A/N: I am so sorry for the long delay. April & May are some of the busiest months for me, and June has been no better. Added to that - computer problems, sickness, family issues, work deadlines, etc - and I have one thing to say about all that- AGGGHHHH! … there, I feel better now. :) Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter and The Quest too – I appreciate it! And thank you to the many who favorited this story and The Quest. I'm happy to know both stories are being enjoyed. Kaylee- well, to answer your question, you'll just have to keep reading. ;-) ARoseforErik- hmmm…well, maybe not quite what you planned, with regard to your suggestion, but, um, keep reading. ;-) (I cracked up at the "Erik glaring at me and twirling his Punjab, tapping foot on floor." lol- Trust me, his wait won't be long … ;-)
To make up for my lengthy hiatus- how about an extra long chapter? :)
First, I must admit, I've also been a wee bit nervous to post this chapter, worried how it will be received…This one strongly deserves the M rating – Graphic with a capital, bold-faced G – more so than anything before, I think. Borderline smut, though I've been told by my crit partner that it's not really so much so - but if you don't like that sort of thing, PLEASE skim when you reach that part. (You'll know it when you get there…) I don't want to offend anyone, but I write it how I feel it. And if you're underage… you shouldn't even be here …
And now…
*****Chapter XXXVIII*****
Music is an outburst of the soul.
~Frederick Delius
The mandrakes send out their fragrance,
and at our door is every delicacy,
both new and old,
that I have stored up for you, my lover.
~Song of Solomon
x
Within moments of taking cover behind the mirror, Raoul tersely whispered that they could not linger and must proceed. Madame Giry balked, but the sudden clatter of rapid footsteps echoing in the corridor beyond the dressing room changed her mind. She quickly moved down the damp passage, anxiety pulling her mouth into a tight frown as she carried the torch high to light the way.
Raoul had only been down this godforsaken path of tunnels once, too narrow for him to continue carrying Meg, and his muscles burned in agony from the constant strain. Between him and the boy, surprisingly strong for his puny size, they supported her in a staggered manner, due to lack of space, as she wrapped her arms tightly around both sets of shoulders and managed on one foot while they partially dragged and lifted her.
Soon they came to the mouth of unprotected steps of stone that circled far down into the cellars. Meg took one horrified look at the seemingly endless twist of treacherous stairs, her damp face going pale. She pressed her back against the wall.
"I cannot do this!" She looked first at her mother, then at Raoul. "I cannot go down there! There is no guardrail, nothing to prevent a plummet to certain death! And I'm already so clumsy."
"I'll help you," he assured. "Lean on the boy and me, let us carry your weight. Close your eyes if that helps. We cannot stay here indefinitely."
Her wide brown eyes were so childlike, pleading with him to admit that he was mistaken and there existed another escape route. When he offered no such consolation, she took in a shuddering breath and gave a frightened little nod. Tears coated her lashes, and he knew that her cast had been knocked about awkwardly in their escape.
"Are you in pain?"
"Not so much. The rum helped." Once she had dressed the wound on his hand, he had insisted she drink a glass with him, to dull her own pain.
Madame glanced from Raoul to Meg then back to Raoul, a stern look of disapproval in the tightening of her lips. But she said nothing, turning again with the torch to guide them. Raoul clutched Meg's hand draped over his shoulder, giving them both a better hold. Aiding Meg down five flights of precarious stairs, while keeping his own balance at the edge of nothingness took every bit of his concentration.
Halfway down, Madame abruptly halted, nearly causing an accident as Raoul almost walked into her.
"What is it?" he rasped impatiently. "Why did you stop?"
"There's a trapdoor on the next stair," she quietly stated. "You know of it, Monsieur. It is the same trap through which you told me you fell."
Raoul scowled at the vivid recollection of icy water chilling him to the bone and his struggle to break free from the lowering gate that would have brought certain death.
"You must put your back to the wall and step, like so," Madame demonstrated as she slid her feet so that her heels brushed the edge of upright stone, "and you will not trigger the mechanism."
Awkwardly, cautiously, she and the boy maneuvered the perilous stair. Madame held Meg's arm from the step below while Raoul gripped her arm from above. Regardless, her bulky cast thumped hard, sending tremors against the dangerous stone in front of where she now stood. Doors before her swept open and downward, her toes at the very edge of peril as both Madame and Raoul struggled to keep her from losing balance and falling into a watery grave. Meg's eyes flew wide in shocked horror, her sallow face reflecting the eerie green water glowing from below.
"Merde!" the boy exclaimed and stepped down another stair.
