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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
- 20
- 21
- 22
Chapter 21: The Seduction of an Angel
A/N: Well my faithful readers, you have begged, pleaded, raged, and stomped your feet in anticipation of what is to come. Here we have a chapter filled to the brim with naughty goodness. Allow me to warn you that it is quite descriptive, if I do say so myself. Do not forsake this story once the sheets are thoroughly tangled, as our lover’s journey is truly only just beginning! There is a lot more to come.

Once again, thank you all for your kind and wonderful reviews. Please let me know what you think of this chapter, I value all of your input and opinions.

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Every picture tells a story, no matter how brief or simple. The look in one’s eyes expresses a chapter of their life, a feeling hidden deep within their heart that has been immortalized on a canvas for the world to look upon. Every brush stroke brings to life a soul. In the eyes of painted souls, people can see a reflection of themselves. They can see deep inside the heart of the subject and the artist. Paper eyes and flat landscapes can touch one in ways that can never be truly explained.

A painting captures a moment in time that sails away on the wind, intangible and fleeting. In this moment, Erik felt that he was in a picture, a simple sketch of an unbelievable fantasy that was too beautiful to truly exist in a world as harsh as the one he knew.

The feeling of her soft, full lips on his erased all thoughts and memories of the cruelties of humankind. In this moment he was not a whipped boy or shattered man who had taken leave of his mind through tragic apathy.Where was the world he once knew? That world of humiliation, scorn, and pain?

Now it was gone, a forgotten nightmare that existed only in his mind. Now he was with her, and with every press of her lips and thrust of her tongue, he was taken to a world where there was no more hardship and no more pain. All the ills of years past were erased, forever eradicated from his troubled mind.

He was free.

The chain and shackles that bound him to tortured solitude were severed, the metal clinking as it hit the ground, releasing him from the cold, hateful steel of imprisonment.

His heart was singing.

His soul was soaring.

His body was burning with desire.

She was here, and she was his.

He wanted to touch and taste each and every part of her ivory white skin. Her soft moans drove him to heights of ecstasy he never thought possible as their mouths hungered for one another. The wind beat against the window relentlessly, the trees rustling softly.

A soft storm began brewing outside the sturdy, wooden walls of their private paradise as a wild storm began brewing inside each of them. Gone was the control they had over their thoughts. Gone was the control they had over their bodies. Everything was wrested away from them but the powerful sensation of simply feeling.

Christine wrapped her arms around Erik’s neck, her mouth pressing against his as their tongues tangled together in an ancient dance. The soft, wet sounds of their moist lips capturing and releasing one another coloured the air.

The soft flicker of the fading candlelight played across their features, streaking their faces with golden hues.

Christine reached up and gently pried the mask away from Erik’s face, her nails gently caressing his hairline like the soft touch of a mother. The porcelain slid away easily, falling away from the angry red flesh and leaving him bare and exposed. She would have him no other way. Tonight they would see all of each other and feel every part of one another’s bodies, knowing of the sacrifices they were making with their hearts and minds when they would collapse upon one another after sharing exquisite passion.

She saw every part of him as beautiful. The gold light of the candle made his tanned skin glow. In that moment he looked like a virile, erotic angel sent to earth to awaken in her long-suppressed and forbidden desires. She wanted to give him everything in her body and her soul. She wanted to lie beneath him and feel as though her bare, vulnerable body was his most precious possession.

She may have had possession of her own mind, but her body longed for his touch. In the sensuous thrill that would follow, she would allow him to guide her to heights unknown. They were made to be lovers; it was the intention of a power far beyond their comprehension.

There was no longer the question of morality. There were no longer the fears or doubts. There was no longer the dark, ominous threat of deadly sin slinking behind her like a shadow. There was only hot, burning desire.

She could have wept with the thunderous pounding of heart as one arm coiled around her waist like a tempting serpent while the other rose to place long, calloused fingers into her hair.

He was living her, breathing her, becoming her.

If there were no other human beings on earth but her, his life would have been perfect. All he needed and wanted was Christine. His Christine. No other woman could ever break his heart and mend it with a simple smile as did she. He wanted to enter her slowly, savoring the feeling of his spiritual bride grasping him tightly within the heated depths of her body.

He ran his hands through her hair, twirling the thick chestnut tresses around his fingers as he inhaled the lavender scent, his eyes closing softly and his breathing becoming deeper.

