20. Nightmares

Eric Northman never had nightmares. How could he, when he was living in one?

Every night for the past week as he stared out his window that overlooked the house across the street all he could see was her face as she squeezed her eyes shut while her husband pressed his lips to hers. His fingers undoing her clothes, trespassing in places –curves, niches – he wasn’t supposed to touch. Making love to her simply because he could.

Damn him. Damn her.

He’d sell his nuts to all the cockblocking lords to have Bill Compton’s dick on a silver platter.

Every night he’d watch as the lights flicker at her window fighting every urge, every taunting voice that goaded him to run across the street and bang on her door and smash her husband’s face.

Every fucking night. That was his life. That was his nightmare.

Now the star of his nightmare was in his bed asking him to take her. Save her from the life she had chosen. The life she had deprived him of. Would he do it?

That was a really stupid question.

It wasn’t until he took off her coat that he realized she was shaking. He could barely see her face but he knew she was crying. He let her go to fumble for the night lamp so he could see her better but her hand caught his before he could flick the switch.

“Don’t,” she husked.

“I want to see you. I have to be sure it’s you.”

She weaved her fingers with his and guided them to her face. “It’s me, Eric. You don’t need to see me to feel me.”

The tips of fingers began tracing the topography of her face, from her temple to her chin, lingering at her lips, parting them slightly with the pad of his thumb. His mouth replaced his thumb as he latched onto to her lips.

The back of his hand lightly grazed her breast under her nightgown, eliciting a soft whimper and a sigh.


He would not be hurried. He would take all the time in the world because he earned it.


His tongue plunged deeper until he could have his fill. Until he could convince himself that it was really her and not someone his sick imagination had made up. He bit her lower lip then sucked at it hard. He wanted to punish her for all the nights of pure hell. Make her taste just a little of the pain she had put him through.

Her breathing grew heavy and labored and he knew he had to release her.

“I hate you,” he growled as he pressed his forehead against her. “You’re making me so fucking miserable.”

She raised her chin to catch his lips. “Misery loves company,” she moaned.

Her fucking moan did him in as he pulled back from her to hover over her. His finger slid down to her navel before it began its trek further south only to find her wet and warm and ready. For him. Just for him.

He groaned when she lifted her hips, begging for any kind of pressure.

“Shit,” he grumbled when his finger slid smoothly. So fucking wet. And tight. Just like he remembered.


He clenched his teeth when he felt her insides contract against his finger, pulling him in. He wished it was his cock that was buried deep into her and not his damned finger. He began thrusting in and out, watching as she threw her head back, eyes shut close.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded. If she were to come he wanted her to know it was him who sent her reeling.

She was obedient in her need as she lifted her head to stare at him, moist lips gaping. With a couple more pumps and flick of his thumb on her nub, she came. Her hips quaked, tiny spasms against his hand as she became even slicker.

Fuck. He wanted to taste her. Badly. So very badly that his tongue darted out and licked his lips.

“I want you inside me,” was all she could say when her thighs relaxed.

Goddamn. Now he was aching to be inside her even more.

Fuck restraint. Fuck foreplay. He was too damned close to play any games.

She sucked in her breath when he pulled out his finger and spread her thighs apart. Positioning between her legs, he gripped his throbbing manhood and dragged the moistened tip over her nether lips. She arched her back as a moan escaped her, making him smirk.

He caught her nape and fisted her hair. “You’re gonna kill me someday, Sookie.”

“Not if you kill me first,” she countered huskily.

This felt like a fucking Greek tragedy and damn if he cared if they both ended up burning for their sins.

She was his hell. But she was also the only who could show him what heaven looked like. Felt like.

Without a warning he pushed his pulsating erection inside her.

“Oh god,” she gasped.

Damn she was so tight. Virgin tight. So insanely tight that he had to squeeze his eyes firmly shut to withhold his orgasm when he felt her contract and stretch to accommodate his size.

He stopped moving as brushed the hair off her forehead. “Does it hurt?”

She shook her head.

Liar this one was. He could tell she was in pain from her grimace alone.

Pressing both palms against the mattress he started pulling out. He realized he loved her more than his dick. And he’d rather have blue balls than a blue Sookie.

“No,” she hooked both arms around his waist, pulling him back. “I need to feel you, Eric. I need this.”

He paused to see tears streaking to her temple, soaking her hair. He discerned he, too, needed this.


He wanted to take a leak.

But with her head on his chest and her leg draped over his thigh, he had to hold it in. His kidneys would have to understand.

He threaded his fingers with her hair while his other arm clung to her side. This, right here, almost made up for three fucking years of mind-numbing pain. Of the lonely days and lonelier nights.

“I missed you,” she hushed almost inaudibly.

“I’m still missing you.”