Madame gasped in shock, pulling her dazed daughter to her in fearful relief, almost causing them both to plunge down the staircase and just catching herself against the wall to prevent it. Raoul grimaced at the water trap, sidestepping to the next stair as Madame made way for him. As if sensing its prey had escaped, the doors swept inward with a rush and snap of its iron jaws.
"That was too close," Raoul muttered nervously. "How many more are there?"
"They run all throughout the tunnels."
"And you know the placement of each one?" he accused, recalling how she'd found him beneath the trapdoor leading to the horrific torture chamber of mirrors at the Bal Masque and pulled him away once a noose dropped out of nowhere. A warning or a promise, he was never sure.
"I know of those leading to the King's chambers, yes."
"Why did you not warn me that night?" he quietly fumed. "You told me only to keep my hand at the level of my eyes. Perhaps had I not done as you instructed I would have seen the trap to avoid it." He kept his eyes fixed on her and she faltered.
"If you look closely, monsieur, you'll notice that the exterior of iron doors match the stone. All traps are hidden and blend well into their surroundings."
"How did you know it was there now?"
She drew herself up. "I counted steps."
"Could you not have told me to do the same?" he insisted.
"That night, so much was happening; I did not think. I only feared for Christine and the King's safety from the Phantom, since I had come to understand he was not the helpful aide to the King I once believed. He had an agenda to overthrow the throne and destroy them both, keeping their spirits forever captive, not just their bodies, and using you as his pawn. Genius had turned to madness, but not as you imagined." She haughtily lifted her chin. "And I feared for myself, since I betrayed the Phantom by confiding in you on the night of the Bal Masque. Later I told you the way to reach the throne room so you could find them before the mob did. Another reason we should not even be in this place. If he is here, I have no doubt he will exact his vengeance."
Meg softly gasped, her face strained and white, as if also hearing this for the first time.
"There is no other way to evade the soldiers' and their reprisal," Raoul insisted to the obdurate woman. "So perhaps we should concentrate on evading the evil we know exists here at present, and not the fear that may not even be in residence."
They glared at one another in a silent battle of wills.
"Mére," Meg's soft voice still trembled from her near plummet. "The Vicomte is right."
He glanced at the girl, surprised to hear her take his side.
"The soldiers may have found us above, no matter where we hid," she went on, her words stronger. "I have seen so much bloodshed tonight ... so much." She closed her eyes a moment with a little shiver. "They wouldn't have thought twice about adding to the toll if they thought us part of the Commune. Neither way is completely free from danger – hiding in the opera house or seeking shelter beneath – but by going to the throne room we have a better chance. There's a tunnel leading from there and out of Paris – all of it underground. I have seen it. It is how the King left that night."
Madame Giry's cheeks hollowed, her jaw firm as she took in a harsh breath through her nose and glared again at the Vicomte, as if he was to blame for her daughter's precise estimation of the matter. She again looked at Meg, studying her wan, pale features and smoke-streaked face. Her countenance softened slightly. "Very well. Then let us proceed."
"Is there more of them trapdoors on the stairs?" the boy asked in fearful excitement.
"Non. But there are more traps below. Stay close behind me and do as I tell you."
Once they left the stairs, Raoul counted five more traps before they came to an area where the passages branched into three sections. Madame took the one on the left, revealing a wide pathway that sloped to the water's edge. Again carrying Meg, which he'd done since they left the winding stairwell and proved somewhat easier than helping her walk, Raoul scanned the water. Ahead, a narrow canal between high walls held unlit candles in sconces.
"Behind that pillar of carved rock," Madame instructed, "you will find a rowboat. It is small and simple, but it is a boat. He used it when he was a child."
Raoul set Meg down. With the boy's help, they found and took the boat from where it stood propped on dry land and set it on the water. The boat remained dry, no hidden cracks or holes allowing water to escape. Yet barely two people could fit inside. They decided he would take one of them to the lair at a time. First he took Madame, whose stony silence came as a relief rather than a hindrance.
The caverns were impossibly dark, oppressive. The bone-chilling damp seeped beneath the layers of Raoul's clothing, which provided poor defense. Green water eerily reflected the flame from their lone torch, a sudden icy draft now and then causing it to flicker. The walls of cold rock seemed to crowd in around them, while ominous shadows cavorted madly upon stone and water, as if the entire dwelling were alive with ill-contained unrest … waiting, watching. Horrific faces carved into stone added to the ghostly atmosphere. At last, twin mammoth statues of Atlas carrying the world upon his shoulders glided into view.
