Christine hadn’t meant for this to start.
She hadn’t meant to slip back into the welcoming darkness, but she did. It called to her like nothing ever had in her life. It was addicting. It was inevitable.
It was made just for her.
She knew, as she walked into the park like she did every week now, that she would never be truly free from its sweet seduction.
Maybe she had known all along.
“Angel of Music… you deceived me…” she sang softly, tears filling her eyes. “I gave you my mind blindly.” And she had. From the moment she had first heard his voice singing to her as a child, a soft comfort in a cold, harsh world she had been suddenly exposed to at the death of her father. The Angel who was not an angel. And yet, hadn’t he still gone out of his way to comfort her? What had made him care so much to bother spending his time singing her to sleep when she had nightmares?
“You try my patience. Make your choice!”
She looked at him then. Really looked at him. This man that, from his birth, had known nothing but cruelty. Could she really blame him for reacting so violently when the one happiness, the one comfort in his life had suddenly been snatched away from him? She knew she was the only light he had known in his life of darkness. She heard it in his music, in his voice, every time he sang; in his eyes, every time he looked at her. Aching, desperate love. A love this poor man didn’t know what to do with, because he had never known love had he? ‘A mask my first unfeeling scrap of clothing’. How else was a person to turn out when their own mother had loathed them from birth? Christine couldn’t even imagine what he had been through.
“Pitiful creature of darkness… what kind of life have you known?” she sang, stepping slowly towards him. He looked at her, his eyes suddenly, piercingly vulnerable, and she understood. She was the one person in his life who truly had the power to destroy him. Her voice and company had been his only spark of light and comfort.
“God give me courage to show you, you are not alone!” she smiled softly, slipping the ring he gave her on her finger, and finally gave into her heart, sealing her lips on his.
Fire. Pure heat and bliss raced through heart the feel of his lips on hers. She deepened the kiss, wanting to meld into him, her heart beating wildly. Angel. My Angel. She pulled back for air, holding the deformed half of his face with a gentle caress. Desire flushed through her at the memory of his touch when he first sang to her of the Music of the Night. She pulled him into another kiss, feeling her heart soar. He returned her kisses fervently, desperately, as if he couldn’t be sure if he were dreaming. She felt his arm rest around her waist, and she finally pulled back for another shuddering breath. My Angel.
But he had broken down— finally being chosen, finally being loved too much for him. She stared after him as he demanded they leave. But she couldn’t just leave, could she? He said the words to free her, but never returned her her heart. Her soul.
He had branded her irrevocably. With a kiss, he had truly, forever changed her. She had returned the ring, her voice caught in her throat for once in his presence. How could she explain to him? How could she explain that she wanted to stay? She had chosen… and he had turned away, banishing them from his sight.
But not before he had sang the words that truly and utterly damned her.
“Christine, I love you.”
Not a month after the fire at the Opera, she had requested to walk in a garden near the Vicomte’s estate alone, needing to be alone with her thoughts. With every day that went by, she was consumed by the memory of her Phantom. Of those last few words. Of their kiss.
Christine, I love you.
When she had stopped at the edge of the pond, gazing into its depths, wondering where he was now. She was so lost in thought of him that she almost didn’t believe her heart. It was stirring as it always had in his presence. Every time she went into the chapel to pray for her father, every time they had a singing lesson, she felt the same flipping of her stomach, the tightening in her chest—a flutter of excitement from his presence. My Angel.
She turned, feeling strangely as if she were in a dream, and came face to face with her Phantom.
He was dressed in his regal black finery, as he had been the first night they met. His black wig and gleaming white half-mask were firmly back in place on his face, and her heart stuttered. He seemed to emanate dark glory and power, as seductive as he had been on the stage of Don Juan.
“I’m dreaming…” she whispered, feeling her knees start to go weak.
He didn’t answer. He simply fixed her with those piercing, crystal blue eyes, the eyes that had enchanted her that first night so long ago... and held out his gloved hand.
Her breathing sped. Here was not the pleading, broken man she had left by the underground lake. No, that man was gone, hidden.
This was the Phantom of the Opera.
She found herself taking step after step forward, almost floating as she closed the few feet between them, and laid her hand in his, shuddering with the finality she felt in that action. Why she had never seen before was beyond her, it was so clear to her now.
She was his. She would always be his.
He led her from the pond, away from the entrance of the park she entered, and brought her to a large black carriage, as lovely and fine as the clothes he wore. He climbed in the cab after her, and tapped once on the roof. The cart lurched forward immediately at his command, and Christine took another breath. The command he carried with himself was undeniable, and it shimmered around him now.
