Chapter 5 – Whore-Moans

SPOV

It felt really nice to have a heart to heart with Eric, but there was still something I hadn’t gotten off of my chest.

How much I wanted to molest his.

But knowing that was a bad idea – at least for now – I kept that to myself. I still couldn’t reconcile everything I’d seen. The videos. The pictures.

The stupid fucking heart, dotting the letter ‘i’, in my quest for the title of Bumpkin Bride of the Year.

None of it seemed real and my emotions were all over the place, just like my wayward hands, but I managed to pull them back in just the nick of time when Eric asked, “Are you ready for a movie yet or do you want to get back in the pool?”

Since my head was still warring with my whore-moans, it shouldn’t have been so surprising when I heard myself say, “Too bad we didn’t make a sex tape. If I got to watch that then maybe this would seem more real.”

And despite my body’s automatic reaction to flame red at my my upper lips’ cuntfession, it really was too bad.

I would’ve paid good money to see that.

And I would’ve liked to say that my eyes remained closed. My head bowed in silent prayer as I apologized to God and all twelve of his disciples. The three wise men, Mary and Joseph and the little baby lambs in the manger for my very own personal Vagina Monologue, cementing the fact I should spend all of eternity in Hell. But the truth was I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his chest or imagining all of the different things I could cover it with.

My body and its natural fluids among them.

So maybe it wasn’t the blush making me warm, but Satan’s welcoming embrace instead?

“Oh, my darling Sookie,” Eric chuckled, making my ovaries quiver.

Maybe that was how I’d gotten pregnant so easily.

He scooped me up into his arms a second later, with my towel falling by the wayside, and headed in to the house adding, “Ask and ye shall receive.”

I did my best to clamp down on both sets of lips before either one of them could test his theory by shouting out, “ORGASM!” like I’d developed a sudden case of Tourette’s. Instead I tried to find that proper young lady Gran had been teaching for all of those years buried underneath the harlot in Eric’s arms who married him in a red hooker dress.

She was MIA, which meant I was SOL, but when he dropped me onto the couch and began fiddling with the Best Buy store in his family room, my brain finally cottoned on to what he was doing.

And I could’ve used some of that cotton to absorb the moisture in between my thighs.

But I had said, ‘Sex Tape.’

And Eric had all but said, ‘Got it!’

Instead of Marrying the Stars, Operation, or Punk’d Pregnancies, were we now playing the grown up version of ‘Let’s Make a Deal’?

Let’s Make a Sex Reel?

If I had asked him for a paper clip or a spool of thread, would he have been able to pull either one of those out of his proverbial pockets too?

Considering I was pregnant, I already knew he’d been unable to pull out of me.

But seeing the candlelit bedroom scene come to life on his flat screen, I groaned out in disbelief, “Nooo…”

It couldn’t be.

I wouldn’t.

Ever.

Not in a million years.

…says the alter ego of the harlot bride who looked just like me, setting up the video camera on the screen.

“Oh, yes,” Eric chuckled again and flopped down onto the couch next to me.

“I didn’t,” I denied, ignoring the fact I clearly did and tried to rationalize it by waving my hands at the screen, attempting to shoo away the images and stuttering out, “Th…that…that’s some sort of high tech computer animation. CGI. Dreamworks or Disney is to blame!”

Eric snaked his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, whispering, “Lover, there is nothing suitable for Disney audiences on this film.”

I was about to argue with him some more to try and delay my foray into pornography when I saw Slutty Sookie step back from the camera and settle herself into a cum hither pose on top of the bed. And considering she looked just like me and was dressed up as Frederick’s of Hollywood for Halloween, I felt myself turn as red as her barely there negligee.

Something that amounted to an, “Eep!” came out of my throat as I slapped my hand over Eric’s eyes, shielding Slutty Sookie from his view.

“What are you doing?” he asked, not trying to hide his amusement from me, but he wasn’t trying to remove my hand either.

