I...have no explanation, really. This just kinda happened, and I hope someone enjoys it enough to encourage me to continue it.
Reviews are welcome and encouraged. ;)
Summary: Musical/Leroux AU set after the events of ll Muto: Christine's unplanned and unexpected deflowering leads to a whole new world of possibilities, and she will explore every single opportunity she gets. Multi-chapter smutfic. Christine/Everyone.
~Awakening~
Chapter 1- The Lesson
The house in itself was extraordinary, if it could even be called simply a house. It was three stories tall, with many long windows, their framing gold. Dark green vines snaked up one side of the building, giving it a sort of ominous look around the ivory base color that had faded with time. Each back corner had large turrets that pointed sharp at the top, making the house seem more like a castle, and the sloping roof was painted blue. Though surrounded by steep, sloping hills and large trees deadened by winter, the massive home still somehow managed to look inviting and warm.
The de Chagny estate awaited, and the closer they got the calmer Christine felt. True to Raoul's pleading word, it was nice to get away from the craziness of the opera house. She had been hesitant to go away, even just for a weekend. The opera house was home to her, and despite all of the frightening and confusing events that had taken place, she had been reluctant to leave it.
But Raoul had been persistent, as she had known he would be. He had begged and begged for her to come stay at his family's home for a weekend, and since his eyes only held adoration and innocent hope, she had finally agreed.
And now they were here.
Raoul's eagerness was obvious, having nearly bounced out of his seat next to her before they even reached the drive way. It was endearing, and she had smiled widely at him the rest of the way, her worries fading. He helped her out of the cab and into the cold, cloudy afternoon, offering his arm cheerfully.
"It is not nearly big enough, dear Vicomte," Christine joked as they walked up the steps to the huge wooden door, her nose crinkling with her grin.
He laughed, his light, blue-grey eyes sparkling as he looked down at her. "Wait until you see the inside. You will be truly outraged at the mediocrity."
The inside was even grander, all dim lighting and marble floors and wood paneled walls, with crystal chandeliers and the finest, deep colored furnishings. And huge, of course. Oh, so huge. The luxury of it all was like nothing she had ever seen, and she huffed out a startled breath.
Raoul took her hand and squeezed her fingers. "May I show you around, Lotte?"
Christine nodded, staring wide-eyed at her surroundings.
The house tour took even longer than she had anticipated, and she was relieved when Raoul finally stopped in front of the door that was to be her room during her stay. "Philippe's room is right next to this one," Raoul reminded her as they stepped into the luxurious bedroom. "And mine is just down the hall."
"I am not likely to forget what you told me just two minutes ago," she teased him, smiling.
He laughed once breathlessly, and then his boyishly handsome features grew serious. "I know. I…I only want you to know that you are safe here, no matter what, Christine."
The lighthearted, carefree mood between them shifted to one of awkward tenseness, but Christine still managed to smile politely at him. "Well, thank you, Raoul. I do feel…safe."
And she did, in a way. Of course, she knew that if…he did somehow find her here, he would not have any problems taking her if he tried. The Phantom was much too clever. But he had disappeared weeks ago, and she had no suspicion that he was planning anything, no sense of foreboding. Probably still too angry with her to even attempt to…
Raoul's warm hands softly grasped her shoulders, breaking her from those thoughts. "I am so happy you are here," he said quietly, placing a kiss to her forehead, the mood shifting yet again. His lips were soft, warm, and she leaned up with eagerness to meet them with her own.
They kissed only briefly, though it was enough to make Christine light headed. All too soon, Raoul pulled away, clearing his throat. "I will give you some time to rest before supper." He began to reluctantly leave, but turned back to her before he was out the door. "Oh, and Philippe and his…lady friend will be joining us tonight. I hope that is all right. You should know her, she is the lead ballerina at the opera."
"La Sorelli? Yes, I know her. That is fine." Indeed, Christine was familiar with the beautiful Italian dancer. She had always been envious of her grace, of her long, smooth limbs that were a golden tan color, and her ability to enchant people with her dancing. She had not known that Raoul's brother, the Comte, had been seeing her. "Are they…courting?" she added skeptically.