She propped up her chin on his torso to meet his gaze.

“When did you become so good with words?” she teased.

“I’m always good with words. That’s how I landed you in the first place.”

She tittered, her laughter rippling across his chest. “Oh right. You and Mr. Kennedy.”

He grinned, recalling the first time he tasted the peaches in her tongue. “You were a lousy kisser then.”

She scowled and gave his chest a hard slap.

“Wait. Let me finish…” he purred, lifting her chin up with his index finger. “That’s also when I realized I was a goner. Because despite your subpar performance I still wanted you like you wouldn’t believe.”

She chewed on her lip as her eyes turned glassy and he knew he had to shut up and start kissing her again.

He flipped her to lie on her back as their lips locked languorously. She was actually a quick study and years of practice with him made her quite an expert in knocking him breathless. She didn’t need to know that, though.

She shoved at him gently, making him grunt in disapproval. He was about to seize her again when he caught the shadow behind her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, brows knitted in concern as he hovered above her.

“I asked Bill for a divorce,” she choked out.

His throat constricted. He took it from her tone that Bill didn’t take it very well.

He sat up straight. “And?” he could barely ask.

“You’re going to hate me.”



He put on his black track pants as he burned a path on the carpet, pacing back and forth while she filled him in about the deal she brokered with the devil.


“One year!?” he snarled.

She vaguely nodded as she sat at the edge of the bed, wearing only his gray V-neck t-shirt.

“Lilith has got something to do with it. That’s probably what they were talking about in his study during the memorial,” she deduced.

“This reeks of Lilith’s money. I knew that rat bastard was a social climber. I just never thought he’d stoop this low,” he hissed. His grandmother knew how to get things done. And money was her weapon of choice. “I’ll make him a counteroffer.”

It would be a pipe dream to outbid his grandmother but he had to try.


He stilled, mouth gaping. “No!?” He must not have heard her right.

“I can’t let you do that. I can’t let you buy off my freedom like I’m some kind of a whore.”

He dashed in front of her, livid, a vein throbbing on his forehead. “You’d rather stay with him? Is that it? Look at yourself, Sookie, there’s nothing dignified with what you’re doing. You’ve agreed to stay married to that asshole to keep your sister’s secret. If that’s not whoring, I don’t know what is.”

He never saw her hand coming until it smacked him right across the face.

His cheek stung but her stare was the one cutting deeper. “I’ve been called worse. But somehow hearing it from you makes it all real. And here I thought after what Lilith had done to me, nothing could hurt me anymore. Thank you so much for proving me wrong. I guess when it comes to you I’m not bulletproof.”

She shoved him away as she leapt out of bed. He was only glad his reflex wasn’t rendered completely useless when he managed to snatch her wrist. She struggled against him and fuck if he’d let her go.

He held her like a vice as he pulled her flush against him. He didn’t even budge when she started battering the side of his shoulder with her free hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he tightened his hold on her, not even flinching every time her fist whacked his bicep. “I’m sorry,” he repeated over and over until she finally stopped hitting him and went slack in his arms.

“I hate them,” she sobbed. “I hate them, Eric. I hate them.”

“I know,” he murmured in her hair. He was glad she couldn’t see his face and how quickly it darkened. “If Bill and Lilith want to play, we will give them a hell of a game. But this time, Sookie, it will be by our rules.”

She looked up just in time as his lips tugged into a lopsided smirk. He couldn’t be entirely sure; but he thought he saw a glint in her eyes that told him she didn’t mind playing dirty.

Yes. Dirty and shameless. That’s what they had been reduced to. She was a whore. He was a home wrecker. Really, they could not have been more perfect for each other.


He jerked awake and instantly cursed himself for allowing himself to doze off. It was still dark outside so he knew he hadn’t been asleep long. His hand instinctively lashed to the other side of the bed- her side – then bolted up when he found her missing.

He didn’t bother putting on his boxers when he scuffled to peer inside the bath to look for her. She was nowhere to be seen. He knew exactly where she was but admitting it was the hard part. He was on his way to window when he caught sight of a note tucked under the foot of the bed. It must have flown down when she left.

Ben called. Bill’s on his way. I have to beat him home.’

His jaw clenched along with his fists.

Fuck him and his inability to stay awake. Because the minute he let himself drift off, the nightmare creeps back.

He trudged to the window. Maybe he could still catch her shadow. If he were lucky, she might even be at the other side of her window, waiting for him to peek. And then he saw it. From his reflection bouncing off the glass, there was another note scribbled on his forehead with a sharpie. Just like old times.


Love you more.


2 thoughts on “20. Nightmares

  1. All I can say is that these two better have a HEA. The angst & suffering they endure for their love of each other has to have them living their HEA. Lovely chapter. Thankyou.


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