Hi lovies. I am sad to be near the end. This chapter could have gone a dozen ways, but I had to finish it before next year. I hope you are well pleased.
-Leesainthesky
99 Gabrielle, the Avenger
Erik leered at me, he couldn't help it. A man with his raging passions would not be reined in indefinitely.
On the way to the bed, he paused and moved young Erik's basket from the floor to a nearby sideboard. "There," he said, adjusting the blankets around his son, "I feel safer knowing he is at eye level with us, while we are not so obvious to him."
"The little guy can barely make out shapes, sweetheart. Genius child or not, I doubt he can know what his parents are up to," I reasoned trying not to laugh at Erik's earnest concern. Here was this virile Frenchman, a progressive, nineteenth-century artist and the former Phantom of the Opera, worried that a brief round of lovemaking might offend our infant son. His modesty was both endearing and comic.
"Ah—but of course, my logical wife, the boy is but an infant," he said raking a hand through his hair. Yet he still faced the basket backwards, away from us.
The ferocious gleam returned to his eyes as sauntered to the bed. "You'd best be prepared to pleasure your husband, woman."
"Suppose I don't deliver to your satisfaction, Monsieur? What then?" I purred, batting my eyelashes.
"Then I will insist you indulge me until I am properly satiated."
"Then I'd be wise to apply myself to the deed at hand, wouldn't I."
"Indeed, you would."
Our little passion play continued while Erik mounted the bed and settled at my feet. With knees apart, he devoured my nakedness as I devoured his. I noted how full and low his balls hung, a consequence of abstinence, and appreciated the way his gorgeous sex jutted toward me as if it were a diving rod pointing at a find.
I struck my demure temptress pose. "Please, kind husband, be gentle in your methods, as it's been a while since I've had a good romp. Why, I'm nearly a virgin again," I purred.
"How fortunate for me," he replied, holding me in the spell of his jade eyes, advancing across the landscape of the bed with a sly smile on his lips. "Should you check the drawer on your right, you'll find a tin of French letters and some fine oil."
"Oh?" I chuckled softly and opened the drawer. Yep, there sat a tin of sheepskin sheathes and a shimmering vial of oil that I assumed Erik had concocted himself.
"Monsieur DuPuis, you are the consummate boy scout."
"Pardon moi, what is this 'boy scout' you speak of?" His crinkled brow challenging my odd reference.
"It means that you are prepared for anything."
"Proper planning prevents poor performance … and untimely children," he warned, waggling a finger at me. "Now, if you would, my sweet, allow me to dispense a bit of the oil into the warmer for you."
When I turned to retrieve the oil from the drawer, I noticed a copper diffuser, much like the type used to disperse fragrances, sitting on the table top.
A man who thinks of my comfort in addition to his own carnal needs? Pinch me, I mused silently.
"Oh, I nearly forgot, there is a bottle of orange blossom honey from the pantry as well," he added.
I lifted my brows at him and snorted. "Honey, Erik? What, are we baking something?"
"It is for satiating my sweet tooth."
"Your sweet tooth—that's what you want satiated?"
Erik brandished a roguish half smile, lowered his lashes briefly, then blinked back up at me. His eyes were smoldering slits and the intensity of his gaze was unnerving.
Crawling over me, he uncorked the vial of oil and poured a generous amount of the mixture into the diffuser's well, retrieved a matchbox from the drawer and lit the candle beneath it. Erik had our humble fantasy abode wired with costly new electricity, but a natural flame was still his preferred mode of illumination. Several candles sat near the diffuser, which he lit before clicking off the bedside lamp.
"Now, my delectable bonbon, how would you prefer to be devoured?"
"How about putting that sexy mouth of yours to work?" I suggested with a husky laugh.
Erik reclined next to me and twiddled with a strand of my hair. "What I truly want, is to tuck your legs behind my ears and dive into your velvety tunnel, but I also want to do this—"
He leaned in and kissed me all over; on my eyelids, my nose, my cheeks and my ears; kissing like he wanted to feast on me.
"Soft, delicious little wife," he crooned against my shoulder, giving me a delightful case of the shivers. When my hand dropped to touch his cock, he flinched and nipped me.
