluer states," the TV blares behind you loudly, causing you to grip your hair tightly.

Your skin feels warm, and your lower stomach is absolutely pounding with pain. You lean over the counter and attempt to read the patient report in front of you, but the words are blurring together from the pain.

"Jane, tell me, how are you feeling about the latest updates regarding Roe v. Wade?"

"Well, Tom, I think this is a win for women around the world. Truly. What a blessing it is to have banned something so sick—"

Your fingers grip the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white.

"So vile—so disgusting. So many babies around the world will be saved—"

You could throw up at any moment. The report falls from your hands and makes a loud clattering noise as it collides with the tiled floor. Your head pops up to meet several concerned eyes.

Fuck.

Your face flushes with embarrassment, and yoh give an apologetic smile before bending down to pick the report up. You take a moment crouched down, attempting to allow the pain to subside, but it only worsens.

A wave of nausea rolls through you, and you think right then and there that you might actually throw up.

A hand touches your shoulder, causing you to whip around before you get the chance to spill my guts everywhere.

"Are you alright, baby?"

Dana speaks your last name, soft eyes finding yours, and full of concern.

You grimace and nod.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm just having really bad cramps, that's all.” You wave it off as if it isn't killing you to be on your feet right now.

You could be curled up in bed with a heating pad and ice cream, but you still have a couple more hours before your shift ends.

"Oh, aren't those just the best?" she huffs out, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze as she walks behind the counter. "Why don't you go on break? You look like you might throw up."

She isn't wrong.

You feel green.

But you can't stop now. A rush of patients came through not too long ago, and if you fall behind now, Robby will be on your case immediately.

You shake your head, bending slightly to the side to try to alleviate the pain. "No, Dana. Thanks, but I really can't stop now. Plus, it isn't even that bad."

Lies, lies, lies.

You suppress a moan of pain that threatens to slip out.

Dana gives you that look she loves to give residents and nurses when they ignore their health. Nine times out of ten, it's best to listen and not get your ass chewed out.

But that doesn't stop you from being stubborn.

She speaks your last name again. "Go to the break room. Eat something, get some meds, and come back." Her tone is serious.

Something is yelled behind her, and you watch as a gurney is wheeled quickly into one of the trauma rooms.

"No, Dana, I'm fine—"

She pulls out the first name, tone serious.

A sharp pain hits you directly in your lower abdomen, causing you to practically fold over. Your hands shake as you grip the edge of the counter, your head becoming dizzy from how bad it is.

Fuck.

Maybe she's right.

She says your name again, only this time louder. You snap.

"I'll go to the break room! Tell Robby I'll be right there." You wave her off, face flushing as you nearly fall over in front of the hospital staff.

This is ridiculous.

You shove open the break room door and immediately reach for the medicine cabinet. Your hands find the ibuprofen, and you quickly pop two.

Leaning over the sink, you sip from the running water.

"You know there are cups right there."

You jump ten feet in the air and whip around at the sound of the voice.

"Holy shit!"

Your hands grip the counter tightly as you come face-to-face with Robby. He's seated at one of the tables, scrolling through his phone. His reading glasses rest low on the bridge of his nose.

You’d laugh if you weren't in so much pain.

Your hand finds your chest as you try to catch your breath. "Robby, you scared the shit out of me." The words come out strained.

He lifts a brow and sets his phone down, staring at you with that look. You've never been able to place it, but it belongs solely to Michael Robinavitch.

It's a look of displeasure and concern all wrapped into one. Unreadable. Almost like he can see every thought running through your head while you can't see a single one of his.

He speaks your last name, steady and loud.

You blink.

"Yes?"

"I asked what's wrong."

You glance sideways at the commotion outside. People rush past the window, and you immediately feel the urge to get back out there. You need to be doing something.

"Nothing." You look back at him, trying to ignore the blatant lie you just told.

"Why do you ask?"

He rises from his chair, the legs scraping softly against the floor. He shoves his phone into his pocket and makes his way over to you. His hands settle on his stethoscope and head lolls back as he studies you .

That look again.

You glance away quickly.

"You look like you're about to have a stroke. Maybe even an Alien chestburster moment, with the way you're clutching your stomach. Plus, you just took two 400-milligram ibuprofen." He raises an eyebrow.

You immediately drop your head.

You hadn't even realized you were holding your stomach.

"So," he says, "what's wrong?"

You let out a deep sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. Another wave of pain hits you, causing you to hunch over slightly.

He speaks your first name, causing you to immediately jump in.

"Robby, I'm fine. Seriously. I'm just having stomach pain. That's all."

Heat rises to your cheeks.

While you know Robby is a doctor—a very good one—you still don't want to tell your superintendent that you got an IUD and have been in pain ever since.

You’re a private person. It just feels too personal. Too intimate.

"I'm fine," you repeat, pushing away from the counter. You need to leave. You can't keep wasting time in here.

Speaking of...

"Why are you in here, Robinavitch?"

The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it. Your hand closes around the break room door handle, and you can only hope he doesn't notice the way it trembles.

He grips the edge of the counter, leaning back on it and smiles. The skin around his eyes crinkles, and you feel your stomach flip.

"To drink out of the faucet, of course."

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head.

What an ass.

You slip out the door before he can see the reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

•••

The rest of the day is filled with pain.

Pain and more fucking pain.

You see several more patients before eventually excusing yourself to the restroom. Tears prick at your eyes. The pain has only gotten worse.

Eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen haven't touched it. The ache radiates through your lower abdomen and into your pelvis.

It's so painful you feel like you might throw up.

You grip the edges of the porcelain sink with all your strength.

Two more hours.

That's all.

You glance up at your reflection and don't even have the energy to be upset by what you see. A light sheen of sweat covers your forehead. Dark circles sit beneath your eyes. You have the same look as when a child has the flu. Pale, tired, and in pain.

You look exhausted.

You take a paper towel and blot your face.

Presentable.

That's all you need to be right now.

Presentable.

After washing your hands, you push through the restroom door. You don't make it very far. Robby is leaning against the opposite wall, a clipboard in hand and those same reading glasses perched on his nose.

The second you step out, he looks up.

"Hey," you mutter, attempting to walk past him. As you do, his hand closes gently around your bicep.

"Did I do something—"

"Walk with me."

The command is immediate. Your eyes widen, and your mouth opens and closes. He doesn't wait for an answer before pushing away from the wall.

Your brows furrow.

Still, you follow. Silently.

He drops the clipboard onto the nurses' station counter. "Tell Mateo to take over for our amazing nurse here until she gets back."

Your stomach drops, and anger creeps up your spine.

"Robby—"

He turns so quickly it nearly gives you whiplash.

"You do not question your superintendent."

His voice is calm but firm. Something stirs in your lower abdomen that isn’t pain.

"Now walk with me."

The seriousness in his expression immediately kills any argument forming in your throat. You press your lips together and nod.

He leads you down a corridor and toward an empty exam room. The room is dark and quiet. The door clicks shut behind both of you.

"Robby, I'm fine—"

"What's going on?"

