The Punishing

A/N: Thank you guys so much for your kind words, I really appreciate it! It puts a smile on my face to know that people are enjoying my (first ever) fanfic. Please keep the reviews coming and tell your friends!

Just a warning, this chapter is most definitely rated R. Yeah, baby.

Another thank you to my beta Agent Sculder who continues to inspire.

Christine stood rigid in shock as Erik's lips plundered her mouth. His hands pinned her to the wall and the force of his body against hers left no room for escape. He bit at her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and Christine could not help but moan. This man was assaulting her body, the body that belonged to Raoul de Chagny, her husband, and she could not help but give in to his painful, passionate touch.

She had once sung of her soul and mind fighting for dominance of her body and once again, she found herself obeying her soul.

Roughly, Erik took her mouth again and slipped his tongue in, tasting her resistance as it slowly melted into reciprocation. He punished her with his mouth and his hands at her wrists, his body unyielding. When she began to respond, he smirked inwardly. Truth be told, he was enjoying himself, but satisfying the flesh was not his sole intention. She would be his, regardless of the ring on her left hand. He would make her guilty, make her betray her husband – and like it.

His hands released her and he slowly traced the soft pink skin on the underside of her arms down to her collarbone. He felt her shiver beneath his fingers as he reached the apex of her chest. He brought his hands together in the valley of her breasts as if in prayer. He stopped the assault on his mouth and pulled back slightly, finding her eyes with his own. Inch by inch, he moved closer to her mouth, this time taking her gently, delighting in the way her lips were already parted. Her tongue received him and twined with his erotically.

Tentatively, Christine rested her hands on his shoulders, feeling the dark sinew of his muscles moving beneath her.

Erik moved his hands down the plains of her body, coming to rest at her waist. He felt her move into his embrace slightly.

He drew back suddenly, looking into her face. Red splotches coloured her fair cheekbones and her eyes were wild and beseeching. He was most proud of her lips, swollen and still open in imitation of a kiss. She slowly lowered her arms from his shoulders and touched a hand to her lips in wonder.

He held her waist possessively, and said, "I can taste him on you. It's bitter."

Panic set into her as she realized what she had done. Oh, god, if Raoul only knew, her mind screamed. She turned her head away in shame, but her gripped her chin and forced her to look at him.

He touched her hair, delicately pushing away a strand that had come loose. "You look so beautiful when you are betraying someone who loves you," he murmured.

Anger swept through her and she pushed him. He stepped back lightly, and laughed without mirth, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Christine refused to look at his nude body, knowing if she did, she would not be able to say what she meant.

"Why so violent, Madame de Chagny?" he growled out. "The Christine I knew would know better."

"That Christine is gone," she spat wickedly. "She died the day she left you. I am no longer innocent to your ways, Erik, and know better than to fall for your tricks and manipulation. I am not a little girl whom you can mold and fool into trusting you." She stepped closer to him and a little part of her liked the look of thinly veiled surprise on his face. "You are not my Angel of Music anymore, Erik."

The look of steel in her eyes slackened Erik's tongue and he could not speak as she walked out of the room. He stood there for a moment, chewing her words over in his head. Settling back into the tub, he smiled a little. Perhaps Christine would be harder to break than he had thought. Even so, Erik relished this. He loved a challenge.

……………………………….

Once the door was closed behind her, Christine leaned back against it and lifted a trembling hand to her temple. Keeping a cool, steady head around Erik had drained her. She had lied; he did have the same effect on her as when she was sixteen, and it was just as hard to repel his charms. The only weapon she had was her memories. Just as she had hurt him without intention, so she knew exactly how to twist the knife intentionally.

In there, in his embrace, she had given in. It had been so easy, so frighteningly easy. His caress was not what she was used to and she bit her lip despairingly, for it thrilled her. He could say the harshest words and still she would soften at the sensual lilt of his low, smooth speaking voice. If he were to sing …

She walked to her room, he steps lacking the steadiness of before. It was now late, and her room lay in shadow. She stopped at the doorway and looked in, memories rushing back of the first night she had seen him. She had been young then and foolish. The memory of her father had left her in despair and, parentless, she had clung to the spirit of him.