She sighed as her fingers traced the ridge of his right cheekbone, the marred skin rough beneath her fingertips. When she looked up at him and saw his eyes gloriously clouded with undisguised lust, his malformed cheek seemed inconsequential. It was so completely him. No other man looked as Erik looked; his face gave him character, power, otherworldly individuality. It was no longer ugly to her because it was a part of him. Her beautiful, passionate, imperfect Erik.

Her teacher.

Her Angel.

Her friend and equal.

Her lover.

His hands drifted lower to grasp her behind as he drew her upwards. She wound her legs around his hips as he pressed her into the bookcase, the old wood rattling as her back made contact with the shelves. It was a comical sound, and an exciting one. It was the personification of their frenzied, careless lust.

Her breathing was ragged and harsh as her head fell back to expose her neck to Erik’s ravenous mouth. He responded with vicious ardor, his lips and teeth capturing the soft, vulnerable flesh and suckling it reverently.

Her skin tasted wonderful, the sweet lavender scent nearly driving him to madness as he pressed into her, eliciting a cry of pleasure from her swollen lips. Her head was thrown back wantonly and her back arched without the consent of her mind. Her body was desperate to become one with his, it needed him, craved him, cried out for him.

He had told that she had kept him alive, and now it felt as though his lips on her skin and his hands on her body kept her afloat in the raging waters of the ocean. She was drowning, falling under the surreal spell of his seduction as he held her above the perilous waves, breathing life into her limp and passive lungs.

Fate had brought them together, and then it tore them apart. It now came back with the forceful vengeance of a relentless warrior to pushing them together. All that was right and moral would condemn this display of ravening hunger, but they could not bring themselves to see anything in wrong with something so beautiful.

“Touch me, Erik.” Her raspy moan made his blood boil with lust as his fingers longed to tear at the fragile satin garments adorning her body. Beneath the silk and lace was a goddess, a beautiful Aphrodite who longed for his touch.

“Hold on to me, Angel.” He pulled her away from the groaning bookcase and tightly held her hips as he inhaled the fresh, intoxicating scent of her perspiring skin. Her arms wound around his neck even tighter, clinging to him as if he would simply dissolve into thin air should she release him.

The wind still beat against the glass, but to them the entire world was silent. Everything ceased to exist but them.

This had to love, Christine thought. No other feeling could ever make the world close in around two people who wanted nothing more then to simply hold one another and pretend that the faces and voices of those who condemned them did not exist. She wanted to be a part of him, an extension of his mind and body.

She wanted to be joined with him so intimately that neither of them would be able to tell where he ended and she began. He had fought to make her his, and she had fought to escape his clutches, only be drawn back into his world of shadows. Now she never wanted to leave. She could not, would not let him go. Not now. Not tonight.

“Erik…please…” She knew not what she pleaded for; her mind was a blur of ecstasy and desire. Bold, scarlet-hued lust was all she felt.

She reached down and began pulling his crisp white shirt from his trousers, allowing her fingers to linger over the sweat-soaked skin of his taut lower back. Her fingers pressed into the base of his spine, finding the feeling of the muscles moving back and forth as he walked mesmerizing. His body looked as though Zeus himself carved it from stone.

He lulled her into silent complacency with soft shushing noises as his fingers splayed across her back, gently pushing her pelvis into his as his breath escaped his parted lips in harsh gasps. She had been unconsciously thrusting against him, trying desperately to alleviate the building but ever-pleasant ache between her thighs.

He had to fight valiantly to resist throwing her down upon the mahogany stairs and having her like an animal.

He felt like a mere animal, a wild beast desperate to mate with the gorgeous, enchanting lady who captured his heart and ignited his lust. He was beyond the point of logic; he was beyond the point of reservation. He was a living, breathing, aching embodiment of lust.

He was blindingly, brilliantly, and dangerously in love.

Christine was nearly sobbing with her need for him. If he had thrown her to the ground and torn her clothing from her body she would have screamed with the overwhelming feeling of release that would follow. She wanted his hands all over her, touching her, feeling her, playing her body with the expertise of a wise and virile musician. Her mind begged her to plead for satiation.

For the first time in her life she truly, desperately wanted to be had. In her darkest forbidden fantasies she had come to him willingly, opening for him and taking him inside of her body. Yet her fantasies were not real, and when faced with the masked man who haunted her dreams, her desires were overwhelmed by her fear. In dreams she was safe, in life she was not.

Yet in his arms, with her legs wrapped around him, nearly sobbing with her desire to have him buried within her, she had never felt more treasured and safe. He loved her, and even though his words were harsh and moods black as night, he would never hurt her. And she would not hurt him.

