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WARNING – this is an M rated chapter for sexual content. If that's not your thing, please just skip to the next chapter. Otherwise, hope you enjoy...

Marcel Gravier lay unconscious on the floor of his own office, ten thousand francs less in his safe and a signed letter relinquishing the de Chagny debt now in Christine's reticule.

Christine stepped forward and threw her arms around Erik, burying her head in his chest. He held her close and breathed in deeply, allowing the scent of her hair to calm his mind from thoughts of violent murder. She looked up at him, her eyes full of admiration. "Thank you, Erik. You were right about Gravier. I am very glad I did not come here by myself."

Erik bit back his impulse to admonish her further, choosing his words carefully. "The matter is dealt with now, I doubt this wretch is stupid enough to bother you again. You can post the letter he signed rescinding the debts to Comte Phillipe in the morning." He softened when he saw the worry still in her eyes. "Do not fear, Christine. Whatever happens we will face it together."

They stood together in each other's arms a moment or two longer, their hearts still beating fast, then Erik tightened his hold on Christine, tilting her face up towards him to kiss her - a hard, possessive kiss.

"You are mine." He whispered fiercely, his eyes burning with intensity.

His words sent a delicious thrill through her entire body. "As you are mine." Christine replied, reaching up to place her hands either side of his masked face, drawing him back to her, her lips moving hungrily against his. Erik's pulse was racing, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

He felt a strange euphoria – high on the rush of power that came from holding a man's life and death within his grasp, the savage thrill of danger and the feel of Christine's lithe body now within his arms. They were alone together and all he could think of now was her. As their kiss deepened he could sense her releasing herself to him, her lips parting to admit his tongue…

Fire coursed through his veins. Erik ran his hands across Christine's body, desperate to feel the softness of her skin but it seemed that every inch of her was blocked from him - covered with infuriating layers of lace and taffeta, sleeves, corsetry - endless swathes of fabric everywhere. He experienced a fierce stab of irritation and a strong desire to simply tear it all from her, but instead he shifted her backwards towards Gravier's desk where he cleared the contents out of the way forcefully and lifted Christine up to perch her on the edge of it, positioning himself between her legs.

"Tell me, Christine - tell me you are mine!" He gazed into her eyes fervently, his harsh words both commanding and imploring.

Christine ached for his touch, her reply was swift and breathless. "I am yours, only yours... Oh, Erik.. please!"

As she spoke, she twined her arms around Erik's neck and they continued to kiss each other passionately, his hands moving upon her. One arm came to rest around her waist holding her firmly against him while the other hand reached down towards her leather booted ankle, dipping beneath her skirts and moving upwards, foraging amongst the layers of skirt and petticoat till he found her stockinged leg. Christine moaned into his mouth as his hand slid against the fine, thin silk, continuing upwards… then she felt the thrilling sensation of his calloused fingers touching the small section of bare skin at the top of her thigh.

Erik stroked her sensuously, eliciting soft sounds of pleasure from her. Gradually, he moved his hand higher till he found the apex of her legs. Erik growled with satisfaction and heard her breath catch tremulously when his fingers discovered how slick and wet she was – briefly he teased the sensitive nub above her entrance before quickly slipping two long digits inside her, relishing the way she arched her hips towards him, her body writhing in excitement at his touch. He kept one hand at the small of her back as the other moved rhythmically against her womanhood, his thumb now gently stroking and circling that sensitive nub as she pushed against him, gripping his shoulders and moaning in ecstasy while his deft fingers thrust deep within her. Erik pressed fervent kisses against her jaw and her neck as Christine closed her eyes, losing herself within the blissful sensations.

This was what he had longed for - the intoxicating thrill of witnessing her arousal; all the sounds that she made for him when he touched her that told without a shadow of a doubt how she felt, how much she wanted him. His own release could wait - what he needed at this moment was to feel that intense connection with her, to make her body belong to him again.

As Christine built rapidly to her climax it was all Erik could do not to join her. Her body arched and stiffened against him suddenly and she cried out, then he held her body close as she went limp, waiting a moment before gently withdrawing his fingers. She shuddered deliciously and blinked at him as if waking from a dream, her face delightfully flushed, a satisfied smile on her lips. They held each other in silence for a while, as their breathing calmed. Erik kissed her tenderly before speaking in a low voice.

"Without wishing to be ungallant, my dear, we need to leave imminently. It is starting to get dark; we can walk around the corner where I will summon a carriage. I can then escort you home unseen." Erik looked at Christine and his heart swelled with love: she was a treasure without parallel, so beautiful and strong – much more so than he had ever realised. Then he registered their surroundings, looking around distastefully. He felt a sudden wave of frustration, his voice came from between gritted teeth when he spoke. "Forgive me, Christine - You should not be here, amongst this. I will find a way forward for us – I swear it."

Christine slipped down from the desk and leaned against him, breathing in his scent, wrapping her arms tightly around his tall frame. "There is nothing to forgive. I know you will, my dearest."

Perhaps, she reflected absently, there was something wrong with her. Surely, a normal person would feel some kind of shame or moral aversion to what had occurred over the past few hours: she had witnessed Erik near garrotte a man, threaten, extort money and drug him. She had then indulged in an intimate act at the scene of these misdemeanours. Yet Christine felt no horror or regret, she just felt… alive. When Erik was with her it was a strange sort of relief; a sense of completeness filled her as if every moment they were apart she was simply numb, waiting for him to return. 'Right' and 'wrong' be damned - she could feel no remorse in loving or finding pleasure with him.

Erik plucked Gravier's ledger and Christine's original letter from the pile of things on the far side of the desk and both swiftly disappeared within the folds of his cloak. He pulled the collar up around his neck to shield his mask from view and put his hat on, tugging it low over his face before assisting Christine with her bonnet and cloak. Then they slipped away into the darkened square like shadows.