Disclaimer: I own zero, cero, nihil, nada, nothin' of Charlaine Harris'. I wrote this about two years ago and finally decided it was time to publish this b. The idea of instant gratification, especially the line, "fresh and hot, like a pizza," is directly from Gen Kill. I really hope you like it, because I'd like to keep writing it.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, I was more than a little nervous about this story. They also brought to my notice that for some reason the POVs I added initially aren't showing up, which is def confusing...darn horizontal rulers...I tip my hat to everyone who muddled through it haha, kudos...

Sookie POV

As I entered the Ritz-Carlton in New York City, I ignored the gorgeous surroundings, the lavish furnishings, the expensive décor, and even the elegant individuals who condescended to place their feet on the floor of the lobby as they strolled towards their destinations. I had seen it all many times before and anyway, I was here to work.

My black leather and silver-spiked platform pumps clicked gently but firmly against the glossy floors, and I noticed several women raise an eyebrow at the red soles. That's right bitches, I smirked. Brand-spanking-new Louboutin heels, worth almost thirteen grand and figuratively worth a whole lot more. They were impossible to find right now unless you had connections. And I did.

However, it wasn't just the shoes that were causing the raised eyebrows. My black crocodile Birkin bag, which cost more than what some two-income families made in a year, hung carelessly from the crook of my elbow. My platinum Cartier watch sparkled, as did my diamond Tiffany bracelet on the opposite wrist, which was peeking out from under my cranberry Dolce&Gabbana trench coat. And of course the matching earrings glittered delicately on either side of my perfectly made-up face. My five hundred dollar highlights shone in blond tresses that had been perfectly arranged to cascade a few inches past my shoulders.

"Chic" was an understatement.

When the men's heads turned, as they inevitably did, they didn't notice the details, only the confidence and sophistication and beauty and youth of the entire package. The details were for the women; those pathetic, miserable, insecure, jealous creatures who wanted to find an external flaw to make themselves feel better but couldn't. On the outside, I was perfection.

I dressed for them because if they knew what I did for a living, none of it would matter. My closet full of hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of clothing and accessories and jewels wouldn't matter.

Because I was an escort. A prostitute. A hooker.

No matter how expensive my outfit was, or how well-groomed I was, or how well I carried myself; I was undeniably cheap.

But since they didn't know my secret, I could pretend to be wealthy and lucky and happy. And I'd be damned if anything about me suggested otherwise.

Eric POV

I checked my watch for about the fifth time in the last half hour. I wasn't nervous about hiring an escort, though. As American Southerners say, "This ain't my first rodeo." It was more that I still had a shitload of paperwork left to do before I flew to L.A. tomorrow morning.

I needed to relieve some stress and quickly. Although it would have been ridiculously easy to pick up some woman in the bar area, (my best time was forty-three seconds), they always wanted to stay afterwards. I hate to be blunt or cruel...(well, who am I kidding, I love it so much that I've made it into a career, and a quite successful one at that)...but they're never worth the hassle that I inevitably encounter as I kick them out.

Which is why I have more recently begun to rely on the alternative: hiring one. It's pretty brilliant, actually. You call, they arrive right on your doorstep, fresh and hot. Like a pizza. A pizza without any kind of emotional baggage. My favorite kind.

Finally, at the forty-five minute mark, there was a sharp rap on the door. I briefly checked my reflection, but at 6'4 with blond hair, icy blue eyes, and a tight, lean physique, I rarely look anything less than handsome. Arrogant, confident; tomayto, tomahto. I know the truth and I don't lie to myself or anyone else. Life is too short and mine especially is too important to be filled with bullshit.

I opened the door and almost started at the vision in front of me. She was gorgeous. Her cool hazel eyes studied me with a good humor and intelligence, and I was pleasantly surprised. I knew this particular company was expensive but it came highly recommended by an associate. It seemed like I might actually get my money's worth, a rarity in today's world.

