A big thank you to Aphaea21, WolfShadow1, Batty Dings, peanutpup, EvaLark, TheTenthMuseSappho, EvelynHamilton, Child of Dreams, smrb, lucindaharris, FleshofMidnight, Phantomgirl21, phanrose, Pensez-a-Erik, and Mominator124 for the lovely reviews! I appreciate it deeply.
CW: light sexual content
Enjoy!
Christine
Chapter 40
The Portrait
I awoke, a second time, within Erik's arms.
I decided, as I floated to consciousness, that there was no other way I ever wanted to wake again.
We were positioned so that my face was near his chest, by his neck. I leaned in slightly and placed a kiss there, where his jaw met his throat. I loved the curve of it - its sharp thinness. I kissed it again. It vibrated, then, as he let out a soft groan, almost a purr.
"Christine," he breathed, and his chin lowered so that I could no longer reach his neck. I felt his lips on my forehead. "I love you."
"I love you more," I whispered back.
I felt him smile against my skin. "Not possible, I'm afraid."
I smiled in return. "I could very much become used to this."
"Good." He wrapped his arms tighter around me. "Because I don't think I'll ever sleep again unless you're next to me."
I think I agreed. I tilted my head back and kissed his lips. He closed his eyes. So did I. My mouth opened against him, gently pushing his lips opened as well. I slipped my tongue inside, brushing it against his. He moaned softly. I felt myself tingle and melt at the sound. His voice was so beautiful, and hearing it express pleasure made me... made me feel...
I picked up his hand and placed it on my bare waist. His icy fingers gripped my skin with tender pressure. I put my hand on his sleeved arm, gripping that as well. When his hand had been on my warm skin for several seconds - and I knew it was warm, for my entire body felt hot - I felt a sudden change in his energy. He became more fervent - the kisses became harder and more urgent, his breathing increased. His hand began trailing slowly up and up, so that his thumb was just over my ribcage.
His fingertips were right below the slight top piece of my clothing. He was almost, almost touching my -
My breathing increased as well, and my kisses became urgent too.
The desire I felt right now was quite literally insane. I'd never felt this way about anyone. I never knew how strong the feeling would be.
I thought for certain that I'd have to walk away in a few moments or break apart from my yearning, when he pulled away, breathing ragged.
"I..." His voice was lovely sandpaper. His eyes looked into mine with a sort of controlled wildness, like a roaring fire surrounded by stone. "I want-"
"What?" I breathed. "What do you want?" Anything - I will give you anything.
His eyes shuttered closed. There was something like pain in his expression. "I want to...to touch you."
Yes.
"Where?" I whispered.
His eyes opened again and travelled down, so that they were resting on my silk-wrapped breasts. His thumb moved so that it was hovering just over the soft material - and then he closed his eyes again, moved his hand so that it was back on my waist. I felt bitter disappointment.
"Where?" I insisted.
He grimaced. "No. Never mind."
"Why?"
"I can't ask you to remove clothing when I won't. That's entirely unfair."
My breathing felt tight. I asked my pulse to slow, but it didn't obey. "What if-" I swallowed. "What if I volunteer to remove clothing?"
His eyes snapped open and took me in. His pupils seemed to dilate a fraction. "You do not have to."
"Do you not want me to?"
"It's...no, it's..." He let out a small, humorless, nervous laugh, almost a sputter of a sound. "Christine, that's not what I meant. I only mean that I am not asking you to. If you choose to remove clothing, then I will be most...I will..." Another short, anxious laugh. If I wasn't mistaken, I would have said his splotchy, veined cheeks held the pinkish hue of a blush. "You seem to have the ability to make me lose my composure."
I took this as encouragement.
I sat up and found where the silky material tied in the back. I swiftly undid the small knot and allowed the top to fall from around my chest to the sheets of the bed. I didn't look at him the entire time I did. I laid back down, on my side, now painfully aware of my exposed breasts even as I was the one who chose to expose them.
I finally shifted my gaze to his eyes.
And he was looking right back into mine, eyelids pulled wide, disbelief and adoration in his expression.
"You can look," I said softly, heart pounding against sternum.
Slowly, extremely slowly, he brought his eyes down to my bare chest. I could see him deeply breathing, as if he were trying to control his own intake and outtake of air.
"And," I added, feeling almost dizzy with excitement and trepidation, "you can touch."
Though his mismatched orbs were slow to travel down, they were swift to snap back up. He met my rounded eyes with a hard expression. I thought, for just a moment, that he was going to refuse, to protest, but instead, he leaned to the side of my head and placed a kiss to my jaw, just below my ear. His hand moved gradually from my waist to my ribcage again.
Anticipatory pleasure washed over me as his hand very gently cupped my breast and his lips moved to my cheek, to the corner of my mouth, and then finally covered my own lips entirely. He opened his mouth against mine, and I did the same.
