Chapter Thirty-Three: L'Opéra de Paris
"Do you think this is safe?" Christine unsteadily asked as she clung to Erik's arm while he lit a candlestick he'd hidden within the confines of the Paris Opera House years ago.
"Yes," Erik said simply. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have brought you here. Are you all right?" He asked as the candle, successfully lit now, illuminated a slightly frightened Christine.
"Yes," she said hastily. "I'm fine."
Erik stared at her sardonically.
"Here, hold this."
He handed the candlestick to a shaky Christine then lifted her hood from her head. He framed her face in his hands and lightly kissed her as she held the candlestick away from their bodies.
"Christine? Are you sure you want to do this?"
She stared at him for a moment then nodded.
"I'm here. There's no going back now." She kissed him deeply. "I want to do this."
Erik caressed her cheek then took the candlestick from her as he held his free arm out. She gently looped her arm through his, linked their hands and gave him a reassuring squeeze.
"I'll be all right," she whispered as Erik led them down through the labyrinth of halls in the Opera House. "I'm sure you understand why I'm a little on edge," she sweetly added. "You must remember the first time I'd journeyed with you through a shadowed labyrinth in this place with no inkling as to where I was."
Erik stiffened.
"I hadn't forgotten."
Though he knew her words were meant to be in jest they still hurt Erik. He certainly hadn't forgotten the first or the last time he'd taken her through the depths of the Opera House. The first time they'd ventured together throughout the catacombs of the Opera House had been consumed with mystery, power and seduction, while the last time was consumed by rage, terror and hate.
No, he hadn't forgotten, and he certainly never would.
Erik groaned softly then squeezed Christine's hand and said nothing more. He led them down through the halls until he'd found what he'd first wanted to show her: the grand staircase.
The very staircase within the very foyer where Erik had revealed himself for the first time in the flesh, as the infamous Phantom of the Opera dressed as Red Death, to the Parisian company in the midst of their celebration of the New Year.
"Don't move," he murmured as he lifted Christine's hand to his lips and kissed it briefly before he left her standing alone while he sought out myriad of candelabrum he knew existed within the vast foyer.
Erik's impeccable vision in the darkness, along with the already lit candlestick in his hand, allowed him to quickly discover the countless candelabrum that were scattered throughout the foyer, lighting each one deftly, including those that surrounded the grand staircase and the two above it, allowing his hands to have complete freedom now.
Once finished, Erik descended the grand staircase and stood beside a now wide-eyed Christine. She turned to him for a moment, tears in her eyes, and kissed his cheek before she began exploring the vast entrance to the musical sanctuary she'd called home for so many years.
Erik watched Christine closely as she walked about the candlelit foyer, now staring aimlessly at the grand staircase that commanded her attention. She stood in front of the staircase for some time, her back to him. Erik held his breath as he keenly observed her, knowing she was thinking of the night he'd revealed himself to the company of the Opera House. He was a menacing and threatening character that night, who wanted nothing more than to seek revenge upon those that had defied him. He was a man who'd wanted to claim what he believed to be rightfully his in front of all those who were frightened by him, in front of her betrothed, the man who'd taken the woman who belonged only to him.
"You frightened me that night," Christine admitted very softly, intruding upon his thoughts.
Erik sheepishly thrust his hands in pockets and looked down at the floor. They'd promised complete honesty between another, vowed to another that only truth would exist between them, no matter the hurt and sadness that would possibly entangle with it, no matter how terrifying the truth would be.
Keeping his promise to Christine in mind, Erik slowly exhaled and took a step toward his innocent beauty.
"I meant to, you know. I'm ashamed to admit it, Christine. But I—" Erik sighed, rubbing his hands upon his face. "I was so angry with you."
She turned toward him, her face an expression of regret and sorrow, her hands wrapped about her body, her cloak enveloping her. She stared at him for a long while, visibly recollecting the night of le bal masqué.
"Because of my secret engagement to Raoul," she said very slowly. She shook her head and began pacing the foyer. "An engagement I wanted to remain secret because of you, because I didn't wish for you to know that I had promised myself to another."
She stopped mid stride after some time and looked sharply into his eyes.
