AGREEMENTS

Adele starts when the door opened, dropping her rosary while turning to see who entered without knocking.

Nadir bursts in, grabbing her by the waist and swinging her around before kissing her fully on her open mouth – stopping her complaint about knocking or whatever it was she was going to scold him about.

She pushes him away and covers the aforementioned mouth with her hand. "What are you doing?"

"Love is in the air and I want a taste of it for myself," he chuckles, pulling her toward him again and taking a moment to nuzzle her neck with a soft kiss before pressing his lips against hers. The first pressure is rough and uncomfortable, lips pressed hard against their teeth. Both relax and the kiss softens, becoming a mutual smile as they pull away from the embrace.

Adele fusses with her braids and smooths her dress with her hands. Her pale skin is flushed and she feels shy and a bit embarrassed by the exchange. "That was…nice. Surprising, but nice."

"Yes, it was," he responds. "Been wanting to do that for some time, but it never seemed to be the right time or place or something of the sort."

"Did you plan anything else – in the manner of our good friend?" She asks.

"No, my life has not been such as to go to the extremes Erik does when he sets out to accomplish something. Praise Allah."

"They are well? I hoped Christine would return with you."

"The little mam'selle appears to have taken charge of the situation. Though she said nothing directly, it was implied that I mind my own business – so I left."

"Erik?"

"He is besotted and befuddled," Nadir advises. "And I am happy for him." He pats his pocket, then pulls out the note from Christine. "She asked me to give you this." He hands the note to Adele.

She opens the missive. "Interesting." She sits downs down on the chaise, noticing her rosary on the floor. She picks it up and puts it in her pocket before reading:

Dearest Madame,

As you now know, I have decided to stay with Erik. I am perhaps as surprised as anyone at this development, but the events of this past day have shown me where my heart lies.

I will, of course, return to gather my belongings, such as they are, but hoped you could bring my personal feminine items, my father's violin, and my other pair of shoes when you visit us tomorrow. And my new cloak.

Could you also bring my case with the paperwork related to my birth, Pappa's death and your guardianship and proof of where you reside?

"It sounds as though she has investigated the necessary papers for her to marry," Nadir interrupts.

Adele nods. She continues reading:

It would be best for all concerned if Erik and I were married as soon as possible. This will alleviate the anxieties of anyone who may feel I am being corrupted by this living arrangement, including Erik.

One thing more – do you have another walking stick that I might have use of?

Thank you so much,

Christine Daee

"I must also speak to Moncharmin and Richard about her contract. I do not feel that I should sign anything for her until it is discussed with Erik. He will be her husband and I will no longer have guardianship." She tucks the letter in her pocket.

"That should be a fascinating conversation," Nadir laughs. "Do you suppose I could be in attendance when you speak to them?"

"Why not?" she responds. "You may be needed to pick them up off the floor when I tell them she is likely getting married."

"Perhaps it might be best to just tell them that she wishes to speak with them herself," Nadir suggests.

"I suppose so," Adele laughs. "I would not wish to deprive her of the look on their faces when they discover she is marrying the Opera Ghost."

He joins in the laughter, then stops.

"What?"

"You truly are beautiful when you laugh. Are you aware of that?"

Adele swallows hard, thoughts swirl in her head, she is not certain how she should respond. Blunt and direct has always served her. "I have been called handsome – which is what a woman is called when she lacks beauty."

He walks toward her and smooths her hair with the back of his hand, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. "So defined, yet delicate – I wish I could have seen you dance."

"I was quite wonderful, I must admit." She pulls away again. "I think we should be going – Meg is likely wondering what has become of me."

Nadir laughs. "May I escort you home?"

"Yes, I would like that."

Christine's breathing has become regular and Erik smiles at the slight humming sound coming through her slightly parted lips. His angel of music sings in her sleep – he wonders what song she has chosen for her dreams.

His back has begun to ache from sitting so still. His eyes take in the room and his sense of orderliness is immediately offended – empty cups and dishes on the table – he can only imagine what the kitchen looks like. His clothing hanging over furniture and he recalls that Christine's garments were tossed over a chair.

