Chapter 15: Music Shall Surround You
Hours passed, and Christine had returned with provisions that would keep them in stock and comfort after creating a short itemized list of amenities and necessities.
"Erik, can you reach?" Christine asked, struggling on her toes to place a jar of jam in a high-mounted cabinet.
He nodded, casually walking over and plucking it from her grasp, and with great ease, swinging open the door and setting it on the shelf.
"I'm beginning to regret not packing my pointe shoes", she commented dryly, stepping into the powder room and cleansing her hands of the sticky substance that had coated the outside.
Erik removed his gloves and placed them off to the side. "My dear, even if you did wear them, reaching to put it away would not be infallible-"
Christine's head peeked out from the doorway, her jaw dropped and a brow raised incredulously. "Are you calling me short?"
A grin plastered on Erik's face. "Do you deny it? It's a miracle you could climb onto Caesar! Truly indicative of your demure nature".
Drying her hands on a towel, she approached him, a hand flying to her hip and another pointing an accusing finger in his direction. "You are one audacious rouge!"
"I'd take that as a compliment rather than an insult, Christine. Not to worry, though, your attempts are not in vain". Erik towered over her with a relaxed posture, amusement written all over him.
A low growl slipped from Christine, and she reached under a counter, pulling out a large wooden bucket.
Tucking it under her arm, she walked into the vestibule, Erik hot on her tail. "Christine? Hand it over. I will take care of it", he attempted to reach past her, but she easily ducked away, effortlessly slipping on her boots and walking outside.
The well was only a few yards outside the patio door, and Christine skillfully tied the rope and the handle and cranked it down.
Having been gone so long, the well had filled up high, but still low enough to be out of reach.
Hearing the water pour into the bucket, she wrenched it up. Erik gripped the bottom as she untied it. He pulled it away from the center and Christine attempted to look in the bucket. "Let me see, I have to check the water. Living this close to the sea, we don't want to risk algae".
Erik complied, lowering it to her gaze, water spilling over the side. Christine smiled with satisfaction. "Perfect".
And with her short height, she swiftly ducked under the hanging bucket and pushed up, tipping the entire bucket of cold water over Erik's head.
She watched as the water seeped into all his layers, his waistcoat absorbing the most of it, plastering against him.
His hazel eyes slowly raked up, settling on her with an eerily placid expression, the bucket falling to the ground beside them. Christine slapped a hand over her mouth, pathetically attempting to stifle her laughter.
"Your penchant for mocking my features seemed to leave you parched, Monsieur. I only wished to relieve you, as is part of my demure nature", she feigned innocence, hands clasping before her, laughter bubbling in her throat.
She wished she could have read his mind as Erik nodded slowly and bent down, collecting the bucket where it had fallen.
Wordlessly, he strode back over to the well, attaching the handle of the bucket to the hanging rope.
His calm demeanor nearly frightened her as he filled the bucket, his eyes never meeting hers.
But when he untied the bucket and began approaching her, Christine wasted no time running away to the safety of her room, for fear of being dunked in the cold water herself.
Hours later, Erik still had not sought out Christine, leaving her on edge.
She'd half expected to at least receive a chiding remark from him, but alas, nothing.
Soundlessly, she mustered up the temerity to open her bedroom door, her eyes flickering down both ends of the quiet hallway suspiciously.
Where was he?
Tiptoeing down the stairs, she peered over the banister into the foyer, finding the room empty.
Deeming it safe, she fled across the room to the entryway of the music room, finding him situated at the grand piano, in a spare change of clothes. A Mandarin robe drifted down to brush the floor behind him.
She watched as he set a composition upon the music desk, but from her distance, she could not make out the writing scribbled on the top.
"So nice of you to join me, Christine. I trust you've managed to keep yourself busy?" He inquired, continuing to face the piano.
Christine took a hesitant step across the threshold. "Very", she lied.
As she came closer, she began to notice the more ornate details woven onto the fabric, and the intricate myriad of colors woven together. She couldn't decipher small characters sewn into the front, originating in another language she couldn't place.
She carefully positioned herself on the other side of the piano, and his eyes met hers momentarily before flickering back to the composition before him.
He donned a dry black waistcoat and white tunic underneath, and Christine felt guilt tug at her. "I'm sorry. It was bitterly cold outside, and that was a horrid thing to do", she breathed. Her hand coming to rest on the smooth, polished surface of the lid.