She was powerless, and she longed for him to master her body. Had he thought of taking her all those lonely nights in the tomb of his own making? Had he lain awake, tangled in his velvet sheets, dreaming of her legs wrapped around him as he had her in any way he desired? Did he reach down to tentatively stroke himself to completion while pretending the hand grasping him was hers? Did he envision her lying beneath him naked and defenseless, wantonly begging for his touch?

Perhaps someday, when she was coherent and daring, she would ask him.

It seemed as though it took hours for Erik to climb those stairs with Christine’s limber body coiled around him.

His bedroom seemed to slink further and further into the distance as she pressed hot, wet kisses to his jaw and neck. He suspected that his skin was rough against her petal soft lips, but her hunger increased with each bump of her pelvis against his own as he descended the stairs. Each and every step was torture, his cock was screaming at him to hurry up and satisfy it, but he wasn’t listening.

Tonight, he would explore the body of his angel. He would touch and taste every part of her until she screamed in frustrated longing. For almost three years he had fantasized about this night.

He had burned and ached with the desire to remove her pristine white dressing gown and lay her upon his red velvet sheets. Three long years of imagining her soft brown curls spread out on his pillow and spilling onto his naked chest as her chest rose and fell with her deep, even breaths after a night of endless, intense pleasure. Three long years had culminated in this, and god knew, it was not an easy journey. In fact, he was rather shocked that he had made this far.

He thanked the god he had long since stopped believing in for granting him this miracle.

He was going to make love to his angel tonight, and she would love every minute of it. Tonight she would give her body over to him, and he would not disappoint her. He would rather plunge a sword into his heart. He had failed her before, but not now, not when she trusted him so deeply. He had deceived her before, but all the past seemed to fall away as she released longing, sensual moans in anticipation of where he was taking her.

The shadows of the trees played across their bodies as they stumbled through the hallway. Erik’s feet pounded against the wood, the heels of his boots causing the floorboards to emit groans of protest as he thundered towards his bedroom, his fair lady holding onto him tightly enough to choke him.

Letting out a low grunt of arousal, he forced her into the far wall, his hips thrusting against her wildly as he captured her lips with his. She responded with passionate enthusiasm, meeting his tongue with her own savage thrusts.

She had been the one to kiss him tonight; offering a silent invitation that caressed his ears and warmed his black and shattered heart. She knew that they would come to this, and she wanted him. Oh god, how she wanted him!

His hands roughly kneaded her bottom as she pressed into him, her body aching for the hardness that was pressed intimately against her thigh.

At this moment Erik was never less of a ghost or a spirit. He was no more than a man, a man who forced her to accept and embrace her own dark passions. A man who would awaken in her the deep, lustful longings that a woman was ever so capable of, yet taught to suppress mercilessly. She would suppress nothing tonight. She would cherish every touch.

He pulled her back from the wall and nearly sprinted to his doorway, kicking the old wood savagely as he supported her with one arm. She fought the desire to giggle nervously at his urgency, but his taut, serious countenance kept her silent. Laughter would most certainly ruin his ardor, and she wanted him to give her everything that he had so long repressed.

She had no time to look upon his elegant surroundings before she was lowered onto his bed, his body never ceasing to rest atop her own. He had not thrown her to the mattress as viciously as she had anticipated, but rather laid her down as reverently as though he feared she would shatter.

He could not help but feel that her pale ivory skin and chocolate brown eyes made her look like a delicate porcelain doll. He would hate to leave bruises, no matter how passionately they were bestowed, upon the perfect canvas that was her body.

He dreamed of this for so long…

So long…
The mattress shifted slightly as he lowered his weight onto her, pinning her beneath him. Christine could feel his heart beating wildly underneath his shirt, the skin pulsating with each and every glorious beat. Her hand was pressed against his chest, silently feeling the part of him that made him so very human and so very alive.

Their lips met once more, the kiss softer this time. He pressed her full bottom lip between his own and massaged tenderly, simply cherishing the fragile softness of it. He stroked her hair tenderly, his fingertips trailing across her smooth cheek as she cupped his face in her hands and pressed a seemingly sweet and rather innocent kiss on his nose. The gesture was comforting, sensuous, and adorable all that once.

“Are you certain you want to do this, Angel?” He swept her hair aside and stared into her eyes, the brown depths darkened by her unabashed lust.

There was no going back now, they had come too far. This coupling was not born out of a need to comfort or reassure one another. It was not clouded by a flurry of emotions that would fade come the morning. It was born out of the need of two adults who wanted to deepen their intimacy and explore their desires.

There were no more teachers and pupils. There was just a man and woman who needed and wanted one another.

