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Black Angels	By : Provocateur Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 12725 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Chapter 18: Of Sin and Sinners

A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews, I appreciate them so much. I apologize for being a horribly mean authoress; there is no excuse for my deplorable behavior, leaving you hanging with the promise of hot lovin’ in the balance! I will now pick up where we last left off. Enjoy ladies and gents; I think you’ll be happier than pigs in poop (although the climax is not yet here, nope, nope, nope hehe), after this chapter.

Sparrow's Pearl, I don't think you'll be so quick to march me down the plank after this one! :)

R N’R, if you please. :)

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The hot surging of dancing tongues robbed Christine of breath as her fingers tangled into the soft brown hair of her fallen angel. A humbled angel he was, diving into her mouth with sensual abandon as he tried to lose himself in the depths of her body.

His groans were tortured and deep, like the cries of a wolf as it finally relieves itself of violent, painful hunger. A past filled with sadness and hate was exorcised with the simple joining of two mouths. An innocent touch of hands began the steady climb of passionate longing. Passionate need.

If he could not have her he would surely die, the need to be above her, to cover her, and to bury himself within her was stronger than any driving impulse that plagued his mind and body.

Grasping her hips tightly, he pulled her into his lap, swiftly wrapping her parted legs about his waist as his lustful assault on her mouth intensified. Nothing could be heard but the wet, sensuous sounds of their lips and tongues colliding, joining and parting as their skin heated and their hearts beat in frantic harmony.

Christine caressed his velvety tongue with her own, marveling at the strength and texture as it expertly invaded her mouth over and over in a suggestive, erotic rhythm. It was more than just a kiss. A kiss was so…common. A kiss signified a parting, a greeting, usually an attachment of a romantic nature. This, this was not a kiss. This was an invasion of both mind and body, a slow, tantalizing rape of the senses as they lost touch with the world around them.

All that existed was this heat, this fire building within her stomach as the soul of the broken man forced its way inside of her warm, welcoming body. She pleaded, begged for him to seek solace in her flesh, to forget for but a moment the pain of years past and find joy in the selfless love of another. How she wanted him to seek comfort long denied him in her parted lips, as though the mere touch her lips could erase years of madness and hate. She had the power to save his soul once; surely her sorcery was not yet depleted.

Letting out a low groan of need, Erik let his lips wander down her neck, she tasted and smelt so beautiful, so delicate. Like a blooming rosebud needing the right touch and care to blossom into a breath-taking flower, her body trembled and warmed as he worshipped it with his lips. She was his angel, his savior, and the one woman on earth who yearned to hear his tale and looked upon his face without fear.

The breeze lifted her heavy chestnut curls as her head dipped backwards to expose the smooth, pale flesh of her neck to his ravenous mouth. A slight moan escaped her lips as her lids drifted shut, savoring the sensation of his hot mouth frantically suckling her skin.

The blasphemous thought of heaven on earth began to play in her mind, surely there was no sensation more beautiful than that of being loved with such passion and longing. He had loved her as a child, he had loved her a confused, naïve girl. He had loved her when she left him to start life anew; he loved her when she came back to him a colder, more decisive woman. So many times she longed to hate him for the man he was, but her heart could never stop loving the man that he could be; the passionate, intensely erotic man he was being right now.

His lips closed on her neck, drawing the life from her veins as he laved at the tender, reddening skin. With each gentle nibble and sucking sensation a fire burned at her core, obliterating all reason and thoughts that took her mind away from the man beneath her. The man who was loving her body with all of the strength and desire in his soul.

The gentle lapping of the river against the bank became silent as she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, pushing herself into him, grinding against him savagely. Nothing so wrong should feel so delightful, so gloriously freeing and exciting.

This was wrong, so very, very wrong. She had fallen. A married woman, a married Christian woman, was she. A woman with a man who loved her traveling abroad to make sure she and he remained comfortable. Even as her far-away husband toiled away, she spread her legs like a wanton whore and pushed her throbbing sex into another man, swooning as white-hot blood pulsed in her fiery veins.