"I couldn't understand then," she began explaining, "what I had done to upset you. But when you ripped Raoul's engagement ring from the chain around my neck I realized you knew, and I couldn't understand how you had known before I saw you again on this staircase, clad in threatening shades of red and a skull mask upon your face, that I had given Raoul my heart. You had abandoned me for six long months and I couldn't fathom why. I had been terrified that you discovered my engagement to Raoul. But I couldn't believe it possible. I thought you had left the Opera House completely!" She paused. "It wasn't until the night of your opera when you sang Raoul's love words to me, making them your own, that I'd realized you'd been on the roof with Raoul and me that night, that you'd known everything of our love and devotion to another, of Raoul's proposal, since that very night. Yet those words that you'd made your own on the stage the night of your opera helped me to remember once more the kindred spirits we had always been."
Erik swallowed hard.
"Yes. We were both alone," he proclaimed, tears misting his eyes.
Christine idly nodded as her eyes fell to the floor.
"Yes," she said, "until Raoul came back into my life."
"Yes," Erik breathed as he turned away from Christine and began ascending the staircase. "And then you didn't need me any longer."
"That is not true," Christine unexpectedly declared, causing Erik to stop dead in his tracks and hastily turn toward her.
"Christine—"
"I hated you for leaving me, Erik. It hurt me." She marched up the staircase toward him. "I hadn't any idea why you left me after the night of Il Muto and it saddened me very deeply!"
"I killed a man that night, Christine! For God's sake, I certainly thought you hadn't wanted anything to do with me after that," he said through clenched teeth, "especially after you fell into the arms of the Vicomte and confided to him of your terror of me—"
"I was frightened, Erik!" She scoffed, throwing her hands up in the air as she walked past him further up the staircase. She abruptly turned on her heel to face him once more. "I should have known that you would have followed me to the roof."
"Perhaps you should have," he said dryly as he turned away from her.
"No!" She demanded as she grabbed his shoulder and turned him to face her. "You obviously hadn't listened to my entire confession that night, Erik! You only heard what you'd wished to hear!"
"What are you talking about?"
"What I said about your voice, your music! I have told you a thousand times how your voice and music touched my soul that night in your lair. How you hadn't only frightened me but showed me passion and devotion, Erik. I loved you and I hated you."
"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear."
Tears began pouring down her face causing Erik to feel the coward once more for his harsh words. They were obviously the cause of her pain and it killed him. Yet he couldn't help himself. It was the only defense mechanism he had, pushing her away, hiding his pain by exploiting hers. His menace was all he'd ever known until his time with the Girys, and then when Christine came back into his life in the spring.
"You left me when I needed you. You left me, Erik!" She suddenly shouted as she turned away from him and began running up the staircase.
Anger burning within him, Erik quickly followed, grasping her wrist as she reached the top of the staircase.
"Now wait just a minute," Erik bellowed, hastily turning her to face him, causing her to lose her balance and fall into his arms. She tried to pull away but Erik held her closer.
"Perhaps I had heard all of what you'd said that night! I saw the look in your eyes when you spoke of my voice and music. You were mesmerized, utterly compelled! Your eyes sparkled as you remembered my passion, my music, which I'd so freely shared with you." He began to cry and slightly shook her. "But, Christine, I also saw the horror and pity in your eyes as you told the Vicomte of my face! Of my distorted and deformed flesh, of my ugliness, which had frightened you so incredibly much. I certainly haven't forgotten that, Christine." He shoved away from her. "And I don't think I ever will," he admitted very softly.
"Erik, I—"
"You thought I would kill you, Christine!" He finally roared, unable to keep his deepest sorrow within himself any longer. "That is what truly hurt. That you thought I had the power in my heart, in my soul, to kill you. Damn you!"
She stared quizzically at him for a moment then slightly gasped as she evidently remembered her impassioned words from that night with the Vicomte.
"My God," she breathed. "I said that." She shook her head. "Oh, Erik, I'm so sorry—"
But Erik wouldn't hear it, didn't want to hear it. He marched away from her and up the second flight of stairs on the right. It was only a matter of moments until he heard her tiny footsteps pounding up the stairs behind him.
