I am teetering on the edge of sleep when I hear the familiar sound of keyboard hits. I half open my eyes to a mellow light and immediately start pulling the quilt to cover my eyes again. The typing stops. Magically, the quilt tucks itself around me. On its own.
My sleepy mind registers, that my jedi powers might’ve finally started working, but doesn’t ponder more upon the thought because basically, I’m still sleeping.
I burrow deeper in the covers. Something cool touches my eyes, soothing them, cutting off whatever light was coming through. I feel gentle fingers running through my hair on one side, brushing them off my face and ears. It’s quite. It’s peaceful. It’s one of those small moments of life when everything is blissfully perfect. I am warm and comfortable. Even three fourth asleep I know it’s the weekend, a skill I picked up when I started working full time for a living.
I stop trying to wake up and promptly go to back sleep.
The next time I wake up, it is to a faint snoring sound. I become mildly aware that the feel of the bed I am tucked in, the scent of the quilt, is all strange and new, not mine, which wakes me up a little more. I push myself up on my elbows and look around to see that I am on a huge bed decked in soft silk sheets, a pile of silk embroidered cushions on either side of me, like some sort of embankment, complete with an ornate bedside lamp casting a soft yellow glow on to the room.
I remember seeing something like this bedspread and lamp in a museum once.
Where the hell in 18th century did I land?
That’s when I finally wake up and everything from last night crashes on me…
I am not in a freaking museum. I am sleeping in his bed.
Holy fucking moly!
I am in Eric-my-fantasy-boyfriend-Northman’s bedroom…
And I was sleeping?!
WHEN the hell did I fall asleep?!! HOW could I FALL ASLEEP?!!
I take inventory of my clothing and everything is right where it should be. So I must have dropped dead on him during the car ride. Or afterwards… Or…I don’t know…It’s too early for me to think properly anyways.
Groggily, I sit up and peer around with my squinty hung-over eyes, immediately locating the source of the snores.
Eric Northman is sleeping, sprawled on an ottoman, one foot hanging where the ottoman territory finishes, and one foot stretched out on the plush carpet, a mac-book askew in his lap, a Bluetooth head-set on his ear, hair jutting out in all directions where the headset rests on his head. His head is drooping backwards, mouth slightly open. He is not wearing a shirt and his sleep-pants are sitting low, so low there.
Damn he should be illegal! But such a sight for sore eyes he is!
I take my time to stare at his perfect body. I don’t think I have properly looked at him before in this way. The first time I was distracted by his eyes and the things he was doing to me, not to mention his wife was right there. The second time, last evening, there were just too many people in between and he had on too much clothing. Plus I had to be careful about how or when I looked at him.
But now, the sight of him sleeping like this does something to me. Wakes me up for one. Sends tingles down me for two. What’s surprising is that not all of those tingles are lustful.
My eyes start tearing up, so I must’ve not been blinking. I sigh and look down at myself. I am still wearing yesterday’s dress, the sequins of which by the way are scraping my bare chest and along with my strapless minimizer bra, viciously gripping my best assets like steel talons. Apart from my shoes, which Eric must have removed, I am still wearing everything I set out wearing last evening, despite being with Eric, in his hotel room, and spending the night.
That’s just plain disgraceful! Even for me!
He groans and shifts, trying to find a better position and I realize I am monopolizing the only piece of furniture in this room that could be comfortable to a giant like Eric. His laptop slips and is on the verge of crashing down.
I jump out of bed and run to him, just in time to catch the dropping piece of awesome technology. I close the lid and place it carefully on the side table. Eric is still wearing his watch and it says 5:25 AM. I should make him go sleep on the bed. He would be all cramped up during the day if he keeps dozing where he is.
Now then…To shower or not to shower, before waking him up? To let him see me in my messiest glory, morning breath and all, or think about his neck cramps and wake him first? To keep kneeling in front of him and stare at him like a creep or to move to the bed, at a respectable distance, and then stare at him like a creep, not waking him up in the process?
So many serious questions and not a brain-cell on call!
Eric shifts again, grimacing as he tries to find a better position for his head. Well that decides it for me.
I take hold of his hand and nudge him gently.
“Eric…wake up” I call out and shake his arm a little.
He groans again, closes his fingers over my hand to hold it securely and brings it up to his chest, holding it there. His breathing becomes a little shallow, which means he is beginning to wake up.
“Eric honey…” I shake him a little again, “You can’t sleep on a chair and I can’t carry you to your bed. You have to wake up and walk to it.”
His eyes open a smidgen, first one and then the other, “Fuck!” he whispers and shuts his eyes right back, “drunk dreaming again…” he mumbles, almost too low for me to hear, in a deep raspy voice.
But I heard.
