Ok, I thought it might be interesting to continue this story a bit further. I don't forsee a clearcut ending as such, just further exploration of this very twisted relationship. Read on if you can stomach more...

Chapter Two

Interruption

"Make love to your wife."

Her words transformed Erik's elated joyful breathing into a rapid shallow panting. Leaning in towards him again, Christine offered him her lips. He lifted his head just a little to reach the delightful objects and grasped them with his own, slowly and earnestly tugging at the soft warm flesh, first her upper lip, then the lower, letting only the tip of his tongue venture forth to taste her sweetness. Her breath was heavenly on his cheeks, like little puffs of a gentle summer breeze. He opened his mouth then and drank surely and deeply of her love, breaking contact only briefly to sigh and draw another short gasp of air before merging with her again. When his hands rose slowly to cup her beloved face, his fingers brushed through the soft curtain of her hair which hung loosely forward, tickling his throat, and he smelled its fresh gardenlike fragrance.

Christine let her lover explore every angle of her lips as she closed her eyes and remained close to him. The musty smell of the cellars still clung to his hands, but there was something old and familiar about it now, something comforting almost. His fingers had always touched her with absolute reverence and respect; now she felt their tapered ends at her temples, tracing a line down to her jaw, and in a sudden wave of inexplicable affection she turned her face and brushed her forehead against his hollow cheek.

A yielding moan escaped his lips. She caressed his face with hers and his eager lips met the skin just under her eye. He trailed that kiss over the bridge of her nose and down its length towards its fleshy extremity above the nostrils. To her surprise and amusement Erik went on ardently kissing that appendage, sucking and licking with fervent enjoyment. It was so strange she wanted to laugh but instead she let him make love to her nose without interruption; she was even astonished to feel a quiver of longing deep in her stomach as she reflected on the allure that her nose obviously held for her poor dear husband who was sadly without one himself. He had never made his secret feelings so clear to her before. Christine realized that she had never allowed it.

When Erik's impassioned appreciation of her nose was waning, she thought to give him pleasure by running it all over his face and down his neck to his chest. She did, and he responded with a long, ecstatic groan. The sound thrilled her. She went on to plant kiss after kiss up and down the length of his heaving sternum while her hand massaged the ridges of his chest, pressing subtly with her thumb in small circular motions.

He was hers now, completely at her mercy. Christine had never before felt the thrill of wielding such terrifying power. She lifted her head to look at her husband, his pale skin faintly luminescent against the black shadows that shrouded them. After her descent to his chest she had expected him to leap up and take her, but instead he was simply lying there, panting with sharp ragged breaths, his head leaning well back against the pillows exposing the vulnerable part of his throat, moaning helplessly. There seemed to be no strength in his limbs. He did not even try to lift a hand to gauge the intensity of her purpose with an inquiring touch. It frightened her to see Erik so completely undone – and yet at the same time the pit of her abdomen fluttered and unconsciously she wet her lips.

Sitting up by his side, carefully so as not to disturb him too much, Christine pulled her nightgown off over her head and dropped it aside, letting it slip from the silken bedclothes to the floor. Her small breasts heaved a little with each excited breath and she sat there, regarding the conquered land before her. He was still panting ecstatically but then he dipped his chin to discover what had become of her warmth and of her tender kisses and he saw, in shadowy outline, the supple curves of Christine's delicate feminine body. A sudden brusque noise escaped his throat, something akin to being winded by an unexpected blow to the chest.

It was the prompt for Christine to take one of his hands tenderly in hers, and after holding it and stroking it a few times like a frightened bird, to transfer it to the hospitable custodianship of one of her breasts. With grateful eagerness his large sinewy hand closed around her blessed form. Murmuring her name in breathless appreciation, he kneaded, pressed and squeezed the succulent flesh and Christine felt her eyelids begin to grow heavy as her head lolled from side to side in a dazed ecstasy. His thumb found her nipple and awakened it with rapid teasing strokes. She was breathing harder now and her back arched and flexed involuntarily in her increasing need to feel his powerful hands all over her yearning body.