"Why are you turning away from me," she cried. "Erik," she exclaimed desperately as she ran in front of him and laid her hands upon his chest, stopping him. "You brought me here, you told me you wished to make peace with this place and now you're walking away from me." She grasped his face between her hands. "Talk to me. Please," she pleaded. "I want this, too. I want you to tell me everything that you have felt because of me in this Opera House. Everything, Erik," she passionately declared. "I don't wish for there to be any more secrets between us." She wrapped her arms about his body and laid her head upon his chest. "Tell me, Erik. Please."
Erik silently berated himself as he realized Christine was right. He was the one who'd brought her here, who wanted to put the past behind him and Christine by making peace with it. He hadn't wished to avoid it any longer and yet here he was doing just that. He was constantly frightened of losing her, of proclaiming the wrong words, of hurting her. Yet he knew it was inevitable. He just needed to remember that she loved him and that she wasn't going anywhere, no matter what was revealed between them. She was his just as he was hers. He needed to remember that.
Erik wrapped his arms tightly about Christine's body and laid his head upon hers as he suddenly realized what Berenice had meant about his remembering that Christine needed him, that she loved him. It was because of his doubt in himself that he hadn't really believed Christine would be his for always. But she was and he needed to remember that. He wasn't letting her go.
"I'm sorry, angel," he sighed after a moment as he began caressing her back.
"It's all right," he heard Christine's muffled voice against his chest. "I'm scared, too."
Erik cupped her cheek, lifting her face to look into his.
"You hurt me that night, Christine," he said very calmly as he wiped her tears away.
"I know, Erik. But I was so frightened. First you'd lashed out at me in your lair the very morning after you'd seduced me with your music, then you threatened the managers, Raoul, even Carlotta Giudicelli," she exclaimed.
"Come now," Erik smirked, hoping to make her smile, "you were secretly pleased with what I had done to Carlotta."
Christine slowly smiled.
"Perhaps only a little," she murmured. "She was an evil woman." She violently shook her head. "But that doesn't matter, Erik. You threatened them! I've never wished ill against another in that Opera House. Not ever!"
She spoke calmly but with such fierce passion in her voice Erik couldn't help but admire her strength, her courage.
"Then," she continued, "you threatened not only the company the night of Il Muto, but the Parisian audience as well! You killed Joseph Buquet! You crashed the chandelier! You had gone completely mad, Erik!"
She pulled away from him and leaned against the railing of the staircase, her back to him now.
"And it was all because of me," she fervently whispered. "I hated you because of that."
Erik ran his hands through his hair then furiously thrust his hands in his pockets.
"I understand," he said very quietly after a moment.
"Did you truly abandon me for those six months because of what you'd witnessed between Raoul and I on the roof that night?" She tremulously asked after a long moment of silence between them.
Erik groaned and walked toward her, laying his hands upon her shoulders and pressing her against him. She laid her head upon his chest and placed a hand upon his on her shoulder.
"Yes," he shamefully admitted. "I was completely distraught. In my mind you had betrayed me, had denied me. You couldn't have us both. It was either him or me." He kissed her temple. "I wanted to come to you again, Christine, but you were completely enthralled by the Vicomte. You spent every waking moment with him! So I threw myself into my music, my score. I desperately wanted to finish it, hoping it would compel you into loving me once you'd seen what I had written for you. My passion, my music, everything I had ever felt because of you was reflected in that score, in my greatest masterpiece." He groaned, "And I lost you because of it."
Christine shook her head and turned to face him.
"Oh, Erik," she soothed as he leaned his forehead against hers, "you hadn't lost me because of your opera." She uneasily laughed. "You couldn't be more wrong."
"Then tell me."
"W-what," she asked breathlessly.
"What had caused you to turn away from me? Was it truly because of my face or because of my threats to the managers, to the Vicomte? Was it because of Buquet? Was it one of those reasons or all of them? Tell me."
Erik was relentless. He wanted to know if he'd lost her that morning when her curiosity had led her to foolishly rip his mask from his face, causing him to berate her, to yell at her. Yet he hadn't truly believed it'd been because of that morning, for after he'd confessed his deepest fears to her, she'd shown him such compassion he'd finally fallen in love with Christine, the magnificent young woman, not just Christine, his divine Angel of Music. She'd returned his mask to him. She'd almost allowed him to kiss her, for God's sake! But he'd been the coward then too, grabbing her wrist and forcing himself to return her above, instead of keeping her down in his Hell with him for eternity, which had been what he'd truly desired. But he'd let her go then, too. And because of his returning her above, because of the compassion she'd shown through the returning of his mask, he'd always believed it had been because of his murdering Joseph Buquet that she'd turned away from him in the end. That she'd fallen into the arms of the Vicomte on the roof that night.
