I hope you enjoy this longer chapter! I couldn't figure out how to break it up, so here you go. Please review - I love reading your thoughts!
This chapter is rated M for MATURE. Really, if you're still reading by this point, you should kind of expect it. You've been plenty warned. :)
Chapter 28
She could hear the music as she approached. She hadn't heard Erik play so ferociously since the night she left his home underneath the Parisian opera house. Toeing off her muddy shoes in the foyer, she quickly washed off the stench of horse and changed into something that matched the humid weather – a blue sundress with fluttering short sleeves. She pulled her hair into a low, messy bun to get it off her neck.
Her bare feet padded along the wood floor. Down the stairs she went, down the wandering halls that led to the back music room. As she stood outside the shut door, the music was loud, pounding inside her head. She could feel his dark mood through the soles of her feet.
Laying a hand on the handle, she twisted and pushed the door open enough to see Erik at the piano, his body bowed over the keys as his hands flew back and forth. Her ears burned from the awful sounds he pulled from the instrument.
"Erik?" she called.
If he heard her, he was ignoring her. But over such loud music, he might not have heard.
She crossed the room until she stood next to him. His eyes weren't closed, so there was no way he didn't know she was there. However, his furious pace didn't let up.
"Erik, I think we should talk." Not exactly what anyone might want to hear, but she wanted to be as clear as possible.
No change from him. She really did love to watch him play. Even while angry and belting out such terrible music, he was magnificent, powerful, the long lines of his body swaying in time with the rhythm. His feet, as always encased in his perfect dress shoes, pushed the pedals in strong, unceasing taps.
Maybe he wasn't quite ready to listen to anything she had to say. Maybe she would have to use her actions instead.
She watched his hands, waiting for the second it took for him to lift his right hand to place it on higher keys. When she found an opening, she slipped past his arm to step between him and the piano, one of his angular knees on each side of her.
The action seemed to enrage him. He slammed both fists onto the keys, the sudden notes and slap of his hands on ivory making her jump. But she held fast in her position. He wasn't mad at her, she reminded herself, though he certainly seemed like he was.
"Erik," she said, his name a breath on her lips. She placed her hands on his arms just above his elbows, felt his biceps tense under her touch.
He wasn't meeting her eyes, his own sharp, golden gaze looking at a spot beyond her head. Her hands traveled to his shoulders and smoothed across those wide expanses to his neck. His pulse beat wildly under her fingertips. She brought her palms up to cup his cheeks, one covered in cool porcelain, the other jaw clenched tight.
"Erik, my love."
His eyes swiveled to hers, wide and naked with open fear. He wasn't furious – he was terrified. Terrified of losing her.
"You would still call me that?"
"Of course," she said, pushing past the lump that rose suddenly in her throat. She hated that he doubted her feelings, that she had made him doubt her. "Just because I'm missing my mom doesn't mean I don't love you."
He reached up to clasp her upper arms, his grip tight but not painful. "I have given you no reason to stay. There is nothing for you here."
"You are here."
"That is hardly enough!"
"It's enough for now."
His single nostril flared. "For now?"
She sighed and leaned closer to press her cheek against his smooth one. "I can't lie, Erik. It's a shock to learn that I can't talk to mama. I miss her already. We've always talked, never gone long without doing so. I don't know what will happen after I don't contact her for weeks or- or for months. What will she think? What will she do?"
She pulled back, searching his face, finding all of his own insecurities laid bare. "I worry about so many things, Erik, and I'm allowed to worry and miss my mom, okay? I should be able to have those feelings without you thinking the worst of me."
"The worst of you, dearest? After all this time, how can you not know how I think of you?"
"Ever yours, ever in adoration," she quoted, brushing the hard line of his jaw with her knuckles. He had penned those words in his own goodbye letter to her, when he thought he would never see her again. She was highly aware of the fact that he had never told her outright that he loved her, but every one of his actions showed that kind of emotion.
He sucked in a shaky breath. "My feelings remain the same, but I fear I have only caused you pain since that moment."
