It's About Power
Chapter 2
He showed up promptly at seven o'clock, just as the sun disappeared behind the sagging cypress trees that dipped over the cemetery near the old family farmhouse. I was sitting on the porch swing in a swirly skirt and a cap-sleeved butter yellow tee shirt when he walked out from among the headstones and crossed the expanse of our front lawn. I heard his shoes shuffle on the gravel. I got to my feet and leaned against the wooden railing while I waited for him to saunter up to the house. He'd combed his hair and scrubbed his face. He looked cleaner now, but still had a woodsy scent, as though he slept under the earth. I admired his pressed tan trousers, his clean blue and white striped shirt with the two buttons opened at the collar. He was loose and casual, but still trimmed enough to have tucked his shirt tails neatly into the waist of his pants. His eyes stretched out like high beams and greeted me long before the rest of his body arrived.
"Good evening," he said in that cold voice that sent shivers down my spine. I wanted to curl up in front of the radiator when I heard him speak. It was still eighty degrees outside, a proper Louisiana September night. His hand darted out from where he had tucked it into his pants pocket. He took my hand from my side and lifted it to his lips. He kissed my skin. I felt a surge of lust that I could barely contain.
"Good evening, Bill," I breathed. It was all I could do not to squeak, to jump up and down, to push him down the stairs and onto the grass. I didn't care how we did it, as long as I could have him, as long as he would have me.
"Come, I'll take you for a walk in the woods." Bill said. He outstretched his elbow and I looped my arm around his. He tucked me against his side and we walked down the porch steps, across the dewy grass. I noticed as we walked that he hadn't asked. He hadn't suggested. He had made a decision, and we had done it. I loved that. I didn't feel my independence surge up and try to barrel me over. I didn't ache to tell him no. No part of me wanted to do anything else, and if it did, it just wasn't as important as what Bill wanted. I followed his lead as we skirted the edge of the cemetery. He took me down the winding path amongst the graves.
"Tell me about yourself, Sookie," he said. Oh Lordy, how I loved the way he said my name. He lingered on the o's, making an ooh sound with his tongue.
"Well, I live with my Gran up in the house there. I have a brother, Jason. He's older than me, works for the road crew. I've been up at Merlotte's for a few years now as a barmaid. I like it. It's not the best or most interesting work ever, but it makes me happy." I ruminated on what else I should reveal to him. If nothing else, he was a vampire, and that probably meant he was exposed to the unusual side of life. "Oh, and I'm a telepath. I can read people's thoughts."
"Indeed." He said succinctly. I didn't know what that meant, but something in his voice told me not to ask. It was the way in which he said it, the clipped sound of his voice, the sudden shutting of his mouth. "I knew you were unusual, Sookie."
"I guess we're just both good at reading vibes," I shrugged.
"Indeed." He said the same word again, and he said it in the same odd way. It jarred at my nerves, but only because I wanted so badly to know what he meant by it. Still, I didn't ask. Something in his demeanor told me not to ask.
"I live just across the cemetery," Bill said, regarding nothing in our conversation up to that point. He nodded to a great big old house across the cemetery. I'd seen it before, sure, but it had been quiet and boarded up for as long as I could remember. "My only living kin passed away recently and the deed passed back to me."
"Well I guess that's why you didn't mind driving me home the other night." I giggled.
"That was only one reason." He stopped and turned me to face him. My body swiveled in his hands like I was a model on a turning table. I found his eyes glinting in the darkness. He was a beautiful thing to behold, a dark beast penetrating the cemetery from the encroaching woods. His arm slid around my waist and pulled me suddenly close. If he had had breath, I would have felt it on my skin. If his heart were beating, it would have altered my internal rhythm. His other hand rose up into my hair and clutched the back of my head.
He kissed me. I'd been kissed before, but never like that. His kiss wasn't anxious or desperate. He wasn't awkward or unsure of himself. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he knew exactly how to get it. He wasn't asking. Bill took me. He took my lips and he took my tongue. He yanked me closer and he groaned into my mouth. He was so sure, so confident, that I felt like I was drinking in dominance, shrinking back from it, fearing it and craving it. I couldn't break away when I needed to breathe. I squirmed, gasping for air, but still he tugged at me. I strained backward, pushing at his immobile shoulders. Finally he released me. I could have dropped to my knees.
"Jesus Christ," I gasped. I lurched against the strangling arm that held my waist. He wasn't ready to let go of me, and although I had just tasted a sliver of fear, a moment of life without precious oxygen, I wasn't ready for him to let go of me either. I wanted to be in that place again, immediately if not sooner.
