Chapter Fifty-One: Playing Pretend
The doors of the car all shut simultaneously like we’ve practiced this exit over and over. Once we’re in the safety of our car, and pulling out of the “church” parking lot, I reach into my purse and take out the little bug sweeper.
Once we’re out of anyone’s line of sight, I scan the entire front of the vehicle before Jason sweeps the back and what part of the trunk he can reach. “Clean,” he declares before handing me the tiny wand.
“Eric, is there enough time for you to die for the day and get your normal look back?” I ask my husband, maybe a little desperate sounding. I have Sarah Newlin’s fantasizing in my head, and the little thrill of my husband’s makeover has been splashed with frigid water. And he flirted with her!
“I do… If I do so immediately upon returning to the hotel-”
“Please do,” I suggest rather sternly.
“Your excitement for it has waned that quickly?” Eric asks, more than a bit disappointed to hear it.
“The second my fake husband flirted with the enemy’s wife,” I pout.
Eric laughs a bit, “It was hardly flirting,” he insists.
“It was enough to get her mind creative, and now I’m seeing all her fantasies instead of my own,” I complain.
Eric raises his eyebrows in surprise, “You have never caught a human fantasizing about me before?”
“All the time.”
“What is different about this time?”
“Did y’all forget I’m in the back seat?” Jason chimes from behind us. “Not that I’m really all that bugged about your sex life anymore, but we kinda have a lot of work to do before nightfall.”
I consider taking my brother’s interruption as the opportunity to change the subject. No one’s ever fantasized about my husband’s eyes before. There’s so many delicious features to daydream about, and nobody’s ever chosen his eyes. Sarah got that stare of his down perfectly in her mind. It was unsettling how she imagined that playful, intense stare when he looks up at me from between my legs. The look Eric gives me when I’m right on the edge and he’s deciding whether or not it’s time for me to tumble into oblivion-
Eric takes my hand, interrupting my reflecting, and kisses my knuckles. He doesn’t say anything, but those eyes. Those green eyes tell me he knows what I’m thinking.
“Can you at least take out the contact lenses?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he replies simply. Bracing his knee against the steering wheel, he reaches his free hand up and plucks out one lens and then the other. Next they’re thrown out the window, and my blue eyed devil is back. “Better?”
“Much,” I agree with a smile.
“All right, now that your sex life is back on track, can we get to business?” Jason groans from the backseat and I giggle.
“Of course,” Eric mumbles as I feel a little fluster fill the Bond. Aw, he’s embarrassed! It’s so rare that Eric feels that way that it’s almost like a special treat. He’s so damned adorable!
“I’m gonna call Godric on speaker and find out how Diedre’s doing,” Jason announces as he takes out his cell phone.
“Jason,” Godric answers halfway through the first ring.
“Hey, Godric,” Jason replies solemnly, “how’s Diedre doing?”
“Not very well,” Godric tells us. “Quigley is at rest with her so she is not left alone, but I fear she will try to meet her end.”
“Dang,” my brother whispers. “How bad’s the damage?”
Godric pauses before answering, “Her left side is in ruin. Her arm and leg are both gone. Ludwig is coming to tend to her this evening, but from what I could see, she might very well lose the right leg as well. The charring was terrible on it. Depending on how burnt through the femur is, Ludwig might suggest removing it and let it grow back from scratch.”
“How long does that take?” I ask with a touch of morbid curiosity.
“At her age, I would guess about two to three months if she continues feeding properly. If she does not feed enough, it could take five to six months,” Godric answers my question without judgement.
“Which means we have anywhere between two to six months to convince her not to end herself,” Eric points out. “Weakened as she is, she will not be able to remain aware during the daylight hours for some time.”
“She could still stake herself,” Jason chimes in.
“Quigley and I can prevent that for now,” Godric assures. “However, once she is healed, neither of us will be able to stop her from ending herself.”
We all sit in silence a moment, absorbing this. Jason and I aren’t close to Diedre, but I can tell by the Bond that Eric is taking this pretty hard. He’s had this undercurrent of sadness in the Bond since last night, and I know it’s because the Ancient Pythoness was killed. If he loses Diedre too, I think my husband would be very, very sad.