“Do you want me to touch you, Christine?” The harsh growl emanating from the beast beneath her did not come from a child-like man longing for the love of his mother; it came from a man on the verge of exploding with want. He let his lips drift from her neck so that he may meet her heavy-lidded eyes. She did not answer, but pressed into him harshly, her need apparent.

“Ask me to touch you.” His lips fastened on her collarbone, suckling furiously as her moans became ragged and intense.

“Erik…” Yes, touch me. I beg of you, please touch me…

“Ask me, Christine.” His ragged command was muffled as he began to suck harshly on the flesh at the base of her throat, his senses on fire with her taste.

“I…I can’t.” Her sobbing breaths intensified as her hands fisted into his shirtsleeves, nearly tearing the thin material to shreds.

“Yes you can, yes you can love.” His kisses became more passionate as his fingers burned to tear her bodice in half, exposing her flushed skin to his hungry gaze. How long had he dreamed of his moment? The moment where she would be submitting to him willingly. Begging, pleading for his touch, his kiss, his body. It all felt so surreal, as though a cruel dream was replacing his wicked ones, taunting him with the images of his angel taking pleasure in his touch.

“No, Erik.” Please, Erik…

“Tell me that you want me.” He could feel her heartbeat against his chest as her breasts pressed against him, the softness a stark contrast to his hard and solid body. Oh, how she burned…

“Please…” Her head fell forwards, her chin resting against his hair as his lips descended lower, suckling gently on the tops of her breasts.

“Say it, Christine…”

“Erik…”

“Say it!” His teeth grazed sharply across her skin, the pink marks branding her as his hands grasped her hips tightly enough to leave bruises.

“Touch me…Oh god, Erik, touch me…” The words did not feel as though they belonged to her as they escaped into the night air, eliciting a sharp groan of triumphant ecstasy from the dark man who held her on the precipice of soul-searing pleasure.

“You wish to give your body to me, Christine?” Erik stilled the back and forth grind of her hips against his near-painful arousal and looked into the dark depths of her eyes, searching for evidence of her complete and utter willful submission to his body.

“What will you do with it?” Her voice was light, teasing almost.

“Anything you want me to, anything I dare.” With one swift movement he had her pinned beneath him, her back burrowing into the soft grass beneath her, the green blades pressing into her hair and tickling her face. If she did not feel such a surge of lust at his harshness in overtaking her she would have been most frightened.

Within seconds their lips began to dance once more to the tune of a gentler, softer melody. Without thrusting their tongues against one another, they let their lips glide together, him softly pressing her full bottom lip between his own. He gently nipped at her, soothing the sting with his tongue before capturing her top lip and massaging it. Her skin nearly exploded as his rough skin came to brush against her cheek and neck as his head lowered to her chest.

With one frantic movement, he tore her bodice in two; the buttons flew each and every way. Several plopping sounds were heard as the tiny plastic objects fell into the river, languorously floating about on the top of the silver-tinted waters.

Her legs encircled his body, pulling him into her as her hips began to thrust downwards, longing for the delightful pressure that she felt before when she grinded into his pelvis. She pulled at the half of the shirt still tucked in to his trousers and spread the material wide, admiring the hard expanse of golden chest sprinkled with coarse, brown hair. No body was more beautiful than his. He was so strong beneath her wandering fingers. She wanted to see and touch every part of him, to press her lips to the scars that reminded him of unspeakable cruelty and hardship. She longed to love the body so long neglected, untouched by anything but violent and punitive blows.

Their mouths found each other’s once more as she gently pulled the fabric down his arms, exposing his strong shoulders and neck. The moonlight played on his skin, shielding him with shadows and white glares, emphasizing the taut muscles. He was so well sculpted, like a deliciously carved statue made in the image of a great Greek god. So firm and hard, so exquisitely beautiful.

He shrugged the shirt off of his arms and threw it open the dewy grass, his skin relieved by the cool air that dried the rapidly forming perspiration that coated his back and chest.

