Here's a little vignette from the time period shortly after Rio and Eric have returned to the States from England; I can't possibly explain how this came out of watching a video of Doutzen Kroes (who IS Rio) on the catwalk… something about the way her thigh muscles bounced then clenched at each step…
Eric walked into the house and lifted his face, inhaling. He couldn't catch her sea breeze scent, so he softly said, "Fairest?" He didn't get an answer, but as he was listening carefully, he caught the sound of heavy breathing out back. Raising an eyebrow in surprise, he walked through the large main room and looked out the French doors. His hands froze on the knobs at what he saw.
His beloved was on the patio, stark naked except for her ubiquitous cowboy boots, crouched with his sword poised above her head. As he watched in astonishment, she lunged, swinging the heavy blade, and her movement was graceful and powerful like a tigress. The muscles in her arms and thighs clenched smoothly, controlling her movements perfectly. Her golden skin had a sheen of sweat and her hair was twisted on top of her head held with what looked like… he couldn't help but smile… yellow #2 pencils.
He cracked open the doors as quietly as he could, but she stood to attention, turning to face him in one elegant move. When she saw his smile, his fangs down a little, she broke into a big grin. Then, as if caught in the act of something naughty, she bit her plump bottom lip and shuffled a foot. She looked at him sheepishly, holding out the weapon.
"Your sword came today," she said. "I unpacked it to make sure it was all right."
Eric stepped through the doors into the moist, calm night, stripping off his black tee shirt as he went. He shook back his gleaming gold hair and ignored her comment. Moving behind her, he reached around and clasped each of her slender wrists in his large hands. "If you had hit your opponent with that swing, you would not have incapacitated him; he could have come back at you." Eric swung her arms and the sword in a fast arc, following her lunge like a ballroom dancer. It was a slash with a stab at the finish, designed to cut deep and disembowel.
They stood up together as one, Rio saying, "I see," before spinning inside his arms to face him, dropping the sword with a clang.
Eric's eyes widened and he almost snarled, "You dropped my sword!" But Rio held him, stopping him from reaching, pressing her breasts to his muscled chest. "Oh Northman," she chided, her green eyes dancing, "I made you that sword!" She was hot and damp and salty, and the press of her skin to his made him rumble low in his throat as he leaned down slightly to kiss her.
The kiss was slow and languorous; he explored her mouth with his tongue, before letting hers do the same to him. He drew back just enough to speak, "It is still very important to me: I won you with that sword. If you have dinged it, I shall have to punish you."
Rio tightened her arms around his smooth, hard back, pulling him even closer. She smiled into his eyes, saying, "Your logic is flawed, but I'm liking the sentiment." The look that came over her face was positively wicked as she leaned toward his ear. "Tell you what," she whispered, "let's fight for it."
Eric was startled, but she could feel his delight through their blood connection. He studied her face, his deep blue eyes sparkling. "You want to fight me," he stated. She nodded. "And the victor gets to…"
She nodded again, affirming, "Gets to punish the loser, yes."
His disengaged himself from her arms and went in the house. In a moment, he returned with a beautiful, very old-looking sword. He looked at her curiously: while he was gone, she'd donned his tee shirt, tying it in a tight knot between her breasts and rolling the sleeves up to her broad shoulders. He had heard of warrior women who strapped down their breasts with leather bands or lengths of fabric for fighting. He was aroused by the sight of her, tall, lean, and tanned, strands of her shimmering hair hanging loose, her breasts bound in his black shirt, her taut abdomen, narrow hips, and coltish legs naked but for her worn boots. He'd never known anyone—aside from himself—so comfortable in his own skin. Or her skin, as was fabulously obvious.
While he was admiring her, she had been gazing at the sword he held, her face rapt. "Oh Eric," she breathed, "It's extraordinary." He smiled at her appreciation, and held it out to her, "This is the sword my father gave me when I became a man."
She did not reach for it and shook her head, "Its magic is yours." He smiled broader, marveling at how perfect for him she was, before drawing himself up to full height, grasping the hilt of his sword in both hands, blade down. He bowed to her over it, his eyes never leaving hers.
She picked up the dropped sword and copied his movements exactly, returning his bow. The look on her face became very focused.
Eric stepped back in a crouch, raising the sword over his head; Rio had only a split second to wonder at his strength—the weapon was huge—before she leapt backwards from his lunge with a yelp. He was grinning maniacally, his eyes glittering, his fangs fully down. Okay, she thought, he was playing for real.