“What if Diedre found Cassandra again?” Jason finally interrupts the silence.
“The odds that Cassandra’s soul has been reborn yet is… Very unlikely,” Godric tells him.
“What if I know her soul will be reborn and that Diedre will find it?” Jason mumbles a bit nervously.
“What are you talking about, Jason?” Eric demands with more sharpness in his tone than I like.
“Just… No one get mad at me,” Jason replies meekly. “The Pythoness swore me to secrecy.”
“Jason!” Godric barks.
“The night of Eric and Sook’s wedding, the Pythoness showed me her own death. I guess she’d seen it for a very long time. If she didn’t die, a lot of ancients and a lot of humans would get killed. Diedre would die unless the Pythoness did,” Jason rambles out quickly. “But she saw herself reborn, I think. Or she saw Diedre meeting her real soulmate. I don’t know, but she saw Diedre Bonded after her own true death.”
“Who is her Bonded?” Godric demands.
“I don’t know,” Jason answers. “I was kinda just looking down at Diedre in that vision. She had a pair of arms wrapped around her. Looked like a man’s arms to me, but it was a quick glimpse. I had no idea what I was really seeing at the moment. Wouldn’t have even known about the Bonding if I didn’t recognize that look in her eyes. She was looking at whomever was holding her the way Cammie and Sook look at the two of you.”
There’s a long silence again before Godric asks, “Did it seem like you were looking from the perspective of the person attached to those arms?”
Jason is pondering a moment before he answers, “Yes.”
“That implies you were looking from Cassandra’s eyes. Her reborn eyes,” Eric says quietly.
“How long does it take for a soul to be reborn?” Jason asks.
I can practically hear both Eric and Godric shrug. “Any time five to nine months after the death of the original vessel or far, far longer. Some souls are reborn quickly, others linger in the afterlife. Older souls tend to be reborn quickly.”
“Five to nine months?” I consider.
“Some souls attach to new vessels early in pregnancy, some later,” Eric replies. “Usually it is after the heart begins to beat.”
“How does the soul arrive?” I ask.
“Sookie?” Godric asks.
“Well,” I think for a moment, “if Endymion has anything to do with it, couldn’t we ask him where Cassandra will be reborn so we can give Diedre hope?”
Eric shakes his head, “That would be interfering with Free Will. He could still try and put the vessel of Cassandra’s spirit in Diedre’s path, but he could not tell Diedre whom that vessel is.”
“Aw, okay,” I pout a bit.
“That sucks,” Jason plants his chin into the back of my chair and holds the phone between the three of us.
“I wish I could share this with Diedre,” Godric sighs. “But she would find a way to murder Jason for not warning her ahead of time. Why is it that Cassandra swore you to secrecy?”
Jason frowns, “She told me that her death could save a lot of lives. If she survived, then a lot of ancients would perish and a lot of humans too… Mostly, though, I think it’s because Diedre was killed in every one of Cassandra’s own deaths except this one. I don’t know she meant me to see that.”
We’re all quiet again as we absorb this, and I’m grateful when Eric and Godric are in agreement that Jason did the right thing. I reach behind me and stroke my brother’s hair. It must have been a difficult burden for him to carry these past few years.
“I’m sorry you had to go through this, Jason,” I tell him gently.
“It’s okay,” Jason replies with a soft smile. “It was what I had to do, but, please, don’t tell Diedre. She’d rip me limb from limb, I bet.”
“Master,” Eric continues on with Godric as Jason and I have a little empathetic moment, “did you manage to contact as many of our allies as possible before sunrise?”
“Yes, I have informed all that I could to take shelter in undisclosed locations for the time being. So far I have managed to get ahold of Joan, Russel, Caroline, Compton, and Nan.”
“All right, we are about to return to the hotel now. We have a great deal to sort through before our meeting with Isabel and Hugo,” Eric replies.
“Keep me abreast to the situation,” Godric tells us before hanging up the phone.
Soon we’re pulling up to the hotel and carrying box after box of information up to our room. Thanks to Eric and Jason, we do it in a single trip, and I just carry the DVDs. Well, I guess it’s silly to have me balancing stuff when they can both lift a car…
When we’re tucked away in our room, I start giving the men a synopsis of what I picked up telepathically at the Fellowship headquarters.
