Disclaimer: Charlaine Harris owns all.

Rated M for several reasons.

Chpt 50 The Measure of His Surrender

EPOV

It is instinctive to roll my body over hers as our kiss deepens and takes on a life of its own, to tangle my hands in her hair and push them into the soft down pillow either side of her head, to allow my body to force hers to mould to it as I press her into the mattress.

Instinctive to flex my hips into hers.

Instinctive to groan into her mouth as her nails dig into my shoulders and rake down my back, even blunted through my jacket. . . . Her arousal is a welcome scent, one that has been burnt into my memory for such a long time . . . . When she begins to gasp for breath I turn my attention to her jaw, her ear, the skin just below it, her neck . . . . Her scent, her taste and her reactions are intoxicating, as she pushes back against me.

One hand releases itself from her silken hair, needing to feel, ghosting over her upper body, palming her breast, fisting and bunching the soft fabric of her dress over her the corset at her waist. Dropping down to flex around her hip and fasten onto her buttock, squeezing the soft perfection of it before sliding down her thigh to lift it so I can grind into her more forcefully.

Sookie.

My lips find hers again, crushing them almost brutally as I invade her mouth with my tongue.

Her hands are attempting to push my jacket off my shoulders and I arch my body away from hers to help her, welcoming the burn on my skin through my shirt as she slides it down my arms. Flicking them quickly to shake it loose so I can hurl it the floor and press my chest against hers.

The fabric of her dress shifts beneath me, gliding over her corset, buffering our bodies, masking her softness.

Keeping our mouths latched together I kneel, pulling her body with mine so I can find the fastenings of her dress and rip them asunder . . . . the lacings of her corset quickly follow and I feel her deep intake of breath as I press her beneath me on the bed again . . . . grinding my hips into her over and over as my tongue plunges into her soft warm mouth . . . . her legs are fighting her dress in their desire to wrap around me and abruptly I lose patience with it . . . . ripping it away from her in one fell swoop, impatiently shoving the fragments away from us . . . . done my hand wraps around the corset at her waist, squeezing it, hearing both of them groan . . . . then it's gone too and my hand is on her soft flesh . . . . kneading it gently . . . . my thumb ranging up from her waist to brush over her ribs . . . .

Sookie.

I break our kiss and rise up on my arms to look down at her.

Her skin is flawless, golden and smooth, the finest silk, almost frictionless. Her plump breasts, released from the restrictions of her corset, are firm and proud, her nipples exactly the pale shade of coral pink I have always envisioned. Lacy white suspenders ride low on her hips, the straps reaching past the light smattering of blonde hair at the junction of her thighs to join with the shimmering silk stockings that reach midway up them.

Exquisite.

My throat is dry. My fangs too stunned to rip free of my gums as I look up to meet her heavy lidded gaze. Her hair is in disarray, her lips parted and swollen. There is no shame or regret in our bond as I let my eyes wander over her body, committing every detail to memory, only anticipation tinged with a little fear.

I have been such a fool to resist this for so long, when I have had such tantalising glimpses, have always known . . . .

Wanting to feel her scorching heat directly against me I remove my shirt quickly before pressing her into the mattress again with my body, my lips and tongue once again tangling with hers, anchoring one hand in her hair and allowing the other to wander, feel, learn, enjoy.

Her arm . . . the muscles flexing under my touch . . . . the outer swell of her breast . . . . the dips between her ribs . . . . the ebb of her abdomen and the swell of her hip . . . . the smooth curve of her thigh . . . . the unbelievably soft skin at the back of her knee as I lift it slightly, my body settling between her thighs . . . .

The sounds she makes. Soft sighs, quiet gasps, low moans. All of them vibrating through her luscious body and into mine, making me resonate like a tuning fork.

My gratified hand makes its way slowly back up her body, weaving into her hair as my lips work down to her throat.

"Eric . . . ." She moans as my other hand takes its turn, gliding down the opposite side of her on a painstaking exploration of its own.

My mouth has made its way down her neck, across each of her collar bones, the taste of her skin is better than any blood I have taken, except hers. Sucking, kissing, licking, nibbling, not rushing. When I reach the swell of her breast her body pushes up into mine and I sink a little further between her legs, rubbing myself against her inner thigh, her wanton moan sending blood straight to my throbbing erection.

