A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews on the last chapter! I'm glad this story was so well-received. I guess it'll be one of those things I come back to when I'm in the mood for writing smut. I can't promise updates will be consistent like this as this is a story that I hadn't entirely intended on continuing, but I'm sure I'll continue writing it.

He had thought to himself. Thought and thought and thought about what had happened between him and Christine. How he had… touched her. Him! Erik! A man who had only been abhorred by others. His hands, the hands of a corpse were wanted. Not to play or compose music, but to touch and to caress another being.

He wondered why. Why did she want him, Erik, of all men alive and dead? Why him? He could not understand. Did she not even happen to consider what was beneath his mask? Beneath his skin? Did she not even stop to ask herself if he was worthy of touching her? Being touched himself? Loving? Being loved?

Oh, he had almost forgotten she had touched him! How could he? No woman ever had before and yet he had forgotten, hypnotized by the diverting beauty of the female orgasm. The smallest bit he could remember of her hand on him felt good, but it had felt even better knowing he was doing the same for her. What was the male orgasm like? To be assisted by that of a woman?

He dreamt of her. Dreamt of her soft flesh, her tousled curls, her flushed cheeks, her rocking hips, his name a plea on her lips. More, more, more.

Erik woke, his breathing heavy and forehead slick with perspiration. He blinked and took in his surroundings, swallowing hard. Papers were strewn about, his desk covered in half-finished music and rejects of his own creative personal endeavors. He'd been working on a duet. Nothing sounded right. Nothing was perfect. But he had not had true inspiration. Now, however, he did.

Erik ignored the aching bulge in his pants and stood, lifting his sheets before he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He shuffled in the dark, a small bit of moonlight peeking through the curtains helping him find his way to the door. He stumbled to the grand piano in the very center of his living room, turning on the small lamp light next to his music shelf. On the shelf were several other songs in the works. With a sigh, he slid the music into a disorganized pile and set it to the side to pull fresh sheets to the front.

The melody started off simple and sweet. He paused occasionally to jot down a few notes, erase, and fix certain areas. When he had first started writing music, it was easy. The notes flowed through him naturally, he wrote music as if his life depended on it; as if it were the very oxygen he breathed. But recently it hadn't been the same. He struggled with every composition. His mind ran dry of inspiration. Even locking himself away in his bedroom, forcing himself to listen to hours of his favorite composers and their greatest works was not enough. He wasn't producing music as he had been. Now, with the memory of her curls tickling his chin and her soft, heated flesh slickening with every loving motion, he had nothing but inspiration and music; what he'd longed for.

He hadn't realized how late it was, up at the ungodliest hours of the night working and tweaking his song. He'd finished the duet and decided it needed more, something beneath it all to help carry the melodies. As he began the first bar of the accompaniment, the sun was rising outside and his eyelids grew heavy. He neared the end of the music when he lost himself entirely. He allowed his arms to gently rest on the keys, nothing he would've done had he been aware, and fell asleep.

Christine had been practicing her etude all week. Over and over, again and again. Scales first, arpeggios, bowing exercises, etude. Hours and hours dedicated the little piece. Her tuner was lighting up more often. It had become her favorite color, that bright glow of green when she'd nail the note. She would smile with joy, singing the note quietly to the tuner so that she'd remember how it sounded and felt within her. Maybe he'd reward her for being so diligent in her studies. Maybe he'd notice.

She had cleaned her room, partially embarrassed by its state the last time he'd visited. He probably thought of her as a child when he saw the mess of bedsheets she'd silently refused to make up in the mornings. Yet still, he touched her and loved her and whispered her name to her in that golden voice of his. And she wanted more. So much more.

She told herself she was being ridiculous obsessing over him every second, but she couldn't help herself. He was so… captivating. Everything about him reeked of mystery and she wanted to know more. She wanted to know where he was from, how he'd become a violin teacher, how long he'd been playing, why he wore a mask. She wanted to know if he'd ever been in love before, if he liked her, if he had been thinking of her as she was thinking of him. She wanted to know if he thought of her at night and if he too had to touch himself because of it.

