XIV
Youngsters avert thine eyes. There be lemons ahead.
Christine's head thunked against the wall, carried by the momentum of Erik's greedy kiss. God, he felt so good! She didn't care if he hurt her, just as long as she had him close, had him inside . . .
"Yesss. Touch me, Erik. I like when you touch me," she hissed, clawing hands peeling apart his clothes to touch his hot chest, touch hard muscle underneath velvet skin. Touch the heart that hammered beneath her palm and the warmed metal of his locket. Erik thrust a knee between her legs, pushing her up the wall which was so cool and hard against her naked back. Madame had announced Erik's arrival as Christine was rising from a bath; her wrapper she had hastily clothed herself with was now a pool of dark red silk on the floor. The delicious rasp of the fabric of his trousers against her wet, throbbing flesh made her toes curl. He perceived this and obligingly ground her against his strong thigh. She gasped out his name.
"Christine," he fed her name back to her along with the wet, velvet stroke of his tongue, warm breath fluttering against her face smelling sweetly of coffee and cream.
The candlelight made the mask glow milky white, and his eyes, oh God, his beautiful green eyes! Three small, profound words rose to her lips, but she stifled them with a hungry kiss. A wild thing of jousting tongues and ravenous lips. The kisses were her salvation, an intimacy no other man was allowed. Her nipples hardened, her saddle of flesh between her thighs pulsated. Arousal and something tender and infinitely precious made this a sacrament where every other had been a travesty.
The hand teasing her pert nipples moved to his fly and freed his swollen member. A breathless shift of weight and then the long, sweet slide of him impaling her. Her walls clasped and suckled him and pleasure's burn escalated until it was nearly unbearable. Her breath emerged in whimpers and hiccups as he thrust into her: all heat and hardness and bottomless need.
Christine wound arms and legs around him, sheltering his face against her neck beneath the curtain of her damp hair. She stroked and kneaded his back, crooning broken endearments. Erik groaned, hips snapping in a hard, jarring rhythm as he bit and suckled the muscle joining her neck and shoulder. Christine gasped and disintegrated around him, pleasure like a pounding heart, like a burst of light. Erik stiffened, coming inside her with a broken moan. A hot rush of his seed burst into her grasping, waiting core.
Still seated deep inside her, Erik lifted her from the wall with a strength that left her breathless and staggered toward the bed, collapsing on top of her. A delicious lassitude filled her limbs and she relished his shape and weight atop her. Christine gently peeled aside his collar and blew on the back of his neck to cool him. Erik hummed, gooseflesh pebbling his skin. He uttered a contented sigh, nuzzling the meager pillow her breasts made. The alternating heat and cool of his breath teased her puckered nipples.
"Any decent man would apologize for such a . . . lascivious performance," he rasped, his beautiful voice like the rub of fur on naked skin. Christine stretched languorously, kneading the backs of his calves with the soles of her feet.
"And why is that? I quite enjoyed it," she purred. Erik snuggled closer, the beard stubble pleasantly rasping her skin.
"It's a good thing I'm not a decent man then."
A warm, sated silence stretched between them. Her hands couldn't seem to stop touching him. Gentle grazing strokes of his soft, sweat-dampened hair with the slightest hint of nail scraping his scalp, kneading the muscles of his shoulders and back through his clothes . . . she wanted his clothes off. Christine tugged at his rumpled shirt. Erik grunted, trying to burrow against her. When she persisted, he heaved a sigh and slid back onto his haunches.
"I was comfortable," he grumbled, shucking off the whole assemblage of shirt, waistcoat and coat and throwing it on the floor, heedless of the twin holsters housing his ubiquitous weapons. His cravat which hung in a limp knot around his neck met the same fate. He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and peeled off his shoes, socks and trousers.
"Better?" he asked with an arched brow and a crooked grin. Christine felt so relaxed, so contented. He was here. That was all that mattered.
"Much," she replied, opening her arms. His face softened and he spread himself over her. They both exhaled a sweet sigh at the delicious contact of bare skin. Christine settled comfortably under his weight, feeling protected and cherished.
After a while, Erik rested his chin on her chest, green eyes shining.
"You are truly an exquisite creature, Christine. No woman has ever held me against her heart as if I was the key to her continued existence." Christine tightened her arms around him as the words struck her hard and square in the heart. She loved him so much her chest ached.
"I don't understand her," she whispered fiercely. A frown tugged at Erik's full lips.
"Who?" he asked gently, hands tracing soothing paths over her skin.
"Your wife!" she burst out in an agony of frustration. Christine framed his precious face between her hands.
