The annual New Year's ball at the Opéra Garnier is not an event Erik would ever willingly attend, even if he had a perfectly normal face that would allow him to move among the many guests unnoticed. The performers, staff, and patrons alike might find it amusing to dance the night away while getting spectacularly drunk, causing most of them to lose the very few inhibitions they had to begin with and get a bit too free with their affections for each other, only to conveniently forget any of it has happened at all in the morning, but to Erik, mingling with a crowd like that holds not the slightest appeal. He has made it a habit to stay in his house far below the surface for the duration of the event, as far away from the festivities as possible, only venturing above again when enough time has passed that he can be certain even the last of the stragglers have gone home to sleep off their drunken stupor.

This year however, he has reason to leave the peace and comfort of his underground home and observe the detested party from behind one of the mirrors in the Grand Foyer. This year, for the first time since their secret wedding a few months ago, Christine is attending the celebrations, and although she has assured him that her thoughts will be with him the entire evening, he cannot escape the urge to keep an eye on her. Not because he does not trust her. He believes she would not do anything he would not approve of, but he is not convinced she will be safe among those inebriated patrons with their wandering hands. Moreover, the boy will be in attendance as well, and it is him most of all he does not trust.

At Christine's insistence, they have not yet publicly announced their marriage – "What am I to say if the managers ask me about my new husband, Erik? That I am now to be addressed as Madame Opera Ghost? Do you truly believe that would be beneficial to my career? I want to make a name for myself based on my merits, not because of the rumours a marriage to the Phantom of the Opera would surely elicit." – so the boy is annoyingly unaware of Christine's new status as a married woman. That alone is reason enough for Erik to be present tonight. To make sure the boy does not make any unwanted advances towards his wife.

Unfortunately for Erik, his suspicions are soon proven correct. Not even half an hour into the evening, that insipid little vicomte has found Christine in the crowd and asks her to dance. Erik expects her to politely decline and try to make a hasty escape, but to his dismay she accepts the invitation with surprising enthusiasm.

Erik watches with a rising sense of annoyance and betrayal as she shares not one, not two, but three consecutive dances with the fop, happily waltzing through the brightly illuminated hall in his arms. The angelic smile that is usually reserved only for Erik stays fixed on her face the entire evening, this time directed solely at the vicomte, and she seems to wholeheartedly enjoy herself. To the outside world it would seem that the pretty soprano and the young vicomte are courting, although Christine does not seem the slightest bit concerned about that. She dances and talks and laughs with the boy as if she is still free, her heart still hers to give away as she pleases. But free she is most certainly not, and tonight Erik will thoroughly remind her of that fact.

An idea is already taking shape in his mind as he follows the dark secret passages back to Christine's dressing room. Once there, he places himself in a corner of the room and simply waits.

She keeps him waiting a long time. Several more hours must have passed before she finally stumbles into her dressing room. She still wears that perfectly blissful smile. Her cheeks are flushed, and a few strands of hair have come loose from their confines and now hang freely around her face, highlighting her angelic features. She is no longer wearing her shoes, but is carrying them in her hand, her small stockinged feet peeking out from under the hem of her pale pink dress. Her feet must hurt from all those hours of dancing with her handsome suitor. Thinking herself alone, she does not take the trouble to hide a wide yawn. No doubt she is tired after such a long night of celebrating, but Erik will not allow her any rest. Not yet.

"Did you have a pleasant evening, my dear?"

She gasps at the sound of his voice, her eyes widening in surprise as she finally becomes aware of his presence.

"Erik! You scared me for a moment. I did not expect to find you here." Once she has recovered from her initial shock, a soft smile lights up her face again, as if she is truly happy to see him here. As if she has missed him. She did not seem to miss him all that much a few hours ago though. "I hope you have not been waiting too long?" she asks innocently.

"Long enough," he replies as he leaves the shadows of his hiding spot, his tone not cold exactly, but firm enough to mark his displeasure.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says softly, an appropriately guilty look in her eyes. "I truly did not mean to stay out this late, but I found I rather enjoyed myself and I lost track of time."