This will not do. He extricates himself as gently as possible from the settee and lifts Christine to carry her into her bedroom. She grumbles a bit, but continues to sleep. He sighs in relief.

Unable to turn down the bed, he lays her on top of the covers, plumps a pillow under her head and covers her with the afghan folded at the foot of the bed. He hangs up her dress and folds her petticoats placing them, the tournure and bonnet in the armoire.

Back in the sitting room, he gets down to business picking up the tea things, taking them to the kitchen to wash. As he goes about the house he removes his cravat, waistcoat and cummerbund, and with his frock coat stashes them in his own armoire. He removes his shoes and stockings intent on putting on his house slippers when a cry stops him.

"Erik? Erik? Christine calls out. "Help me."

He rushes to her room.

Christine thrashes around on the bed. Her head pushes into the pillow, body twisting and turning, legs tangle in the afghan, arms flail at the air. She gasps for air. "No, please. Please."

Erik sits on the edge of the bed cradling her to him, holding her head to his chest, absorbing her fear "It is all right. I am here. Erik is here." He sings one of the Swedish lullabies she taught him. (Krake satt I lunden)

Sleep, my little one, sleep

Wake up in the King's court

The stars in the blue sky

are little lambs of silver

The moon is their shepherd,

Now, the child will sleep well

Sleep, my little one, sleep

Wake up in the King's court

Her eyes fly open. "No. Please let me go." She beats him with her fists. He pulls her closer until she becomes aware of him and that there is no danger. Wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, she sobs, "H-he was dragging me. I-I thought I was going to die."

"You are safe now," Erik croons, repeating the words over and over, keeping her tucked safely against him.

Christine relaxes into his embrace, "I was so frightened." Just the pressure of his body against hers calms her.

"Yes, but you were also very brave," Erik soothes. "Here, let's get you settled more comfortably,"

He helps her to sit up. In order to free her from the afghan, he helps her shuck her wrapper and tosses them both onto the bench. Kneeling on the floor, he checks the bandage on her ankle. "How does it feel?

"A little sore," she responds. She shifts her weight to tug at her nightgown that has ruched up around her thighs, one of the straps falling off her shoulder.

His breath catches in his throat. The gown is sheerer than he realized, the thin fabric outlines her breasts. There is a disconcerting stirring in his groin; he wills himself to maintain control. So many years of enforced abstinence and control has made him an expert.

Placing an arm around her waist, he help her stand, allowing him to turn down the bed, then sets her down gently, lifting her legs onto the bed and fluffs the pillow under her head. When he reaches for the covers, she takes his arm, stopping him.

"Leave them off."

"But you will be cold, you must be covered."

"Take off your mask, I want to see your face."

He shakes his head.

"Yes."

He takes a deep breath and removes the mask, placing it on the nightstand.

"Now lie here next to me."

"You have been injured. This is not the right time. The bruising is starting to show."

"Yes," she insists. "I want to touch you. I want you to touch me."

He lies on his left side next to her careful not to disturb her injured shoulder. Lifting himself up on one elbow, he smooths strands of unwieldy hair away from her face. He breathes in the scent of jasmine. "You liked the perfume?"

"Yes. Everything you chose was perfect. Especially this." She unbuttons the top of her nightgown and places his hand on her breast.

His heart has moved to his throat – he has no words to respond. His imaginings were weak compared to this reality. The breast cupped in his hand is so perfect, firm and supple – her skin flawless. He grazes the areola with his thumb and is amazed as the soft pink circle puckers.

"Kiss them," she whispers.

He bends over to suckle the sweet peak. His tongue circles the nipple, biting gently before letting go.

"I always wondered how that would feel," Christine sighs, touching his damaged face, sliding her fingers along his swollen lips. "Now kiss my mouth."

He exhales, not realizing that he had been holding his breath. "Words fail me."

"Then do not talk," she laughs. "Kiss me."

He leans into her and presses his lips against hers, then breaks away. "This is too much."