“They have some sort of Soldier program-”
“Got the literature on it,” Jason interrupts me and tosses a file on the table between the three of us.
“And they’ve been forcing vamps to meet the sun-”
“Those are the copies of the bonfires,” Jason points the the DVDs I’d carried up. I put my hands on my hips and purse my lips at him. My brother immediately shuts his mouth.
“From what I could glean, though,” I continue, “Steve Newlin’s father has no idea any of this is going on. I get the feeling that Steve sees his father as an obstacle in his goal. I thought I saw the beginnings of a plot to remove Theodore from the equation, but it could have been fantasizing.”
Eric’s flipping through the paperwork as I speak and finally asks, “Do you believe Theodore Newlin might be a target as well?”
“I’m thinking that Steve might have made a deal with whomever is giving them the information on the vamps. It felt more solid a plan than a fantasy,” I reply. “I also think that he believes that Hugo is his only informant.”
“Who do you think is the real leak?”
“A vampire,” I whisper and both my husband and brother look at me. “I think there’s a vampire giving away vampires’ locations to the Fellowship to cover up a hit list. I think Diedre and the Ancient Pythoness were the real targets, and everyone else who’s been killed are just decoys.”
“How’d you come to that conclusion?” My brother asks, but his expression says he agrees with me whole heartedly.
“It’s really just a hunch,” I reply slowly as my brain keeps making more and more connections. “I mean… Young nests have been hit and then there’s this one ancient dropped in there like the Fellowship got lucky and hit some key player by accident. Only, I think someone purposefully made it seem that way.”
My husband leans back thoughtfully as he considers my observations. Eventually he sits forward and nods in agreement, “I think you are right, Sookie.” Eric crosses his arms over his chest as he considers my theory further. “It would be a perfect scapegoat for a vampire trying to dispose of his enemies. The Fellowship of the Sun would happily accept all responsibility for the killings, and the informant would happily enjoy a world that no longer had his enemies in it.”
“Who would want to kill the Pythoness, though?” Jason asks a bit forlornly. “I thought she was revered by our kind!”
“She was,” Eric agrees, “however, she would be the only one that they know of who could out the truly guilty party.”
“So, who else has been hit? A bunch of mainstreamers and a few hungry vamps?” I ask.
Eric shakes his head, “I do not believe the five who were ended by their meals are part of the same picture we are looking at. If I had to guess, I would say the mainstreamers were the targets.”
My face sneers, “I know a vamp who doesn’t like mainstreamers.”
“Jorge is certainly at the top of my list, but we cannot disregard other potential masterminds because we know of an immediate individual we all despise,” My husband chuckles as he leans forward and begins perusing the documents Jason managed to scrounge up. Jason grabs a DVD and a laptop and starts watching executions. At one point I’m tempted to cover my ears as too many vampires’ screams as they meet the sun will surely haunt me for years to come.
“Any of the bonfire kindling look familiar to you?” Jason asks me as Sookie continues scanning her own stack of documents.
“No, but I can tell that they are younger than myself and they were not in the reports Compton gave me,” I reply. “Do a few image captures for me to forward to Compton. He has a database of vampires. Perhaps he can identify them.”
Jason begins capturing images of the slain vampires and compiling an email to Compton as I return to the documents I had been neglecting. There is plenty here to have the Fellowship of the Sun shut down and several members thrown into prison, but whoever gave the organization this information has left no paper trail back to themselves at the ‘Church’. If we have any opportunity of unearthing the source of these tragedies, it will have to come from Hugo.
As I am looking over my stack of notes, one of the future marks strikes a sense of familiarity and dread. Rhodes. The date correlates with the Summit, and I am aware that the hotel listed in the attack plan is the very one meant to host our conference and trials.
The initiator of this attack had leaked the Summit information to the Fellowship. That makes no sense, I realize. With the Ancient Pythoness dead, the Summit will be postponed… Many vampires and humans would die, I realize now what Jason had seen. If Cassandra had not met her Final Death before the Summit, it would not have been cancelled and many vampires and humans would have died in whatever plan the Fellowship had made.