Erik set down his quill before him and stood, walking over to her.
Christine backed away instinctively, her eyes trained on him as she skimmed the edge of the piano, until her calves met the stool he had sat in. He raised a hand up and slowly approached to kneel before her when she found herself sitting.
His voice was calm and assuring as he spoke up. "You've no need to fear for retribution, my dear. Although sly, it was well deserved". He covered her hands with his, running a thumb over her bandaged knuckles and planting a kiss on them. "As for refilling the bucket, I bathed. I'm of no use if I develop hypothermia, my dear".
The corner of his porcelain mask brushed over her skin and she shivered. "Do you require any extra articles of clothing? I could procure some for you while I tend to the drenched ones", she offered, which sounded more like a plea.
"Already tended to, Christine. No need to fret over such inconsequential things", he brushed it off briskly.
Christine glanced over to the composition sitting on the desk, and surprise lit her eyes. "You brought Don Juan Triumphant! Have you managed to progress?"
Erik chuckled as he watched Christine's eyes dance over the pages. "Not by much. I'm afraid my muse has been absent as of recently", he gave her a knowing look. "But it is my hope to progress enough to compensate for that".
Returning to the blank page, she set it back on the desk. "Then let us hope we do not hear from Madame Giry too soon then. Perhaps a change in scenery will benefit your life's work. When did you begin composing it?"
Erik hummed as he stood. "I had the idea about four years ago, but scrapped it. But after a year, I picked up where I left off".
"How long does it normally take until completion?"
"That entirely depends on the creator, my dear. For someone it could take one year, for another it may take twenty years. As Nadir has told me, you will never work a day in your life doing what you love".
Christine smiled. "Nadir is not wrong".
Erik scoffed. "He is a good man, but is driven by his selflessness and cocky attitude". He capriciously tilted his head in another direction. "Would you like tea?"
"I didn't buy any at the market though. It wasn't on the list…" Christine began.
"Because I brought the remedial tea you have taken a liking to. I'd much prefer to nurture your voice with one I can rely on".
She came up from the stool and trailed behind him. "What's wrong with other teas? I've tried others and had no problem".
"Then you have a decent palatable selection. Some do more harm than good, my dear. The last thing you will want is to awaken with a dry, irritated throat", he murmured, lighting a fire beneath the filled pot resting on the stovetop.
"I suppose you're right".
The two of them conversed into the early evening, Christine sharing stories about the distant memories of her father.
Erik lounged on a chaise across from her, one leg dangling off. "It is quite remarkable that the Society built a mausoleum for your Father. It takes pure genius and talent to be bestowed with such accreditation. He was truly one of a kind", he complimented.
"I could hardly believe it when I read the letter. It feels as though a piece of him has been brought to me… Sometimes it proves to be of great comfort to me, being so far from home", she told him quietly as she picked at the hem of her sleeves. "Does it bother you being away from Paris?"
Erik's eyes took on a darker hue, and his voice was deep. "I have spent most of my life traveling before settling, my dear".
Christine straightened from her slouched position with piqued interest. "Where have you been? I can only guess so much by the oriental robe you wear," she commented, eyeing the elaborate design embroidered on the fabric.
"A great deal of Europe and the Middle East", he sighed somberly.
Her lips thinned. "I would ask if it was a pleasant experience, but you don't seem overly fond of it. Would you like to share-"
"No!" He cut her off abruptly, his once relaxed posture now stiffened, and his hands gripped the indented cushion beside him.
Christine moved to his side in an instant, kneeling before him. "I'm sorry, Erik, I didn't mean to pry. Are you alright?" Concern drew upon her features.
"Those years of my life are long in the past, Christine. To discuss and divulge those times would be to tear open a scar", his voice was disconcerting and tremulous.
She could register the distant glint of fear and despair, taking on a miasmatic atmosphere around them. "Those scars never truly healed, did they?"
His silence was the only answer she needed.
Reaching forward, she pressed her lips to his masked cheek. "Then we shall not let our ghosts linger here".
"Oh, Christine", he took her hand in his and grasped it tightly, pressing a kiss to them in return. "You are far too good to me. I am undeserving of you".
Her gaze shifted from her Erik to the piano.