Christine let her fingers drift from his lower back to his shoulder blades. It was naught but a curious exploration of a man’s body, she had never taken the time to touch and tease Raoul this way. She did not feel the same insatiable need to learn, feel, and touch each and every part of his body. His muscles flexed involuntarily as her hands trailed over the taut skin, softly caressing the raised lines of flesh adorning his back.

Her hands lingered on his waistband before coming to rest against the heaving weight of his belly. Her fingers tangled in the soft, curly hair that trailed from his naval and dipped into his trousers. A fierce longing to press her lips to the firm flesh overwhelmed her, but a part of her hesitated, fearful that he would be disgusted by her boldness. Or lewdness.

A harsh growl of satisfaction emerged from his lips as her hands brushed upwards, moving over his chest before resting on his shoulders.

“You’re beautiful, Erik.” Her voice was nearly a sob as she gently kissed the indentation at the base of his throat, the deep crevice pulsating and burning beneath her lips.

The beauty of the act occurring between them was awe-inspiring. Their touches were not rushed or frantic, indeed, they were of a most reverential nature. Learning how to explore and tease one another’s bodies was like taking a maiden voyage to lands unknown. There were dangers, there was beauty, and there were memories to made and cherished forever. Lust was not something of sin or of shame, in fact, it was breath taking.

The desire to love and nurture the sensuality in another seemed so very selfless and right, as if nothing in the world could ever feel more perfect than the touch of a lover’s bare skin upon your own.

Defenseless but trusting, a statement seemingly oxymoronic in nature, but brimming with a truth so indisputable that none would dare challenge it when faced with the brilliant sensation of being made love to without joining their body with someone else’s intimately.

Erik gently lifted Christine from the ground and slid the dress off of her arms, the sleeves falling away effortlessly as she gracefully freed herself from the confining fabric. No corset caged her body; her skin was only shielded by a thin silk shift that had grown damp with her sweat. It clung seductively to her breasts and stomach, the white material nearly transparent as the silver glow of the moon illuminated her body.

“You have more of these undergarments, I trust?” His harsh tone bordered on dangerous, the lust undisguised.

“Yes…” With a slight shriek of surprise, she felt his hands fist into the material and rip it cleanly in half as he had done to the bodice of her dress. The tiny silk threads broke apart with ease as he continued to rip the fragile fabric from her breasts to her stomach before spreading it wide, leaving her completely exposed to his gaze.

For a moment she was ashamed, he was so rough! His eyes were so hungry as they drank in the sight of her nakedness; he studied her like would a rare bird before it flies off into the distance, never to be seen again. Did she look like a harlot, lying beneath him with her naked breasts hardening in the cool night air?

“You’re so perfect, so perfect…” Firmly grasping her wrists as they moved towards her exposed body in an attempt to preserve some semblance of modesty, he held them to her sides, pressing them into the soft grass as his lips pressed to the skin in between her breasts.

Her small pink nipples became firm as his lips drifted closer to one achingly sensitive breast. His breathing was harsh as he pressed soft kisses to the tender, pale skin.

Her breasts were small but firm, and astoundingly gorgeous. Whether or not he was blinded by love or by arousal he could never know, but even after having had a woman’s breasts in his hands and mouth before, he felt as though he was looking upon God’s greatest creation for the first time.

Her body trembled with longing, her chest rising and falling rapidly as his lips and tongue neared one painfully erect nipple.

“Touch me, Erik…” Her pleas came of their own volition.

Releasing one tiny wrist, he gently cupped one breast, marveling at the softness of it in his hand. His palm entirely covered the tender curve, emphasizing its delicacy and fragility. He squeezed it, lightly and hesitantly. A low moan ripped free from her body as her back arched, pressing herself deeper into his hand.

Her fingers gently stroked his marred right cheek, lingering over the harsh ridge of bone that gave his face an alarming look of asymmetry. She stroked the thin skin covering his scalp that was mostly devoid of the thick brown hair that fell to his neck. The impulse to weep as her hands traced his hideous features nearly overwhelmed him. How could one find beauty in something so grotesque? It was so shockingly wrong to look as he did, no one possessed two faces, no one should have had to, but he did. He bore a burden that no human should bear, and it was displayed across his most visible feature.