Regretfully I arch my body away from hers, instantly missing the feel of our chests moving against each other, undulating my hips into her as consolation while I gaze down at her breasts. Her nipples are a darker coral now, hardening and swelling before my eyes.

Mesmerising.

I glance up to find her watching me through her hooded, darkened, eyes. Her hands, which have been roaming restlessly between my hair, back and sides, fasten behind my neck, tugging my head down to her heaving chest. I dip it obediently, flicking my tongue over one of her nipples, groaning as it stiffens and grows instantly, as she moans her own approval.

How is it possible that her skin does not taste the same all over, that her pores emit different but no less inflaming scents . . . . I could worship these breasts forever . . . . lose myself in them . . . . my other hand leaves her hair to fasten on her neglected breast, partaking of the miracle my mouth cannot share . . . .

Sookie.

"Eric . . . ." She moans again, her hands fisting my hair, encouraging me, holding me against the tremors running through her body.

Hand and mouth swap, marvelling at the subtle differences between each breast and the change in her reactions . . . .

Her hips are raising steadily against me now and I cannot wait much longer. Kissing the skin between her breasts I make my way steadily back up her body, worshipping it with my lips and tongue again until we are once again pressed together, our mouths almost touching, eye to eye.

My conscious mind, absent for the last hour or so, attempts a reappearance, but Sookie's breathy moan and impatiently writhing body sends it scurrying away again, my own epic lust suggesting it does not come back any time soon.

Instinct wants. Instinct has been waiting forever for this. Forever . . . .

"Eric . . . . Please . . . ."

For all the passion of our kisses on this bed the escalation as my mouth crashes into hers this time is titanic, threatening to undo me, take me apart and re-make in a different arrangement. How does she do that? Am I not the one with the thousand years of experience?

My free hand makes its way down her body quickly this time, my own making room for it as it slides between us to test her readiness. I can smell it . . . . I already know . . . . but now I can feel it . . . . liquid heat . . . . slick fire . . . . burning oil . . . .

My finger grazes over her clitoris and her reaction, the hiss, the buck of her hips, the blush on her skin, nearly sends me over the edge. No woman has ever affected me like this. Ever. My own urgent need slips away. I want to see, I want to feel, I want to add her reactions as she comes undone to the perfection already stored in my infallible memory. Slowly but remorselessly my thumb begins to circle the soft flesh covering her most sensitive nerves, one finger alternating between teasing her opening and swirling through the wet velvet of her.

Every immaculate reaction she has shown me so far escalates, her breathing, her moaned yet incoherent words, the flush on her golden skin, the sensuous undulation of her hips, her scent, the way she opens herself to me, the way her eyes burn into mine as I watch . . . .

Wanting to tease, prolong, revel, I slide my finger just inside her, circling it around the clenching muscles in time with the movements of my thumb. Her moans, though still soft, grow louder and I know it's time. My finger slides into her, and fuck, the heat, the moisture, the tightness . . . . the . . . . what?

"Sookie!"

My bare back is pressed against the grainy wood of her bathroom door. Her face and our bond are filled with hurt and surprise.

…..

I am pacing my room at a speed that would make even a watching vampire nauseous.

She is naked in her room and I am embarking on a walking holiday in mine.

Virgin.

Virgin, virgin, virgin.

Fuck.

I thought I believed, understood, that she was innocent of all the manipulation and wiles. Clearly I did not. This? This is how innocent, of everything, she really is. And I have no defence against it.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Me? Mine?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I have, at various times, believed, known, her to be many things. But this . . . .

What do I do with this?

I know what to do with this, breaking new ground is hobby of mine, deflowering virgins . . . .

But this is Sookie.

Why? Why me?

Me.

She is so much more than I have ever accused her of being.

And she is all I want.

SPOV

I hadn't the energy to shower so I scrubbed my face clean of makeup and brushed out my hair, shoving it into a messy ponytail, discarding my lingerie on the bathroom floor. Unwanted, like me.

Aimless, useless, hovering in front of the mirror in the subdued light.