The portcullis hung raised, the former dwelling of the Phantom of the Opera more bleak and foreboding than Raoul remembered it. Blood-red curtains embroidered in gold hung parted at the entrance, one hanging askew, its end floating atop the water's surface. Areas where once magnificent statues gleamed golden now stood barren, the mob obviously seizing victorious consolation in booty when they failed to locate their prey.
Raoul looked around the vast chamber, stunned at the scope of senseless destruction. Others had visited this place since he'd taken Christine on her futile journey to find her Angel, the week after the fire.
Countless sheets of music and numerous drawings of Christine, many now dry but faded and warped from being drenched, littered the floor. Those that escaped a watery destruction were torn in half, the drawings decapitated at the neck. All three mirrors stood uncovered and smashed as he remembered, but every shard and grain of glass that had remained in the hollow frames now glittered from the stones beneath. Rich tapestries hung limply in tatters, others muddied and strewn over the floor near a dismembered mannequin of a woman. Its head lay on the opposite stair landing, next to a carved skull that topped a gold throne, which had been pushed on its side, its crimson cushions slashed. What looked like a shredded wedding veil lay limply twisted and muddied around its foot. Even a great bed of a phoenix, also made of gold but apparently too heavy and cumbersome for booty, had not escaped the vandals' wrath. Strips of black mesh from a tattered curtain and ruby bedding had been sliced with a dagger and lay scattered about the floor.
Madame uttered a sharp exclamation of horror upon first seeing the devastation, then grew chillingly silent. Her eyes glistened, wet, disbelieving, angry as she scooped together a pile of damaged music and drawings, clutching them in one hand. "Only beasts masquerading as men would do something so vile," she muttered beneath her breath. "An inhuman race."
With a determined set about her mouth, she lit a lamp standing near a wall with the torch she carried, her soles grinding in the mirror glass, then moved on to a group of candles, then another, and another, as if to dispel all the cloying darkness she could manage. He watched as she gathered the legs, trunk, and head of the desecrated mannequin, shook her head sadly as she stared at its smashed face, and put all the pieces out of sight in the alcove where the doll once stood. She flitted to and fro like a little fretful black raven, picking up music here, tapestry there, fallen objects all around - whatever item her hand touched - in a useless attempt to restore order to the desolate chamber of forgotten ruins.
Once Raoul might have argued the vandals' justification for wreaking such utter devastation in this former abode of the villainous Opera Ghost. But after his experience in Spain, after witnessing that thing rise into the air above their heads - much as he once glimpsed it between mirrors that long-ago night in this very lair, while he'd been trussed to the gate, ropes magically winding thrice about his middle at the same time Christine's so-called Angel bound his wrists to the bars - he wearily accepted the truth. All of what he endlessly refuted as a myriad illusion had been their sole reality.
There was a Phantom, and it wasn't the man his former fiancée now called husband. An evil, deceptive spirit had been the source of control in this place … did that mean that Madame, Meg, and Christine were correct in the rest of what they staunchly defended, and were right to call … Erik … a king? A ruler of music?
God, it was too much. He couldn't sort out such memories, not here, not now. His troubled gaze lifted from the toppled red and gold throne with the pitiful shreds of the wedding veil caught around its leg to see Madame Giry had stopped her frenzied cleaning and stood silent, watching his reactions intently.
She studied his face and slowly nodded, a solemn but satisfied curve to her lips. "At last, you see. At last, you begin to understand."
He said nothing.
"They are well?" Her voice came eager, hopeful, softer than he'd heard it.
His nod was slight. "As well as can be expected."
Unable to elaborate on those things he couldn't yet say, he took the torch and returned to the boat to collect Meg and the boy.
xXx
With the overwhelming image of her husband wading naked from the icy sea firmly emblazoned in her mind, Christine thought long on the mystery of why Erik would do such a shocking thing. When the answer came, (and it might have come sooner had she not taken that awful elixir which clouded her perception and weakened her flesh), it stunned her that she hadn't realized immediately. Her eyes went wide, her skin flushed hot. Of course. It made sense and fit with his odd behavior of previous evenings … she realized he must have done the same on other occasions, also remembering the cold dampness of his hair and skin when she had awakened from her nightmare.
The previous night when she spied him from the window, he'd been quiet when he finally returned to their room. Once the children had left, he had kissed her on the forehead, claiming a great weariness, and promptly reclined on his side of the bed, his back to her. Fully dressed save for his boots.
Tonight, determined, Christine put aside the elixir without taking a drink.
Erik entered their room earlier than usual, not long after darkness fell. With no more than a fleeting smile and nod her way, he moved to the washstand. Bracing his hands on the table, he glanced out the window at the ocean, and she wondered if he brooded over another late-night plunge. Before she could speak, he seemed to reach a decision, letting his breath out in an irritated burst as he straightened.