“I’m throwing wishes at falling stars, praying I didn’t actually throw myself at yours,” I mumbled truthfully.

Never mind the fact I had half of his DNA renting out my womb for the next seven and a half months, attesting to how easily I had spread my legs for him from the get go. But the thought of continually throwing myself at the man – the man who I had grown up lusting from afar – to the point I’d been willing to document how cheap I could be by way of a sex tape, was low.

Too low for me to want to admit to.

Eric’s body stiffened and he gently but firmly peeled my hand from his face, but instead of looking at the screen he stared down at me and said, “You didn’t. You never did that Sookie.” He looked hurt and I wanted to apologize, although I wasn’t quite sure what I should be sorry for. But before I could find any words to say, his expression softened and he added, “If you don’t want to watch it, then don’t. But I think you should at least listen.”

Listen?

For what?

Would limbo music play in the background to see how low I could go?

It didn’t make sense since the only sounds I could ever recall making while having sex were disappointed sighs, but then I could only recall ever having sex with Quinn.

Holy overdramatic O-face Batman!

Had I been over-the-top while on top of my fantasy-turned-reality husband?

Satan must have been crushing me in his arms because surely I was seconds away from setting Eric’s couch on fire with the blush I could feel blazing across my skin. He must have thought the same thing because the next thing I knew he was trying to smother the flames by putting a pillow over my face.

Or maybe he was tired of being drunk married to a wannabe porn star and was ready to go back to the real thing?

Before I could yell, “CUT!” and punch him in his magic baby making wand to make a run for it, he settled in beside me with a pillow over his own face – perhaps to hide from my Coochie Monster – and winked, “I’ve already seen it. Numerous times, but I’ll watch it this way with you. I promise I won’t give the ending away.”

“You’ve seen it?” I stupidly choked out, as though it was highly classified material.

And then I remembered I wasn’t classy enough for my maiden sex tape to rate as classified.

“Yes,” he grinned and nodded, before his eyes got big and he added knowingly, like he was whispering the U.S. nuclear launch codes to the Taliban, “Not only have I seen it, but I was there for the live action version too.”

Stupid sexy fantasy husband.

Stupid amnesia.

Stupid brain cells dying off faster than a fart in a hurricane.

I choked on the rebuke that would’ve amounted to, “Meh meh meh meh meh meh meh,” hearing my own voice coming from the TV.

“It took you long enough to get up here.”

Ugh. Could I be any more the needy whore?

My eyes darted to Eric’s in shame, but he just grinned back at me from behind our Coochie Monster Protector Pillows and waggled his eyebrows.

It made me want to lick them.

Among other things.

Ugh. Could I be any more the needy whore?

“Before we get started, I wanted to ask you something.”

Sweet Jesus, what now?

If I had an ounce of decency left in me I would ask if he would still respect me in the morning.

“Yes,” TV Eric replied.

“But I didn’t ask you anything yet,” I whispered to Couch Eric, looking to him for subtitles.

“Doesn’t matter,” Couch Eric whisper replied. “There isn’t much I could ever deny you. And even less when you’re wearing skimpy nighties.”

“Perv,” I chided, but I knew it lost its oomph when I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at him.

That smile somehow made its way to my lower set of lips too because I would swear I could feel them curve upwards when he hoarsely whispered, “You have no idea.”

Hopefully their curved set would be able to contain the sudden onslaught of creativity flowing through me.

If not, I was going to leave a puddle on his couch.

“Eric,” TV Me giggled, while Couch Me made a mental list of perverse ideas we could compare notes on. “I didn’t even ask you yet.”

Yeah, like what you think about the numbers six and nine and a combination of the two.

“Fine. Ask me.”

My brain to mouth filter was clearly set on ‘seX-rated’ since it opened to pose the num-Eric-al question to Couch Eric upon hearing TV Eric’s words. But before I could verbally complete the geometric equation of our body parts, I heard TV Me say, “Well, since we haven’t had a lot of time together lately and you’ve been hovering near death because of it, I thought maybe we could, you know…tape ourselves.”

