I have nothing left to fight whatever the hell is happening here. There’s no logic left—just pure, raw emotion. I just keep hearing Meredith’s voice in my head.There’s no harm in just one night with him.A sexual energy purge. I can do just sex. I can. I mean I’m not in college anymore when I had to have Tara paged to the front office of our high school after my first one-night stand so she could comfort me and tell me I was neither pregnant with twins nor infected with trichomoniasis. I’m infinitely more mature now. And I need to take care of this itch before I go insane. I’ll still be in control—still be following the rules. Nothing more than sex.
I dab a cookie crumb off the top of my cupcake with the tip of my tongue.
“For chrissakes, Devon. Just eat the darned thing,” Jeff murmurs.
“What’s your issue with my cupcake?” I ask, lifting it from my lap and taking another swipe at the top with my tongue.
Jeff exhales again and presses pause on the movie. I put him in control of the remote because I didn’t want to throw it through the screen at the part where the red-headed woman kisses a married Hugh.
“It’s not so much the cupcake I have issue with,” Jeff says through gritted teeth. “It’s more she who eats it and how she eats it.”
My brows fly upward. “Who me?”
He pushes his lips together.
“Yeah, you.” He rubs his palms together like he’s charging up a defibrillator. We sound like the beginning ofWho Stole the Cookie from the Cookie Jar?and I can’t help but giggle while he adds, “I think you know exactly what you’re doing.”
Hmmmm. Do I? It’s true that I usually don’t make a soft moaning sound when I eat a cupcake. I mean, maybe sometimes when they are warm or if I haven’t had one in a while, but still. Typically, there’s no room in my throat to get sound around the unladylike, masticated lump of cake.
He goes on before I have time to decide what I do or do not know. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “I think—maybe you are trying to torture me. Or distract yourself and me from why I’m here.” The tendons in his forearm tighten when he makes a fist, but his voice is rough and intense.
I swallow hard past the lingering taste of the icing. Do I want to torture Jeff? I mean he did seem intent on torturing me for a solid part of our ever-evolving relationship. So maybe. Distract myself. Most def.
“I’m just trying to keep my mouth occupied,” I say. The truth will set you free. Unfortunately, it also makes Jeff’s eyes narrow in on my lips.
“Is that right?” he says, his voice so deep it vibrates inside of me. “What is it you’re scared your mouth will do?”
I shrug, lower the cupcake onto the coffee table, and scooch my ass closer to him. He shuts his eyes slowly, his thick lashes leaving a shadow across his cheekbones.
“Devon,” he says on an exhale. “You are making doing the right thing impossible?—”
“The right thing is overrated,” I tell him. He opens his eyes and drinks me in. I want to hand him five straws. Drink away, Jeff.
“I want to be here for you,” he says softly. “I know what today is.”
And someone just dumped a Gatorade cooler of ice water on me.
“Arghhhhh. Why couldn’t you just distract me?” I hiss, sliding my ass back over. “Why!”
He winces. “That’s not what you need.”
“Jesus, Jeff. Stop telling me what I need!” I stand up and make my way behind the couch, the perfect pacing spot. I’m a tigress at feeding time. And I just want Jeff to stick a finger through the bar. I need to bite. “Do you do this to Jenny and your mom?”
He flinches a little and looks at his hands. I hold my tongue between my teeth to stop myself from lashing out and saying what he knows I’m thinking.No wonder they aren’t calling you back.It’s such a bitchy thing to say that I actually surprise myself with the thought.
“Is it so absurd to just want to forget for a minute?” I ask, softer.
“No, of course not.” His voice sounds pained. “But?—"
“Then stop being so friggin’ noble,” I tell him as I head for the wall. Step. Step. Yell. “Stop being Stefan. Be Damon, goddamn it!” Step. Step. Pivot.
His hands are on my shoulders when I turn, and our chests are pressed together, and lordy—his hands—they are so damn big, and I want them to erase all of this anger and grief. I don’t want to look up from the soft grey fabric that stretches from shoulder to shoulder, to take my eyes off the way his chest rises against mine and then falls away, making me feel so lonely.
“I’m sorry, Devon. I wish I could take it away,” he whispers into my hair, and I lift my gaze slowly, up over the way his pulse jumps against the smooth skin beneath his ear. Over his lips, parted enough that I can feel his warm breath on my hair. Over his eyes where I stop and lose my breath completely. Rational thought has left the building. I’m drowning in this liquid heat that lifts me onto my toes, closes the distance between my mouth and his. I kiss him softly at first, a question whispered from the back row of the class, and for an instant I think he doesn’t know the answer, but then, yes, he does. He knows every answer toevery question I’ll ever ask because the way he kisses me back is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It claims me. Tugs me closer. Tells me that there is no close enough. The taste of him—the soft growl he makes when my teeth graze his lower lip. I want him plastered on me like a poster. His tongue finds mine and I forget my name. Holy Christmas. I want all of it. His hands are on my ass. My legs are wrapped around him. I can feel every inch of what he’s offering. And the only truth I know is that I want it.
My moan mingles with the sound of my name being prayed against my ear and I realize that he’s stopped—my mouth is no longer on his. I feel the wall against my back and try to steady my breath as I register that he’s holding me here, that I can still feel him hard against me and all I need in life is to arch into him—get him closer to me. But he’s still praying my name and I remind myself I’m not a goddess. I’m just a ball of hot, aching energy that wants to forget whatever it was that I’m supposed to be forgetting.
“Devon. We can’t. Not like this.”