"Is anything wrong?" she asked.
"No," he said quietly. "Everything is well."
His muscles bunched and tensed as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the floor with impatience. He had been overwrought for some time, taking his irritation out on the gypsies. She had heard the news through a cowed Lupita though he rarely snapped at Christine, not since the night he brought her the box of their belongings. Most often he was gentle and kind. Perhaps, if she'd not been so preoccupied with her sorrow over their loss and her impatience to get well, she would have noticed his struggle sooner.
She watched as he splashed water on his face and around his neck, the tendons in his arms and back rippling with the motion. Her longing gaze took in all of his lean, muscled form. Her whole body ached to touch his, to have him wholly possess her. She needed him as much as she needed air to breathe.
They had not made love since before the battle, and the days seemed as if they might never pass until the Drabarni considered her fully recovered. Each day she hoped. Each day the allegedly wise old woman told her no. Most of the time Christine struggled with lethargy and let the sharp yearning for her husband pass in reluctant obeisance. But tonight, since she'd set aside the elixir, she felt alert, stronger.
Erik turned and they made eye contact, a fiery connection that robbed her of breath. His mutual need of her flashed in his smoky green eyes before he looked away and grabbed the toweling.
"You must rest, Mon Ange. You do too much." Christine reclined back among the pillows. "Come … lie next to me."
He froze then slowly pulled the cloth from his face, looking at her.
"You're weary," she enticed before he could refuse. "Don't bother to deny it. I know you too well. And I can relieve your fatigue … if you'll let me."
Caution entered his eyes. "Christine - "
"Yes, I know. We must wait." She was sick of hearing those words. "Though I feel fine." When he would dispute the matter, she added, "However, I'll be a good little angel and behave." She smiled sweetly at him.
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why do I not believe you?"
She laughed lightly. "Come here, my love. Sit beside me, if only to talk." She patted the mattress beside her. "I get so bored and lonely, day in, day out, with only myself for company."
He held back, clearly struggling with his decision, before moving toward her. She sat upright on the bed as he sank onto it. "And so, my Angel," he unnecessarily stressed the word as if in reminder, "what did you do today?"
"Besides looking out the window and lying flat on my back? Nothing." She scooted a little behind him. "It seems as if I'm forever sleeping."
"You're supposed to rest and remain in bed." He startled at the sudden touch of her cool fingers against his skin. "What are you doing?"
"Only massaging the tightness from your shoulders." She kneaded his smooth flesh, almost purring with pleasure at the sensation touching him brought. Despite the cool water he'd washed with, it seemed a flame warmed his skin from beneath. "Relax. Meg and I often did this for one another after long rehearsals. Tell me of your day. I'm sure it was much more exhilarating than mine has been."
He didn't speak for a time, and she wondered if he saw through her ploy to change the subject.
"I oversaw the gypsies burn out the rooms of the slave quarters and other rooms the Don used for his foul intrigues."
Relieved, she let out a breath. "I'm thankful that's over and done with." She worked around his neck to the outside of his strong shoulders, finding the coiled knots and rubbing them. "So much darkness took place in this villa. But it's only a building, after all, and it's time we brought light into it." For tonight, she refused to think of the Phantom when thoughts of impending evil attempted to resurface. "Perhaps now that those rooms are destroyed, the gypsies will consider moving inside?"
"Mmm …" He sighed low in pleasure from her slow, deliberate caresses. "It is doubtful. Too long they have lived in tents and wagons to appreciate a dwelling with solid walls, a roof … doors. I presume their tents will fill the grounds … until they are once more ready to travel … they tend to wander …"
His voice also wandered to a low silken murmur as she felt the tension drain from him. He let his head roll forward and gave another deep, pleased sigh. Moving her attention to his back, she used the slow pressure of her thumbs between his shoulder blades. His skin felt wonderful beneath her hands that had ached so long to caress him.
"If you lie down," she suggested quietly, "I can reach all of your back easier."
He didn't respond. Again she sensed his inner struggle but at last he gave a nod. She watched as he stretched his long length out on his stomach and laid his cheek on his crossed arms.
Her hungry gaze traveled his form, from his head of brown-golden hair that had grown long and wild, to his broad back, crisscrossed with the palest stripes against bronze, over his narrow waist and strong legs, and down to his boots, which dangled off the foot of the bed. Moistening her lips in longing, she positioned herself astride his bottom and leaned forward, moving her hands to the strong planes and sinews of his back and sides. Iron encased in hot satin save for the ridges of his scars, the feel of his skin, of him beneath her aroused her senses unmercifully, providing the most delicious temptation. She had promised to behave, yes. But that didn't mean she couldn't grant her overwrought King some much-desired relief, now did it? She smiled to herself, the answer obvious.
