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Do I Dream Again?	By : LaurieBaker Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 10050 -:- 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
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More sweet seduction below...

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“Come...come see the Devil’s Child...”

The gruff voice repeatedly called out in the fog, accompanied by the careening gypsy sideshow music that inspired seasickness.

Kneeling in the small cage which reeked of hay, animals and excrement, Erik was huddled over and stripped to the waist. His head was covered in a burlap sack with jagged holes torn into the cloth so that he would not suffocate. Despite the old gypsy man’s orders to reveal himself, he remained obstinately still. Yet pride was a weak weapon against a well-mastered whip. As he was lashed again and again for his disobedience, the pain began to overwhelm him until he had forgotten what he was fighting for. His back felt wet, although he did not know if the liquid was sweat or blood oozing from his pores. With resignation, he finally gave in. What was one more humiliation in a lifetime full of such trials? He should be used to it by now.

Screams and laughter from young children filled the night as they gazed at the unmasked face of the Devil’s Child. The clamorous jeers and cries kept increasing in volume and pitch until he thought he would go mad. He cursed himself for his lack of fortitude. He wanted to die. If only he could be anywhere...anywhere but in this living hell....

“Erik?”

The voice of an angel reached out to him in the darkness. Had his wish been granted? Had he finally escaped the life that he had been condemned to?

“Erik...please calm yourself...it is all right...”

A soft touch on his bare arm...the soft whisking of cloth...a soft female form by his side...the smell of roses...Christine...

“I’m here...” she whispered, stroking his face.

Erik was ashamed to feel hot tears run down his cheeks and onto her fingers. Out of reflex, he covered his face with his hand, pulling away from her in despair. Yet the stubborn woman would not let him go as she curled up behind him and wrapped an arm over his waist.

After a few moments, he had recovered himself enough to turn and face her. The room was softly lit with the glow of candlelight. He must have frightened her terribly with his nighttime ravings which, truth to be told, were a fairly common occurrence.

Christine, looking adorably mussed up with her curls strewn wildly about, truly did appear as if she had fallen from the heavens to grant him salvation. Yet no ethereal spirit could possibly look so exquisitely delicious, naked and inviting as she was in the candlelight, covered only with a sheet. His body stirred in immediate eagerness at the tempting sight of her. Yet, inwardly, he scoffed at himself in ridicule to dare to hope for a repeat performance of what had happened between them. As if any woman would desire to lie with him as he was now, blubbering like a newborn infant.

Pulling himself up until he sat up on the bed, Erik rubbed at the wetness on his face, trying to achieve some modicum of self-control.

“I apologize, my dear,” he said, fumbling for some cool joking statement to rescue him from his own weakness. “I am hardly ideal husband material right now, am I?” Not that he ever was, he thought bleakly.

“You must have suffered a horrible nightmare,” she replied, rather disingenuously. He remained silent, feeling no urge to respond to the obvious remark. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Erik blinked a few times, trying to comprehend what she was saying.

“Talk about it?”

“Yes,” she nodded solemnly. “Whenever I would have bad dreams, my Papa always used to say that talking about it would get it out of your mind and then you would never suffer that nightmare again.”

Recalling the shame of his youthful captivity, Erik had no wish to ever speak of it to anyone. Especially Christine. No, she would never know the level to which he had once sunk. Not even if he had to suffer that same nightmare a hundred times over.

“I have already forgotten what it was about,” he lied.

Christine looked at him with skepticism.

“I find that hard to believe, Erik.”

“Nonetheless, it is kind of you to offer a sympathetic ear,” he continued. “Whenever I had nightmares as a child, my mother would often box my ears for waking her up from a sound sleep.”

Christine was so horrified by his revelation that she was speechless.

“Please do not look at me like that,” he snapped. “I abhor being pitied.”

Rather than having been put off by his temper, Christine looked at him in much the same manner as she had the night before when she had led him into that fateful kiss. She looked at him so intensely that he felt as if she were trying to stare into all of the secrets of his soul.

“If you ever wish to tell me, I will listen,” she said solemnly.

“And you won’t box my ears?” he asked in an attempt at humor.

“I would never wish to hurt you, Erik.”

The simple statement made Erik feel odd. Before this moment, only music had the ability to touch him so deeply. And now the words of this woman seemed to grip him somehow. He was halfway afraid he would start to cry again and lose any hope of regaining dignity in her eyes again.

Quickly, before he succumbed to the strange emotion, he changed the subject.

“How are you, Christine? Are you feeling well?”