"Yes, I suppose you did. I imagine time flies when you're lying in the arms of such a handsome dance partner."

"What? How did you know…?" Her brow creases in confusion before realisation hits. "You were there, weren't you? You were spying on me!" she cries out indignantly, pointing an accusing finger at him. "But you promised me you would never do that again!"

"Indeed, and you promised that I would be the only man on your thoughts tonight, so clearly we both lied."

"Erik, I have told you before that you really do not need to be jealous of Raoul. We are only friends, nothing more. I cannot very well avoid him now that you and I are married. If I did, he would start suspecting something was not right, and he would not rest until he had uncovered the truth."

"Well then let him!" Erik roars, the sudden increase in volume making Christine flinch. "Let him see once and for all that you belong to me and only me!"

Without warning he grabs her arm, roughly pulling her to him, bringing his other hand to the back of her head to keep her still as he claims her mouth. Unlike most kisses they have shared until now, which were always soft and gentle, full of love and adoration, this one is hard and possessive and unforgiving. She struggles against him, but it does not deter him. Although he might look deceivingly thin and frail, he is a good deal stronger than her and has no trouble taking exactly what he wants from her. She cries out as he bites her lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood – the mere idea of actually hurting her is inconceivable to him – but enough to make her feel it.

"You have disappointed me tonight, Christine," he murmurs against her skin, "and I believe you ought to be punished for your actions."

As quickly as he has taken hold of her, he releases her again and she stumbles backward, almost tripping over her shoes, which she dropped there during the kiss he unexpectedly forced upon her.

She gapes at him in indignation. "Punish me? Is this a joke?"

"You should know by now, my sweet, that I am not in the habit of joking about these things."

"And how exactly do you imagine this punishment?" She crosses her arms in front of her chest and gives him a defiant stare, daring him to turn his words into deeds. Oh, but she should know better by now than to expect him to back down from a challenge.

"To start, I would have you take off your clothes."

Once again, her mouth opens slightly and she stares at him as if she is doubting his sanity, not that he can blame her for that.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. Strip."

She remains motionless, disbelief and uncertainty and what he thinks to be the beginnings of fear flashing across her face.

"Do not make me repeat myself, Christine." His voice is not that of the loving husband now, but that of the strict, demanding teacher. He knows she cannot disobey her Maestro, and indeed, after a few more seconds of hesitation, she finally begins to undress. His eyes do not leave her for a second as she slowly removes each piece of clothing and drops it to the floor. He has not instructed her to fold them or put them away neatly, and so she does not. Once she is standing in nothing but her chemise, drawers and stockings, she stops, crossing her arms in front of her chest as if to protect herself from his piercing gaze. As if there is any use in such a movement of self-preservation. He already knows what she is hiding underneath that last layer of clothing. He has used every opportunity over the last few months to study it extensively.

"I do not remember asking you to stop."

"But… I don't…" She throws a worried glance over her shoulder, looking at the door behind her and then back at him. "What if someone comes in?"

"Why, who would have reason to come in, Christine? Are you in the habit of receiving your handsome suitor here for a secret rendez-vous?"

He knows she does not, of course. If she were stupid enough to attempt such a thing, he would have seen it happen from his spot behind the mirror where he watches her after every rehearsal and every performance, although she is not usually aware of that. He knows she does not allow anyone but Meg, Madame Giry, and her dresser into this room, but he cannot help making the remark, if only for the pleasure of seeing her already flushed cheeks turn an even brighter shade of red in indignation at his insinuation. God, she is beautiful, even more so when she is angry.

"Maybe it would not be such a bad thing for someone to walk in and find me here, hm? Then the secret would be out at last. And you know how fast news travels around here. Within twenty-four hours the whole opera house would know who Christine Daaé truly belongs to."

