Finally.

Chapter 16: complete

Her cry sounded in his ears, so very far away but echoing in his mind – the call of his beloved on the verge of her endurance. He released at once, fangs sliding free of her skin, already bemoaning the loss of the feel of her. In a quick blur, he had pierced his tongue and lapped at the two marks, closing her punctures. Soon, no blemish at all would remain.

For a moment, all he could do was remain with his face buried against her neck, one hand slipping to grasp her quivering shoulder, the other remaining within her soft, golden curls. Blood, fresh and rich and warm, coursed through his veins. He was alive in ways he had not been since he had been turned vampyre. For the first time in so long, his lungs drew in and pushed out air, and it took a while for that rhythm to stabilize, for the sensation of drowning to pass.

Her fists in his shirt unclenched and smoothed down his chest. "Are you all right?" she murmured, sweet voice slightly slurred.

Was he all right! She was the one who had endured a vampyre forcing himself upon her. Her flesh had been torn not once but thrice, and yet she was concerned about his state of being.

He pulled back enough to gaze down at her. Her cheeks were rosy-flush, her chest heaving beneath her stained bodice. Her hair had come loose and hung in damp ringlets around her face. Bright blue eyes met his own.

"What…" Here her cheeks pinked even more. "What did I taste like?"

Dear gods. His long-dormant body stirred further, pressing against her hip. Perhaps he should have moved away, shifted that ridge away from her for there was no way she had not noticed.

"Erik?"

"Wine and honey," he replied gruffly. "Like the sun."

Her blush deepened into a full flush of red. She was beautiful and his and the hand not in her hair drifted to skirt between her body and the wall, drawing the small of her back closer to him. Instead of recoiling, she sighed and laid her cheek against his chest.

"I hear your heart beating. It's stronger now."

Her blood ran through him, now. But he did not say so, did not want to frighten her with such words.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Only a little, at first. I do feel a bit unsteady."

"That should pass quickly. Come, you should rest until your body recovers." And he needed distance from her before he pushed her any further tonight.

Erik removed his hand from her curls and bent slightly to adjust his arms until he could scoop her up. He could have laid her on the small spare bed nearby, but he so desperately needed her in his own room, even if he had not slept there in decades.

His bed chamber opened into pure darkness. Christine had wound her arms around his neck, and now she squeezed him tighter. The scent of blood was still far too strong on her clothes. Even though he had drunk deeply from her, he had not partaken of near enough to satiate his hunger. His body thrummed with new life and a deeper longing than he had felt since becoming a vampyre.

He did his best to focus upon setting Christine on her feet long enough for him to pull off the dusty sheets covering the bed, but she clung to him, small fingers curled around his shoulders.

"It is dark, Erik."

"I am here," he said, a monster protecting his little wife. If only someone could protect her from him. The scent of blood still lingered, and he felt his fangs elongate again.

He kept a firm hand upon the small of her back and flicked his other wrist to spur candlelight from the sconces on the walls. She blinked in the sudden light, her face still flushed, and he was dazzled by the smile she gave him, her face tilted upwards. He kept his lips firmly upon his teeth to hide them.

"Will you rest here tonight?" he asked. "In my room?"

"Will you stay with me?"

He stroked a thumb over the smooth curve of her chin. "Yes."

Her face flushed again. "Help me undress?"

His heart gave a painful thump, speeding up from its sluggish pace. "I cannot touch your bodice."

She looked down at herself and blanched at the blood stain there, an odd darker color on the black silk. Her deft fingers undid the buttons down the front, and she did not hesitate to peel the fabric off, revealing smooth, white shoulders a shade darker than the thin straps of her white chemise.

A spot of dull red was stark upon the lace covering the upmost curve of her breast. Erik snarled to see it, unable to hold back a fresh surge of hunger.

Christine jumped and looked up at him with startled eyes. "The sight of my blood bothers you?"

"When negligently spilled, yes. It is a waste, and it has been far too long since I have eaten, and I am not yet satisfied." He grasped onto her upper arm and spun her, and he slashed at the ties of her corset, snapping them easily until the structure parted around her back. The mark was upon her chemise, however, and so he continued, tugging down the linen straps, revealing swaths of the creamy skin of his beloved.

Her hands came upon his, but not to stop him. Firmly, she guided his fingers to the ties of her skirt. Together, both their hands set a course for removing one layer after another, until she stood before him in only her underwear and stockings, her shoes having been kicked off.