“Yes. Yes, I want you, Erik.”

No words would ever be as beautiful as those just said. He could scarcely believe his ears. He could scarcely believe she was lying beneath him, but she was. Life was filled with surprises, some of which were oddly pleasant. Or simply miraculous. He did not deserve this, but she did not care about the past. She wanted him as he was at that very moment.

He captured her lips once more as her hands wandered up his chest and nestled into his hair, pulling his mouth even closer to her own. He slid easily between her thighs, his hands gingerly pulling her skirts up to her waist so that she could more easily part her legs for him.

He could still not believe the great fortune that had been bestowed upon his poor, murderous, blackened soul.

She wanted him…

She wanted him as he was, a deceitful liar, a manipulator, an extortionist, a monster…

In this moment, she was choosing him. The surreal sensation of his lips upon her own and her legs around his hips nearly brought him to a sobbing mass of quivering flesh and muscle.

He wanted to simply weep into her hair for endless hours, thanking her for giving his poor, withered heart a second chance at living.

He wanted to worship her for saving him, for seeing in him long forgotten goodness that he did not see in himself.

Like a Phoenix he was rising from the ashes of his old life. The Phantom had a lover, and she was slowing putting the shattered pieces of his soul back together with her tender kisses and gentle caresses. He did not believe in heaven, but he now believed in happiness, and he had never thought such a thing possible before.

He softly whispered for her to turn over and lie upon her stomach, she wordlessly obeyed, moaning softly as he helped turn her. She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply as his fingers began to deftly work the silk covered buttons on the back of her dress.

She could feel him kneeling over top of her as his hands worked the tiny buttons, his breathing ragged and harsh as though he were exposing her for the first time. The light of the moon cast a silvery glow across the blue gown as he finally opened the last button at the base of her spine.

She had the insufferable Marie Rouselle over in the morning to help her lace her corset before setting out to see Meg and Madame Giry. Her stomach coiled in excitement at the imminent anticipation of Erik’s fingers deftly releasing her from the confining garment.

He parted the fabric softly, not willing to rip this dress down the center as he did her last one. He swept her hair off of her neck and began to rain warm, wet kisses upon the pale flesh. A low moan rumbled in her throat as his hands spread across her back, gently caressing the criss-crossing laces of her corset.

She rose up onto her knees to shrug the dress down her arms as Erik forcefully pulled it to her waist, his hands nearly tearing into the delicate satin in an attempt to free her from it. She held fast to the black velvet coverlet as he undid the tapes on her skirt.

He had a taste for dark elegance, as his boudoir somewhat resembled a bordello of sorts itself. The walls were scarlet red, similar to those in her bedchamber at home, but the furniture was rather gothic. His bed was adorned with black velvet and had a rather oppressive black grate as a headboard. It was frighteningly masochistic, yet dark and daring in a way that was most exciting.

It suited him well. She also found it was very much to her tastes.

She kicked out of her skirts and lay back across the velvet wearing an ivory corset and sheer chemise. The contrast was ravishing; his eyes could not to drink her in all at once. His pure angel was swathed in virginal white and lying across his sinfully coloured coverlet.

She had entered Hades underworld dressed as a lady of the summertime. The power he felt intoxicated him. He also found himself oddly pleased that he was not taking a virginal lover; there would be no pain or awkwardness to spoil their night of rapture. She would welcome him easily.

He also found himself thanking good fortune that he was not coming to her a virgin. That would certainly cut their night rather short.

She sighed as she rolled onto her back and sat up to straddle his hips once more. She lowered herself onto his lap and began to kiss and suckle his neck hungrily, marveling at the steady throb of his pulse beneath her lips. The rough skin felt rather pleasant against her lips and chin, as did the movement of his throat against her mouth.

She pulled his shirt out of his trousers completely and began to pull the fabric open frantically. She had never wanted to feel someone’s bare skin against her own as badly as she did right now. She felt she would perish if she could not have him, all of him, as soon as was humanly possible. There was a deep, forceful need building in her belly and spreading across her entire body.

The fine hairs on this chest were slicked with sweat, which she initially thought she might find distasteful, but instead felt overcome with sensual admiration. He had never looked so powerful. His skin was damp with perspiration, his eyes had turned a dark shade of blue, and his hands were steady and insistent as they pushed her onto her back and gently pulled her stockings down her legs.

She had always feared giving herself over to a man completely, as the thought of a larger, stronger, passion-besotted gentleman removing her clothing and seeking entrance into her body seemed rather daunting. The knowledge that she would be small and defenseless underneath the body of her husband or lover frightened her. Even when she coupled with Raoul she felt mildly immodest, although not in any danger of any sort.