Her eyes widen in fear and she quickly shakes her head, silently begging him not to make good on that particular threat, but he believes there is something else in her gaze too. Something she might not be aware of, or if she is, she does not want to admit it to herself. A secret longing to be caught, a dark desire to be seen no longer as the innocent little ingénue, but a woman of power, the queen of the underworld in the arms of the Opera Ghost.

Then again, maybe that is only wishful thinking on his part.

"No? You would not like that?" he asks, hoping his mocking tone will disguise the flash of pain he feels at her quick instinctive refusal to be seen with him. Perhaps one day she will get over her fear and allow him to walk by her side like any proud husband. For now, he takes pity on her.

"Well, then I suppose you had best lock the door first."

She wastes no time in obeying, turning the key and then trying the doorhandle to make sure it is well and truly locked.

"Well?" he asks, only just resisting the urge to impatiently tap his foot on the floor once she has turned toward him again but makes no move to continue undressing. "What are you waiting for?"

"Erik, I'm not sure this is – "

"When I give you an order, I expect to be obeyed, Christine."

She quickly looks down at her feet in submission, mumbles a quiet "yes, Maestro" and removes the last of her clothes as instructed.

Her reverting to his earlier title sends a shiver down his spine. She has called him by quite a few names in the past. He still remembers the first time he heard his actual name from her lips, and how special it felt to hear it spoken with reverence and kindness rather than fear and disgust. When she referred to him as her husband for the first time, he nearly burst into tears of pure happiness, and he could sing with joy every time she calls him my dear, or even better, my love. But when he sees her standing before him in nothing but her underthings, calling him Maestro while she obeys his every command, he cannot help but revel in the intoxicating thrill of power surging through him. He loves her, yes, more than he could ever express In words, but what he feels at the knowledge that she is his and his alone is stronger still, an emotion he has no name for.

Eventually Christine is completely bare before him. She does not try to hide her nakedness any longer, although he can see she is struggling, nervously wringing her hands behind her back to keep them from covering herself.

Erik takes his time watching her. He walks around her without saying a word, like a predator circling his prey, stopping now and then to study a particular bit of skin more intently, committing to memory all the places he intends to lavish with attention later on. His fingers ache to touch, his mouth longs to taste, but he will not give in to these desires just yet. Instead, he lets his hungry gaze glide over her skin in a silent caress.

He has had the pleasure of seeing her naked body more than once, has even been allowed to explore every hollow and curve with his hands and his tongue, has experienced the ecstasy of joining his body to hers, but he still finds a simple joy in just watching her. She is the most beautiful creature he has ever beheld. And she is here, waiting for him to do with her whatever he pleases.

He watches with fascination as gooseflesh forms all over her skin. She must be cold. Oh, but she will not be cold for much longer, he will see to that.

Ending his silent observation, Erik grabs a chair and drags it to the centre of the room, gesturing for her to sit down. Christine complies without question, but when he pulls a piece of red rope from the pocket of his coat and commands her to put her arms behind her back, she breaks the heavy silence.

"Erik, please, I truly did not mean to upset you, and I promise I will never again give you cause to be angry with me. I will be a good wife, I swear, I will obey you in everything, but don't hurt me, please."

He is struck silent by her words, stands motionless as he reads the panic and fear in her clear blue eyes. Up until now he thought she was merely nervous because she does not know what he is planning to do to her, and that is the exact reaction he intended for her to have. He never wanted her to be frightened.

"Christine, you know that I have no intention of harming you, don't you?" He does not think he wants to hear the answer, but knows he needs to ask anyway. She turns her gaze away from him, and her silence tells him everything she will not say out loud, confirming what he was afraid of.

"My love, please believe me when I say that I would never hurt you."

Still she does not look at him. Even though he had hoped she would know by now that he would lay down his life to protect her from everything and everyone, including himself, he cannot blame her for doubting him. She knows he has manipulated and hurt and killed in the past, but he promised he would be better, for her, and he intends to keep that promise. Regardless, even if he sometimes thinks he hates the entire human race, Christine is the only exception, the only person on this godforsaken earth he could not imagine ever wanting to hurt.

