The night wore on and Eric and I grew more and more frustrated. An hour became four. Four hours became an eight-hour shift. We writhed in his bed, wringing each other clean of every conceivable pleasure.

And yet, we were never satisfied.

After our first little rest, we never stopped going at it like rabbits. Eric proved his sinful boast of legendary stamina, coming inside me continuously, and yet needing no recovery time, pumping straight through his orgasm and immediately working himself towards another.

And I was no better. My body begged for rest, my core was aching and sore from his huge and constant presence, and yet I pleaded like a glamoured slut for more.

I begged prettily for him to drink more from me. I hoped that would slake some of my desire for him, as sex seemed to only make it worse. I offered my throat to him. My wrists. My breasts. My thighs. At every offering, he turned his head and refused point blank.

"I must save you," he spoke of me like the last of a coveted wine vintage. "I plan to drink from you every night. I can't take more than you can replenish in that time." With that, he pointedly retracted his fangs from me, removing my beloved heart shape, and resumed fucking my brains out, trying valiantly to sate us the old-fashioned way.

So when I cut my own neck with my nail and brought his lips to the tiny nick, he snarled in displeasure and flipped me so that I was on my hands and knees before him.

"Defiant girl, " he growled angrily, aligning our hips and driving deep into me from behind.

I screamed and drove backwards into him as he thrust manically against my ass.

"You will not tempt me," he rasped darkly. His grip on my hips was steely and possessive. I sobbed at the dizzying pleasure I felt at having no control. I widened my knees on the mattress, wanting him deeper. Always, impossibly deeper.

"You will stay in this position until you've come three times for me," he hissed my punishment.

"I can't," I whimpered. "I'm dying, baby." At least it felt like it. I had no strength left. Even holding my own weight up against his battering hips was proving a wonderful chore.

"You will," he commanded. "Prove to me how much you want me and do as I say."

I hated him. I hated how much I needed him and how bad his words turned me on. And I hated that I did as he bade, needing a full hour to orgasm three times while he howled as my body sucked and squeezed him without mercy. I was given no rest when he withdrew from me. He flipped me again and stood us up, holding my thighs across either of his forearms, splaying my hips wide open just above his pulsing erection. My hands gripped his shoulders, holding me up against him. I moaned in delicious expectation.

"More," he demanded, lowering me gently. Tears pricked my eyes, so I buried them in the crook of his neck as once again my poor body was invaded by a Viking. My exhausted muscles welcomed him weakly. I was so wet for him it was shameful, and he met no resistance as he filled me up until we were fused once again.

I moaned his name in reverence. How did he do this to me?

He chose a gentle pace this time, slowly lifting and lowering me, teasing himself with me. He pulled out completely, only to plunge straight down until I could feel his balls nestled tightly against my butt. I had no leverage and no strength, but I managed to flex and clench my inner muscles around him, participating in our lovemaking as best I could. I rubbed my throbbing nipples against his chest and sucked gently on his earlobe. "Beautiful man," I whispered distractedly.

"You are so exquisitely tight, Sookie," he whispered back, lifting and lowering, lifting and lowering. "No woman ever fit me as divinely as you do."

I smirked with smug pride against his cheek and pulled back to kiss his fangless mouth. "Damn right," I murmured. I swirled my hips, bending him in a tight circle, shamelessly coaxing his sharp teeth to come out and play with me.

He felt my intention. "No," he rebuked playfully. "You won't break me, woman."

"Betcha I could," I countered poutingly, swirling him again and again deep inside me. "Betcha a whole dollar I could bring you to your knees."

He laughed and gripped my ass, stopping my circles and starting a more earnest fuck. "Bet you that same dollar I could make you join me," he rasped deeply.

I gave up and clutched his arms, letting him take me harder than before. He was so good at this. So relentless. And we'd barely even ventured into other activities. I was dying to know what he liked, what he'd let me do to him, now that we were lovers. "Will you let me suck you? Do you...enjoy that?" I squeaked. Bill hadn't been particularly crazy about it. I wasn't even sure I was any good at it.

I felt him jolt inside me and he growled deep in his chest. "Would you send me to my true death, then? The sight of you on your knees with my cock in your mouth would surely kill me."

I shivered and arched helplessly into his thrusts, loving his coarse honesty. "I want to," I murmured. "I'd love to. Tomorrow night, maybe?"

His pace quickened further with excitement. "Yes, lover. Anything you want. Dawn is coming now. Shall we come with it?"

I fell bonelessly with him into the abyss, vaguely hearing him roar as he emptied himself deep in my womb for the countless time that night. I held none of my own weight. Thank God for his preternatural strength, because I had absolutely zero.

I felt the bed rush up to meet us. Had he set us there, or simply fallen over? I didn't know. I burrowed into him, unbelievably wanting more, yet physically unable to even lift my head.