Raoul's sudden red face answered her question. "Ah, no…they are just…friendly. Uh…a servant will be here to help you dress for supper within the next hour or so." And with that, Raoul strode away, leaving Christine shocked and quietly giggling in her temporary bedroom.
The room was bright and warm, with patterned cream walls and thick, golden bedding on the huge bed. In one corner stood a charming white vanity and matching chair, reminding her of the one in her dressing room at the opera house. She spent her time alone sitting at the mirror, finger combing her dark curls, and then trying to style them for dinner. She would have done something creative, but she only ended up pinning it half up like she always did, with a couple curly tendrils kept out to frame her face.
Growing bored, she stared at herself, slowly licking her pink lips and parting them, lifting her chin and angling her face this way and that, squinting her blue eyes. Posing sensually into the mirror was something she had done frequently lately, though she always felt silly afterward. She was a twenty-year-old woman, but she could not seem to escape from the innocent little girl everyone else saw. Her round, dimpled cheeks and small, girlish frame saw to that. Raoul could not even stand to kiss her passionately without fearing he would soil her, or something…
Well, that is what it seemed like, at least.
Groaning quietly in embarrassment, she gave up and turned away from the mirror, knowing that no matter how hard she tried she would still be the same Christine, and would look extremely insignificant at dinner with Sorelli there.
She did feel a little better when the servant came and helped her dress into an evening gown that Raoul had gifted her. The neckline was just low enough to still be tasteful, had lacy cream trim and was a deep burgundy, embroidered with golden roses. The deep fabric contrasted with her pale skin quite nicely, nearly making it glow in the bedroom's light. The sleeves were short and just off her shoulders, leaving her arms bare. Perhaps she would not look so insignificant next to Sorelli after all…
Christine scoffed quietly to herself. Of course she would.
Dinner with Raoul, his brother, and Sorelli was fancy and delicious, with wine and chatter and laughs. Surprisingly, Philippe did not seem arrogant or condescending like Christine had expected from what his looks suggested. Though he was basically an older, taller version of Raoul, his face was more angular and intimidating, his eyes a darker grey and his hair a longer, darker blonde. He was also very handsome, but in a harder, manlier way. Despite that, he was quite charming and witty, and chivalrous with the stunning Sorelli.
The dancer was demure, sensual without even trying, and dressed in a lovely emerald green gown, no doubt a gift from the Comte. Her smooth, tan skin and black hair and golden brown eyes…Christine's mouth went dry just looking at her perfection.
Insignificant indeed.
"Well, brother," Philippe eventually said, standing. "Miss Sorelli and I are going to the library for a nightcap. Would you two lovebirds like to join us?" He glanced Christine's way, winking at her subtly, and she not so subtly looked away with a blush.
"I was actually hoping to take Christine on an evening stroll," Raoul said hopefully, turning to her. "That is, if it is all right with you?"
"Sure," she murmured, besotted by Raoul's shining eyes. "That sounds nice."
Though the night air was wintry, the stroll was nice with her heavy cape and Raoul's warmth next to her. With arms linked, they reminisced of their days by the sea when they were younger happily, and Christine felt strangely light and carefree. Perhaps the wine at dinner had helped with that, but she had not felt so relaxed since…well, since before she had removed his mask.
When Raoul escorted her back inside and up the stairs, they paused at his bedroom door. "Well," he said, running a hand through his tousled hair, looking her up and down, and then their eyes locked. Her breath hitched at the glint that she had never quite seen in him before, but had definitely seen in the eyes of…another man. The next thing she knew, Raoul's mouth was on hers, warm and moist.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her toes to better meet his full, pillow-soft lips, sighing heavily against him. His hands were on her hair, holding her to him gently, and with parting lips she unconsciously sought out his tongue with hers. Raoul inhaled sharply and pulled away, the look on his face giving her a strange ache in her belly.
"Raoul," she gasped, feeling her heart racing in her chest. "I…I am sorry. That was…inappropriate of me."