"Oh, Erik," she whispered between the whimpering little moans that his touch elicited, "Oh, Erik…make love to me…make love to me, darling, please."

Her heartfelt plea moved him to sit up beside her and, taking her sensitively in his arms, he gently guided her down upon the bed. She lay upon her back, nestled in Erik's supporting embrace, and she draped her arms affectionately about his neck. Erik manoeuvred his hips into a position above hers.

This was what she had wanted; for the first time she would truly welcome Erik into the sanctuary of her body without misguided curiosity or unwilling forbearance. For the first time she looked up into his questioning eyes with an answer that was whole-heartedly and unreservedly, Yes. Her head rested weakly in his cradling hands, her eyelids too heavy for her to open them. She could feel his body beginning its gentle probing.

"Oh Erik," she murmured dreamily as her hands wandered slowly over his shoulders and reached affectionately for his face, "I love you."

It was not the explicit thought that she wished to convey but her mind was too full to formulate a carefully worded compliment – and all at once Erik shuddered and a spray of sticky substance wet the inside of her thighs.

And Christine failed to suppress a disappointed groan.

In a breathless, rasping voice Erik started apologising profusely and hurriedly crept away from her, panting and moaning with anguished self-reproach. He buried his head ashamedly in his arms. Christine bitterly regretted having uttered a sound. Although such a thing had happened before and more than once, she had never seen Erik so distressed about it. He lay tightly curled up with his back to her, rocking a little and making unintelligible muffled noises from behind his shielding hands. Usually he would simply slip away quietly to endure his humiliation in silence and it embarrassed Christine to recall how grateful she had been for his many previous failures. She could not bear to see him so broken now.

Raising herself up on one elbow, she reached an arm around his unhappy form and kissed the back of his neck.

"Please don't be upset, sweetheart," she whispered into his ear. "It really doesn't matter. We can try it again in a little while."

He made no response. Christine felt round for his hands. She found them, and was disturbed; they were clenched tightly into angry fists.

Christine swallowed and drew a calming breath. Erik was always somewhat frightening when he was cross; he was apt to do unreasonable things. She could hear his frustrated breathing now coming in little snorting puffs and she wondered what she should do next. With a little courage, Christine decided simply to hold him, half-expecting to be thrown off or ordered to go away.

But he did not spurn her. Minutes seemed to pass while she lay with her face pressed against Erik's back, feeling his body slowly relax from its aggravated state. The darkened room became still as his breathing returned to a low steady pace and Christine could feel his ribs through the sheer flesh, rising and falling. She pitied him.

"Erik, darling," she murmured with her lips brushing his skin, "I do love you."

She was not quite sure why she said it. It was true he had deceived her in the beginning, had tricked his way into her confidence, had kidnapped her and refused to restore her freedom unless given sworn assurances of her return. He had made her wear his ring and denied her the life she had set her heart upon. But her anger was exhausted; if she was consigned to be this man's wife she had rather find the good in him. But where was Raoul? Where was his goodness? He had made only one valiant attempt to recover his fiancée and had then abandoned her forever it seemed. It was simply not good enough! Erik would not have given up so easily.

"I've been so unkind to you for so long," Christine said softly, stroking his straggly hair, "but I only want you to be happy now. Please, Erik, darling, I love you. You do know that, don't you?"

One short aggrieved word in reply broke forth in a muffled croak from his place of concealment:

"Why?"

It was a good question; there did not seem to be a satisfactory answer to it. Christine thought about it, her arms still wrapped securely about her husband. She went on stroking his hair, racking her brain for some plausible reply. The longer her silence lasted, the more she felt sure Erik would not believe her when she did eventually speak and her heart began to beat faster.

"Because," she began slowly, still thinking as she spoke, "because…"

There had to be some reason but every one she thought of was immediately overturned: Because he loved her? But he would not allow her to see the sunshine which did not seem like love. Because he respected her? But in spite of his humane treatment he had in fact taken her prisoner which hardy seemed like respect. Because he was gentle with her? Yet he had forced her to choose between himself and Raoul in a manner that was anything but gentle.