Dead.

Dear Satan, just swallow me up in your big deep fat fryer in the pits of Hell right now. Please and thank you.

Was there something worse to be than a whore? An Über Whore, perhaps? Would Über Whore wear a cape? From her Über Whore lady parts? Depicting the universal symbol for bio-hazardous waste?

Beware – Cuntamination!

Couch Eric was clearly a lost cause, having been infected nearly six weeks earlier, and he showed he was cuntaminated by whisper grinning at me, “Sometimes you have the best ideas.”

Uh huh. He could make that the epitaph on my tombstone.

Here lies Sookie Northman nee Stackhouse – Patient Zero. Sometimes she had the best ideas. Other times, not so much.

TV Sookie must have thought the same thing because I heard her follow up her best idea with, “We don’t have to. I just figured it would give you something to…you know…never mind.”

Well, at least TV Me wasn’t trying to force him to do anything.

Maybe that would get Satan to take me out of the fryer a minute sooner.

I made the mistake of looking back into Eric’s eyes when I heard TV Him say, “Lover, did you just offer to allow me to film us making love? Giving me the gift of seeing me pleasure you, whenever my need for you can’t be sated by your warm flesh in person? Watching you writhe with desire while I fuck you on the screen and stroke my cock pretending it’s your hand, your mouth, your pussy, surrounding me, squeezing me until I can’t take it anymore and cum shoots out of me, all the while imagining I’m shooting it into you?”

Couch Eric’s eyes smoldered at me and his eyebrow rose in question, making my eyes drop down and see that wasn’t the only thing of his that had risen.

He didn’t have a magic baby making wand. That was a redwood.

And it brought back to mind my earlier sex-quation, with both my mind and my Über Whore sinking to new lows, yelling out, ‘Timber!’

Maybe we should have put on something over our swimsuits because now I was feeling utterly exposed. Physically and emotionally.

Lust was an emotion, right?

Physically my nipples ached, with each of them poking out of my bikini top like a Butterball reaching one hundred and seventy degrees. The same could be said of my clit, but perhaps that was just from the biohazard cape flapping up against it. All I knew was that goose bumps lit up across my skin and a shiver worked its way down my spine, but I was far from cold.

You just had to look at my nipples to know my turkey was done.

I lost track of what TV Eric and Sookie were talking about. There was giggling and moaning, but that could’ve been my inner Über Whore sensing a weakness in the defensive line.

Would it be offensive to let her cross that line?

And trying to find something to say that had nothing to do with bringing redwoods down or like-named lakes, with dicks in boxes, I ended up spitting out into my Coochie Monster Pillow the first thing I could think of.

“TV Us aren’t saying much.”

His expression could be described as pure sex – at least that was how it looked from behind my fogged up rose colored glasses – when he said, “TV Us have moved on to the action portion of the film.”

My eyes darted back to my Coochie Monster pillow, with a part of me dying to see what was going on. But there was still a large part of me that was embarrassed. Horrified that I whore-ified myself.

“Do you want to take a peek?” Couch Eric asked, sounding just like my subconscious.

At least without all of the Über Whore name calling.

Peek. Pique. Peak.

From the way things were progressing, all three would be accurate.

I knew I shouldn’t, so I would blame the Coochie Monster Pillow getting caught up in the flapping biohazard cape for falling down a few inches. Maybe I could even blame that same cape for the next words that fell out of my mouth, seeing TV Eric acting out the word ‘timber’, with my clit playing the part of the redwood.

“You like math!” I gasped, seeing him doing half of the sex-quation.

“What?” Couch Eric chuckled.

I couldn’t be bothered with being embarrassed. Not when I was all hot and bothered watching TV Me writhe around on the bed, with my TV Hands firmly wrapped up in TV Eric’s hair to keep him in my Redwood Forest. It was so weird – and hot – watching the two of us, when my only memories of that act were of Quinn.

And on the rare occasion when he did it, he acted like he was speed licking an envelope.

