Dead in the Family

This was direct, even for Eric. “Do you love me?” he asked, his eyes fi xing mine.
    This was a little difficult to answer, especially considering what his fingers were doing. “I love being with you, whether we’re having sex or not. Oh, God, do that again! I love your body. I love what we do together. You make me laugh, and I love that. I like to watch you do anything.” I kissed him, long and lingeringly. “I like to watch you get dressed. I like to watch you undress. I like to watch your hands when you’re doing this to me. Oh! ” I shuddered all over with pleasure. When I’d had a moment of recovery, I murmured, “If I asked you the same question, what would your answer be?”
    “I would say exactly the same thing,” Eric said. “And I think that means I love you. If this is not true love, it’s as close as anyone gets. Can you see what you’ve done to me?” He didn’t really have to point. It was pretty damn obvious.
    “That looks painful. Would you like me to nurse it?” I asked, in the coolest voice I could manage.
    In reply, he simply growled. We switched places in an instant. I knelt in front of Eric, and his hands rested on my head, stroking. Eric was a sizable guy, and this was a part of our sex life that I’d had to work on. But I thought I was getting pretty good at it, and he seemed to agree. His hands tightened in my hair after a minute or two, and I made a little noise of protest. He let go and gripped the couch instead. He growled, deep in his throat. “Faster,” he said. “Now, now!” He shut his eyes and his head fell back, his hands opening and closing spasmodically. I loved having that power over him; that was another thing I loved. Suddenly, he said something in an ancient language, and his back arched, and I moved with increased purpose, swallowing down everything he gave me.
    And all this with most of our clothes on. “Was that enough love for you?” he asked, his voice slow and dreamy.
    I climbed into his lap and wound my arms around his neck for an interlude of cuddling. Now that I had recovered my pleasure in sex, I felt limp as a dishrag after a session with Eric; but this was my favorite part, though it made me feel very “women’s magazine” to admit it.
    As we sat holding each other, Eric told me about a conversation he’d had with a fangbanger at the bar, and we laughed about it. I told him about how torn up Hummingbird Road was while the parish was patching it. I suppose this is the kind of thing you talk about with someone you love; you figure they’ll care about trivial topics, since those things are important to you.
    Unfortunately, I knew that Eric had more business to get through that night, so I told him I’d go back to Bon Temps with Pam. Sometimes I stayed at his place, reading while he worked. It’s not easy to arrange alone time with a leader and businessman who’s awake only during the hours of darkness.
    He gave me a kiss to remember him by. “I’ll send Heidi to you, probably night after next,” he said. “She’ll verify what Basim says he smelled in the woods. Let me know if you hear from Alcide.”
    When Pam and I left Eric’s house, it had started raining. The rain put a little chill in the air, and I turned the heat on low in Pam’s car. It wouldn’t make any difference to her. We drove for a while in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. I watched the windshield wipers fan back and forth.
    Pam said, “You didn’t tell Eric about the fairy staying with you.” “Oh, gosh!” I put my hand over my eyes. “No, I didn’t. There was so much else to talk about, I completely forgot.”
    “You realize Eric won’t like another man living in the same house with his woman.”
    “Another man who is my cousin and also gay.”
    “But very beautiful and a stripper.” Pam glanced over at me. She was smiling. Pam’s smiles are somewhat disconcerting.
    “You can strip all you want to—if you don’t like the person you’re looking at while you’re naked, it’s not going to happen,” I said tartly.
    “I kind of understand that sentence,” she said, after a moment. “But still, having such an attractive man in the same house . . . It’s not good, Sookie.”
    “You’re kidding me, right? Claude is gay . Not only does he like men, he likes men with beard stubble and oil stains on their blue jeans.”
    “What does that mean?” Pam said.
    “That means he likes blue-collar guys who work with their hands. Or their