Now a man whom she knew was dangerous was slowly, tantalizingly pulling her stockings down her legs. His shirt hung open over his chest, his hair was wetted to his neck and forehead, and his belly was rising and falling harshly with his excitement. She felt like a virginal maiden about to be ravished by a strong, mighty knight who had just jumped down from his great black steed and picked her up like she was naught but a feather to bring her to his tower of shameful, hidden pleasures.

She scoffed inwardly at how silly she sounded to herself, thinking of medieval romances during a time such as this! Erik was not a mighty knight, as he had allegiance to no one. She could picture him on a great black steed though…

Her wandering thoughts were silenced when the confining sheer material that coated her legs was finally, blissfully removed. He had flung them somewhere, where she did not know, or care for that matter.

He was lying on top of her once more, his lips traveling down her neck as he shrugged out of his shirt completely. He gently turned her onto her stomach to attack the laces of her corset. Gone was the gentle reverence of before, and in its place was his animalistic desire to press Christine’s warm skin against his chest rather than her whale-boned shell.

“Christine,” he rasped out sharply as she felt her body jerking with each and every frantic pull of his hands, “you do not need to wear one of these, in fact, I will be most pleased if you never cage yourself in one again.”

“How improper would that make me, Erik?” She gasped teasingly.

“Now is not the time to speak of propriety.” He punctuated his seductive whisper with a thrust of his tongue into her ear. She had found that a somewhat odd sensation, but not a disagreeable one.

He pulled the laces apart at long last and tore the garment open so fiercely that Christine feared he would break it in two. He was breathing more like a beast than a man; it was wildly intense, and unbelievably exhilarating. Her heart swelled with pride that she could do this to him, to this strong, determined man.

She let a harsh sigh of relief as the hateful garment was tossed aside as carelessly as her stockings. She had never felt so completely and utterly free, so blissfully alive.

Her chemise was molded perfectly to her body with the dampness of the moisture coating her skin. It hugged every curve and caressed every inch of her. Erik supported himself on his elbows as he lowered his body onto hers, his mouth suckling at the base of her throat as he moved one hand upwards to stroke her thigh.

His hand moved up slowly, memorizing each and every inch of skin. He felt her hipbone, the soft, gentle curve of her waist, the rise of her ribcage, and the fullness of the underside of her breast. Her breath caught in her throat as one large, long-fingered hand cupped her possessively,

She was so incredibly soft beneath his hand. Her hardened nipple jutted out against the thin fabric of her chemise and grazed his palm. He applied slightly more pressure, gently squeezing. She moaned in response, arching her back and pressing further into his hand.

The sound nearly drove him to a kind of blissful madness that he had only experienced in his wildest, and mostly unfulfilled fantasies. He moved his palm over her again, his fingers grazing the painfully erect nipple as he pressed harder, needing to claim each and every part of her body as his own. She gasped when he squeezed even harder and he drew back, his brows knitted together in concern.

“Did I hurt you, Angel?”

“No, no.” She gasped out. “Erik, please…please don’t stop.” She sat upwards and caught his lips with hers, her hand fisting into her hair as she linked her fingers through his and brought his hand back to her breast.

He lowered her to back once more and resumed his relentless assault on her body. His hand drifted to her other breast, cupping and squeezing as hard as she would allow. Her hands pressed against his chest, her fingers drawing lazy circles around his nipples and stroking the fine curls on his chest. She wanted to memorize every part of him. She admired the hard, well-muscled feel of his chest, the soft skin of his belly, and the line of thick, dark hair that began just below his navel and disappeared into his trousers.

Her hands splayed across his lower back, the hard flesh involuntarily flexing as her fingers grazed the golden skin. His back was a mess of scars and uneven abrasions, the pink and white tissue smooth yet jagged. Her fingertips touched each and every rise of angry broken flesh tenderly, stroking it as though it were the finest, softest skin she had ever touched.

Both of her hands ran over this back and tangled into his hair, pressing his head into her breasts as he groaned softly. He flicked out his tongue to wet one erect nipple through her chemise and sucked the hard peak into his mouth as his hesitant hand made its way to her center.

She moaned loudly as his lips closed over her nipple, his tongue teasing her mercilessly. Her soft moans nearly turned to ecstatic screams as his hand closed over her feminine mound. She instinctively felt the need to jerk back, but instead found herself pushing against his fingers.