A swipe of his tongue on either side and one up the middle and he was done. And yet he never delivered.

But TV Eric was clearly putting him to shame. It made me wonder if he lived by the unofficial mail carriers’ motto, ‘Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these carriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.’

It wasn’t snowing, but my twin mountains were peaked.

It wasn’t raining either, but my Redwood Forest could be confused with the Rain Forest right about now.

Heat. Yeah…I was most definitely feeling a lot of heat.

And the night was looking far from gloomy. If my clit could pass for a pointed round, then I certainly met all of the ascribed criteria.

Would it be wrong to let him make a delivery into my feMail box?

“You bite!” I gasped, watching TV Eric nip my TV Thigh.

At least one item on our perverse lists matched.

“You like it,” he purred.

It made my Coochie Monster purr hearing him do it.

And I must have liked it, considering TV Him had TV Me screaming to the high heavens not long after. Couch Me certainly liked seeing it happen, but all I could say was, “You made me scream.”

“You’re quite vocal in your…appreciation,” he chuckled softly.

“But I’m not. I’ve never…” I denied. Falsely, seeing as how TV Me was still gasping in air from her scream fest.

“You are and you do. Frequently,” Couch Eric informed me.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at Couch Him. Maybe it had something to do with being unable to tear my eyes away from the screen, but feeling them go wide when I got a look at his Redwood, I quickly looked away.

And clutched the pillow tighter in my hands, lest they go on a hike through his forest.

Talk about a mind fuck.

Not only was he fucking me – well, it would seem – but I couldn’t remember any of it.

But I wanted to.

But would it be wrong to give in to that want when – as I was now – I barely knew him?

But how well could I have known him when I said ‘I do’ in a red hooker dress?

I couldn’t wrap my head around any of it – despite seeing my TV Hand wrapped around his TV Redwood – and for a moment I thought to excuse myself from the room because the longer I stayed there, the shorter my willpower got. But I couldn’t have moved, even if I had indeed set the couch on fire with my heathen ways, hearing TV Eric say, “You’re mine Sookie. Now that I have you, now that I know what it is to love someone, to be loved in return, I’ll never let you go.”

The pillow in my hands fell to my lap, hearing the conviction in his voice.

Not noticing I was choking on my own heart in my throat, Couch Eric softly laughed, “See?” and I looked over in time to see TV Me bite his chest as he added, “You’re a biter too.”

“You’re mine too, so don’t you forget it,” TV Me informed TV Him, while he agreed, “I am.”

“You are?” I asked, not knowing if my question was posed to either Couch Eric or TV Eric.

But it was the one beside me who answered, “I am.”

And like a sap – a pregnant Über Whore sap – tears suddenly filled my eyes because it was both my mind and heart that filled with understanding.

It was real.

Not just the marriage or the pregnancy, but Eric’s feelings for me.

He really did love me.

“Don’t cry,” he whined and pulled me into his lap. Wrapping his arms around me, with my head falling to his shoulder into a spot that seemed to be made just for me, he added, “Fuck…I suck.”

“You don’t suck,” I snotted against his neck.

Well…he did – my clit – but I didn’t think that was what he was talking about.

“I do,” he weakly protested. “Here I am trying to woo you and what do I do? I show you our sex tape when you can’t even remember me.”

My snot and tears dried up some hearing him say he was trying to woo me. He really was sweet – and he loved me – so I thought I would try and lessen his burden. I pulled back to look into his eyes and said with a small smile, “But it was my idea. Both times. And you’ve already admitted you can’t deny me anything and I’m wearing even less right now than I was on our porn tape.”

He playfully ran his hands over the uncovered parts of my body and smiled, saying, “True.”

My own hands itched to return the favor. After all, his chest was right there in all of its sculpted glory, but all of me froze hearing TV Me say, “I love you.”

And looking into Couch Eric’s eyes and seeing the effect hearing those three little words had on him, broke my heart. I wanted to repeat them. Here. Now. But I knew if I had, it would’ve been a lie. Couch Me liked him a lot. Couch Me lusted him even more, but love?