She blushed at the intimate question. He could have kicked himself for asking about such a sensitive subject in such an oafish manner. But it was the only other thing that had come to mind.

“Just a little,” she admitted.

Erik groaned with self-loathing. How could he have been such an animal last night, taking advantage of her love of music and singing to seduce her to his will? True, she had been the one to initiate the kiss. But she had been swept away in an artistic fervor as she was wont to do. And he knew that was so. Yet, he had trapped his prey and mercilessly bent her to his will, carrying her to the bedroom and ravishing her. Oh, yes, he was every bit the monster he was rumored to be. Perhaps no longer a killer or a specter, yet a monster just the same.

“Perhaps I should draw you a bath or...?” he asked in a weak attempt to atone for his sins of the night before.

His offer was quickly halted as she placed her fingertips softly against his lips. As she pressed him down onto his back on the bed, her eyes were glowing with feminine excitement. The way that she looked upon him, he could have sworn that he had perhaps metamorphosed into a handsome prince overnight. How could she so disregard his frightening visage? How could she play the part of a happy bride so convincingly?

Erik halfway wondered if he were still in a dream world as he gazed upon the woman beside him. She looked absolutely radiant as she smiled at him tenderly. Never in any opera, never at any time since he had first laid eyes upon her had she seemed so beautiful. He yearned so to kiss her mouth, still swollen and puffy from their lovemaking. As if he had willed it, she leaned over to kiss him.

“Not right now...” she whispered against his lips.

His mind spun crazily. What had they been talking about? Oh, yes, a bath...a bath...

As Christine rested her naked body atop his own, Erik nearly moaned with agony. Only a girl as innocent as she was could be so blatantly seductive without any trace of shame. He swore he would not toss her upon her back and begin rutting away at her as if she were a streetwalker. Yet as she planted baby kisses along the side of his neck and down his shoulder, he literally trembled with an effort not to give in to the savage lust burning underneath.

And the self doubt was ever present...

“Christine, you must not feel obligated to...”

“Erik,” she interrupted. “As much as I love your voice, would you please be silent for a while?”

He chuckled in response.

“Very well, Madame. You may have your wicked way with me. I shall endeavor to be as quiet as a mouse.”

Christine giggled charmingly.

“I can hardly imagine you ever being that quiet, Erik.”

Her smile made his heart melt. Was this what she was like as a little girl when her father was alive? He could imagine her playing and dancing to violin music in the brisk winter winds. What a little sprite she must have been before sorrow drained out all of the youthful joy in her eyes!

Once more, Erik’s thoughts became hazy. Christine was torturing him with her kisses, becoming entirely too experimental as she ran her tongue in a very unladylike fashion along his sensitive flesh. With a growl, he grabbed her and rolled over until she was trapped underneath him.

“I am trying to be a tender gentleman to you, you horrid temptress, but you are not making it easy for me!”

“Then don’t be a gentleman,” she coaxed with a come-hither smile.

“Very well,” he responded with an evil grin. “But I shall be oblivious to all cries for mercy.”

With that, he proceeded to pay her in kind, pinning her hands to the mattress as he teased her naked breasts with his mouth. She was driven into such a frenzy that she bucked and writhed underneath him.

“Please make love to me, Erik...please...”

Yet he was not finished with her. He was determined that she would know the same sort of physical yearning that he had been victim to ever since he had spied her twirling about in her little ballet costumes. He nipped and stroked and played with her body, delighting in the animalistic lustful moans that escaped from her gasping breath.

“Say you want me, Christine...” he commanded as he slid his tongue along the inside of her quivering thigh.

“I want you...” she pleaded.

“Say it again and again.”

“I want you, Erik. I want you so much. I want you. I want you...”

He could never hear the sweet admission from her lips enough.

When he joined his body with hers, Erik was once more lost in a world of bliss. As he moved against her, he was worried that she would once more feel the pain of her breached virginity. Yet her sweet cries of pleasure and her eagerly thrusting hips quickly disabused him of that notion. He had thought that nothing could surpass that first moment that he finally made love with his Angel. Yet this time was even better as there was no pain, only pleasure. He allowed himself to become a bit bolder and rougher, giving in to his urges. Christine not only did not fight him. She practically encouraged him with her squeals and tremors. Again, they both cried out with shrieking ecstasy, gripping onto each other tightly as if the intense pleasure would drown them both.

Afterwards, he held onto her protectively. He swore to himself that he would never let her leave his side again. He would die before he would ever lose her again. He never wanted to lose this feeling of...happiness...

Sleep came with the stealth of a cat. And there were no more nightmares.
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Do I Dream Again?