Still, this attack on Rhodes seems silly. Why target the Ancient Pythoness at all prior to the Summit? If the attacks were unsuccessful, it would put Cassandra and her guards on high alert and potentially risk her avoiding the Summit all together. With the Pythoness dead, the Summit will more than likely be cancelled all together, and the attack will now be cancelled as well.
It is almost as if our leak had no idea that they shot their own plan in the head… This speaks of one or two things. Either the leak is actually human and unaware of the Pythoness’s importance, or the Pythoness was not the mark at all.
And there is still the ‘Big Mark’ that Jason mentioned, I ponder this. I would have thought maybe they were referring to Diedre, but Jason said that the mark was out of the country. Diedre has not left the States since the last International Conference of Supernaturals which was over five years ago.
The thought of trying to drudge through the vampire community’s travel plans is a tedious one. There are those of our kind who will leave the country for a weekend on a whim, and they are quite tight lipped about their itineraries.
With any luck, Hugo will know more about this situation, and I will not need to search too deeply.
“Jason,” I say suddenly and I see my brother-in-law and my wife jump at the abruptness, “how far can you be from another vampire?” I tap my head because to this day we have avoided saying his or Sookie’s gift aloud outside the privacy of our homes.
“Oh, I’d say about fifty-feet,” Jason offers.
“I suggest that we leave separately for this meeting and that you two go to dinner on the opposite side of the room. That way you can text me leads or questions as needed without raising suspicion,” I tell them.
They both pause a moment to consider my plan before Jason asks, “Won’t it be a little suspicious that you’re getting texts all through the meeting?”
I shake my head and dispel his concerns by explaining, “Isabel would most likely assume they are updates relating to our investigation. I often received correspondence during investigations while I was still a Sheriff, and I am certain she does as well.”
Sookie and Jason finally nod in agreement to my plan before we all begin dressing for our respective dinners. All three of us remain in our disguises from earlier, and a rather… alluring idea strikes me as we make our way to the parking garage.
“Will you meet me at the bar after the meeting, Sookie?” I ask of my wife when I open the door to her seat. Jason falls behind the driving wheel as I stare into the dull brown of Sookie’s disguised irises. The thing she can not disguise is the creeping blush across her cheeks and the way her nipples harden under her cotton dress. The lace of her bra accents the points of her breasts, and I feel the Bond swell with arousal.
“Sure,” she replies breathlessly before I smile and close her door. I wave goodbye as Jason pulls out of the parking spot and then I head to the lobby. Once I am on the street, I hail a cab to make my own way to our destination.
“What are you doing?” I ask my brother when he quickly pulls into a drugstore parking lot.
“Hold on a sec,” Jason jumps out of the car, leaving it idling as he enters the shop. He returns no more than three minutes later and hands me a plastic bag. Inside is a notebook and a pack of cheap pens. “When we get to the restaurant, I’m gonna ask for a table in a corner. We’ll talk through the notebook. If anyone gets nosey, we’ll say it’s notes from work.”
I chuckle at his idea, but it really is a simple excuse for silent communication in a public space. Heck, it’s better than texting back and forth. There will be no gaps in our communication other than the speed it takes us to write. Also, we can burn the pages. Texts are stored and can be pulled up if someone has the means and desire to do so.
When we arrive at the restaurant, I look around to judge the size of the dining area. Thankfully, no matter where we sit, all diners will be in Jason’s range. We’re seated and take our time deciding on an order, though Jason is just going to glamour a ‘Blood Mary’ of literal blood and maybe actual Mary if it’s Genuine instead of synthetic. Unfortunately for Jason, it’s very rare that human owned and operated establishments carry Genuine instead of True Blood.
About ten minutes later I feel my husband arrive. He spots us from the hostess stand and I see him gesture to a corner about fifteen feet from where Jason and I are sitting. He raises his hand with a ‘3’ gesture on his fingers. Finally he is seated and we all three wait for our guests to arrive in as unsuspicious a manner we can manage. Eric’s a natural. He plays with his flatware, checks his phone from time to time. He occasionally plays with the band on his watch and occasionally spins his wedding ring when he sends me a dose of love and affection. That last one makes my heart pound and I send him back my own responding love.