He crosses his arms over his chest. Your cheeks flush, finding his fingers that are drumming against his forearm.

You take a seat on the edge of the exam bed. "I told you. I'm just having stomach pain."

Even you don't believe yourself.

Robby lets out a noise of disbelief. You drag a hand down your face in utter frustration. In frustration of lying and the sole fact that you’re in so much pain

He speaks your first name. "You’ve never been one to lie to me—"

You groan. "I got an IUD implanted, okay?! Are you happy? Jesus fucking Christ, Robby, not everyone needs to know everything about me.” The words come out sharper than intended, and your face flushes in embarrassment at your outburst.

His expression softens immediately.

"I was told there would be cramping and side effects, but this feels different. It's been over a week, and I'm worried something's wrong." The words spill out before you can stop them. Once you start talking, you can't seem to stop. Robby has a way of doing that.

The room falls silent. Robby rubs a hand over his mouth, thinking. He has that look he always gets on his face when he’s trying to figure out a solution for something.

Finally, he nods. "How long has it been since you had it implanted?"

"A week and two days."

"Have you called your doctor?"

You nod. "Yeah. They can't get me in for another two weeks because of all that bullshit that’s happening with Roe.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, both in frustration and exhaustion.

"So you haven't been examined since the procedure?"

"No."

Your fingers twist together in your lap. "I haven't."

He studies you for a moment before nodding.

"All right."

The reassurance in his voice eases some of the tension knotting in your chest. "We'll figure it out."

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The room is quiet except for the distant sounds of the emergency department carrying through the walls.

Robby nods once.

"Okay."

Your shoulders sag slightly, unsure of what he’s talking about.

Okay?

That's it?

Just okay?

"Okay?" You parrot.

"Okay," he says again. "You've been in significant pain for over a week. Your doctor can't see you for another two weeks, and you haven't been evaluated since the insertion."

You stare at him. "When you put it that way, it sounds bad."

His expression deadpans. "Because it is bad."

You roll your eyes. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." A reluctant laugh escapes you despite the pain. Leave it to Robby to have a dry, sarcastic sense of humor.

The corner of his mouth twitches upward.

"There she is."

You hate how much those three words affect you. Like he was waiting for you to act like yourself again. You look away first, feeling that familiar warmth associated with Robby’s presence.

"What if something's actually wrong?" The question comes out quieter than you intended.

Robby's expression softens more than you thought possible. "Then we'll deal with it." Just like that. Simple. Matter-of-fact.

As if every problem in the world can be solved if you approach it one step at a time. Maybe that's why people trust him so much.

He calls your first name out.

You glance back up.

"If you're experiencing severe pain, we need to rule out the possibility that something isn't sitting correctly."

Your stomach drops. The concern in his voice does nothing to calm you. But the confidence in his voice leaves a question forming in the back of your mind.

What is he getting at?

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

"I know."

He pauses. Then he gestures toward the exam room around you. The next words that come out of his mouth are ones you never would’ve expected from him.

Something only you’ve dreamed of shamelessly in your bedroom late at night when you’re alone with your thoughts.

"I can take a look if you'd like."

Your face immediately warms. Not because the suggestion is unreasonable. Because it's Robby. Because he's Robby. Because Robby would be looking at places you’ve touched while thinking of him.

You open and close your mouth, silently thanking the universe for this room being dark. Your cheeks are bright red.

"You don't have to."

"I know."

"I don't want to take up your time." Excuses, excuses, excuses.

His eyebrow rises as if you said the most ridiculous statement. "You're currently sitting in an exam room because I brought you here."

Fair point.

You groan and cover your face in embarrassment and humiliation. Your body warms at the thought of Michael Robinavitch looking at your most intimate parts.

He lets out a quiet huff of amusement. "Besides, I'd rather spend ten minutes making sure you're okay than spend the rest of the shift wondering whether you're about to collapse."

"I wasn't going to collapse."

He gives you that same stare, and you roll your eyes. Your hand finds your cheek, attempting to rub off the redness.

"Fine," you mutter.

"Fine?"

You drop your hands. "Fine."

A small smile appears on his face, and his crow's feet crinkle, causing you to squirm. "Good."

You immediately regretted agreeing. Not because you don't trust him. You trust him completely. That's part of the problem.

The room falls silent again. Somewhere outside, an overhead page echoes through the hallway. The familiar sounds of monitors and hurried footsteps filter through the walls.

Life continues outside the room while your heart attempts to beat its way out of your chest.

Robby glances toward the door. "I need to check on something first. Meet me in exam room B1,” he tells you, and reaches for the door handle.

You nod and try to ignore the wetness that’s forming in your underwear.

He turns back at the last moment, and you feel your heart begin to beat out of your chest.

"You're going to be okay.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. The words go straight to your lower abdomen, and you have to stand up and shake it off before it gets too strong.

This is Robby we’re talking about—the great and mighty Robby.

I can’t have these feelings.

You quickly exit the exam room and head to the room he told you to go to.

•••

The room is silent while you wait for Robby. The hospital gown is scratchy and uncomfortable, but you went ahead and put it on since you knew he would need access.

You cross and uncross your legs over and over anxiously as you wait for him. And when a soft knock comes at the door, you practically jump out of your skin.

“Come in!”

The door opens, and a disheveled Robby enters the room. He’s ripping off his gloves and rubbing his hands with hand sanitizer. “Sorry that took so long, Langdon got caught up. Did a closed cervical reduction without neurosurgery. It was pretty incredible,” he chuckles out as he reaches for a new pair of gloves. You watch as he begins to grab out what he needs, putting it on the small metal table next to him.

You let out a laugh, attempting to ease the gymnastics that are currently taking place in your stomach. “What I would have given to see that.” You quickly tuck your hair behind your ear and uncross your legs.

“Alright,” he says, looking at you, and takes a seat in a wheeled chair. You watch his legs spread as he wheels closer to you. “What I’m gonna do first is have you put your legs in the stirrups and then—“ you stop him immediately.

“Robinavitch, I’ve had a pelvic exam before. Many. You don’t have to go through your whole thing.” Your voice is soft and carries a bit of humor.

He flashes you a smile, and you feel your body flush when his hand finds your knee and grips it gently. “I know. But if at any time at all you feel uncomfortable, you tell me ok?”

You nod.

He squeezes your knee and raises a brow.

“Ok. I’ll tell you”

“Good. Are you ready?” His voice is deep, and his eyes carry so much emotion that it almost feels overwhelming. You give him a nod and watch as he reaches below the table to pull out the stirrups.

His gloved fingers find your ankle, and he helps your foot find the right spot. Your head feels like it's floating as you stare up at the ceiling.

“Now scoot all the way down”

You scoot your butt and pray to the gods that it doesn’t show on your face how you’re feeling.

You’ve had many pelvic exams in the past, but having one done by your superintendent is different. Especially if you’re experiencing attraction to them. You remember your first day at Pitt; it was so chaotic that you almost quit. Your parents didn’t believe you when you told them you wanted to go to nursing school. They said you didn’t have it in you.

