Hi folks,

Well, I'm managing to get this chapter up by 6 am my time on Sunday morning... pretty close to doing it on Saturday night, I hope? I wanted very much to post this last night, but the two year old refused to go to sleep until midnight.

Here you are, though. Don't read this chapter at work...

Chapter 21. July, 1887. Saturday night continued.

He began to sing again, very softly and enticingly this time. As she became gradually wrapped in a hazy fog of sound, Christine's body relaxed even more, and she started to move restlessly on the bed, sighing. He added further sensuousness to his timbre, doing deliberately now that which he had done somewhat inadvertently before. Not for the first time, he wondered whether he could have had other women throughout the long years of loneliness, if he had been willing to use his voice to seduce them. Oh, he'd thought of it, all right; but he'd never been able to bring himself to act on his tortured suppositions. It didn't matter now, anyway. He did not want anyone but Christine.

She was twisting to and fro now, gasping, her nipples erect and her thighs trembling. She was very close. He moved his voice around, making it seem as though he were now on top of her, now at her breasts, now sliding up her thighs. She arched her back, and he had all he could do not to reach out and seize her. He channelled the urge through his voice, though, and made his song ever more erotic and insistent.

Success. Christine's body spasmed suddenly, and she cried out with pleasure, her face screwed up and her hands clenching into fists and releasing repeatedly. When she collapsed back onto the pillows, he crawled up to stretch out beside her, propping his head on one hand. He still did not touch her.

"Did you enjoy that?" he whispered.

She blinked lazily at him, and remarked, "Maybe."

"Was it what you wanted?"

She shrugged one shoulder.

For God's sake. "Ahhh... should I promise never to compose again?"

She sat up abruptly, and said "What?" He repeated the offer.

"No, of course not!"

That was a good thing, as he'd been bluffing anyway. He was fairly certain that that was something he would not actually be able to do, even if he wanted to. She looked him over, and said, "I would never ask you to do that. I don't want you to give up composing, ever. What makes you think I would not want to hear your music ever again? Please don't do that."

"But it caused you pain."

"Not – not at first. But eventually, when you wouldn't look at me or even speak to me, I thought you might be ignoring me because you were upset with me over something. I worried and worried about it, and then I started to think, maybe I wasn't being a good wife to you. So I thought maybe you were disappointed that I didn't cook much. A wife is supposed to cook."

"You thought – what? Christine, did you forget who you are married to? Have I ever expressed anything of the sort? Since when do I even enjoy food in the first place? Of all the things I might be displeased with you about, why would you think that might be one of them?" He was about to confess heedlessly that he had withdrawn from her because he was sick with fear that she had lost interest in him, and could think of no other non-violent way to react, but before he could she went on.

"Because I couldn't think of anything else it might be. I thought over everything, and I just couldn't find anything else I might be doing wrong. I've tried so hard to be a good wife to you."

He was momentarily distracted.

"You are a good wife to your Erik," he insisted. He brought his hand up to stroke her cheek, then drew back. She had not said he was allowed to touch her yet. "Erik has no complaints whatever. He never expected he would have any sort of wife, let alone one that is as pretty and sweet and kind as Christine. She is perfect in every way."

"That's not what you said earlier. You said I was interfering, and stupid, and you called me a... a... I can't even say the word you used."

"I am sorry," he repeated, for what felt like the thousandth time. Wasn't she done exacting apologies from him yet? Weakly he had another go. "That was unpardonable of me. Let me make this up to you, Christine. Erik will try his hardest. He is new at this business, but he has learned fast."

"What will you do?" she asked, intrigued despite herself.

"Anything you like. Only ask, and I will do it. Or... hmm... or is Erik supposed to guess, perhaps?"

"Go ahead," she said, in a tone that was unmistakably another challenge. "Guess."

"As you wish, but... my options will be considerably limited if I can not touch you." He held his breath, waiting. She looked long and hard at him, and then said, in a tone of feigned indifference, "Well, go on then, if you must."