For a moment she was worried that her overzealous response might have disgusted him. She even briefly considered apologizing breathlessly, but her thrust into his hand elicited a most satisfied grunt from him and he pushed against her harder. The feel of her lace drawers against the burning, throbbing bud was almost unbearable.

She knew that the lace was absolutely soaked with her want, but the wetter she became the more he played with her. It was sweet, sweet torture. She simply closed her eyes and moaned out his name softly over and over again, an erotic prayer on her lips.

He lifted his head from her breast and she groaned as the cold air chilled her already pebbled nipple. His hand remained pressed to her womanhood, his fingertip pushing gently against her bud, marveling at the feeling of her moisture seeping out of her and coating his hand.

“Does that feel good, Angel?” He rasped.

She could not respond, but rather created the most musical moan he had ever heard. It was long and rather drawn out, starting softly and ending in a crescendo that made his heart soar with triumph.

It was answer enough for him.

Her head was thrown back and her arms were stretched above her head, grasping the silk covered pillow in her moist fingers, twisting it with each and every way as a maddening pulsation tore through her lower body.

Pulling his hand away despite her cry of protest, he grasped the hem of the chemise and began to draw it up over her body. He could see the liquid staining her drawers, and the taut skin of her stomach. He flicked his tongue into her tiny sunken navel as her back arched off of the mattress to allow him to slide the garment over her head, baring her almost completely to his gaze.

She looked ravishing. Beautiful. Perfect.

Her tiny pink nipples had seemingly begun to swell, the distended nubs straining, begging for his touch. He once again was troubled by the concern that he may have hurt her; perhaps he was being too rough. But god help him, he could not stop…

Cupping her naked breasts in his hands he moved lower, his lips tasting the silken flesh of her stomach as he descended lower and lower.

She started, was he going to do that thing with this tongue…?

He was.

She nearly screamed as she felt his hot, pink tongue dart out and boldly graze her sex from top to bottom. She screamed his name wildly, her fingers twisting the silk pillowcase so tightly she was sure she would shred it.

There was something tantalizing about his tongue flicking her through her drawers, something darkly sexual. He was touching her intimately, but a barrier still lay between his tongue and her hot, wet warmth. It all felt so very scandalous, and infuriatingly coy. He was teasing her, promising her intense pleasure but forever postponing it with each confidant sweep of his tongue.

He held her thighs apart with his hands, spreading them open as far as her aching muscles would allow. She was gloriously, deliciously exposed to him. She felt vulnerable and indecent, and so overcome with dark, undiscovered pleasure.

Her shock never ceased when he brought her legs up over his shoulders and simply moved the pesky lace aside to make heated contact with her throbbing sex. His lips closed over her bud, drawing it into his mouth and coating it with moisture. The muscles in her thighs began to clench and unclench wildly, pressing into his back forcefully as he made love to her with his mouth.

He ran one fingertip across her soft pink folds. They were quite, well, pretty. He found his mental vocabulary rather lacking at this time. Her womanhood was so very delicate looking, baby soft and lacking the plumpness that Sofia and the other women he had seen in pictures had.

He found the taste of wet feminine flesh intoxicating, no essence was sweeter.

She let out a scream of intense pleasure as her pelvis began to contract wildly, her muscles seemingly pulsing against one another in the most pleasant, soul-shattering sensation that she had ever had the great fortune of experiencing.

Her legs clamped around his back as her pelvis thrusted upwards, nearly slamming into his nose.

Once her body stopped jerking spasmodically she lowered her legs and tried desperately to catch her breath. She was sure that her heart was going to beat right out of her chest, never had she felt so gloriously, deliciously winded.

He knelt between her thighs, his lips glistening with her wetness and his hair disheveled. She had never seen something more beautiful, she thought to herself wickedly.

Sitting back upon his haunches, he was most surprised when he felt her press her naked chest against his.

His angel was insatiable, and their night had just begun.

He lowered himself onto the mattress, pulling her atop him and running sweat-slicked fingers through her unruly brown curls. His fingertips grazed her cheek gently, admiring the soft shadows of her lashes against her porcelain skin. He touched her lips gently, his fingers tracing the lines and contours of her full, swollen mouth.

Christine left her fingers drift to the coarse hair below his naval and followed the trail slowly until her thumb brushed the first fastening on his trousers.

A wash of certainty overwhelmed her. Was a wanton woman not an evil woman? So many years of moral preaching assaulted her with vindictive philosophies about purity and goodness.