"Oh, Erik," she sighed as she looked away from him.
He tenderly gripped her shoulders.
"Tell me, Christine," he gently demanded again.
"I-I don't really know. You frightened me, and Raoul was there," she reluctantly admitted. "He was truth and light while you were…" Her voice stifled off.
"While I was deception and darkness," he finished for her, "while I was a murderer."
Christine bent her head, looking down at his chest.
"Y-yes," she said after some time.
Erik let out a long breath.
"I suppose I had known then, the truth behind your choosing the Vicomte over me. I was just too blinded by rage and my obsession of you to understand."
"Yes, I suppose."
Erik nodded and kissed her forehead.
"I never meant to abandon you, Christine. I truly thought you didn't need me anymore once you'd declared yourself to the Vicomte."
"I always needed you, Erik."
"I know that now."
Christine tremulously smiled and cupped his cheek. Erik bent his head toward hers and lightly brushed her lips, but Christine grasped his other cheek and kissed him deeper. Erik groaned as she slipped her tongue past his lips and seduced him with her intoxicating innocence.
Erik wrapped his arms firmly about her waist in response, pressing her against his now engorged flesh. Christine whimpered, wrapping her hands about his neck.
They continued loving another with their lips, their tongues, until Erik reluctantly pulled away from her, Christine biting his lip, erotically pleading with him not to stop, as he did so.
"Erik," she breathed, their chests heaving against another as they held another closely, neither wishing to let go. "Don't stop," she murmured.
"Hush, angel-love," he whispered, grasping her wrists wrapped around his neck and bringing them forth between them, kissing them briefly.
He slowly stepped away from her, grasping one of the candelabra he'd lit some moments before, and continued leading her through the Opera House, their hands entwined.
Erik heard Christine draw in a deep breath then slowly exhale as they approached the two closed doors that led to the entrance of the theater after some time of walking and exploring the Opera House in companionable silence.
"Are you still with me, Christine?" Erik asked as he laid his hand at the small of her back, lightly caressing her.
She was silent for some time then reached her hand out and jerked opened one of the doors, the door letting out an eerie sound as she opened it completely, due to years of being unused.
Erik grasped the door and held it for her as she gently took the candelabra from him and slowly entered the abandoned theater. He looked down at the floor for a moment, ran a hand through his hair, mentally preparing himself for all that was bound to come, and then followed his love within the darkness of the theater.
He stayed behind at a safe distance, wishing to allow her all the time she needed to collect her thoughts and emotions, to take in all that stood before her, to remember all that had been, the good and the bad.
The air was quite musky, dust filling the theater and covering the numerous seats, the floor and balconies, due to years of abandonment, of unfortunate neglect. Erik suddenly wished they had more light, desperately wanting to reacquaint himself completely with the very theater that had made his angel the star ingénue, a feat she'd deserved since the moment he'd first heard her sing.
"Christine," Erik called out to her as she walked down the aisle toward the stage, "I'll be just a moment," he said, wanting to return to the foyer and gather two more candelabrums, "I wish to—"
"No!" She suddenly exclaimed, setting the candelabra upon the floor and turning on her heel to march toward him. She grabbed his hand in hers then threw herself into his arms. She was trembling. "Don't leave me," she murmured, clinging to him now.
Erik swallowed hard, her words and gesture breaking his heart. He wrapped his arms tight about her body, soothing her with whispering nothings.
"Never," he fervently promised after a moment.
They stood there for some time, clinging to another, Erik rubbing her back and hair, Christine softly crying against him, his heart pounding now.
"Erik," Christine sobbed, "it feels as if nothing has changed. Yes, the theater, the foyer, everything, is disheveled and quite filthy. But," she sighed, "it feels as if nothing has changed." She pulled away from him and turned toward the stage once more. "Your set is still there."
Erik jerked his head toward the stage at her words. His eyes widened upon seeing what she meant.
"My God," he breathed.
Everything from the night of his opera was still upon the stage: the table, its tablecloth still upon it, the bench, the faux fruit and food, the lute, the set itself, was still on the stage, though much of it knocked upon the floor, most likely due to the chaos that had erupted that night because of his abduction of Christine.