Before she could even finish her sentence his head was shaking fast, smiling at her reassuringly. "Oh, no, Christine. Never be sorry for…that." He laughed once, breathlessly. "But I…I think maybe we should…"
Christine nodded, trying not to be disappointed. "Right. I will see you in the morning." She turned to go, but he grabbed her hand.
"Let me…I mean, I will walk you to your door."
She agreed, and he saw to it that she made the short walk safely. He kissed her briefly once more and bade her goodnight with reluctance, and then she was left alone in her room. The fire burning strong in the fireplace was her only source of light, casting the space in a warm, sultry glow.
Fully clothed, she collapsed on the bed with a huff, her mind spinning, trying to figure everything out.
One thing she knew for certain was that ever since that night with…him, the Phantom—once her angel—she had felt something change within her. His voice, his feather light touches, hesitant embraces… Something that she could not quite explain had awakened and begun to grow since that night, and now it was just willing to be released, whatever it was. How she wished she knew what these strange feelings were. Toward him, toward Raoul, toward…nearly every handsome man or pretty woman she came in contact with!
Her cheeks heated with shame.
Huffing, Christine rose and stripped down to her undergarments, and then removed the pins from her hair. She slipped into the bathroom and washed quickly, and donned a thin, white nightgown. She sat at the vanity, and had just begun the tedious task of brushing through her dark curls when she heard a noise.
Freezing, she listened, and it sounded like a female crying in the next room. Sorelli?
Concerned and curious, Christine ventured into the dark hallway, and found Philippe's door partially open, just enough for her to see inside. She could not resist looking, and what she saw caused her eyes to widen, her mouth to gape, and her body to freeze in place.
Oh…Sorelli was not crying. Christine had been wildly mistaken.
Sorelli was lying on her side on the grand bed in the center of the room, not wearing a single stitch, and Philippe was close behind her, moving. It took a minute for Christine to figure out exactly what they were doing, and by then, she could not look away. Philippe was peppering Sorelli's neck and cheek with slow kisses, one of his hands cupping her bare breast, teasing the dark peak there. She moaned in appreciation, her dark eyes never opening, savoring her pleasure.
That was what Christine had heard. She inhaled a gust of air, feeling her chest tighten like it sometimes did when it was cold. But she was not cold, not at all.
Philippe must have heard her, because he suddenly lifted his face, met her stare and froze, his eyes much darker than they had been at dinner, blinking at her in shock. But then, after a moment of thought, he continued his movement, his gaze never leaving Christine's, locking her there. She could do nothing but gape and watch as his hand drifted down Sorelli's smooth torso and hip; lower still to the dark patch of hair between her legs. He fondled her there, watching Christine with an open mouth as if she were the one he was touching.
Still, Christine could not move, could not look away, her skin on fire as he stared, and as Sorelli cried out intensely. And then, Philippe groaned and shuddered, his eyes finally closing, breaking Christine from her trance.
Oh God. She dashed back into her room, shutting the door behind her hastily, gasping. She leaned back against the door, bringing a hand to her feverish forehead, replaying the images of what she had just watched over and over. Then, her thoughts shifted, and she imagined she was the one naked with Philippe, and she was the one crying out in pleasure. Oh.
Releasing a shaky breath, her thighs clenched together, and she caught sight of herself in the mirror across the room. Even in the sparse light, she could still see how her face and neck were flushed, how her chest heaved with her breathing. "Oh, God," she whispered to her reflection. "What is wrong with you, Christine?"
She glanced down at her chest, finding her hardened nipples straining against the thin fabric. Heart pounding, hands shaking, she grasped at them, imitating the way Philippe had held Sorelli's, and massaged with hesitance. The feeling was…exquisite. Licking her lips, one hand crept lower, down her stomach and beyond, and she slowly rubbed herself over her nightgown. A hushed moan escaped her throat, and her eyes fluttered shut.
Feeling rather than hearing the quiet knock against the door at her back, she jumped, nearly squeaking in surprise. It took a moment to restart her heart, and she took a shuddering breath and smoothed her nightgown back into place before turning and opening the door.