"You're so tense," she whispered gently, her strong fingers working over his body with skill. She smiled with satisfaction when he moaned in pleasure. "You like this?" she asked innocently.
"Perfect," he murmured into his arm. "Magnifica. Stupenda …"
She brought her hands lower down his back. As she massaged, she again leaned forward, this time pressing her lips to his skin and trailing the tip of her tongue inches up his spine. He stiffened.
"Christine …"
"Shhh," she whispered, "Relax."
Ignoring his husky admonition, she shifted and moved her hands lower, giving attention to his narrow hips and taut buttocks, slowly taking a path down the back of his solid thighs, working first one leg, then the other to the point where his boots stopped her. Her fingers kneaded his strong muscles; her breaths grew unsteady. His breeches fit him like a second skin. She could feel the heat of his body through the stretched cloth and wished to remove the unwanted hindrance. Yet at this point he would stop her.
She massaged, retracing her way upward, to his back, and moved to kneel beside him. Her breasts through the thin chemise brushed against his shoulder blades as she leaned close to whisper in his ear, "Roll this way, my Angel, so I can help release the tension from the rest of you," and she tugged on his shoulder.
With slow measure, as though fighting a losing battle, he did so. His eyes smoldered with his need of her and she gasped, melting to his hunger. Slowly, she brushed her lips over his, her tongue just touching his bottom lip with each light caress she gave. Suddenly he growled and grabbed her hair at the nape, thrusting his tongue deep inside her mouth, his other arm bringing her to him fast and hard. He explored her until her head spun and her heart pounded, and still he kissed her. Only when they were both panting for air, did he break his mouth away from hers and close his eyes.
"We cannot do this," he whispered, his teeth clenched. She could see from the strain tightening his face how much it cost him to say it.
She placed trembling fingertips against his parted mouth. "We won't. Grant me only a few minutes more to lie with you … please, my love." She replaced her fingers with her lips in a feather-light kiss. Forming a trail from his jaw to his ear, she lightly teased the lobe then gently suckled his neck beneath, delighting in his low groan of desire. Quickly she moved to straddle him before he could admonish her again. As her leg brushed over him, the coil of yearning in her belly tightened to feel him rock-hard against her thigh. Laying her palms flat against his heaving chest, she leisurely massaged his skin, until bit by bit she felt him again relax. She leaned in to taste the tang of his flesh, and her teeth grazed his nipple. He bucked beneath her, his muscles bunching.
"Christine …" he moaned through gritted teeth.
"Shhh, you're still too tense. I know what I'm doing. A few minutes more, that's all I ask …"
She knew exactly what she was doing and promised that for herself she would retain all measure of control needed, even as her tongue and lips played erotic trails on his flesh. When she considered him far past the point of no return, her hands went to the fastening of his breeches.
He gasped, grabbing her wrists. "Just what are you doing?"
She didn't answer, smiling against his stomach as she easily broke free of his hold and pulled the breeches partway down. She ringed her tongue around his navel and inside it, then pulled the breeches lower.
"Christine …" His warning died on a whisper as she softly kissed his hardness that pulsated beneath her lips before moving all the way down and swiftly dispensing him of both boots and breeches.
Kneeling astride his legs again, she hesitated a moment to take in the magnificence of his naked form, powerful, lean, glistening. Her hungry eyes met his heavy-lidded ones, and she smiled with promise.
"This is not behaving," he rasped as she crawled higher.
Her smile grew wicked as she looked at his thick manhood, wrapping her hand around the base. "And I am no angel," she whispered his words of days ago, her breath warm against him, before slipping her lips over the top and suckling softly.
Arching against her, he hissed a shuddering intake of breath. She opened her mouth a little wider, taking more of him inside. Rock hard, hot, and silken as the rest of his body, his erection throbbed beneath her lips, her tongue bringing him further to growing life. She moaned at the feel of him, the taste of him - the desperation to have him inside her maddening. But she would not give in to complete loss of control; she would behave. Almost …
He grasped the covers in tight handfuls as she gradually went deeper, running her tongue along his smooth skin while her fingertips gently massaged beneath. When his hips gave a slight thrust, she felt his muscles bunch, felt him try to resist a second time, and she slid down more, her ready mouth taking as much of his length as she could.
