Chapter 8: Sweet Seduction

Erik watched the lake for some time, his thoughts only just beginning to find some manner of order. When he turned, he saw that Christine was gone, and fear sparked for a moment.

Relax. His mind chided him silently. She loves you, she said. She won't leave again.

Erik only wished he could be certain.

Banishing such troubling thoughts, he turned and strode up the shore, over the dais and into the bedroom where Christine had slept on her last night spent in the labyrinth.

She was there, her fingers trying unsuccessfully to unhook the buttons that secured the elaborate gown. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, her face flushing with embarrassment. "My fingers..." she held her shaking hands out for him to see. She was strangely thankful for the lingering fear that caused her hands to tremble so. For some strange reason, she did not want Erik to know that she could not undress herself past her outer garments, that all the girls who were old enough to wear corsets had to help each other dress and undress. That which had been a normal part of life seemed suddenly like an unforgivable weakness.

Erik glanced over her trembling form, concern for her well-being instantly banishing all other thoughts. The gown was soaked up to her knees at least. The chill air in the catacombs was not conducive to anything drying quickly, and her garments were still wet from the events that had led her to step into the lake. "We must get you dry." He gently put her hands at her sides and stepped behind her, deftly undoing the buttons of the dress.

Christine realized then the state of the beautiful gown, and she blushed further. "Erik, I'm so sorry…the dress…it must be ruined."

He shook his head. "Never fear, Christine. Once it dries out, it should be fine." At the moment, he couldn't have cared less about the gown, though it had cost him a generous amount of coin.

He quickly drew the dress over her shoulders, gritting his teeth in anger when he saw the torn sleeve. Whatever fate awaited that man at the hands of the law, it was bound to be kinder than what he himself would have done had the police not taken matters to hand. People called him monster, while that man lived among them, as one of them…he pushed the image of Christine's attacker from his mind quickly.

Erik wasted no time in lighting a fire. The warm glow instantly made the dark room more friendly, and Christine felt herself relaxing. Erik arranged the dress in front of the flames so that it would dry, and he returned to her.

Christine was fumbling with her lacings, knowing it was futile, but determining to try anyway. She stopped suddenly when she felt Erik's hands cover hers.

"Let me do that."

Christine started to protest, but Erik hushed her. "I'm not entirely ignorant of women's doings, Christine. You can't unlace that cage anymore than you can lace it up." He set to work on the corset, willing his mind not to wander, his hands not to stray. He had dreamed of this so often, of standing in this very bedroom with this same woman, undressing her as he was now doing…and then…

He shook his head to clear it, his fingers moving faster. He knew he needed to finish this task and leave before he lost what reason was left to him. Surely she would not welcome his touch, not as they were now. The Viscomte would surely never have touched her before they were legally wed…

Christine caught her breath in her throat, willing the trembling to leave her limbs. Erik's strong hands pulling at the laces on her corset only intensified her longing to have those hands leave the corset and touch her instead.

Erik finished the laces and removed the corset, his hands grazing her hips as he removed the restrictive garment. Christine drew in her breath sharply at his touch, and Erik gritted his teeth. His hands lingered, almost involuntarily, on her waist, and he felt Christine tremble.

Did she tremble from desire or from fear?

With a curse, Erik spun away from her, willing his blood to stop racing so. He threw open the wardrobe and drew a heavy velvet robe from behind the dresses. He handed it without a word to Christine, and she pulled it over her chilled flesh, something akin to hurt in her dark eyes.

Coward, his mind taunted him. You were happy to undress her a moment ago, and now you give her something else to put on. You'd rather touch her in your dreams than in reality, wouldn't you? You're afraid, just as you always have been. Afraid of the look in her eyes, afraid that she'll shrink from you and leave you cold and wanting, as she has so many nights before in your dreams.

He stood, riveted, unable to look away from her. Christine felt his eyes on her and raised her own to meet his gaze, and felt a tremor of fear run through her at the desire plain in his eyes. She was not ignorant of the ways between men and women. Nearly all of the older girls in the corps de ballet had had lovers, and they had regaled the pre-teens with stories of their escapades. None of them had believed for a moment that Christine's Angel of Music was really an angel. There had been no end to the lewd remarks from the other girls about her "Angel", and it wasn't until Madame Giry—the only one who knew the truth and believed Christine—had threatened the others with punishment that they had finally left her alone.

Christine had never taken a lover as the other girls had…Raoul had been the first man to ever attract her attention. She was certain he would have married her before ever daring to touch her intimately, and Christine had wondered often if that dark sensuality which surrounded Erik was part of what so inexplicably drew her to him. Surely he would have no such reservations…

…or would he? He stood, gazing at her hungrily, but he made no further move. Christine turned away for a moment, and reached for a glass of wine that stood on the bedside table. Perhaps it would calm her nerves…

She had hardly taken a sip when she felt Erik's hands about her waist again. She stilled, the glass at her mouth, and she slowly set it down again. She turned in his arms, her eyes glazed with desire, her lips stained with the blood red liquid.

The force with which his lips met hers startled and frightened Christine. She returned the kiss fervently, her arms going about his neck. Erik pulled her tightly against him, and she moaned against his mouth, her body afire. "Erik…" she murmured, tangling her fingers in his hair and holding his lips to hers.

Her hands drifted over his face, his neck, down the part of his chest that was exposed, and her fingers began to unhook the buttons of his shirt, her mouth leaving his to trail kisses down his neck.