Robby found you crying in the break room. He had a look on his face that was confused, concerned, and a little bewildered at the same time. He crouched down in front of you, his hand finding your knee. You'll never forget the words he said.

“If you aren’t crying on your first day, then there is probably something wrong with you.”

“You’re doing incredible.”

“You’re a natural”

That night, you went home and fucked your cunt to the thought of Robby for what seemed like hours. Every thrust of the dildo had you crying out Robby’s name. The warmth provided through your scrub pants was enough to make you wet.

That was many years ago, but it is still fresh in your mind. Every shift with this man is a struggle and a test of strength. While you’ve always remained professional, sometimes the lines blur between hands brushing your lower back to squeeze past, and lingering gazes that some eyes notice.

It started as poking fun at the new girl, but soon turned into a real idea in your head.

What does Robby think of me?

The joke died down, but it still lives in your head as fresh as yesterday.

“Scoot down a little more for me.” His voice is deep enough to make your face burn with embarrassment. He’s about to be a few inches from your cunt, which you know is wet.

It’s humiliating, while at the same time, a fantasy you’ve had for far too long. You swallow hard and scoot to the very edge. You jump a little when his hand touches your shin.

“Perfect.” He mutters, and the sound of metal clinking hits your ears. “I’m going to put some lube on the speculum before inserting it”

You practically feel your cunt oozing with need. You grip the edges of the table and nod, hoping he can’t hear how loud your breath is becoming. Your whole body is feeling flushed, and your cramps are starting to become more intense again.

You let out a soft whine. “Robby, can you please hurry? It really hurts.” Your voice is desperate and needy. You feel something cold pressing against the entrance of your cunt, provoking you to gasp.

“There you go. It’s a little cold, ok?” You shut my eyes at his voice and nod. He inserts it all the way, cranks it open, and the feeling is anything but pleasurable, but just the mere thought of Robby being down there is enough to subdue any uncomfortable feelings.

He lets out a hum, and you have to stop yourself from moaning at the sound. His hand finds your shine, and you pop your head up, attempting to find his gaze. “From the looks of it, everything seems to be in order…” His words are careful. He pops his head up and looks at you through his glasses. They sit a little lower on the bridge of his nose, and you can’t help but let your mind wander, wondering what it would feel like on your neck.

You hold his gaze and furrow your brows. “But?” Arousal takes over your body when his eyes dart from yours to your exposed cunt. He squeezes your shin and smiles sheepishly at you.

“I want to do a manual exam just to ensure there isn’t anything else going on that I can’t see”

Your lips part, and all you can do is nod. His eyes dart from your eyes to your lips before he dips back down. His gloved finger brushes against your cunt before he slowly removes the speculum.

Naturally, your cunt squeezes around nothing in need. Questions begin to roll around in your head, and you can't stop them from coming out.

“How many times have you done this?”

He lets out a laugh that’s sweet as honey, and you lift your head to look at him. He gives you a cheeky smile as he squeezes lube into his middle and ring finger. “Enough times. What are you doing about the pain?”

Ok, dodging the question.

“Ibuprofen and a heating pad. Clearly, it hasn’t done enough since we’re here,” you mutter, mouth watering at the sight of the lube dripping down his fingers. His eyes sparkle a little differently as he wheels back over to me.

“Have you ever tried orgasming?”

Hot. Hot, hot, hot— your skin is so hot. Your brows furrow, and you chew your bottom lip and shake your head. “No. I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never participated.” His finger slowly enters your cunt, and you gasp.

His fingers move in and out, slowly massaging the inside of your walls. His other hand grips your knee, squeezing it softly. “I think you should try it. I think you would benefit from it greatly,” he mutters, maintaining eye contact as his fingers reach deeper.

Soft pants start to come out of your mouth, and you nod. “O-Ok. How do I do it?”

Stop. This is reckless. This is unprecedented. This is unprofessional.

But you can’t find it in your body to care. Your cramps are subsiding as he massages the inside of your cunt.

His hand grips the outside of your knee as he wheels closer. “Well… you can start by slowly entering your fingers inside. Dip them in and out, teasing yourself.” Your head lolls back as pressure slowly begins to flow through your body.

“Ok— then?” Your voice is so desperate and needy.

I need him. I need him so bad.

“Then you can circle your clit, helping ease those fingers inside.” his thumbs finds your clit, slowly rolling it around, causing your breath to hitch.

“Robby—“

“And when you think you can’t take it anymore, you’re going to curl your fingers, hitting that sponge spot inside that feels so fucking good,” he grunts out, and curls his fingers inside, and—

You cry out softly as your back arches off the table, hand reaching out for Robby’s arm on your knee. His fingers lace with yours as he slowly begins to pump his fingers in and out, curling them at the perfect angle. You see stars and galaxies as pleasure begins to build even higher.

“Robby, I need you,” you shamelessly admit, letting all worries and doubts out. You lay yourself bare for him as the wet sounds from your cunt fill your ears.

His fingers pump faster and faster, each time hitting your G-spot. The wet sound goes straight to your cheeks in embarrassment, and you grip his hand with more strength.

“There you go— keep going until you just about reach that peak,” he practically moans out, fingers moving vigorously in and out of your cunt.

“Robby, Robby, Robby!” You moan like your own personal chant, as years of pent-up arousal towards him are about to peak and tip over.

Every night of playing with your cunt only, wishing Robby were on top, pounding into you, every gentle touch, every longing gaze— has all led up to this moment.

His thumb curls your clit again, and his fingers roll against your G-spot at the most perfect time, and you feel yourself tip over the edge.

“And then you peak, orgasming hard. Come for me, right there”

You inhale sharply as your orgasm rolls through your entire body, causing your hips to roll against Robby’s rough fingers. Your cunt clenches around his fingers, pulsing in desperate need.

He rolls you through your orgasm, slowing down his fingers before eventually removing them.

Your pants are the only thing in the room that can be heard as you stare at the fluorescent ceiling. You slowly come to, and then it hits you.

Your lower abdomen isn’t hurting as badly. Your head slowly rises, and you look at Robby. He’s disheveled, and his cheeks are pink. He's sporting a large boner, which he adjusts as he rises to his feet.

He grips both of your knees and leans down close to your face. Your breath hitches as he leans down to where your neck is, his scruff scratching your jaw and cheek.

The Blood Brothers

The neon red sign flashes as I pull into the relatively empty parking lot. Soft rain patters against the windshield as the car comes to a stop.

“What an odd name,” I mutter to myself, brows furrowed in slight unease. I made this appointment weeks ago, one night after having one too many margaritas with some friends who thought it was beyond insane that I didn't have any tattoos.

Alcohol and peer pressure mix very well. I don’t think it’s even considered peer pressure at that point.

It’s not that I haven’t thought about getting a tattoo; it’s just that I never understood the appeal. The idea of something being on my skin forever seems like a large commitment. What if I ended up hating it ten years down the road? Not to mention, why would you willingly choose to have a needle poke you over and over?

It’s sadistic.

I let out a huff and lean back in my seat, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. The neon red sign flickers and dances along the hood, painting the car's interior and my body red.