"My God, Christine!" he moaned, panting, his hands going to her hair. Whether to hold her there or pull her away she wouldn't give him the choice.
No, my King. Not this time. This time … I will know all of you.
He exhaled a hoarse gasp at her firm words whispered into his mind. But though he clutched handfuls of her ringlets he did not again try to stop her.
Nor would she let him.
His breaths grew more ragged as he began softly thrusting beneath her. Sensing he was nearing the threshold of release, she clutched his hip for balance and increased her rhythm. She matched her suckling strokes to his, his intense reactions to her lovemaking sharpening her own hunger. His body gave a violent shudder.
"Chri …stine …" he gasped on the edge of a short breath.
Though she expected it, the suddenness of his completion rushing into her mouth startled her but didn't dissuade. His seed was abundant, coming in waves, hot and rich like cream, and eagerly she drank in every bit until she was certain none remained. Only then did she release him with a satisfied little purr and move up to lie beside him.
His eyes were closed, his lips parted, his breaths still coming in soft rasps. She licked his cream from her lips and bent to gently kiss his cheek. She began to pull away to grab the sheet to cover them both, when his arm flew up and wrapped tight around her back to keep her close. Once his breathing calmed somewhat, he opened eyes still glazed, and she smiled.
"My sweet wife …" He worked to catch his breath and shook his head slightly, overcome.
"Did that help relax you, my King?"
He let out an incredulous, hoarse laugh, as if he couldn't quite believe the question. "Relax … when you set every nerve ending in my body ablaze? " He smiled softly and laid his hand against her cheek, his thumb brushing her parted lips. "Yes, my Fiery, oh-so-Passionate Rose," he assured. "I am much improved. The tension has most definitely left every part of me."
"Good," she said, satisfied. "There's no need for you to suffer, Erik. No need for nocturnal swims in an unforgiving ocean that must rival the feel of ice. Not when you have a willing queen to gladly serve you."
His eyes sparked at her soft avowal and his hand moved, pushing her hair back from her face. "You know about my nightly excursions?"
"I witnessed you through the window last night." She shook her head in slight rebuke. "Do you not yet know it gives me pleasure to give you pleasure and fulfill your every desire? You have only to ask, my love."
His fingertips ran lightly along her neck, scattering flame. "Do you know what I desire above all else, Christine? That the days would pass with haste so I may again hold you in my arms and make love to your entire body. To then feel myself inside you, taking up every part of you …"
His low, seductive words affected her breathing, heightened her senses … already her desire for him made her feel feverish. "I want that as well." She lowered her lashes, a mistake, for then she glimpsed his nakedness. While she made love to him, she barely held herself in check not to sink on top of him and embed him deep inside her. She was no longer sure how long she could endure such an agony of separation.
"Christine?" Her name on his lips came gentle, searching. His hand moved beneath her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. He looked deeply into her eyes, and she knew she couldn't disguise her hunger for him. Slowly, he drew her down. "Perhaps, just a taste," he whispered before his mouth brushed hers, his tongue teasing the line of her lips.
She groaned and he pushed inside, his tongue joining with hers, caressing, cajoling, as he rose from his reclining position and pushed her onto her back.
His mouth trailed a warm path to her ear, nipped the lobe, suckled her neck, much as she'd done to him. Heart beating madly, she took in a deep shaky breath and held it as he forged a fiery trail all his own. He moved his warm body partway over her, one leg slipping between both of hers, and she moaned at the hard feel of him against her soft flesh. His hand went to her breast and gently squeezed; she cried out when his thumb brushed her nipple through her chemise while his mouth covered her throat. Her body felt electrified after so long being lifeless, his touch the spark that ignited every nerve ending.
His tongue swept along the hollow of her throat before he sucked in the flesh above. She whimpered, weaving her fingers through his hair. Slowly he pulled down her chemise, his hand on her breast branding fire. When she felt his head move lower and his hot, wet mouth close around her taut peak, the coil of desire wound tighter within her belly. With each suckle and caress of his tongue against her sensitive flesh, her need grew until it became explosive.
There was only one way this could end.
"My Angel," she rasped, moving her hands to each side of his face. "I cannot … no more. Too much."
Lost in her, absorbed in their desire, he ignored her caution and lightly nipped her tight bud between his teeth. She arched against him with a desperate groan. Again he laved her, her hands that had moved to push him away once more entwining in his hair, keeping him close, imploring him to continue. He suckled her, stronger than before, while his hand uncovered her other breast. She whimpered and rocked her hips beneath where he partly lay. She could feel the burgeoning hardness of his desire against her leg. God, how she wanted him!