"No way," she said sharply, silencing him with a finger on his mouth. "You don't get to do that thing you do where you take all of the blame. I'm the one who came on this journey without asking questions or thinking it all through."
"And now that you have?" he asked, his warm breath contrasting with his cool lips on her finger.
"I'm where I want to be. That hasn't changed. I just need to work through how I feel about everything else." She removed her finger and leaned her forehead against his. His hands still gripped her upper arms. "I need time, okay?"
"I can give that."
"But you have to stop worrying that I'm going to bolt at any second." She pressed her lips to his, a sweet kiss that caused him to shift closer to her on the piano bench. "I can't take any more of these crazy piano sessions. They stress me out."
She felt his mouth curl against hers. "I suppose next time I could go for a ride on Caesar instead," he said.
"I met him today! He was gorgeous, but you need to introduce me properly since he only listens to you."
"That he does. Be careful with that one – he is wild."
Just like her man, Christine thought. But that was okay because she was already addicted to him and his wildness, the way he surprised her again and again, the unceasing earnestness of him.
She kissed him again, felt his hands drop from her arms to roam across her back and pull her closer still. She pulled back, not quite ready to give in completely.
"I got rid of my apartment, dropped out of school, quit my job. I'm all in, Erik." Her fingers dipped just beneath his mask to trace the outer edge of the malformed portion of his cheek. "I love you so much."
His hands spasmed and clutched her back, pressing her against him. His long legs stretched to either side of her, and he was at the perfect height for easy kisses. He captured her mouth again, and she took the kisses deeper, angling her lips to draw him in and taking the opportunity to dip her tongue across his when his lips parted in a gasp. He tasted like honeyed tea he must have drunk while she was gone. She wanted more of him.
She stroked the heated skin beneath his mask, let her fingers creep higher to find the odd angles of his cheekbone, knocking the mask askew to allow for her hand. His grip on her tightened – to hold her close or push her away, she waited to find out. She had felt so distant from him for days now, wanted desperately to be close to him again. Almost two days had passed since that moment in the hotel room, and even though she was still a bit sore, she was beginning to wonder what a second time would feel like.
She snapped back to the present, realizing one of her knees had crept up to rest against his hip, the hem of her dress hiked up. He was still hugging her tightly against his chest, and his breathing was harsh as he broke away from her mouth.
"Daroga," he said.
She understood. Nadir was clearly giving them some privacy, but they wouldn't be truly alone for a while yet. It was the afternoon, and even though Erik had drawn the curtains in the music room, it was still daylight outside. This was hardly the appropriate time for anything more than kisses.
She eased her knee down, her cheeks burning. "I got carried away," she admitted. She slid her hand free of his mask and straightened the porcelain for him.
She felt rather than heard the chuckle in his throat. "Let us not shock the old man."
"Somehow, I'm not sure we could."
"You might be surprised. He can be quite old fashioned." Erik released her and slid off the bench so they both could walk away from the piano. He took her hand, thumb smoothing across the back. His face was pensive. "You took a great risk interrupting me like that."
She probably had. When wrapped up in his emotions like he had been, he could be volatile. She raised her chin. "You would never hurt me."
"Intentionally."
She shook her head. "You have more control than that, Erik."
"And you have more faith in me than I deserve," he snapped. Though he didn't drop her hand, he did press the other to his nose, pinching the half-covered bridge.
"Oh my love." Stepping closer to him, she wrapped her free arm around his middle, hugging him. "You need to let go of this guilt."
He huffed, his breath tickling the top of her head. "Not likely ever."
A clear but light knock sounded on the door leading into the music room, interrupting her next words. They stepped away from each other as Erik moved toward the door and opened it.
Nadir at least had the sense to look sheepish. "I apologize profusely for interrupting, but it's important." He turned a serious gaze to the other man. "I received a phone call from one of my old contacts."
Before Christine could register the fact that Nadir possessed a phone – a phone he wasn't letting her use, no less – Erik launched into rapid-fire Persian. The two men spoke back and forth, their voices heated but the anger not directed at each other. She hadn't heard them deliberately leave her out of a conversation like this before. The only other time they had spoken in Persian, Erik had switched them to English for Christine's benefit.