"Can you give me a voice lesson tonight? I believe the tea will have done its remedial work by now", she requested softly, nearly a whisper.
Erik nodded quickly in acquiescence. "If you so desire, my dear". He plucked his empty glass from the table, but Christine took it from him quickly. "I'll take it".
He gave her a short smile. "Thank you. Now go, my Angel. Pick out the compositions you wish to practice tonight".
"Actually," Christine's voice came from the kitchen. "I would like to sing from Don Juan Triumphant. That is if you don't mind?"
Erik's head snapped to her when she returned to the room, eyes wide in disbelief. "Are you certain, Christine? Would you not prefer something more serenading? Mozart, perhaps?"
Christine tilted her head reverently. "Mozart would simply maintain a solemn mood. Your music brightens my spirits".
As much as those words should have brought him a great sense of pride, he remained hesitant. His music was never meant for his angel to hear. An opera created from such primal darkness within him.
It was a compiled collection of clandestine vignettes of all he wished to have felt. Don Juan Triumphant was esoteric, and he planned for it to never see the light of day. To take it to his own grave.
From the very moment he heard her sing, he knew she would be Aminta. He would die a happy man seeing her perform his opera, if only once.
He moved to the piano, picking the composition and tracing his bony fingers over the edges of the pages studiously. "You've read these pages, my dear. This music is far from the light you belong in. It is a vessel of dark passion and desire, a fire-"
"Then let it consume me! Please, Erik", she gripped his arm fiercely, her emerald hues alight with cogent desperation. "If for only a few hours you can take my mind away from the memories".
Only for her.
With a resigned sigh, he handed her his opera, and before he could ask her which one she wished to sing, she pointed to the top of a page.
The Point of No Return.
Erik gently took it from her, setting it on the desk of the piano. Christine's grip on him softened and her hand dropped to her side, allowing him to situate himself on the piano bench.
"We will begin with your scales. But first, loosen your corset or change into what you normally wear to lessons. I'll not have your breathing constricted to that ridiculous contraption", he commanded firmly.
"Yes, Mon Ange".
Christine had returned several minutes later, having changed into the silky charmeuse of the black robe he had given her, tied in a loose bow at the waist, and trailed on the floor behind her.
Erik had her doing scales for a full hour before deeming her voice properly warmed up after two weeks without lessons.
Although she had danced flawlessly in Carmen during that lost time, she found herself constantly reprimanded for not maintaining a straightened posture.
He had stepped back into the role of her authoritative Angel, harnessing her talents and molding her voice to become nothing but perfection.
At last, Erik pulled out the composition from behind the others he had her practice. "Do you remember what I told you about Aminta, Christine?"
"You said that she was an innocent rose. But it was her seductive allure of innocence that made Don Juan target her", she recalled, tapping her finger on the piano lid.
Erik nodded. "The Point of No Return is a scene in which Don Juan's accomplice, Passarino, has traded places with him, Aminta believing she dines with a cloaked Passarino when it is Don Juan underneath the garb. And slowly, he seduces her as she indulges in wine until he leads her to his room under the pretense that Don Juan has returned and they must hide".
Christine cleared her throat. "And then?"
"I have a difficult time believing you are unsuspecting of what comes next, my dear", the deep timbre of his voice came smoothly.
Trepidation sparked within her and she watched as he placed his hands on the ivory keys. "To sing as Aminta, you must become Aminta. Imagine that same warmth within you the night you wrote that note to me with Little Giry. Remember the exhilarating feeling you first danced in Le Roi de Lahore, that excitement".
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, attempting to recall those distant memories. She had not overindulged in liquor since that night with Meg when she awoke with a terrible headache, but she could remember feeling overly warm.
She could not recall the nerves that had once raced through her as she stood behind the curtain waiting for their cue to move upstage. It had all felt so natural.
But she remembered him. Her Dark Angel taking her into his arms in his music room.
In that bed…
And there it was. That familiar burn that pooled in her stomach made her body tremor and ignite her mind with prurience.
Where there once had been shame and embarrassment was now lascivious excitement.
Letting the memories consume her, she opened her eyes and moved to stand behind him, allowing his music to take possession of her entire being.
He was no longer Erik. He was not her generous Angel of Music.
No. This was her Dark Angel.
With a dip of his shoulders, the sound of sweet seduction surrounded them, and the world fell away.
