Elena – POV
"I haven’t forgiven you," I whispered, my voice soft but unyielding. My palm pressed against the curve of his chest, feeling the thrum of power just beneath the surface. His heartbeat—wild, erratic, like it wanted out of his ribcage.
"Just so you know," I added, barely above a breath, even as I leaned in and brushed my lips against his.
The kiss was hesitant at first—an apology, a warning, a line drawn and crossed all at once. My stomach twisted. My body buzzed. I knew it would be the last straw. Knew that the second I gave in—even just for a mont—he wouldn’t hold back anymore.
And he didn’t.
The instant my lips moved against his, Damon took control.
Like a switch had flipped. A storm let loose.
He kissed back—hungry, consuming, as if he’d been starving and I was the only thing left in the world to feed on. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, dragging closer until I was straddling him in the cold water, our soaked clothes clinging to every curve, every hard line of our bodies.
My fingers threaded into his wet hair as his mouth devoured mine, tongue sweeping past my lips with a low growl that vibrated all the way down to my core. His scent, his heat, the ache between us—it was too much, too sharp, too raw.
I gasped as he pulled away from my lips only to trail kisses down my throat, rough and reverent. His teeth scraped along the sensitive skin of my collarbone.
"You drive insane," he rasped, voice shredded and low. "You—Elena, gods, you ruin ."
My breath hitched, fingers tightening in his hair. "Then be ruined."
His eyes snapped up to mine—blazing, possessive, undone. And then his mouth was back on mine, desperate now, punishing and tender all at once, like he didn’t know whether to worship or wreck .
Maybe both.
His hands slid up beneath my shirt—soaked and transparent—his palms spreading across my ribs, thumbs grazing the underswell of my breasts. My back arched. A shudder rolled through .
"I need you," he breathed against my skin. "I’m done pretending I don’t."
His voice—fuck, that voice—it cracked sothing open in .
All my restraint, all my reasons, all my pride.
Gone.
I kissed him again, harder this ti, pouring every tangled emotion I had into it—anger, desire, betrayal, longing. His hand fisted in my shirt and yanked it over my head, tossing the wet fabric to the side. His lips were on my chest instantly, mouth hot and reverent, tracing the lines of my skin like a prayer.
I whimpered, grinding against him, and he groaned—head falling back.
"You have no idea what you do to ," he said, trembling as he gripped my thighs tighter, pulling down flush against the very evidence of his need.
And gods, I felt it.
All of him.
My breath caught as my body pulsed with need so sharp it was almost painful. I was slick, aching, soaked in more than water now. His na was a ghost on my lips.
"Damon..."
He cupped my face, eyes searching mine with sothing unspoken, sothing almost sacred. "If this is just to help the heat—if this is just pity—walk away now. Because once I take you, Elena, I’m not stopping. Not again."
I should’ve walked away.
I should’ve pushed off his lap, stepped out of the tub, gone back to pretending I didn’t need him like a drug.
But instead...
I reached between us and unfastened the last barrier of his clothing with shaking fingers, the sound of fabric and water filling the quiet between us.
"I said I haven’t forgiven you," I whispered again, leaning in until our foreheads touched.
"But I’m not walking away."
His eyes darkened.
And then—he kissed again.
And this ti, it was war.
*******
I knew it was the heat.
Knew it the mont his grip tightened, the way his mouth found every inch of like it had been starved for centuries. His hands were relentless, moving over with the kind of desperation that made it hard to breathe.
He was gone.
Or maybe fully present in a way that terrified .
I should’ve been scared.
But I wasn’t.
Not even as Damon’s eyes darkened into sothing wild and ancient, sothing not quite vampire, not quite wolf. Sothing deeper. Older. His pupils blown wide, fangs slightly elongated. His breathing ragged.
He didn’t say a word—but he didn’t need to. His hands, his mouth, the way he moved against —that said everything.
It was the heat.
His hands were everywhere. Rough, unrelenting, but worshipful. Like he couldn’t decide whether to pin down or pull closer. His lips dragged over my throat, teeth grazing my pulse as he inhaled deeply.
He groaned—a low, broken sound that vibrated down my spine.
"You sll like mine," he growled, voice guttural, voice not entirely human. "You’re driving insane..."
My wolf pushed up hard beneath my skin, clawing for him. For us. For the scent that clouded my head and made it impossible to think.
So this is what it felt like—for them. When a male wolf caught the scent of a she-wolf in heat.
Overwhelming. Debilitating.
And I... I was going through that. On fire from the inside out. Controlled only by the slimst thread of restraint.
The scent rolling off him was so thick I could taste it. Dark. Spiced. Raw power laced with arousal that made my thighs clench, made my breath hitch every ti he exhaled against my neck.
He didn’t kiss sweetly.
He devoured .
There was no room for words now—his body spoke in growls and gasps and grinding hips. And gods, I let him. Let him devour in the most sinful ways. Because I knew this wasn’t just Damon. It was his heat. His instincts.
His need.
And hell—I’d been through a heat cycle before. I knew how it warped you, consud you. But this? This was different. Because this ti, it wasn’t on fire. It was him. A full-blooded Alpha male in the throes of heat. His scent was everywhere—sharp and wild and thick with lust—pouring off his skin like smoke from a blaze. And it was affecting .
No.
It was ruining .
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