All the time he’s playing the role of nonchalance, I can feel his presence in me become more excited. He loves a good interrogation. My heart begins to race again, and Eric’s excitement transforms from anticipation to lustful. He can feel my anticipation, and I’m sure some part of him is already conjuring delicious ways to make me enjoy this cloak and dagger business even more!
God, I think as the restaurant suddenly seems too hot to bear, did someone turn up the furnace? Even disguised as someone else, I can’t deny that my husband is hotter than any man has a right to be. One night with this stranger husband, I think with a dose of exhilaration and guilt. And what is there to feel guilty? I chastise myself. I know this vampire is my husband, and he knows that I am his wife. What’s so harmful about a bit of pretend? Nothing! Absolutely nothing. It’s no different than when I pretend to be helpless and at his mercy when he ties me to the bed. I’m in no danger, and he would never hurt me. That’s only pretend, and so is this!
My justifications are cut short as I feel a vampire arrive, and Jason scrawls, ~They’re heeeeere. I nod in agreement, quickly finding Hugo’s mind beside the blankness of the vampire.
~H, very nervous. -Me.
~I, excited to hear news.-Jason.
That doesn’t seem like someone with anything to hide, but Jason and I write back and forth, including my dinner order of wine and wild mushroom manicotti.
“Have either of you had any strange contacts lately?” I hear my husband ask through Hugo’s mind. Politely smile and shake your head, Hugo thinks. In his mind I see many written correspondence burning. One letter after another is set ablaze in his memories.
“No,” Hugo replies as his mouth smiles with a genuineness that would have fooled me if I couldn’t hear his thoughts.
~H, lying. He’s burned many orders.-Me
~I, seems honest with answer of ‘no’.-Jason
Eric leads through some of the information our adventure at the Fellowship of the Sun brought us this morning. He describes his suspicions that someone in the vampire community has been leaking vampire hideouts to the zealots. My husband drops quite a few, seemingly unconfirmed suspicions, and Jason and I listen to our marks through the entire brainstorm.
Oh, God, this guy knows too much! Hugo thinks frantically before their orders can even be taken, Didn’t he just get in tonight!? How have I screwed up this bad that he already knows so much!? What if he knows who’s been giving me information!? Shit! I don’t even know who my informant is! They just promised to turn me if I coordinated the hits with the Fellowship!
All the time Hugo is having a nervous breakdown, his face remains unreadable and professionally polite. He must be a champion lawyer, I think with a bit of disgusted admiration. He uses his gift of a neutral expression for terrible things.
Where were my leaks? How did the Writer know I was setting up vamps for the Fellowship’s Sunday Slaughter? How did this vampire sympathizer find out about the marks!? I’m never going to get turned! Fuck that! I’m not going to make it out of this meeting alive!
I take out my phone and text Eric what I’ve found out so far. Jason does the same, presumably to clear Isabel’s name. Now that we know that we can trust Isabel, maybe she can takeover getting us more information. Maybe she can get more memories about those burned letters and what they told him to do. Maybe we can get an idea of the identity of The Writer.
Jason and I watch discretely as Eric pulls Hugo under his glamour, and Isabel’s quiet but angry indignation at his actions. When Hugo is neutralized, it’s obvious that Eric is explaining the situation to her, and gives her the option of continuing the interrogation herself or risk being tried alongside her human. Of course, the only reason I know what Eric is saying is because Jason is quickly jotting down the conversation from what he’s able to hear as we wait for the situation to reach a conclusion.
At Eric’s threat of holding Isabel accountable for Hugo’s actions, she quickly subdues and agrees to dredge out all information she possibly can. Eric takes out copies of the information we gathered earlier and slides it over to the vampiress. Apparently she is meant to submit it to Nan Flannigan first and then human police and media. She takes over the glamour of her human, drops a hundred dollars on the table for their uneaten food and leaves the restaurant.
Taking this as our queue that the night of espionage is over, Jason pays for our bill, we hug goodbye, and he leaves the car keys with me to catch a taxi himself while I head for the bar. I order another glass of wine and wait for my husband to meet me, wondering what he has in mind for the night. Will we escape to a new hotel for the night and give my brother a break from our sexual tension? Will he take me in the bathroom of the restaurant? Our rental car?