"Mr. Northman, I presume?" she said confidently.

I moved to the side and gestured for her to enter. "Please call me Eric."

She smiled and moved gracefully into the room. Her expensive perfume gently wafted past my nose and I braced myself from leaning in closer to inhale. Creeper, I scolded myself disgustedly. This was a business arrangement, nothing more or less, and I couldn't afford to get attached, no matter how attractively the present had been wrapped. I also couldn't believe that I was even having to remind myself of this.

"Thanks for not making the obvious, 'You'll be screaming it later,' comment," she remarked blithely. "You'd be amazed how many clients think that's original."

Despite my reservations, I laughed. She smiled at me a little crookedly, but with a real, genuine expression, and I unwillingly warmed a little inside.

After a pause, she shook her head. "I apologize, I just realized I didn't introduce myself. That was very rude. I'm Susannah."

I frowned slightly, even as I subconsciously registered the pleasing hint of a sexy, Southern drawl. "Susannah? Really?"

Her smile disappeared and her slightly professional manner returned. "Yes, is there a problem with that? I'm not sure if you've used our company's services before, but it is not expected that we will be whoever you want us to be. We will, however, do whatever you want us to do."

I was torn between being impressed by her candid attitude and being pissed off as hell by this demonstration of independent thought. It had been a long time since I had felt challenged by a woman. Especially by one who was in my employ, as I considered her to be at the moment.

I replied indifferently, "No problem. I assumed that you might have some kind of nickname. 'Susannah' is so old-fashioned, but I suppose it fits considering that you're a member of the world's oldest profession."

Shit, that was pretty low. In any case, I had expected the typical female response, either to be slapped or kicked or have her walk out indignantly or something of the like...but instead she backed down.

For some reason, it unnerved me that this otherwise spirited woman would let my asshole comments bother her. Logically, I knew that men paid her for sex, and this hadn't bothered me in the slightest about any of the other women, but Susannah seemed...I don't know, too good for this. I was perceptive when it came to a person's intentions and character, (it was practically a prerequisite of my job), and I sensed potential and determination and purpose in the woman standing before me.

There was an awkward pause. I waited it out, trying to appear nonplussed even as I secretly and eagerly anticipated her response.

Her posture slumped almost imperceptibly as she responded wryly, "If it makes you more comfortable, please call me...Sookie." She hesitated a moment, as if she was unsure of it. As if it had been sitting on a shelf, dusty and unused for a long time.

"Sookie..." I said with a low voice, trying it out. "...Sookie...Yes, I like it."

"Gee, Eric, I'm so glad," she snarked tartly, but a slight flush had bloomed on her cheeks. "Now that that's settled, we should discuss the terms or our agreement. My hourly rate is seventy-five hundred and includes everything except for anal sex, which is another five thousand per each occurrence. If there's anything you desire in particular, please don't hesitate to tell me. I'm here to please you, and it is important to me that you enjoy yourself."

As she spoke, she set her purse on the nearby glass tabletop and removed her coat, draping it over a chair. She was wearing a simple black scoop-neck knit sweater and a black pencil skirt, which flattered her curvy yet slim silhouette.

I couldn't wait to rip them off of her.

Instead, I moved to the other side of the room and busied myself making a drink. Although I should have been in a rush, suddenly taking things more slowly seemed much more appealing.

"Would you like anything, Sookie?" I asked as I carefully poured a single-malt Scotch.

"Yes, whiskey on the rocks, please," she answered softly.

I made the drink and moved to hand it to her. She thanked me before taking a small sip.

"No cocktail?" I teased lightly.

And the crooked grin was back. "You can take the girl out of the South, but..." her voice trailed off as my mind supplied, You can't take the South out of the girl.

"Oh, really? Whereabouts? I've traveled through there on business quite a few times; it's amazing how metropolitan some of the cities are, like Atlanta and Dallas," I said, realizing too late how snobby I sounded.