She did not know who she had expected to find, but was startled either way. There stood Philippe, smiling and wearing only his trousers, and Christine could only gape.
"Evening, Christine," he said warmly. "May I come in for a moment?"
"Oh, I…" her voice was hoarse, and she quietly cleared her throat. "I do not think that would be-"
He raised a hand, stopping her. "Just to talk, I promise. Please?"
No. Say no, Christine. Swallowing, Christine nodded slowly, moving out of the doorway to let Philippe through. He grinned at her handsomely, and strode into her bedroom with confidence. This was a bad idea, she knew, yet she only breathed deeply as she shut the door, and then turned sheepishly to face him, keeping her arms firmly across her chest. He sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at her with a humorous glint in his eyes.
"You enjoy what you saw, I trust?" he teased, looking her up and down.
She almost wanted to cry. "I am…so, so terribly sorry, Monsieur le Comte," she groaned in humiliation, putting her red face in her hands. "I did not mean to…I thought I-I heard crying, and then when I looked I s-saw-"
His light laughter interrupted her, and her head snapped back up. "Please, Christine, call me Philippe. And do not apologize. It is all right. Nothing wrong with a girl's curiosity." He chuckled some more, and she narrowed her eyes at him.
"Ahem…where is Sorelli?"
"Deeply asleep. I am afraid I wore her out." His devilish grin sent shivers up Christine's spine. "Though, I am sure you know how it is." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching her. She shifted uncomfortably where she stood.
"I do not," she said so quietly that it was nearly a whisper.
Philippe tilted his head, his brows rising. She watched as he stood, and slowly walked up to her, pausing when he was just inches away. His muscular build glowed golden in the firelight, and her mouth went dry. "Christine Daaé," his low voice was vaguely taunting. "Are you a virgin?"
Her flush said it all, and his brows rose higher. "Of c-course I am. Is…that wrong?"
"Oh, not at all. Only, I saw the look on your face just minutes ago, and I know you do not want to be much longer."
Warm fingers came up to stroke her cheek, and Christine's eyes widened. "I…"
Philippe stepped closer still. So close she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
"If you are so willing, dear Christine," he was cupping her face with both hands now, tilting it up so she could better see him as he towered over her. She could not move. His dark grey eyes bore into hers, and then he leaned in, his firm lips just barely touching her forehead. "I would be honored to complete such a task as making you a woman." Thumbs gently stroked her cheeks, and his lips dragged to the right and brushed her temple. Her eyes slid shut. "I would be so tentative, so gentle." To the left, kissing her other temple. "I will make you feel…better than you could ever imagine." Dragging down, kissing the tip of her nose, and her arms fell limply at her sides. "You saw Sorelli's face, heard the sounds she was making. I can make that happen for you, too, Christine." Lower, and his lips gently pressed down on hers.
Inhaling, her heart racing, Christine stumbled a step back, surprised at how much strength it took to do so. Philippe watched her, his hands still hovering in the air from when he held her face. "W-what about…Raoul?" she panted, ashamed that she had completely forgotten about him until just now.
He dropped his hands, his smile sly. "Raoul does not need to know. Don't you want to learn how to please him? I doubt he thinks you are a virgin, what with working at the opera house and all. We all know what goes on there."
Christine knew that was untrue. Raoul did not doubt her purity. He could hardly kiss her for more than one fleeting moment for fear of getting carried away with her! Ignoring his comment, she narrowed her eyes at Philippe, her chin coming up in defense. "What if I'm not ready? What if I do not want to?"
"Then I will bid you goodnight, and we will forget this," he said easily. "But…we both know neither of those are true." Philippe licked his lips and winked at her, and then turned to leave.
Damn. He was right.
She raced to the door before he could touch the handle, pressing her back to it. He looked down at her with parted lips, and Christine hesitantly reached out to touch his naked chest, her hand shaking to the point of embarrassment. His skin was warm and smooth beneath her palm, and she gently scratched her nails down his tawny chest hair, not missing his intake of breath as she did.
"S-stay," Christine whispered. "Teach me?"