The bench had been knocked over, the curtains that hid the bed from view had been ripped down, several pieces of the faux fruit and food had also been knocked to the ground. The lute was upon the floor, too, and had apparently been stepped on, it being smashed up a bit, while the backdrop had several holes torn through it. But it was all still there.
Erik's chest tightened, his heart in his throat now, as he recollected that night. Despite the despair and hatred and terror that had come with that night, he'd certainly never forgotten the passion that had come with it, too. Christine's eroticism and innocence combined within her voice and body, her seduction, her touch, everything, had been complete bliss that night during those few moments they'd shared on that stage together. Erik wouldn't dare trade their erotic duet for the world. It had never left his heart, his soul, and certainly hadn't left his dreams, his bed, his body.
"Erik," Christine whispered, "you're trembling."
Erik shook his head and looked down upon the only woman who possessed his soul. He grasped her face in his hands and kissed her very gently, though his flesh was throbbing. He wanted to lay her down upon the floor now and savagely take her. He wanted to possess her. He wanted everything from her, her soul opening to his, her legs wrapped firmly about his body as he thrust his flesh deep inside her, their bodies entwined an everlasting symbol of the eternal love and erotic passion that would forever consume their souls.
Erik abruptly ended the kiss and pulled away from her, running his hand through his hair. Christine furrowed her brows as she watched him intently, her lips wet from his kiss, her skin flushed.
"Are you quite well?" She finally asked.
Erik cleared his throat.
"Y-yes, I'm fine."
Christine slowly nodded, clearly not believing him at all. She reached her hand out to him, clasping it over his.
"Erik?"
"It's nothing. Come," he said, interlacing his hand with hers as he walked with her down the long aisle to retrieve the candelabra she left on the floor. "Do you want to go up there?" He asked after grasping their only source of light in his hand.
Christine looked over at the stage for a long moment then leaned over and kissed his white leather mask.
"Yes, I think I do."
"Me too," he said very gently.
She smiled at him then reached her free hand out to caress his hair. Erik held her endearing gaze for a long moment then kissed her brow and began leading her out of the theater, through another myriad of halls until they reached backstage.
They both stopped upon reaching the stage, gripping another's hands tightly as they stood backstage for a few moments longer, preparing themselves for the final threshold they were about to cross. The stage that stood before them held an abundant of memories, both wondrous and terror-filled. Those memories would inevitably flood their minds: the bliss of Christine's debut performance as Elissa in Hannibal, the terror that he'd brought upon the company and audience of Il Muto, and the night of his debut opera, Don Juan Triumphant, an opera meant to be his crowning achievement, an opera that was indeed his artistic masterpiece that would irrevocably bound him and his angel together for always. An opera he'd written for her voice, for his passion, for their love.
"Are you afraid?" He heard himself ask Christine after a moment.
"No," she said very surely, almost frightening him.
They walked onto the stage together, neither saying a word as they looked at another one last time then slowly parted, exploring the stage separately.
Erik immediately lit the several stage lamps that were erected upon the front of the stage, illuminating the murky stage completely as he did so.
"Mmm," Christine hummed. "That's much better."
Erik couldn't help but smile at Christine's gracious words. He set the candelabra down upon the stage now that they no longer needed it, the stage shining brightly, the candlelight glowing about Christine's lovely face.
Erik drew in a slow and steady breath as he watched Christine fixedly, her beauty and grace mesmerizing him. She was, truly, his innocent beauty, his eternal love. She was a divine goddess that he'd forever worship, forever cherish. She was everything: his heart and soul, his passion, his devotion, his music. Her beauty compelled him, captivated him. She'd unwittingly cast him upon her celestial spell, and Erik was forever inclined to acquiesce her every desire, her deepest pleasure, her secret fantasies. He wanted to give her everything.
"Christine," he whispered as he walked toward her, suddenly desperate to hold her, to touch her, to love her. He needed her, and he needed her now. He wrapped his arms about her waist, pressing her back against his chest, the evidence of his desire causing her to softly moan as she leaned against him.
"Erik," she breathed.
He murmured her name once more as he began kissing her neck, suckling her with his tongue, lightly biting her with his teeth, her soft gasps inflaming him.