She wouldn't be able to ask most of her questions, she thought. Yet somehow she had been capable of asking him to touch her. And he had. He had touched her and held her and finished her without even finishing himself. He had to care for her. He had to.

It had finally come—the afternoon he had lessons with her. She sat in the drawing room waiting for him patiently, her father's violin and bow in hand. Every few minutes she checked to see if it was tuned. She checked her phone to find he was fifteen minutes behind. He'd never been late before, she thought.

Christine plucked her etude quietly to pass the time, not caring so much if her notes were in tune or not. The grandfather clock in the room struck the half hour. Thirty minutes behind. Thirty minutes!

The door opened suddenly and Christine stood from the chair he'd occupy with his violin case. She smiled, awaiting his and Mamma Valerius' presence. Her smile faded as she realized it was only Mamma.

"Christine, are you sure he did not cancel for today?"

"I'm sure of it, Mamma. Last week asked me to practice so it'd be ready for today."

Christine lost hope as it stuck the hour her lessons would be over. Mamma had left her to sit in the drawing room alone. She set her father's violin and bow back in their case and crawled into the chair, legs bundled up comfortably as she waited. At the sound of the final chime for the hour, she shut her eyes and softly began to cry. He wasn't coming back, she thought. She shouldn't have asked him to touch her. Now he was afraid to come back.

Her tears seized after a while and she began to drift off. She was startled at the sound of her phone's chime, loud and obnoxious compared to the blackness she was being lulled into. She blinked once at the lit screen sitting on the edge of the end table, Erik's name inscribed at the top. She sat up, reaching over the edge of her chair.

"Hello?" she answered, her voice blanketed by a sheet that had built during her tears.

"Christine! I'm so terribly sorry. I had overslept. I stayed up all night working and didn't even realize what time it was."

Christine shifted in her chair, feeling the same girly thrill within her as she did during a long-awaited kissing scene in one of her romantic comedies. "It's fine. I'm glad you called."

"It's not fine. You're paying me for my time and I can't even deliver myself consistently."

"It's fine," she assured.

"I promise I'll make it up to you, Christine."

Her spine tingled at his words. He'll make it up.

Christine hadn't been lying in bed long when she heard a quick rap at her bedroom window as if a bird with a blunt beak was pecking away at the glass. She hesitated for a moment, turning fearfully towards the source of the sound. Another series of knocks, lighter and less certain.

She threw the blankets from her suddenly, tossing her legs over the edge of her bed. She wasn't sure whether to run out of the room and call for Mamma or to investigate herself.

I'm an adult, she told herself. I must not be afraid.

After a short while of silence, she walked towards her window, lifting the blinds with a quick pull of a string. Erik kneeled on the roof, turned as if he were just about to leave. She unlocked her window hurriedly, lifting the bottom pane. Erik turned at the sound of the frame sliding. Neither of them spoke for a moment, the chill spring wind filling the silence.

"Aren't you going to come in?" Christine asked, moving to the side to allow him space to crawl through.

Erik silently ducked, lifting his legs through the window one at a time, pulling his backpack after him.

Christine shut the window behind him, smiling for a brief moment before turning back to him. "How'd you even get up on the roof?"

Erik laughed, lifting his scratched forearm for her to see. "Your trees are not forgiving to trespassers."

"Oh gosh, Erik!" she cried in a whisper. "I'll be right back with something to help you clean up. Wait here."

Erik set his backpack on the edge of her bed and unzipped it, pulling his laptop from inside as she left the room to retrieve a first aid kit. When she came back, his computer was halfway through an update.

Christine turned on her lamp light and joined him on the edge of her bed, opening the small plastic first aid container. She pulled out a disinfectant wipe and held out her hand for his arm. He gave it over willingly, watching her hold it in her lap. She swiped the fresh, drying blood away and placed the wipe to the side, pulling ointment from the container. She set his arm down and uncapped the tube, squeezing the ointment onto his arm before rubbing it gently into his skin.

"Your touch is... enthralling," he whispered.