Tonight, tonight she would feel the pleasure that she gave to him with her passionate kisses and loving touches. Whenever he fell, she was there. She destroyed him, but oh, how she saved him as well. A bittersweet paradox it was, and one he would not sacrifice for the world.

His lips teased her nipples once more, drawing the hardened buds into his mouth and gently kneading the tender flesh as her moans escalated to near screams of ecstasy. If someone were to come upon them as they lay and hear her cries, they would certainly think he was ravishing her mercilessly. Her cries nearly bordered on pain with how wrought they were with desperate longing and unfulfilled need.

His lips drifted downwards, the moisture from his mouth glistening on her skin as he descended lower and lower. Pressing a soft, wet kiss to her belly, he began to tear at the material of her skirts, ripping her petticoats at the same time.

“I shall buy you a new dress.” He murmured breathlessly before finally parting the tattered material. The ripping sounds were fierce and violent, a strange contradiction to the feeling of complete and utter peacefulness permeating the air.

Immediately Christine felt her body stiffen. Was she to take him inside of her body? She wanted to. She wanted nothing more than to feel him within her body, buried as deeply as possible as they moved together as one. Yet, the final step to becoming an adulteress was a daunting one. Her thoughts alone had doomed her to an eternity in hell she thought, but to take part in sinful actions was a far more solid guarantee.

“Relax, my love. Relax.” His voice took on a soothing, musical quality that lulled her into pleasant lethargy even as her body burned with desire and her mind screamed in protest.

Hesitantly, almost nervously, his hands began to untie the strings on her cotton drawers.

“Erik? What are you…”

“Shh, relax.” He grasped her hips firmly and raised her body off of the ground before slowly pulling the cotton material down her legs and off of her body.

She began tremble violently, her shivers intoxicatingly erotic.

“Trust…” he pressed a kiss to clenched fingers, “me.” Interlacing his fingers with her own, he lowered his head to her moist womanhood.

“You’re so exquisite.”

Christine nearly shrieked with shock when he felt his tongue begin to travel across her sex. Did men actually do this? Did they actually enjoy it? Surely the taste had to be disagreeable, none of her friends at the opera house, even the ones known for their salacious encounters, had ever spoken of such an obscene act!

Yet, for an act of an obscene nature, it was oddly…pleasant. In fact, as Erik’s fingers and tongue worked to excite her in unimaginable ways, her prior reservations melted away almost instantly.

With each and every stroke of his tongue and probe of his fingers, Erik felt her shudder and moan, her musical cries glorious to hear.

“Let it come love, let it come.” His gentle coaxing and incessant stroking drove her to paradise. Never before had there been such heat inside of her, the pressure was of a most intense nature.

“Don’t be nervous, Angel.” He linked his fingers through hers once more and felt them tighten, grasping him as though he held her very life in his hands. The gentle humming of satisfaction in his ears turned to a mighty roar as he flicked the tiny pink bud that made her nearly scream out in unrelieved frustration every time the hot, wet heat of his tongue boldly caressed her.

“Oh God! Erik…”

“Yes, yes, cry out love, cry out if you want.” His ministrations continued, undaunted by her uncertainty. She had never released before it would seem, not an uncommon aspect of being a woman.

With a final scream, her body trembled violently. The most delicious contractions shook her wildly. Never could anything be so beautiful as the sensation of complete release. It was though all of her demons and darkness had been abdicated in one single, perfectly scandalous act.

“Come inside me, Erik.” Her soft plea touched him, for all it was it sounded like a filthy provocation, but the soft delivery turned it into a request for bonding. Bonding that went deeper than friendship or sex. Bonding of a most soulful nature.

He could not do it. Her lust and orgasm made her weary; her thoughts were illogical, powered by her thirst to consummate what was lingering between them. In the morning, she would feel nothing but regret. She would blame herself for her wantonness; she would blame him for shamefully exploiting her body in its weakened state.