He growled, his mouth breaking suction with her breast to move to the other; he sucked in as much flesh as he could as though to devour her. The heated coil low within her belly wound tighter, soon to snap.
His large hand spread across her middle, sweeping slow fire across her stomach and downward. He edged beneath her bunched chemise, altering course to move upward until he caressed bare skin. She gasped as his fingers slid back down to dip beneath the waistband of her pantalets, his touch singeing her stomach.
"Erik … we can't," she breathed, reason breaking into the whirlpool of flame into which he was fast submersing her. Her hand grasped his arm, staying his hand.
He pulled his mouth from her breast, breathing almost as hard as she. His eyes lifted to hers, darkened again with desire. "You are in pain?"
"No, but … we can't." The flow had stopped two days before, as he knew, but the Drabarni warned them not to lie together until the next phase of the moon. Even now she hoped he might ignore the warning, ached for him to slide his hand to the center of her curls. Despite the grim logic that made her tense away from him, stark need had her lift her bottom the slightest bit off the mattress, arcing toward his fingers only inches from her desire. She whimpered in agonized frustration.
"Trust me, my Thirsty Rose," he whispered. "I will do nothing that could harm you. I never would ..."
She jerked her head in a nod and almost sobbed in relief when his hand resumed its course. She kept hold of his arm, but did nothing to prevent his further exploration. When his palm cupped her and his finger slid along her moist center, she did cry out and he froze suddenly, afraid he'd hurt her.
"No, don't stop … please, don't stop …" She rocked beneath his hand.
He let out a quivering breath at her hungered reaction and rubbed her with slow, delicious torture, circling her sensitive bud, stroking all of her again, repeating his languorous strokes until she thought she might scream from the exquisite torment he rendered. The fragrance of her arousal permeated the room. She reached for her climax, bending her knees and digging her heels into the mattress. A deep rumble shook his throat as he snatched his hand away. She let out a whimper of protest, until she realized with satisfied shock that he was tugging hard at the strings of her pantalets. He rid her of them and moved swiftly to kneel between her legs.
She felt him spread her folds with his thumbs, his hot breath, and then his tongue pressed against her wet center, stroking upward in sweet fiery torture. Inhaling a strangled gasp she clutched the mattress, pushing against him, forgetting to breathe. Four more times he slowly laved her, caressed and suckled her. She came apart, crying out his name as lights flashed behind her closed lids and her body shuddered with the long-held gratifying shower of release.
Once she stilled and a blissful calm washed through her, Erik lifted his mouth from her damp curls and again stretched out beside her. "Come here," he said softly, gruffly, pulling her against him and holding her tight, her back to his chest. Christine hugged his strong arms with a little sigh.
She felt much improved, as if she were floating, but the need to have him inside her didn't abate. Now it overwhelmed. With his hot naked torso pressed against her thin chemise, she could think of little else. She felt the harsh rise and fall of his chest as he sucked in and exhaled a sharp, deep breath.
"You are dangerous, sweet wife," he said, his voice husky. He kissed her hair. "I had no intention of any of that happening, no matter how delighted I am that it did, no matter how pleasurable it felt. But if I stay here tonight, I will take you, Christine. That is a promise. And I swore never again to hurt you."
"If you stay …?"
"My love, I fear I must find another chamber in which to sleep until it is again safe to be with you. Or at the very least until I can control my hunger for you." His voice was grim.
Her eyes widened in shock and she turned slightly in his arms to look at him. "You won't be here with me? You won't sleep next to me?"
"If I do I will make thorough and intense love to you." His eyes and tone were steady with conviction. "And I will not stop. The Drabarni, no matter that I can scarce tolerate her, knows more about a woman's body than I. She made it clear that she has known women who did not wait and grew very ill. One woman almost died."
"Perhaps she's wrong. Perhaps they were sick because of something else and this is only another of her many superstitions."
"I won't take that chance with your life. I almost lost you too many times, and once was too much."
"Erik," she laid her hand against his cheek. "I'll behave. This time I will. I promise. And if it again becomes difficult for you I'll do for you what I did earlier, whenever you wish, every night if you desire, and ask nothing in return - only please don't leave me!"
His eyes closed briefly at her plea. "My Precious Rose," He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers and kissed her. "I could have stopped you from the first but chose not to. You are an aphrodisiac to me, Christine. I can never get enough of you. The pleasure you gave only intensified my burning need to touch you, to possess you completely. And I am not leaving you. I would never do that. I'll take the room next door. At least for this one night."
"But – I can't sleep well without you near. In our bed, I mean! We could sleep with a blanket rolled between us," she suggested, desperate to have him remain.