Yet, if Erik were the dark man with allegiance to no man or woman alive, and therefore not a follower of society’s principles, surely he would welcome her passion. He probably would demand it. She felt herself fall a little more in love with him at that moment.

“Come, Angel.” He whispered softly into her ear, his hot breath tickling the soft cartilage.

Her hands shook slightly as she began to slowly, clumsily work the fastenings. She had never seen a man’s sex up close before. She had always been curious, as most young innocent girls would be, but had always pretended that the thought of one either brought her wild disgust or incited mock indifference.

She remembered an incident that brought her a mixture of both shame and mirth. She and Meg had often spoken of male anatomy in giggling, girlish terms with the necessary grimaces and chuckles. They were eleven years old at the time, and the stories of the older and somewhat worldlier chorus girls had been seeping through the paper walls for some time, entering the pure and untouched minds of those of a purer persuasion. They were met with great luck when a gentleman who often frequented the Opera Populaire purchased and displayed to those willing to look, a fine painting of a very strong, very muscular, very defined, very naked man.

In the brief glance that Christine was afforded at the golden Greek’s appendage, she found herself rather disappointed. It was small and quite ugly. It hung loosely over two golden orbs and had a fat, bulbous head. It was downright comical, and completely lacking in grace.

She had scarcely seen Raoul, as they had not touched or caressed one another prior to coming together as husband and wife. She never felt the need to reveal it to her curious gaze.

Now as her fingers worked to free Erik from his trousers nervousness crept upon her like an ominous shadow, robbing her fingers of their dexterity. She would see him, feel him, and touch him. She wanted to, she wanted to caress the part of him that was straining so pitifully against the confines of his trousers. She wanted to gift him with the immense pleasure that he had given to her so selflessly mere moments ago.

She wanted to, but still she was frightened.

Erik did not know if her hesitation stemmed from her fear of taking him inside of her at long last, or her lingering maidenly fears of intimidating or upsetting her lover with her assertion.

Nothing she could do in the name of passion or desire could ever make him draw away from her.

Placing his hand on top of her own, he deftly unfastened his pants and placed her hand on him, wrapping her warm fingers around his length. The feel of her, his gloriously beautiful, innocent angel, touching him so intimately nearly made him long to weep. It did not seem possible that she could hold him like this, her touch hesitant and so achingly gentle.

Her breath caught as she held him in her hand for the first time. It was the first time she had ever taken a man into her hands. It was a lovely and unsettling experience all at once, and his harsh, labored breathing excited her more than the feel of the soft, pulsating flesh in her hand.

He was much larger than the man in the painting…

His male flesh was by no means attractive in the conventional sense of the word. When one thought of beauty they thought of roses or sunsets, and this thing resting her hand, this strong yet vulnerable organ, was not exactly pretty. But it was him, and it was evidence of the desire that she ignited in him. That symbolism alone made it breath taking.

Forgetting her reservations, she began to pull his trousers down his hips, desperate to feel his naked skin against her own. He lifted his hips off of the bed and pushed the hateful fabric away, needing to feel her tender, curious touch on him once more. He did not believe in heaven. He had given up hope of eternal paradise when he was far too young, but when he lay on the bed, naked and vulnerable with his angel touching him intimately, he was within the gates of immortal ecstasy.

She ran her hands up and down his length curiously. He was unbelievably hard and firm, yet coated by velvety skin.

His hand stroked down her arms and grasped her hip as she touched him, his groans becoming more guttural and pronounced. She was learning his body, his soft grunts and subtle moans providing her with instruction and tutelage as she caressed him gently.

“Stop…stop…” He stilled her hand with his own, his heart beating wildly. If her ministrations continued she would be most disappointed, and he would rather die than disappoint her on a night as special as this one.

Her brows knitted together quizzically as he stopped her, her eyes drifting to see the grimace displayed across his features. His eyes were closed tightly and his lips were pulled back from his gritted teeth as though he were struggling to lift a heavy object.

With barely a second to question his sudden change of heart, the air escaped her lungs as she was slammed onto her back; his heavy body coming to rest atop her own as his lips captured hers once more. He was murmuring something in her ear, his words breathy and harsh.

“Do you want me, Christine?” He parted her thighs with his own and ran his fingers up the inside of her thigh, his sex coming to rest against her belly as the smooth skin of her thighs surrounded his hips.

“Yes…” She breathed out her response, her voice wispy and longing.

“Tell me you want me.” He grasped her thighs and slid them upwards to rest against his waist.

“I want you, Erik.”

“You want me inside of you?”

“Yes, yes. Oh god, Erik, yes!”

