Author's Note: Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to either put this story on alert or, especially, review. It makes me smile to see your reactions. As always, thanks for reading.
Each teasing stroke of emotion and every little tingle of awareness only served to heighten his rabid anticipation. A myriad assortment of feelings- desire, want, hunger, need- had marched through him like conquering soldiers, phantoms of the sword of her passionate sensation, set on an unyielding course, the domination of the Viking's cherished discipline and the erosion of his solitary willpower.
Yet, each of those powerful, primal urges had been unwittingly tempered by the softer side of sentiment that had snuck in without warning as he awaited nightfall, a silent, cunning assassin that trapped him, ambushed him with the absolute need to know more about their fragile originator. About her.
He wasn't pleased. And, yet…
"Ginger, dear," Eric passively intoned for the nearly useless female's benefit because he didn't want to spook his waitress with the tangled, morass of ferocious need that boiled hotly below his surface calm, "what happened to the wine bottle that was on my desk?"
His employee looked blankly around his office, past the desk in question scattered with a rainbow of invoices, flyers, and mundanely standard business correspondence. Her muddled eyes seemingly looking for the elusive pot containing the elixir of his golden existence that would never materialize from its hard working surface before droning out a paltry explanation, "Long Shadow told me to mix the Sangria for tonight, Master," she scampered to reply even in her dazed state. "So I thought I was supposed to use it, since it was sitting right out there but Sookie didn't think it turned out right."
Closing his eyes in mounting frustration at the casual mention of his tormentor's unusual name, Eric focused on the utter stupidity of his overly glamoured server who'd used the emergency cask of his own blood for the alcoholic beverage instead of the packaged mix they purchased specifically for this cocktail. Pointedly, the bar owner purposefully looked at the metal shelf across from his desk and coldly instructed, "That bottle there, the one with the label clearly attached to it that reads Monin Red Sangria Flavor Syrup, that is what Long Shadow meant."
"Oh, Master, I'm so sorry," the blonde nearly tripped over her own words in a rush to apologize for her idiotic blunder. "It won't happen again."
"Indeed," was the only absolution he cared to extend toward the vacuous minion that he and his underling vampires had created. How could he justly punish the loyal little blood bag when her lack of intelligent thought was, in part, due to her long standing association with his kind.
Soon, he and Pam would have to come to a final resolution about Ginger's mortal plight but, until then, the Sheriff was relieved that the fang smitten waitress hadn't taken a testing sip of her own concoction as well or else he have been forced to drain her dry as the Sahara before opening. There was no way the Viking would have been able to tolerate, withstand, or endure the inane torture, the blatant tedium, of Ginger's shallow thoughts and inconsequential feelings for any amount of time.
Internally, he shuddered at the disturbing thought of being connected to such a squalid example of feminine humanity when, unbidden; thoughts of Miss Stackhouse firmly planted themselves in the fertile planes of his mind. That flower of Southern womanhood bloomed with innocently lush petals just waiting to be plucked. She was a shiny, warm, searing kaleidoscope of the better mortal emotions. The feel of her urges was utterly titillating and wholly distracting after keeping his solitary counsel for so long so she might just make a captivating pet for a while.
His lengthier interest in her was unexpected, surprising, even revitalizing and, yet, Eric wasn't entirely sure that he liked this new development regardless of the long forgotten heat of the sun that poured into him, beat down upon him, and made him burn with more than just the blistering superiority of his vampire senses. No, he wasn't at all certain about this change when his own blood suddenly stepped in tune with her pulsing life in a secret tango that entwined them together in the most intimate of dances.
Curtly, Eric hurriedly dismissed Ginger with the cold slice of his steely gaze toward the door, the waitresses' error already pardoned by his outright need for her hasty departure as the strings of another woman's desire strummed through him like a siren's needy call. Automatically, his body answered as the temptresses' dreamy tempo increased, waltzed through his hard frame, sensually pulled him under with an erotic grace long forgotten by his undead flesh as he helplessly surrendered to the need spiraling out of control in the untried depths of his innocent partner.
.oOo.
