Surrender
His body seems all bones and lean muscle and and long limbs. She's never felt so much of him at once and his closeness is overpowering. She's trembling and her instinct is to shove him away but deep down she wonders if he would even let go, for he's lost all control and is gripping her so tightly it hurts. She's pinned between the stone wall and his sharp hipbones and his hands are like vises on her. He's almost a different person.
It is both terrifying and titillating.
Erik had been on edge all day, in one of his moods. Maybe it was the accidental encounter in the hallway that did it; she thought he was gone and he'd seen her in nothing but her chiffon dressing gown, still damp from the bath. He'd become very, very still, and she'd flushed crimson, and after a lengthy pause he turned on his heel and stalked silently away. Maybe it was the dress she put on afterward; it flattered her, like they all did, but this one was perhaps cut a little lower in the front. She hadn't even considered it.
He alternated between ignoring her and snapping at her, and had been especially forceful during their music lesson. He pounded on the piano like he could beat it into submission, picking over each of her flaws more ruthlessly than usual. One moment he refused to respond to a question, and the next she could barely sing a line without a glare or a vicious interjection.
She finally had enough of his temper and had yelled at him. She'd never dared speak to him like that before but once the words were out, there was no taking them back. His eyes blazed back in a full rage as he seized her and shook her and growled that she was a temptress, and a naïve foolish girl, and a jezebel all at once, and as she'd struggled he caught her around the waist and pulled her to him in an unrelenting embrace.
Maybe she wouldn't wear this dress anymore.
He's breathing roughly into her ear now, hands sliding up her back and tangling in her hair. She lets out a whimper as he pulls, hard, and he buries his face in her neck.
"Tell me to stop, Christine, tell me to leave you alone... wicked, sinful Erik..."
The words rise to her lips, but don't manage to escape. He doesn't seem to really want her opinion, anyway, because he continues touching her in that very intimate and demanding way. Her shaking fingers curl into the lapels of his jacket, gripping the fabric like it could anchor her to reality.
"Oh, Erik is a devil," he murmurs low in his throat, and his voice sends something warm and secret curling through her. She shuts her eyes tightly. She suddenly cannot breathe.
"Say yes, Christine," his tone velvety and beguiling and so, so hypnotic. "Say yes to me."
She yields to him with a gasp and a sigh, letting herself sag into his body, head lolling forward against his chest. It feels good not to fight; it's a relief to surrender.
She finds herself cradled in his arms and as he carries her to the Louis-Philippe room it's like they're floating. He deposits her on the bed and it sinks as he unfolds the length of his body atop hers, the plush coverlet a stark contrast to his hard planes. His weight pressing on her creates a warm, urgent tugging deep in her belly. She feels wholly dominated by his tall frame. He's almost vibrating with tension.
His hands are slender and cold. He leaves goosebumps on her jawline, her neck, wherever he touches. He begs her to say his name, to tell him she loves him, that she wants him – she obeys, the words rushing out with each breath. His fingers are unsteady, dancing over her like a butterfly, but his movements grow more commanding with every sound from her lips.
Christine arches her body against his, almost involuntarily, and it sends him into a delirium. He is neither gentle nor gentlemanly as his hands roam aggressive and unchecked, pulling her to him, pinning her in place. When he pushes her skirts up around her hips it doesn't occur to her to stop him. As if she was caught in a savage river there is no option other than to stay the course. His glittering eyes captivate; his voice enchants; his boldness seduces.
Pain shatters the spell and she screams. He presses his hand over her mouth, then immediately snatches it away, dragging his fingers roughly down her neck and collarbone to fist in the fabric of her bodice. She cries out more from fear than pain now, overwhelmed by his ferocity and the violence of his passion.
"Look at me," Erik demands, and she's riveted by the wildness in his stare. The feel of him inside her is strange and it still hurts and she can't catch her breath, but she can't look away from his golden gaze. She's drowning, and she throws her arms around his shoulders, gasping his name.
When he collapses on her, spent and boneless and panting, she's left in a stupor. The texture on the ceiling swims in and out of focus as she struggles to gain some control over the myriad of sensations and feelings flooding through her. Eventually she simply lets herself sink into the haze. His heartbeat lulls her into languor; timeless, weightless.
After a time she slowly becomes aware of the tension returning to Erik's body. He's supporting himself on his forearms now, his head hanging, very still. In one fluid motion he retreats to sit on the edge of the bed with his back to her. He's smoothing his clothes, straightening his necktie; ordinary gestures, but she can see his hands are trembling uncontrollably. She senses from his posture that he's about to bolt, and she impulsively reaches out to catch hold of his shirtsleeve just as he starts to rise.
He doesn't look at her. She opens her mouth to speak but her thoughts are tangled and stuck, and nothing comes out. The silence hangs heavy.
When their eyes finally meet, the wordless exchange contains more than either ever could have said. And he stays.