He kneels down in front of her, breaking the silent vow he made to himself to refrain from touching her just yet in order to gently stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers. If he has to break a few of his self-imposed rules for tonight just to reassure her, then that is exactly what he will do. He will not have her fear him. Never again.

She does not flinch or pull away from his touch, and he takes that as a good sign.

"You are safe with me, Christine, always. All I want from you tonight is to prove to me that you are mine."

Finally she meets his gaze. "I am yours." The words are spoken in barely more than a whisper, but with an undeniable conviction.

"Then you have nothing to fear from me."

For a moment she does not speak. She merely looks into his eyes, searching for the truth behind his words. It seems as though she can see right through him, this peculiar creature, straight into his soul. It is a rather unnerving feeling, but no matter how strong the urge is to hide from her questioning gaze, he does not turn away.

In the end she must have found what she was looking for, for she relaxes ever so slightly, slumping back a little on the chair, lifts her hands and slowly moves them behind her back.

Relieved by her acquiescence, Erik makes quick work of binding her hands, taking care not to tie the rope too tightly. It would not do to leave bruises on those beautiful, delicate wrists. When he is done, he stands back and takes off his coat as he admires his handiwork. He loves the contrast of the bright red thread against Christine's milk white skin and hopes that after tonight, she might allow him to introduce the rope in their intimate encounters more often. The image of Christine on their bed, red cord twining all around her glorious naked body, completely at his mercy, is a heady one, and he needs a moment to compose himself before he loses control. He had plans for tonight and he intends to go through with them. It is time to set to work.

One by one, he removes the pins from her hair, setting free her wild curls before brushing them back over her left shoulder, revealing her elegant neck. Maddeningly slowly he runs a single fingertip from the hollow behind her ear down the side of her neck to her shoulder. The touch is so light it is barely there at all, but the hitch in her breath as his skin makes contact with hers tells him she still felt it. He repeats the movement a few times, travelling that same path up and down and up again, until he can feel her begin to shiver. The soft whine she lets out as he withdraws his hand is like music to his ears. She craves being touched by him just as much as he craves to touch her. If he believed in miracles, he would say that this is one.

Rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, he sinks to his knees behind her. He debates for a moment whether or not he should remove his mask – he still prefers to keep it on, not yet accustomed to Christine's easy acceptance of his face, nor her gentle insistence that he allow her to see it whenever the possibility presents itself – but he knows that for the purpose he has in mind, the absence of the mask will make the experience more enjoyable, both for him and for Christine, and so he undoes the string keeping it in place and puts it down on the floor.

Christine is breathing more rapidly now. The hair on the nape of her neck stands up where she can feel his hot breath against her skin. He is so close that even with his sorry excuse for a nose he can detect her enticing scent, and unable to contain himself any longer, Erik gives in to the temptation to taste. He trails a path of hungry kisses along the pale column of her throat, occasionally flicking his tongue against her smooth skin, mouthing his way up. Christine gasps loudly at the unexpected contact and instinctively leans her head to the side to allow him easier access. A satisfied grin spreads across Erik's misshapen lips. She is so easy to read like this, so eager for his touch.

His lips reach her ear, and he sucks her earlobe into his mouth, taking a moment to appreciate the beautiful sounds she makes as he gently scrapes his teeth against the sensitive flesh. When he pulls his face away from her neck, she whines in the absence of his touch and tries to move closer to him, clearly wanting more, but this time he will not give her what she desires so easily. Where would be the fun in that?