Reaching down, he deftly griped the side of her drawers and tore the fragile lace in two, a savage grin spreading across his face as he threw the tattered material aside. She nearly squealed with a mixture of shock and wicked delight.

He pushed against her, his sex barely penetrating her, waiting for her to move and welcome him deeply inside of her.

He had dreamt of this moment for so long, but never truly believed that it could happen. Never did he think she would really be lying beneath him, open for him and pleading for him to make love to her. It was all a fantasy, a beautiful, torturous, unfulfilled flight of fancy. Until now.

She moaned as he pushed in further, his breath whooshing out of his lungs as she grasped him tightly, her legs closing around him as she caressed his face and swept her fingers into his hair.

He reached for her hands and linked his fingers through hers, the gesture binding them together in every way imaginable. Pressing her bottom lip between his own, he buried himself to the hilt, her fingers clenching around his as a moan escaped her lips.

In that moment of physical joining, all the world was perfect.

Christine adjusted to the feeling of him resting inside of her. Neither moved, but just lay there basking the sensation of being deeply, intimately connected.

He began to move, slowly at first, simply allowing the sensation of her body enveloping his to wash over him.

She ran her hands up his back, feeling his muscles become taut as he withdrew and surged forward, her body rocking with his movement. Her gasps and throaty moans were coming of their own volition with each and every thrust of his hips. He was moving within her, the ease and smoothness of which was incredible.

She hitched her legs up even higher, locking her ankles locking against his back as her body slipped over the velvet sheets as he surged forward once more.

He was so heavy and strong on top of her, his hard back and chest a stark contrast to her soft skin and supple curves. She wondered if he was as fascinated by her softness as she was by his strength.

With each and every thrust she craved a harder, more forceful touch. She longed to be taken in everyway imaginable by this strong, hard man who she trusted with all of her heart. She was giving herself to him, and he was taking her so gently, his lips brushing her face and neck with soft, passionate kisses.

She rocked her hips upwards and grasped his shoulders, her hands moving down his back to cup his behind and push him further into her as she released a near scream of pleasure.

He reached for her hands and pinned them beside her head. Her eyes widened for a moment, that dreaded fear of being open and vulnerable returning for a fleeting moment before he pushed into her with more force than before, his groans becoming more animalistic.

He was quite surprised at how little she held back when vocalizing her pleasure. He expected soft murmurs and harsh breaths, but instead he was greeted with tortured moans and near shouts of need. If he had not known any better, he would think her cries were false, but her heated skin and clouded eyes proved otherwise. She was simply a loud bed partner. It was wonderful, absolutely wonderful in every way imaginable. She let him hear her pleasure, and she made him feel like a king.

It was solid, written-in-stone proof that they were born to be lovers.

Their palms had begun to sweat as he moved faster than before, his muscles bunching as he gave her everything he could muster.

He buried himself in her and began to move roughly against her pelvis, his movements stimulating the bud that made her scream with release.

Her moans became more ragged and hoarse, soft cries of his name soon followed, propelling him to thrust against her with all the might in his body. He was so close, so close to releasing all he had deep inside of her.

With a final scream of pleasure she released, her body contracting around his as she pushed her pelvis into him, grinding against him with a strength he never imagined she could possess. She pulled him deeper into her, her arms wrapping around him desperately, clinging to him as though his very presence breathed life into her body.

In a moment he followed, his essence pouring into her as he let out cries of his own. Together they laid like that, their releases exhausting them as their fingers intertwined intimately.

“Oh, oh Erik…” Christine kissed his forehead and cheek softly, her breath cool against his heated skin.

He buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling the sweet scent of her arousal and satiation as she softly cried out his name over and over again.

He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently, his eyes closed to fight back the tears that threatened to flow freely. She had given herself to him, had begged for him to touch her, and had cried out his name in ecstasy. She had returned to him and made him feel as though he were the most brilliant, handsomest man on earth. He did not deserve such a fortune. He did not, he did not, he did not…

He withdrew from her slowly, not wanting to break the sacred contact between them. Pulling her to rest against his chest he moved her hair off of her neck and ran his fingertips against the moist skin gently. His fingers moved up and down her spine softly, the gesture one of affection rather than titillation.

Her fingers splayed across his chest and felt the throb of his heartbeat. In that moment there was no time for regrets or questions of what was right and good. There was simply the heartbeat of the man who loved her, and the man whom she had fallen in love with even as she fought him.

In the morning the doubts would come, but for now, no darkness could haunt her.

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A/N: Sooo, was it good for you? Bad joke, sorry lol.
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Black Angels