“Hello,” I hear a familiar voice near me and nearly jump out of my seat. Eric is standing next to me and I can’t even remember the last time he’s snuck up on me since we Bonded. “Did your husband get called away?” Eric asks quietly.
“Husband?” I stare at him confusion.
“The man with whom you had dinner,” Eric replies and I catch on to the fantasy now. Picking up a woman at the bar!
“Oh, that was my brother,” I tell him a bit shyly. This feels so weird! And exciting!
“I’m definitely glad to hear that,” Eric tells me, and I notice he’s using a much looser accent than I am used to. It deepens the illusion and makes my pulse pound.
“Why is that?” I ask in a coquettish tone. After all, I’m not the shy, naïve girl he first met. In this illusion, I can be the sexually educated woman that I am!
Eric raises his eyebrows at my tone, and a pleased smile tugs his lips as his eyelids hood over his oceanic irises. “Because it means I have a chance of taking you home with me tonight.”
I gasp in shock, “Do I look like that sort of woman to you, Mister?”
“No, but you look like the sort of woman who would like to try it,” he answers as his body pushes into my personal space. My body’s on fire with just this little sliver of air between us. He must be able to feel the heat coming off me. If he can’t, he must have lost all feeling in his skin!
“You look like the sort of man I wouldn’t mind trying it with,” I answer more breathlessly than I’d like. After all, I’m a well rounded woman in the sexual arts. There’s probably women twice my age with less experience than me between the sheets. But, Lord, if Eric Northman couldn’t melt the panties off a nun!
Eric pays for my glass of wine, and I tip the remaining bit of crimson fluid into my mouth before letting him take my hand and lead me to the parking lot. I hand him the keys to the car, and for the first time in my life with him, he doesn’t open my car door. Because I’m a lay, not a lady this time. I think in surprise as I open my own door. I can feel the slightest awkwardness in the Bond, but I push it away, although I find it cute and endearing that he thinks less of himself for not opening my door.
As we drive a moment, I try to think of what a lay would do or say right about now.
“How far is it to your place?” I ask, it feels natural, and I am curious about our destination.
“A few miles,” he replies as he pulls onto the interstate, heading nowhere near our hotel. “It should only take about ten minutes to get there.”
“What do I call you?” I ask.
Eric glances over at me and grins, “What would you like to call me?”
Now it feels like I’ve picked up a male prostitute! I giggle a bit on the inside, but not out loud. What do I call him? Definitely not Elijah. That was the name of the zealots we were pretending to be. I realize then that I don’t want to call out a name other than Eric’s when I cum. That makes the decision for me. We can still play this game with our real names.
“Eric, and mine’s Sookie,” I tell him, and I see the smile in his eyes and feel that happiness in our Bond. He doesn’t want to call out Sandra’s name any more than I’d want to call out for Elijah.
Soon we arrive at a rather beautiful Tudor style home, and I marvel at its simple attractiveness, even in the night.
“Whose place is this?” I ask, forgetting our game for a moment and seriously wondering whose house we are about to defile with our sexual antics.
Eric chuckles, “My brother Godric’s, but don’t worry. He’s not home.”
I pause a moment when he climbs out of the car, but quickly remember that he won’t be getting my door this night. I have to jog a little to catch him at the front door, and when I do, he’s already unlocking it and punching in the security system code. When I’m inside, and the door is closed behind me, Eric reaches around me and pulls me into his chest.
“So, Sookie,” Eric tilts his head curiously as his hips sway, pulling mine along in a close, intimate dance, “are you a soft girl, or a rough girl?” His hand leaves my hip and reaches behind to lock the door behind me. Certainly if this situation were real, I would have panicked at the locking of the door. Instead I feel that same earlier exhilaration. We’re going to fuck!
“Tonight?” I look up at him and hope he can see and feel the fire igniting in my eyes through the contact lenses. “Tonight I’m a rough girl.”
Eric grins down at me, captures me face in either of his hands and kisses me hard. He backs me up against the door, and I feel the grooves of the steel mold into my back. “Ah,” I groan as he presses me hard between his body and the door. He captures my wrists and holds them above my head as his hips pin my lower half.