Instead, he gently begins to rub up and down her arms in a slow, steady rhythm. He hums a soothing melody, some simple lullaby he has heard Christine sing before, until he can feel the nervous energy seep from her body and she relaxes beneath his palms. Then, when her breathing has slowed down again and she seems so calm that she might just drift off to sleep there and then, he shifts his attention to her sides. As he expected, she tenses immediately, for she is terribly ticklish there, but he decides to be merciful for now, softly running his fingers up and down for only a handful of times before she starts to squirm and he quickly moves on to her stomach. One hand travels down to rest just above the short dark curls between her thighs, while the other moves up, stopping right beneath her breast. He gently strokes the skin there, but keeps his hands in the same position, not moving higher or lower, but waiting until she starts to strain forward, fighting against her bonds as she tries to push into his touch, hoping he will finally put his hands where she needs them the most. Only when she softly whimpers his name does he give in.

Torturously slowly his fingers creep up until he is fully cupping her breast, fondling and caressing it as if it were the first time he is allowed to touch her there. Meanwhile his other hand dips lower. He slides one finger between her folds and is pleased to find her slick and wanting already. Her willingness to surrender to him like this will never cease to amaze him. She is so breathtakingly beautiful, and he intends to feast on her magnificent body for as long as she will let him.

His mouth hungrily latches onto her lovely throat, licking and sucking to his heart's content while she moans so prettily under his attentions, but he keeps his fingers moving at a leisurely pace, knowing full well that it is not enough to satisfy her. Indeed, Christine keeps struggling to get more of what he seems to be promising, but the rope around her hands will not allow her to achieve her goal.

Erik keeps going like this for a few more minutes, and then suddenly and without warning releases her. It takes every bit of willpower he possesses to let her go, especially when she begs so prettily for him to continue, but he forces himself to ignore her cries of protest as he gets to his feet and takes a step back to catch his breath. He could have kept going, made her come undone in his hands just like that. The thought is tempting, he cannot deny it, but although it certainly would have been a satisfying experience, it is too early for that. He is not done with her yet.

"Erik, please, I need you," Christine whimpers softly, and oh how those words make his heart soar. Not only does she want him, but she needs him too! Wanting is a choice, wanting can be easily ignored, but needing is so much stronger. A need cannot simply be disregarded. It is always there and will continue to remind one of its presence until it is fulfilled. And Christine needs him. Not that ridiculous fop of a vicomte, but him, Erik. Only he can give her what she needs, and he plans to do exactly that.

"Shhh, don't fret, my dear, I will take care of you," he promises as he walks towards her once again. Her eyes, grown wide and heavy with desire, intently follow his every movement as he lowers himself to his knees before her, then loosens his cravat and carelessly discards it.

"You have been a naughty girl, have you not, Christine Daaé?" he murmurs as he slowly runs his fingers up her bare calves. "Allowing that insolent boy to put his hands on you as if you were his property, to do with as he pleases." He pauses the ascent of his hands at the back of her knees, feeling her shiver when he slides his fingertips across the sensitive skin there in a teasing, feather-light touch. "Maybe you forgot why you are not supposed to allow him such liberties." He spreads her legs open wide then, exposing her completely to his view while he settles himself between her knees. Christine's little whimper at the vulnerability of her new position sends a shiver down his spine. It is the most beautiful music he has ever heard. "As your husband, I therefore feel it is my duty to make sure that next time you encounter that ignorant fool, you will remember exactly who it is you belong to."

Before she has the chance to react, he grabs her buttocks and roughly pulls her forward as far as the chair will allow, until her sex is level with his bare face. She lets out a cry of surprise, which quickly turns into a soft moan when she feels his hot breath on her naked flesh. An embarrassed flush spreads on her cheeks as she becomes aware of the sounds she is making, and she bites her lower lip in an attempt to stifle them, but Erik will have none of that. He reaches up his hand to gently pull at her lip until she releases it. "Don't hold back, my love. I want to hear you." It is the last thing he says before he hooks her knees over his bony shoulders and brings his mouth between her legs.

He starts slowly, licking at her folds in long, languid strokes of his tongue. It does not take long before he can feel her legs tense against his shoulders as she tries to push him closer, to urge him on, but he will not be rushed. He takes his time, savouring the taste of her. He does not think he could ever grow tired of this. If he could, he would gladly devote his life to worshipping her body, to bringing her pleasure in every way imaginable until she has forgotten the existence of any other man, Erik's name the only word on her lips.

