Thank you for the suggestions reviewers. Enjoy this one. It's long and it really earns the full adult 'M' rating toward the end, so be warned if you're not old enough for such things. LITS
Ch 10 – Barn Burning:
Erik's new mentoring role was vastly different from the previous endeavor with his opera diva. For one thing, no singing was involved.
Every day after I finished up with the breakfast dishes, I would join Erik in the music room where we worked endlessly on my French, followed by mundane nineteenth-century rules and social graces, proper greetings, and how a Victorian lady should conduct herself in mixed company.
Erik complimented me on my impeccable table manners and knowledge of settings, wines and so forth. He seemed pleased at how quickly I grasped current customs of behavior when attending the preforming arts.
My modern understanding of his mother language had to be edited according to 1876 standards. I struggled remembering to offer a dainty hand when meeting members of the opposite sex, or a curtsey for people of prominence.
I preferred a firm handshake to all of that nonsense. "I'm terribly sorry Erik, but every time I curtsey, I feel silly," I apologized to my tutor..
"Social conventions are often frivolous, Gabrielle; however, if your goal is to fit into our society, mastering our customs in imperative," he kindly reminded me.
"I know, I know," I sighed and shook my head. "Try as you might you'll never be able to fully re-program, or should I say eradicate, all of my quirky personality Erik. "
He studied me for a moment before answering. "Gabrielle, I would never wish to destroy your uniquely personality, it is what makes you delightfully different from most of the other women I have observed. It is my experience that the better you are at mimicking the idiosyncrasies of nineteenth-century French society, the better you will be at fooling them. That dear girl is our goal."
"Ah ha, the old knowledge is power game, sweet—I mean excellent, I like that."
"Good, then we are in agreement."
Our daily sessions continued through December. Erik would instruct, I the dutiful student, listened and learned.
Comparing the social disparities of the his century to the mine was one of Erik's favorite amusements. He might, for example, be reminding me that a woman did not venture out at night un-chaperoned, lest she open herself up to being branded as loose or worse, get herself assaulted.
"Sure," I agreed, "Women must be vigilant at all times, but what do you do if you can't find anyone to go with you—I mean, a lady can't be expected stay home all the time?"
"That's just the way things are Gabrielle," he said with a shrug.
"Well things need to change. Look at your daring authoress Madame George Sand, a woman who goes where she pleases and wears pants. Sand was married, divorced and earns her own money writing novels. She lives with her longtime male lover now, so you can't stereotype her as being a 'he-she' as you people are fond of saying," I countered with conviction.
"True enough. I've always admired the woman's bravado. Madame Sand constantly astounds Parisians with her guileless study of women's sexuality and her ardent call for a women's freedom to find emotional and sexual satisfaction, something unheard of in post revolutionary France. The nobles outrage on about how a woman with money and prestige is a barbaric notion. They feel she shames them somehow," he snickered wickedly.
"But as far as wearing pants to the Opera as she is want to do, well, I much prefer a women in a gown when attending elegant events," he added.
I couldn't argue with his preference for formal dress at the arts. I myself dug a man in a tux. Erik himself was a superb example of a magnificently dressed gentleman.
"Couture styles come and go, thank god these constraining corsets are on the way out, but limiting someone's rights as a human being based solely on their sex is criminal Erik."
He shifted in his chair, crossing one leg over the other thigh and leaned toward me.
"There are some things a woman simple cannot do as well as a man. It would be irrational to disagree with me Gabrielle."
I felt my defenses rise. "Are you inferring that it is irrational for a woman to have the right to vote in her country's elections, or to venture into public whenever she pleases without raising eyebrows? Does a woman not have the right to wear whatever she chooses, how about the right to desire a career before settling down into marriage and motherhood? Then there is the sex thing. I recall from my history of women's studies class in college that your women loathe sex. Wives dutifully spread their legs and counted the cracks on the ceiling whenever their husbands needed to scratch an itch. A proper lady wasn't expected to enjoy the act; engaging in more feminine occupations, you know, having hordes of children, homemaking, and planning social events gained her rewards. This was one theory as to why wealthier men kept mistresses. They had to get their freak on somewhere. It was boring at home!" Temporarily through with my righteous ranting I paused for his rebuttal.
Erik appeared amused by my upsurge. "I assume 'freak-on' is another colorful twenty-first century euphemism, Gabrielle?"
