Many thanks for the continued support of all those wonderful people who favourited, subscribed or reviewed. And of course a special thanks to my dear friend and editor, Masha, for her great ideas and encouraging words.:)
The warm breeze of her breath swept over his nape, followed shortly by the soft brush of her nose across his skin as she drew it along his hairline.
The shiver that ran through him in return she must have felt, too, especially so since only a moment later her hand came to a rest on his chest; the small weight of it making him ever more conscious of the slight grip of her fingers on his lapel as her stomach pressed against his when she leant even closer.
"I love your scent," she whispered against his skin, brushing her nose down his neck before she sealed the movement with a wet kiss just below the collar of his shirt.
He wasn't aware of the delicate tremor that ran through him until she pulled back, the cold air of her dressing room washing over him on all the places that had been previously warmed by her.
Her name left his lips almost without his bidding. "Christine..."
"I have to go," she said demurely but the smile in her eyes glowed with the same desire that she had just awoken in him.
With a brief kiss to his lips she was already out of the door, the soft click of the lock seeming to echo in the now silent room.
His eyes remained riveted to the door, her suggestive kiss still tingling on his neck.
Seventy-two minutes.
A long shiver ran through him at the mere thought of it.
Only seventy-two minutes and she would come back to finish what she had just started.
The pleasant burning inside of him only grew with her absence as he continued to stand motionless. He should be leaving, though, making his way up to Box 5 if he didn't want to miss the beginning of Act One.
The memory of her husky voice echoed in his ears and his fingers raked through his hair in a restless sweep.
A voice that was all his. No one else got to hear it but him.
A voice that dripped of desire – and it was all for him.
He shivered again and closed his eyes to pretend even for a moment that she was there beside him... her weight pressing down on his stomach... her legs wrapped around his hips... or her back arching beneath him...
His eyes opened with a gasp and he reached for his pocket watch.
Seventy minutes.
What a shamefully long time until the interval.
Slipping the watch back into his pocket he finally managed to will his limbs into moving and he started for the mirror. The light of the lamp seemed to burn brighter before he turned it down and despite the all-consuming anticipation his body seemed to be lighter, too...
I love your scent.
His heart swelled with a pleasant warmth as he stepped into the tunnels.
She had wanted him from the very beginning despite that he had not dared to imagine that such a thing could be true. It had been her who had convinced him that he should not sleep in a separate bedroom on their wedding night out of sheer courtesy – and that in fact, she would be a lot more pleased if he stayed with her for the night. Considering how much more the act had imposed on her she had been a lot less frightened than him – if she had been at all.
But pleased she had been.
He had never really understood how she had not been disgusted; not just of his face but of his desire for her, either – Heaven knows that he had been. For a long while, after he had realized that his feelings for his pupil had run much deeper than they had had while she had been just a child he had been unwilling to accept them for what they were. Then had come shame, for she had always been a sublime creature: pure, talented, beautiful, full of potential – and completely undeserving of the humiliation that was his desire for her, even if he had never intended to let her know about it. As if he had committed a crime against her without her knowledge.
The last had been guilt, as all of his noble principles had failed eventually.
And yet she hadn't minded that she had been subjected to his desire for her.
His lips curved into a small smile.
In fact, she wouldn't want to hear that she had been subjected to anything that night – and he fully believed her. That night, she had been quite adamant in showing that his feelings had not been unrequited – and she had never ceased to express her desire for him ever since then.
His hand twitched as a memory from last night came to his mind.
Well, she certainly didn't feel offended by his wanting of her.
Leaving the tunnels he made his way towards the stairs, the sound of a single oboe blending into the distant murmur of the audience.
Almost a year had passed since then yet the novelty of the feeling hadn't worn off. He wasn't sure that he ever wanted to get used to it. Every day he was reminded how loved he was – and also that she loved being loved by him. She was certainly quite thorough in expressing it...
The way her voice broke on his name when...
Before the thought could unfold any further he skipped on the rest of the steps, taking three at a time before he dashed into Box 5 somewhat short of breath.
Later.
He would only think of that later.
Blood was pounding in his ears and he let out a calculated, long sigh.
Sixty-seven minutes.
He would hold her again in sixty-seven minutes.
He took his usual seat somewhat uneasily but then jumped up immediately and started for the other end of the box before suddenly turning around as he reached it.
Sixty-six and a half.
The starting chords of the overture rang out.
After another circle around in the box he managed to sit down again.
Sixty-five minutes.
There came the soft click of a door from the neighbouring box – someone had just arrived.
And then, at last, she appeared on stage.
A waft of her scent swept over him despite that he knew she was too far.
The drumming started over again in his ears and his fingers curled into the armrest as she glanced up at him.
I love your scent.
His heart gave an almost startlingly forceful beat and his thumb swept over the ring on his finger.
Before her, he had thought that he was far too repulsive to ever be the object of any woman's desire.
He was well aware that his face had not changed since she had married him, and experience had taught him well not to believe that it ever would; and all he had committed only added to the monstrosity. She, however, looked at him as if no other man could rival him; and as much as old fears, fears that had taught him that anything that might make him happy would not last or was not true had become second nature long ago, he didn't believe them anymore.
Sixty-two minutes.
In sixty-two minutes the most coveted woman in the theatre would return to him; him, whom she deemed worthy enough to be her lover.
Never before had he been so close to being proud of himself.