XI
M-rating people.
Triumph glowed like a candle in her chest, her whole body quivering in a sudden, unbearable anticipation. God, was this how it was supposed to feel? This wonder and terror and desire that ached so deep in her belly? Erik patted her thigh in a mute request for her rise. She climbed off his lap and since her watery knees threatened to buckle, staggered back to sit on the bed.
Erik made undressing look like a dance of infinite significance as he shucked off coat and waistcoat, unbuttoned his cuffs, setting the heavy silver cufflinks on the table. Backlit by the golden firelight, Christine could not discern his expression. All she could see of his face was the mask which shone stark and pure and his molten eyes, watching her face carefully. He yanked off his cravat and tore off his belt. Socks and shoes soon joined them in an untidy heap on the floor. His need was as hot and urgent as hers, then, she noted from a faraway place. He normally fastidiously folded and stacked his clothes.
"Have you changed your mind? You're not undressing," Erik observed gently, his rich voice like the dense syrup of burnt sugar. The sound sank into her skin, tightening her nipples, making the saddle between her thighs plump. Christine bit her lip to contain a whimper. Her trembling hands balled in her skirt.
"I don't want to spoil this," she whispered, her voice a thin thread of sound. With a panther's lissome grace, Erik padded over to her and knelt. This reminded her so sweetly of their first kiss that she swayed toward him.
"You won't spoil anything, darling. We'll take our time. If you wish to stop, you must tell me," he purred.
Christine's heart pounded like a drumbeat in her chest, beating a tattoo of: want you, love you, want you . . . her tongue darted out to wet her lips and Erik's hot, sharply green eyes followed the movement with intense interest. Christine imagined his flicking tail and grinned. She made him feel tense and hungry. Her: poor, little Christine, afraid of her own shadow. It was heady, this rush of uniquely feminine power.
As if swimming through honey, Christine grasped his shoulders, feeling the heat and shape of heavy muscle through his shirt. She drew him close, savoring the caress of his breath, his warm hands on her knees, the thrilling initial shock of contact as their lips met. She draped an arm around his neck, fingers twining in the hair at his nape. Christine floated, fell . . . pulling him down onto a soft bed of their own making. She was drowning, drowning in his taste and scent and touch. There was no despair in this realization, only a primitive joy in possession.
Time softened and blurred into a dreamlike tapestry, punctuated with moments of startling clarity. The ticklish pleasure of his soft, open-mouthed kisses along her spine as he teased apart her gown. The feel of his teeth grazing the muscle at the joint of her neck. The instant of vulnerable panic that constricted her throat when Erik eased the last of her clothing from her body. Erik saw it, and cradled and soothed and kissed her on his lap, whispering half-coherent endearments in her ear. His tender care made her want to crawl into his pocket and stay there forever. She settled for kissing him to insensibility.
Soon Christine found herself upright on her knees in the middle of the bed, naked, with Erik nestled behind her still fully clothed. Erik's honey-tongued praise at the delight he found in her body both soothed and excited her, especially when accompanied by something delightful happening to the body part in question. Oh, his voice was a sexual instrument in itself: a medley of aspirated consonants mingled with growled vowels that wakened and stirred every interconnected nerve.
"Your breasts are so ripe and heavy . . . like the sweetest fruit that I want to . . . pluck from a branch," he crooned, plucking her nipples gently. The few customers who found foreplay necessary kept their caresses brusque and perfunctory; it had never felt like this! A low burn of pleasure tinged with an ache that was almost pain. Christine whimpered, letting her head fall back onto his shoulder. His breath tickled her scalp as he nuzzled her hair, sniffing appreciatively.
"Mmm, you smell like honey and lavender. Your hair is so silky and wild. I love these bouncy curls." He combed said hair back to nibble on the upper curve of her ear.
Christine was boneless under this sensual assault, hands fisting on his trouser-clad knees nestled alongside hers, his cock hard against her hip. She closed her eyes, focusing on the delicious rasp of his callus-roughened palms slithering up and down her arms, across her chest and wandering down her belly. His right hand treasured her breast while his left wandered lower, lower . . .