They had seemingly forgotten about her. The two of them stood closer together, heads tilting together as they examined something on Nadir's phone. She heard her name interjected into the unfamiliar words, and then both men turned to look at her.
"Pardon our rudeness," Nadir said, his face the picture of regret. "Would you excuse us for a while?"
"Sure," she said, still a bit stunned by the sudden turn of events.
She was a little relieved when Erik strode over, took her chin, and gave her a calm, gentle kiss. However, he hadn't been so openly affectionate in front of the other man, and if he felt the need to reassure her – or himself – with a bit of affection, what was going on?
She wanted to ask, but before she could formulate a decent question, they both hurried out the door. Erik went first, leaving Nadir to duck back inside the doorway to say to her, "On your own for a while, I'm afraid. We'll join you for dinner."
She only nodded dumbly. As she followed them into the hallway, she caught sight of the door to the basement opening and closing behind them. It closed with an audible click of a lock being turned.
They had locked her out.
Hours passed.
Christine tried her best to occupy herself. The rain had picked up again, so she didn't go out to see the horses another time. The library in the formal dining room contained a wide variety of titles, reminding her of Erik's collection in his Parisian home. She read a few pages out of a dozen of books. She plinked at the piano and plucked at the strings of the cello.
The rain caused her eyelids to become heavy, so she lay down on the huge bed upstairs, but it felt too empty for her to do more than stare at the ceiling.
She spent some time standing outside the basement door. Twice, she tried the handle, still finding it locked. No voices rose up from the underground cellar, but she doubted she would've been able to understand them even if she could have heard.
At 5:00 p.m., an older woman showed up at the door with three large bundles of clean clothes. Nadir had set out money for weekly laundry service, so Christine thanked and paid the woman. She set Nadir's bundle outside his room and carried the other two upstairs. Having little else to do, she put her clothes in the long dresser that lined one side of the master bedroom. She hung up Erik's suits and shirts and carefully put away all of his accessories. He didn't seem like he would care where his stuff went as long as he knew where everything was, but she took care to leave everything neatly for him anyway.
She also finished unpacking both of their suitcases. Pictures went on the dresser, while Erik's assortment of medicines, vials, syringes, and other first aid kit items went into the bathroom.
In his suitcase, she found the sleek blue box of the rose pendant comb she had worn in her hair in New York. This, she carefully lay atop the dresser where he was sure to notice it. That might be yet another topic of conversation later. If he ever came out of the basement.
In the bedroom, she found a collection of writing instruments – some of Erik's composing papers and ink pens, as well as empty journals and stationary. She took a few pieces of paper and one of the fancy pens and wrote her mother a letter she would probably never be able to send. Folding it up carefully, she tucked it away in her empty suitcase that now rested under the bed.
Dinnertime came. A young boy showed up at the front door at precisely 7:00 p.m., the time Nadir had told her this morning that dinner would always be delivered. There were perfect portions for three, including dessert. She thanked the boy in French, paid him the money Nadir had set aside for her, and took the food to the kitchen. Briefly, she considered knocking on the basement door because Nadir had said they would join her for dinner. However, it's not like they didn't have clocks, especially if Nadir had a phone, so she wasn't going to bother.
She ate alone, in silence. The food was delicious.
More hours passed.
After cleaning up the kitchen and putting the other two plates in the fridge, she went back upstairs and took a very long bath. That morning, she had purchased a lovely rose-scented bubble bath solution that should have helped her relax. It was a scent that she knew Erik would probably enjoy. Even though she came out of the bath tired and ready for bed, she knew she would get no sleep until Erik came out of the basement.
Towel-drying her hair, she put on one of her knee-length t-shirt gowns and climbed into bed.
She tried to read some more, but none of the words made any sense to her distracted brain. Eventually, the clock nearing midnight, she put the book on the nightstand and flicked off the lamp.
She had no intention of dozing off, but she did anyway. The dip of the mattress beside her stirred her from her dreamless sleep, and she was fully awake in seconds, sitting up. She could tell from the damp scent of his musky soap that he had showered.