With difficulty he restrained himself from giving a sigh of relief, all the while wondering why women did this. Why did they play coy and beat about the bush, using words with second meanings which only they knew? It would be so much faster and more efficient for Christine simply to state what she wanted when she wanted it. But no. She was far more inclined to operate this way. He'd fallen into the trap of being "supposed to know" many times already, and had learned to be thoroughly wary of it. But tonight, he needed to do whatever she wanted, and if she wanted him to try and fail so she could scold him some more, well then so be it. He deserved it, anyway.

There could be no doubt that he was at a definite disadvantage. He was woefully inexperienced for what a man of his age should have been, and he was still plagued by constant doubts as to whether she really wanted and enjoyed his touch. Most of the time he could manage to push those thoughts aside during actual intimacy. Sometimes he couldn't. Most men had a difficult enough time as it was determining what a woman wanted, and poor Erik had had so very little practice at that.

He reached out, half-afraid of rejection again, and when it did not come he ran a hand from her shoulder to her thigh, feeling the marvellous springy softness of her. He shifted on the bed to take her tentatively into his arms, and she allowed him to. As he dipped his head and kissed the spots of her throat where she loved to be touched, he thought of how awe-inspiring it was that a woman could be brought to climax again and again and again. She seemed to have an infinite capacity to enjoy physical love, which was odd considering that it was supposed to be far more important to a man than to a woman. Why was that? Were other husbands simply not willing to put the effort into pleasing their women? Why would any man want to miss out on this exquisite joy of touching a woman all you liked, this thrill of pleasuring your beloved over and over, leaving her boneless and satiated in the marriage bed? Was he just different from other men? He didn't know. Perhaps he never would.

Besotted, he lavished affection on her breasts, making involuntary little murmurs of delight in his throat. God, to be allowed to embrace her again... She was responding to him, mewing and winding her fingers in his hair. Elated, he straightened up and kissed her sweet mouth, taking his time about it and wondering just how long it had been since he'd last done so. She pulled his shirt out of his trousers and shoved at the shoulders of his dressing gown.

So he was to remain a married man after all. He helped her get his clothes off, then drew her down to lie on the bed, pressed the entire length of his body joyfully against hers and hungrily kissed her again. She kissed him back eagerly, her tongue caressing his. The ready yielding of her mouth made him think of when she yielded to him another way, and for a moment it was all he could do to prevent himself from sliding inside her. He held her even tighter against him; she wriggled away just a little and slid a hand down to grasp him. Fighting down the urge to let her continue what she appeared to be starting, he pulled it away and held it over her head, saying reprovingly, "Christine, behave," as he bent his head to her breasts again. She arched to him, sliding her legs back and forth through the sheets. Fervently he pressed kisses down the length of her body, and when he reached her inner thighs, she gasped, "Husband, please!"

"Ah, Erik has figured it out," he answered, letting go of her wrist and shifting till he lay between her legs, the soft curls between them a little flame against his stomach as he returned to her breasts to kiss their tender undersides. "He thought that might be what Christine wanted."

She reached down and clasped one of his hands with hers. He slid down a little, and drew his tongue along one of her ribs. She writhed, and kicked him in the side. He did it again, on the other side, and then found himself laughing low in his throat at the strangled noise she made. It was good to laugh again.

More kisses down her stomach, and then he sat up and began to run his hands over her legs. She made a disappointed sound, and he said, partly in jest and partly in awe, "So impatient."

"I've had to wait days," she informed him. "I wanted you before I even put dinner on the table last night, and I waited till I had everything ready – not that that did any good."

"Erik is sorry," he answered inanely again, not having any other words at the ready, and kissed the inside of her ankle again. He moved slowly up her legs, adoring their warm silken skin with his lips and tongue, as she made little squeaking noises that pleased him greatly. He stroked the backs of her knees with his fingers, and she jerked and nearly kneed him in the mouth.