Her cheeks were a deep pink as she turned back around, her eyes bright and watching his every expression. "Better?"

Not yet.

He fell to his knees in the puddle of her clothing and pressed his face to her warm skin. She sucked in a sharp breath, but whether from his closeness or the cold, hard nose of his mask, he did not know. His hands came up to grasp her hips to keep her still. His lips traced the ridge of her collarbone, and his tongue flicked at the place where soft flesh began to rise to its womanly fullness. He found the last whispers of blood upon her skin and swiped them away with his tongue. Even that minute taste made his fangs throb, but at least the scent was now gone.

The pace of Christine's breaths had increased, her heart pounding beneath the line of his jaw. He allowed his lips to travel between her breasts, and he pulled her closer by the hips to step between his open knees. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders.

"Let me have you, Christine," he murmured against her skin. "Your blood has set fire to my veins. It has stirred life within me again. Let me have you as a man has his wife."

If she disallowed him, he would remove his hands from her body and merely watch over her while she slept as he had promised. It would take all of his control, but he would do it. His body thrummed with longing for her. It was all he could do to hold still and await her response.

The hands upon his shoulders came to his chest, grasped the edges of his coat, and began to peel it back. "No more lies," she said softly. "Promise me."

"By any gods of Heaven or Hell, I swear it."

She tugged more sharply at his coat, insistent, and he let go of her long enough to shrug out of the heavy fabric. Then he was upon her with lips and tongue again, seeking out the two rose-tipped peaks of her breasts, ever so careful to pull those tender little buds between his fangs without scraping. She was so soft and so warm and alive beneath his ministrations. He used his newfound abilities to his advantage, dampening one tip and then blowing upon it to watch in fascination as it pebbled. Christine gave a little gasp, and he wondered at what other noises he could pull from her.

He clutched at her hips, then brought his hands lower to cup her backside. Easily, he stood, bringing her legs around his waist, dragging his lips to kiss whatever of her he could reach. She huffed a laugh. She was so tiny in his arms, and it was nothing to hold her with one hand while he pulled the protective top sheet off the bed with the other.

He sat her on the edge of the bed and knelt again, this time between her knees. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, and the corners of her mouth curled upward.

"I want your hair down," he said.

One of her fine blonde eyebrows rose. "You already have me at a disadvantage, monsieur."

He growled at that, rising to cup one of her breasts and bring the tip to his mouth again. She squirmed against the onslaught, then shakily began to acquiesce, pulling pin after pin from her styled coif, her cheeks flaming red. Once she had freed her tresses, he dove in with both hands, marveling at the feeling of pure golden silk upon his spindly fingers.

He felt her tug upon his cravat. He planted a quick, careful kiss upon her lips and pulled her further up the bed. "Lie back, dear wife."

She obliged. Before him, she stretched out across the black coverlet. Her pale skin seemed to glow, and her freed hair fanned around her beautiful, blushing face in golden curls. He tugged off his cravat and tossed it to the side, and she watched him with half-lidded eyes. His waistcoat followed, and he toed off his shoes. A normal man might have kept going, might have removed the rest of his clothing and stood proudly before her.

But he was not a man, was he? He was all too aware of the body that existed beneath his clothes. His form had been ugly before he had been turned, and it had turned even more horrific since he had refused nourishment.

He wanted to drive away these thoughts about himself. He bent to give attention to her soft belly above her drawers with lips and tongue.

"Erik," she breathed.

Oh, his name within her lovely throat! He needed to feel her softness against him, to bury himself within her warmth and ignore anything else that had occurred before or would transpire after. She was his center, his point of origin, his provocation to become more than the monster he believed himself to be.

For a moment, all he could do was press his face to her trembling belly.

Christine lay still. Her thoughts warred with her desires. She wanted badly to touch him, to smooth away whatever hesitations he still had. He was so close to her, and yet he seemed so far away. He could be at once tender and gentle, and harsh and rigid, and he could swing quickly from one to the next, leaving her dizzy with the effort to keep up.

His breath tickled across her stomach, and she squirmed a bit. This seemed to rouse him. He rose, took hold of her britches, and began to pull them down her hips relentlessly, and she inhaled sharply at her sudden nakedness. One stocking followed the next, each peeled off in steady, unwavering motions until she lay before him, face burning more than ever.