After not seeing him for the rest of the day, she couldn't stand it. She tugged on the lamp's cord with such force that she almost knocked it over, throwing them both into hazy light.
He had donned the black silk pajamas she had bought him, for the first time since the last night they had spent together on the cruise ship. He also still wore his mask and wig, a change from how he had once placed his mask on the nightstand before slipping between the sheets with her.
"I woke you," he said softly, not looking at her. "Forgive me."
She shrugged, feeling foolish for blinding him with the light. However, she'd needed it, needed to see him, to know for sure he was there.
"Nadir has gone back to Paris, effective immediately."
"What?" she choked out. "Why?"
He didn't respond, motionless upon the edge of the bed. His broad shoulders sloped forward, his wiry hands clasped between his knees. He wasn't going to tell her?
"It's not like him to run off without saying goodbye," she said bitterly.
"We had hoped you would be asleep by now. You should sleep, Christine."
She should sleep! How could she possibly sleep right now?
When she didn't answer, he rose from the bed, padded over to the lamp on her side, and clicked it back off. Incredulously, she watched the shadow of his tall form return to his side of the bed and stretch across on his back without pulling the covers down first. She sat there for a long moment, staring at him in the dark. His eyes were closed, not glittering in the low light coming from the moon outside. The milky glow of his mask shone at her, his face at profile all she could see.
Anger surged within her. How dare he think they could both go to sleep now?
Rising to her knees, she hurled herself on top of him, one leg to either side of his waist, her palms landing flat against his firm chest.
"I'm not sleeping until you answer my questions!" she spat, blindly glaring down at him in the darkness.
"Christine!" He lay still beneath her, but his body was that of a panther about to spring, his muscles coiled. She felt the concave dip of his belly tense between her uncovered thighs, only the thin silky material of his shirt separating them. "What are you doing?"
"Wanting some answers, obviously." She leaned forward. His eyes were definitely open now, the twin hard pinpoints of golden light glaring at her. "The two of you vanished. Vanished with no explanation! What is going on?"
"I do not have to give you answers," he said, voice cold.
She could play this stupid waiting game. He wasn't going to be able to ignore his way out of this one. "Yes, you do."
"Christine, remove yourself." His heels dug into the mattress. She knew he was moments away from removing her himself.
She also knew he could see her quite clearly in the low light. She narrowed her eyes, pursued her lips, and gave him her best pissed off face. "No."
In a blur of limbs and clothing, he had her flipped onto the mattress, flat on her back. He crouched between her spread legs, and her mind darted for a second to recognize that her gown was up around her waist. He didn't pin her down, his fists to either side of her shoulders.
He snarled close to her face. "Must you challenge me every step of the way, girl? Why can you not accept that sometimes I do things to protect you that you do not need to know about?"
Her anger faded a bit at that, but she kept her biting tone. "Because I'm your partner. We are partners. And if we are truly going to do this, truly going to be together in a relationship or whatever you want to call it, you have to learn how to trust me with this information. You can't keep things from me. Not anymore, Erik!"
"Christine-"
"You don't have to protect me!"
"Then what else am I good for?" he demanded, shoving his fists into the mattress on either side of her. "Everything I buy you is purchased with blood money, and I have no way of ever providing for you otherwise. My name is full of filth, my hands are covered in blood, and my body is too broken to ever bring you true pleasure. My mind might be that of a genius, but it has become too twisted to do anything but bring you down into its own abyss. I have nothing, nothing to offer but protection, Christine, and if you don't need even that…"
He cut himself off with a snarl of disgust.
Oh, Erik.
She saw that he was poised to try to flee, and she clutched at his neck, pulling him down to smother anymore of his ramblings with her own mouth. His thin lips trembled against hers. She couldn't touch anything he had just said, couldn't even begin to try, but she could at least touch him.
She let her hands do just that, beginning to wander her fingertips over the back of his neck from the edge of his wig to the collar of his shirt. She smoothed over the bunched muscles of his shoulders, the knots of his back, his flexing ribs, his heaving belly.
"I love you," she said into his mouth. Because what else could she say against the horrible image of himself he had just painted?