A mist of steam blanketed her naked limbs in moist protection, sheltered her slender form, and shielded her from the cold reality that lay just outside the cocoon of desire that wetly wrapped around her. Liquid warmth spread over her, slipped untamed down her womanly curves like the slow, torturous rasp of a lover's greedy tongue and made her involuntarily sigh.
Humid want caressed her flesh, lapped at the silken covering of her quivering form giving voice to the unspoken need that nearly screamed from every wanton particle of her over stimulated being. Desperately, she knew that her flesh needed something, anything, even the strange touch of the faceless man that knowingly slid into the shower behind her.
Hard muscle and coiled sinew encased her in cold relief as his low tone whispered a soothing promise along her overly sensitive ear, ""Shhh, lover, I am here."
Yes, yes, he was. All of him.
Thick.
Solid.
And, so very ready.
Frantically, she crushed the smoldering arcs of her feminine backside shamelessly against him- searching, seeking, and yearning- for whatever would assuage the foreign hunger that gorged on her natural inhibitions, leaving her famished as his powerful digits bit into her womanly form. Her pebbled nipple glistened like a luscious cherry atop the scoop of her pale breast cradled in the masterful bowl of his hand and she longed for him to devour the sweet banquet she so willingly laid bare for him.
Slowly, teasingly, her unknown admirer trailed long, tapered fingers down the slick warmth of her skin to expertly spoon the fire of her mound, melting one chilled length into the molten heat bubbling inside her. The sinuous movement of his fingers sent flames of yearning licking at the bud of her passion with each sure, strong, sweep over her fevered womanhood.
She was lost, drowning in the blazing waves of carnal bliss that crashed over her from the merciless talents of her nameless lover. His sharp points of pleasure dragged along the slender column of her neck, relentlessly pulled her under toward the oblivion of ecstasy found beneath his white pillars of immortal delight.
Immediately, she was tense, anxious, and restless for the savage release she'd never experienced before and equally frightened of this new intimacy all at the same time.
"Easy, Sookie," he soothed before her novice unease made her shrink away from his heavenly proximity and his even more divine touch. Gravelly, his deep tenor rolled over the rough edges of her misgivings, grinding down her minimal resistance with his smooth oath, "I always take care of what is mine."
The hard length of his fangs pushed against her tender flesh, drawing little pricks of blood as they slowly breached the surface of her skin, sinking into the raging inferno pumping furiously through her veins, and tearing away her innocence in one languid swallow.
His guttural moan echoed through the tight enclosure, rippled over her body with the aftershocks of their mutual gratification as he harshly swore, "This is only the beginning."
Rapture whipped through her with unbridled pleasure as the rugged terrain of her lover's body demanded total submission as he expertly guided them on their carnal journey to a ultimate satisfaction only whispered about in the most sinful of dreams.
.oOo.
Cold rivulets washed away the remnants of her spent desire; the watery tendrils swept away the dream induced euphoria with a thorough finesse that reminded her of the nameless stranger's all too adept fingers. Somehow her body was still tired even after her unusual nap, her legs were heavy; loathe to move from her splayed position in the tub much like a lazy coon dog laying under the awning of a shady porch on a sweltering afternoon.
If the chattering of her teeth weren't vibrating against her jaw like a relentless jackhammer, Sookie would have felt guilty about falling into a trancelike sleep while lying down in the shower to bask in it like it was a warm summer rain gently kissing her naked skin with chaste little pecks. She'd probably have felt even more shame in the way her body had obviously taken her rampant desire into hand as well but, since the barmaid was about to grind a hole in her own bones because she was freezing, Sookie quickly turned off the taps instead and rapidly got down to business.
The soft loops of her sumptuous cotton towel seemed more like course sandpaper against her overly tender skin but the barmaid ignored the not so minor discomfort as she hurriedly dried her chilled body. She was almost desperate in her need to cloth herself, to cover over the visceral memories left on her frame with the haze of normality that getting dressed would bring.