I disregarded his comment. "I mean, it's one thing to rut like a boar with any one who comes along and strikes your fancy, but to spend a married lifetime in sexual frustration, it's just plain sad. Erik, you don't agree with this century's idiotic precepts do you?"
"There you go again, asking un-lady like questions Gabrielle," he chuckled.
My eyes narrowed with displeasure.
He uncrossed his legs and sat back smiling. "You should know that I don't care what you ask me, other than prying into my past, but in matters of societal norms, I care not. You and I are not conventional people regardless of what time period we hale from."
His calm reserve unnerved me. I sensed something more animal lurked beneath his fine European silk and wool.
"So to answer to your question dear, no, I do not believe that women are incapable of enjoying their bodies. The idea that they cannot is another form of oppressing those different from the ruling masses. In this way, I sympathize with thee fairer sex."
"An astute observation, Monsieur."
"Observation is my modus vivendi. I have witnessed scores of trysts in the dark halls of theatres and the alleys of Paris. The women appeared to be quite involved in the act. Should you peruse my library, you'd find countless books on the art of erotica; and yes, I have read every one. The precepts of the passionless married woman belong to the feeble minds of lazy misogynistic men."
I was still stuck on the "books on erotica" section of his speech; my mind had wandered off into dangerous territory. The dark and damaged Monsieur DuPuis became more appealing to me with his every word.
"My experience in pleasures of the flesh is less than admirable, however, should I ever be blessed with a wife, I would cherish her, love her and please her to the best of my manly ability. Customs be dammed."
"That's very sensitive of you, Erik," I said, surprised by the forbiddingly elegant man's discernment of heterogeneous relations.
He gazed at me curiously. "You are engaged, correct?" .
Uncomfortable with his inquiry, I adjusted my position on the chaise and curled my legs beneath me.
"Was."
Silence and a raised eyebrow--did he want the sordid details?
"Tony and I worked together on the television show I told you about. He was a photo- journalist, that is, he recorded everything I did on a live camera. We became friends, dated or courted as you say, and fell in love. The next natural step was to move in together, couples in my time do that a lot; it's sort of a try-before-you-buy plan."
Erik frowned and leaned forward to rest his chin on his knuckles.
"I know, not always wise. We lived together for two years before I discovered his undercover activities. My easy going, urbane fiancé was boinking other women on the side, sometimes in our bed. I was completely shattered. I didn't want to believe that the man I had chosen to love could betray me so horribly by sleeping with other women while he was promised to me."
"Bastard," Erik spat.
"For sure. I left his sorry ass and spent the next year wandering around Chicago in a daze of disillusionment. I wondered what I had done to drive him into the arms of other women. I dated around, but found that game mind-numbing. When Tony came crawling back on his belly like a sorry reptile a year later begging for forgiveness, I took him back."
Erik's sat back up and stared at me with startled surprise.
"Hey," I rationalized, "Tony apologized profusely, saying how wrong he was and that he would never, ever do such a self-centered depraved thing again. He simply could not live without me and wouldn't I please take him back, give him a second chance?"
"And so you did," Erik finished the story for me.
"So I did. I loved him. . . wanted to believe in him. So we got engaged over Christmas. All seemed well in the house of love until this last trip to New York. He asked me to stash his mobile phone in my purse during the performance of 'Sweet Charity'. When I was in the ladies room during intermission, I checked for calls from the Television station and saw a familiar number on the phone's display. It belonged to a woman he'd had an affair with. Yeah, I listened to the message. 'Hi there sweetie, it's Jamie, surprise; I'm in New York this weekend too. Let's hook up when your little fiancé goes for her spa appointment tomorrow. Kisses' "Jokes on him, I still have his stupid phone. I'll bet he's going nutso looking for it!"
I had entered into a trance as my mind ferried back to that night not too long ago in New York City when everything fell apart.
"That was strike one. When I was unpacking his things after you brought me here, I found condoms, I think you call them French letters. Problem is, we don't use them. Strike two. Strike three was really his first one. He just wouldn't commit to a wedding date. When I pressed him, Tony would get up all in my grill, ah, I mean face—see Erik, I'm catching myself—and tell me to stop pressuring him. After a year, I don't think my question was unreasonable. Do you?"
I met Erik's eyes. I wasn't sure if I saw compassion or pity in them.