Broken, shivering and drained, we fell asleep.


When I awoke hours later, it was well into late morning and he was dead for the day. No light penetrated the room, but my watch informed me of the fact.

He looked exactly the same as when I'd entered the room an eon ago. Perfect. Untouched. Lying on his back, oblivious to all, like we hadn't destroyed each other for hours in this very bed.

I looked down at my own state of affairs. There were soft bruises on my hips and breasts where he'd held me. I adored them and wished perversely that there were more scattered over my skin. I wondered if that's why he'd chosen not to bond with me immediately. He wanted me to bear his marks, if only for a little while. I was still a seething coil of desire, the lizard part of my brain absolutely furious that he was dormant and had left me feeling like he'd merely teased me with petting and pretty words all night instead of fucking me until I blacked out.

I swore at my lack of satisfaction and kicked my way out of his stupid, silky bed. I found the adjoining bathroom and flicked on the light, instantly caught by my reflection in the entirely-mirrored room. I looked like a wild animal. I smiled a feral smile. The sexiest wild animal alive. I turned this way and that, memorizing every purple grape finger mark, the red outline of his hand high on my ass, the three dozen hickeys starting under my ears and ending on my belly, and of course, his beautiful, prideful mark.

I moved closer and bent over the sink, looking at the bite more closely. For all his ferocity, his bite was downright surgical in care. The pricks were tiny and clean, no tearing at all. He'd managed to hold the both of us perfectly still as he'd fed. Impressive. Bill had often broken the skin around the punctures in his excitement. I guess there was something to be said for being eight hundred years Bill's senior.

I blinked at myself and shook my head in anger. I knew comparisons were inevitable, but they irritated me nonetheless. In pure clinical terms, Eric was a better lover for me. He wasn't restrained. He liked talking to me during the deed. He felt no guilt about what he was, nor any special deference to me for what I was. And I liked his crudeness. He liked my tits. He adored my pussy. My blood drove him crazy. I knew all of this because he told me so, and while I don't usually like nasty language, his delivery made me hot nonetheless. He didn't like a quitter, and made me make love to him, pulling out every last string of joy when I was sure there were none left to be had. Even the littlest things, like the way Eric's name rolled off my tongue, felt better. I'd called it often last night, knowing he wanted to hear it, knowing I wanted to say it.

I quickly used the bathroom for reasons other than preening and flushed the toilet. I considered taking a shower, but decided against it. I was the only person in the house, and if I wanted to smell like sex, then I damn well would. Who was here to be scandalized by it? Not a damn soul.

I shot myself one last look in the mirror on the way out before flipping off the light and sliding back into bed. I kissed his sleeping lips and ruffled his hair before latching onto him, arms and legs clinging.

I sighed with happiness. He'd driven me so mad with pleasure that I'd actually shot him with my hand thingies. Thank God I hadn't hurt him. I asked him afterward if I'd done so and he'd shaken his head casually. "I am well," he answered simply. I didn't question it after that, but I was pleased that it didn't happen again. I had no interest in blowing him out of bed, not when he was proving so addictive within it.

On the nightstand, Eric's phone beeped once, indicating he had a message. Curious, I picked it up and read the ID.

PAM, it read. From six hours ago.

I knew it was wrong, but I hit the READ button and felt little remorse doing it.

Where the fuck, Eric? You better have your ass in here tomorrow night. You KNOW the fangers get antsy when you're not in plain sight.


I set his phone back down on the small table.

So. Eric hadn't told Pam he was staying home to meet me. He'd played hooky. For me.

I smiled and snorted softly. My vampire was so darned naughty.

But I found myself responding to the other part of the message in a way that I didn't care for at all. The fangers at his bar, lining up to gawk at his beauty and think raunchy thoughts about the things they wanted him to do to them. Bleed them. Fuck them. Turn them. Kill them. All kinds of bizarre shit that I hated hearing when I entered that place. He didn't need to glamour them, they glamoured themselves just thinking about him.

I snorted again in disgust. And jealousy. Not a ladylike thing to do, I know, but I couldn't help it. I had Eric's word that he would be loyal to me and I trusted him completely for some reason. The way he looked at me, I guess. I knew beyond a doubt that I was the only one he wanted.


These whores of all description threw themselves at his feet, and for the sake of vampire bar propriety, he let them. He had to. People paid for the privilege of being despised and ignored by him while they drank his eight buck Coors Light.

I lifted my head from his still-warmed chest and looked at him.

So, so unfairly beautiful.

He was even prettier than before. Hair even messier. Face even softer. His stubble was more pronounced. His lips were fuller from my kisses. He looked like he'd died happy, which technically, he had.

