A/N: In which Sookie comes to a realisation, and decides to act on it. And then second-guesses herself, of course!

I realised, of course, after he'd gone, that it was most probably the amount of his blood I'd had that had made me dream so vividly of him (which, no doubt, he'd been well aware of all along) – and, of course, I'd just had a fair bit more. Though my aches and pains were now gone, and I was feeling remarkably sprightly, I dreaded to think what effect that might have on my dream-world.

I picked up the latest romance novel I'd been reading – helpfully entitled The Viking's Bride, it was a gift from Tara when she heard about the attack, and she'd given me a knowing wink that I'd tried hard to ignore – from where I'd put it on the floor before I'd dropped off. Okay, so, when I say 'dropped off', what I mean is, closed my eyes to… ah… visualise better a scene from the novel. Starring the Viking and his… new bride (blonde and blue-eyed, of course). And, well… Okay, that probably had something to do with my dreams, too.

I flipped open the book to where the bookmark was; under my scribbled note to myself in the margin ('anatomically impossible?') was a neat reply in Eric's handwriting: 'No, but you have to be very limber. Want to try?' I snapped the book shut in wide-eyed horror and mortification. Though I have to confess, I was also both intrigued, and very, very tempted. Strangely, I had a vision of myself dumping an entire bookshelf full of romance novels in his office, and demanding to know which of the sex scenes were actually viable or not. Possibly with demonstrations.

Maybe it wasn't just my dreams that were being affected by me having had his blood. Or maybe, I thought with an uncomfortable squirm, I should just admit to myself that there was… chemistry there. Big, big chemistry.

Okay, fine, I was lusting after Eric like I'd never lusted after anyone else, and had done from… pretty much the first time I'd seen him. And, okay, yes, I'd been with Bill, and gone into denial about Eric because it was my first relationship, and I desperately wanted it to work. And yes, maybe that made me a naïve idiot.

Maybe it was time to stop being an idiot, and face the facts.

I didn't love Eric, though if I was honest, I did have a certain sneaky liking for him; he had a zest for life that was very hard to resist. He didn't love me, but he'd admitted that he was fond of me; he'd mentioned vaguely that he 'didn't like having feelings', so presumably there was something a little more to it than me just being a useful asset because of my telepathy. He'd made it very clear that he wanted me; and though I hated to admit it, my body had been sending out some very strong hints that it would really like him too, please, thank you very much.

I ran my thumb up and down the spine of the book thoughtfully. So where did that leave me, then? I stared at the book, and suddenly had an idea. I smiled, and put my plan into action.

I drove back to Bon Temps from Shreveport as if the Devil himself were after me, having delivered my envelope to Fangtasia – ridiculous, as it was the middle of the day, and Eric wouldn't get there until after sunset. There was no going back now, I realised; the doors were shut, and I wouldn't be able to retrieve the envelope unless I had the extreme good fortune to run into Belinda (relatively sensible) or Indira (for a vampire, surprisingly sweet) before Eric picked it up, neither of which was looking good for me as I was working the afternoon shift at Merlotte's, which would run into the evening, and prevent me to from getting to the club before it opened to waylay either of them.

No, there was no going back now. Eric would pick up the envelope, and read what I'd written, and then I'd have to deal with the consequences.

I was so worried about what I'd done that I kept getting orders wrong, until Sam drew me to one side. "What's wrong, cher?" he asked me kindly. "You still upset over the attack? I said you shouldn't have come in for another day or two."

"I-I know," I stammered. "I'm sorry, Sam, I guess I thought I could do this, and…"

He patted my arm awkwardly. "I know, I know. But maybe you should take it easy for a while longer."

I nodded miserably. It had nothing to do with the attack, but I could hardly explain that to Sam. I pulled myself together, got myself through the rest of my shift, and went home with Sam's firm reminder that I wasn't to come in until the end of the week, and only then if I was feeling up to it.

I dragged myself home; it was early evening, and dark. I gave a sigh of part relief, part disappointment, that there was no Corvette outside my house, and let myself in.

Of course, I hadn't reckoned with the fact that Eric had flown over from Shreveport, and was sitting calmly at my kitchen table, waiting for me. "I got your message."

I took in a deep breath. My heart was pounding in my chest. "Oh," I squeaked.

I'd expected him to tease me, or gloat, or say something to embarrass me. He didn't. In fact, his demeanour was calm and steady. He studied me for a very long time. "You're nervous," he observed. He got up slowly, and crossed the kitchen towards me, as if worried I might bolt if he startled me. He halted when he was right in front of me, and reached out to touch my forearm. "Don't be." His tone was surprisingly warm and kind; I looked up at him, and there was gentleness in his eyes.

I felt very shy, and looked away again, but he simply slid his arms around me, and said nothing for a while. I relaxed, little by little, and in the end, wound up with my head resting against his chest, my arms around his waist.

Finally, he spoke again. "Did you have something in mind? Or do you want me to take the lead?"

"Um, I…" I swallowed nervously. "I haven't… I mean, I'm not… I've only been with Bill," I stammered.

"He's luckier than he deserves," he said softly, stroking my hair. He cupped my face gently, and ran his thumb over my cheekbone.