He shuddered over her. Her fingers traveled up his chest to the top button of his black shirt and flicked it open. His lips pressed harder against hers, and she welcomed him with a part of her lips and a swipe of her tongue. Her fingers found more buttons and undid those as well until his shirt was halfway open, and she spread her palms against the coolness of his naked flesh.
"Christine," he keened.
"I love you, Erik," she murmured, each time they parted for air. "Maybe you don't believe me, but I love the parts of you that you think are true but aren't, and the parts of you that are true that you just can't see yet."
More buttons parted under her deft fingers until she was finally able to slide the silky material free of his body, pulling it over his shoulders, down his arms, until it puddled behind him somewhere in the dark. She could barely see in the moonlight, but his alabaster skin was a ghostly shape before her. Here in this night, she couldn't see the silvery scars of his past, but her fingertips found the raised ridges and kissed them with her touch.
"I love all of you," she said, and his breath hitched as he fed from her lips again.
He settled atop her, his weight a comfortable presence. Between her legs, he was only semi-aroused, but this wasn't about sex, at least not yet. One of her hands found his mask, fingers curling into the grooves of the nose and cheek, and her other caressed up and down his arm, tracing scars and sinewy muscle.
"Erik," she whispered, needing his permission.
"Do it." His musical tenor was rough with something unknown – a mix of pain, need, lust.
She did, lifting the mask from his face. She barely took the time to set it aside before she was also reaching for his wig, and the black hair fell away just as easily.
He was stripped before her from the waist up, clad only in his thin pajama pants. She didn't give him time to contemplate this new exposure, tugging him back down into her embrace. She sighed as his lips, now feeling only of his own bare skin, found her neck and pressed fervent kisses under her ear and across her throat.
Her hands freely explored him just as his lips seemed determined to map her own neck and face. She smoothed over his scalp, memorized the soft texture of his true hair. She loved this part of him that he rarely revealed, and while she understood why he hid his true appearance, she vowed to show him that she found him irresistible nonetheless. Mysterious masked man in a formal suit, scarred man now revealed above her – both melding into one vision of Erik, and she wanted every bit of him.
She wanted him. Now.
She couldn't get enough of him, enough of the feel of him, even as she felt his roaming mouth and hands that hadn't strayed from her arms or above her shoulders. She kissed what she could reach, her lips catching on the deformed circle on his scalp, her fingers flicking pebbled nipples.
He bent over her and pressed his ruined cheek against her flat chest. "Christine," he said, her name a breathy groan.
She took his large, bony hands in hers and placed them on each of her legs, just above her knees. His breath hitched, and she pulled them a space higher, showing him what she wanted. Then she went back to her own gentle but insistent exploration of him, encouraging with her own roaming touches.
He rose up enough so that he could slip both hands up her bare thighs, his gentle caresses stirring her to life. The hem of her gown was already gathered at her waist, so as he found her hips, he also found the edges of her underwear. However, he didn't pause there, continued upward until the cool touch of his fingers fanned across the uneven lines of her own scars.
"Ah!" she gasped at the bold contact, surprised yet again that such a touch could stir her sensitive skin in a way that wasn't painful. In a quick movement, he pushed her hem up and pressed an open-mouthed kiss upon her breastbone before tugging the material back down. His respect for her privacy warmed her and made desire for him pool deep within her.
"Erik, please." She squirmed a bit against him, wanting more. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she fought to bring him closer. In a surge of confidence, she hooked her heels around him and hugged him closer with her legs, fitting their hips together.
He panted harshly in her ear, his hands settling back on her bare hips. "I can't, Christine. I can't. What if I hurt you again? I could not dare to do that to you again."
Oh, but she burned for him, and while she thought the words I'm still sore, she refused to say them. She was still sore from two nights ago. Her wrists still bore the fading marks, now turned a light green-brown.
She cupped his face in her hands, knowing he could read her expression in the dark. "I'm not afraid, my love. I want you so badly. If- if you go slowly, it won't hurt." At least, this is what she thought would happen, having as much experience as he did - very little.