"You must think me pitifully foolhardy, huh?"
"Foolhardy, you? Never, dear lady. Pity for a broken heart? Perhaps in my case—I made a lot of rash, egotistical mistakes, but you Gabrielle sound like an honorable lady."
Erik's tone turned black as he continued. "Why must some handle the hearts of others as though they were toys for their amusement to be played with and discarded on a whim?"
A bottomless melancholy took hold of him and I wondered what sword of Damocles had pierced his heart.
In a blink, his attention snapped back to me."That Tony fellow is a callow fool for his careless treatment of you,Gabrielle." He glanced at my hand. "I have observed you no longer wear your engagement ring as you did when I first found you."
I lifted my hand in front of me face as if I hadn't noticed.
"There's no point in wearing it. Not only is Tony over one hundred years away, I am over him . . . for good. It is time to reclaim my dignity and move on," I sighed, smiling halfheartedly.
Erik reclined his head feigning interest in the scroll work on the ceiling."If only I had your wisdom and tenacity for moving forward quickly, than perhaps my life would be different. I too have suffered a heart so badly broken, that the thought of putting that aging muscle through such arduous paces again is simply not an option. Of course I needn't worry, there are not many women vying for this disfigured Don Juan's affections," he laughed bitterly.
My heart broke for him. This Christine must have really done a number on the man.
"Then it is their loss Monsieur. I for one like you very much in spite of your surly nature. You're actually kind, talented beyond comprehension, intelligent, and I adore your dry wit. You're attractive too whether you want to believe it or not," I replied with tenderness.
"Requirements for attractiveness in your century must have altered greatly from mine Mademoiselle, if you think me handsome," Erik scoffed gruffly.
"Oh stop being so self effacing," I scolded..
The clenching and unclenching of his hands told me it was time to change the subject.
"Hey, it's December twenty-first. The Roux's are going to Niece for the holidays to stay with their eldest son and his family. How do you spend Christmas Erik?"
"I don't," he retorted tersely.
"But why not, it's the most wonderful time of the year!"
"Remember Gabrielle, no prying into Erik's past," he warned.
"I'm not prying," I pouted. "It's just odd for someone not to decorate for the holidays and celebrate in some small way. In our home Christmas was for more than simply honoring the nativity, it was an event. In the Thomassen family we cooked, baked, ate, sang, bought, wrapped, decorated, visited and opened presents until we couldn't wiggle. I loved the colors and smells, sights and sounds of Christmas. I really loved presents, not necessarily getting them, but giving them. The thrill of the hunt to find some little treasure a friend or loved one would be thrilled to receive was my all time favorite activity. Don't you enjoy presents Erik?"
"A present?" He uttered a bitter snort. "Never. Well, I suppose the fruit baskets and fine sheet paper I receive from the Roux's and my partner, Eugene, are the first and only gifts I have ever received. Did I enjoy the custom? I was appropriately appreciative, but the incidence made me uncomfortable."
Erik leaned forward; his impassive expression transformed in to one that was hard and unreadable.
"My relatives never saw fit to throw away presents on the devil's child. The only thing I ever received was a good backhand, a cursing or a new mask for my revolting juvenile visage. December 25th is just a number on a calendar, Gabrielle," Erik explained bitterly.
"I hate Christmas."
I uncurled my feet from under me, and fell back into the chaise. "Whoa, you win the evil parent contest," I sighed softly.
"I really should hate it too. It was the day my mother chose to abandon her domestic domain. I was ten and Michael was eight when she announced that she had to go to the convenience store for some milk—I think she was making mashed potatoes. Mom never returned. Dad tried to pass it off, saying that her sister, our aunt Marjorie, was ill and needed Mom's help. I saw right through his ruse, but kept it on the down-low to spare my little brother. He still believed in Santa Clause. I can just imagine telling him, 'sorry kiddo, Santa brought you some cool toys but he took your mom' And she wasn't even depressed that day!"
"Perhaps she had found one of your father's time-tears and is somewhere traveling in time herself. Did your father consider such an occurrence?" Erik offered.
"Yeah—right. A letter with no return address came three weeks later. Dad wouldn't let me read it. He only told me that mom needed a rest; she was in California with a friend and would be home eventually."
