“Anybody like me? Oh, you mean psychopathic vampire who doesn’t give a damn about human life?” he asked, smirking. “Well the good news is that you don’t have to love me.”
It was literally a blink — he was stretched out on the bed, and then she was pressed up against his half-naked body and his mouth was on hers. She bit his lip and clawed her fingernails into his shirt and something in the back of her mind, fueled by anger, declared that if he was going to be that way then she would show him who was in charge here. So she burned his shirt off.
Damon felt the rush of heat coupled with the burns. They healed quickly and he pulled away, grimacing. “That was my favorite shirt,” he murmured before kissing her again, hands sliding up her back before ripping her shirt off her body and tossing it on the ground behind them.
His kiss necessarily smothered her reply. She bit his lip again, not as hard, and tore her mouth away long enough to gasp, “buy a new one,” before attacking his throat. Unlikely as it was to work, she tried to shove him back toward the bed as well.