Not yet.

So I silently watched while he silently waited for a lie I wouldn’t tell either one of us before he eventually sighed and put a small smile on his face and said, “I have a favor to ask of you, but feel free to tell me no.”

If he wanted to go on a hike through proverbial forests, I didn’t know that I could tell him no.

Him being barely dressed affected me too.

Seeing my ‘go ahead’ expression he went on to say, “I want you to sleep with me, but just to sleep. Don’t get me wrong. I want to do everything we used to do in bed too, but…we haven’t slept apart since I can’t remember when and I’m not looking forward to remembering what that’s like.”

The words had barely left his lips when a single one fell from mine in the form of, “Okay.”

I couldn’t remember any of it at all, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to know what it was like.

Even Pre-amnesia Me would’ve been on board for that.

His eyes lit up like a little kid’s at Christmas and he didn’t wait for me to say another word before he lifted me up and carried me to his bedroom. I was about to argue that I needed to at least change into my pajamas, knowing if I attempted to sleep beside him in a bikini, it was likely the last thing either one of us would do was sleep. But then he reminded me he knew me better than I could recall because as soon as he put me down on my feet, he grabbed the t-shirt he’d been wearing earlier from the top of the bed and pulled it over my head.

Grinning at me, his eyes infused with what amounted to a morality eradicator, as he said, “Allow me.”

While I mentally ticked off the ever growing list of things I realized I would allow him to do to me, he reached behind me and pulled the tie loose at the back of my neck. His eyebrows did that ‘Lick me’ thing they did when he continued on by reaching up underneath the shirt, trailing his fingertips up my back, and then pulling that tie loose too.

Another spine tingling shiver inducing trail down my back later, he held up what could’ve amounted to my flag of surrender and winked, “You taught me this trick.”

My Coochie Monster winked too, wondering what tricks he’d taught me in my missing time.

And would he be willing to give me a refresher course.

But instead of handing me a syllabus on how he would lick-my-puss or launching into his lecture on ‘A Thousand and One Ways In Which I’ve Made You Scream My Name’, Eric merely kissed the top of my head and walked into his closet. If that little bit of saliva hadn’t acted as Superglue in keeping my feet rooted to the floor then maybe I could’ve gotten a head start on my new major in dendrology – the study of trees, redwoods – because Eric came back out a moment later now dressed in pajama pants.

“Together we make a whole outfit,” I surmised, trying and failing to keep myself from staring.

If he noticed, he acted like he didn’t and walked over to the bed, pulling the covers down and holding his hand out to me saying, “Together makes me whole.”

“See?” I tried to smile, while fighting back my all-over-the-place emotions and said, “You don’t suck.”

Far from it actually, but I took his offered hand before crawling into his ginormous bed. I waited for him to crawl in beside me and he turned out the lights before pulling my body into his, spooning me from behind.

“Is this okay?” he asked, snuggling into me.

While I might not have been able to remember anything from the last few weeks, I couldn’t deny the feel of him was familiar. I wanted so much to remember, but the harder I tried, the more my mind blanked. So I nodded my reply, but in the growing silence I wanted to give Eric something more – something he deserved after all he’d done and continued to do in trying to put me at ease – and the only thing I could think to do was admit, “If it means anything, I can see why I fell in love with you before.”

He must have been holding his breath because he released it in a long whoosh and he hugged me tighter as he whispered, “It means everything Sookie. Thank you.”

While I wondered over crazy ass worlds where Eric Northman was thanking me – from his bed and wrapped up in his arms, no less – for admitting he was lovable, he gently kissed the back of my head and reminded me just how crazy my world had become when he whispered, “I love you.”

I didn’t return the sentiment, but it didn’t feel as though he was waiting for me to. Instead I burrowed further back into his embrace and by the time I eventually heard his breathing even out, signaling he was asleep, I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be long before I knew I loved him too.