After a while, Christine's moans seem to rise in volume and pitch with every flick of his tongue. She begs for more, harder, faster, but to no avail. If her bound hands and her precarious position on the chair did not make it impossible, Erik is convinced she would find a way to move closer to him and take what he refuses to give. But she will not have it her way. Not tonight. When she starts to tremble underneath him, signalling that she is close to release, he pulls away. Christine cries out, her body shaking even harder when it is suddenly denied the bliss that was so close at hand mere seconds before. Taking pity on her, he reaches out his hands to gently stroke at her knees, her calves, her thighs, any bit of skin he can reach, meanwhile whispering all kinds of sweet nothings. He is hardly aware of what exactly he is saying, and neither is Christine, it seems, but the exact meaning of his words is unimportant. It is the familiar sound of his voice, combined with his soft touch, that grounds and soothes her.

When she appears to have recovered, he resumes his activities. Still, he keeps the strokes of his tongue unhurried, the stimulation never quite enough to push her over the edge. Occasionally he sucks at the delicate pearl of flesh between her thighs until he feels her legs tense up against his shoulders again, and then goes back to licking softly and lazily at her folds before she has the chance to climax. At first, he can make out her words of encouragement, "more" and "yes" and "please", but after a while the words turn into meaningless sounds, her delicious moans and delicate whimpers and desperate mewls of pleasure more glorious than any symphony he has ever heard. Still he refuses to be moved by her pleas for more. He is merciless, taking what he wants, feasting relentlessly on her slick heat but never allowing her the release she so badly needs.

The more he repeats this cycle of teasing and denying, the more desperate Christine's cries become, until her body is quivering so violently Erik thinks she might vibrate out of her skin. As he caresses her legs and whispers gentle words while he waits for the trembling to subside, he notices a single tear rolling down her flushed cheeks and determines that he has tormented her long enough.

"My lovely Christine," he murmurs as he wipes away the wetness under her eyes, "so beautiful, so perfect for your Erik. Tell me, my love, who do you belong to?"

"You, Erik," comes the immediate answer, her voice hoarse and exhausted, "only you, I promise, I am yours, please, Erik, please."

How can he refuse her anything when she begs for it so beautifully? Satisfied that she has learned her lesson and will not forget it anytime soon, he finally gives in to her pleas and grants her what she craves. Returning his mouth to her folds, he slips one long slender finger into her opening, soon adding a second and then a third. He focuses the ministrations of his tongue on the little nub at the apex of her thighs while he pumps his fingers in and out of her in the same unforgiving rhythm. When his fingers brush against the most sensitive spot inside of her, she lets out the most exquisite scream of ecstasy, and it only takes a few more thrusts and a single flick of his tongue for her to tense underneath him as she finally reaches her climax, uttering his name over and over again.

He does not immediately remove his mouth from between her legs, but keeps gently licking at the wetness there, savouring the taste of her on his tongue. He wishes he could stay here forever, on his knees before her, worshipping her as the goddess she is. Not even an eternity of this could ever be enough to prove his devotion to her.

When Christine's soft whimpers indicate that her pleasure is verging on discomfort, he finally pulls away. He can feel her wetness on his wretched face, wipes his thumb against his own chin to gather what is left before sucking the digit into his mouth, running his tongue against it until he is sure that he has consumed every last trace of her.

His knees hurt and his legs have gone stiff from sitting on the cold hard ground for so long, but he was not aware of any discomfort until now, as he rises to his feet. It is then that he realises how uncomfortable Christine must be, still tied to the chair, and he hastens to release her. As soon as he has undone the knot around her hands, he takes her fragile little wrists in his hands and gently massages the delicate skin. After placing a soft kiss on either wrist, he lets go of her hands, effortlessly lifts her out of the chair and carries her to the large sofa sitting against the wall. At the time, Christine had not understood why he insisted she had such a large piece of furniture placed in her dressing room when she was not planning on receiving visitors here, but Erik could hardly admit that he thought it would be useful for exactly the kind of activity they have been engaging in tonight. Whereas Christine would probably have found his reasoning scandalous, he is rather pleased with his own foresight.