His golden eyes swept over her, taking in each curve and lump and little scar. Her hands crept to cover herself. He rumbled an objection and moved closer again, a knee between hers, his fingers interlacing with hers and pushing the backs of her hands to either side of her head.

"You are beautiful," he mouthed against the valley between her breasts. "Do not ever doubt that you are the most glorious woman I have ever seen."

She whimpered as he sought the tip of one breast once again, his hard lips worrying the sensitive bud, sending more heat flooding between her legs. She could feel the thickness of him against her hip in a way she had never felt before. She squirmed, seeking more friction against that part of him.

"E-Erik. Please… I want you…. I want you to…"

One of his hands left hers to quest with cool fingers. The first touch upon her inflamed flesh made her stiffen, but his finger slid across her easily, and she heard the chuckle in her ear.

"Dear wife, you are already deliciously slick with need. Shall I touch you further?"

"Y-Yes."

His finger ran along her cleft, teasing, growing damp with her own enthusiasm. Then it slid inside to the first knuckle and curled, throwing sparks behind her eyelids. The hard edge of his palm pressed just so, and a new flush of pleasure made her gasp.

"Let me hear you. Let me hear the pleasure my touch brings you, lovely Christine."

He rocked his palm, and his finger twisted just so inside her, and she could feel how slippery she became, how much he affected her. Little cries rose from her throat. Her free hand grabbed onto his shirt cuff and clutched as though his wrist were her lifeline. Her belly tightened, her thighs seized, her body felt strung tightly, building toward a crescendo on the horizon.

Although she had her eyes clenched, she could tell he watched her every reaction. His rapt focus was as intense as his dancing hand between her legs. A second finger added to the first, the fit tighter but without discomfort. Teeth scraped along the rise of her breast, sharp but without pain.

"Yes," he hissed, breath hot along her skin.

She came apart.

She pulsed around his fingers, throbbed against his palm. The energy flowed from his touch and rose goosebumps along her skin, and she arched her back and let it consume her, wash over her while he hovered just above her, drinking in her pleasure with captivated attention.

His fingers gradually slowed as her response did. Tenderly, he swiped them over her damp folds one last time before removing them. Christine kept her eyes closed, could feel him shifting, and then she could hear the soft suck as he tasted, and she dared not look upon such a sight, too overwhelmed merely by the vision in her head as he cleaned his fingers.

He hummed in satisfaction. Then, he unfolded his other hand from hers and grasped onto her hips, urging her to roll over. Languidly, she did so without considering why.

"My beautiful Christine," he said, brushing aside her hair to press closed lips to her shoulder. "How I want you… I can scarcely wait another moment without feeling you."

Behind her, Christine felt him shift further upon the bed. She heard the dry rasp of clothing being parted.

Her eyes flew open. She stared at the wrinkles of the black coverlet beneath her cheek, at her fingers twisted in the silky cloth. Had she not been in this position once before? He had taken her upon their wedding night – or let her think he had taken her – and then left with barely another word. They were worlds away from those two people now. Heaven help her if she did not speak up.

"No, Erik!"

He froze at once, turning as still as a monument behind her.

She swallowed thickly and reached out to touch the jut of one of his knees. "I cannot do it like this again, not in this p-position again. Please, Erik. Not after the first time we were together."

When he did not answer, she twisted within the circlet of his large body to be able to face him. His jaw bulged in a clenched set, and his knuckles were fisted white upon his thighs. His pants were unbuttoned, but that was a far as he had progressed. She wet her lips, drawing his eyes to her mouth for a moment before he flicked them to the side again.

She sat up a little, grateful that her hair curled over her shoulders to cover much of her breasts. "I am so sorry. I panicked because my mind immediately thought back to our wedding night, when I was so afraid, and when you… when you left me alone afterward. I don't want the memories of that first night to color what we are sharing between us now. I just – I just need this time to be different."

He gave a chuff, eyes still fixated somewhere along the wall.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked, eyebrows drawing together.

"I am angry with myself," he said through clenched teeth.

Ah.

She shifted more so she could rise upon her knees, careful not to touch him more than necessary. He was still fully clothed in shirt and pants, while she kneeled naked before him, and yet she did not feel like the one exposed at this moment.

