He was silent as I dressed, a humiliated flush on my fair skin. His hand ran down my spine, sending incredible sensations throghout my body, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of even a whimper. He knew the effect it had on me though; and he sat up on the bed, his hand sliding around my thighs to rest between them, barring my attempt to don my breeches. My breath grew ragged, and I clamped my mouth shut. I would not give him the satisfaction.
I felt his shifting behind me, his legs spread and encircled me, his arms pulling me roughly to his chest. I was imprisoned by this feeling, this desire that I felt, even as I loathed the contact.
"I... can't stay here. Let me go."
His tongue snaked up my neck and I gasped, unable to stop myself. I could almost feel his gloating, mocking grin as he moved his hand under my shirt, his other pushing my breeches back to my knees.
"A little longer."
I bit back the moan that threatened to rip from my throat as he teased my body with his rough, caloused hands that had resulted from many years of hard labor, tears welling in my eyes as my internal confliction raged. Don't touch me you beast... but... please... don't stop...
"Erik" I whimpered as my body responded to his touch "Please... I must go."
"A little longer..."
My senses dulled with the pleasure of the idea, but I forced myself to stay alert. The Phantom wanted me. The man who was thought mythical was flesh and blood, with real drives and desires, and he had proven that to me since the night he'd found me after I'd returned to find him once I had taken her to safety. Then his lust had sprung from a desire to harm me, to damage me, the one who had taken her from him, but now passion drove him. I knew not why I returned night after night, to be used and abused by him, only that I craved this passion, the passion of the opera.