You don’t miss that sorta thing coming from your living walking fantasy. Not when you are leaning so close to him that his breath is hot on your cheeks, giving you goosebumps, and warming other, farther parts of you. Not when you have spent years coming to the memory of that same raspy voice in your head, when the physical presence of your then boyfriend did nothing for you.
So he dreams of me? Eric? Dreams about smitten-beyond-hope-for-him me?
“Eric?” I can’t help the shit eating grin on my face as I shake him again, “get up and come to bed. Please.”
This time when he reopens his eyes and finds me grinning at him like a loon, he blinks a couple of times, no doubt to make sure that he isn’t dreaming, and his lips turn up in a smile that reaches so far and deep within me that I can feel it in my stomach.
“You are not dreaming.” I state the obvious, biting my lower lip to control my grin.
His tightens his hold on my hand and slowly brings it to his lips, holding it there against his mouth, while he gazes at me like he is mapping out the contours of my face. Finally he swings his legs around, and stands up, kissing my hand and pulling me up with him.
“No. I’m not.”
He looks at me with half hooded eyes and a lazy weekend smile. I just stand in front of him and return the look. It was different when he was still sleeping. Now, with him, sleepy and disheveled, looking at me like that, I suddenly realize that maybe I should feel a little self-conscious or something. This waking him up from the couch to tell him to go to bed business, feels more mundanely domestic than it should. I should also be getting less worked up about it than I am getting right now. Actually, I should be scared how comfortable I am feeling with the whole thing.
For the hundredth time, I ask myself that did we really officially meet, with real names and all, just yesterday?
“Go sleep for a while. I know you were working late.” I say as I push him towards the bed.
He doesn’t put up any resistance and sits at the edge of the bed, glancing once at his watch.
“No time for sleep. It’s 5:40. I have a conference call at 8:00 and I need to go through some documents before it. And maybe properly wakeup too, before I start with the documents.”
“Eric it’s 5:40 AM on a Saturday!”
He gives me a wry smile and pulls me to stand between his legs, “Yes well. Welcome to my glamorous life!”
His voice is still thick and raspy. His hair is sticking out in all directions. He looks adorable.
“What are you smiling about?” he asks.
I shrug my shoulders in a non-answer and run my fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and purrs contentedly like a giant cat. Again, it feels like I’ve been doing this forever, not just now for the first time.
“Sleep Eric. I’ll wake you up at 6:30. That way, you’ll have time for a shower and then you can eat breakfast while looking through your documents, in time for your meeting.”
“Mmm mmmm… I can set an alarm. You don’t need to keep awake to wake me up. Come on lie down with me. I promise I’ll be good.” He says, eyes still closed, swaying a little as he thoroughly enjoys the impromptu head massage I am giving him.
Even with messed hair, husky cracking voice, dark circles under his eyes, no doubt from working late, or early, however you put it, he is gorgeous. He is so gorgeous that as I massage his head and watch him, my heart clenches in need for him. I want him so much. So fucking much, it hurts… And you know what’s scary? It’s not just his body I am wanting!
Thank the lord his eyes are closed or else he might see the way I’m looking at him, no doubt with crazy stars and such shit in my eyes. I have also just realized that I won’t ever be able to say no to anything he asks of me, if he asks me like this. That’s some major ammo…Can I give him that power over me? More importantly, does he already have it?
“Ummm…I need to use the bathroom. So…”
He sighs and takes hold of my hands, stilling them in his hair, brings them down and kisses both my wrists, “Go. I’ll be right here.”
He lets go of my hands and crawls inside the covers, humming in appreciation at the comfortable bed I guess. Eric’s jacket, shirt and tie from last night are hanging on the back of a chair by the 18th century ottoman. I grab his shirt, my clutch and set out in search of the bathroom.
The bathroom’s easy to find and all. The not easy part is, looking at my face in the huge mirror, under lots of spot lighting. Nope. Not easy at all.
Remnants of my makeup from yesterday are sticking out like war paint. One of my earrings is missing. My eyes are red. My skin looks pasty and dry. My long beautifully styled hair, have turned into a bird’s nest.
Long story short, I look like road-kill!
And Eric-24-hour-around-gorgeous-Northman saw at me like this.
Shit shit shit! I fucking knew I needed a shower before waking him up!
Shuddering at my appearance, I quickly strip out of my clothes and start the shower. As soon as the wonderful, strategically aimed jets of hot water hit my tired body, I sigh in sweet relief. The water feels so good. I carefully scrub off all sweat and grime from last night, then shampoo and condition my hair.
After I am done with the shower gods, I work on the tangles in my hair with my wide toothed comb, leaving them to air dry. Thankfully, there are extra toothbrushes near the vanity and I grab one to brush out the bad taste in my mouth. I hurriedly lather on some lotion, from the emergency tube I always keep in my clutch and massage it into as much of my skin as I can.