"She can look at you and touch you and love you whenever she wants! And . . . and she chooses not to!" bitter jealousy seared Christine at the thought of the faceless Claire who Erik had married. She didn't think it possible to hate anyone more than she hated Bruno and the Madame, but Claire made a close second. Through the cloudy film of guilt in his eyes, she saw also the weak spark of hope. Christine yanked Erik close, claiming his mouth in a hard, dominating kiss, fingers knotted in his hair.
"She is a fool," she hissed against his lips, hands roaming in sinuous, proprietary strokes, loving the feel of hard muscle under supple skin, the radiating heat and muscle of a virile man in his prime. Underneath his aloof aura of brilliant self-sufficiency, he was simply a man. A man who wanted to be wanted. A soft moan vibrated against her lips. Melting heat throbbed between her thighs in response to his hardened cock pulsing against her hip. Christine kissed a path from his mouth to his ear, nibbling the upper curve and sucking the lobe into her mouth.
"You are exquisite, Erik," she whispered.
"Christine." There was a soft, pleading edge to his words.
He obeyed the gentle pressure of her hands and rolled onto his back. God, she loved him. From his tousled raven-black hair to the freckle on the third toe of his right foot, she loved every inch of his body. His body, his brave, hungry heart, his beautiful, brilliant soul . . . oh, how she loved him! A feather-light touch of her index finger with just the hint of nail grazed down his throat, down to circle his nipples which hardened as she watched. Christine bent and drew his nipple into her mouth, loving the faint rasp of his chest hair on her lips and his gasp, like a ragged edge of silk. His hands curled in her hair as she suckled on first one, then the other.
"Oh yes . . . oh Christine," he whispered.
"The men who walk through these doors expect to be worshipped for a coin or a box of chocolates. Not you. Not. You." Christine interspersed the words with passionate, open-mouthed kisses down his torso. Mmm, warm, taut smooth flesh, rising and falling with the incensed tempo of his breathing.
The long, hard muscle of thigh under her hands pleased her. The crisp mat of black pubic hair smelled of musk and sweat and male. His manhood was dusky and hard, traced with a pleasing pattern of veins. The head oozed pearly fluid that she lapped up in one teasing lick. A sound that could only be described as whimper fell from his lips.
Riding a thrill of heady arousal and feminine power, Christine looked up into his face and found his mouth slack, his body trembling in anticipation, green eyes wide. Oh his eyes were so beautiful. That clear, bright green was so rare, like the sun streaming through a tree's leaves, like the living beauty of the sea.
"Let me worship you, Erik," she said, voice low and husky with desire. Christine grasped him with both hands, stroking him in a slow pump. She swooped down, taking as much of him into her mouth as she could.
"Oh fuck . . ." he rasped, long musician's fingers knotted in her hair. Mouth and hands moved in tandem; she tasted hot, salty male flesh, hardness sheathed in silky skin. She lavished all of her learned skill and all the love she held into pleasuring him.
"So good . . . oh God . . ." Those broken words made her body pulse with a hard heartbeat of desire.
Erik's lean hips shallowly thrust into her mouth and she felt a primal thrill at the tortured, animal-like sounds emerging from his throat. Mmm, his pleasure was addicting. One hand stroked his thigh soothingly before creeping up to cup the hot, tight weight of his sack. A moan rose deep in her throat and Erik answered her with a gentle tug in her hair.
"C—Christine, I'm going to . . . oh I'm . . ." She watched his face slacken in intense pleasure. She sucked and kneaded, urging him toward that blindingly beautiful edge—he surged, his taste changed, his balls drew up tight against his body . . . Erik uttered a hoarse shout as his seed erupted into her mouth, pleasure wracking his body in a paroxysm of delicious torment. Erik howled her name, his grip on her head almost painful in the throes of his orgasm. A darkly possessive triumph filled her as she swallowed his issue, licking the vestiges of his pleasure from her lips. Christine sheltered him within the warm haven of her mouth, suckling gently on his softening manhood. Sweat glistened on his body, burnishing his olive-toned skin in bronze.
A primal pleasure surged through her. She had made him lose control. Christine had reduced this powerful man to a gibbering mass of twitching flesh under her mouth and hands. Christine slithered up his body, kissing his forehead, his cheek. The smooth white leather of the mask was smooth and cool under her lips. A mad, absurd impulse welled within her and she pried the mask from his face.
XXX
The breath of cool air on the twisted flesh of his face yanked him from an almost criminal state of bliss like a jolt of electric current. Erik was on his feet, one hand clapped over the offending deformity before he had formed a conscious thought. It was only as he saw her sprawled on the rumpled bed clutching his mask that betrayal bled through his shock. Anger nipped at its heels, harsh and violent.
