Despite the hat pin and satin bow adhering it under her chin, Christine Daae felt as if the ocean breeze was going to send her new summer hat down the board walk. It already tossed the hem of her blue linen skirt up to her calves exposing her embroidered stockings. Not that it mattered. After a divorce from the Vicomte and marriage to Phatasma's Mr. Y all covered on Page Six, Christine's reputation was already ruined And yet in America no one seemed to care. Her performances sold out and she and Mr. Y were invited to impressive parties; parties they would have never seen back in Paris.
Gustave ran impatiently several feet, against his mother's demands, in front of the whicker promenade baby carriage with its large sun guard up, which she pushed. She looked up from the sleeping baby to scan the crowd for her son.
"Mother we can get ice cream right?" Gustave jumped up and down and waved his arms.
As she pushed the carriage up to her son, she sighed seeing he already had an ice cream cone, "I am going to have to talk to your father. You cannot keep having free reign over the park."
"But I'm the Young Mister. Father said this whole park will be mine someday." Gustave spoke in-between licks.
"You have a sister to share with now, remember?"
The boy looked down at the baby, "Charlotte doesn't do much. Are all babies like that?"
"Yes at first, including you," Christine giggled as she wiped ice cream off the tip of Gustave's nose.
Christine froze as her stomach tightened in dread; just a few feet in front of them were some people from the press. Her afternoon stroll was ruined. She quickly moved her hands to the baby and adjusted the bonnet as tightly as she could and pulled the blanket up high. In response Charlotte stirred and fussed a little.
"Miss Daae! Miss Daae!" One of the press men approached her. "May we have a word? Congratulations on your fantastic season debut the other night. I see you are out with a baby carriage. Is this why you did not close last season? This is the first we are seeing or hearing of such news!"
There was the familiar sound of flash paper going off behind the reporter.
"My husband and I may be public figures, but that does not mean our family affairs are public," Christine spoke with as much dignity as she could muster. "Now if you would please, enjoy the many amenities Phantasma has to offer while I do the same on my day off."
The gas light was dim but Christine was still able to sleep lightly reclined in the chaise lounge next to Charlotte's bassinette. The buttons of her nightgown were still undone and the top of her dressing robe untied, all showing her right breast was still exposed even though Charlotte had been fed, soothed and was now back asleep in the bassinette.
The bedroom door opened just enough for Mr. Y to enter, close and lock it behind him. "Angel," he whispered as he walked over to her. He knelt down and caressed her cheek before softly drawing a circle around her exposed swollen breast. He continued his circle before lifting his lanky finger and circling her areola. It was currently brownish pink instead of the soft pink it usually was. The changes her body had gone through during and post pregnancy were a curiosity to him.
The doctor told him he was not to be in the room when the baby was born; that men cannot handle seeing their wife in such a state. He felt his arms wanting to go around the man's throat. From the bed, Christine grabbed Erik's hand and then looked at the doctor, "My husband almost saw me die from a gunshot, he can stay." It was an intense several hours and when Charlotte arrived…
Mr. Y brought his mouth down to her breast and circled the sensitive nipple with his tongue. Christine stirred and whimpered. He opened his mouth wider latching on completely over the areola; he pulled and sucked, milk seeping from her nipple into his mouth. The Soprano slowly lifted her lids and moaned softly as she lifted her fingers to her husband's wig.
"The mask is still on too I see," she observed, voice husky with sleep running her fingers down to his neck, where she pulled at his ascot. "Someone was in a hurry."
He drank for another minute or two; so thick, heavy and sweet and least to him. Mother's milk yet another thing he was denied and yet should not have expected his wife to give him. It started as an accident. In one of their first sessions of love making after Charlotte's birth, he went for her breast as he always did. Just a squeeze; Christine gasped and liquid oozed from the sensitive chaffed skin.
"I'm sorry, Angel," Erik jumped from the bed. Wrapping his dressing robe around his night shirt doing the best he could to conceal his throbbing erection; he spent a restless night in the old bedroom attached to his workroom. And the doctor was worried he couldn't handle the birth. Why did no one warn him about this? The next time they tried to make love Christine observed how painfully obvious Erik avoided her breasts. "Erik, please," She took his face into her hands and brought it to her left breast. "It's okay, I want you to, I miss your mouth."
He pulled away, her plush breast sagging back into place as a last few drops leaked from her nipple and some trickled down Erik's chin. Christine giggled as she wiped it away with her fingers. His shoulders heaved as he sighed, "That was delightful as always. Thank you, Angel. And I wouldn't say I was in a hurry. I had to stay late tonight and I didn't want to make you wait a second longer. You already look so exhausted."
"Gustave was a handful today on the boardwalk. You need to stop spoiling him so much. Don't let the vendors give him anything until I give them permission. They shouldn't fear the wrath of Mr. Y for denying his son."
A dubious grin played his puffy lips, "I am only spoiling him the way his mother spoils his father. Besides, I am not that man anymore. The boy is just charming." He leaned over and kissed her and she opened her mouth nibbling on his bloated bottom lip, smiling into it. Erik kissed down her neck as she lifted her legs, bending them at the knee, dressing and night gowns falling between her legs.
"I see someone isn't too exhausted," Mr. Y mumbled into her neck.
"Lull me back to sleep, Angel," Christine murmred into his ear.
Eager hands pushed layers of fabric up bare legs, revealing his wife wore no pantalettes. "Ah Christine…Christine…" He ran his long middle finger between her folds, slow and gentle collecting her juices. He then latched back onto her breast as his finger now circled her swollen pleasure mound.
"Ahhh…" She sighed softly arching up off the chaise lounge. He could tell she was trying to be quite for the sake of the baby.
Erik hummed as he drunk her milk, smiled to himself as Christine finally lost herself and whimpered at her usual volume when he slipped two fingers in her wet and warm womanhood. However, he paused for a few seconds and when no sound came from the bassinette, he rubbed that spot that made her sing.
He found joy in the pleasure he saw contorted on Christine's face and as it melted away as he felt her paroxysm constrict and release around his fingers. As she sunk back onto the chaise lounge, he removed both his fingers and mouth from her body. His erection throbbed but he did not dare disturb the heaving bosom, closed eyes, smile and glowing aura that came from his satiated wife.
The Phantom pulled the quilt from their bed and wrapped it around her body. "Sleep tight, Angel." He kissed her forehead before heading to his old bedroom as not to disturb her.