Ch 9 – Your Power Over Me

His hands on me this time were rougher, firmer in their grasp; more assured. I relaxed, glad to let him take the lead. I would follow where he led. I realized that in some ways, I always had.

He stood up and removed his shirt, then sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. My hands traced the shifting patterns made by the muscles in his back. He was wonderfully and fearfully made. As always, the contact of my skin on his drove us both wild. He rounded on me and pressed me back into the bed. He began to unbutton my shirt, then became tired of the game and tore the whole thing off, tossing it to a corner of the room without even looking.

His eyes were riveted on me and he breathed as if he had been running. I lay, naked to the waist and shameless before his gaze, looking up at him.

"Be sure," he warned.

By way of answer, I took his large hand, kissed it, and placed it over one of my breasts. He fell on me with a cry that was almost a sob, and we made a hurried, desperate scramble to tear off the remainder of our clothing.

He looked at me again, and then we lost ourselves completely. For awhile, we were a thing of heat and movement, a ballet danced by fire itself. I remember surprising pain, even more surprising joy, and feeling like I'd found something I'd been looking for all my life but hadn't known until then. At long last, we were one. And in this there was no longer pain, fear, separation, or brokenness of mind, body or soul: only us.

We wept again, and laughed with the miracle of it all, lost and found at the same moment. Finally, a long time later, we both slept, exhausted. My sleep was deep and dreamless, a sleep of complete contentment.

When I opened my eyes, he was awake already, gazing at me. I started a bit, and again a curtain fell over his face.

"Shocked to find yourself in the bed of a monster?" he asked, a bitter tone in his voice.

"No," I said. "Startled to find myself in the bed of my lover. I've never had one before."

"A lover," he said, "Means someone you love."

"So it does," I said.

I turned him around to face me again, and kissed him deliberately on the sideof his face that he so hated.

Our embraces turned passionate once again, and it was another long while later before we finally emerged from the alcove where the bed was, he in trousers and unbuttoned shirt, barefoot; I with his velvet dressing gown wrapped around me.

All the rest of that day was the purest bliss. We behaved as though nothing existed outside of that place, as though we were the only two inhabitants of a world made just for us. He showed me the secret spring where he had bathed when he'd lived there; he had fetched fresh food at some point while I slept, and we feasted. We were both ravenous. We sang, played his instruments (many of which were sadly out of tune, but this bothered us not a whit), and he regaled me with the stories behind all of the objects he'd collected in this place. Some were 'souvenirs' from the theater itself, but others had surprising histories. I found his voice as riveting when he spun tales for me as I did when he sang.

Eventually, reality intruded. A small figurine of a dancing girl reminded me of Meg, and –

"Oh!" I said, "The Girys! I must get word to them to tell them I'm all right."

He put an arm out to prevent me from leaving. "I've sent a note."

"When did you do that?"

"While you were sleeping." He smiled. "Once again, you slept very soundly."

I blushed to the roots of my hair. "Whose fault is that?" I muttered, but he heard me.

"Can't imagine."

"What on earth did you say to the Girys?"

He paused, and quoted.

"'Do not fear for Miss Daae. The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Do not inform the Vicomte of her whereabouts. She will be returned to you when the time is right.'"

I laughed, in spite of myself. "You never!"

"I assure you, I did!"

"And did you sign it 'O.G.'?"

"Of course."

"I thought that the Phantom didn't exist any more."

"He doesn't, not really. I brought him back for a bravura appearance."

"Bravura indeed," I said. "I missed him…"

This made him sober a bit. "Christine…"

And something struck me, belatedly: "Wait. 'Returned to you when the time is right?' You're going to make me leave?"

He dropped his gaze, and I suddenly recalled what he had said about having to leave to do something important. And I sat down quite quickly.