"Yikes Erik, did I hurt you?" I asked, rising off the pillows.
"Hardly," he replied, his voice dense with lust. The trail of kisses resumed down the swell of my breast to the tender skin of my lower belly, where Erik's attentions struck a nerve.
"Uhmn," I muttered unintelligibly, wriggling beneath the ecstasy of his mouth.
Erik rose up on his knees and grinned at me wickedly. "If that makes you crazy, then what will this do?" he said, opening the pot of honey, drizzling a thin stream of it over my sex and swirling his tongue around the delicate folds.
"Merde, Erik, I love how you touch me without plowing right in and scaring the hell out of my most personal and exposed little nub. You're a—damn—sexual sorcerer," I uttered between gasps.
He merely shrugged and poured a pool of the sticky nectar into my center, dipping his tongue in and out while lightly stimulating my clit with his fingertip. The sensation was too lovely. In an instant, I had my crotch crushed into his face.
"Oh, like that, do you?" Erik intoned with a self-satisfied chuckle and resumed eating the honey. Eventually I touched his face, urging him to stop.
He looked up at me, grinning broadly, his chin drenched with my juice. "Are you prepared to make a go at our favorite pastime, my love?"
"Momentarily."
"More of this then?" he said with a flick of his tongue.
"Not quite."
"What then?" He was becoming slightly agitated with my cat-and-mouse game. His confusion abated quickly when I ordered him to lay back and decorated his cock with a dollop of honey.
"I wish to dine on my favorite dish; Erik en mile," I said, emitting sounds of pleasure as I went down on him, licking as if he was a gooey "Sugar Daddy" sucker.
"Enough, Gabrielle," he cried, grabbing my wrists.
I peeked up to see his flushed, sweaty face. He wanted desperately to come.
"Let's do it," I whispered.
Erik moved with the energy of a man half his age, retrieving a French letter from the tin. "Allow me, Monsieur," I said offering my hand before he had a chance to adorn himself.
He handed me the sheath and I rolled the circle over his mushroom-shaped tip as I'd done many, many times before, marveling at its considerable girth. Though long and lean in accordance with the rest of Erik's body, it was the head of his penis that gave me that excruciating sensation of pleasure bordering on pain. Simply thinking about the way it rubbed in all the right spots was exquisite torture. I shuddered and prayed that I had healed up enough to stand the friction.
"I should like you to lubricate me with a bit of the warm oil, Gabrielle." He punctuated his request with a sweet kiss to my lips and reached for a tiny pair of tongs for handling the diffuser's heated bowl. With a quick touch to the oil's surface Erik deemed the temperature "perfect."
"Cup your hand, darling," he said, pouring a silver-dollar sized quantity of the oil into my palm.
I played with the slippery, warm liquid, rubbing it between my fingers. "This is nice, Erik, what's in it?"
"Glycerin, a drop of honey, paraffin and a touch of cinnamon; not unlike the ingredients of the intimate elixir you brought with you when you arrived here."
"Oh," was all I said. I'd forgotten how he enjoyed reading the labels of my twenty-first century products. "KY" had nothing on Erik DuPuis. I ignored his blatant admission of snooping and the blush creeping across my cheeks, and slathered the oil up and down his rigid cock.
"You are a kind and thoughtful wife, now—onto your back and spread your legs, if you please."
"Oui, Monsieur," I laughed, relaxing into the brightly colored bed pillows.
I crooked a finger at him. "Come here and ravish me like a proper Frenchman should,before the kid wakes up and wants his nappies changed."
He wrinkled his nose in mock disgust, "Brilliant foreplay, Gabrielle."
I bent my knee and slid my big toe across his length and he sprang on me with masterful felinity. Positioning his hips over mine, he leaned one hand against my leg and held his engorged cock with the other, leading it to the mouth of my sex.
"I shall make my way slowly. Do tell me if I hurt you," he said, his face etched with a mélange of desire and concern.
"Don't worry, it's all good, Erik," I promised. He was the sort of man who would fret about my discomfort to the point flaccidity.
"You hot, sweet, sticky thing," he moaned low when I fingered my lips, parting them for his entrance.
Penetration brought about that splendid feeling of being opened up, of being taken. Relieved to feel no discomfort, I sighed and let my body suck him up.
