TVD SMUT

elijah mikaelson

" A NIGHT TO REMEMBER . "

Your plum dress was tight against your skin. It was something you knew he'd enjoy, a dress you'd chosen specifically to please the man you were practically praying would arrive as you fingered the jewels of the fancy necklace around your neck. It was heavy, thoroughly bedazzled and way too expensive for anything you could ever afford. A gift from the gentleman himself.

Many faces were shrouded from view by masks of simple and extravagant designs of all kinds. Yours, like your necklace, was worth its weight in gold and more; another gift. Flitting through the party, grins and smirks were sent your way from men and women alike. Some were admiring, some hungry, others were strewn onto faces out of envy.

That envy would grow when they find who was coupled with this goddess in purple and gold. You spotted him at the center of the mezzanine, looking down at all the guests like he was the king of his own personal kingdom through the eyes of his mask, one that paired with your own. The look in his eyes certainly conveyed that superiority, lighting a match that lived in the pit of your stomach and between your thighs as you stared up at him with an adoring gaze.

He had already been watching you, a dark hunger taking you in. You made your way toward him, stepping up each marble stair to reach this man who decked you out like a queen. He was reaching out for your hand before you reached the top step, taking it and bending down to place a kiss to the back of your palm. "My dear," he greeted affectionately.

Goosebumps shivered up your arm and into your bloodstream. Your body threatened to follow suit as you watched him handle you with such...care. "Elijah," you responded.

"Would you care to dance?" He straightened his back, even took a small step closer and eliminated the personal space that had already been demolished the first moment you saw this adonis of a man.

You breathed a quiet breath at his question, "A gentleman, as always." As always. You said it as though you'd known him for more than simply a week. In truth, Elijah was a fling. You'd met him a week prior, caught up in all of his grace and eloquence as he swept you across the dance floor of the extended masquerade ball and then into his arms to take you to bed.

It wasn't normally like you, to be so taken by some stranger enough to sleep with him that same night. And then to sleep with him the next night, and the night after that, and so on, and so forth. But there was something about Elijah, something so captivating that you could not quite place.

As he swept you to the dance floor for yet another seductive venture across the marble, you accepted with little more than a simple nod.

And then, when he pressed you against a wall in a darkened nook in the large mansion of a home, you gasped into the unusually warm air of the late autumn night as his hot lips pressed to the heated skin of your chest and he devoured you.

Last night was supposed to be the last time, and the night before that, and the night before that. He was like some drug that you had all too quickly become addicted to—and with a face like that, how could you not?

You knew you shouldn't. At the very least, you should try not to. It was not as though he was the perfect man. No, your perfect man would still be there when you woke in the morning with aching limbs, a souvenir, and cold sheets that barely held enough warmth to convince you his departure was recent.

Your perfect man would not grant you a collection of late nights full of pleasure and desire ending alone in the morning with a handwritten note and a new little gift.