Again, the kiss went deep. And again, he deepened it with intensity, need, and urgency. I closed my eyes once more and lost myself in the bliss of it.
Then his thumb passed over the sensitive, raised piece of skin on my breast, and I moaned involuntarily against his mouth.
In response, his face pulled away. He went stiff, gasped, and shuddered, spasming once or twice. I was about to ask him what happened, when a bit of my training was recalled to me, and I felt myself blush.
Before I could say a word, I heard him curse under his breath. He looked at me, sheepishness outlining his expression. "I think I might need a bath, after all." He let go of me. "A cold one. Freezing, in fact. I love you, very much, but would you please excuse me?"
I nodded, knowing how red my face was. Not out of embarrassment - no, not that. Rather, it was more like...deep satisfaction. I'd made that happen.
He kissed me one more time, on the cheek, and then went to his dresser.
Apparently, a change of clothes was in order in conjunction with the bath. A cold bath, as he'd said. I tried to hide my smile.
Those mere touches held more love and closeness and intimacy than I ever thought full lovemaking would ever entail.
If this was as far as he was comfortable going with intimacy, then I could certainly be content with that.
I stayed in Erik's bed, snoozing, somewhere between waking and dreaming. They were sweet dreams, and the waking world wasn't terrible either - especially when it meant I was waking to another kiss on my forehead.
I smiled at the touch.
"The bath," Erik said, "is open for you now, as well, should you care for it."
I nodded and got up, picking up the top piece of my outfit as I left. I didn't put it on. It would be taken off in a minute, anyway. But I felt his eyes on me as I walked past him. I felt a bit fierce, walking bare-chested around him. It didn't feel degrading in the least, as I'd expected it would a month ago. It didn't feel numb, as it had with Amir. No, it felt powerful.
You please Angel, you are power, too.
I had to shake Amir's words from my head. The memory of him brought a tightness into my stomach.
I wondered if he'd felt regret that day that he poisoned me. I wondered if he ever really cared, or if I was just another Flower to train.
No. I couldn't worry about that now. It was in the past, and it wasn't important anymore.
When my bath was done, I changed into fresh clothes I'd picked up in the study, and walked into the parlor to see Erik. He was sitting on the couch that faced me, staring with a strange, wide-eyed expression at one of my drawings.
Of course. My picture of him.
I walked toward him, running a hand through my damp curls. "Do you like it? I think I did well portraying the loveliness of you." I smiled.
But he didn't look up right away. Instead, he continued staring at the picture.
My smile faded. "Erik?" I walked closer. "Do you not like it?"
Finally, his eyes turned to me. His expression didn't change. He showed me the drawing.
Oh.
"Who is this?" he asked. "Your father?"
I nodded. "Yes."
He blinked. "I..." He shook his head. "Where is that other drawing you did? The one of him playing violin in the street?"
"In the study, on the dresser-"
He was up and into the study faster than I could finish speaking. I heard him ruffling through pages of my drawings for nearly half a minute, when I heard silence. A long stretch of silence.
"Erik?" I called, nerves eating at the edges of my mind. What on Earth was going on?
Finally, he emerged, both hands gripping the page, feet seeming to walk without his command. His face was down, examining the paper. He then looked at me and turned this one toward me, too. It was, indeed, the first picture I'd drawn here in Persia, here in Erik's chambers.
"You can't see his face well in this one," he said simply, eyes still wide.
"I know." I gripped my skirts - I was now dressed decently once more. "It was a sketch. And from far away."
"But..." He rushed to the couch again, sat, and swapped the drawing for the one he'd been looking at before. When he continued, his voice was barely above a whisper. "But you can see his face clearly here."
"Yes."
"Do you have any more drawings of him?"
"No, I don't think so. Just those two. Drawing him too much would make me miss him more than I already do." I went to him and sat beside him, close. The fabric of my skirt touched his robes. "Erik, what is going on?"
"Your father is a musician, yes?" He looked at me, searching me frantically. "Not just that he plays music, but that he is a professional musician?"
"Yes, Erik."
His eyes whipped back to the drawing. When he spoke, his voice shook with a sudden intensity. "I..." His hands tightened on the paper. "I... Did you... Christine, are you actually French?"
Am I actually French?
"Yes. I am. Why?"
"You're not...an immigrant? Or perhaps your parents are immigrants?"
I was baffled. "My mother was French. My father was...is Swedish. So, I suppose, I am half-French, really. Why does that matter?"
He turned, then, fully, so that his chest faced me. His expression looked as though he'd been slapped across the face - a sudden, pained, shocked look. Absolutely dumbfounded. "Swedish?" he breathed.
"Erik?" I moved closer to him again, just fractionally. A suspicion sprouted. "Erik, have you met my father?"
He didn't say anything for quite a while. Then, slowly, he opened his mouth, watching me with a faraway, quizzical look. "I don't know."