Worry settles in my stomach, making me anxiously check the time on my dash.

8:47pm.

My appointment isn't until 9, but my anxiety made me get here early. I never liked being late anywhere. A part of me wants to put the car in reverse and drive off without a second thought.

But I can't bring myself to.

Hitting my mid-20s without a tattoo? Part of me is embarrassed. Part of me isn't—not getting tattoos because of pain is a perfectly reasonable excuse not to.

But… an even deeper part of me is curious. You can only trust people’s opinions so much. Eventually, you have to try for yourself.

Which is the reason why I'm doing this alone. None of my friends are here, or have the slightest idea of what I'm doing, which is for the best.

Anddd maybe they thought I’d chicken out, but same difference.

I glance at the time again.

8:55pm.

Without another thought, I rip my keys from the ignition and hop out of my car. My shoes patter against the puddle beneath me, and the soft sprinkles of rain touch my skin. I quickly shut my door and march my way to the front door.

Confidence is key! You got this —it's a tattoo—nothing big at all—people do this all the time.

The little bell on the door rings from above my head, and a clean, antiseptic smell hits my nose. The smell brings me back to when I got my helix pierced at 13. It heightens my emotions immediately. It’s so funny how old memories still hold power over us.

Suddenly, I'm ripped from my wave of nostalgia as a woman with blonde hair and green eyes begins speaking to me. “Hi! How can I help you today?” Her bubbly tone instantly calms my nerves. Her eyes seem to sparkle despite it being so late in the day.

And here I thought tattoo artists were all asses…

I smile at her and walk up to the counter. “I have an appointment for a tattoo with…” I pause, and my brows furrow as I try to rack my brain for the name. “I’m not sure, actually.” My cheeks flush in embarrassment at my lack of attention.

How much did I really drink that night?

I think it’s impossible, but her smile grows, and she plucks a folder off the shelf beneath her.

“Any idea who it might be?” she asks with a head tilt. I purse my lips and feel my cheeks flare slightly as I really cannot remember. “I'm going to be so honest with you, I made this appointment weeks ago, one night when I was drinking too much—it's surprising I even remember the date correctly,” I say with a laugh.

The blonde's smile grows even more than I thought possible, and she gives me a wave. “Oh, honey, haven't we all? Let me take a peek—what time is your appointment for?” she asks without looking at me.

I tell her the time, and I watch her flip through the folder at a speed that's almost unbelievable. Like almost inhuman—

“Okay! I have a 9 o'clock appointment with…” she pauses and flips her head up, causing her golden locks to bounce.

“Damon,” she says with a smile I can't quite place. Her face, which was just sweet and kind, now seems annoyed and irritated. I swallow, and my eyes flare at the name, “Yeah, that was who it was.”

She lets out a dry chuckle and thumbs the folder shut. “He's finishing up with a client right now, so if you want to wait out here, you can,” she declares and points at the chairs near the front door.

My brows furrow at the sudden mood change, and I can't stop the words from spewing out. “Thanks. Not a fan of Damon, I assume?" I question and watch as she walks around the counter with a form sheet and clipboard.

She lets out a loud scoff and hands me the form. “You can say that again—he's a major ass, thinks he's all that and a bag of chips, and don't get me started on his cheeky behavior—he thinks he's a ladies’ man but—” she cuts herself off and lets out a huff of frustration. She runs her hands through her hair and gives me a wide-eyed look. “Ugh, whatever—please ignore me. He does good tattoos; that's about all that he's good at,” she gives a shake of her hands and rolls her eyes.

A smile grows on my face at her behavior, and I begin writing on the clipboard. “He sounds quite lovely,” I say and lean against the counter, opting out of taking a seat. This woman seems like someone I'd get along with.

She lets out yet another scoff and leans in next to me, now standing behind the counter again. “Really lovely. But, I'm not supposed to ‘shit talk’ the artists— fucking Stefan,” she curses and shoots a look towards the empty studio.

“Who's Stefan?" I ask and hand her the form along with my ID. Her bubbly behavior returns in an instant as this Stefan name is brought up. It almost gives me whiplash.

She takes my stuff and turns around swiftly. “Stefan is the other Salvatore brother. He's the literal opposite of his brother— he's such a sweetheart, and, oh, don't even get me started on how he treats Elena—” she speaks in a way that has my head swirling and trying to keep up. I watch as she makes a copy of my driver's license before handing it back to me.

But a question lies in the back of my head: who is the other Salvatore brother? But, before I can fester on the question any longer, the woman keeps going.

“Elena is his soon-to-be fiancée, and they are just oh so perfect for each other and—“ suddenly, a loud bang fills the room, causing me to jump out of my skin. My head turns to the right, toward the sound. One of the many rooms to the right has its door now wide open. I watch a blonde woman walk out. She has beautiful makeup on and a stone-cold look that suits her. Her hips sway with each step as she walks towards the desk where the other blonde and I are.

She strides up to the desk, and I have to step back to avoid being hit by her. She leans in close to the bubbly blonde, and her nose scrunches. “Tell him, I am not paying for this bullshit,” she hisses out and slams her hand on the table. Her voice has a slightly American accent. “Rebecca—“

“No! I will rip his head off for this— this piece of horse shit!” she shouts and rolls up her right sleeve, showing the woman what I assume is the horrible tattoo she's talking about. My eyes flare at her choice of words.

Rip his head off?

“Rebecca, you have to pay—“

“No! I don't want to hear from any of you!” she shouts and whips around, striking out the door with such speed it gives me whiplash. The bell rings, and then rattles loudly as she slams the door. Silence fills the studio now.

I slowly turn around to face the blonde whose name I still don't know. Her face doesn't look fazed at the outburst that just occurred. Instead, she lets out a sigh and turns to look at me. “That was dramatic. Anyway, I forgot to introduce myself—” she straightens up and holds out her hand for me to shake. “I'm Caroline Forbes. I'm the receptionist or whatever.”

I smile and introduce myself to her. “It's nice to meet you, Caroline,” I chirp, shaking her hand. I pull my hand away and put it in my back pocket as the question blooms back into my head.

“By the way, who is the other Salvatore brother?” I inquire and watch as she narrows and looks at something— better yet, someone- over my shoulder. A sudden chill shoots down my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck raise as I feel a presence behind me.

“Me.”

…

If I had known that Damon Salvatore would be this gorgeous, I would have never booked this appointment. The speed at which I turned around and the breath that touched my ear caused my heart to pound.

I whip around and hit the counter to see the most attractive man I have ever laid my eyes on. He stands tall above me, with midnight black hair and blue eyes as bright and deep as the ocean. My mouth opens and closes, and my fingers grip the edge of the counter tightly.

I swallow hard, and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. “Hello?” I mutter, as I wonder how he even got behind me without making a sound, let alone why he was standing this close to me. “Hello,” he parrots and smirks at me in a way that would make any woman fall to her knees.

“Oh brother…” I hear Caroline mutter behind me and walk off somewhere else.

I clear my throat and open my mouth to talk, but Damon speaks before I get a chance to say anything.

