Today is Sunday and I am pondering once again my twisted rivalry with God.

On another note, I hunger more than I have ever hungered. Eleanor takes to my home with ease, walking around scantily dressed, musing this thing and that, stroking up conversations with Liam and demanding things of me.

If I didn't find her sheer audacity so attractive I think I might have killed her by now.

"I want something home cooked," she tells me this Sunday, a week into her extended stay.

"That's too bad, as you're not home."

She raised a brow. "And who's fault is that, vampire? Then hurry to the kitchen. And I require you to use at least four types of seasoning, yes?"

Reduced to a servant in my own home by her whims. I won't stand for it any longer.

"No."

Shock takes over her face as she blinks as if to correct her hearing.

"No?"

Her hips swing as she approaches me, her arms crossed as her small form stands in front of me. I want to laugh but I refrain. It's infuriating to her when I laugh when she's upset.

And when Eleanor is infuriated she turns very quickly to property damage.

"Well you can't have me waste away. Why not stimulate the economy and hire a cook. Or, Liam could do something useful for once in his miserable life."

Liam frowns. "Hey, Ellie leave me out of it."

Ellie. Since when are these two so familiar.

"I am not your servant, Eleanor," I frown.

"You have such vitality when it comes to arguing and yet, how lifeless you are when it comes to actually completing a task. Why not put this energy into a job?" She suggests with a small smile.

I narrow my eyes. "Eleanor, you are..."

She grins. Oh...well that's adorable. I roll my eyes. "You are the only person who eats. So provide your own meals. I'm retiring to my study. Don't bother me."

"A study," she perks up. "Then might there be books?"

I smirk. "There might."

She pulls my hair. "Onward then! Show me."

To deny a request from my dear Eleanor is difficult enough, so I take her with me, opening the double doors. She spills into the room, instantly spotting some antiques.

"Ah, I remembered something," I murmured, leaning against the large desk as she goes from bookcase to bookcase.

"What?"

"In your favorite book, there's a scene you underlined."

She freezes as I come up behind her. "The count, makes love to Sinclair on the desk, in his study. Is that your favorite scene, dear Eleanor?"

She swallows roughly, her heavily lidded eyes fluttering up at me. "Y-yes. It is."

I brush a curl behind her ear, nuzzling my head shading hers, holding her shoulders.

"How would you like to recreate your favorite scene," I whispered. "I'll even add a bonus. I'll drink from you, and leave you a writhing mess."

I read my hand against the bookcase trapping her in.

She attempts to hide her shaking from me, but it's not possible.

"So? Eleanor? I'll be a gentleman this time. Tell me. Should I spread you open and plunge into your depths on top of my desk?"

She glances away. I don't push further. She's heard my query and her answer to it will come whenever she's ready.

Her brows knit. She shakes more, a different. Almost of fear. I step back. I love my Eleanor. And I enjoy ruling her up, even when she shakes.

But this is a little too much.

I tap her forehead. "Did you know you roll your eyes when something is so ridiculously sad you just don't know how to process it?"

She touched her forehead, looking up at me. "I don't want to give into you. I don't know what that will make me."

I lift her chin. "If it makes you happy, you needn't worry about anything else."