And yet, there was nothing of me on him. I know to other vamps, he smelled of me, but to my human senses, he was still a flawless, unmarked statue. I had tried, tried so hard, to mark him in the same way he'd marked me. I'd bitten him. I'd sucked his skin, breaking the capillaries. I'd scratched him. Hell, I'd clawed desperately at him. Every single time, my brand disappeared, his skin zipping back up like it never happened. It was like trying to permanently mark on an Etch A Sketch. It was a fruitless attempt.

He'd felt my disappointment as one of my angrier bruises healed magically on his chest. He had looked down at himself thoughtfully before pulling me flush against him. "I would wear yours if I could, lover."

Somehow, that had made me feel better.

Now, it was unacceptable.

I would mark him. He would wake up and see just how thoroughly he belonged to me.

I jumped out of bed and hurried downstairs, naked as a jaybird. I let my sinful side peek out a little and rubbed my naked, sexified body along the walls as I went. Their chilly surfaces made me giggle. I made it to the entryway and picked up my purse where I'd left it on a marble shelf near the door.

I took out my 25th birthday present from Lafayette. I'd never used it. It wasn't my style. At all. But today was an exception. I pulled the lid of the tube of lipstick and swirled it up so I could see.

Bright, tacky, fire engine red greeted me. My preference had always been pink or clear gloss. I smirked and looked at the top of my breast. His punctures, the same color red, had set the bar.

I ran back upstairs (but not before rubbing myself in the soft interior of his leather jacket hanging by the door), flew into his bed and ripped the sheet from his body.

Mine, I screamed silently at the pale David laying before me. Staring hungrily at him, I brought the lipstick to my mouth and carefully outlined my lips, coating them generously.

I bent over his face and pressed my lips firmly into his cheek. I kept my mouth firm, wanting the shape to stay defined. I pulled away to check my handiwork. A blood-red Cupid's bow kiss met my appraisal and I laughed loudly at the sight.

It was perfect.

I went to work. I kissed his other cheek. I scattered seven on his throat. I reapplied. I kissed a checkerboard down his chest. I turned his hands in mine and kissed both of his palms. I reapplied. I kissed harder and longer on his stomach. I ran my tongue in the groove that led to his groin. I reapplied. I pushed his legs apart and planted intimate kisses deep along his upper, inner thighs.

I reapplied for the finale.

I took his flaccid penis into my mouth and placed a sound ring all along the base. Still dead to the world, he quivered between my lips.

Savage desire boiled over in me again. He was responding, even in his sleep. I pressed my tongue and cheeks into his soft length and sucked gently.

By the time I'd pulled back to his tip, he was rock hard and pulsing furiously.

"Yes, baby," I encouraged excitedly. "Do you like this? Do you want me to keep going?"

He was motionless, but bobbed hotly against my lips. I grinned and took him deep. Oh, dear Lord, it felt sinful. Taking advantage of a man while he slept. I felt like the sweetest little sexual predator as I moaned and sucked and painted the most intimate part of him bright red.

I imagined him awake as I worked him, hissing and growling with need. He was so hard in my mouth that I knew he was close. I released him and whispered to him in his dreams. "Come for me, Eric. Lemme taste you."

A rumble erupted from his chest and his body went rigid on the bed. I took all of him, choking on his girth, humming and sucking with all of my might. He exploded, giving me everything I asked for. I drank him in, not knowing if human men tasted this unbelievably sweet when they ejaculated. I never planned to find out. I continued to nurse him, softer and softer, until he settled down and went still again. I let him slip from my mouth, kissing him chastely on the hip.

"Sweet dreams," I simpered playfully. Oh, I did so hope that he was aware of what happened.

Checking my watch again, I cursed as I read noon. I should get home. I've been meaning to clean my destroyed house for ages now. I really did need to get started before the parish boarded it up. I slipped out of bed again and grabbed my dress. It fell to tatters in my hands. Damn that sexy vampire and his violence against clothes. I crossed the room and opened his closet. In a folded pile were some of his black wife beaters. I pulled one out and tossed it over my head. In the bathroom mirror, I discovered that on a girl my height, the low neckline and racer back tank made me look like townie trash. It barely covered my upper thighs. I never wore black unless someone was dead.

It smelled like his laundry detergent.

That was good enough for me.

I went to his desk and pulled out a paper and pen, planning to leave him a note.

Staring at the blank page, I paused. What do I say? Thank you? I enjoyed myself? Call you later?

I made a face. All of that sounded ridiculous. Eric and I were way passed formalities, and the usual boyfriend/girlfriend sentiments seemed childish compared to what we'd done. We hadn't spent the evening holding hands. I'd spent it discovering that Eric Northman was a shockingly intense and loving man in bed.

I looked over at him for the dozenth time. No. When I looked at Eric, those wooden words did not fit my feelings. Looking at him, I felt breathless with naughty, puckish desire. I liked teasing him. And he was proving to be a very good sport.

I grinned and scribbled down the first thing that came to mind.

I set the note by his phone on the table.

I called a cab.

I went home.