“You do like it rough, Sookie,” Eric tells me in a snarly, cold voice. “I can already smell you.” I moan again at his assessment. “I’m just going to fuck you right here by the door. You don’t seem to need a bed.”
Without further ado, my lover pulls his hips from mine and pulls my wrist toward the floor until I fall to my knees.
“You can have me wherever you like,” I reply, “but not until you show this girl you know how to eat.” Kneeling on the hardwood floor, I reach beneath my cotton dress and push my panties down until I’m squirming out of them. I throw the tiny scrap of lace at Eric’s chest and he catches them reflexively to bring to his nose.
“You smell like a pie I could eat all night,” he tells me as he gives my shoulder a little shove and encourages me to lay back. I do as he silently suggests and bend my knees wide and open. Eric quickly falls to his own knees, grabs my hips and drags me up to meet his mouth.
“Ah!” I reach back in some sort of half-assed yoga pose and feel a squirm building inside me. His tongue is dancing in a rhythm that is not his usual steps. There’s a disjointedness to his technique. Less practiced more… stranger. Like being ate out by someone who doesn’t know my body, or who doesn’t have a millennium of doing this act.
The lines are getting blurrier and blurrier, and so is my coherency. It’s different, less practiced, but so pleasurable. The film between fact and fiction is getting thinner and thinner. Finally I just accept that I am a little sex kitten, and I did get picked up at the bar by some hottie that just wanted me. Just for tonight.
His tongue laps urgently at my clit now, and I feel a pair of his fingers diving into my pussy with a speed and strength that pulls guttural moans from my throat. Every so often a stray knuckle strikes my g-spot accidentally on purpose. He knows what he’s doing, but my one night stand doesn’t. Over and over again his rhythm brings me right to the edge and then the rhythm breaks and I stumble at my climax.
“Please,” I moan as I’ve come so close and feel so far from what I want. “Eric, please make me cum,” I gasp and cry a little. Eric’s speed picks up once more, nowhere near his vampire pace. We are human tonight.
Finally the lines break and I scream as I reach my orgasm at long last! God it feels so good to lose control of my body! To spasm and twist toward and away from pleasure! My body is moving so much with the resulting climax that I scarcely notice Eric guiding me onto my stomach. I blissfully accept the thick, hard cock that he thrusts deep into me without warning.
“Fuck yes!” I whine and sob gratefully as I’m filled with the one thing he can’t change- the familiar shape and hardness of his dick. He can change his stroke and his depth, but he can’t change the way he touches every bit of my inner wall. He can’t help the way the head of his cock thumps deliciously against the backside of my pelvic bone and causes jolts of electricity to flash from my womb to my spine.
My breathing labors as Eric intermittently squeezes and spanks my ass. I feel his thumb tracing my butthole and I know how much it would please him if I tell him to put his finger in it. So I do. I cry for him to fill my ass and he quickly complies by spitting on my backside and planting his thumb inside. His fingers squeeze, pulling the ring of muscles open and leaving fingerprints in my ass cheek.
Then my labored breaths turn into another crescendoing cry and I cum like a contortionist being exercised of demons. I twist and howl and feel that splendidly well-known cock filling me with that familiar sticky-ness that my husband likes to watch drip back out of me.
As I lay panting, recovering on the floor, Eric slips his dick and thumb from my body, picks me up and carries me to the bathroom. My wig is gone. My body is washed. When we are clean, the contacts are removed as well. At last, I’m in a big bed, and it’s cold and lonely as Eric disappears in the bathroom again. There’s a loud buzzing sound, and just as sunlight is creeping into the bedroom window, Eric returns, his head shaved, and crawls into bed with me. His familiar weight, his familiar smell. The only thing that is not my husband is the fact he is bald. Eric has shaved his head in preparation for a day of death that will bring back his long, blond locks.
“I liked your hair short, but not this short,” I mumble in fatigue as I lazily run my hand over his smooth head.
“By the time you wake up it will be long again,” he tells me reassuringly.
“Will you cut it?” I ask.
“Would you like me to?” he asks.
“Would you mind?” I skirt the topic a bit.
“Not at all.”
Then there was sleep.