"I want you, Christine," he declared as he slipped his hands over her chest and inside her cloak, laying both hands upon the ripe fullness of her breasts. "I need to be inside you once more."
Christine drew in a deep breath as he slipped his hands inside her bodice and began kneading her breasts, her nipples tightening shamelessly as he continued his erotic ministrations upon her.
"I need you, Erik. Please," she whimpered as he grasped her soft breasts in his hands.
Erik leaned his face in her hair, taking in the sweet and intoxicating aroma of her lush curls. He then removed his hands from her bodice, gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth slightly open, her ignited passion reflected through her slow and steady breaths.
Erik slowly began to untie her cloak as Christine watched him, her hazel eyes glowing with desperate need. She leaned toward him and gently bit his earlobe then laid her hand upon his white leather mask.
"Please," she quietly asked.
Erik let her cloak fall in a pool of darkness around their feet then took a small step back as he lifted his mask from his face and deftly laid it upon the fallen bench. Christine tremulously smiled then kissed his deformed cheek, wrapping her arms about his waist.
Erik groaned as she began kissing his throat, licking and biting as she slid her arms upon his chest and around his neck. Erik held her closely, causing Christine to moan as his engorged flesh pressed against her stomach. He slid his hands down her back, grasping her bottom and pressing her harder against him, silently pleading with her to become one with him once again. He wanted nothing more than to be inside her, to be complete within her, their souls united once more.
Christine shuddered as Erik began to sensually move his hips, grinding them against hers. He wanted her to be sure, to want this completely, to trust his love, his passion, for her. He wanted nothing more than to give her all the time she needed to refuse him.
She didn't.
Erik groaned as Christine slipped her hand between them and laid it upon his flesh, enticingly stroking him through his breeches.
"God, how I want you," he sighed as she continued her bold caresses. "Please, Christine, I couldn't bear it if you denied me."
Christine kissed his throat once more then looked deeply into his eyes.
"Never, Erik," she breathed as she stepped away from him and began untying the laces on the front of her bodice.
Erik watched Christine, his heart and soul in his eyes, as she undressed, her hands trembling as she did so. Erik knew she was afraid. But she was the bravest woman he'd ever known. He didn't believe she'd deny him now, knew she didn't wish to deny him. Yet he also knew how difficult this would be for her. In her mind she'd betrayed him by lying with another man, though Erik hadn't seen it that way and never would. Now was his chance to show her that he'd forever love her. That he'd forever need and desire her. But he also wanted her to know that she belonged with him and no other. She was his, they were one, and no other would come between them again.
Christine stood before him now, her naked glory leaving him breathless. The candlelight illuminated every curve, every secret, of her perfect body.
"You are exquisite," Erik told his luscious angel, a deep flush blooming upon her cheeks at his words.
He walked to her and caressed her breast. Christine breathed deeply, her body quivering beneath his simple touch. He caressed her side then stroked her stomach. He kneeled before her and kissed her navel then laid his head upon her stomach. She fiercely wrapped her arms around his head.
"Erik, please," she pleaded.
Erik kissed her stomach then stood before her. He began to slowly undress, carelessly tossing his clothes to the side as he keenly slipped out of them.
Both completely naked now, they stood in silence for a moment, both breathing heavily, Erik's manhood stirring against his stomach, Christine's nipples erect, both bearing the erotic silence as they prepared themselves for their fated and desired union.
"Christine," Erik rasped as he walked to her and grasped her face in his hands.
He kissed her tenderly, not wishing to upset her still, not wanting to frighten her. She sighed beneath his lips as he licked hers then slipped his tongue inside her mouth. He felt her tremble as she laid her hands upon his shoulder blades, digging her fingers within his flesh, pleading with him for more.
Erik reluctantly broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. He then pulled away and kissed her forehead.
"Christine—"
"No," Christine whispered, shaking her head and laying a finger upon his lips. "Don't speak. Just love me, Erik."
Erik crushed her against his chest at her words, her bare skin upon his filling him with an impassioned and soothing desire. God, he had missed her love, her body. He was never letting her go again.
He caressed her back, her shoulders and arms, her hands, as she caressed his back and buttocks. Erik groaned and dipped his head within the crook of her neck as she grasped the back of his thighs, pressing him harder against her, his rigid erection throbbing between their trembling bodies.