Erik drew a ragged breath, his hands coming up to close over hers. "Christine…" He pulled away from her, his heart racing. "Christine, I should leave…you need your rest…"

"I'm not tired." She moved towards him again, shocking herself with her boldness, but there was no reasoning with the desire that was racing madly through her veins.

Erik caught her wrists before she could touch him again. "Christine, if I stay here any longer…"

"I know." She whispered this as she wrapped her arms about his neck, brushing his skin lightly with her fingertips. Christine lifted her mouth to his ear. "Before you brought me here the first time, I had never dreamed such things existed. When you touched me, I felt things I had never felt before."

Erik groaned. "Christine…"

She continued as though he had not even spoken. "All I wanted tonight, when I knew it was you and not Piangi who sang the part of Don Juan, was for the opera to be over, to take my bows and then disappear with you."

Erik remembered vividly how it had felt to hold her, to touch her. He had been vitally glad when he had seen the recognition on the Viscomte's face, had relished the feel of Christine's body against his all the more.

Christine pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Don't go, Erik. Please…" The last word was a mere whisper as she drew her lips along the column of his throat, her tongue barely fluttering against his skin, and desire exploded in Erik's blood.

He spun her around in his arms, pulling her against him as he had done on the stage, drawing his hand across her cheek and down her throat, to the serge of her chemise. Her heart beat wildly beneath his touch, and he lifted her into his arms, the heavy robe falling from her shoulders. The room was warm now, and she did not protest, her hands remaining locked around him even as he lay her down on the bed.

How could this be anything but a beautiful dream? Some perverse corner of his mind insisted that it must be a dream, that he would wake any moment now, as he had done so many times before, to a cold bed and hollow pleasures.

Christine leaned towards him and met his mouth with hers again. Erik let his tongue slide between her lips, parting them, and her mouth opened willingly, allowing him to kiss her deeply, moaning as he rubbed his lips gently against hers. Her hands unlocked from behind his neck and moved to the buttons of his shirt again, and he did not stop her. She worked her way down the shirt, her lips never leaving his except to catch her breath. Her hands slid inside the fabric, caressing his warm flesh, sliding up his chest and over his broad shoulders to push the material free.

She moved as though she knew what she was doing, as though she was not as innocent as he, but he knew differently. Knowledge came from many sources, but passing glances of lovers trysting in the halls or the explicit romance novels that he knew she and Meg had read together secretly and guiltily many a night did not account for the way her hands seemed made to touch his flesh, the way her lips interlocked so comfortably with his, the way their bodies fit together as though they had been created for each other. Her faintest touch and slightest move drove him to the very brink of self-control.

There was no stopping now, Erik knew, his body demanded satisfaction, fulfillment of the many lonely nights he had spent dreaming of just such a moment as this. Nevertheless, he stilled his hands as they moved towards the ties of her chemise, and he looked down at her, his eyes serious. "Are you sure, Christine?"

She moved to answer him with another kiss, but he cupped her chin in his hand and brought her eyes to meet his. "Are you sure?" he repeated.

Christine hesitated only a second before nodding. "I dreamed of this, too, Erik." She reached up to touch his face. "This is what I want—have wanted…since the first night I spent here. I have spent so many sleepless nights longing for your touch, Erik." She took his hand and guided it slowly up her body over the thin fabric of her garment. He groaned softly, and she pressed a kiss to his fingers. "There has never been anyone but you."

He reached for the ties again, gently tugging the fabric over her shoulders and away from her body, finally flinging it to the floor. He paused a moment, and looked down at her, skin glowing golden in the flickering firelight. His lips traveled a languorous path over her body, beginning by brushing gently against her mouth, down her throat, lingering on the softness of her breasts. His fingers traced her outline, moved over her hips, slid up the insides of her thighs.

"Erik…" Christine whispered his name, her voice tremulous with desire.

He brought his fingers higher, found her center, and Christine arched her back, crying out in pure pleasure.

Erik brought his mouth down on hers, rubbing his lips gently against her mouth in tandem with his fingers. With his other hand, he pulled his trousers roughly from his body, freeing his aching flesh. Christine brought her hands up to caress his chest, her hands roving over his body as he had done to her. Her fingers brushed against him, and he gasped, the need to have her suddenly overpowering all other desires.

He moved between her legs, and the touch of her flesh against his was too sweet for words. Christine kissed him again, a small cry of pain eliciting from her lips as he pressed forwards, but when he stilled suddenly, afraid that he had hurt her badly, she only shook her head and arched her back sensuously, destroying all reservation.

The firelight flickered over their bodies as the two made love, the silence of the catacombs winding around them. For a moment, as Christine's hand found Erik's, and her fingers intertwined with his, Erik felt as though they were the only two people in the world. He kissed her again, deeply, and Christine's voice trembled and cracked as she cried out his name through their kiss.

His slow movements changed pace, and then he was shaking suddenly above her. He moved once more and she began to tremble as well, a slow, soft moan eliciting from her lips.

All his muscles were weak as he rolled over to lie beside her, gathering her into his arms. Neither was able to speak for several minutes, the magnitude of what they had done settling upon them.

"Is it like that for everyone?" Christine asked suddenly, her innocence showing through once more in the aftermath.

"I don't know." Erik admitted. "I suppose so."

She was suddenly very sleepy, and she nestled against him, sweat-slicked flesh against sweat-slicked flesh, her hair spilling over his shoulder and chest as she listened to the racing of his heartbeat. "I love you, Erik."

His whole world seemed to open up before him with those simple words, spoken so sweetly, so sincerely.

She was already asleep when he replied in kind, but he would tell her again in the morning.

And for as many mornings after as he was granted in this life.