She draws him back, stroking his deformity, pressing her mouth against his, forcing his lips apart with her tongue. Unable to resist, he responds with his own tongue searching her mouth.

Any willpower he feels has been salvaging is overcome, his desire has won. All he wants now is to know every part of her. His hand roams down the length of her body, sensitive fingers taking in her flat stomach and the dip where her hips meet her thighs, then down her legs. Curious fingers move upward to the inverted triangle that is her private place. They venture into the brown curls that shelter her slit and touch the warm flesh beneath.

Christine responds with a sharp intake of breath. "Oh."

Her own hand explores his sinewy chest and abdomen. The skin rough in places and ridged with what she suspects are old scars. He has not removed his shirt, so only her touch can inform her suspicions. His engorged member strains the fabric of his trousers. She unbuttons his trousers and drawers then slips her hand into the undergarment to fondle his hardness, her thumb circling the ridge of the head. She adjusts her body to better stroke him, her fingers thread through the wiry hair surrounding his sack completing the journey by applying gentle pressure to the base of his privates

"Christine," he breathes. Abruptly, he pulls away. "I-I don't know how to do this."

"We are teaching each other." Rolling on her back, she bends her left knee and spreads her legs. Taking his hand, she returns it to her heat, guiding his fingers with her own. He feels a small bud of flesh and rubs it gently with his thumb.

"Yes," she sighs. He increases the intensity of his manipulation, inserting a finger inside of her, feeling her wetness and the tightness of her passage. He inserts another finger increasing the friction, adapting his movements to her rhythm until she thrusts her hips forward and locks her thighs on his hand. Her body stiffens, then relaxes.

Face, neck and chest are flushed, eyes closed. A look of peace and satisfaction on her smiling face. "Now you – us," she says, opening her eyes, reaching for him.

"No." He stands and removes the constructive clothing, then, moves to the foot of the bed. Never losing eye contact, he insinuates himself between her thighs.

She bends her knees and opens her womanhood to him.

With his hands under her buttocks, he lifts her, wanting to experience each layer that protects her secret place. "So beautiful. Like the petals of a flower." Her gift to him. He nuzzles the soft plump outer lips, her bush tickling his nose. His exploration finds the softer, finer inner layer where he licks her moisture. Reaching the heart of her sex, he probes her entry with his tongue, flicking and darting, stimulating the bud - drinking in her musk. Soft moans assure him that his pleasure is hers as well.

"I-want-you-inside-of-me."

He positions himself over her, draping her legs over his forearms, drawing her closer to him.

Christine ushers the tip of his length into her and he pushes gently.

She moans, a small frown wrinkles her forehead.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," she breathes. "A little more."

He pulls back, then pushes in further. Another soft moan. "Let me know, I do not wish to hurt you."

"It is fine." She watches him intently. The intensity of his amber eyes sears through her, re-affirming her own desire.

He massages her with his fingers. "Better?"

"Yes."

Withdrawing, then pressing in further, he is almost completely enveloped by her. He looks to her for assurance.

She nods, biting her lower lip.

With another rhythmic thrust – he fills her.

"Ah."

Slow gentle strokes, watching her face, he feels ready to burst. Her eyes are locked with his as they attune to one another. He is conscious of her eyes changing when he has particularly pleased her.

"There. " Her head falls back as she grinds herself into him.

The tempo crescendos. Bodies pulse in and out – faster and deeper. He slips one arm under her hips, drawing her even closer as they surrender to one another.

Spent. With a deep groan, he collapses, burying his face into her neck.

A serene smile gracing her face, Christine brushes her hand against his sparse hair, twirling a few strands between her fingers.

Erik lifts himself off her body and smiles at her. "You are fascinated with my poor head." He bends down to kiss her, then rolls over on his back next to her.

She snuggles close to him. Her fingertips flit the length of his body, stopping at his private parts, where they dance lightly over, around and on his manhood.

"Christine, it is too soon – I cannot…"

"Is that so," she giggles as they both observe his obvious arousal.

"Minx."

"Encore, Maestro?"