A part of her had known that the voice that came to her in her dreams was not the spirit of her father, but she had been so desperate for shelter and comfort that she had believed it.

To be the only child without a parent had hit her hard and Christine thought now that she had not dealt with the repercussions of her pain. She did not speak for the first year that she lived at the Opera Populaire. Madame Giry had been as motherly as she could possibly be, but the truth was that she had her own daughter to raise. Christine loved Antoinette with a love similar to that of a child to a parent, but Christine knew the difference. Christine had watched as Antoinette stroked her daughter's hair absently or laid out her ballet shoes the night before a performance. In truth, Christine had been jealous of the small, innate gestures Madame Giry practiced for her daughter.

But Christine was grown now and a married woman. Her Phantom had been unmasked and her father laid to rest. She no longer saw them as one in the same, a thought that irked her now. Erik was not a father to her, this she knew. His manipulation of her preyed on her need for her dad, but even during their affair, she had come to know him as more than that. With Raoul in her life, she no longer looked for a man to shelter her, to hide her.

She sighed, for now she knew that to be hidden was stifling.

She gazed around her room, taking in the familiarity of solitude that it promised. Her four-poster bed was rich cherry wood and swathed in a beautiful gold coverlet with a thin gauzy curtain falling overhead. Her pillows were gold, cranberry and earthy green with gold threading tiny flowers throughout the fabric. There was an armoire, reading desk and night tables, all made with the same beautiful wood. To the right was her vanity table, rich pearl and ruby surface making it glint in the moonlight and beside it a full-length mirror.

Absently, Christine released her hair from its pins and walked over to the mirror. She looked at her face, noting that a supple flush still reddened her cheeks. Her lips were bruised and she licked them gently.

Vaguely aware of what she was doing, she began to undress, watching as her dress fell from her shoulders to land in a soft hush at the floor. She slowly undid her corset until that too joined her discarded dress. She stepped out of it, kicking to the side. Her chemise followed suit and she stood naked before the mirror. She looked at her reflection, tilting her head to the side and running a hand between her breasts and down her stomach.

Her body was pale but still supple even without the rigors of the opera to keep her fit. Her curves had softened as a result. Christine liked this. She turned around to look at her back, strong and feminine, and her round buttocks. Her hair fell across her back; she shook it slightly, relishing in the feel of it on her skin. She thought of her hair bouncing wildly as she rode Erik, his hands on her thrashing hips, hers spread across his chest as they cried out their release.

Her hand had wandered to between her thighs and she wrenched it away once she realized what she was doing. Embarrassed, she went to the armoire and dressed quickly in her filmy silk night gown, getting under the covers in a rush. She did not say goodnight to Brigitte, as was her ritual, but fell quickly into a deep, troubled sleep.

……………………………….

Erik stepped out of the tub, reaching for the towel that had been left for him. He rubbed the towel along his hard body without thought and wrapped it around his waist. Rummaging through the bags Christine had left behind, he was surprised at what he found. The first bag contained a beautifully tailored black suit with tails lined with navy blue silk. A stark white dress shirt and cravat followed, as did glittering silver cufflinks. In the next bag was a pair of polished ebony shoes. He was stunned to see that it was his size.

The last bag contained a silk, navy blue dressing gown which he immediately put on. The soft kiss of silk on his clean body filled him with an ache. It had seemed like ages since he had felt anything but dirt, sweat and violence on his skin. Unbidden, a tear slid down his cheek and he wiped it away angrily.

Fool, he thought, she does not mean anything by it but common courtesy. Do not fall apart at her charms. This was nothing more than a sign of her guilt.

At this, Erik hardened himself again further emotion. He got up and strode to the bed as another wave of pain hit him. He knew he would be pulled under soon.

Climbing into bed, he rested his head on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. In the hours when he had been awake, he planned. From the moment he had seen her sleeping by his side, he had hated her. He felt deep shame at what she knew about him and what he'd suffered. He was angry at her still for leaving him. Worse than that, he could not steel his heart against her completely. When she had cried, he had felt the ice around his heart melt slightly and a familiar feeling of love crept into his soul.