He nodded once. "With pleasure," he murmured, cupping her face like he had earlier, and bringing his mouth down to hers. His lips were firm yet gentle, insistent, unfamiliar, and Christine responded with as much enthusiasm as she would if it were Raoul. This is wrong. This is so wrong. And yet…she ran her trembling hands down his bare back, clutching him closer and parting her lips. Philippe touched her tongue with his slowly, and she tasted tobacco and whiskey and heat, moaning softly.
The kiss deepened, grew past the few kisses she had shared with Raoul all together. No, this swirling and massaging of tongues was nothing she had ever experienced, and she feared she would collapse with the way it made her knees buckle. She whimpered when Philippe pressed her back against the wall, snaking his fingers into her curls and kissing her harder. She could feel something hard and hot against her abdomen, and the realization of what it was sent both fear and excitement deep in her belly.
Philippe pulled back, and their mouths disconnected with a rather satisfying suction sound. "Hmm, it seems you need no teaching when it comes to kissing," he complimented, his low, deep voice making her head swim. "Kiss me here." He pointed to his neck, and Christine obeyed. His skin was smooth and salty, and she licked and kissed with fervor. It made her feel powerful, hearing Philippe's breath quicken, feeling his hands tightening their grip in her hair, and she was eager to find out what else she could do to please him.
"Good," he rasped. "Now, raise your arms." She looked up at him in confusion, and he explained patiently, "Men love to undress women, Christine."
Oh. She swallowed, and slowly did as he said. He grasped her nightgown at her waist and pulled it up, and she gasped and covered her naked chest when she realized her chemise had been pulled of as well. Philippe smiled. "And they do not do it just so you can cover yourself with your arms." He waited, and Christine eventually dropped them, her cheeks heating as she was exposed to his dark, roaming gaze. "Women are taught to be proper and quiet and shy their whole lives, I know. But when it comes to this," he murmured, sweeping her hair behind her shoulders and leaning down to whisper in her ear, "Disregard all of that."
She quivered, nodding slowly, and Philippe bent down to kiss her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut, sighing, and she felt his hands brushing her hips. They snuck around her lower back, tugging the fastenings of her drawers and then guiding the garment off, and it slipped to the floor. She was completely naked now, and Philippe's warm, smooth fingers were trailing down her lower back, down lower over her behind, digging his fingers into the fleshy skin there.
With a soft groan, his lips brushed over her collarbone, venturing lower, and she brought her hands up to anchor against his broad shoulders, fearing for her balance all of a sudden. When his hot, wet mouth closed over her left breast, her eyes snapped open, her head tilting down to see. The sight was positively sinful and delicious, and she exhaled, gaping. Philippe sucked and released, and bit back the moan that wanted to escape her throat.
"Do you like this?" he asked quietly, and then swirled his tongue around the pink bud.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Always voice it, Christine." Philippe sucked harder, and she could not hold back the moan this time. He released it again. "Yes, just like that. We love to hear you." After paying her other breast the same attention, he stood upright, taking a step back. "Now, undress me."
There was not much to undress, clad in only his trousers as he was. Still, Christine hesitantly obeyed, her hands still shaking as she undid the fastenings and hooked her thumbs underneath the fabric at his hips. She could feel her cheeks burning when they fell to the floor, leaving him as bare as she, and visibly aroused. Meeting his eyes, darkened by lust, something else began to burn. Something between her legs.
Intrigued, ever hesitant, she reached out to grasp him, fascinated at how the skin could be so hard yet velvety soft to the touch. She had no idea how to touch him, so she pleaded to him with her eyes for guidance. Philippe took her hand and squeezed it around his thickness, showing her how to properly hold him and stroke, back and forth. Once she got the hang of it, his head fell back and his eyes shut, groaning softly, and she could not hold back her triumphant grin.
When he opened his eyes and saw her smile, his eyes glinted wickedly. "Oh, you like giving me pleasure, do you?" She nodded, squeezing and stroking him more boldly. He gaped at her for a second, and then chuckled, shaking his head. "All right, then. Kneel."
"Kneel?" she repeated, confused.
"Yes. I am going to show you one of the best ways to please a man, Christine."