"I can smell lust on your skin, Sookie," Bill said, his voice deeper than I had yet heard it. He was an abyss. His voice was as bottomless as his mind, and I wanted to swim and swim until I found the end. He lifted me up, right off the ground, as though I were a feather. His jaw was set and his eyes stared past me at the dark old house across the cemetery.
His shoes were silent on the porch steps. The door creaked open and slammed shut. He set me down on an old dusty couch in front of a brick façade fireplace. I could have watched him bolt around the house, but instead I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, he was pulling me to my feet. The fire was roaring, even though it was roasting outside. He had spread a fluffy fur rug on the floor in front of the hearth, and he left a few short candles burning on the mantle. There were no other lights in the room, so the flames played out on his skin. He was half in silhouette.
"I've never…" I started, but he placed a finger on my lips to shush me.
"Don't speak." He said gently but roughly, like fine grade sandpaper on a wooden floor.
His hands slid up under my tee shirt and he lifted it over my head. I raised my arms like a child undressed by her mother or father. It felt strange, but I went with it. As soon as the shirt was shed and discarded, his rough hands caressed my skin. He squeezed my waist and his long thumbs met over my belly button. I looked up at him, and his eyes met mine. I quickly darted my gaze away, and he chuckled at my shyness. The pit of his voice made my skin crawl.
I wanted to tell him I was nervous, even scared, but he had told me not to speak, and I wanted to please him. God, how I wanted to please him, to devote my body to him, to see pleasure and desire in his eyes. I wanted him inside of me and at the same time, I wanted to run screaming and never look back. I began to shiver in my nervousness, and that act seemed to excite him immensely. He bent his head to suck on my neck, to lick my clavicle, and he pressed my clenched fingers to his belt buckle. I had to will my hands to work, and even then it was a difficult and time-consuming process. His large hands roamed up under my skirt, squeezed my ass. I still struggled with the belt buckle. It seemed to take hours to loosen the metal clasp, and then I was confronted with the button. I tugged at it, gently and then forcefully. Bill was patient. He seemed to respond to my struggling. I could see his organ hardening, straining against his pants. I had never really seen a penis before. Nervousness shot through me like a lightning bolt.
Finally, I had the ensemble undone. I breathed, and I realized I'd been holding my breath for almost a minute. The air was a huge relief. Bill's hands rose up my back and touched my shoulders. He paused in the suckling of my breast, to where his mouth had migrated, to kiss my lips lightly. Then he pushed me to my knees. It was not a suggestive push. It was a forceful guiding, and I followed him. Every part of me wanted to reward his patience, to thank him for not bursting into laughter at my incompetence. I felt so ridiculous, and yet he had been so kind to me.
Do you remember the first time you saw a penis, especially at eye level? Was I really the only one intimidated by such a thing? I was fascinated by the way it seemed to rise up in front of my lips all on its own. Bill's fingers caressed my cheek. He traced my wet lips with his thumb. Though the prospect of putting his cock in my mouth scared me mightily, I was overcome with a burning desire to make him happy. Making him happy meant not refusing him. I opened my mouth timidly, and he slid inside.
I didn't know what to do. I've heard things sure, mostly from my friend Arlene, and sometimes from my friend Tara. That's it, though. I've never actually put my lips around a penis before. I gagged and wiggled backward on my knees. Bill's hand touched the back of my neck and held me in place. He thrust slowly in and out of my mouth. My jaw began to ache, but his noises of pleasure kept me from whining about my cramping muscles or my aching knees. I stretched up a hand to hold his hip, but he pushed my fingers away. I dropped them back into my lap. His moans increased in volume. I lifted my eyes to look at him, and his face was indescribable. The emotion, the raw desire, it was as plain as day on his taunt face. I began to rock back and forth, to enjoy myself because he was enjoying himself. He wrapped his fingers in my hair and held me still. My mouth filled with a flat-tasting liquid, vaguely reminiscent of an old blood smell. I gagged and sputtered.
"Swallow it," he said to me. He stroked my face and brushed his hands through my hair. I swallowed the mucus-like liquid with a great shudder. Bill dropped to his knees. He kissed my cheeks and lips. He brushed his cheek against mine and whispered against my ear. His face was rough with stubble.
"You did well, Sookie," he murmured. "For your first time."
"I'm glad I made you so happy," I replied, true delight in my voice. I wasn't faking it. I'd never wanted to see someone so pleased in my life, and now that I had, there was nothing I wanted more than to repeat it.