No matter what he might tell himself, this girl still had an effect on him.

Erik would not allow himself to fall in love with her this time. Instead, she would be the victim. He knew she did not love him, but he had tested her anyhow. When he had pressed her against that wall and kissed her, she had responded. The flicker that she had perhaps wanted him returned. During their duet in "Don Juan Triumphant," he had felt it. Passion unyielding and unconsummated did not just go away, he reasoned. It built until it was satiated and sucked dry. He would satiate Christine, suck her soul from her just as she had from him.

Christine de Chagny would suffer more than she did now. He would manipulate her once more, but this time he would not let her go. No, this was for certain. Raoul would be without a wife in a week's time.

With a bitter smile on his face, he fell back against the pillow and dreamed fitfully.

………………………………….

Christine was awakened by a shake on her shoulder. She turned around groggily to see her husband standing before her. Without a word, he was upon her, kissing her ardently. Shocked, Christine responded slowly, closing her eyes tightly. She felt him fumble with his clothes and soon he was naked. He took her clothes from her gently. Kissing down her neck, Christine threw her head back, he eyes still closed and her mouth in an O of enjoyment.

"Raoul," she gasped, clutching at his back as he kissed her breasts tenderly. She opened her eyes and gasped once again. Erik was looming before her, a dark smile on his face. He slipped the dressing gown from his body and stood before her with burning eyes that looked almost black in the darkness. He reached out a hand to her and she took it.

"Mine," he said, pulling her from Raoul. She turned to Raoul, seeing the confusion in his face as he rolled over to look at them both. Erik turned her face from Raoul and traced her lips with her thumb. Her tongue darted out, tasting the salt of his flesh. With one hand on her waist, he trailed the other down to her breast and cupped it gently. Christine tilted her head back and moaned quietly. As he ran his thumb against her nipple, she caught her breath and let out a soft, strangled cry.

"Erik."

"Yes, my love?" his voice was thick.

"Please," she groaned, a keening, guttural sound.

He walked her backwards until she fell against the bed. Raoul simply watched, his mouth agape, as Erik drew his body on top of her. Christine laced her legs around his waist, pushing his hips down. He took her lips then and thrust into her, swallowing her cry of pleasure. As he rocked against her, Christine turned her head and saw Raoul reaching for her. Rolling Erik so that she was on top of him, she gave him a parting kiss and slid off of his body.

Raoul took her then, her legs resting on his shoulders as he rode her gently. She locked eyes with Erik as Raoul made love to her and reached out to him once again. He clasped her hand, bringing it to his lips. He brought each finger to his sensual mouth, sucking the tips of each one reverently. He pulled her from Raoul, who lay back on the bed and watched as Erik stroked inside her. Sitting up, Erik pulled Christine into his lap and she rocked against him once more, throwing her head back as Erik's cock inside her moved her closer and closer to release.

Christine looked at Raoul as she came, screaming out Erik's name. She collapsed against Erik limply and he cradled her lovingly. They lay back, Christine wrapped in Erik's arms, facing him as she lay sweet, short kisses on his chest. He whispered his love for her.

She reached out a hand behind her, found Raoul's palm and clasped it tightly. He brought a hand to rest on her hip and whispered, "Christine, I love you." Christine felt something cold in her left hand.

She looked down and saw a smooth, serrated knife. She turned it over, fascinated by the shiny glint the cold steel threw into the night. Neither of the men reacted as she plunged the knife into her heart.

Christine screamed and awoke breathless. Her heart was beating frantically and sweat came out of her every pore, soaking her to the bone. Tears streaked her face as she trembled.

It was just a dream. Still, Christine could not quell her racing heart or her tears. She lay back against the pillow and pulled another to her body, wrapping herself around it. Forcing herself to calm down, Christine slowed her breathing. The gravity of what she had dreamt hit her and she began to sob quietly. For Erik, for Raoul, or for herself, she did not know.

She cried until no more tears would come and fell into a dreamless sleep.