“I can hear your heart beating from over here.”

My eyes flare, and I sputter. “What?”

He only smirks and turns around. “Come on, sweetheart, take a joke,” he calls out as he walks over to the room where that Rebecca woman came out of. I watch him intently and grip the back of the counter so tight I might take a chunk out of it.

I watch Damon stop at the doorway and turn his head slightly to the right. “You coming?” he asks without looking at me. I pop up instantly and try to shake off the weird feeling that has suddenly settled in my stomach. “Yeah. Coming,” I say while attempting to keep my voice steady.

I walk into the small room, and I'm instantly met with that clean smell from earlier, only it's stronger. I take note of everything around the room and can't help but be curious about all the decor. It's medieval, with lots of dark colors, like plum, maroon, and navy blue. “They let you customize your room this much?” I question, while doing a 360 around the whole place. The room doesn't look like a place you get tattooed at.

Well, not that I would know.

When I turn around to face him, I gasp as he's standing in the same proximity that makes my cheeks flush.

How does he do that? I never heard him make a sound… It’s almost like—

“I own the place. Of course I can customize it,” he informs me with a tone that makes it sound like I asked the dumbest question alive. His eyes narrow in a way that sends heat to places that shouldn't be mentioned. “I— uh–” I stutter, but no words come out.

What's happening to me?

His eyes study me with such intensity, it doesn't feel human. It reminds me of a feline. Fierce and intense.

He smirks at me and tilts his head sideways like an animal. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

I swallow hard and narrow my eyes at him. “No. I'm fine,” I say sternly and walk out of his path and towards the table.

Why do I suddenly feel like I am on fire? Yeah, he's attractive, but this feeling isn't normal for me.

I watch closely as he walks over to his station and quickly turns around to face me. “What do we want today? you didn't say over the phone,” he declares in a tone that is nothing short of bored and uninterested.

I take a seat at the table and cross my ankles. “Well, I made this appointment drunk… so I don't really have anything specific in mind. I was hoping to look at some of your flashes, if you have any on you?” I tell him truthfully as my eyes dance around his tall figure.

My eyes catch his fingers drumming on his forearm, but I quickly glance anywhere else in the room, finding purchase on a metal helmet that's sitting on a shelf.

“You came to a tattoo appointment without any idea? Please tell me you're joking?” he asks and lolls his head back obnoxiously. I purse my lips and suppress an eye roll.

So I was right. Tattoo artists are asses…

I push my irritation away and straighten my spine. “Yeah, I did. Do you have any flashes currently?” I repeat my question, ignoring his obnoxious behavior. He lolls his head all the way over to look at me and stares. His blue eyes feel like they're burning a hole through my head. The expression on his face is unreadable and makes me nervous.

But I hold my ground and wait for his response.

“Yes, I have some flashes,” he says and turns around to grab a folder off the bookshelf to his left. He hands me the folder before sitting down on a wheeled chair. I open the folder and begin flipping through the many pieces of art.

I listen to him as he preps his station, but don't take my eyes off the book. Many pieces pique my interest, but nothing that really jumps out at me enough to want it on my body forever.

That is, until I flip the page to the second-to-last one, where I find a pair of what looks like vampire teeth—the kind you find in your Halloween bag that you pop into your mouth. The piece is small, probably not bigger than a cutie, and has incredible shading. I tilt my head and stare at it intently.

I actually… I really love it.

“Find something you like?” Damon's voice cuts through the air, making my stomach flutter. “Yes, actually. This one," I point at the piece without looking up at him. I see him roll over on his chair out of the corner of my eye and stop right in front of me. Warmth spreads over my thighs as his knee is now digging into the outside of my knee.

“This one?” he asks, his tone only warming my body more. “The fangs?” He looks at me through his eyelashes. One brow is raised as if he doesn't believe me.

I nod and look him in the eye. “Yes, the fangs. And I want it…” I pause and look away to the side. Damon chuckles, and it reaches my ears, and it feels sickeningly sweet. I can't help but let my mind wander, and wonder how it would feel against my neck.

Or between my legs.

“Let me guess, you want it on your ass cheek?” he jokes as he takes the paper out of the plastic slip. His fingers brush mine, and they're cold enough to make me flinch, pulling them back towards my body.

I purse my lips and fold my hands in my lap. “Yes, actually,” I mutter and try to fight off the burning sensation that rises to my cheeks. Damon grows rigid before turning around to face me. His face is like stone. “Didn't take you for that type of girl,” He mutters with all seriousness. All teasing is gone from his tone.

Despite my growing warmth, I stare at him very intently. “Well, maybe you shouldn't assume.”

Most people assume I'm this innocent girl, even though I'm a grown woman. It can become very exhausting.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says before turning back to his station.

…

Damon returns to the room after a few minutes, with the piece in hand. “Are you ready to get started?” he asks with a smirk. My stomach does a backflip, and I nod, “more than ready.”

Both the fear of the pain and the warm sensation that has taken over my body have me nervous. I'm trying to put on a confident mask, but deep down, I'm struggling to function with this man in front of me. There is a sickeningly sweet feeling that has settled between my thighs, which has my face burning.

I've been with my fair share of men; I'm no stranger to them. But there is something about Damon that warms my body. Almost like I took some sort of aphrodisiac. My body is drawn towards him while at the same time, I am almost fearful. Like my body is telling me to run, run, run.

I snap out of my trance as I hear Damon's voice, “I'm sorry?”

“I said take off your pants,” he orders with that smirk that makes my panties feel very damp. My pulse jumps at his words. “My pants?”

Damon lifts a brow at me, “Yes, take your pants off, sweetheart. You want it on your ass, right?” His words make my pulse drop way downstairs. They make sense, but they sound so dirty when they hit my ears. I squeeze my thighs together and nod. “Yeah, my pants. Right.”

I rise from the chair and suck in a deep breath. I feel so unhinged.

Am I ovulating?

With trembling hands, I reach for the button on my jeans and pop it open. I stop for a moment and glance at the open door. Damon notices immediately.

“There's no one here except for us. Caroline's shift ended, and you're my last client, if that's what you're worried about,” Damon tells me with a cheeky look on his face. He pouts with his bottom lip, and I scoff.

I roll my eyes and unzip my pants before pulling my jeans over my hips and the curve of my ass. The chilly air hits my bare skin, causing goosebumps to rise along my legs and hips. I ignore the heat on my face as I step out of my jeans and pick them off the floor. I start folding them up and avoid Damon's gaze at all costs.

But it isn't just his eyes I need to avoid. It's his voice too.

“Cute underwear,” Damon comments, and my pulse jumps even more. My eyes find the pleated white underwear that covers my most intimate parts. My face flushes at how stupid the little bow on the front of the band looks. Before I can say anything, he speaks again.

“Alright, now lie on your stomach,” he commands, reaching for a pair of gloves. I climb onto the table that's now laid out flat and flop onto my stomach. I lay my chin on my hands and clear my throat. I need to end the silence.