"Please do not knock out your husband's teeth, Christine."

"You'll get worse than that if you don't keep going," she threatened, thrashing. "I can't bear it."

"Do you not want it to last as long as possible?" he murmured, now worshiping the delectable smoothness of the insides of her thighs.

"No, " she said rudely. "Hurry up." She kicked him again. He determined to tantalize her for as long as possible, and began to lay kisses across just the very top of the dark gold curls between her legs. He would never forget his shock the first time he discovered that a woman, any woman, might not only allow, but even enjoy, his hideous deformity this close to her most intimate areas. And to have it be his Christine...

Christine wasn't merely allowing, she was demanding. She arched violently up against his mouth, and he touched her with his tongue, exquisitely lightly. She made a deep, feral noise in the back of her throat, and a dark thrill raced through him. He explored delicately, never quite giving her the firmness of touch that he knew she wanted, until she howled, "Erik!" At last, he took up the necessary rhythm, and sure enough, in seconds she was at the peak again.

This time, she was not incapable of movement, but pulled at him as the spasms subsided, her grip surprisingly strong. It was the most natural thing in the world then, to rise up over her and let himself fall into the safe haven of her body.

For a moment, he simply stayed frozen, desperate to begin moving yet wanting to prolong the sheer physical joy of being inside her. He listened to Christine's contented purrs as she adjusted herself and wound her legs about his waist. So... that was how she wanted it, then. As always, he was no more than a slave to her, and he began to thrust slowly, going as deeply inside her as he could with each movement. Her hands slid up and down his back, over the whip scars, and she bit his shoulder. He groaned and pressed his malformed cheek against her smooth one, fighting the urge to move faster. But it had been so long, what if he could not wait... She pulled his head up and gave him a long, wonderful kiss. His control shattered beyond repair, and he seized her hip, digging his fingers into the flesh that maddened him with its softness. Her nipples were little hard points against his chest, her thighs slid against his, and it was all just too much.

Everything was over embarrassingly fast, and as he gasped for breath, face buried in her hair, he managed to mutter, "Sorry."

She said nothing, but merely lay motionless until he rolled off of her and laid his cheek against her shoulder, draping his arm over her waist and pulling her close. They lay together quietly for a time, and Erik was beginning to doze, mostly involuntarily, when Christine roused him by the simple expedient of digging him in the ribs with her elbow. He blinked, and then felt his leg being caressed insistently .

He understood that his duties were not over for the night. She was not satisfied – well, no wonder, since he'd been unable to hold out long enough. A woman's desire seemed so very deep, incomprehensible to a mere man. Then he wondered whether that was another thing that other men were accomplished at, whereas he was not. Sometimes he feared that Christine expected him to be an expert lover, when he felt himself to be anything but. Composition, architecture, mathematics, foreign languages, science, ventriloquism, sleight of hand, clockworks; the list of his skills was long, but not long enough. Not now that he was married. And he was so much older than she... his vitality was strong still, but could only decrease from here, whereas hers glowed brightly. And it likely would for years. He must learn as many ways as possible of pleasing her.

He ran a hand down her thigh, wondering what else she wanted, and she pushed him to his back and draped herself over him, kissing him passionately. He cupped her face between his palms, enjoying the feel of her skin, and responded in kind. When she drew back, she rested her weight on one elbow, and laid the fingers of her other hand on his throat.

"Here lies the secret of your voice," she whispered. "It fascinates me endlessly."

"And here you hold its power in your hand," he whispered back. "And if you chose to squeeze, you would destroy that power in a moment."

"As you did to me when I attacked you when you told me about your torture chamber?" she challenged. He barely had time to think, oh no, not this again, when she suddenly moved her hand away from his throat, reached down and did squeeze, albeit lightly. He tensed automatically. He didn't think she would tighten her fingers any more, but then she had been exceedingly angry with him.