Her jump backwards had put her calves against a low stone wall that ran around two sides of the patio, connecting to a taller wall that blocked the driveway from the backyard. Without looking, she sprang to the low wall, and was running its length before he could blink. As he spun to follow her, she bounded like a deer onto the higher wall and dropped from sight to the other side. He jumped that wall in a vampire leap, landing almost silently next to his Corvette.
He couldn't see her, but smelled her crouched behind his car. He threatened, "Fairest, if my car gets scratched…" and she laughed, springing from behind the car and dancing away down the drive. He moved around it to pursue her, and realized she was getting close to the street, and she was not exactly dressed for it. He backed along the car and up to the wall where it connected to the house; now he was in a corner, his back protected.
Rio lowered her weapon and sauntered up the drive toward him, her hips swinging a bit, an evil grin curving her lips. He went into a crouch, anticipating her launch, but what he wasn't expecting was for her to leap at the drainpipe and the windowsill next to it. With a clatter and a scramble, she was on the roof. She was going to play like that, was she? He flew up to join her, and she exclaimed, "No fair! I can't fly!"
But that was a girl's game and he merely swung his weapon at her, testing. She jumped back, blocking his swing with a clang of her sword. But the momentum of his swing unbalanced her and her boots scrabbled on the roof tiles. She started to slide, her arms flying out, and he grabbed her, pulling her in hard for a kiss, but she bit his lip, drawing blood. His anger flared and she felt it, her eyes dilating to solid black. He growled, "You are not playing fairly, either, my beloved."
Rio showed no recognition of his words as she licked his blood from her lips. She launched off the roof, galloping into the backyard, and he leapt across the peak of the roof to follow her down. As he landed, she used the split second to dash in close, slicing with the point of the sword. He roared at the sting of the blade down his chest and he smelled his own blood.
Suddenly, he was a machine, slashing and swinging as he charged her, but to his amazement, she stood her ground, blocking his assault with surprising strength—he had only a second to think about all her fae power plus the recent addition of his blood to her system, before she dropped to the grass, thrusting upward. He felt the night air on his thigh, before he lunged at her, crying out, "My favorite jeans!"
Rio laughed, tauntingly, ducking below his arm and hitting him hard across his back with the flat of her sword. He fell to the ground with a whomp, but was up again just as fast. Now there was a fierce set to his face and a feral gleam in his eyes. Rio knew she was in trouble, because she could feel his vampire determination harden until he was a mountain of stone, steel, diamonds.
This time when he came at her, he was completely silent, and all she could do was block his swings and lunges—there was no time for a rally to drive him back and she was losing ground, pressed backwards toward the hedge and fence at the back of the yard. She was panting heavily, wondering if she should draw any power from the earth, but his relentless assault blocked all thought from her head as she defended herself. With the deafening twang of metal on metal, their blades hit, slid along each other, and locked at the hilts, their hands and arms wedged between them, his warrior face in hers, her muscles trembling to hold him back.
His glowing eyes bored into hers and he hissed at her, "You will not win." A trickle of sweat ran down her temple and his eyes flicked away from hers; she shoved with all her might and to her total surprise, his boots slipped on the damp grass and he fell backwards. With a leap, she followed him down, using her own weight to drive him into the ground, her legs clamped along his sides, the blade of her sword under his chin.
She should have known she wouldn't win, because just as she pressed the blade against his throat, she felt his draw across her back right over her kidneys with such exquisite control that the slice barely cut her.
Her shock lost her the fight, because he flipped her down on the lawn, driving his mouth fast and hard on the cut across her back. She kicked her boots, trying to strike him, before she realized he was licking the wound, cleaning and healing it, and she relaxed. All the tension and fatigue drained out of her and she gave herself up to the cool, gentle rasping of his tongue.
The grass was cool and damp, the air heavy with Louisiana humidity, and Eric's long hair tickled her skin as he bent over her. She heard cicadas thrumming and then her vampire began to rumble for her. Well, she thought, even by losing, I win, and Eric read her emotions in the blood, because he kissed and licked his way up her spine, chuckling a little.
She stretched her arms out to her sides, and opened her legs a bit. He hovered over her, inhaling her heat. Then with delicate fingers, he brushed from the tops of her boots up the inside of her thighs, softly stroking her opening. She sighed, lifting her splendid rump up, encouraging him to touch her more and deeper. He needed no encouragement.
