Dead to the World

to breathe, as Bill always had during sex. (I’d never asked him, he’d just done it, and it had been reassuring.) I pushed the thought away. I’d never had sex with anyone but Bill, and I guess it was natural to think of that, but the truth was it hurt to remember my previous one-man status, now gone for good.
    I yanked myself back into The Moment, which was fine enough. I stroked Eric’s hair, tucking some behind his ear. His eyes on mine were intent, and I knew he was waiting for me to speak. “I wish,” I said, “I could save orgasms in a jar for when I need them, because I think I had a few extra.”
    Eric’s eyes widened, and all of a sudden he roared with laughter. That sounded good, that sounded like the real Eric. I felt comfortable with this gorgeous but unknown stranger, after I heard that laugh. He rolled onto his back and swung me over easily until I was straddling his waist.
    “If I had known you would be this gorgeous with your clothes off, I would have tried to do this sooner,” he said.
    “You did try to do this sooner, about twenty times,” I said, smiling down at him.
    “Then I have good taste.” He hesitated for a long minute, some of the pleasure leaving his face. “Tell me about us. How long have I known you?”
    The light from the bathroom spilled onto the right side of his face. His hair spread over my pillow, shining and golden.
    “I’m cold,” I said gently, and he let me lie beside him, pulling the covers up over us. I propped myself up on one elbow and he lay on his side, so we were facing each other. “Let me think. I met you last year at Fangtasia, the vampire bar you own in Shreveport. And by the way, the bar got attacked today. Last night. I’m sorry, I should have told you that first, but I’ve been so worried about my brother.”
    “I want to hear about today, but give me our background first. I find myself mightily interested.”
    Another little shock: The real Eric cared about his own position first, relationships down about—oh, I don’t know, tenth. This was definitely odd. I told him, “You are the sheriff of Area Five, and my former boyfriend Bill is your subordinate. He’s gone, out of the country. I think I told you about Bill.”
    “Your unfaithful former boyfriend? Whose maker was the vampire Lorena?”
    “That’s the one,” I said briefly. “Anyway, when I met you at Fangtasia . . .”
    It all took longer than I thought, and by the time I had finished with the tale, Eric’s hands were busy again. He latched onto one breast with his fangs extended, drawing a little blood and a sharp gasp from me, and he sucked powerfully. It was a strange sensation, because he was getting the blood and my nipple. Painful and very exciting—I felt like he was drawing the fluid from much lower. I gasped and jerked in arousal, and suddenly he raised my leg so he could enter me.
    It wasn’t such a shock this time, and it was slower. Eric wanted me to be looking into his eyes; that obviously flicked his Bic.
    I was exhausted when it was over, though I’d enjoyed myself immensely. I’d heard a lot about men who didn’t care if the woman had her pleasure, or perhaps such men assumed that if they were happy, their partner was, too. But neither of the men I’d been with had been like that. I didn’t know if that was because they were vampires, or because I’d been lucky, or both.
    Eric had paid me many compliments, and I realized I hadn’t said anything to him that indicated my admiration. That hardly seemed fair. He was holding me, and my head was on his shoulder. I murmured into his neck, “You are so beautiful.”
    “What?” He was clearly startled.
    “You’ve told me you thought my body was nice.” Of course that wasn’t the adjective he’d used, but I was embarrassed to repeat his actual words. “I just wanted you to know I think the same about you.”
    I could feel his chest move as he laughed, just a little. “What part do you like best?” he asked, his voice teasing.
    “Oh, your butt,” I said instantly.
    “My . . . bottom?”
    “Yep.”
    “I would have thought of another part.”
    “Well, that’s certainly . . . adequate,” I told him, burying my face in his chest. I knew immediately I’d picked the wrong word.
    “Adequate?” He took my hand, placed it on the part in question. It immediately began to stir. He moved my hand on it, and I obligingly circled it with my fingers. “This is adequate ?”
    “Maybe I should have said