Slowly, she tilted up her face and pressed her lips to his. His lips were firm and cool and unyielding. She pulled back and then kissed him again, still soft and easy, coaxing him to respond. Her tongue grazed the seam of his lips, and he parted on a shaky exhale, his breath warm. She seized upon his reaction, angled her head, and pressed closer to deepen the kiss.

Suddenly, one of his hands delved into the curls at her nape, while his other arm flew around her back and drew her fully to him. Her sensitive skin brushed the rougher linen of his clothing, but she had no time to gasp at the sensation for his lips were upon hers again, this time alive and soft with need.

"Make love to me," she said within the space between their lips.

He chuffed a groan against her. Then his hands grasped both of her wrists and drew them between them. Still kissing, he traced the outline of his chest, allowing her fingertips to map the hardness of him beneath his shirt. She felt the dip of his collarbone, the strength in his pectorals, the jut of ribs before he moved her hands back upward. Then he took one hand and moved it from his upper arm, down across the bulge of biceps and sinew of forearms. He mimicked the other arm with the same precision.

Christine understood at once. He had just mapped the allowable parts of his body. Given these new guidelines, she set to exploring with her hands, and his mouth upon hers began to turn more insistent.

She felt the bulge of him against her naval, and while she desperately wanted to verge further down his belly, she obeyed his wishes. She grasped onto his upper arms and gave a tug, coaxing him to come down to the bed with her. He obliged, and his weight settled comfortably between her thighs, his elbows to either side of her shoulders.

She encouraged him with more urgent kisses, careful to keep her hands from straying. Fingers sought her core again, still slick from earlier, and then the hem of his shirt dragged across her stomach as his pants came undone. She kept her focus on his mouth upon hers, on how he did his best to keep his lengthy fangs from nipping her, each kiss drawing her further within this moment.

The hot press of him at her entrance took her breath away. He paused, adjusted his knees closer, causing her thighs to fall further open around his narrow hips, and then he was sliding in with steadfast progress. She clung to his upper arms and felt the muscles there bunch and quiver. She became consumed with the sensation of being filled from within, her body accommodating his length little by little with a fullness that was impossible to describe properly.

Finally, he stopped, fully seated, a part of him buried deep within her body. He pressed his face in the crook of her neck, and a shaky breath washed her skin. "Are… are you all right?"

"Yes," she whispered. She moved her hips a little, and they both gasped at the feeling. Any discomfort was easily pushed to the side. This was Erik, and he was inside her, his large bulk surrounding her, his lips at her neck.

"I will move now."

"Please."

He drew back, skin dragging slickly along skin, and glided in again, this time easier than the first. He moved at an agonizingly slow pace, a steady in and out that left her breathless by an intense feeling so much so that she thought she might be driven mad by it. How could a movement so simple create stars behind her eyelids, cause her thighs to tighten around his hips as she built again, send small tremors racing up her spine?

She felt a sharp sting along her throat.

Erik jerked his head to the side, mouth away from her, and a groan rose from deep within his chest. With a wrench, he brought his forearm up, and she realized with a shock that he was going to bite himself… so that he did not bite her.

She needed to stop him. She laid a hand upon his mask at the cheek, not grasping, not pulling, only enough to get his attention. He halted all motion, suspended in time so thoroughly that she could not even hear nor feel him breathe. Quickly, she brought her hand down to clasp his chin instead and turn that tightened jaw back toward her.

"I am yours," she whispered. And she turned her own face to the side.

"Christine."

He fell upon her, hips bucking at the same moment his fangs sank deep into her neck. She cried out against the first stab of pain, but it quickly melded into the glorious ache from earlier. He did not pause again, beginning his steady pace once more, the plunge that drove him deep within her. However, this time he began to build, and she built along with him.

The first suck spread fire throughout her body, and she bucked against him, crying out his name. He plunged into her fiercely, bucking against the backs of her thighs. He pulled from her vein again, a deep suck that nearly brought her to the edge. She clung to his shoulders, let herself be carried away by this man, by her vampyre.

Again, again, her mind cried out, and he gave it to her with another long draw, hot tongue lapping, sharp hips driving so deeply that he dug into her thighs. She spiraled, too many points of sensation on which to focus, and she could do nothing more than allow it all to wash her away. Her soul seemed to split into fragments, and when she sought the pieces of herself to put them back together, she found she would never be the same again.

Mmm what next?