"So soft." He lipped the side of her neck. Those deft fingers hovered, insinuating teasing little caresses on her inner thighs before at last covering her mound.
"Oh yes, Erik. Please touch me there. I ache. I ache," Christine breathed.
"Patience, my darling girl, my darling Christine . . ." His tongue traced the throb of her pulse at her throat. A soft cry left her lips, of mingled frustration and anticipation. She watched that beautiful hand burnished by the firelight dip between her spread thighs. He parted her plump folds with a gentle graze of a teasing fingertip, finding her hot and slick. His growl was a thing of pure, animal lust.
"Wet. So wet. Are you wet for me, Christine?" he growled. Her entire being was focused on that fingertip circling the unbearably sensitive pearl of flesh between her thighs. Pleasure pierced her with jagged claws. Nothing . . . nothing compared to this!
"Yes! Yes! Only you!" she cried, hips thrusting lewdly against his wicked hand.
"Christine." Erik's voice was low and ragged.
His finger eased inside her, his thumb working back and forth over her nub. Christine swallowed a scream as secret inner muscle squeezed and suckled the invading finger. So good . . . so good! She rode his hand, feeling her body gather inward . . . Her release came upon her so suddenly she could only whimper as it ravaged through her in fierce, hungry spasms. Color burst behind her eyes, muscles stretched to the breaking point as she spun into a shimmering infinity. When she returned to herself, she was aware of the languid surge of his finger inside her, firing off tiny echoes of sensation and his lips moving against her neck. Her pleasure-saturated brain couldn't understand what he was saying.
Christine whimpered and sank boneless as he lay her down on the bed. Her eyes flew wide as he licked her juice from his fingers. His smile was wicked, his green eyes almost unholy with lust.
"Delicious. I'd like to taste you properly." He settled on the bed at her feet and slid his hands up the supple length of her calves and thighs, his trousers sharply tented over a massive erection.
"Your skin is so soft and smooth, Christine. Pale and perfect, like pearls dipped in cream." He dropped soft kisses on both of her knees and Christine bit her lip, eager for the sweet torture of what he promised . . . the wretched man turned his attention to her belly, nibbling her hipbones, dipping his tongue in her navel. He worked his way upward, nipping the underside of her breasts, laving the dip of her collarbones, nuzzling the underside of her arms. When his warm lips touched hers, Christine threw her arms around his neck and plunged her tongue into his mouth.
"Erik, please," she said huskily as they broke to breathe. His lips curved.
"Please what, darling? Have I neglected you in some fashion?" Heat flushed her cheeks. The wretched tease, he wanted her to say it!
"Yes! I mean, no . . ." He laughed softly.
"Which is it, love?" Love? He called her 'love'!
"I want you." That was the honest truth. Erik's eyes softened with tenderness and he kissed her, a lingering flick of his tongue promising more.
"Show me. Put my hands where you want me." Christine took his hand, dragging it over her breasts before thrusting it between her thighs.
"I am your obedient servant, Christine," he purred, settling to his task.
The ache he'd stoked in her belly unfurled into exquisite pleasure as he lavished his attentions on her breasts. The cradling curl of tongue around her nipple, the faint rasp of teeth, the sweet suction of lips . . . Christine thought she was melting into a puddle of quivering sensation. Her hands cradled his head reverently, petting his sweat-dampened hair, lost in his thrall. At last he settled between her thighs, looking like a fallen angel ready for sin.
"Erik, please . . ." she begged.
"Hush, love. I'll take care of you," he whispered, the puff of his breath almost unbearable on her sensitive flesh.
When he lowered his mouth to her mound, nothing in the world existed but the dance of his talented lips and tongue. The low smolder of pleasure she felt since he'd kissed her burst into a ravaging bonfire. Pleasure transcended into ecstasy under the lash of his tongue and one, then two fingers surging gently inside her, pushing her inexorably toward climax. Her heart stuttered in her chest at the magnetic pull of his green eyes meeting hers over the trembling, sweat-soaked terrain of her heaving body. Pleasure seized her with violent hands as those surging fingers curled inward, finding a spot of unbearable sweetness, a spongy bit of tissue that he stroked and rubbed as his tongue worried her pearl . . .