Sudden ferocious and violent need swelled up within Erik as Christine's innocent touches became bolder. He grasped her bottom once more, pressing her against him in return then lifted his head and took her lips with a passionate kiss.
Christine moaned beneath him then wrapped her arms tightly about his neck as he kissed her harder, shattering his senses, and presumably her own, completely. Erik groaned deeply as she opened for him, allowing him to slip his tongue inside her once more, their tongues fiercely entwining.
Continuing their fierce and impassioned kiss, Erik slipped his hand between their inflamed bodies and laid it upon her secret flesh. Christine sighed as he cupped her gently, her sleekness thoroughly arousing him. He slipped two fingers inside her dewy flesh, causing Christine to break their kiss and press her head against his shoulder.
"Erik," she panted as he stroked her softly, his teasing fingers visibly driving her mad.
Unable to resist her any longer, her soft moans and heated pleasure enthralling him, Erik slid his fingers deeper inside her, stroking her honeyed flesh vigorously. Christine lifted her leg in response to his passion and wrapped it tightly about his muscled legs, her dancer's body offering another talent Erik had almost forgotten. She felt divine.
"Mmm," she moaned as he opened his fingers inside her, filling her deeper, her evidence of her desperate need wetting his fingers, her thighs. She lightly bit his shoulder.
Erik wrapped his free arm tighter about her waist upon her possessing response, kneading her bottom, forcing his fingers deeper inside her, weakening her.
Christine suddenly lifted her head from his shoulder and seduced him with her impassioned kiss once more. Erik hastily responded, grasping her head and deepening the kiss. He then quickly began pushing her toward the table.
He felt Christine go rigid as her bottom touched the table causing Erik to break the kiss and look intently into her eyes. They stared at another for a long while, their heavy breathing the only sound between them, his fingers solid inside her still, though not moving any longer. Her eyes intoxicated him, glittering with wanton desire.
"Take me, Erik," she breathed.
Erik wound his arm around her waist and lifted her up as her request burned through him, setting her upon the edge of the table, his fingers continuing their erotic ministrations once more.
Christine whimpered as he leaned toward her and licked her ear. She sighed in apparent disappointment as he removed his fingers from her moist flesh and laid his hands upon her thighs, caressing them slowly.
"Lay back and open to me," he commanded, his lust deep in his throat now, causing his voice to quiver with exciting yet terrifying need and desperation.
Christine wantonly obeyed, lying upon her back and opening her legs to him, her inflamed and wanting sex displayed before his eyes, his heated loins begging for release at the glorious sight of her. Erik bent and grasped her ankles, placing them upon the edge of the table. He gripped her hips, sliding her closer toward him, his thick, satiny length pressed against her soft and luscious flesh.
Erik groaned as he rubbed his swollen member against her slick and dewy womanhood, Christine closing her eyes and biting her bottom lip as he did so, her back arching.
"Erik, please," she moaned, her hands gripping the sides of the table, her body begging to be worshipped.
"Oh, God, yes," Erik succumbed as he gripped his aching flesh and pressed himself against her wanting threshold.
Christine gasped as he slowly entered her, their deep, soulful union now on the verge of completion. Erik thrust himself deeper within her quivering, silken flesh, causing Christine to cry out once more, her back lifting and arching upon the table. Erik gripped her hips hard, his flesh pulsing deep within her.
"My sublime angel, my divine goddess," Erik rasped.
He then suddenly found himself compelled to prolong her pleasure, wanting to show her through his commanding flesh, through his demanding body and soul, that only he could bring her upon the brink of passion only to steal it away from her, that only he could pleasure her and fulfill her deepest and darkest desires and fantasies, that she belonged to him and only him.
Erik sensuously smiled as he withdrew his hard flesh from her moist core almost completely, causing Christine to moan with discontent, her hands reaching out to him now.
"Erik," she sighed, "don't stop now," she pleaded, suddenly opening her eyes, their hazel depths reflecting such fiery passion, Erik found he was unable to control himself any longer, his body too helpless to resist her, his need for completion overwhelming him.
He groaned as Christine cried out as he surged within her once more, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more demanding.
"Harder, Erik," Christine moaned, her body aflame now. "Please, harder. Hurt me."