Christine smiled. "I'm glad you think that." She finished him up, covering his arm in bandages. "Next time just text me when you're coming. I know how to turn off the front door alarm, so I could just let you in."

"I quite like having to go over and above for you."

"Literally?" she laughed.

He followed her with a small chuckle. "You could say that."

With a sigh, she closed the first aid kit and stood to set it on her dresser. "So what brings you here tonight?"

"Well I told you I'd make things up to you, and I've got something I wanted to show you," he said, shuffling with his laptop.

Christine laid herself on the bed, patting the empty space beside her for him to join. He did as she requested, laying beside her.

"I missed you today," Christine spoke to make up for the impending silence as he waited for his computer to finish updating.

"Mhmm?" His throat rumbled.

Christine turned herself so that her body faced him, admiring the little details of his face that were left open for viewing by his mask. Finally, his computer turned on, opening to the login screen. He had no personal background, only the default. With a small PIN code, he was in.

He pulled up a program, a music program she realized as it opened. Erik sat up and reached down over the bedside to his backpack in the floor, lifting it to unzip the very front pocket. He pulled out a tangled mess of decade-old earbuds and laid back, his fingers plucking away at wires and pulling them free of their entanglement. Again, she watched his hands with such fascination. Every pull and pluck was precise, certain. Like he had been studying the exact methods of untangling a set of earbuds for years and mastered each and every one of them.

He plugged the earbuds into the computer once they were undone and handed off each earbud to her. "Don't want to listen with me?" She asked.

"I've listened a thousand times. Besides, if you were to miss out on one bud, you'd miss out on the full experience."

She set the earbuds in and he clicked play. Each earbud had its own violin, a piano accompaniment in-between. She closed her eyes, focusing her mind on the tranquil pond that appeared before her, swan gliding across the waters as lovers sat nearby on a blanket feeding one another cheese and bread, kissing occasionally. The song grew more passionate, more fiery. More, dare she say it, sexual. She opened her eyes, glancing across the top left corner. Christine, the title read.

Her eyes flashed over to Erik, finding him staring right at her. His chest rose and fell slowly as if he were controlling his breathing pace. She watched his eyes flick to her lips and she felt her brows quiver with anticipation as she parted her lips and leaned forward slightly, wanting him to meet her halfway as the song neared its end. He met her slowly, parting her lips some more with his own shy kisses.

It was then that she realized they hadn't kissed. They had held hands, touched one another, cried one another's names; but not kissed. Oh what they'd been missing out on, this heated and passionate dance was transformed entirely by the music and lasted even after it had ended.

Erik sat up, not breaking their kiss, and gently pulled the earbuds from her, closing his laptop and placing it to the side. His lips walked down her chin and neck as he positioned himself over top of her, lifting her oversized t-shirt to kiss her stomach until he reached the waistband of her pajama pants.

He lifted his eyes to hers, catching their sparkle in the combination of moon and lamplight. "I've been doing some research," he said, "I've learned more about how I can please you. If you'd allow me..."

Christine sat up and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his masked forehead. "Hold here."

He watched her leave the bed and cross the room to her door, turning the lock. It both scared and excited him that they could have been caught. Even if it was yet to go as far as they were heading, it would've been scandalous, perhaps embarrassing, to be caught loving a girl. Maybe not for him, but possibly for her. A man like him! The man who was only meant to be there in the afternoon to help her learn the violin, who had missed their lesson and was now in her bedroom loving her when she should be sleeping.

Christine joined Erik back in the bed, laying herself down before him with rosy cheeks and shy eyes. He lifted her shirt once more, his cool hands gliding up the curve of her waist while the fabric bunched up. He kissed the notch between both ends of her rib cage where her lungs rose and fell and he breathed into her skin, his breath tickling the sparse hair of her stomach.

"So soft," he whispered before sitting up to move back over her waistband. His eyes flashed to hers once more. "You want this, right? Not just because I want it, but because you do?"

Christine nodded her head. "Yes, Erik," she breathed. "Please."

He gently tugged at her waistband, pulling her pants down over her legs. She helped by lifting her feet out and he discarded them, tossing them to the floor.