I pondered that response, which wasn't at all what I was expecting. In fact, none of this was what I was expecting. I swallowed again. "I mean, I'm not sure how… how this goes," I said nervously. "Could you…?"

He kissed my forehead. "Of course," he said gently. "But not here." He brushed his lips briefly to mine, and took my hand, giving it a light squeeze. He led me to my room, and turned on the bedside lamp as he perched on the edge of the bed. He patted the mattress beside him invitingly. "Sit beside me?"

I sat down nervously, wondering if he'd pounce, or something, but he simply shifted around so that he could ease me into his arms again. He kissed me gently, then pulled back. I gave him an enquiring look.

"I want you to promise me something," he said.

"What's that?"

"You'll tell me if you're uncomfortable, at any point."

I relaxed a little, and nodded. "Of course."

"Okay." Holding me to his chest, he lay back on the bed, and settled me down beside him. He went back to kissing me, still gentle and unhurried, his hands stroking and caressing. As one hand drifted over my breast, a hungry sound escaped me, and I leant into him, into his hand.

He wrapped his other arm around me, his hand on my hip holding me against him, and repeated the action, but this time his hand pushed my t-shirt out of the way, cupping me through my bra.

Then his fingers stroked my stomach and back, very lightly; it tickled a bit, and I giggled, wriggling. He smiled, and tickled my ribcage briefly; the laughter helped me relax. Maybe that was the idea. Either way, when his fingers found the button of my work pants, I wasn't so nervous. I'm really doing this, I thought in surprise.

"Magnificent," he said, gazing at me as he helped me out of my uniform.

I blushed. "Not so bad yourself."

He chuckled, and flipped open the bedclothes. "Might as well be comfortable," he said, in answer to my raised eyebrows. I slid in nervously beside him, jumping at the feel of his cool skin against mine. "If you've changed your mind, tell me," he said. "Would you rather stop here?"

I shook my head. "I don't want to stop, I'm just…" I shrugged. "Nervous."

"What is it that is making you nervous?" he asked solicitously. I was touched by his concern that I should be comfortable.

I remembered the words I'd said to him in my dream. "There's… a lot of you, and I'm not…"

He smiled, understanding, and laid a finger to my lips. "It will be fine, I promise you. I will make it so it doesn't hurt."

Maybe it's strange, but I believed him, and relaxed back into his arms, getting used to the feel of his body, naked, against mine.

He kept his movements slow and unhurried, his touch light and gentle, feather-soft. Unlike the needy, greedy passion of my dream, this was altogether slower and sweeter. His lips dropped the briefest kisses all over me, barely brushing my skin; but that light touch seemed to inflame every nerve-ending. I moaned aloud, clutching my hands in his hair, as his mouth reached my breast, which he'd been studiously avoiding up until that point. I trembled in pleasure as his tongue curled around my already-hardening nipple, laving and loving it before turning his attention to the other one.

When he kissed his way lower, pulling the bedclothes down with him to leave me lying naked on the bed in front of him, I thought I'd go up in flames. His tongue moved slowly over me, languorously, until my hips started moving with him, seemingly of their own accord, my hands bunched in the sheet below me. He ran his hand sensually up my leg, and eased it over his shoulder, then repeated it over the other side. I gave a shiver of pleasure as he shifted closer, his broad, muscular shoulders now braced against the backs of my thighs as I lay spread open to him.

"Keep your eyes open, watch me," he murmured, before bending his mouth to me again, this time covering me completely with a full, open-mouthed kiss. My hips arched, my toes curled against his back, and a strangled moan escaped me; he didn't stop, but went on, kissing me as if it was my mouth, until all I could see were stars. Even then, he didn't stop, but the kiss became even gentler, and one finger glided inside me, prolonging my orgasm.

I thought I'd died and gone to heaven, as I lay there limply, getting my breathing and heart-rate back under control. He crawled back up the bed, and held me as I calmed. I didn't think I could even speak. He stroked my hair, and murmured soothingly to me in what I guessed must be Old Norse. I surprised myself by snuggling closer to him; I hadn't known quite what to expect from him, but I certainly hadn't expected to be made to feel so cherished, as if nothing in the world was as important as my enjoyment.

I could love Eric, I realised; I could give him my heart utterly and completely and without reservation, if only I was sure he would want it. It wasn't a thought that frightened me, though; I was surprised and curious at the thought, but not afraid, even, for the moment, of getting my heart broken. I felt comfortable and at peace, drifting hazily in the afterglow in Eric's arms.

"We could stop now," he said softly, "if this is as far as you want to go."

I appreciated that, at every stage, he was checking I was still comfortable before moving on. It wasn't just because he was skilled and beautiful that people said sex with him was unforgettable, I realised, but because of his consideration for his partner's needs. He'd been incredibly sweet to me this evening, soothing my nerves and making me feel comfortable and in control. Never once had I felt afraid or reluctant.

"I need a little longer to recover," I replied, just as softly. "But I don't want to stop completely."

He smiled, and it lit his entire face up. "That is good."

A/N: Last chapter will be up soon - in which you'll find out what was in the envelope!