Erik filled me slowly, taking care as though I was constructed from spun sugar.
"Feel good?" I asked.
"Ungodly so," he said through gritted teeth.
"I was afraid it might feel different—not as good as you remembered." I feared that giving birth had changed me on the inside.
"If you felt any better I would implode and cease to exist, Gabrielle."
"Want more?"
"You know I do." His laugh was dark, feral.
I undulated upward against him with slow, circular motions.
Erik stopped cold, momentarily paralyzed with desire. "Gabrielle, darling, please, you must stop immediately, lest I erupt into you like a randy school-boy."
"Sure thing, sweetheart." Normally I wouldn't mind terribly if Erik shot off before me, but today, I too wanted my goodies."
"The convulsions from that hot little tunnel of yours, it threatens to undo me," he gulped, rising up on his hands, breathing so hard a strand of dark brown hair flopped over his right eye.
"Count to ten, Erik and breathe slowly," I advised.
"Make it twenty—at least."
After nearly one minute of closing his eyes and working to slow his fevered pulse, Erik re-entered my pleasure-realm, pumping in and out of me with long, unhurried strokes.
I peered up into his eyes, my body squeezing involuntarily around him. "I want to feel you in my throat," I said, my voice a hungry rasp, and wrapped my ankles around his neck.
"Merde, Gabrielle," he hissed, quickening the pace.
What we held back in verbal expression we made up for in the physical. Glued to Erik, I raised my bottom off of the bed and matched him thrust for thrust, breath for breath.
Sweat from his brow scattered over me when he tossed his head from side to side, grunting and rocking, panting and fucking. And oh, how I loved it.
My powerful, sensual husband, loving me as no other man ever had—ever could. The tension surfaced and grew steadily as we strove together for the sweet rapture of orgasm. When it arrived, I opened my mouth and shut my eyes.
My release broke like a summer tide, languid and rhythmic, washing over me continuously until it ebbed and I lay gasping and satisfied upon Erik's shores.
A new knot of tension swelled within me. Erik was reaching his breaking point. He stared into my eyes and breathed harshly through clenched teeth. What looked like anger was a struggle to keep from crying out and waking the baby.
"Ma belle putain, me baisent," he whispered gruffly, his dirty French barely intelligible through quivering lips.
"Baisez-moi dur," I commanded.
When Erik came, his entire body quaked from the force. I actually felt the heat and saw the searing blue of his aura.
"Oh, Erik." I dropped my legs, clasping them around his waist, and drew him to me, smoothing back the hair from his face. The loudest sound in the room was that of our beating hearts. The entire encounter had cost us only thirty-five minutes.
"Dear god, how I missed that," he said, rousing from his orgasm-infused stupor to kiss my nose.
I chuckled and tweaked his chin. "Yes, but you survived to come another day, one of many, many more orgasms. Nice mouth by the way," I teased.
"Moi, Madame? Are you not the one who replied in kind with equal vulgarity? Really, Gabrielle, are gentlewomen supposed to want their husbands to 'fuck them harder'?" he said in gruff English.
"Oh, you know you loved it."
"I did."
Erik rose on one elbow. "Well, I suppose we ought to see to our guests. Although, I'd much rather remain here and take you as many times as you can stand."
"I concur, but we'd have an angry mob on our hands if we chose not to surface for the festivities. Our friends want to meet the baby even more than they want to celebrate us, I'm afraid."
"How about it, Gabrielle, can we not fit in one more round—"
A tiny "wha" arose from the corner of the room where young Erik's basket sat.
"Guess who?" I said, rolling Erik off of me so I could tend to our son.
"What is it, baby boy?" I asked the wailing infant. "Ah, you're wet aren't you, sweetie?" I retrieved the spare diaper from the bottom of his basket.
"Erik, please wet a cloth from the basin for me?" I asked.
"Certainly, dear," he said. Rising from the bed, he smoothed back his hair the best he could, and lumbered over to the corner of the room, swished a blue hand towel into the water basin, wrung it out and brought it to me, watching as I changed the boy.
"There, all dry and happy aren't we?" I trilled, drawing the lightweight gown over his tiny body. He rewarded me with a toothless grin and pumped his fists and feet. I handed him over to his father while I went to wash up and re-dress.