Erik admired her for a moment. A woman. An actual woman lying before him willingly. He parted her legs, cupping his hands beneath her thighs before leaning down to plant a kiss inside her thighs, a wet chirp of his lips as he plucked away.

"Erik," she groaned after several dozen kisses. He looked up to her, smiling mischievously. "Please," she cried, parting her thighs further.

Her begging sent a shiver down his spine. It was exactly what he wanted. Better yet, needed for her to do. He sat up, pulling her panties down from her hips. She followed suit, lifting her legs in the air for him to pull them up and over her feet.

When he discarded them, he looked down at her, silently praising her courage for allowing him into her bedroom as well as allowing him to touch her and love her the way no one else would. And the way she looked at him? He wondered if maybe it were all a dream or maybe if by some miracle he'd woken with someone else's face and hadn't realized it.

"Want me to take off my shirt as well?" Christine asked, wondering why he'd paused.

Erik dipped down, sweeping his lips over hers briefly. "I will," he said, hands finding the bundled hem of her shirt and lifting it up and over her head. He admired the soft mountains of her breasts with rounded, dusty pink snow at the tips. He pressed his lips to each of them lovingly and settled himself back down between her legs, laying below her.

She met his eyes once more as he kissed the soft mat of curls above her sex before he began kissing her nub. She cried for a moment, toes curling at the unfamiliar sensation of someone's mouth there. Then it was his tongue that stunned her, lavishing the heated, plump folds of her mound. She grabbed for his hands curved around her thighs and squeezed encouragingly. He watched her writhe beneath him, noting every little flick of his tongue that made her lips twitch for mercy. She was utterly his.

He dipped his tongue into her at the source of her wetness and she cried out, pulling a hand to her mouth to muffle the sound. He tasted her, appreciated every corner his tongue could reach, worshipping her the way she deserved to be.

"Erik," she cried, wanting him to stop. He mistook her crying for wanting more and dipped further. "Erik!" she cried once more, tugging his hair up and closing her thighs.

He met her with worried eyes, swallowing her taste before he spoke. "Did I do something wrong?"

She smiled, shaking her head. "You were doing everything right it's just..." she bit her lip, "Do you have a condom?"

He froze for a second, registering her question. "A-a condom?" She nodded. "I hadn't considered it. I mean," he corrected himself, "I had, but I thought you might not..." his voice trailed off as he realized the selfishness of his self-doubt.

"It's okay," Christine assured him. "Next time you should bring one. I'd like to..." she blushed, "I'd like to feel you."

Erik closed his eyes briefly, a warmth stirring within him at the image her words had placed in his head. "How can you be real?"

Christine sat up, pulling his face closer between each of her hands. She smiled when his eyes opened. His mask was warm now from having been tucked beneath her. It had been a bit abrasive against her skin, but still, she had half the mind left to refrain from asking him to take it off. If he did not do it on his own, she would not ask.

"May I touch you now?" she asked quietly.

He nodded his silent answer and stood, unbuckling his pants. She pulled his briefs down and he fell out, aching worse than the week before. She tugged on his flesh, flicking her eyes up to his to watch him as he reacted to her touch. She wondered if his cheeks were flushed as much beneath the mask as hers were a few moments before. She pulled him into her mouth, circling her tongue around his tip. Erik's resulting groan softened as she drew him in deeper, working his length with her hand.

"Christine," he cried for mercy. She drew him out with a plop, still stroking his length slowly. His breath was uncontrollably fast. "Let's come together this time," he said. "I'll touch you and you touch me. Tell me when you're coming so I can give in as well."

She smiled and sat up, tilting her head for a kiss. He bent down and placed his lips upon hers, tasting himself as his tongue graced her lower lip. Erik gently pushed her back against the bed, pulling his feet from his shoes then his pants and briefs. Christine sat up as he joined her back in the bed and reached for the lower button of his shirt. He stopped her, pulling her hand up and planting a soft kiss on her open palm.

"I guess I owe you it," he whispered into her skin.