Nervously, Sookie rushed through combing out the lumpy snarls in her hair that seemed more apt to have come from her lover's seeking hands than from her self-induced passion. Ruthlessly, she tugged on one particularly difficult knot while a blush guiltily skipped along her features in the mirror even though the telepath knew that none of her recent indiscretions had actually been a tangible recollection. They'd all just been a wildly fantastic dream.
Yet, even with her subconscious at fault for her wistful notions, what the hell had she been thinking?
Or, not been pondering, as the case may be like Sookie really needed some unknown vampire to star upfront and very lengthily center in her personal fantasies no matter how scandalously wicked his body might have been and she didn't mean in a sadistic, evil way either. She'd meant in the breathless, panting, and, oh so, delicious manner that set her blood to racing again.
Damn.
The barmaid didn't need this type of distraction after being abruptly confronted with the more basic instincts of the fanged set as it was laid out in black and white formality on her job application earlier that day. Desperately, Sookie just wanted to forget all about her foolish trip to Fangtasia and the necessity that had driven her to apply their in the first place, however, she'd never been that lucky.
Walking toward her closet, Sookie surreptitiously snuck a glance over her shoulder just in time to see the brilliant glowing orb sink below the tree lined horizon of her woods, its final rays waving a dark farewell with the shadows cast by its retreating form. She wasn't ready to say goodbye to its fiery warmth as it died for the day but, in this like so many other things, Sookie had little choice.
Ruefully, thoughts of her beloved Gran came to mind as she hastily slipped one of her notoriously simple dresses over her head not wanting to bother with anything more constricting for her habitual visit knowing that she'd undoubtedly wind up sitting criss-cross applesauce at her grandmother's recently buried knee. Unfortunately, she was already too used to plunking herself down in the soft grass and clover that covered her Gran's unmarked resting place like a string of emeralds that the earth had selflessly offered up as a natural sign of respect toward her departed kin knowing that the dignified woman had deserved so much more than Sookie's meager budget would ever afford.
Resolutely, the barmaid put aside the gloomier aspects of her troubles, wending her way out of the house and toward the old cemetery that bordered her property knowing that somehow, someway, just spilling another day's worth of her rudimentary secrets to the woman who'd raised her would make it all better because, really, how much worse could her life possibly get?
.oOo.
It felt like crimson need dripped from his distended fangs, the ghost of her exquisite taste floated across his tongue making him doubt the very senses the Viking had spent the last millennium relying upon.
Slowly, Eric came out of the paralyzing stupor of desire that the sunny little temptress had tightly woven around him with her radiant, slumbering need. His fists clenched angrily at his sides, the feel of his empty palms suddenly alien to him as they already missed the sweet morsels of flesh they'd held as he'd greedily pounded into a flawless womanly perfection that even his most revered Gods couldn't have fashioned.
Sookie was hallowed ground, the majestic embodiment of something even greater than his fabled Valhalla, but she couldn't possibly be real for no mere human could ever become so sacred to him.
It all had to be a lie, an illusion of the blood connection they'd unwittingly formed.
Either way, it mattered little to Eric now.
The gamut of emotions that he'd mercilessly ridden this afternoon, no matter how inconceivably pleasurable, weren't something he was willing to endure for much longer. Originally, he'd thought her the better choice when Ginger was the other option and entertained fleeting thoughts of keeping her but Sookie's passions had taken control of his mind and body like a necromancer's damning spell. She would weaken him, put an irreparable crack in his indomitable façade and that was something the formidable Sheriff could never allow. What if one of his underlings had witnessed him coming to the most stupendous completion of his undead life from only the caress of the erotic images that she'd so easily forced upon him?
Fiercely, the Viking measured the last few remaining seconds until sundown by the futile beat of her heart pulsing through him. Her fragile existence annoyed him as her life source willfully traipsed through him like it had found the lonely court of a vampire soul that she could effortlessly reign over.
Not for long, Eric bitterly condemned his traitorous blood, for it currently fraternized with the enemy of his self-control and he would ruthlessly squelch its rebellion just like all of his other contemptible adversaries that no longer walked this earth.
Darkness came upon him as daylight surrendered its key to his bondage and sentenced his little bottle of sunshine to her death.