You hate how he looks at you like he’s already conquered you—his eyes dark, predatory, every glance a challenge. You tell yourself it’s because he’s Damon Salvatore, but you can’t deny the fire that ignites in your chest when he gets too close.

"You think you can resist me?"

"I don’t have to."

He steps closer, his scent intoxicating. He tilts your chin up with one finger, close enough that you can feel the heat from his skin. His breath is warm, his lips only inches from yours. You can’t look away.

"You’re lying."

Before you can protest, his lips crash into yours, deep and demanding, catching you off guard. His hands wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You try to pull away, but he’s faster, stronger, and the way he kisses you... it feels dangerous. His lips trail to your neck, and you gasp as his fangs graze your skin.

"I can smell it. You want this."

You don’t respond—can’t, as his hand slides lower, fingers teasing, igniting a spark that burns through your veins. But then, his phone rings, pulling him back from the edge, leaving you breathless, wanting more.