You have brought me
To that moment where words run dry
To that moment where speech disappears into silence
Silence…
Christine nearly hissed the last part, recalling how his hands had skimmed down her sides, to her thighs, making her leg hitch against him.
I have come here
Hardly knowing the reason why
In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent
Her hands crept to the revealed skin on the nape of his neck, her fingers brushing against it softly before trailing down to his clavicle.
Now I am here with you, no second thoughts
She bent forward, whispering to the masked side of his face.
I've decided, decided
Erik inhaled sharply, tensing under her touch.
Past the point of no return
No going back now
Our passion play has now at last begun
She stepped away, her hand running off his shoulder as she walked into his view beside the piano. His darkened hazel eyes met hers, and she shivered as his fingers came down forcefully upon the keys.
Past all thought of right or wrong
One final question
Christine slammed her hands down on the piano, leaning forward until her stomach was pressed against the side and her torso and head hovering above the gleaming black surface.
She was Aminta.
How long should we two wait before we're one?
When will the blood begin to race?
The sleeping bud burst into bloom?
When will the flames, at last, consume us?
Unbeknownst to her strength, she lifted herself atop the piano and laid upon her back, her head tilting to keep her gaze glued to the Dark Angel whose melody thrummed against her.
In one sweet rush, his voice intertwined with hers, and Christine felt the spark combust into a flame, igniting a dark passion that swept through every fiber of her being.
Past the point of no return
The final threshold
Her hands flew above her head, grasping the edges before him and pulling herself closer to him until her face was mere inches from his.
The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn
We've passed the point of no return
There was no time to register the gap from which the music ended to when rough fingers scooped to support the back of her head and neck and her Dark Angel's lips pressed against hers feverishly.
His other hand brushed against the delicate skin of her neck, meeting the junction where her pulse throbbed wildly.
Christine hummed against his fingers, and he groaned. "My Angel".
The curved bottom of his mask dug into the corner of her nose and Christine winced, hissing in response.
Suddenly his hands were gone from her, and she inhaled deeply and sat up, swinging her legs off the side of the piano.
Furious heat flooded her cheeks and she touched her lips, then her nose. She looked up to Erik, who stood only a few feet away, concern flickering in his eyes.
"Christine?"
She glanced around the room before her gaze fixed on his again. Pushing herself off the piano she moved to him, bringing her shaky hand to his equally trembling one.
"Do you trust me?" She asked in turn, as he had once asked her.
Her heart pounded against her chest as he brought his lips down to hers gently, taking it as confirmation.
Christine parted from him and went to the closest candle, gazing at him before blowing it out.
Her movements were slow and deliberate as she rounded the music room, extinguishing the flames of each candle until the room was plunged into darkness.
With careful steps, she stood before Erik, his figure nearly impossible to make out, save for the sharp white contrast of his mask against the darkness that surrounded them.
The only sounds were their ragged breathing, and with all the temerity she could aggregate, she breathed.
"I want you to take off your mask and kiss me".
Erik inhaled sharply, and Christine placed her hands against his chest in reassurance. "I can't see you. You can't see me. Just feel", she whispered softly.
One hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him, and there was a pregnant pause.
He had chosen her over the facade he hid behind.
And hopefully, over time, he could learn to accept himself as she accepted him.
On the inside, she danced with forbearance, anticipation, and desire. But a small part of her wondered if he would resile and retreat.
Those thoughts were fleeting as there was a rustle of fabric. His sleeve slid up the side of his robe, then slid down, followed by a soft clink against the piano.
Slowly, his right hand cupped hers and brought it up to his lips, and he planted a kiss upon each pad of her fingers before dropping the hand to her neck. She brushed the bloated malformation that spotted the corner of his lips.
He trembled as he held her against him, and she inclined her head, making out the two hazel eyes that glimmered nervously. He was on the verge of recoiling from her, but she kept him in place with her hands.
"Erik", she placated irrevocably. With the utmost gentleness, she steadily caressed the unmasked side of his face.
Christine nearly gasped as the flesh beneath her fingertips became distorted, sinking into deep grooves that marred his cheek. Her thumb encountered the ragged surface of an elongated nostril.
