The days after Damon left are like a haze, a blur of confusion and temptation. I can't stop thinking about him. It's maddening. The kiss, the way he touched me—it's burned into my memory, replaying over and over in my head. And no matter how much I try to distract myself, to push the thoughts of him away, they always come rushing back.
It's like I'm stuck in some kind of twisted loop, and no matter how hard I try, I can't break free.
I wake up in the middle of the night, my body tangled in the sheets, my breath coming in shallow gasps. For a moment, I think I'm dreaming. But then I realize it's Damon's presence in my mind, his scent still lingering in my thoughts, his touch still searing my skin.
I roll over, my fingers brushing the cold spot on the bed where he was, where he always is, even though he's not physically here. The emptiness feels suffocating, and I can't ignore the gnawing feeling in my chest, the feeling that I'm being slowly consumed by something I can't control.
It's in moments like this that I wish I could just walk away. I wish I could close the door on him, lock him out of my mind and my heart. But the truth is, I don't know if I want to. I don't know if I even can.
The doorbell rings, sharp and unexpected, dragging me from my thoughts. My pulse spikes, and I stand up quickly, moving toward the door without thinking. It's ridiculous, how fast my heart beats when I know who it is. But there's no mistaking it. I don't need to check the peephole to know that Damon is standing on the other side.
I hesitate for a moment, my hand resting on the doorknob, but then I open it. And there he is—Damon. He stands tall, his dark eyes boring into mine with that predatory gaze that makes my breath catch in my throat.
His lips curl into a smirk, as though he's been waiting for me to open the door. "You didn't think I'd leave you alone, did you?" he asks, his voice dripping with that same dark amusement. It's the same tone he always uses, like he's in complete control like he's always known exactly what I need, even when I don't.
"I didn't invite you," I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. I step back, giving him just enough space to slip inside, but not enough to make it easy for him.
Damon's gaze flicks to the inside of my apartment, scanning the space as if he's already claimed it. "You don't have to invite me, Ella. I'm already here."
The words sting, but I don't show it. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest, trying to appear unaffected, trying to push back the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me.
"What do you want?" I ask, though I already know the answer. He always wants the same thing. He wants me, wants control, wants to own me. But I'm tired of him taking, of him always being the one in charge.
Damon steps closer, his presence filling the room like a storm. "I told you, Ella," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm not leaving until you admit that you want this. Admit that you want me."
I shake my head, trying to push back the rush of desire that hits me like a wave. "I don't want this," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, but I know it's a lie. The truth is, I want him. I want him in ways I can't even explain, but I'm too scared to admit it. I'm too scared to admit just how far I've already fallen.
"Lying won't save you, Ella," Damon murmurs, his fingers brushing my cheek in a move so tender, that it makes my heart skip a beat. "You're mine, whether you want it or not. The only question is—how long are you going to keep pretending?"
I flinch at his touch, my body reacting to him in ways I don't want it to. I'm not supposed to want this. I'm not supposed to want him. But no matter how much I try to fight it, my body betrays me. It craves him, aches for him, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
"Stop," I whisper, but my voice cracks, betraying me once again. "Stop playing with me, Damon."
He tilts his head, studying me as if I'm some kind of puzzle he's trying to solve. "I'm not playing with you, Ella," he says softly, his fingers sliding down my arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. "This is real. And you know it. You've known it from the moment you met me."
I want to push him away, to scream at him, but instead, I stand there, frozen by the weight of his words. He's right. From the moment we met, this pull between us has been inevitable. But it's more than just physical. It's emotional. It's something deeper, something I can't explain.
"You don't get to control me," I say, my voice trembling, but there's still defiance in it. "I'm not yours."
Damon's eyes darken, his grip tightening on my arm as he steps even closer. "You're already mine, Ella. You just don't want to admit it yet."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. I want to argue. I want to fight him, to tell him that he's wrong, that I'm not his. But the truth is, I don't know if I am or not.
"I'm not like you," I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them. "I won't be like you."
Damon's expression softens, but only for a moment, and when he speaks, his voice is quieter, almost gentle. "I'm not asking you to be like me, Ella. I'm asking you to be with me."
I look up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. I can see the sincerity in his eyes, but I don't know if I can trust it. He's hurt me before. He's pushed me away and used me, and I'm scared that he'll do it again.
"I can't keep doing this," I say, more to myself than to him. "I can't keep giving in to you."
Damon smiles, and there's something almost triumphant in his gaze. "You already have, Ella. And the sooner you admit it, the sooner this will be easier for both of us."
I don't respond. Instead, I turn away, my mind a whirlwind of confusion and desire. I don't know what's happening anymore. I don't know if I can keep fighting this connection between us or if I even want to.
But one thing is certain—I'm not the one in control anymore.