“Where are you taking me?” she finally found her voice to ask. A small smirk pulled at the corner of his lip, and Christine suddenly felt a strange… flutter, of excitement.
“My dear Christine,” there was amusement in his tone! But the way his voice caressed her name still had the power to make her shiver, if not more so. “You are coming to my home. No doubt if your engagement to monsieur le vicomte was more satisfactory you would not have willingly accompanied me. Am I wrong?” His quiet derision dripped from every word.
Christine flushed crimson. “That is no business of—”
“No business of mine?” he interrupted sharply, and her words of indignation died on her tongue. He had used his maestro tone, and she knew from their many lessons that it brooked no argument. “Then why, my dear, do your servants gossip about how unhappy the vicomtess-to-be seems? How she weeps in her room at night and calls…” his voice lost its heat, and took on a breathlessness that made her chest twinge. “Calls... for her ‘Angel’?” His eyes bored into hers, and Christine felt as though her heart would pound right out of her chest. Struck silent, she had no answer for him. He already knew everything.
He always knew.
After a few moments of silence, he leaned back against his seat, looking again like a haughty king of darkness. The smirk was back on his lips, and she saw his eyes glance at her lips and she felt heat gather in another, more forbidden part of her.
What sweet seduction lies before us?
Her lips parted as she seemed to hear the music swell around her once again, the phantom melodies intoxicating her, and her breathing sped. He leaned forward, taking her hand and lifting it so he could place a lingering kiss on her wrist. It burned her skin, sending shivers of desire racing through her. His kisses continued up her arm, lingering in the soft crook of her elbow for a moment before continuing up and across her collar bone.
His lips touched her neck, and Christine was lost.
A breathy moan escaped her as tendrils of desire wrapped around her, pleasure from the soft caress of his lips on her throat driving her mad with bliss. Every stroke of his hand, every firm kiss and nip of his teeth seemed carefully orchestrated to unravel her. She thought she had known the heat of lust during Don Juan, but that was nothing compared to the flames he was stoking inside of her now. My Phantom. My lover.
Before she realized he was pulling her out of the carriage, half supporting her on their walk up to the façade of a stately manor, finer even than the vicomte’s she had been staying in for a month’s time. Its regal air suited the grandeur and mystery of her Phantom.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to her, and she stopped, grabbing his arm. They were in the foyer, and confusion furrowed his brow briefly.
“Your name!” she gasped, pulling him closer to her. “I don’t know your name… you’ve always been my Angel… the Phantom…” he turned, and pulled her flush against his body. He leaned down, trailing kisses under her jawline, eliciting a breathy moan from her.
“My name… is… Erik…” he murmured between kisses.
“Erik…” she sighed blissfully, and he groaned, burying his fingers in her hair. Erik. My Angel, Erik…
They met in a burning kiss, wrapping their arms around each other. No kiss Raoul had ever bestowed on her had ever consumed her like this. These was the heat she had sung about that fated night… and now the flames at last consume us…
He swept her up in his arms, bearing her up the grand staircase, keeping his lips on hers, his tongue playing with hers wickedly. She would have been scandalized by the noises she was emitting if she could think past the feel of him, and the raw desire she felt.
He set her down inside what a quick glance told her must be his bedroom, and she took that moment to catch her breath. His thumb traced her lower lip, dark promises swirling in his eyes.
They were so attuned to each other, still, that no words were needed. His fingers picked deftly at the buttons on the back of her dress. He raised his visible brow in question and she nodded shakily. Drawing the edges of her dress apart, he let it slip slowly down her shoulders, exposing her chemise and corset. She had forgone the normal trappings of a vicomtess-to-be in favour of freedom of movement for her walk in the park, and was desperately thankful for it. His eyes blazed as he took in her form, those long, musical fingers making quick work of her corset. Christine untied his cravat, then moved to the buttons of his vest, feeling a thrill as each fell to the floor. He pulled the shirt over his head, and Christine let her eyes trail appreciatively over his muscular chest. Years of carving out his home under the opera house and traversing unseen had given him a strong definition she found utterly enticing.
He pulled her into another searing kiss, and she answered the unspoken question with passionate return. He slowly pulled the sleeves of her chemise over her shoulders, and allowed the material to fall to the floor.
Christine gasped, unused to being so exposed, but it quickly turned to a moan as one of his hands cupped a breast, his fingers brushing the exposed nipple until it hardened. The pleasure seemed to shoot right to her core, making her squirm. His other hand trailed down her side, memorizing her curves like he had when he first brought her to his home by the lake. The heat burning between her thighs was almost unbearable.