Her fingers skimmed back further, reaching the shell of his ear, surrounded by distorted jagged lines. Drawing it back further, she became aware that there was no longer a hairline, but a large sunken area of tissue, surrounded by sparse wisps of hair.
She released a heart-wrenching sob where the deformity ended and reached to caress the other side, cupping both cheeks in her hands.
Her body was wracked with sobs against him, and he swiftly caught the tears that escaped her eyes, wiping them away. "Why do you weep for me, my dear? Are they tears of terror? Of hate?" He asked her with bitter disdain. "You have brought a monster into your home", he hissed through his teeth.
"I weep for no monster, but my fallen angel!" She pounded her fists against his chest. "Who has hurt my Angel?" She cried, burying her head into his robe. "My beautiful Erik! What have they done to you?"
His fingers raked through her curls, pulling her tighter to him to console her. "Now you see why I must hide away in the Underworld? Because society has cast me away since childhood, Christine! The world is cruel to those born differently, and they are continually punished for it!"
"Are you in pain? What can I do?" She pleaded, pulling away and scrunching her eyes in hopes she could make out any part other than his eyes.
"No Christine. I am not in pain anymore. I have been touched by a walking angel", he cooed, pressing his malformed lips to her temple. "Are you truly not repulsed by my face?"
Christine shook her head vehemently. "It is the same as I told you when you collected me on that snowy day near Pàre Lachaise. Your deformity has never mattered to me!"
"Oh, Christine…"
"You are the first voice I hear when I awaken and your voice, your music is what has lulled me to sleep every night since I first heard you sing!", she placed a long kiss upon the deformed side of his face.
Erik receded several steps until the back of his legs met the piano stool, and he cautiously sat down, Christine situating herself on his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist and his arms wound around her to ensure she wouldn't fall.
"My beautiful Erik". She repeated, caressing his face again.
Although she could not see him, he could see her. Those years spent clambering in the darkness enhanced his vision to adapt to his environment. He looked upon her with wonder and amazement, as if she were just a mere figment of his imagination.
His Christine was here in his arms.
No one had ever cried for him before, not even his own mother.
But now his angel, his saving grace was here, leading him from his solitude.
His love for her burned and ached as she repeatedly placed her soft lips upon every inch of his twisted complexion. With every tear that dripped from her eye to his cheek, he felt the pieces of his broken life coming together.
It was always her. Every path led him to her.
And he would follow her anywhere she led.
With one hand still wrapped around her waist, the other pulled her lips from his cheek and he placed his forehead against hers, their heavy palpable breaths mingling.
Those captivating seraphic emerald hues glimmered with nothing he had ever known before. Acceptance and compassion.
The dam had been broken, and he could not help the next words that slipped from his lips.
"I love you, Christine".
His declaration was riddled with such fervor, and Christine clung to him by the cravat that peeked out from under the robe.
He dreaded the worst possible reactions in his mind, picturing how she would push him away and call him what he had been his entire life.
Abomination. Monster. Devil's child. Death.
But then she smiled. Christine smiled!
"Do you truly, Erik?" Her heart felt as if it were about to burst with a flurry of nervousness, anticipation, and excitement.
And that deep, rich velvet voice that made her shiver brushed against her skin, rekindling that fire that had turned to embers. "I love, you, my beautiful angel. I love you, Christine. Never for a moment have I doubted it".
It was no longer her request that guided them as Erik pressed his bare lips against her own with an unbridled passion, and Christine moaned softly, one hand caressing his bared face while the other held tight to his shoulder.
Once more, tears escaped her, and Erik caught them between his lips, moving down to her neck where they trailed down.
His hand remained wrapped around the curve of her spine while the other cradled the nape of her neck as his lips found the melodic beating of her pulse.
"My heart beats only for you, Erik. Only you…"
All Christine could feel was him. Her Erik who declared his love for her, the tender Angel of Music who caressed her with his song and embraces.
Her Dark Angel who assailed and ravaged her with forbidden touches and lustful, fervid music, and The Phantom of the Opera, who lurked around every corner she walked, every threshold she crossed.
He was everywhere.
He suckled on the pulsing junction of her neck and he gripped her curls, tugging her hair back with an unspoken level of ardor and she gasped as his fingers worked their way behind her ear, eliciting a shiver from her.
"Erik…".