"Why?" he asked softly. When she only stared up at him with those wide chocolate-brown eyes, he barked, "Why?" Any vestige of the brazen succubus evaporated, leaving the wide, lost eyes of child. He watched a flinch shiver through her at his harsh tone and a small part of him despaired at the sight of her shrinking away from him.
"I . . . I wanted to . . . I wanted to . . ."
Erik shifted on his feet, warring with the desire to snatch the mask back, wanting to run, to hide in darkness and lick the wounds of humiliation in peace. Christine couldn't see his face. She couldn't. If she turned away from him in disgust, he wouldn't survive. He'd given her too much of himself, more than he had in two decades with Claire. He wouldn't survive. It was the terror of this thought that brought harsh words bubbling to the surface, like poison suppurated from a wound.
"Wanted what?" he snapped, "Why would you betray me in such a way? I thought you, of all people, would understand what it is like to be used, humiliated." Christine seemed to shrivel under his hard gaze.
"That's not it at all! I only wanted to see you! I wanted to . . . to make you feel safe!" she blurted. Damn, the anger was slipping through his fingers, ebbing away at the quivering words, the utter sincerity written on her cherished features. Oh Christine, oh my sweet, beautiful beloved Christine . . .
"Explain," he said, in a gentler tone. Christine exhaled a steadying breath.
"The first night you chose me, the mask . . . comforted me. In a world where monsters masqueraded as men, I liked that this monster had the decency to show his flaws." Her fingers ghosted over the pilfered mask in a restless but heartbreakingly tender gesture. Christine marshaled a wobbly smile.
"It turns out that you are the only man I've known in a very long time. I just want you to feel . . . safe with me. As I feel with you."
Erik's jaw clenched against a hot knot of emotion.
"Oh Christine." On his lips, he made her name absolution and benediction both. The tension leaked from her and she slowly, hesitantly, opened her arms to him. Hope was inscribed so clearly on her face that his own desperate hope rose to greet it.
"Please," she whispered with such honest sweetness that his heart melted. Erik raked a careless hand through his hair and settled on the edge of the bed, cupping her cheek. Christine nestled into his hand, lips planting a fervid kiss on his thumb.
"Forgive me for overreacting. That was . . . unexpected."
"No, please. I'm so sorry, Erik. I never meant to hurt you. Forgive me." Her teeth gnawed on her lower lip. Tense contrition saturated her.
"It's all right, darling. You are forgiven," he said solemnly, weaving silk and moonlight into his voice. Christine sagged with relief, nuzzling his hand. Silence reigned for a few seconds and he could see her gathering her courage.
"I . . . May I see you? It won't matter. I lo—It won't matter." Every muscle in his body tightened at her near-admission. His heart thundered. Beyond the obvious distaste of promises made while she was still in servitude lurked a deeper fear of the breadth of her feelings. Could he bear to make that fateful leap alone? Her stalled confession liberated and terrified him.
But she couldn't see his face.
She couldn't.
His lips felt numb. A cold trickle of trepidation wormed its way into him.
"I . . . I'm afraid." It was a boy's voice, one layered with terrors of withheld love. Her face softened into such an incredible look of love, it obliterated all doubt. She loved him. She loved him?
"Don't be. You're safe. I'm here," she crooned.
"Try your very best not to scream. It is most unsettling," he said, a wan smile saying it was a poor attempt at humor. His heart was pounding, tense, restless energy begging for reprieve.
Erik gnarled his fingers in a handful of the bedclothes, and he bowed his head, eyes clenched tight shut. He wouldn't watch as her face twisted in disgust and fear. He heard the faint creak of the mattress and started at her kiss first on his thinned lips, then on the hard line of his clenched jaw. Her fingers pried his hand away . . . and he heard her swallow with an audible clicking noise. He knew what she saw.
It was . . . ugly. Grotesque.
Even the gentle light of the lone candle could not disguise his hideousness. The slack, pitted skin was dull, red and lusterless. Snaking veins, tortured skin peppered with a few sprouting white hairs along the jaw and what should have been his eyebrow. Crooked cheekbone, twisted muscles. His right nostril was caved in, his lower eyelid sagged and near his ear, the skin looked like bubbled wax . . . her whisper startled him.
"What did you say?"
"You're beautiful." Those impossible words left her throat and she was leaning close to drop an air-soft kiss on his rough, warped cheekbone.
"Beautiful," she repeated, her soft voice husky and soft.
A few tender grazes of her lips on the mark of his shame and he was completely, utterly lost to her, body and soul. An inarticulate sound emerged from his lips, a raw groan of mingled disbelief and pleasure. Erik found himself intensely, savagely aroused by her utter acceptance. Even recovering from one of the best orgasms of his life, second only to his previous interludes with her, his cock had the impudence to stiffen. Erik struggled to gather the frayed edges of his wit, clutching the broken pieces of his self-control.