“Soon, Christine. Soon.” When they would come together, she would go to him, knowing that they were about to make love. They would not fall into bed, or onto solid ground, simply because a night of heart-wrenching confessions and the glory of sexual fulfillment coloured their minds with euphoria.

She would go to him knowing that in giving him her body, she was betraying her husband and her marriage vows. She would know this without sympathy or satisfaction clouding her judgment.

“What?” Her body shot upwards as she pulled what remained of her tattered silk shift around her bare torso, color slowly seeping from her face.

“If we do this now, you shall hate me tomorrow.” His pitifully straining manhood would hate him tomorrow; her wraith would make things even more unpleasant.

“Why are you saying this?” Hot tears of rage threatened to pour forth. He had seen, touched, and kissed every part of her body, but he could not bring himself to make love to her? She felt…filthy. All sexual acts were supposed to end in intercourse…were they not?

“In the morning you’ll understand. Believe me, love.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and smoothed her hair; it was damp from the perspiration pouring from her forehead. “No one wants to make love to you more than I.”

“You must think me a whore.” Her voice quieted on the last word, her head bowing to rest on her raised knees.

“No, not I. It is you who thinks you are, which is precisely why I have cut this evening short.” He sounded wistful rather than angry, tired almost.

“I’m a bad person, Erik.”

He stood abruptly, pulling her with him as she clutched the torn fabric to her body protectively.

“Never again will you say something like that in my presence!” The anger burning in his icy blue eyes was enough to silence her almost immediately as his hands gripped her shoulders emphatically.

“Erik…”

“Who listened to my tale tonight? Who held me, comforted me, let me cry like an infant on their shoulder? Who has come to share this house with me to save me from myself, knowing the monstrous tyrant I can become?”

Even as he clutched her shoulders she kept her hands clasped firmly over her parted clothing. There were no eyes to witness her nudity save for his, but false modesty proved a false comfort when one felt so inclined as to question their judgment and actions.

“What have we done, Erik?” Her voice was but a whisper now, a soft question carried off into the night.

“We have explored and shared our desires. There is no shame in that.” He released her shoulders even as he fought the urge to pry her arms from her chest and wrench them out at her sides. He felt…insulted by her propriety. Yes, insult was the perfect word.

“I am a married woman.”

“So you are.” He shrugged into his discarded shirtsleeves but allowed the sides to remain open, blowing back and forth in the wind and lightly slapping against his skin.

Her harsh reminder of things unchangeable struck him like a blow to the stomach. Had he been ignorant, nay, foolish enough to believe that he could make that fop disappear by simply wishing him gone? Was he fool, nay, arrogant enough to believe his touches could dissolve a marriage and the love within it?

“But I desire you, Erik. You have touched me in more ways than you can ever imagine. In more way that even I care to imagine.”

“Do you still believe that we are living in sin then?”

“Yes.” A discomforting silence descended.

“Indeed!” He turned to retreat when her hand fell lightly upon his arm.

“You did not let me finish.”

“Please, continue.” He spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes upon the ebony sky, begging the fading stars for strength.

“Sin is sin, I am not the one who defines it. What bothers me most is that although many would say that happened tonight, indeed, what as happened all week, is a deep, unforgivable, mortal sin, I am not ashamed. I should be, but I am not.”

“The thoughts of others should never, ever be held in any importance.” His somber tone was serious.

“I wish I had your carelessness. Well, not all of your carelessness.” She placed her hand in his and smiled, making sure one hand was still clutching the tattered shift, more so from the cold than from embarrassment. The night had cooled in both temperature and intensity, the heat of moments earlier fading away.

“Let’s go to bed.” He interlaced his fingers through hers once more. He felt like a child, giddy with the joy of having a pretty girl hold his hand. How had he become reduced to this? When she gifted him with a laugh or a smile he was overjoyed, disbelieving that a creature of such sublime beauty and talent could ever touch him with warmth and acceptance. All good fortune was but a dream to him so many years ago, how was it that only now did he feel contentment? Only now, after he lost everything…

“Bed?” She raised one finely shaped brow at his double entendre.

“I want to sleep with you by my side. You seem to chase away the nightmares.”
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Black Angels