His name was a sweet mantra from her lips as she pressed her chest against his, her hardened peaks pressing painfully against the soft fabrics. She welcomed the warmth that gathered between her thighs, shifting her legs that were curved around his thin frame.
In one swift movement, he scooped her into his arms, standing from the small stool. Her grip went to his shoulders as he supported her, and she pressed her lips against his softly.
Christine ran a tender hand across the deformity sentimentally, parting just enough that their lips barely brushed, mint and cinnamon flooding her senses.
"Je t'aime, Erik… Je t'aime. J'aime chaque partie de toi".
She kissed his temple. "Mon Ange de la Musique". The shell of his ear, "Mon Fantome". His lips, "Mon Ange Noir". The marred side of his face, "Mon Erik. Je t'aime".
Erik shuddered, tightening his hold on her as his eyes went wide with disbelief, pulled from the reverie he had for so long imagined into reality.
Every doubt that he ever carried washed away, now solidified by the vehement ardor of her confession.
He did not believe in God, but he believed in Christine. He would convert and become a reverent zealot and worship her for the rest of his life. He would be her avenging angel if it meant he could see her beautiful smile every waking moment.
Anything for his Christine.
Plundering her lips, he crossed the dark room to lay her upon the chaise they had been conversing on only a short time ago. His body blanketed hers, and he propped himself on his elbows and resumed his assailment upon her pale skin.
With deft fingers, she beseechingly pulled open the Mandarin Robe, pushing it off his shoulders until he pulled away momentarily to shrug it away and cast it across the room.
She tore away the loose cravat and her hands wandered under his tunic to the planes of his chest, his skin warm and inviting to the touch.
"I love you", he purred beside her ear, lifting one hand to push away a stray hair. He raked it down her clavicle to the underside of her arm, brushing the side of her breast. His thumb extended, brushing over a hardened nipple and Christine gasped against his lips.
"So sensitive, my Christine?", Erik laid kisses upon her, moving down the column of her neck to the exposed skin just above the closed folds of her robe. "Seeing you wear this pleases me greatly, my dear".
Her eyes opened and she looked down to see Erik's inches from hers, fogged over with desire, but nonetheless seeking consent as his fingers grasped the bow on her waist.
Christine nodded dazedly. "Please, Erik".
His breath fanned against her skin, and the robe parted open, revealing the thin ivory chemise she wore underneath.
Whether it was from the sudden cold air, or Erik's lips finally meeting her skin, Christine shivered, placing her hands on both sides of his face and running her finger over the marred skin.
Erik's nimble fingers brushed over the ruffles that hung low on the neckline, unfastening the strings that held them together.
Goosebumps formed as his malformed lips moved across her chest, and Christine watched lasciviously as he slowly pulled away the fabric to reveal her breast.
He delicately ran his palm over the pert rosy nipple, capturing it between his fingers. "My beautiful angel", he groaned as his lips covered the hardened peak.
A sharp gasp left Christine, her eyes clenching shut and mouth falling open as his tongue flicked over her. She blindly grasped the back of his loosened tunic, the other gripping his arm.
Erik's hand stretched across her, fondling the other as he continued his ministrations, humming with satisfaction as her chest rose beneath him.
Christine whimpered as his teeth grazed over her nipple, moving the fabric from the other and repeating the gesture.
Her entire being trembled as the warmth between her legs spread, her name spilling from Erik's lips when his mouth parted from her with a soft pop.
"What a gift you've given me, Christine". His gaze fixed on his Angel, whose brows were knit, her eyes narrowing in on the deep hazel that glowed in the adjusting darkness.
"Erik", she breathed, tugging his arm to once again meet his lips. His hands drifted down her sides to her calves, and her breath hitched as the hand ventured under her chemise to the edge of her silk stockings.
"You mustn't…", she whispered against his lips, her hips betraying her as they pressed into him.
He picked at the edges with temptation, eyes half-lidded as his long fingers made contact with the edge of her drawers. "Musn't or can't?".
Christine bit her lip and clenched her eyes shut, the ache between her legs growing. She wanted him, needed him.
"Let me worship you, My Angel. Let me make you soar. Just feel…"
Oh, God… how temptation pulled at her strings, leading her to dark salvation.
She was past the point of no return.
Slowly, Christine dipped her head, and Erik moved back to sit on his heels, gracefully pulling a leg into his lap.