"Just a backwater town in Louisiana. I haven't been back since I graduated from high school," she shrugged, apparently a little embarrassed to reveal so much personal information. "How about yourself?"

"Oh, I'm from all over. My mother is Swedish and I was born there, but my father was American. I'm an army brat," I said distastefully. The term had always carried negative connotations for me, and there were some pretty awful incidents in my childhood that I'd prefer not to think of in the present company.

"You didn't enjoy moving so often, I take it? That's ironic; I would have given anything to have traveled or left the state even once as I was growing up," she replied sociably, taking another sip of her drink.

"Yeah, well, my father was a bit of a bastard," I blurted out. What The Fuck. This wasn't some goddamn therapy session; even if it had been, I still wouldn't have talked about him. There was something about this girl that made me feel vulnerable.

I seriously considered paying her for the hour and asking her to leave now.

Especially after seeing that her face had softened in response to my outburst.

"That's terrible, Eric."

I committed one of the cardinal sins of drinking and downed the rest of my single-malt, which was a considerable amount, in one gulp.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," I said gruffly. She set her drink down and approached me. I felt her reach past me and I stiffened, thinking she was trying to hug me. (How messed up was that? Hiring a beautiful escort and then instinctively being afraid to let her touch me...it was very unlike me, unless you count the 'not wanting to be close to anyone' part.)

Instead, she adjusted the volume on the radio behind me. The nostalgic melody of Etta James' "At Last" flowed forth as she stood up on her toes (as high as her heels would allow) and whispered into my ear, "Let's dance."

I didn't look at her but reluctantly permitted her to place my hand in hers. Her left hand slid up my chest and rested below my shoulder. My right arm wrapped loosely around her back, then moved down to tighten around her waist as we swayed slowly back and forth.

God, she was so warm and smelled so good.

No. No. No. This had to stop.

I finally regained control of myself and realized that I need to fuck her and get back to work.

I turned off the music and pulled back a little and leaned down to kiss her. She gently turned her head so that my kiss landed on her cheek. My hand moved from holding hers to gripping her chin and I tried again to kiss her on the other side, thinking that maybe she had misunderstood my first attempt. This time she jerked her head away and my kiss landed on her neck. I would have been angry but she had the most glorious neck...it was firm and tender and I was beginning to wonder if I was only just now developing a neck fetish that had somehow gone undetected for the previous thirty-two years of my life.

She moaned and I felt myself harden.

I murmured against that supple neck, "Why not the lips, Sookie?"

She said breathlessly, "Because I might fall in love with you, of course."

I pulled away instantly and was about to stutter a lame reply when I noticed her cheeky smile. "Oh, ha freaking ha," I said sarcastically, although a sense of panic was lingering.

"Eric, doll, stop pouting," she demanded as she deftly flicked open the buttons of my shirt. I gasped a little as she ran her nails down the middle of my bare chest before reaching up and sliding my shirt off my shoulders. "You can dish it out, but you sure can't take it," she observed astutely.

My gaze darkened and I spun her around to grind my erection into her backside. I pulled her sweater up and off of her in one smooth movement and my large hands roamed her soft tan skin. My left hand gripped underneath her hair and pulled her head to that side as I feasted on the right side of her neck. She rubbed against me like a cat in heat, and after flicking open her bra and throwing it to the side, my left hand reached around to tease her nipples. She continued to writhe against my touch. My right hand slid up her leg and delved past her thong. She was already wet, and the heat radiating from her was beyond intense. I wanted so badly to just bury myself inside of her at that moment, but Sookie was like the Scotch that I had only just consumed. She needed to be sipped and savored, not finished in one quick go.

As I slid one long finger inside of her, I stopped kissing her neck. She whined a little in protest, until I leaned down again.

"Sookie, fuck, you're so wet and tight...can you feel that? Can you feel my finger inside of you? Stretching you for my big cock?" I whispered urgently. She nodded erratically and whimpered, "Mmmm, more, please...Eric, please..."