Uncomfortably numb.

I don't know what I was thinking.

Oh right, I wasn't thinking, at least not with my head.

Why did I push him? Why?

I should have just taken myself off to bed, alone. God knows I had plenty I could have been thinking about while I waited for sleep, not even all Eric related this time.

I blame the tux and the stupid kiss earlier. And the champagne. I should not drink. I possibly even blame Niall, for winding me up, heightening all my senses until I desperately needed an outlet for my pent up energy and frustration.

And of course I blame me. For wanting him so much, for wanting him to be able to ignore what I am, for wanting him to be something he isn't.

I'm trying to think about this sensibly but it isn't easy. Tears are pricking my eyes. What is probably the most handsome man in the world just ran away from my bed, almost screaming. A girl's allowed to find that painful even if she isn't in love with him. Which I am.

I stare at my miserable reflection in the mirror.

Oh Stackhouse. What am I going to do with you?

You don't want to wait tables. You don't want to be a fairy. Your Great Grandfather's an asshole yet the only offer on the table. You want a man you can't have and even when you looked a million dollars you couldn't manage to lose your virginity to him.

My shoulders are slumped and I look as defeated as I feel.

I'm going to bed. I'll get some sleep, borrow another car from Vladimir in the morning, go home. I don't see how that's going to fix anything but at least it's a plan.

Turning off the light I yank the door open, plunged into blackness and walking straight out into a broad, hard, chest.

His arms lash out, closing round me to prevent me rebounding onto the bathroom floor.

I can't be bothered to move, besides my cheek seems to have adhered to his smooth, cool, skin.

"I did not realise you were a virgin."

"We're not obliged to carry a card in our purses Eric." I don't mean to sound bitter but I can't help it and its better than squirming with embarrassment.

"I am sorry." His voice is barely more than a whisper. "I was not expecting it."

I want to ask him why on earth it would make any difference but the Eric light inside me is re-tuning to my heartbeat, spreading its warmth through me and it's all I can focus on, the pulse of it leaching away my hurt. That and his delicious smell.

"Why would you offer yourself to me?" His voice is gentle, coaxing, and I really want to answer him but I'm not going to. Nuh uh. No.

"Sookie, why me, why now?"

"I don't know." I whimper, my lips brushing his skin as they move. "It just felt right . . . . I guess . . . ."

"And now?"

Now? You rejected me, shredded my self-esteem. Reminded me, again, that I don't know you as well as I think I do. I'm in my rattiest pyjamas and my fluffy bunny feet slippers. I don't feel remotely sexy or alluring. You're not kissing me like our lives depend on it and you're not running your hands over my naked body like it's the only thing in the world you can feel, I can't see your eyes from down here in your amazing chest and you're not driving me crazy with desire.

But I want you to be . . . .

His huge hands are cradling my back and one of them slides up, curling into my ponytail, pulling it until I have no choice but to look up at him. The vampire blood is still doing its thing, my eyes have adjusted to the darkness and I can see clearly into his.

"You think I do not want you?" The throaty, low, intense quality of his voice makes my stomach turn over slowly and I can feel the heat from earlier liquefying my muscles.

"I know you want me Eric. I can feel it in our bond. You just don't want me enough."

He laughs, bitterly, pulling my ponytail a little harder, stretching and baring my neck, bending his head to run his nose lightly over the column of my throat, tightening his hand on my lower back to pull our bodies flush together until I can feel his 'want' pressed against me again. I think I may be moaning.

"How much is enough Sookie?" He whispers into my skin, his tongue darting out to taste me.

"Ungh." My eyes roll back in my head.

Knees, must lock knees, must remain upright under own power.

He pulls back from my throat, eyes burning into mine again.

"Tell me what you want Sookie, I am giving up, giving in, I am yielding to you." His voice and face are raw. "You are winning. At least let me hear you say what you want."

Nuh uh. No. Never.

"I want you Eric, all of you . . . ."

Oh.

His deep bass groan vibrates through both our bodies and then his mouth slants down over mine, his tongue plunging inside me, pulling a response a gasping, grasping, response from every cell in my body. Swamping the Eric light with its sheer power . . . .