Ecstasy surged and receded like waves crashing on a beach as he coaxed, then urged, then demanded her to climax over and over again. He was patient and merciless, Lucifer's silver tongue that promised relief and only worsened the ache, deaf to her mewling pleas for mercy. He moaned and growled as he drank her pleasure in with increasing greed, sending the most unspeakable vibrations through her body. Christine watched his dark head bob between her thighs, listened to the wet sounds his fingers made, and swore she would do anything for him, anything he asked as long as he just—another climax exploded through her and Christine collapsed in a limp, sweaty heap of sprawled, boneless limbs. Erik rose onto his elbows and nuzzled her hip, grinning smugly at her.
"Have you had enough, love?" Christine mewled as his tongue lapped up her juice. She buried her burning face in a sweat-dampened pillow and nodded. He wiped his face on a handful of sheet and climbed up her body, gathering her limp form into his arms.
The chafe of his clothing on her over-sensitive skin was a fresh assault, and Christine whimpered, rubbing shamelessly against him.
"Good girl. That's my good girl to come so hard for me," he crooned, petting and gentling her. She was seized by the desire to feel his naked skin, to give him what he had given her in such largesse. His erection was bruisingly hard against her belly and she reached between them. She could take the edge off . . . He batted away her seeking hands and kissed her forehead.
"I'll be all right. Sleep now. You're safe. You can rest easy. I'm here."
Christine sank under with scarcely a ripple.
XXX
Erik watched the woman in his arms sleep with a strange welter of emotions snarled in his chest. With scientific precision, Erik began to unravel the slippery strands. An overarching theme was of love: mad, inimitable, irrational love, welded seamlessly with perfect tenderness and soul-searing lust. He realized that for all his three decades of experience, Erik had never in his life felt the terrible sting of love. Love for Claire and his father was smothered and suffocated until it died. Love for Elise and Jacqueline was a love of care and duty of restraint, as any brother loves a sister.
Loving Christine was a thing of selfishness that had transcended the bounds into sacred. But with that love came a surge of naked terror, the dreadful mortal fear of loss. He had endured the loss of his children and his mother, but losing Christine would drive him mad. Erik stared at this knowledge unflinchingly.
Sprawled on her belly, limbs loose with childlike abandon, she looked innocent and utterly delectable. He wanted to free his erection from his trousers, plunge into her and ride her to a shattering completion. He wanted to spread himself over her like a blanket and keep her safe and warm forever. Instead, Erik stretched out beside her, watching her sleeping face through the veil of her hair before sleep claimed him.
Unused to sharing a bed, he woke disoriented to a faint creak of the mattress, the warm scent of honey, lavender and female wafted up his nose.
"Christine?" he slurred, opening his eyes.
Christine sat beside him, gloriously naked, fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt. Erik found himself instantly, painfully hard. The fire had died, but Christine had lit the tall, beeswax candles on each nightstand, filling the room with steady yellow light. His heart cramped painfully at the sight of her flushed and tousled, the light burnishing her hair into a dark halo, eyes dark pools of mystery.
A dreamy smile touched her full lips, a soft air of abstraction that softened the cruel edges of time. Soft hands teased apart the tails of his shirt and explored the terrain of his torso in long, tender strokes. He basked in the sensation of being caressed, humming low in his throat like a purring tomcat. Her questing hand dipped lower, lightly tracing the shape of his throbbing cock through his trousers. The low simmer of arousal surged hot and urgent and he sucked in a breath through his teeth.
"Stand up," she commanded gently, breaking the sacred silence.
Erik rose obediently, feeling an eager fear mingled with ravenous anticipation. He knew he wasn't a handsome man, but he wanted so much for his form to please her . . . Erik shucked off his shirt and Christine undid the fastening of his trousers and shoved them to the floor. Christine stood, her face blank as her eyes roved over him. Erik thought he could feel her warm gaze and gooseflesh stippled his skin. Was this what Adam felt when Eve came to him: hunger and fear and wonder? Christine looked up into his face and he saw all of his emotions reflected. Her hand alighted on his chest over his thundering heart.