Ah, much better!
Feeling adequately human again, and donning Eric’s shirt, which is almost reaching my knees, I step out of the bathroom. Eric is fast asleep on the bed. I check my phone and it is 6:15, fifteen minutes before I need to wake him up. So I carefully pick up the covers and slide next to him. Eric inches closer and wraps me in his arms, one under me supporting my head, and one over, spooning me against his warm chest.
I guess I forget to breathe because I can’t be giddy enough to be near passing out of excitement from just spooning with Eric!
That electricity we had? It’s still very much there…So I am hyper aware of his body, his skin, wherever it is touching me, his steady heartbeat at my back and his breath in my hair. How would I ever have slept with him so close?
“You shocked the fuck out of me at the party.” Eric whispers in my ear.
“I thought you were asleep.” I whisper back.
“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’, “Can’t.”
“Don’t know. Maybe your scent in these sheets wasn’t letting me sleep. Maybe you being a meagre dry wall away was fucking up my head.”
My heart leaps at his words. The fact that my presence affects him just like his affects me makes me want to jump and squeee!
I want to turn around and kiss him now. I also know that if I turn back, I won’t stop at just kissing.
Well then, all the more reason to turn around right?
However, some niggling sub conscious part of me has decided that she doesn’t want to break this moment right now. This… snuggling with Eric Northman in a dimly lit room, early in the morning on a Saturday, feels good…
I know I am getting one feel too many from the situation, but I can’t help it. The man does things to me that I don’t understand.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Because you asked me out.” He chuckles softly and I can feel the rumble in his chest.
“And if I hadn’t?”
“Then I would have asked you out” he answers simply, “Either way Sookie, the moment I saw you walk in those doors at the party, I knew you’d be leaving them with me” he whispers.
“Over confident much, Mr. Northman? What if I came there with someone?”
His fingers pause tracing the circles they have been drawing on my shoulder and he dips his head to kiss the spot he was doodling on.
“Plan B was the chloroform in my pocket!” he replies.
“Chloroform?!?” I giggle and tilt my head up to look at his chin, “Seriously Eric, watching too many old gangster movies are we?”
“Oh well Miss Stackhouse” he grins, “chloroform was THE go to failsafe in my time…What are you kids using these days?”
“Don’t call me a kid!”
“Really?” he teases, “I am sure I saw someone drinking orange juice throughout a work party yesterday! I thought the bartender refused to serve you alcohol!”
“Oh. My. God…I did NOT drink orange juice throughout the party!”
“Uh huh, you did…Your grownup friends had to get you the fun stuff later!” he smirks.
I turn a bit more to give him my best stink eye.
“How do you even know all this? I thought you were busy, Mr. Hot Shot Company President!”
He bites his lower lip and looks at me, eyes twinkling with mischief. Hot Damn! I shouldn’t have looked into his eyes. Now I really want to kiss him.
“You were right there across the room Sookie! Who do you think I was looking at? Samuel Merlotte?”
“Hmmm I dunno…Sam Merlotte is quite easy on the eyes! I ogle him from time to time!” I tell him.
For a second, he narrows his eyes and looks a little out of it. I give myself a mental fist pump at my small and silly victory jab.
Then Eric Northman decides to switch to the big guns.
He props himself on his arm, hooks his leg over both of mine and places his other elbow right beside my other side, effectively caging me. He leans in his head till his face is just inches from me and looks at me like a hungry lion looks at a deer under his paws.
Oh Shit not that look again!
And shiyiit not that voice!
“I am not…” I whisper, dying to cross those few inches between our lips.
“So why did you let me bring you home?”
His eyes are molten blue saphires as he stares at me, waiting for a response
In for a penny…
“Because Mr. Northman,” I grab his face and pull him down, making him drop all twenty tons of his weight on me, and hungrily bite the lower lip he was nibbling a moment ago, “you are the only one I have ever wanted so much.”
Eric freezes for a moment, the torturous moment when I am scared shitless that I said too much and excited as hell that I said the exact thing that I’ve been wanting to say all morning.
He pulls back a little, making me incredibly insecure.
“Was this just about hooking up Sookie?”
No. Not at all.
In for the pound then I guess…
“No Eric.” I sigh and lean up on my elbows to be closer to him as I speak this, “I…It’s not just about sex. Is it that way for you?”
“No.” he snorts. Snorts? “I’d have saved me a heap of my sanity and my money if it was just about sex with you.”
“So you are saying?”
He settles again on top of me and cups my face, in his hands, “I want more. Much more…In fact with you…” he grabs my hair, a tad on the painful side, “…I. Want. It. All.” He says and presses his lips to mine.
PS: Special thanks to VictoryInTrouble for clearing out one of my dilemmas about the content of this chapter.