“How long have you been tattooing for?” I ask and watch his biceps flex through his shirt as he grabs what he needs—Damon hums before turning around to face me. “Hundreds and hundreds of years,” he tells me and rolls over to the table. “This will be a little cold,” he mutters before I feel him move my underwear over and begin cleaning the area.

I ignore the feeling growing downstairs and try to focus on the coldness of the paper towel. “Okay, yeah,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “But seriously? How long? And why don't you have any tattoos?”

He glances at me as he rubs some gel onto my cheek, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my backside. I have to stop the sigh I want to let out at the feeling of his strong fingers.

This is embarrassing.

Damon sighs and reaches for the stencil. “I've been tattooing for… 11 years? I guess…” he pauses and places the stencil on my skin. “And I have tattoos, just in places you can't see,” he divulges and winks. I swallow and turn back to lay my cheek on the back of my hands.

Before I can think of another question to fill the silence, Damon does it for me. “Alright, you wanna take a peek?” he asks, and I nod, pushing up from the table. I hop off and walk over to the mirror that's hanging on the wall.

I turn around and look at the little purple vampire teeth that lay on my skin. I smile and turn back to Damon. “I like the placement.”

“Alright, let's get started,” Damon says with a cheeky smirk that sends shivers down my spine. I crawl back onto the table and try to stop the slight tremble of my knees.

And the next thing I know, I hear the buzzing of the tattoo machine start up. I feel my pulse jump, and my palms become sweaty. The sudden touch of Damon's gloved hand doesn't help the nerves; it only adds a different kind of nervousness to the mix. I grip the edge of the table in fear and desire.

Stop. This is seriously becoming borderline inappropriate and unprofessional.

As if it isn't already…

I suck in a deep breath and shut my eyes, bracing for searing pain. However, I'm met with the soft sound of Damon's chuckles. My eyes fly open, and I look back at him with furrowed brows. “What's so funny?”

His blue eyes shine as he leans his forearm on the table to look at me. “I can practically hear your heartbeat from here. It's a tattoo, not a gunshot.” he chuckles before gripping my cheek and leaning in with the tattoo gun.

I quickly look away and purse my lips, opting out of replying to his snarky comment. I breathe deeply, and the next thing I know, I feel the tingling of the gun against my skin. I hum and look back at him once more, “That's it?”

It hurts, don't get me wrong, but it's nothing more than a cat scratch. Or a bee sting.

Why have I never done this before?

“Yep, that's it. Not so bad, huh?” he asks without taking his eyes off my skin. My face flushes at the sight. He seems really interested in his work. “Yeah, not so bad,” I mumble and turn my head back to the front. I stare at the wall and hum at the feeling. “Some might say it's even pleasurable…” I mutter under my breath with a small chuckle.

The feeling hurts, but in a good way. In a ‘please tattoo my whole ass’ kinda way.

“Pleasurable? Didn't take you for a masochist,” Damon draws out in a tone I can't decipher, causing my pulse to jump even more. I didn't think he could hear me. I let out a laugh. “What did I say about making assumptions?” I say sternly and shoot him a look from over my shoulder.

Damon's eyes leave my skin and dart over to my face. His eyes instantly send flutters downstairs, and I purse my lips in response. He stares at me for a moment longer before whistling. “Sweetheart, you are playing a dangerous game,” he says, his voice hoarse. My stomach does a little backflip, and I can't help but wonder where this newfound confidence is coming from. I'm not one to flirt with strangers in such a way. Nevertheless, something is telling me to provoke him.

Something dangerous and sexy is radiating from Damon, and I want to see more of it.

“Who said I was playing a game? All I did was ask you to stop assuming things. If you want to get to know me, ask questions,” I declare and ignore the growing wetness between my thighs. But then a thought pops into my head. Can he see my underwear? More specifically, can he see the wet spot that's surely formed since walking in this room?

Damons hums, interrupting my thoughts. “What do you want me to ask you?”

I sigh and think for a moment. What do I want him to know?

“Anything. What do I do for work, my family, friends—I dunno, you're the asker.” I shrug and look at him again. He doesn't meet my gaze this time. He spreads my skin and leans in closer to my cheek. I flush and turn away, opting to stare at the wall.

“Are you a virgin?”

My stomach does gymnastics, and I whip my head over my shoulder to glare at him. “That's what you ask me? Out of everything!” I say in absolute disbelief, but am unable to stop the smile on my lips. He simply shrugs, and I watch as his smirk grows larger and larger.

“You asked, so I asked my question. Are you a virgin?” he repeats, but this time stops tattooing and rolls backward to look at me. I sigh at the relief from the pain.

Not that I hated it though…

With a roll of my eyes, I reluctantly tell him. “No, I'm not a virgin. Not that it's any of your business," I say and furrow my brows at him. His smirk only grows wider. He shrugs his shoulders and leans back in to continue tattooing. “Prude,” he mutters under his breath, causing anger to prickle my skin.

“Oh, so I’m a prude for not wanting to tell you about my sex life?” I question, offense dripping from my voice. He nods his head and smirks. “Yeah. I asked about your sex life; I didn’t ask if you wanted to have sex with me—calm your tits.” His words make my pulse thump in my ears’ drums. Sex with him?

My body warms at the idea, and my eyes trail down his body. My eyes peek at the button-up he’s wearing that so conveniently misses the first 3 buttons, revealing his chest. I swallow hard.

Before I can open my mouth to speak, Damon beats me to it. “I know, you know,” he says in a serious tone and stares into my soul with his blue eyes. All the jokes and teasing are gone.

I swallow hard and turn back to face the wall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I grip the table with nervous anticipation.

He stands up, and the pain from the tattoo is gone. I see him out of the corner of my eye grab something from the desk and walk back over to the table.

“What are you doing?" I inquire, trying to keep my voice level, but I know he hears the undeniable shake. “Putting on a second skin. It’s finished.” He tells me, and I can feel the shift in the room. He sounds different.

Fear and lust begin mixing as he places the second skin on and steps away. I roll onto my hip and stare at him. He's removing his gloves, but doesn't take his eyes off mine. My lower stomach flares with heat as I take him in. Every part of him has my body on fire.

He turns back and leans against the desk, his hands gripping the edge. He tilts his head and studies me, causing my face to burn.

“What—“

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he cuts out, his voice dropping an octave. My pulse jumps again, and my breathing begins to quicken. He stalks towards me slowly, like an animal stalking its prey. I shift against the table.

“I don’t know what—“

He snaps his finger at me and shakes his head. “I can hear your pulse— you know what I am. And you’re scared.” he’s walking closer. I jump off the table and land on the opposite wall to him. My breathing is labored as he pushes the table away like it weighs nothing. The scrap is loud enough to strain my ears.

“But not only are you scared of me and what I could do to you—the ways I could kill you, the ways I could hurt you—you’re more turned on than you are scared,” he states and stands in front of me now.

“I can smell you,” he mutters, and I feel his hands glide across my bare waist. “But you knew that. That’s why you came here,” he whispers and brings his face down to mine.

My pulse thumps so loud in my ears, and my body feels like it’s a thousand degrees.

