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A Hell of Our Own	By : RedCynic Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 1966 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. All credit goes to Gaston Leroux. No profit is being made from this writing.

Chapter List
- 1-Acts of Contrition
- 1
Acts of Contrition

Christine turned. “Come closer, Raoul.” She smiled while she beckoned him, conscious of the way the sleeves of her night dress slipped down her arm, offering him a generous view of her breasts.

“You’re not going to distract me like this,” Raoul snapped, but Christine could tell that she was doing exactly that from the way his eyes began to darken and smolder in that new, yet familiar way.

Christine laughed—not cruelly, but softly—and delighted in the way his checks flushed with his own brand of self-indulgent shame, like a boy who’d been caught peeking at the maids as they bathed and didn’t feel a bit sorry about what he’d done, but that he’d been caught doing it. Ever since she’d known him, Raoul had always had this air about him as if he truly believed he was God’s gift to the world and every wonderful thing in it was there solely for his satisfaction. Naturally, this fantasy was indulged by his sisters and his aunt while those who thought otherwise had the wisdom to bite their tongues.

However, even with this delusion firmly planted in his head, Raoul knew he was inescapably unremarkable. There was just no getting around it. So, he considered it his duty, somehow, to find the remarkable wherever it was hidden and nourish it to his own satisfaction and that is why, thought Christine, he loves me.

“You’re trying to dull my reason,” said Raoul. “This,” he continued, pointing an accusing finger at her chest, “is not going to work.”

“Oh, yes it will,” Christine replied as she shrugged the nightdress off her shoulders and dropped her shyness along with it. “Trust me dearest, this is one game you’re better off losing.”

Raoul would not give one word of submission, but even before Christine leaned in and brushed her lips against his, she knew she had won. It didn’t take long for the kiss to grow heated and harsh with all the unanswered questions and doubts driving them onward into all too familiar territory. Their lovemaking was never gentle and soft, oh no, there was too much unspoken between them for that. Too much that burned and ached just beneath the surface so that when Christine felt his hands on her shoulders, pushing her down to her knees, she didn’t resist. This was exactly how she knew things would work out. From the floor, her gaze flicked up him and her mouth quirked coyly as she ran her hands up the legs of his trousers and worked at the buckle of his belt. She hadn't even begun and he was painfully hard. When she finally freed him and rolled her tongue over the tip of his arousal before sliding her moist lips over him, Raoul moaned almost savagely and dug his fingers into her chestnut curls.

Oh God yes, and suddenly Raoul he had no idea what they’d been arguing about earlier. Something important—he was sure—but what did that matter when Christine’s talented mouth was driving him mad.

In his most indulgent fantasies, he’d never imagined his darling Little Lotte would be such an unrestrained lover. He’d always envisioned her as one who’d blush at his tender kisses, shiver when he caressed her and bite her lips to restrain her moans. But Christine just wasn’t like that. She tangled her fingers in her hair and arched off the bed while he’d thrust into her—she panted and gasped and cried out so loud he was certain the servants could hear her—she smiled that coy little smile he didn’t recognize while she ran her hands over her own body and pleasured herself for his enjoyment. And God help him, yes he did enjoy it. Perhaps a little too much if the truth be told even while every drop of his Catholic blood damned him for it. Even while he wondered just how exactly an innocent virgin like his Christine could whisper such things that made his mind cloud with desire or pull him into a narrow corridor and force him to take her while the maids dusted in the next room.

Unrestrained?

Ha, more like insatiable and was all this just the product of a woman who had waited years, impatient but chaste, for the blessing of marriage before she expressed her passion? Or was it something else—something unthinkable? And Raoul could sense he was getting closer to uncovering something but all rational thought soon fled as Christine took him deeper into her mouth, applying just the right amount of pressure against the underside of his length and hollowing her cheeks against him.

Soon, it was all he could do to remain standing. He could feel the pleasure building up, coiling, ready to burst. Still, there was something wrong underneath all this. Below the layers of pleasure that swam through is mind there was something that clung desperately and refused to be washed away—something that didn’t want to be forgotten—something that begged him to stop this—but for the life of him, Raoul couldn’t fathom how anything could be wrong right now. How could anything be wrong when Christine was on her knees before him, lavishing him with her tongue and her teasing kisses? Oh God, how could anything be wrong when the pleasure was mounting higher and higher and it felt like the very earth was trembling beneath him? Gasping and crying out his lover’s name, he shuddered and leaned forward, letting his doubts sink with him beneath the waves and drown in blissful, oblivious, ecstasy.

Still breathless, Raoul pulled Christine up and kissed her deeply, not caring that he could taste his own bitterness in her mouth. Nothing mattered in that moment—nothing at all but the feel of Christine’s mouth against his, her fingers working the buttons of his shirt while he pulled her towards the bed.

She let him take control, allowing him to dig his fingers into her hair and pull her head back so he his lips could devour her neck to his heart’s content. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into the positions he liked, taking her from behind, gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises. One could hardly call this making love—not when Raoul growled low in his throat and flipped her to her back, his thrusts becoming more brutal and savage as the doubts still raged in his mind. Not when Christine sank her nails into his back and pulled down, leaving blood trails behind. No this was something else—

This was…

Penance
- 1
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A Hell of Our Own