He peppered kisses along her leg, reaching to her upper thigh and pulling back her stocking, winding it as he went. His intense gaze remained fixated on her, and he reached for the other, caressing the milky white skin as the material slipped from her skin.
Erik hovered above her, his hands settling on her sides. "Lift your hips for me, my love".
Christine acquiesced, and with the most gentle of touches, her drawers were dragged down her legs in a slow fashion until they were slipped from her feet and placed aside.
Her entire being trembled as those hazel eyes sunk low, past the fabric of her chemise that had been bunched at her hips.
His hand crept to her lower stomach, applying slight pressure, and she could suddenly feel his breath upon her, a long finger sweeping through her curls before gliding along her slit.
Christine cried out sharply, jerking under his touch. Erik reached out, interlacing her fingers with his as she writhed her hips, her knees rising viscerally beside him.
"So ready for me Christine…My Angel", his deep voice rumbled against her.
The coil within her wound tight in anticipation as he pried her apart and his lips delved between her legs, kissing her soft center before darting out his tongue experimentally, eliciting a long moan from her.
Sparks of arousal crackled within her, her muscles tensing rigidly, a paroxysm washing over her. His dark sobriquet spilled from her lips with a high-pitched whimper.
He moved deeper, until he met the source of her dampness, pressing his thumb against her bud as he did in that fleeting time ago.
Christine's back arched, gasping and moaning as his tongue dipped between her folds, lapping at her with slow strokes. "Erik! Mon Ange Noir!" She pleaded feverishly.
Erik adjusted his position, moving from her entrance to her bud, slowly slipping a long finger into her heat, curling inside and flickering back and forth.
She cried his name, throwing her head back and keeping the hand she held in a vice grip. "Please!"
"Sing for me, my Angel of Music", he purred, adding another finger, quickening his pace.
It was as if her body were set aflame, and he was the covetous fire that consumed her, engulfing her until she was but a pile of ashes.
Her core tightened and her Dark Angel groaned pressing down on her lower stomach. Pleasure shot through her like lightning, and she gripped the arm of the chaise behind her head, nails digging into the fabric.
And she could suddenly take no more, her body spasming as she inhaled heavy breaths, her heart pounding bruisingly in her chest.
"My sweet Christine…"
Christine tremored violently, and inwardly shivered as Erik fastidiously tended to her, cleansing her of the sticky warmth that spilled from her.
Her mind was in a haze, her eyelashes batted against the bottom lid while she gripped herself to reality.
Their intertwined hand moved to rest beside her head and her eyes fluttered open to find Erik hovering above her, gazing down at her with passionate eyes and a devilish smirk.
A furious blush rose to her cheeks as he lifted his fingers to his lips and took them into his mouth one at a time, slowly clearing her juices from them before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You are exquisite, my Angel".
Christine leaned towards him, hooking a leg around him, and with all the strength she could muster with her shaky limbs, flipped them over so that he lay beneath her, a hum of approval erupting from him.
She curled up on him, burying her head in the crook of his neck below the deformed side of his face. His longs arms wrapped around her, tangling in her auburn curls and the other across her waist.
Exhaustion began to flood her senses, and she laid her palm against his warm chest that rose and fell beneath her. She yawned as she began to succumb to sleep. "Je t'aime, Erik…"
Erik viscerally pulled her closer. "Rest, my love".
And she did, falling into a deep sleep.
Hello, Lovelies. There's a bit I'd like to unpack here because this was a really difficult chapter for me to write.
I was worried I had them say those three words too early, but my story is not even halfway done. I think there is a precariously fine line between grief and lust because they are both easy to succumb to, but I developed the perspective that the house in Calais is a symbolic vessel and vestige for Christine's emotions. The new love she has developed for Erik helps her to cope with the love she has lost, and I felt that it would be symbolic for her to carry that love back with her so she can grow as a character outside her home. For both of them, life has felt very bleary, but now having expressed these emotions, it truly is the point of no return for them.
I'd also like to reflect on the beginning of the chapter, and how when I reread it, I felt silly for having written it, but I wanted to lighten the somber mood the past few chapters have brought.
Please feel free to leave reviews, because they always make my day so much brighter. I'd love to hear your feedback on my writing style and share ideas I can ruminate on to improve the story and myself as a writer. Until next time!
Your Obedient Servant,
-Emma51020