Dead Until Dark (Sookie Stackhouse #1)(47)

“Oh, Bill,” I said anxiously, when he was beside me in the bed, “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“That’s not possible,” he whispered. His eyes looked at my body as if it were a drink of water on a desert dune.

“I don’t know much,” I confessed, my voice barely audible.

“Don’t worry. I know a lot.” His hands began drifting over me, touching me in places I’d never been touched. I jerked with surprise, then opened myself to him.

“Will this be different from doing it with a regular guy?” I asked.

“Oh, yes.”

I looked up at him questioningly.

“It’ll be better,” he said in my ear, and I felt a twinge of pure excitement.

A little shyly, I reached down to touch him, and he made a very human sound. After a moment, the sound became deeper.

“Now?” I asked, my voice ragged and shaking.

“Oh, yes,” he said, and then he was on top of me.

A moment later he found out the true extent of my inexperience.

“You should have told me,” he said, but very gently. He held himself still with an almost palpable effort.

“Oh, please don’t stop!” I begged, thinking that the top would fly off my head, something drastic would happen, if he didn’t go on with it.

“I have no intention of stopping,” he promised a little grimly. “Sookie . . . this will hurt.”

In answer, I raised myself. He made an incoherent noise and pushed into me.

I held my breath. I bit my lip. Ow, ow, ow.

“Darling,” Bill said. No one had ever called me that. “How are you?” Vampire or not, he was trembling with the effort of holding back.

“Okay,” I said inadequately. I was over the sting, and I’d lose my courage if we didn’t proceed. “Now,” I said, and I bit him hard on the shoulder.

He gasped, and jerked, and he began moving in earnest. At first I was dazed, but I began to catch on and keep up. He found my response very exciting, and I began to feel that something was just around the corner, so to speak—something very big and good. I said, “Oh, please, Bill, please!” and dug my nails in his hips, almost there, almost there, and then a small shift in our alignment allowed him to press even more directly against me and almost before I could gather myself I was flying, flying, seeing white with gold streaks. I felt Bill’s teeth against my neck, and I said, “Yes!” I felt his fangs penetrate, but it was a small pain, an exciting pain, and as he came inside me I felt him draw on the little wound.

We lay there for a long time, from time to time trembling with little aftershocks. I would never forget his taste and smell as long as I lived, I would never forget the feel of him inside me this first time—my first time, ever—I would never forget the pleasure.

Finally Bill moved to lie beside me, propped on one elbow, and he put his hand over my stomach.

“I am the first.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Sookie.” He bent to kiss me, his lips tracing the line of my throat.

“You could tell I don’t know much,” I said shyly. “But was that all right for you? I mean, about on a par with other women at least? I’ll get better.”

“You can get more skilled, Sookie, but you can’t get any better.” He kissed me on the cheek. “You’re wonderful.”

“Will I be sore?”

“I know you’ll think this is odd, but I don’t remember. The only virgin I was ever with was my wife, and that was a century and a half ago . . . yes, I recall, you will be very sore. We won’t be able to make love again, for a day or two.”

“Your blood heals,” I observed after a little pause, feeling my cheeks redden.

In the moonlight, I could see him shift, to look at me more directly. “So it does,” he said. “Would you like that?”

“Sure. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” he breathed, and bit his own arm.

It was so sudden that I cried out, but he casually rubbed a finger in his own blood, and then before I could tense up he slid that finger up inside me. He began moving it very gently, and in a moment, sure enough, the pain was gone.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m better now.”

But he didn’t remove his finger.

“Oh,” I said. “Would you like to do it again so soon? Can you do that?” And as his finger kept up its motion, I began to hope so.

“Look and see,” he offered, a hint of amusement in his sweet dark voice.

I whispered, hardly recognizing myself, “Tell me what you want me to do.”

And he did.



I WENT BACK to work the next day. No matter what Bill’s healing powers were, I was a little uncomfortable, but boy, did I feel powerful. It was a totally new feeling for me. It was hard not to feel—well, cocky is surely the wrong word—maybe incredibly smug is closer.

Of course, there were the same old problems at the bar—the cacophony of voices, the buzzing of them, the persistence. But somehow I seemed better able to tone them down, to tamp them into a pocket. It was easier to keep my guard up, and I felt consequently more relaxed. Or maybe since I was more relaxed—boy, was I more relaxed—it was easier to guard? I don’t know. But I felt better, and I was able to accept the condolences of the patrons with calm instead of tears.