I obliged by adding another finger, and then another. Her head had fallen back against my chest, her eyes were closed, and her breathing grew heavier and more labored. My fingers increased their pace and my thumb flicked across her clit before rubbing quick but deep circles against it.

After a few moments, she cried out and clutched me tighter as she found her release. Her eyes slowly opened and she tilted her head back to look at me upside down before smiling slowly.

I kissed her forehead, respecting the No Lips Rule. She twisted around and pushed me back until my knees hit the bed and I sat back on it. She unzipped her skirt and shimmied out of it before kicking off her shoes. The only thing she was wearing was a delicate beige thong. With her long blonde tresses and large breasts, she seemed like a reincarnation of Aphrodite herself.

Most of my thoughts disappeared when she pounced on me. And I do mean 'pounced.' She was standing and then suddenly she was straddling me as I lay back on the bed. I eagerly ripped off the thong, anticipating what might happen next.

She slid onto me like the glass slipper of Cinderella's. Even now, I can recall how tight, and wet, and hot she was. Over and over again, she rose and fell, and I was trapped in the highest level of purgatory. God, how I wanted to climax, but the friction between us was unforgettable, and I didn't want it to end.

She rode me into sweet oblivious oblivion, and for the first time in a long time, I forgot to aim for mutual satisfaction. I completely and totally bought into it. I came long and hard, panting into her embrace, wrapping my arms around her, crushing her breasts against me, shoving myself as far as possible inside of her. I remember her gasps, and how I summoned the strength to move my hand towards her clit, rubbing frantically until I felt her shuddering violently against me. Our slick, sweaty bodies rubbed against each other until she finally collapsed on me.

For a moment, the room was filled with the sounds of our heady breaths and, against my will, I discovered that I was gently stroking her back with my thumbs in slow, circular patterns. Fortunately, at that moment she seemed to sense the intimacy of my actions and rolled off of my torso.

"My policy is to accept half of the payment now, and for you to bill my employers for the other half," Sookie stated robotically as she reached for her clothes.

I hesitated. "Susannah…"

However, I was instantly silenced by the cool, calculated gaze that she sent my way as she dressed.

I cleared my throat, searching quickly for a neutral territory.

"I may want to hire you again. Should I do that through the company?"

She softened, although very slightly, and nodded shortly. I murmured that the money was in the wallet by the dresser and she moved towards it, then counted it efficiently and quickly before placing it in her purse. She turned back to me, almost as an afterthought. Her eyes betrayed nothing.

"Goodbye, Eric Northman."

As soon as she had closed the door behind her, my head fell back against the pillow and I was consumed by thoughts of the lovely, guarded, mysterious Susannah.

Her golden tan, her golden hair, her golden…ness.

Even when I remembered the pile of work I had to complete before catching my next plane, I was distracted by the idea of her.

I couldn't wait to come back to New York. Maybe I could figure out something easier. Like a way to not leave.

Sookie POV

As soon as I slid into the taxi cab, a huge sob escaped my lips. The driver was perceptive enough not to enquire about my emotional behavior.

When I arrived home, despite the normally wonderful distraction of my two roommates, I couldn't think of anything but Eric. He was tall and gorgeous, and rich, and the sex was amazing, true…but the way he looked at me…it was worth kingdoms and fealties. I'd never witnessed that look of adoration that had been in his eyes; it was beyond lust, it was worship.

And him. I wanted him. He was so broken and he barely seemed to recognize it. I wanted to fix him, to heal him. I wondered if he had sensed how much I had struggled to escape from his hotel room without surrendering to him completely.

God, I had to see him again.

P.S. Um, yes, Sookie's a hooka (I decided to take Lafayette's addresses literally). I know this may be a moral no-no for most people (and rightly so, haha), but consider that she wasn't always this way. And neither was Eric. I'm interested in exploring their background and what drove them down these roads…and lemons, b/c you can't have summer without lemonade. :D