Erik furrowed his brows then pushed his disconcerting thoughts aside as he grabbed her shoulders and lifted her against him, his sweat drenched chest pressed firmly against her soft breasts, her nipples erect, he body burning with evident pleasure.
Christine clung to him, her head buried in the crook of his neck.
"Wrap your legs around me," Erik demanded, his voice rough with zealous abandon.
Christine immediately acquiesced, her legs wrapping around him pushing his engorged flesh deeper inside her. He began thrusting ruthlessly inside her, Christine's hips matching him thrust for thrust, their erotic rhythm of passion and desire devouring their souls, their joined bodies.
His sudden enraged and violent passion overcoming him, Erik grasped Christine's head and forced her to face him.
"Look at me while I take you. I want you to know who you belong to."
Christine moaned as she held his gaze, her eyes filled with such passion, with such pain, his heart wanted to break. Yet he wouldn't yield and knew Christine wouldn't either.
Erik roughly gripped her arms, knowing his commanding passion would certainly leave marks upon her in the morning. He roughly pushed Christine back, their bodies still entwined as he kneeled before her on the table, burying himself deeper inside her, their eyes still upon another.
Christine grabbed his buttocks, her legs still wrapped around his waist, and pressed him closer against her, pleading for him.
"Please, Erik," she moaned, looking desperately into his eyes. "Hurt me. I want you to hurt me."
Erik leaned over her and bit her earlobe, not wanting to hurt her as she demanded, but wanting to possess her completely.
"Christine," he groaned in her ear. "You hurt me."
"I know," she sobbed as he thrust harder within her, her back arching causing her breasts to press against him.
"Surrender to me, Christine," Erik commanded as he gripped her neck and angled her face so her eyes could see his engorged manhood immersed with her surrendering flesh. "Now," he said harshly, "look at me while I take you. You're mine."
Christine ravenously cried out as she complied with his possessing demand, watching their joined flesh as he thrust inside her again and again, Erik resting his chin upon the top of her head.
"You're mine, Christine," he roared once more. "There will never be another. Never," he groaned as he pushed himself further inside her, her feminine muscles tight upon his powerful flesh, bringing him closer to the brink of an eternal, fantastical passion he knew would always be his as long as he had Christine with him.
"No, Erik," she moaned as he continued violently thrusting inside her, their passion filled with such pleasure-pain Erik thought they'd both surely die from it. "Never," she vowed. "Only you," she gasped as he continued to slide home within her, her body succumbing to his erotic force, to his primitive male need.
Her hands clung to his shoulder blades now, her nails digging into his flesh, clawing his back, her head still beneath his chin as she watched his aching flesh become sated inside hers as he continued his rapacious thrusts, his animalistic mating.
Erik suddenly threw his head back as he finally found completion, his manhood exploding inside her, his seed an everlasting and irrevocable reminder of their joined souls, of his possession of her. Christine's head fell back too as she succumbed to him, her body limp with surrender beneath him, her legs falling beside his.
Erik fell upon her after a moment, their sweat drenched chests heaving against another. He kissed the plane between her breasts as he heard her heart slamming in her chest after a moment, his own heart soaring. He could still feel himself pulsing within her, his now sated flesh still one with hers.
Erik stiffened as he suddenly heard Christine softly weeping. He immediately lifted his head, only to see her tear filled eyes, her face, still flushed with passion, wet with her tears.
"Christine?"
Erik hooked his arm around her waist and slid them to the edge of the table. He stood once more, grasping her legs and wrapping them around him once more, reveling in the bliss of their entwined bodies. He didn't wish to let her go.
He grasped her face between his hands, his heart slowly crumbling as he felt her trembling beneath him, her tears flowing.
"Oh, angel," he whispered.
She suddenly clung to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders, pressing her soft breasts against his muscled chest. Erik fiercely wrapped his arms about her in return, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
"I love you, Erik," she cried as she held him closer. "Never let me go."
"Never, angel," Erik promised as he held her securely in his arms. "I love you for always."
They stayed like that for a long while, their bodies still joined, their deep, soulful union an everlasting peace that would forever consume them. Erik soon found himself crying too, his eternal passion and love for his innocent beauty terrifying him as he suddenly realized that nothing in this world, not his deformed face, not his haunting memories of his former despairing life, not even his damned soul, could be more agonizing than love.