He let her go and allowed her to continue her work, tugging his shirt off to reveal sinewy muscle. It was almost the same as his hands, she thought: skin wrapped tightly around his form. She smiled and laid back against her pillows. Erik sat beside her, slipping his hand over her mound, rubbing tantalizing circles around her clit. She took his cock into her hand, stroking it lovingly in the same rhythm he was stroking her, mimicking what it might have felt like had he been inside. Then he dipped his finger between her folds and into her, the obvious wetness of her filling the room with sounds that pleased his ears.

"Faster," she begged, and Erik complied. She stroked him faster as well, pulling down with every dip of his finger and up with every escape. "More," she begged. "Another finger, please."

He did just so, slipping his ring in with his middle, filling her with foreign pressure that she found so utterly pleasurable. She loved the way his touch made her sparkle and feel as if she was going to collapse entirely.

"Faster, harder, please," she begged in one complete breath.

"Come for me," Erik cried, his hand tiring from its abnormal position and consistent fast motions. He wasn't sure if he was going to last much longer himself. "Come, Christine."

"I'm... I'm going-" she tried speaking the words before she cried, shaking around his hand. He followed her with a distorted grunt, his own pleasure spilling into her hand.

Erik felt her muscle thrum against his fingers and slowly removed himself from her, his mind still clouded by the high of orgasm. Christine rolled over, her tongue darting out to remove his mess from her hand and the rest of his tip. He drew in a shaking breath realizing what she was doing, and brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting her as she did him.

She watched him with shimmering eyes as he pulled his fingers from his closed lips, and sat up to kiss him. They sat there for a short moment, foreheads pressed against one another, lungs sharing the same air as their breaths slowed. Erik kissed her once more and moved off the bed to collect his things.

"Please don't go," Christine begged.

Erik looked to her, seeing the deep need in the black pools of her eyes. "But I must," he argued.

"You can stay a little while longer, can't you? Until I fall asleep?"

His heart stammered at the beauty of the moment, her begging him to stay. No one had ever begged of him an extended stay. And she was so wonderful and lovely. He'd spend the whole night if he could. "If it is what you wish," he grinned, setting the pants he'd picked off the floor onto the edge of the bed.

Christine crawled under the covers with a smile as he joined her, pulling the covers over himself. She crept over to him, resting her cheek upon his chest and closing her eyes as he began stroking her hair.

"Do you know any Swedish lullabies?" Christine asked, carefully running her hand over his abdomen.

"I know several languages, but Swedish is not one of them," Erik answered. "But if you'd like to hear any lullabies in French or Iranian, I have plenty in stock."

"I could teach you a few if you'd like."

Erik did not reply for a moment. "Would it make you happy?"

Christine shrugged slightly. "Maybe if you could play them for me one day."

"Then sing one for me."

Christine drew in a breath before she let out, singing one of her favorite lullabies from her childhood:

Den dära stugan vid ån är Hagen,

där gamle Anders i Hagen bor

Erik listened to her, closing his eyes and focusing on her voice. He didn't know what he was asking when he'd asked her to sing. He didn't know she had such a voice. He probably shouldn't have asked it, he realized. Now he was sure he was not going to be able to sleep until he finished another song.

"Why do all lullabies sound so melancholic?" Erik asked after her voice died.

Christine shrugged, nuzzling her face into him. "I'm not quite sure."

He began humming the melody of the song, his fingers running through her curls as she drifted off. He waited a while before slipping out from underneath her, dressing quietly. He turned off her lamp and slipped his laptop back into his backpack.

"Not going to kiss me goodnight?" Christine drawled as he lifted her window.

Erik turned with a small grin. "I was hoping not to disturb your sleep." He walked towards her bedside, leaning over to plant a kiss onto her forehead. As he lifted away, she caught his chin briefly with her own lips.

"I'll see you next week?" she asked through a flutter of tired lashes.

"If I can hold myself back from wishing to see you." Christine smiled as he walked back towards the window. "Sleep well, Christine."

With a close of her window, she plopped her head back down on her pillow, settling back easily into sleep.