As his fingers slid lower to work her nub, he inserted his thumb, curling it forward to find her sensitive spot, massaging. Rio mmm'd her pleasure, rocking her hips a bit, indicating she wanted more. Eric leaned in close, kissing and nipping, and sucking the flesh stretched tight on her perfect bottom. Rio jerked and moaned when she felt his fangs grazing her skin and he responded by increasing the pressure of his fingers and thumb. She began ever so softly to singsong his name, something she had always done from the first time they'd had sex, and he could feel through their blood that she was building to her climax, when he…
… withdrew and stood up. For a second Rio was still and quiet, before she flipped over to look at him, her dismay almost comical on her face. Eric stretched his arms over his head, taking his time, feeling her eyes on the bulge in his jeans, before he said, to no one in particular, "It was a busy night; I think I'll take a shower." And he stepped in the house, his footsteps fading away.
Rio lay on the grass for a long moment, catching her breath. She sat up, pulling the pencils out of her hair, letting it tumble down her back. She twisted out of his shirt, then grabbed each boot in turn, yanking them off and dropping them in the grass. With the grace and silence of a cat, she oozed into the house and down the hall.
She heard the shower running, and the way the water splashed told her Eric was standing under it. There was no door on Eric Northman's gigantic bathroom, because a bathing room was all it was: there was no sink and no toilet; he simply didn't need them. The shower area was lined with large squares of marble and there were no ledges, doors or curtains. She stopped just inside the room, watching her gorgeous vampire standing, back to her with water running down his hair and skin, and steam curling up around his legs. It was a magnificent sight.
With all the stealth imbued by her fae heritage, she slipped up to his back, sliding her arms around him and down, circling his bountiful hardness with both hands. He rumbled and rocked his hips, murmuring, "What took you so long?"
Rio responded to his question with her hands, pulling his foreskin back and holding it tight, while the fingers of her other hand moved forward to drum and pluck and gently squeeze his sensitive head. "Hlin," he sighed, and she slipped around him, kneeling as she did. She nibbled him with her avid lips and pressed him with her tongue. "Freya! Your mouth is hot," he gasped.
She sucked him in, moving her fingers to carefully tickle and bounce his balls, and he tangled his fingers in her hair. "Ah Fairest!" he cried as she increased the suction and speed of her sucking, taking him deeper with each stroke. She backed off him, using her hands to keep up the rhythm, nipping his thighs hard, then harder as he jerked. "Ooooh Northman," she crooned, "you are so hard. You are so big, Northman. I can't wait to feel you fill me up." He looked down at her, his eyes blazing, and he reached to pull her to her feet. But just as he lifted her up, she danced from under the water and snatched up a towel, wrapping herself. To his utter surprise, she started wringing out her hair, and with a smug look on her face, she said, "Oh sweetie, I'm sorry; did I interrupt your shower?"
The look Eric gave Rio was daggers, but she turned with insouciant slowness and sauntered from the room. With vampire speed, he twisted the water off and charged her, tackling her to the bed. He was soaking her, the towel, the bedding, and the rug, his hair plastered across his face as he fought the wet towel off her and flung it to the floor.
Rio was writhing under him, trying to escape, but he held her with his strong hands and his weight. She actually tried to knee him—which wasn't particularly smart—but all she got for her trouble was his mouth rammed on hers with tooth-cracking force—and that wasn't smart either, because what he got was a blistering sizzle of fairy light across his face and shoulders. He bellowed and snatched her wrists in his hands, but she burst into light, blinding him and scorching most of the hair off his chest. He leapt from the bed, holding his arms over his face to protect his eyes. He squinted at her, floating above the bed, streamers of white outlining her.
"Truce?" Eric asked, his eyes streaming pink vampire tears. Rio instantly extinguished her light, falling to the mattress and bouncing a bit. Eric approached cautiously, watching her face for any sign she might attack, but she lay still, a slow smile curving up the corners of her mouth. He could see that he'd bruised her lip: it was already a bit puffy. She smiled even more at the look of embarrassment on his face. "I've hurt you," he said, sitting next to her and gently touching her lip. She kissed his fingertip. Then she traced the fading pink mark on his chest that was all that was left from her sword cut, saying, "I heal almost as fast as you do. It'll be gone tomorrow."
"I want to kiss you now," Eric said looking at her mouth.
"Maybe if you're extra careful…" Rio offered.
"But I won," he was almost pouting. "I get to punish you."
"Well," Rio looked thoughtful, "you only have to be careful of my mouth." Then she opened her arms, inviting him to join her. "Besides," she said as he lowered himself to her, "don't you think we've punished each other enough for now?"
"We will see," Eric responded, and those were the last words spoken all night.