"my father raised it best he could considering his torturous work schedule—a mad scientists' work is never done you know. Neither one of his children turned out to be axe murderers or Amway salespeople; by the way, that's really not a good thing. Michael manages a music store in downtown Chicago and I'm a 'pseudo celebrity' or was. I guess I'm MOI now. Gee, I wonder if Tony is still looking for me? Oh who gives a rat's patootie," I declared self-protectively.
Erik rose and walked to one of the library's massive windows and pushed aside a heavy velvet panel. The sun streamed in across the richly hued Persian rug.
"Monsieur Roux is correct, this is an unusually warm winter for France. Have no fear, Mother Nature will punish the flora and fauna soon enough," he observed with a small laugh.
"I've an idea Gabrielle; I believe we could ride comfortably today if we dress warmly. Horses do prefer a chilly day. The forest interests me when her trees are barren. I find beauty in their starkness. Would that please you Gabrielle? "
"Yes, brilliant suggestion!"
"Go quickly, dress. I'll meet you at the stables in fifteen minutes, hurry," he urged.
"Oui Monsieur, I curtseyed prettily and ran to my room to dig up some warm shirts, my button fly jeans, wool cloak, scarf and gloves."
- o -
Forty-one degrees, that's what the immense mercury thermometer on the kitchen stoop said, invigorating conditions for horseback ridding. I hurried toward the stables humming and skipping along the way.
Erik had already tacked up Anjalia and Dante, and was leading them out of the barn.
"Hey, thanks for doing that, I really don't mind lending a hand, you know."
"It is no bother. Here, Anjalia is ready for you," he said, handing over the reins. The Arabian mare nudged my shoulder expecting her usual treat from me. I scratched the mare on her forehead and drew the bit of sweet biscuit from my cloak. "Here you go ya scrounge," I said affectionately."
Okay, Dante, here's a goodie for you too. The magnificent black stallion was craning his neck towards me for his share.
"Gabrielle, these animals are finely disciplines beasts, you'll spoil them doing that," Erik scolded.
"A little spoiling does a body good. Why do you think you get dessert every night whether you request it or not? You always eat it too, " I reminded him.
He shot me a look of mock disapproval.
We mounted up and headed into the small paddock and out into a large field that stretched across three acres of Erik's land before it met with the forest. Living in nineteenth century France inspired me to rename the dense woods with a more fitting label for land belonging to the dark lord of DuPuis manor. I called it "Erik's forest of enchantment."
At first Erik led the way, but as we trotted deeper into the open meadow, it seemed silly for us not to ride in tandem.
The sky was a brilliant winter blue and the sun warmed us considerably. If not for the brown brittle grass and barren trees, the day would have made for a perfect springtime afternoon.
I breathed deeply savoring the fresh air. "It is so amazingly clean here. I know I am truly in another dimension of time when automobile exhaust, power lines and the sonic boom of jet planes aren't assaulting my senses. Ridding this beautiful mare with the breeze in my hair, I feel truly, blissfully."
"It is only in the solitude of my estate where I am able to indulge in what I once only imagined. I do not relish walking among the public in the daylight hours. This is the only place I dare expose myself to the sun."
"Why not Erik," I asked, naively.
"Must you ask?" My fine fellow Parisians are either exposed to my mask or worse yet, my handsome face. Too many curious stares and cruel comments for my taste, darling."
"I'm sorry Erik, I'm not used to people living in near exile because a few idiots can't deal with what they have no business prying into in the first place. It sucks that you feel you must hide."
I glanced at his face noting the soft white mask covering the right side. Whatever disfigurement the it concealed was costing Erik unimaginable sacrifice.
His mood was lighter than usual today, so I decided to dance delicately upon a curious aspect of his past.
"Now when I met you," I began, "We were there in the fifth cellar of the Paris Opera House, right?"
He nodded.
"I remember how there was an apartment of sorts. Did someone actually live there at one time?"
I turned in the saddle toward Erik and held my breath. I noticed the muscles in his jaw flexing and his eyes had changed a murky green.
"I am a composer, as you know Gabrielle and in my younger days I handled some artistic affairs at the opera. I found that residing below the catacombs of the facility provided not only the perfect hideout for a societal reject like me, but it also allowed me close proximity to the object of my inspiration. Simply put, I wrote better music being near my artistic domain."
"There was an unfortunate fire at the Opera House several years ago and I was forced to abandon my post for my current, provincial home. Every now and then when I cannot locate a precious piece of a composition, I return to the cellar and search for it there."