"I've . . . I've never thought of a man's body as beautiful-" He nodded, accepting his unloveliness, eagerly wrapping his arms around her as she nestled against his chest, "-but yours is." He looked toward the ceiling and thanked God for this lovely creature with her brave, strong, resilient heart.
"Oh Christine," he whispered, cupping her cheek before bending to capture her lips. Desire sizzled between them. Christine broke the kiss with a soft sigh.
"Stand still," she whispered and Erik barked out a laugh. He could do little else without embarrassing himself quite dramatically.
What followed were the most deliciously erotic minutes of his life. A dance of lips and tongue and hands moving over his body, lavishing tender care on his hardened nipples and mapping heretofore unknown erotic sensations, like the delicate caress of her hair tickling his belly as she nuzzled his chest, or the feel of her saliva cooling on his skin. His cock pulsed, moisture weeping from the head. Christine paused her torture to smile at him.
"You are such a hairy thing!" she said. Erik grinned crookedly.
"Of course. I am a man," he gasped, closing his eyes and luxuriating in the feel of her chafing her palms on his sparse chest hair, the silky black hair underneath his arms, his thighs and calves . . .
Erik's eyes flew open as he felt Christine's kiss on the top of his thigh. The sight of her on her knees with his cock bobbing in her face sent a forbidden ripple of anticipation through his balls.
"Christine, you don't have to . . ." he began, trembling hands threading her wild brown mane. Her tongue darted out, licking the pearly dew from the swollen head of his cock. A hoarse, strangled cry emerged from his lips.
"Hush, love. I'll take care of you," his dark-eyed succubus promised, stroking his thighs soothingly. And she did. Oh sweet God, she did. How long she tormented him with teasing licks and soft, gentle suction, one warm hand cradling his balls, he didn't know. It was only as he was thrusting into that wicked, wonderful mouth that a thought streaked across his mind. When he found release, he didn't want to be alone. He'd been alone his whole life.
"Enough," he gasped, gently pushing her mouth away. At her puzzled look, Erik scooped her up and deposited her on the bed. He braced his hands on either side of her and leaned close to kiss her.
"I want to feel you. Let me in. Please." Her brown eyes burned, her silken arms reaching to embrace him.
"Come here, Erik. I want you." Joy made his heart swell. This beautiful woman wanted him!
Erik reached between them and found her wet. She drew him down on top of her and ohfuckyes he found his way home. Soul-shaking pleasure scalded him, hot, tight, Christine! He sought her mouth and plunged his tongue inside as he felt her body welcome him. He could have wept. Instead, Erik began to move, a slow, deep, languid surge, drawing out the pleasure of it.
Her limbs twined around him, her hips arched to meet him and Erik gloried in his possession of her. The tempo of his thrusts chanted the mantra of: mine, mine, mine. His thumb wormed between their heaving bodies to stimulate her and Erik growled against her lips at the flutter of her body suckling his cock. Christine broke their kiss to utter a low moan. Erik lapped up the dew of sweat on her throat and chest.
"Oh yes . . . Erik . . . oh more. More. Harder!" she breathed, her hands grasping his buttocks, urging him on.
With a growl, Erik reared up and plunged into her hard, feeling her body gather, like the sucking drag of a wave from the shore, preparing to crash-
"You know what I want, Christine. Give it to me. Give it . . . give it to me!" he snarled, mesmerized by the jiggle of her breasts as he ploughed into her.
"Erik!"
Her body arched like a bow beneath him, nails savaging his back. He reveled in it. The pain added dimension and clarity to his pleasure. Inner muscle clenched around his cock in rhythmic pulses and her pleasure-drugged eyes looked up at him like an acolyte worshipping her dark god. Her release called down his with the authority of a commandment and pleasure erupted from his cock in hot hard spurts of semen. Erik howled his pleasure into the room, exultant in his utter mastery of her. The meaning of life and love and sex jumbled in his mind as pleasure twisted its cruel knife in him. This was divinity, a sacrament, necessary to his fucking salvation.
They collapsed in a sweaty heap of tangled limbs, gasping and shuddering. As the post-coital fog began to clear, Erik nestled against her with a harsh sigh, burying his face in the side of her neck, already mourning its passing.
Eden ended with the dawn.
A/N: Come on. Review. You know you want to.