"I don't know why," she said at last. It was weak and insufficient but Christine could not bring herself to lie, not completely. "I just do."

"You don't." He said it with mournful finality. "You don't love me." Christine realised it was useless to contradict him; she had nothing to say. "I've tried to make you love me but you don't," he went on dismally, with his face still turned away. "I have tried. I've tried so hard…" At that moment his voice broke into a wailsome squeak, an almost noiseless cry from a throat constricted by overwhelming grief.

The approaching cataclysm heralded by a loud gasping breath, the dam then burst noisily in a violent miserable flood. Christine hated it when Erik cried. It was distressing. He did not weep as normal people. He sounded as though his soul was being torn from his body. It was brutal and ugly. Sitting up with a repulsed frown darkening her eyes, she forced herself to watch Erik writhing on the bed in unabashed agony.

"I've tried SO HARD!" he howled, his face covered by his forearms as he thrashed about. "BUT YOU DON'T LOVE ME! YOU DON'T LOVE ME! YOU DON'T LOVE ME!"

It was half in Christine's mind to get up and leave Erik to calm down alone. She was certain that these torrid exhibitions were not entirely without pretence. But her compassionate nature got the better of her once more. She had never been able to desert a creature in pain, no matter how foolish or deranged. So leaning forward she took him firmly in her arms and hushed him with whispered words of comfort and gentle kisses on his forehead. It quieted him after a little time and soon he lay submissively in her embrace, only sniffing occasionally. It was well that the light was poor, for Christine could only imagine what he must look like by now.

"Do you need a handkerchief, my love?" she asked like a gentle mother. Christine could not have pictured herself asking any other grown man such a question but Erik never took it amiss when she spoke to him like this.

"Yes, please," he meekly replied.

Christine got up and shuffled her way round the bed to her chest of drawers. Her eyes were adjusted sufficiently to the dim light to make out its bulky silhouette and once there she felt through the first drawer for a cotton handkerchief. Her fingers located something that felt promising, so she held it up to peer at it more closely; a soft white cloth shone weakly out of the darkness and she determined that it was a plain square shape. Satisfied, Christine closed the drawer and brought the handkerchief to Erik, waiting beside the bed while he used it. When he was finished she took it from him and laid it on top of the chest of drawers by the bed.

"Do you feel better now?" she asked, giving his forehead a little pat.

He made a noise of assent. As he seemed to be settled enough, Christine made her way around to her side of the bed and climbed back into it.

She was cold. Her foot had struck what she supposed to be her nightgown as she was moving past the bed but rather than spend time scrambling into it, she preferred to hurriedly slip under the cosy bedclothes. Drawing the covers up to her chin, she sighed impatiently, waiting for her body to get warm so that she could sleep.

Everything was so depressing. She tried to analyse her feelings amidst the chilling waves that kept breaking over her tense body. This was not the life she had envisioned for herself. She worried about her standing with God; she had sinned with Erik at first, she knew it. She had repented of it in her prayers, of course, and though she had submitted to further intimate occasions with Erik, in her mind she felt herself innocent, an injured party, not a wilful sinner. But tonight she had truly engaged to make herself one with this strange impassioned man by her own free will, even though they were not yet legally married. Was she a bad person? Christine simply did not know anymore. She was tired and her mind would not reason on the subject properly; it was starting to drift into a confused realm of disorganized sensations; guilt, fear, misery...

Her mind was jolted from its abstraction when she felt the bed disturbed. Erik had turned over to look at her; a quick sideways glance showed her that a few glints of light were reflected in his sombre eyes. She did not want to ask him what he was thinking. All she wanted to do right now was sleep. And so with another wearied sigh, Christine let her eyelids droop and nestled deeper into the soft mattress.

She could hear him breathing through his parted lips. He swallowed and snuffled from time to time. It was difficult to relax whilst feeling herself observed and after a while she grew tired of trying and opened her eyes. Evidently it was the cue he had been waiting for, for immediately he spoke up in a small apprehensive voice:

"Do you really love me, Christine?"