She didn't give him time to think about the next step. She scooted back enough to peel off her own underwear, tossing them off the edge of the bed. She felt weird and vulnerable, now exposed to his bright gaze, now lying beside him on the bed instead of cradled under him as she had been. As the instigator in all of this, the thought crossed her mind that maybe he didn't want to be intimate with her. Was she being too overbearing? She had stripped him, bared his face, made him touch her.
Her face burned as much as her body did. "Erik, I-I didn't mean to force any of this. If you don't want to-"
He cut her off by hooking a hand under her knee and pulling her across the bed to him. At once, his body was atop hers again, his hips slanted just to the side of hers.
He very obviously wanted to.
One of his hands cradled the back of her neck, tilting her face upward so he could take her mouth, his elbow supporting much of his heavy weight. His other hand sought between her legs, to the place she had just freed to his questing touch. He skimmed along her most intimate spot, and she shivered in response.
He pulled back enough to look down at her, eyes glittering and the only bit of him she could see. "Promise you will say if I cause you pain."
"I promise," she whispered.
And then he began to press a single finger against her, and she knew from the sudden slick-slide that she was readier than she had been before. She adjusted her legs, let her knees fall to the side, embarrassed by her own willingness to expose herself but wanting more of him too eagerly to give pause. His finger began to dance, and more joined in to the rhythmic movement inside her, outside her, pressing and touching and finding the spots that sent her arching off the mattress.
He was murmuring in her ear, his lips brushing that shell of sensitive skin, words spilling from him of devotion, adoration, of how beautiful she looked, of how brightly her soul was laid bare before him. Sweet Christine, beautiful Christine. Her soul? Her mind locked onto that thought even as her body lost its grip on the moment and spiraled outward into sharp waves of pleasure. He swallowed her cries.
He waited until her skittering heartbeat slowed, and she had stopped pulsating around the two fingers buried deep within her. She sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled them out, but she felt no twinge of discomfort, and he was now loosening the ties of his pants.
One of his knees sought between hers, pushing her legs farther apart, and then both knees were between hers, and her thighs rested on the outside of his hips. Or was she the one who had opened herself to him? Or maybe they had moved in unison, each seeking the unspoken movement that would meld them together.
He didn't ask her for permission, didn't do more than stroke her face and wait for her to take the next step. And she did, slipping a slender hand between their bodies to feel the heavy weight of him in her palm through the black silk.
He hissed between his perfect teeth, and she grinned in response, running her hand up and down him.
Yes, this. This was what she wanted. This give and take between them. Solid and real and comfortable as though they were merely dancing an ancient dance for which they now knew all the steps.
"I can't," he said. "No more." And fiercely captured her mouth with his, rocking into her grasp.
Ah, she knew what he meant. His pants already loosened, she easily guided him out, feeling the sleek contrast of silk covering steel. For the first time that night, she felt a little fear at the thought of what they were again about to do, remembering the way her body had split open beneath him the first time.
He seemed to notice her hesitation and drew back. Despite his need for her, he didn't press onward.
"We can stop here," he said, roughened voice still able to sound so, so gentle. "I want to do this right this time, Christine."
This time. Her arms encouraged him close once again. "You are, in every way."
This time, that rigid part of him nuzzled her intimately, pushing in only slightly and pausing, his arms tense with the strain of such control. She reached up to cup his cheek, the twists of his mangled flesh heated under her palm.
This time, she adjusted her hips and helped him slide in further, the movement squeezing gasps from the both of them. When he pulled out and eased back in, she needn't have braced herself – the pain never came. Elated, she let her hands roam across his skin freely, spreading her thighs wide for him at the same time her heels encouraged him onward.
This time, he didn't pin her wrists to the bed, letting her touch him, kissing her fingertips if they neared his mouth.
They were still in the dark, but this time, the blindness heightened her senses instead of suffocating her. One day, she would guide him to do this in the light, and she would revel in the glory of his face above hers, the sight of his pale skin glistening with sweat that she had caused. For now, she sought out his exposed scars, accepting the feel of him above her even as her body accepted the full length of him deep inside.
