Elena's POV
I couldn't breathe.
Well—I could. Technically. My lungs were working, but every inhale scorched. Every exhale trembled.
Damon was above me.
And not just above me—on me. His chest was rising and falling like he'd just run a marathon, but there wasn't a single drop of sweat on him. Not one sign of strain.
Meanwhile, I was a mess. Panting. Flushed. Pissed.
And completely caged beneath him.
My arms were pinned by the weight of his body braced around me. My legs tangled with his. The position should've been humiliating, but that wasn't what made heat crawl up my throat. That wasn't why my core pulsed and my skin prickled.
No. It was him.
The scent of him. The feel of his thigh pressed between mine. The unmistakable ridge of his arousal straining right against where I was already too warm, too aware, too damn needy.
"You lose, little mate," he whispered, and I felt the words slide across my skin like a spark down a fuse.
Gods, that voice. It should be illegal.
