Disclaimer: The Southern Vampire Series, and all characters from it, is owned by Charlaine Harris. The original characters and plot from my fan fiction are mine. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

(Please bear with me. I'm updating every chapter of this story which is in dire need of editing.)

June 2013 - Updated

This story was from my yesteryears - originally published on 3/19/09. Any mistakes left are my own.

SPECIAL THANKS TO: all my beta/friends who helped me and friended me in the past! Miss you guys! *Naked Eric Hugs*

SETTING: This story takes place after the end of Book 8.

When Sookie finally decides Eric is the one, she enlists some help to get the Viking to forsake all others, and make her his one and only. Waiting patiently for some results has only brought her three weeks of loneliness. That was bearable up until Thanksgiving when she started seeing all sorts of erotic images of Eric flashing through her mind. Now what's she supposed to do? Give into her emotions, or continue to wait?

Sookie's POV

When I finally awoke in the morning around eleven and regained complete consciousness, I sighed and uttered, "Yay, it's finally Friday." Friday nights at Merlotte's meant lots of customers and lots of customers meant good tips.

In my mind, I was already thinking about what outfit I was going to wear, the bills I was going to pay with my tip money, and how to fix my hair and makeup to ensure a successful night. As I slowly sat up, my thoughts shifted from my job to the object of my fantasies: Eric.

The last time we spoke, we left it clear we needed to talk about us, the blood bond—basically just about everything. It suddenly hit me it had been three weeks since I had last seen him. I hadn't received a phone call or one of his cute little notes he always sent with a gift, a text, a messenger—nothing.

My thoughts turned to the memories of his gorgeous body, his award-winning ass, and his perfectly sculpted and chiseled six-foot-four frame. Just as if he had been sitting next to me, I swore I could feel his cold skin touch my blazoned body as it desperately burned for him.

I sensed his cool hands on me as they snaked around my body, my breasts, and felt them come to rest in between my thighs. I gasped when I heard his voice utter so devilishly, "Good morning, my Lover."

An overwhelming wave of lust and desire washed over me and my body involuntarily shook with need.

"What in the world?" I sat on the edge of my bed and stood up. Lately, I seemed to be plagued by a series of erotic images in my head of Eric naked or stroking himself, or memories of when we had been together—a sort of lust attack, I concluded. I wondered where these images of Eric were coming from and why they always came upon me when I first woke up.

"Ugh! Why can't I dream of a famous actor or model?" I asked, looking at myself in the mirror. "Why does it have to be Eric Northman?" I tried finding an answer to my question, but the only response I came up with was maybe I didn't dream of those other guys because I had never been with them. I had only been with three men in my life: Bill, Eric, and Quinn.

Out of that small number of men, I had to admit it was Eric with whom the windows had shook and the earth had quaked—by far Eric had been the best sex I'd ever had. I guessed that was why he seemed to be in my thoughts lately.

I rubbed my eyes, collected my clothes, and wondered if Eric thought I was the best he ever had. Perhaps that would explain why he took so long to get back at me. I was probably horrible in bed or worse—boring!

"But didn't Eric seem like he enjoyed himself?" He certainly made all the right sounds and was easily aroused—several times a night, actually. But then again I reasoned I hadn't been with the Eric who had a thousand years of sexual experience, but Eric under a curse, who didn't know who he was.

"Wow! He knew all those positions before he was turned? I wonder what else he picked up . . . " I said before realizing I was talking to myself. "Oh, my stars! All this Eric business, almost made me forget Niall called me yesterday. I gotta call him today. I can't forget . . . "

I tried to keep Eric's sexual positions out of my head and decided to focus on calling my great-grandfather. I made my way to the shower, but somehow my thoughts strayed to the issue of my Fae blood. Could it be possible Eric was only interested in me because of it, and sex with me was just a secondary reaction to its potency, like when a doctor hits a patient's knee and their knee automatically jerks upward?

Was that what our intimacy was? A knee-jerk reaction to him taking my Fae-laced blood? I sighed as I realized Eric's interest in me wasn't because I was experienced or because I did things to him in bed no one had ever done before. I mean if that was the case, wouldn't he be pounding on my door every night as soon as the sun went down?