She clung to him after he filled her completely. They could do nothing more than kiss and touch for long moments until she began to squirm under him, needing movement. The pressure was building once again, and her body moved of its own accord, seeking friction, wanting the glide of him against her.
He obliged. He sucked on the pulse point in her neck as his hips began to move. He was tentative at first, slow, keeping his weight off her, but she still wanted more of him, needed more. She wrapped her legs around him, spoke in his ear, and he groaned at her words of encouragement. She could tell he still feared losing control, but she trusted him, she trusted him with everything she was.
His pace increased until his hips snapped against hers, and she tossed her head in delight. Yes, this was what she had imagined it could be like between them, her body taking what he gave. She could take all of him, wanted all of him, and she feel him slowly give himself over and begin to take his own pleasure from her.
She felt powerful, a feminine match to his dark, overwhelming presence. He could pour everything he was into her, and she remembered that he was the one who had spoken of souls. As their hearts beat frantically against each other, she thought their souls might be colliding amidst the unbearable friction and sweat and pleasure.
Pleasure. Pleasure was building once more within her, her strings being pulled taut. She was already sensitive from his fingers, and the core of her quickly crested over the edge a second time. She tried to scream his name, instead mingled the syllables into her gasps and cries as his own pace increased. Her teeth found purchase on his shoulder, and he growled.
In a furious surge of power, his hips slapped once, twice, three times against the backs of her thighs, and he spent himself inside her.
Long moments passed as they listened to their shared panting breaths slowing. As he stilled and settled his body atop hers, he kissed her once more. Their teeth clicked together as she grinned, and she felt his own lips curve upward.
"Smug, are we, my dearest?"
"Oh yes," she said. She wiggled a little, felt him still deep inside, and relished the breath he sucked in. "I'm quite proud of myself."
His next sound was between a snort and a laugh. "As well you should be." He gave her another long, sweet kiss before starting to disentangle their bodies. He didn't miss the wince she made as he pulled completely out. "Gods, Christine! Again?"
"No, no, Erik," she said, tugging him back by the arm. "It's a good kind of soreness. Just a little." She hadn't been fully healed before, so she imagined this sort of reaction would fade over time. "You were nothing but gentle with me." She eyed him approvingly, knowing he could see it. "And not so gentle when I wanted you to be."
He ran a hand over his bare face, the motion visible against the window. "Nonetheless."
She scooted over to him and put her arms around him, loving the fact that she could press her cheek against his naked chest. "Please, no guilt. I don't feel anything but happiness." She wrinkled her nose. "And I feel sweaty."
"Jokes, Christine?"
"Only because I'm so satisfied."
He puffed a sigh at that, but then his arms came around her, strong and without hesitation. "You are a glorious woman in all ways."
"And I'm yours," she quipped.
"A fact that will forever astound me."
Oh, this, this moment was one she would commit to her memory. Especially because she knew what she had to say next.
"Hey, I'd love a quick shower, if you don't mind."
"Do as you like, my dear." She loved that easy tone he had now adopted, and she dreaded having to strip him of it.
She warned him a moment before she clicked on the lamp on his side of the bed, tossing them both into warm light. For a second, she saw him cross his arms over his exposed body before forcing them to his sides. Smiling gently, she stood in front of him, the dampness between her legs a reminder of what they had just done. She took his face in her hands and kissed one cheek and then the other. The adoration she saw in his eyes almost broke her then.
"After I shower," she said, folding her arms around his neck, "I need you to do something for me."
"Yes, dear one?"
"Show me what's in the basement."
She expected him to protest, maybe even grow angry with her. She hadn't meant to switch gears so quickly from affection to what they had fought about beforehand, and she worried he might think her manipulative. In all honesty, she hadn't meant it that way at all. For a second, she feared he would think she had slept with him only to convince him that she deserved to be part of the conversation. If he could think that of her, he really would begin to storm at her in rage.
Instead, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Very well. You are right – you should know the truth. Shower, and then we will go."
The end is in sight. There is likely only another 3-4 chapters left with the climax coming in the next chapter. I'll be slow to update only because I want to make sure I get all my details right. :)