"Oh…all right." She sunk to the floor, and she could guess what he meant when her face was level with his arousal. "You want me to…kiss you here, don't you?" she guessed, and Philippe nodded in approval.
"You are a fast learner, aren't you? Yes, that is exactly what I want you to do. Sort of like how I kissed you here." His fingers brushed her swollen nipple, and she nodded, wetting her lips.
Her mouth closed over him, and she swirled her tongue and sucked the way he had done to her breast. Philippe groaned deliciously, and he guided her with little choked tips, and Christine was surprised by how much she enjoyed it, how powerful it made her feel. Her eyes watered with the effort, but having her mouth full of his hot hardness and hearing his pleasure because of it was titillating. And then, he was already stopping her, and helping her back up to her feet.
Second-guessing herself, she fretted, wondering if she had done something wrong. "Was I…not good, Philippe?"
He snorted, shaking his head and taking her hands in his. "No, you were…a little too good, actually. I needed you to stop if you wanted to carry on with your lesson." He grinned, such a way that made her shiver in anticipation, as he pulled her to the bed. He softly ordered her to lie down, and then he pulled a handkerchief out of the bedside table drawer and set it aside before joining her. She was about to ask why he did so, but his body was already hovering over hers, his lips crashing down to claim hers in a searing kiss.
First her mouth, a quick, tangling dance of hot tongue. Then her neck, wet lips pressing and sucking. Trailing lower, to her tight breasts, that warm tongue, taking turns on each erect nipple, Christine shuddering in delight. Lower, kissing softly down her stomach, tongue dipping into her navel, thrilling her. Lower still, down her hip and the flesh of her thigh, large hands spreading her legs apart.
She squeaked in surprise and embarrassment, her cheeks pink when she looked down and saw him looking at her most secret spot, right between her thighs. His dark eyes met hers for a moment, and he rounded his red lips and blew. She whimpered and squirmed, and he chuckled darkly. She tried to squeeze her legs shut, but that was obviously impossible with Philippe's head in between them and his hands still holding her in place.
"No, no," he protested gently. "Do not be embarrassed of this." He touched her then where she had never been touched before, caressing her intimately, and her head fell back with a heavy exhale, her eyes closing. "A real man will appreciate such beauty, Christine." His tongue lashed out, licking her just once exactly where she ached the most.
She jerked and cried out, and he lapped at her again, the feeling so intoxicating that she prayed he would never stop. He did though, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, trying to push his head down without much luck. "Greedy girl," he growled playfully. "I do not hear a 'please'."
"Please, Philippe!" she mewled. "Oh, please."
"Hmm, I suppose, since you beg so, so sweetly…" He granted her wish, licking her ever softly, slowly. Her back arched, her breath coming out stuttered and heavy. Fingers fondled, coating in her arousal, and she tensed when she felt one single digit slip inside of her. It was…a little uncomfortable, and she whimpered. When a second one joined the first, she hissed in pain, freezing.
Philippe seemed to notice, and paused. "Does this hurt?" he asked softly, moving his fingers inside of her. She flinched and nodded, staring squinty eyed at the ceiling.
"Relax, Christine," he murmured softly. "It will feel better soon, I promise." He set to devouring her again, and it was not too difficult to obey his request after a while. She focused on the pleasure, tried to ignore the pain, until the two seemed to meld together into something nearly overwhelming, true to his word. Tongue circling, lips sucking, fingers digging, and Christine moaned, squirmed, pulled on his hair, begged, melted. And then, she shattered, crying out so loudly that she might have woken the entire house.
Ah, who cared if she did? She would not be sorry. Not when she felt so utterly, completely wonderful.
Philippe crawled up next to her, his hair in disarray and his lips glistening. It was a rather seductive sight, and she stared at him with hazy eyes as her heartbeat slowed to a normal pace. He held up his hand then, the one that had worked the fingers inside of her, and she gasped when she saw a thin coat of blood on said fingers. "Evidence of your virginity," he explained softly, wiping the redness with the handkerchief he had set aside. "It's normal, do not worry."