I took a step and stubbed my toe on my dresser cabinet. "Ow! Stupid lust attacks! Look what you made me do." While I tried to get through my pain, I pondered why I was going through such a confusing experience, and a thought snuck up on me: the messages were probably coming from Eric or from the Blood Bond we now shared.

"But how can this be? Isn't he asleep right now?" The questions flooded over me just like the lust had a few seconds ago.

I sure wished there was a Blood Bond owner's manual like a Blood Bond For Dummies, because I realized I sure had a lot of questions, and it seemed the only person who had the answers was laying low at the moment, not bothering to call me.

As I hopped to the bathroom, I started thinking back upon the times I dealt with Eric before the Blood Bond, and it seemed he always waited about two to three months before contacting me via a message or the like. Plus, there always ended up being an excuse behind the call, such as I was in some sort of danger or my services were being called upon. Sadly, I realized he didn't make it a habit to call me just because. I turned on the shower water and adjusted the temperature, wondering how I was going to keep this up for the months it took for that damn proud vampire to call me.

I chastised myself as I turned to look in the bathroom mirror. "Well, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black, Sookie? You don't call him either, so what does that make you?"

I sighed heavily as I took off my moistened underwear, recognizing how seeing Eric in my head affected me. I shrugged my shoulders in defeat and I realized I could no longer go through this waiting game Eric and I always seemed to play.

Then the question I always tried to put furthest in mind reared up its ugly head. How was Eric feeding at night? Since he was bonded to me, was he giving up sex and just getting blood from the never-ending pool of fangbangers who frequented his club?

I thought back on the first time I had met Eric all those years ago, and even though I was with Bill at the time, there were a number of things I wanted to do with tall, pale, and blond. Even way back then, I couldn't deny Eric was beautiful and powerful, a mixture intoxicating to most women.

Was I really going to believe the women who specifically went to the club to meet him would walk away content, only to provide him with their blood? Or that he would turn down all those women away and just drink TruBloods?

"Come on, Sookie! Wake up to yourself!" Eric the sex god sending the fangbangers away while telling them he was bonded was ridiculous to even contemplate. Besides, all of that was a moot point. I had heard some rumors about Eric and his nightly feedings. I'd be a fool not to think they were based on some sort of truth. My chest constricted as I envisioned Eric with all sorts of women. This only left me feeling depressed and saddened at his supposed infidelity. "Whoa, when did Eric agree to be faithful to me?"

I entered the shower and the warm water poured over me. I lathered soap across my body and I began to tremble with need again. I turned around to let the water from the shower hit my back, and I inadvertently brushed my nipples against the cold shower tile.

"Shepherd of Judea." I gasped as my body shivered. The coldness of the tiles reminded me how Eric's hands felt on my body. "What if this time he takes longer? Four months, five months? Can I survive that long without him?" The thought of being away from his touch so long sent my body into a frenzy again and I lingered there, finding pleasure in the chilled temperature of the tiles.

Without warning, my right hand cupped my left breast and I started tugging at my nipple. As clear as day I saw Eric in my mind say, "Touch yourself for me, my Lover. Show me how much you want me."

I lifted my right leg, resting it on the soap holder, while my left hand found its way into my moistened folds. I began to touch myself. As I felt my pleasure building, I heard a knock on the door.

"Sookie, good morning, girl! Do you have someone over? You sly dog, you! I hear voices in there!"

I quickly put my foot down, and turned around, almost falling on my ass. "No! It's just me, Amelia!" My cheeks burned red and I immersed my head under the shower stream.

"Hmm . . . okay. Well, do you want some coffee? I made a fresh pot for you."

"Okay. Thanks, Amelia! I'll be there in a bit!" I shouted so she could hear me.

I shook my head, attempting to shake free of the haze surrounding it. What in the world was that? What was I doing? Was I going insane? I was certainly not one to do that sort of thing in the shower, well by myself—or rather to myself. At that moment, the memories of the things Eric and I had done in the same shower came crashing into my head and I felt lightheaded.

I can't do this anymore. I turned off the water and moved the shower curtain aside.

I couldn't wait anymore for Eric Northman to come to me. For once, I had to move to the mountain. I had to search him out. I had to find the excuse to bring him to me or find the strength to go to him. I had to see him. I had to touch him, to smell him, to taste him, to fuck him.

Whoa where did that come from? God, what am I saying? "What's happening to me?" The phrase left my lips in a whisper.