“So beautiful…” he whispered, turning her around so his mouth could explore the side of her throat while his hands wandered her front. Her eyes drifted closed in sheer pleasure, tilting her head to give him more access. His hand was trailing lower and lower while the other played with one peaked nipple, eliciting small gasps and moans from her.
“Oh god!” Christine cried as his fingers slipped between her thighs and pressed against her. Pleasure swept through her like a tidal wave, his arm around her the only thing anchoring her as she was lost to the storm. She arched her back, pressing her bottom against the obvious return of his arousal, and she felt her face flame. She was acting positively wanton! But she couldn’t stop herself. The pleasure was only teasing the desire that was pounding through her, turning it into an unbearable ache.
“I need… I need…” her head thrashed to the side as she arched her hips again, searching for something, reaching…
“God Christine… yes love, give in to it, feel me…” Erik moaned into her ear, teasing her wet entrance now, before gently slipping a finger inside of her.
Christine gasped at the new intrusion, vaguely realizing her nails must be biting painfully into his arm which she had gripped at some point. Her mouth fell open in a wordless cry.
Pure, unadulterated, consuming lust. She felt Erik curl his finger slightly, hitting a spot within her that sent stars exploding in her vision and Christine let out a moan so loud that was almost a sob. He continued to slowly stretch her with his finger, pulling out to her protest, only to add another. The pleasure increased impossibly as he worked his fingers inside of her, curling them again and again to brush that mind-numbing spot.
“Oh god… oh god… Erik… Erik!” she writhed desperately in his arms, mindlessly reaching for some elusive thing she felt building… so high…
“Sing for me…” he growled in her ear, the dark, lustful power of his voice overpowering her, pushing her over the delicate precipice.
She obeyed her Angel.
Christine screamed a high pure note, her vision going white as ecstasy completely overtaking her. She was drowning in the sensual pleasure, vaguely aware of her Angel crooning her name, lightly stroking her down from her high. She shuddered from several aftershocks, limp against him.
“Erik…” she breathed, mustering enough strength to turn and look at him. Her beautiful Angel. The fire in his eyes was an inferno now. She knew what she wanted.
She had known so long ago, she saw that now. It was as if she had a veil taken from her eyes.
She had always known.
She took his hands, stepping on slightly unsteady legs, unable to take her eyes off him. His hand trailed from her cheek down to her chest, and he completely surprised her by gently but firmly pushing her down onto the bed. She barely managed a gasp before his mouth was on hers. This kiss was more passionate, but no less possessive. His lips moved down the column of her throat, then between her breasts, pausing to briefly worship each nipple, making her squirm. Surely her body couldn’t endure any more pleasure!
His kisses were at her stomach now, and Christine’s virginal mind couldn’t come up with a reason why he’d be down by her…
“OH!” Christine almost jerked up straight but a strong hand splayed on her stomach, pinning her down so she was helpless to his ministrations. God, his tongue!
Her hips bucked against her will as his tongue, that musical tongue that had sang her endless promises, now trailed between her thighs, circling tauntingly around her bud of pleasure before bringing it gently between his teeth, then releasing it with another long lick. An endless stream of moans and cries seemed to escape her throat, and her fingers delved into his hair, keeping him there.
Too soon she felt the same building as before, as his tongue flickered quickly over her bud, one finger teasing her entrance. A keening wail left her as his tongue took the place of his finger, plunging inside of her while his finger moved to replace his tongue.
“Erik! God!Yes… god… I love you…” she sobbed, her back arching off the bed as another wave of ecstasy washed over her already sensitive body, seeming to go on endlessly, her piercing cries filling the room.
While she was still shaking from her latest utter destruction at his hands, he stood and undid the laces of his trousers.
“Erik… it’s too much… I can’t…” she breathed as he lifted her, carrying her to the head of the bed where she rested her head on the pillows.
“Mmm… you’re so beautiful when you come for me, my love,” he purred, kissing her gently. So that’s what that feeling was. Impossibly Christine felt the renewal of the fire that had awakened between her legs, and she moaned, lifting her legs to wrap around his waist, causing his hard member to brush against her sensitive sex.
“Erik… please,” she begged. Erik muttered a strangled oath at her movements, gripping her hip to still her.
“Christine…” his voice held every question and fear in his bare soul, and through the haze of pleasure a stab of regret that she hadn’t stayed with him washed through Christine.
She answered his question with a desperate, probing kiss, giving him her soul. Her heart. Erik pressed himself against her wet heat, and her breath caught. Now he would have her body, too.