A convincingly crafted half-truth Erik, I smiled to myself.
"Perhaps it was kismet that I returned on the day of your untimely arrival, Gabrielle. I shudder to imagine what would have come of you had I not been there to assist you."
"Bad stuff I'm sure. Honestly Erik, I don't think there is a way for me to fully express my gratitude for your kindness. You come off as a dark, foreboding lord, bereft of pleasant emotion. But I suspect there is another Erik hidden below the scar tissue of your life."
I expected my prodding had gone too far, but Erik only raised his eyebrow at me and said, "You think too much Gabrielle."
He considered the sun, noticing it's fast decent toward the horizon. "We should return, lest we get chilled in the darkness." He urged Dante forward into a fast gallop towards the stables.
Not to be outdone by a man, I moved Anjalia into service, she was small and swift and I weighed considerable less than Erik. Catching them was easy..
Feeling frisky, I uttered the redneck "yee-haw" war hoop and urged the mare into a fierce gallop. We breezed past Erik and his mount, closing in rapidly on the stables.
Peeking over my shoulder, I saw Erik move into action, a bewildered frown on his face, probably thinking, what is that crazy American doing now?
Erik was still a few lengths behind when we reached the paddock I slowed Anjalia down to a trot so she could cool down.
"Damn it Gabrielle," he yelled, pulling up beside me "You could have been injured ridding so recklessly!"
He was pissed off, yet I couldn't help but laugh.
"Erik, you need not worry, I'm an excellent rider, I was in complete control of the mare, why do you think I wear jeans under my cloak when I ride? Anyway, you should have seen your face when I took off like a shot. Weren't expecting to be our ridden by a woman were you Monsieur?"
His scowl increased. "You are a maddening woman!" He dismounted and led Dante away in silence.
He'll get over it--eventually, I reasoned as I removed the tack from Anjalia. She pawed at the ground and snorted, anxious to get back to munching oats. I lead her to her stall and gave her a solid pat on the neck. Thanks girl, you rocked.
The adrenalin rush I 'd gotten from the sprint was ebbing. A hot bath and a glass of wine sounded like an excellent idea. I carried the tack to the room where it was stored, stepping around a large pile of straw heaped in the corner. The tack hooks, obviously hung my tall people, required I use a bucket to stand on. Not seeing one in the stall, I tried to jump and toss the bridle at one of the large hooks.
"Damn it," I cursed, missing twice.
Suddenly, an arm appeared over my left shoulder, effortlessly plucking the bridle from my hand and placing it on a hook. "Is this the object of your scorn my dear?"
Erik, I hadn't heard him enter the stall. I spun around so quickly that I lost my footing and fell into the roughly paneled wall, barely suppressing a scream.
He actually had the gall to laugh at me. Erik caught my fall with his left hand and placed his right hand on the wall above my head.
Ours eyes locked.
"My apologies Gabrielle, my intent was to assist you, not frighten you."
"Then why do you lurk about so, honestly, you scared the poodlie out of me, DuPuis!"
I'm not certain if it was the smile on his lips or the devilish gleam in his jade eyes that unnerved me most, but both of those things, combined with the smell of cedar, fresh hay, and body heat caused a chemical reaction somewhere in my cerebellum.
I licked my lips. "Erik I, uh, need to brush Anjl. . .my words were swallowed up by the pressure of a Erik's lips.
One kiss from this man and all logic took the bus to Neverland. I succumbed to him way too easily, wrapping my arms around his neck and allowing his tongue to flick at my lips and enter my mouth for a leisurely exploration. As the kisses became deeper and more frantic, I felt a familiar warm tingle awaken below my belly.
We were two lonely people desperate for connection. I broke contact long enough lay a trail of kisses from his left ear down his neck to the top of his starched collar.
This elicited an animalistic sound to rise from Erik's throat. He leaned into me and pushed my body against the wall.
"Gabrielle," he sighed roughly as I moved back to his delightful lips. As we consumed each other like starving children, he slid his groin against me.
This time I moaned. Erik was rock hard.
He pushed me into the mound of clean straw and, taking my face in his hands, looked at me. "Gabrielle, you are extraordinary, I've longed to taste you from the first week you came to live at my manor."
That voice, those gently hands, good-bye brains. All I could do was utter his name breathlessly. He took this as a silent invitation to lavish attention on my neck, mirroring the same motions that I had performed on him.