When I returned to the bedroom, Erik had on a clean linen shirt and was sitting on the bed playing with our son. The happy laughter of father and son gave be great joy.
"Whoo boy, it smells like sex and candy in here," I said.
Erik cast a glance over his shoulder, winked at me, and resumed entertaining the baby.
I joined the DuPuis men, picking up our little boy in my arms and dancing around the room with him. Erik came to me, sliding his hands around my waist and burying his nose into my hair.
"By now all of our guests should be at the manor and wondering where in the hell we have disappeared to. Though I am fond of my underground creation, we'd best surface or Madame Roux will have the gendarmes looking for us. Besides, I enjoy spending time above ground," he advised.
I cradled the babe in one arm and placed my free hand over Erik's. "My, how far we've both come together these past few years."
"I've become a social gadfly and you a domestic goddess," he declared.
"That's a glaring generalization," I snorted.
Erik became serious. "Darling, do you ever long for your previous life?"
"Where I once felt as if I might die, I now truly live. Sure, modern conveniences are great to have, but they pale in comparison to my life with you, Erik. I'm blessed with a man who loves me, treats me with respect and allows me the freedom to be who I am. Plus he's awfully sexy, a fantastic kisser and pens a mean aria," I added.
When he stopped to face me, his eyes were wet; he curled his graceful fingers around the sides of my face and drew me into a deep kiss. We broke only when our son started rooting at my chest. I knew it was more out of habit than hunger.
"DuPuis men," I said, clucking my tongue at him, and tucked him back into his basket.
Erik gazed at his son then looked at me. "Gabrielle, you have taught me how to live. It is because of you that my music not only takes flight but also soars; it is because of you that I can be a true man. You, my love, are my avenging angel, which time has delivered at my feet."
"Literally at your feet," I laughed, recalling the first time I'd heard Erik's rich resonance booming from the darkness of the Paris Opera House's fifth cellar.
We tidied up, blew out the candles, secured the lids on Erik's emulsions and prepared to meet the world above. Erik ushered me out of our fantasy land, bolting the dense metal door behind us, and ascended the wooden steps. I stepped from the musty interior of the supply shed, sneezed and shielded my eyes against the brilliant midday sun.
Erik caught up my free hand in his and walked, drinking in the sublime summer afternoon.
From our vantage point of the stable area, I could make out a small group milling about the garden terrace. The tall, slender woman had to be Mary Ann, and the man with the Astrakhan cap obviously Nadir I spied.
"Madam Giry?" I asked, nodding to an older woman in dark plum, who faintly resembled Marie.
"I believe it is, I don't see her sister about, perhaps you should make a run for it before she pins you down," Erik teased.
"No kidding." When we reached the edge of the estate's vast formal garden, I paused and tugged at his arm. "One more kiss before we greet our guests?"
Erik took the basket from me, setting it gently on the grass, and locked me in a full body embrace, the Saturday matinee kind; a back-bending-hand-in-my-hair-full-on-tonsil-sucking kiss. I staggered when he released me, and swept the back of my hand across my mouth.
"Whew, now that was a righteous kiss," I said breathlessly. Erik laughed and took up my hands in his. "Shall we join our celebration, my femme futuriste?"
"Indeed we shall, my sui generis lover." I replied.
"Ah, so you've had your nose in my books, have you?" He said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
I shrugged. "I figured my vocabulary could use some polishing, you know, out with the new, in with the old."
"I see."
Not feeling the need to rush, we ambled along easily on our way to the Manor house.
"You know, Gabrielle," Erik said as he surveyed the landscape around us, "much as I like the solitude of my faux paradise, being cloistered below ground holds little appeal for me, as I've come to relish the light."
- () -
Translations: Femme futuriste: Futuristic woman. Sui generis: One of a kind, phenomenal. Ma belle putain, me baisent: Erik being very naughty, (he ain't talking about kissing). Baisez-moi dur: Gabrielle wanting Erik to do it to her hard, (and it ain't kissing here either).
Please, please review this chapter.
Stay posted for the epilogue of "Time" and maybe a fic about Erik and his POV of meeting Gabrielle—whadda ya think?
-Leesa.