I want him—no, I need him

“Say it. Say you knew,” he demands and grabs my chin to make me look at him. I gasp and stare into his deep eyes. I swallow and nod my head. “I knew— I-I knew,” I mumble, my voice coming out just above a whisper. My body immediately slips into his submission.

Damon smirks and tilts his head before leaning into my neck. I gasp loudly and push my back into the wall as his lips touch right where my pulse is. My back arches, and my breast presses against his chest. My body can’t decide if it’s scared or immensely turned on.

It’s both really.

His tongue darts out, and he places kitten licks on my neck. “I could drain your body right now, you know? It just takes one bite. One bite, and you’re dead,” he whispered, his breath hitting my ears and sending chills down my spine.

“You won’t.” I struggle out and tilt my head to the side, giving him my access. I know he won’t; he wouldn’t.

“Oh, I won’t? What was that thing you said about making assumptions?” He inquires and lets out a sickening laugh. I shake my head and turn to look at him.

He pulls back and stares at me with dark eyes. “You would have done it already if you wanted to,” I declare with as much confidence as I can muster. He laughs and leans back into my neck, this time grazing his teeth against my skin.

My stomach drops, and I suck in a deep breath, preparing for him to bite.

I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

But he doesn’t. The pain doesn't come.

I blink in confusion and bring my hand up to his shoulder. “W-why didn’t you bite?” I ask as he lifts his head back up. My own voice is desperate enough to flush my face.

He chuckles and glides his hand down to my hip. His fingers dig into the fat, sending tingles down my body. “You want me to bite, don’t you?” He asks in disbelief. My face burns with embarrassment, and I turn away. However, Damon quickly grabs my chin and turns it back to face him. “Nope, nope, nope, say it. You want me to bite! You actually want me to—“

“No! I don’t—“

His finger digs into my hip hard enough to leave bruises, and I gasp at the feeling. “Say it. Say you want it, say you like the idea of being bitten by a vampire. Tell me how much it turns you on, honey.” All of his words feed the burning sensation that has taken over my entire body. Humiliation burns all around me, only feeding the burning desire for Damon.

“No, it doesn’t—“

“Say. It.” He bites out, and I feel my panties dampen more. I swallow and shut my eyes in embarrassment. “I want it. I want you to bite me,” I force out, causing Damon to begin laughing uncontrollably. My face burns with embarrassment, and I try to push him away. I step out of his embrace but do not make it far.

He only grabs my wrists and pushes me back against the wall. I gasp at the thump my body makes. “Hey, hey—not so fast. I actually think it's hot,” he mutters and sends me a softer smirk. I scoff and look away from him, “yeah, right.’

His hand returns to my hip, and he toys with the hem of my underwear, causing butterflies to erupt in my lower stomach. “I do. It’s hot. I can…” he pauses and looks me in the eye.

“You didn’t have to get a tattoo—could’ve just asked and I’d give you one—a real one,” he whispers, referring to the vampire mark on my behind. My stomach plunges as his eyes darken and his fangs come out. My panties feel slick and uncomfortably wet against my skin.

I want them off. Now.

“Please.” My voice comes out as a desperate cry, and I don’t even recognize myself. This isn’t me, and it's not something I would ever do.

But the excitement, the risk, the danger, draws me in.

I reach and grab him by his collar, “Damon, bite me—please, I’m begging you! Bite me,” I beg him as my pulse thumps loudly against my skin. My cunt pulses with need. I need to feel his fangs in my neck. I need the light-headed feeling of blood draining from my body.

Damon’s chest rises and falls at an alarming rate as he steps out of my space, pushing my hands away. For a moment I think he’s going to tell me to go to hell, or that I’m insane, but…

“Get on the table. Now,” he commands, and I watch his eyes rack up and down my body. I know I look like a mess. My face is flushed, my eyes are glazed over, and the damp spot on my underwear is only growing larger by the second.

I don't hesitate for a second. All rational thought has left my mind, and need has completely taken over.

I instantly climb onto the table as instructed, sitting my butt down, staring at him. Butterflies dance in my lower stomach as I try to control my labored breathing.

His footsteps are loud as he walks around me, stopping directly in front of the end of the table. He reaches forward and grabs my ankle, yanking me down towards him. I gasp at the feeling and naturally part my legs. His hands come up around my bare legs and slowly come up towards my jaw. He stares down at me with a darkened gaze, his index and middle finger coming up to my lips.

“You really want this? Don’t lie to me again,” he utters, his voice hoarse and laced with lust. I swallow and dip my tongue out to wet my lips. “More than anything,” I say, my voice breathless.

He doesn't wait another second before dipping his fingers into my mouth. Pleasure erupts through my cunt as I suck and gently nibble his fingers. My chest rises and falls, and my head lolls back in pleasure. His other hand grips the fat of my thigh as he slowly draws his fingers out of my mouth. Before I can protest, he takes his spit-covered fingers and slides them back and forth along my bottom lip.

“Damon—“ I moan, and he shoves his fingers back in, causing me to gag.

“There you go— Take it, I know you can.” The praise goes straight to my cunt, and I suck his fingers even deeper. His other hand plays with the hem of my panties, threatening to remove them. I nod, staring at him intently. He gives a little tilt of his head and smiles.

“Want me to take them off?” I nod. I nod and nod and nod, causing him to laugh. He rips his fingers from my mouth, and when I think relief will come, it doesn't.

Instead…

Damon flips me over, and suddenly I'm now on my stomach, bent over the table. His hips are flush with the back of mine, and I gasp at the feeling. His hands come around to touch my ass, and I jump when both his hands grab a handful.

He doesn’t wait another second before he grabs the hem of my underwear and drags it down the curve of my ass at an agonizing pace that has my back arching in need. My breath comes out in a huff as I peek over my shoulder to see that he’s pulled my underwear down just enough to expose my backside.

His eyes dart to mine before he quickly leans down and exposes his fangs. He doesn’t ask me for permission again before he bites into my bare cheek. “Oh my—“ my voice is cut off as pain and pleasure erupt from my body. My head flies up, and a loud moan escapes from my throat without my permission.

Damon’s rough hands grab at my hips and thighs, and he begins to suck. “Damon—“ I moan out and grip the edge of the table as the pain is starting to become agonizing. His grip on my hips is bruising and provokes me to hiss.

He groans before leaving my skin with a loud pop. I gasp and roll onto my hip to face him, and the sight I see is enough to bring me to my knees.

Damon’s hair is all in his face, and my blood drips down his lips and all along his chin. His face is flushed pink as he stares down at my withering body. His eye markings disappear, and he runs his fingers through his hair.

“There isn’t much blood in that area. It will leave a mark,” he says, his voice breathless. I nod and watch him walk towards me, pushing me to lie down. Before I can ask, his left hand grabs the side of my neck, brushing my hair out of the way. And then… he bites down. Hard.

A cry leaves my lips, and I arch my back into his chest. His fingers thread into my hair as he sucks the blood from where my neck and shoulder meet. The heartbeat in my lower stomach grows louder and louder, and I swear I can hear it in my ears. My cunt pulses around nothing, in so much need I feel like my body could explode.