“Mine,” he growled, slowly sinking into her. Christine braced herself for the pain she had always heard other girls speak of, but it never came. Only the strange ache of being stretched, and a satisfying fullness. Her mouth opened in a delicate “o” as he was full seated inside of her, the pleasure from her previous completions making her hypersensitive.
“God Christine…” he moaned, and pulled back slightly before surging forward again. Christine moaned at the delicious friction, her fingernails raking down his back as yet another kind of pleasure filled her. His hips began moving in earnest, pulling out slowly only to slam back into her, making her cry in pleasure with each thrust. He grasped her arms, pinning them above her head as his lips claimed hers, his hips speeding up.
“Erik! Yes! Yes… yes… Erik… right there,” she cried as he brushed that spot inside of her he had found so easily with his fingers. His powerful thrusts made the bed creak and hit the wall in the same steady rhythm, and the sound only served to heighten the lust flooding through her.
The orgasm hit Christine without warning, and she clenched tightly around him, screaming his name. It seemed to stretch on for eons, his thrusts prolonging her torturous pleasure. She was a slave to it, her back arching of its own accord, pressing her breasts against his chest. His hips pounded harder into her, her name a desperate gasp on his lips.
“Christine… so good… my goddess,” he moaned, panting passionate words into her ear, his half masked forehead pressed against her cheek. A choked cry left his lips and his hips stuttered, Christine gave a trembling cry as he dragged out her pleasure, feeling his member pulse as he spent himself inside her.
She was utterly spent, her body limply sinking into the plush duvet as they both caught their breath. Her trembling hand reached up, and she carded her fingers gently through his hair.
“Erik… I love you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. She felt his shoulders stiffen, and the wash of his breath on her neck halted. When he didn’t reply, she pressed her lips to his forehead again.
“Angel of Music hide no longer, come to me strange Angel…” she sang gently, her voice still a little breathy from her passion. He lifted his head slowly, the naked vulnerability in his eyes breaking her heart again. She brushed his cheek, and pulled back the mask.
“Christine, I love you.” He sang.
Christine stood, bidding a polite goodbye to Raoul. He frowned after her, wondering why the feverish excitement entered her eyes every weekend she left to visit the Giry’s home in Paris. Their engagement seemed to have stagnated, she barely wore her ring anymore this past month. Maybe he would pay a visit to the Giry’s one of these days and inquire after what they did on these visits.
Rounding the corner of the street in her carriage undisturbed, Christine sighed in relief. She asked her driver to drop her off at the park, her reason always cited that she loved walking through it the remainder of the way to the Giry’s apartment.
She never quite made it there, though.
She all but ran to the fountain, biting her lip as she waited, heart pounding in eagerness.
“I am your Angel of Music… Come to me Angel of Music…” Christine grinned, whirling around to face her lover.
“In sleep he sang to me…” she breathed, taking his outstretched hand as he led her again into the tempting, delicious darkness. Addicting indeed.
She was addicted to him.
He lay her in his bed again, mouth travelling paths well known now, rediscovering every exploration, hands mapping again and again the curves of her topography.
“Erik… stay with me…” she breathed as he slid home into her. He gave a quiet gasp, hips jerking as his conquest was thrown off kilter.
“Wh… what?” he groaned, pressing his hips into hers and she couldn’t contain the cry she gave.
“Keep me here… I want to stay… Stay with me…” she circled her hips, imploring him with her voice and her body.
“Truly?” he began a slow torturous circle of his hips, barely enough friction that she mewled in frustration, bucking her hips, but he wouldn’t let up.
“Yes! Erik please… please…” she wasn’t above begging him. He made her beg during some of their more explicit games, keeping her on the edge of orgasm until she was delirious with desire and pleading with him to push her over the edge.
“Christine.” His voice answered her question, and he set a punishing pace with his hips, seeming unable to get close enough to her. Wetness flooded between her thighs as he lifted her leg onto his shoulder, letting him thrust even deeper. The bed posts pounded against the wall as his thrusts grew in power, and Christine was helpless against the raw pleasure as he took her. Consumed her. She was his.
The first orgasm crested within her with blinding pleasure it was almost painful, quickly followed by another… and another. Christine clawed at his back, screaming as he rode her through her several orgasms before finally finishing with a shout of her name. Tears had leaked from her eyes from the sheer rapture, and she dropped her leg, wrapping her arms around him tightly. His member pulsed inside of her, mimicking the clenching aftershocks that elicited one quiet moan after another from Christine as she continued coming down from her high.
“Mine…” he sighed against her neck, and Christine stroked the marred side of his face lovingly.
“Mine,” she whispered.