He carefully lowers her onto the soft cushions and quickly toes off his shoes before joining her, immediately pulling her against him to keep her warm. She wastes no time in wrapping her arms around him, letting out a contented sigh at finally being able to touch him.

"Oh my darling Christine," he whispers against her skin, "you've been such a good girl for me tonight. I love you so very much, do you know that?" She does not answer him, but he can feel her hold on his shirt tightening, feel her nod her head against his chest in response. As she settles herself into his embrace, her leg brushes against his by now painfully hard cock, still trapped within the confines of his trousers, and he cannot stop the loud moan that escapes from his throat. He has been aroused since the moment she stripped for him, no, even before that, from the moment he saw her enter the room, and he cannot deny his own desire any longer. "Forgive me, my love, I know you are tired, but it is I who needs you now. Will you let me have you?"

She lifts her head just enough to look at him, and what he sees in her eyes steals his breath away. There is so much love and trust packed into that one look that Erik feels he might cry with the utmost happiness he feels in this perfect moment. "Yes," she whispers simply. He tenderly brushes a few curls back behind her ear and then finally kisses her mouth, long and slowly, trying and failing to convey everything he feels for this exquisite creature in his arms through the connection of their lips.

Christine is the one who reaches down between their bodies to undo the buttons of his trousers, and the brush of her fingers against his still clothed cock nearly undoes him. He does not trouble himself with fully undressing, simply pulls up his shirt and pushes his trousers down just enough to free his cock. Careful not to crush her underneath his weight, he rolls Christine onto her back, never breaking eye contact as he slides into her. He knows she must be sensitive after what transpired earlier, and so he does his best to go slow, even though it takes every last bit of his self-control. He utters another loud moan at the sheer perfection of being buried so deeply in her wet heat.

Christine lets out a soft whimper once he is fully inside, and Erik stills immediately. "Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop? Please tell me." He gently brushes her hair out of her face so he can see her expression, but there is no sign of discomfort there. She merely shakes her head and tightens her grip on his back and his shoulder, pulling him closer until she can kiss him. He kisses her back deeply and languorously, exploring her mouth as if it is the first time, as if he has not already memorized the shape and feel of her lips, until the need to move becomes too overpowering. "Don't stop," Christine whispers against his lips and it is all the encouragement he needs.

He tries to be careful for her sake, but he has wanted to be inside her for hours now and he cannot control himself anymore. His lips latch onto her breast, sucking her rosy nipple into his mouth, as his hand pays homage to the other one, and she throws her head back as she cries out her pleasure. Once he starts to move in earnest and Christine wraps her legs around him to pull him in deeper, he knows he will not be able to last much longer. He brings a hand between their moving bodies to rub at her sensitive flesh in gentle circles until she climaxes again with a loud cry. The feeling of her inner walls clenching around him is too much ecstasy to bear, and with three more thrusts he comes deep inside of her.

She whines as he pulls out of her shortly after, but he does not wish to collapse on top of her and crush her underneath his weight. Her protests grow stronger as he extricates himself from her arms and stands up. "Hush my love," he whispers soothingly, "I will return right away." He walks over to her dresser and dips a cloth in the washing basin that sits on top of it, and then hurries back to Christine. She hisses when he wipes the wet cloth against the tender flesh between her legs, but he acts as quickly and gently as he can. Once he is done, he settles next to her on the sofa, pulling up a blanket to cover them both as he wraps her up in his arms. A smile tugs at his lips as she rests her head in the crook of his neck and sighs in contentment, mumbling a quiet "love you".

"You are perfection, my angel. I love you more than words can express," he whispers, brushing his lips against her forehead in a soft kiss, but she is already snoring softly beside him. It does not matter if she did not hear his words. He will repeat them tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, until the end of time.