Chapter Forty - Erik, Erik, Erik
The flare of the late afternoon sun on that little cracked mirror awakened Meg.
Opening her eyes, she saw the room reflected in the dusty glass.
She lay on her back, Erik on his side. The unmarred side of his face was hidden in the pillow they shared, his arm lay across her waist.
It was so familiar and comforting and right.
The window above them, was also reflected in the mirror. She could see the gray smoke that still rose from the charred ruins of the once magnificent Opera Populaire.
Her home…she had spent her life there. That was all she knew…the plain dormitories and lavish stage.
It was gone, destroyed by the man who held her now.
Meg shifted onto her side, closer to him. Though his eyes remained closed, she sensed that he was not asleep.
She touched his face lightly, gliding her palm over the disfigurement.
She wondered how and why his face was so distorted.
He offered his very soul to Christine, I know. But she couldn't see beyond this.
"Erik, please…look at me"
He opened his eyes at the sound of his name, reached up and covered her hand with his own.
She thought for a moment that he seemed surprised to find her beside him and she was afraid he would push her away again.
When he did not, she kissed him and she felt his hold on her hand tightening as her tongue gently teased his.
She was certain that, even if he could not love her, he would not refuse her now.
She drew her hand out from under his and ran it down along his neck, feeling his pulse against her skin.
His shirt had come untucked from the black cummerbund and was open. She slid her hand over his chest, her fingers admiring the warmth of his body.
Her caresses were followed by the gentlest of kisses.
When he made no move to touch her, she took his trembling hand and laid it against her heart. She hoped he felt how franticly it was hammering.
She prayed that he would feel her hunger, that he would understand that she wanted only him.
He must have sensed it, he must have known because he pushed her onto her back.
His whole body seemed to completely envelope hers and his lips burned against her skin.
"Erik, Erik, Erik," she whispered, tangling her fingers in his hair.
The sunlight glowed on his shoulders as she tugged away the black cummerbund from his waist, then twisted out of her own clothing.
She closed her eyes sinking beneath the weight of him, savoring the feel of his bare skin against hers.
She cried out once, a faint and sharp whimper as her body accommodated him.
It seemed as if there was nothing else in the world…nothing but sound of that shabby bed creaking as he moved within her, her own moans of pleasure as she arched against him eagerly, his scarred back beneath her hands.
Erik…I love you.
And it didn't matter that the name he called out in passion was not hers.