"And how long do you think it will stay there?" He shook his head wryly. "You are temptation personified, my Alluring Wife. These past ten days, to see you barely dressed, to have your body brush mine, to hold you throughout the night without being able to express the act of our love … it was absolute torture. Yet I gladly endured it to keep you close, also knowing that you needed me near. Now that we have again tasted of the sweet fruits, I desire the entire apple. No, the full orchard. My strength of will has worn too thin not to indulge in our passion. Where you are concerned, I have no strength of will left."
"But, there must be a way! I still need you near …" As she spoke, she scooted and rolled fully to face him. In so doing, her soft inner thigh brushed against his thick manhood, again erect. She froze on contact. His eyes flared and he inhaled sharply. Neither of them moved. She felt dizzy with the knowledge of how close they were to complete and utter fulfillment. His dampness pearled against her leg and she moistened her lower lip with her tongue, trying to catch her breath that had again grown unsteady.
He watched her action, his own breaths uneven, then lifted his eyes to hers – green fire waiting to consume her.
"Erik …" she whispered the plea, but for which, she was no longer sure she begged. To have him stay; to have him take her. His burning, insatiable desire for her reflected her own for him. Even now her senses told her that one coaxing word, one tender caress and he would take her then and there.
Nothing else mattered.
His eyes flickered closed a brief moment as he tried to grasp a semblance of control. "I … must go."
Still, he made no move to depart, and rebelliously she stroked his cheek, brushing her thumb along his parted lips, unwilling and unable to aid him in his struggle. She didn't need to speak. One moment they stared into each other's eyes, the next the fragile cord of self-control broke and Erik was fervently kissing her, rolling her onto her back and covering her body with his. She groaned, needing him so, and linked her arms about his shoulders, lifting one leg to wrap around his hip, impatient to encourage their union.
In mindless, desperate urgency his heated kisses scattered across her jaw to her throat while his warm hand smoothed from her breast to hip to thigh, cupping it beneath, pulling it wider. Just as he poised himself above and she craned to meet him, just as she eagerly felt the head of his shaft press against her moist entrance and slip the barest fraction inside, their eyes met.
"Erik ..." she pleaded in breathless need.
At the sound of his name he stared, frozen, his arms severely trembling with barely leashed passion as he braced them on the mattress, holding himself slightly above her.
"My God … Chri-stine …!" His words came choked. His eyes grew wide with shock as he wrenched himself away from her, bounding off the bed with a growl and snapping up his breeches from the floor.
Bereft, chilled by the absence of his warm body, she closed her eyes as she heard him quickly pull his clothing on.
"I did not mean," he said brokenly after a moment. "I would never do anything … Christine," he ended on a plea.
"No, it's alright. I'm the one at fault. I want you just as desperately. But I know … we cannot."
Resigned, she no longer attempted to persuade him. Should he physically become one with her, afterward he would despise himself, certain he'd brought her serious harm. All arguments she had posed to the contrary fell unheeded. Though it tore at her heart to release him, she knew it might only be for this one night, as he said, though to know him intimately again, to enjoy his full possession of her, she must wait one more week.
Dear God, how would they stand it?
"Forgive me," he whispered.
"There is nothing to forgive."
She kept her eyes closed, unwilling to watch him go. She heard the door open and stay that way, sensed him look back at her, heard him snap out a low order to someone to keep guard outside her door, then the hinges creaked as it swung closed and clicked.
Just one more week, she sadly reminded herself.
A mere eternity of seven nights and days.
She sat up, furiously plumping the pillow behind, then leaned back and hugged to her breast his pillow that strongly bore the scent of her husband. She buried the lower half of her face in its softness, inhaling deeply, and blinked away the tears that welled in her eyes. The flash of the still unfamiliar ring caught her blurred vision. Frowning, she stared at its many bright facets and twisted the band around and around on her finger. Around and around …
She had been a fool. An insensitive, self-indulgent, childish fool.
Angry with herself for taking him on a merry-go-round of hot desire and pushing him past infinite boundaries that led to no return, when she'd only wished to give him pleasure, she snapped up the healing elixir mixed with wine that her maid earlier brought and drank it down to the bitter dregs in a few quick swallows. A dull part of her mind registered that it tasted different, yet … familiar, before she suddenly grew very sleepy, no longer able to keep her eyes open.
The empty goblet fell from her limp hand with a crack to the flagstones as Christine lost all consciousness and fell back into a heap upon the bed.
xXx
A/N: ... oops. *smiles innocently...
(heh heh)
*runs*