Urgent and somewhat rough, Erik slathered his hands over my body, feeling, squeezing and pulling at my clothes. His affections sent exquisite chills shuddering through me to my core. Something inside of me came undone. We were making out like I hadn't done since High School. Our kisses were hot, deep and sloppy.
I beg an to writhe against Erik and he responded by grinding his pelvis into mine. Our tongues danced to some secret, erotic rhythm. Unsure of where to rest his hands, he placed them first on my back, and then to my sides before finally lingering at the hem of my sweater. Eventually his slender fingers crept up to touch the row of buttons.
I knew from experience that this was a males prelude to wonderland.
When he finished navigating the five tiny pearl buttons, he pushed aside the material and lifted his lips from mine. He gawked slack jawed at the sight of my erect nipples staining against the sheer fabric of my sheer bra, absorbing every detail.
I arched my back, an invitation for touch. His left hand shook as he softly stroked a nipple. The contact sent a delectable ripple downward through me. I reached up to unhook the bra's small clasp, releasing my breasts from their constraints.
Erik showed his appreciation by cupping both breasts in his hands, massaging and squeezing them lightly as if he was unsure of what exactly he should do with them. "Dieu D'Oh," he muttered, mesmerized by his find.
"Gabrielle, you are exceptionally lovely," he sighed heavily. His eyes rose to meet mine. They were the color of tornadic storm clouds.
"Don't stop touching me Erik, I begged." He obliged by running the palm of his hand over my nipples in a slow, circular motion. It was maddening, my insides were melting.
Our feverish explorations intensified as we writhed in the straw, existing in a vacuum devoid of time and reason. Only sensation and desire remained.
My hand found it's way to Erik's crotch. Because touching a man for the first time made me shy, I hesitated, but then figured what the hell, it's probably been a while since he's been touched there by someone other than himself. Consider it a pleasant public service. I drew my index finger along his cloth covered cock where his glans should be.
This earned me a nip on my right nipple. "Vixen, he growled."
I rubbed him harder enjoying his appreciative gasps and moans. At the outline of his tip, a wet circle appeared. Monsieur DuPuis's body was preparing for action.
Erik locked his lips on mine and we resumed our passionate dance.
God, I wanted him.
Masculine hands found their way to the fly of my jeans. If I'd thought Erik wouldn't know how to navigate a pair of button flys, I was mistaken. He swiftly made haste of three brass buttons, allowing just enough space for him to wriggle his hand down between the material of my jeans and underwear. Fumbling around for some seconds, I felt his finger pause at the place that I knew must be drenched. He grunted and began sliding his fingers frantically over the spot.
"Um, oh, oh, Erik," I whimpered pushing up against his hand like a kitten begging to be pet..
Two long fingers found a leg opening and slipped under the fabric for further exploration.
I watched his face flash with wonder when he discovered the sensitive, wet flesh between my legs. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, moaning deeply upon contact.
"Yes, Erik, touch me, yes; I need it so badly. Sink those lovely long of yours fingers into me as far as you can, please, before I lose my mind!" I cried, driving him forward in his quest.
Erik felt around, fondling my sex until he parted my lips and plunged his fingers into my slick core. I moved my hips up and down for him, demonstrating what I liked.
We continued our exquisite agony for a few more minutes before he lifted my hand from the front of his trousers. The move perplexed me until I saw him ripping at the buttons of the wool ridding pants. "I must have you," he declared with a feral growl, reaching into his fly for his cock..
He meant to have me right there in the barn in the straw.
And oh how I wanted him to have me. I couldn't allow it to happen. If we gave into our base passions, how would our relationship change? Men can be strange about sex. Once they've made their score, they often have second thoughts about you, becoming elusive, distant creatures.
Erik was my only lifeline right now. If I surrendered to passion, would I have to put out in order to stay at the manor? Would he grow distant or feel guilty and toss me out? I was torturing myself in so many ways right now.
"Erik…no," I pushed his hand away and stood up abruptly. I shook the straw from my hair and threw the heavy cloak back over my shoulders.
"I'm sorry, I just can't." I fled from the barn leaving Erik sitting in the stall, looking disheveled and stunned.
- ()-
Will Erik ever get some lovin? You'll have to continue reading to find out.
To my readers: Please take the time to send me a short review.
-Leesainthesky