"And what about this power?" she teased. "Is it as fragile? Which would be worse, if I were to squeeze here or there?"

"I decline to say," he said formally, thinking privately that this was one situation where it was utterly impossible for a man to retain any dignity whatsoever. "Would you let go of me, woman?"

She did let go, but then moved her hand up just a few inches and closed it again. "You don't mind if I squeeze you here," she stated.

"No, I – I must admit I do not."

"In fact... you seem to like it very much."

Erik rather thought this ought to have gone without saying, what with the... ample evidence she had readily to... hand. Then she changed her grip, and began to slide her hand up and down rhythmically.

"And how about this?"

"Christine..." As usual when in the marriage bed with his wife, his ability to form a coherent sentence was rapidly diminishing, and then it disappeared completely, all at once, when she shifted position and exchanged her hand for her mouth. What seemed like all the blood in his head rushed in the other direction as fast as it could, the priorities obvious. He gripped handfuls of her hair, unable to stop himself from crying out.

"Christine – Christine – oh – "

For all he knew, it could have been five minutes or an hour before she eventually pulled away, and the marvellous sensations stopped abruptly. He was on the point of protesting, when she threw a round feminine leg over him, and with her teeth sunk endearingly in her lower lip in anticipation, eagerly impaled her body on his.

Erik sighed with pleasure at being inside her again. He was fairly certain he could manage the job again; it had been just as long for him as for her, after all, and in any case his body seemed determined to make up for lost time and did not generally have any trouble rising to the occasion, as it were, twice in a single evening. So far as he knew, his age should have prevented that, but it did not seem to, not at present at least. Perhaps later on, especially if she insisted upon wearing him out in this fashion... well, there were plenty of worse ways to expire. And he would certainly die a happy man, which was something he had never expected to do.

Christine also seemed disinclined to waste any time, and was writhing atop him in a manner whose wantonness he found erotic in the extreme. Gasping, he set his hands on her heaving hips, fondled the lovely curves there, and then reached up to her breasts. She moaned and leaned into his touch in a most gratifying way, and bent down to kiss him again.

Kissing her while being simultaneously inside her always threatened to undo him entirely. He gritted his teeth, thinking silently that he could not embarrass himself a second time in one night. A man must have some fortitude, after all. But, oh, please, let her finish quickly...

She seized one of his hands and brought it between her legs. Chagrined that he had not thought to do this himself and thankful to have something to do to take his mind off his own need, he set to work immediately, and blissfully watched the way she rode his fingers, her skin flushing beautifully. Her hair made a glorious halo around her, and he reached up to touch it, sinking his free hand into the curls at the back of her head. She arched her neck, then the rest of her, panted, moaned, and went to pieces atop him and around him. He fought to keep his eyes open long enough to watch her experience her climax, when they wanted only to drift shut at the exquisite sensation of her body spasming around his. It was very nearly enough, but not quite.

Christine collapsed across his chest. Contrary to what he wanted to do, which was to flip her onto her back and reach his own pleasure again in a short, hard flurry of thrusts, instead he held her gently and rubbed her back, feeling her heart thump madly against his own, until it gradually slowed and calmed.

"More, beloved?" he questioned softly, stroking her hair.

"No... I don't think so," she murmured against his chest. "Go on."

He kissed the top of her head gratefully, clasped her to him, and spun them about. Her hair fanned out across the pillow when her head hit it. Afterward, he stretched out beside her, breathing hard. Christine sighed happily, and then flipped over onto her stomach, her eyes bright and a general air of suppressed excitement about her.

"Erik?"

"Hmmm?" he managed to say. The fatigue of going for two nights with next to no sleep was hitting him again. His eyes burned dully and his bones seemed intent on dissolving, and he hoped that this was not going to be one of those nights when passion, far from exhausting Christine as it did him, instead energized her into wanting to have a long drawn-out conversation. He really was terribly tired.

"Erik... I have something to tell you."

O-O-O O-O-O