He groans into my neck, and suddenly I feel his hand trailing down my stomach. I can’t see them, but I can feel them. His hand glides beneath the hem of my underwear, before dipping into the place I want him most.

“Oh my god—“ I cry out, and his fingers lightly caress and circle my clit. I whine and thread my hands through his hair, gripping on tight. His chest is flushed against my back as he sucks on my neck, an animal that’s been starved. His fingers dip downwards towards my entrance, teasing but not entering before sliding back up and circling my clit.

Huff leaves my mouth as I spread my legs out, begging for him to come closer. “Damon—“ I struggle out, becoming lightheaded from the loss of blood. He groans deeply into my neck before pulling off with a pop and fingers leaving my underwear. He lifts his head, and my cunt pulses around nothing, at the sight over my shoulder. I roll onto my back, taking it in.

Blood is dripping down his chin and down his chest. His eyes are glazed over, but brighter than I’ve ever seen. He looks refreshed. His chest heaves rapidly, and I watch as his tongue darts out of his mouth before catching on his fang.

He quickly leans down, and I’m taken aback when his mouth collapses against mine. I moan deeply into his mouth, as a metallic taste fills my mouth.

My blood?

His tongue pushes past my lips before finding its way into my mouth, and I gasp in realization.

His blood.

I suck on the wound before it can close and groan at the taste. The kiss is messy but feels heavenly. I run my fingers through his messy hair and yank, causing him to groan into my mouth. His hands move quickly, finding their way back into my underwear. He doesn't wait as two fingers push into me. My back arches, and I gasp into his mouth as his fingers massage and pulse against the spot inside of me that makes me see stars.

I pull away from his mouth with a gasp. “Damon, please, I need you—now,” I whimper and place my hands on his cheeks and look him in the eye. His eyes dart back and forth between my eyes and mouth as if he had decided how badly I truly did need it

“Yeah? How badly?” He asks with a sly smirk on his lips as his fingers continue to move. His thumb circles my clit, and I almost combust right then and there. My leg comes around to hook on his hip, bringing him down closer to me.

“Damon— please,” I cry as tears prickle my eyes. The pleasure is becoming too much, and the coil in my stomach could snap any second. He chuckles at me before ripping his fingers out of my underwear. I sigh as the pleasure dissipates and watch as he steps backward.

He reaches down and undoes his belt, before reaching into his boxers and pulling out his cock. My mouth waters at the sight, and I go to sit up. However, Damon’s hand reaches out and pushes my chest back down. “Nu uh, stay there—“ he rasps out and starts to pump his cock steadily.

My cunt pulses with need, and I reach up and pinch my nipples through my shirt, all while watching his hand move and down his cock. The tip is red and angry, and is leaking pre cum. My hands travel from my nipples down my stomach and stop right where my cunt is. I pull my underwear to the side and circle my clit, watching him pump his cock slowly. His eyes zero in on my cunt, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

My hips roll in need, and I open my mouth to tell Damon I need him now. But as if he can hear my thoughts, he stalks over to the table and drags me down by my ankle, even further to the edge. My knees draw in as my ass is now practically hanging off the edge.

”Damon, I need it. I need you—please” desperate, desperate, desperate. My own voice is unrecognizable now, as I reach levels of arousal I don't think I've ever come close to. My body is calling out, surpassing want. All it knows is need.

Damon parts my legs and dips down, meeting my lips. His tongue licks my bottom lip before diving into a slow and sensual kiss that has me melting. The tip of his cock presses against my cunt, causing me to arch against him.

He rips his lips from the kiss and presses his forehead against mine. Both of our eyes find my cunt where he's gripping his cock, drawing the tip up and down my slit.

There’s a moment of silence between us, the only sounds in the room being our heaving breaths. He playfully dips the tip in right before taking it out, and circles my clit once more.

“Tell me how much you want it.” his voice is so ridden with lust; I moan at the sound. I grip his forearm that’s next to my head.

“Damon, please— I need your cock in me. Now,” my nails dig into his arm. He flashes me a smile, a genuine one, before slowly slipping all the way in. I shudder at the feeling and let my head loll back against the table. He lets out a soft huff and rests his forehead against my shoulder to compose himself.

My cunt pulses and squeezes around him in need of movement. He takes a beat before lifting his head and looking down at me with desperate need. He grips my hips and begins to thrust forward.

With every thrust, his cocks drags along the spot inside of me that causes me to see stars.

My hand reaches out to grip his forearms as I moan loudly. “Damon— holy shit,” I gasp out, bucking my hips to meet him. He lets out a laugh and rolls his hips at an inhuman speed. His hips meet mine at a brutal pace, one that makes me know I’ll have bruises on the backs of my legs.

With every drag and thrust, he groans loudly. The table beneath us squeaks and threatens to fold under our weight. But neither of us can find it in us to care.

“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me what you need.” his voice is all around me as if it’s touching every part of my body. I cry out as I feel the pressure begin to build and build.

“Yes, baby— let it all out. My good girl,” he huffs out, bringing his lips down to my ear. My hands find purchase in his hair, wanting him to be as close as possible.

His thrusts start to become faster, reaching places inside me never before. I let out a whine as I feel myself about to tip over the edge.

Damon is quick to bring his hand below, finding my clit, and circling it with the speed I need.

“There you go, sweetheart— such a good girl; I’m so proud of you.” he grins into my neck.

Our groans mix as I feel myself peak, letting my organs wash over me. My cunt pulses around Damon’s cock in rhymes that roll throughout my entire body.

My hips roll continuously to meet his as pleasure takes over my body from head to toe.

Damon is quick to follow behind me, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier by the second before he crumbles over me. He lets out groans that sound like heaven to the ears, and I allow my hips to meet his as his cock pulses and spurts inside me.

Warmth takes over my body as his cock finally stops twitching. Both of us lay there for a minute, chests heaving, and bodies slick with sweat.

I relax into the table, my hands finding Damon’s sweaty hair. Pain from my backside and shoulder starts to come back to me, and I know I’ll need some pain medicine as soon as I leave.

“Holy shit,” Damon rasps out, slowly rising. We both hiss as he slips out of me and cleans himself up. I lay there watching as he disappears for a moment and I’m left in silence.

I don’t regret a single moment of tonight. Not the tattoo, or the risky rendezvous with my tattoo artist, aka a vampire.

I actually feel more alive than ever, even despite my lightheadedness from the blood loss.

I sit up and go to grab my things, but stop when Damon re-enters the room. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s carrying food and… a first-aid kit.

Silently, he grabs some paper towels and wets them. We remain silent as he cleans me up. Both the mess between my legs, and the bloody mess on my ass cheek and shoulder area.

He shoves a thing of cookies from the vending machine into my hands as he wraps my shoulder. I eat a couple and instantly begin to feel better. My heart blooms with something sweet, but I push it down.

I study him as he carefully cleans my skin.

“I didn’t take you as a gentleman.” The words come out before I can stop them. He gives me a sideways glance and that infamous smirk. I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my lips.