"Oh," she sighed in relief. "All…right."
After setting the now stained handkerchief aside, Philippe crawled atop her with that ever present, charming smirk, bending down to kiss her. It was hot, wet, and Christine moaned when Philippe gently bit down on her lower lip. "Are you ready?" he mumbled against her mouth, pressing his erection to her thigh to clarify his intent.
"Y-yes," she breathed, jerking her head up and down in an apprehensive nod as her hands came up around his neck, and he positioned himself between her legs. His stormy eyes stared down into hers as he reached down, grasping himself, ever slowly pressing himself to her entrance. Without breaking eye contact, he used his hardness to tease her, rubbing around her wetness in a slow, torturous way, causing her to squirm. Her sensitivity only heightened the sensations, and it was not long before she ached for release once again, Philippe's seductive, smoldering gaze only serving to burn her further.
And yet, she shivered.
When he finally, slowly—God, so slowly—began to slip inside, she gaped, her fingers digging into his perspiring skin. She was being filled, stretched by his hot, throbbing hardness, and she watched his eyes flutter closed, heard the low groan he emitted. The feeling was new and uncomfortable at first, but Philippe had not lied when he told her he would be gentle. He slowly pulled out and back in, over and over, and it slowly began to feel…well, fantastic, really. The best was when he thrust deep inside, and she would voice her pleasure with moaning sighs.
"Does it…still hurt?" he grunted the question, and shook her head. "Good." He rolled them over, their positions reversed as she was on top of him now. His hands on her face, he pulled her head down to kiss her once. And then, his voice, low and seductive, "I want you to ride me."
He pushed her shoulders gently until she sat up, his hot, smooth hands slipping to her waist, guiding her to begin moving. She could tell her cheeks were bright red as she awkwardly lifted and lowered herself onto him, her lips parting with the exquisite feel of him deep inside. Philippe's strong, attractive body glistened underneath her, and she touched him, fingers trailing between his muscular dips in admiration.
When she moved more confidently, her rhythm set, he moved his hands to her breasts, grabbing and massaging and pinching. Her head tossed back, her eyes rolling into her head in ecstasy, crying out as she rode him.
It took a lot of effort, and she felt the dampness of sweat dewing at her body, felt her heart pound, her breath coming out in quick little pants. It was harder to keep going as her pleasure built, weakening her, and it did not go unnoticed by Philippe.
He eventually instructed her to dismount him and lie on her side, and she immediately knew what he intended to do, smirking at him before obeying. He positioned himself behind her, and they were in the exact position she had found him and Sorelli in. When he entered her this way, it felt even better, somehow fuller than before, and she moaned. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he purred into her ear, teasing her nipple between thumb and forefinger.
"Oh, yes, Philippe," she cooed, pressing her backside to meet him thrust for delicious thrust. She felt his wet lips on her neck, trailing over to her shoulder, and she shuddered around him hard. Her pleasure was building again, very, very close to being released, and she dug her fingers into his bare thigh, the feel of the tight, hairy skin thrilling. When his hand slipped down from her breast to between her legs, a single finger swirling around where she needed it most, she came apart at last again, shaking and nearly sobbing with the overwhelming release.
With a loud groan, Philippe's own pleasure followed, clutching her close as she felt his warmth release deep inside of her.
Both of them sated and exhausted, they lied there, still connected, for a very long time. Christine could have fallen asleep, but then she felt the brush of his lips on her temple.
"I must return to my own bedroom," he said, voice low. "Lest I fall asleep in here with you. That would be interesting to explain."
She giggled. "Indeed."
He pulled away and hopped off the bed, and she turned to see him pulling on his trousers, looking at her with that handsome, charming smile. "I must say, Christine," Philippe started, shaking his head with a slightly awed expression. "My brother is…one very lucky man."
"I had a good instructor," she complimented back, beaming.
He strode back to her and bent down to claim her mouth in a quick kiss. "You better come to me if you need further teaching," he said, kissing her once more and then standing upright.
"But of course, Monsieur le Comte," she replied coquettishly, and he kissed her hand like a gentleman before turning and quietly leaving the room.