"You are either delusional or blind to think me beautiful, darling," he growled. The words sound harsh, discordant. Not at all the dry, playful tone he had intended. Her smile was gentle, accompanied by the maddening feather-light caresses of her fingers on his gnarled face.
"I have eyes like a hawk and always have. As to my sanity, that has been in question ever since I came here. Delusion or not, I think you're beautiful. Kiss me," she demanded in a beguiling mix of youthful playfulness and sultry command. Erik could only obey.
This kiss held all the knowing pleasure of lovers with the initial singing thrill of discovery. They were naked and knew no shame . . . A savage groan left Erik's lips, adrift in the sublime pleasure of her lips and tongue, of her small hands gently trailing over both sides of his deformed face.
"Christine." He uttered her name like it was something holy, "I need you. I need you so very much." His voice broke then. Those eyes, so dark and sweet and rich, softened in unutterable tenderness.
"You have me," she crooned.
Her soft hands urged him down, pulling him atop her. Erik guided the head of his cock to her opening, teasing the soft lips, circling her sweet swollen little nub. Christine whimpered against his lips and Erik slid inside at the subtle invitation of her arched hips. The slippery clutch of her inner walls combined with her continual soft stroking of his mangled face threatened his sanity.
As they began their dance anew, Erik marveled at the shining diamond that was his beautiful Eve. Erik made love to her with an almost savage tenderness, undone by her acceptance as much as the beauty of their union. Their hands met, fingers braided over her head as he moved inside her. Eyes, lips, hands, bodies fused; exquisite pleasure seared his nerve endings. One. One flesh.
When they found release in almost the same moment, he thought nothing in the world matched this incandescent perfection. But when he was alone in his own body again, his demons rose up to jeer at him, reminding him that she didn't know everything about him. She would never love you if she knew . . . Erik defied the voice in his head, snuggling closer to her, dropping a messy kiss on her forehead before slipping into an almost insensate exhaustion.
XXX
Christine woke with a man's weight on top of her and for the first time, did not feel the need to establish her own personal space. Erik's scent of sage and smoke was augmented by the musk and sweat of their labors. Long, lean limbs wound around her, nestled close with his head pillowed under her chin. Instead of feeling suffocated by his clinging embrace, she felt . . . cozy, safe. Even in the large, sumptuous bed with the coverlet snarled around her calves and the fire nothing but a heap of ash-shrouded embers, Christine was perfectly content. The man radiated heat.
Her fingers trailed through his wavy hair, tucking a wayward strand behind his ear. Gently, she explored the terrain of his deformity. Given the speed of his reaction before, it was a testament to his exhaustion that he simply snored. Her poor love. Has this little mark been the reason he had sought love from a paid girl instead of his own family? Anger for his sake felt hot but clean, not the festering hatred she felt for Bruno and the Madame. At the heels of that thought surged the startling realization that if the world had not despised him, she would have never had the chance to love him. It was absurd that she should be grateful for such a horrid thing.
Several urgent bodily functions were making themselves known to her: mostly a full bladder and an empty belly. Christine took several aborted attempts at freeing herself without waking him and, realizing it was futile, kissed his hair.
"Erik, wake up. I'm hungry," she said with a firm shake on his shoulder. The inert form lying on her chest merely grunted and nipped her breast gently.
"As it happens, so am I, darling." His sleep-hoarsened voice rasped her skin like the rough lap of a cat's tongue. A subtle shift brought the evidence of his arousal against her thigh. Laughter bubbled up and she tugged at his hair.
"For food, silly!" Erik offered her a sleepy, slit-eyed look.
"That too," he purred, rising up onto his hands and kissing her deeply. A sliver of moonlight illuminated his face and Christine thought she had never seen anything so beautiful. He broke the moment by saying: "But first, I must avail myself to the privy closet."
Nature's call appeased, candles lit and swathed in Erik's cape, Christine sat across from him as they supped on cold pea soup and tepid wine. It was delicious. She adored the sight of him relaxed and sleep-rumpled in wrinkled trousers, his locket glittering on his bare chest. Conversation and laughter flowed easily between them. It fed something starving in her soul to simply absorb this delicious happiness she felt in his presence. In her mind's eye, she saw a cozy kitchen awash with sunlight from wide, open windows and a wild-haired little girl, with his beautiful eyes . . . After they supped they returned to bed, snuggled close and fell into a deep, blameless sleep.
As if their lives and choices were their own.
Reviews are lovely.