Page 26 of Angel's Mask
“Good,” was all he could say to that. “But as I said, it is getting late.”
“But I’m not tired,” she whined, faux-petulant.
“You need your rest if you’re to continue our little war on Carlotta tomorrow,” he said and savored the way she tilted back her head as she laughed, baring her pale neck in the candlelight.
“You mean there’s nothing we can do to vex her right now?” she asked, running a hand over her hair to realign the many locks that had escaped her chignon. It gave Erik a mad idea.
“Now that you mention it, didn’t you say recently you wished you could have a nice hot bath?”
“What does that have to do with—” Christine stopped as she realized what he meant.
“I can assure you, the lock on Carlotta’s dressing room hasn’t worked for a long time.”
Christine laughed again, giddy at the suggestion. “I can’t!”
“Of course you can. Go, no one’s here to stop you.” She laughed again as she raced out of their little practice room and her absence struck him like a cold wind.
He rose from his place in the shadow, where he remained forever hidden from her eyes, and stretched. Erik ignored his body most of the time. It was easier to be a ghost when one didn’t dwell too much on the aches and pains of living. But lately, he couldn’t even do that.
Shekept him awake, kept him tense, and because of that, he ached more and more each night. And of course, there were theotherresponses a beautiful body could inspire in a man. He hadn’t thought about those things, or more correctly,lethimself think of such things for a long time. There was simply no point. But she reminded him that those feelings and desires – so long forgotten and pushed away – were still there, like warm embers beneath the banked ash of a fire.
Erik did not mean to follow her. The same part of him that constantly argued against the madness of this whole endeavor tried to steer his feet home. But the passage to take him there went past the dressing rooms. Even if he went slowly, trying to control himself, he would pass by Carlotta’s opulent room. Like so many of the salons and rooms of the Opera, the mirrors there provided Erik with a window into a private space. He rarely used the view to Carlotta’s chamber for obvious reasons, and the glass was actually far smaller than others, especially the grand mirror in the farthest dressing room that could also become a door.
And so he found himself drawn by the lamplight from the prima donna’s dressing room. Through the mirror that was his window he could see steaming water filling the ridiculous copper tub she had installed. The object of Erik’s obsession perched at Carlotta’s vanity, admiring the diva’s costume jewels and perfumes. And she was already half-undressed.
Erik caught his breath at the sight. Christine was in just a white chemise and drawers, and the sheer, thin linen clung to each curve of her body beneath. She was humming to herself but stopped for a moment when his eyes lit upon her bare shoulders and back. She had to sense his eyes upon her, as she always did. That strange power was why he had so far avoided looking at her in such intimate, exposed moments. She would know. Which meant he had to leave. This was an intrusion too far. But she had begun to hum again, and as she raised a gaudy necklace to her throat, she began to fully sing.
“Ah, I laugh to see myself so beautiful in this mirror.” Of course it was Marguerite’s Jewel Song. She repeated the phrase, setting the aria lower than the original key, intoning the melody to Carlotta’s mirror with a husky, gentle lilt. “Is it you? Marguerite? Tell me, tell me, tell me quickly.”
“I don’t believe I authorized Gounod,” Erik said, unable to help himself.
“I knew you were there,” Christine said with a sly smile.
“You always do.”
She rose from the vanity, turning to check the water of the bath and add splashes of soap and perfume to the steaming tub. Erik could see the outline of her breasts beneath the flimsy fabric of her chemise and the sight made his mouth go dry.
“I should leave you to your private enjoyment,” he forced himself to say, tearing his eyes away before he could ogle her further.
“You don’t have to.” Erik’s eyes flew back to her at the soft words. Her face was hesitant but somehow determined as she looked to the empty air around her. “Don’t you know there’s nothing I would hide from you?”
“Christine.” He meant the name to come out as an admonishment, a dismissal of a foolish girl saying things she didn’t understand. But instead, he spoke it like a prayer, and she smiled. Somehow encouraged, she lifted her hands and slowly pushed the chemise off her shoulders, exposing her bare breasts to the cold air and her angel’s rapt eyes.
She was so beautiful, was Erik’s first, breathless thought; beautiful and perfect. Her breasts were plump and alert, and he could see goosebumps on the pale flesh. Her taut, pink nipples held his eyes for a fantastic moment until her hands continued to move, pushing the chemise down to her hips, until it, along with the drawers, fell to the ground.
Erik could barely breathe or think, his heart pounding in his ears as Christine stood exposed to the gaze of a false angel that was anything but heavenly. He took in the curve of her waist and hips, the gentle softness of her belly, and finally, the thatch of dark hair above the juncture of her thighs. At the sight of her, naked and trusting in view of her teacher, the embers of lust he had ignore for so long suddenly burst into a raging flame. His blood flowed so fast to his cock it made him dizzy, and in moments he was harder than he had been in his entire, cursed life.
He was doomed.
“Am I allowed to sing, if it’s Mozart?” Christine asked, her eyes downcast as she loosed her hair and let the dark tresses cascade free over her back. Finally, she turned to enter the tub, the view of her round, lovely ass giving Erik no respite.
“If it’s Mozart,” he echoed, hoping she would not hear the strain of lust in his voice.
Christine smiled again and sank into the tub, moaning in unabashed pleasure as she did. Erik bit back his own groan, grabbing the wall next to the mirror for support. If he could just calm himself, he could get through this. Get away. He could escape and spend the rest of the night telling himself this hadn’t happened. Whatever game she had decided to play or boundary she wanted to test wouldn’t matter.
He couldn’t stop looking though. He drank in the sight of her wet, shining skin, flushed from the heat, and the roundness of her breasts peeking from the water. His cock throbbed at the spectacle, straining against his trousers. He wouldn’t give in to this, he couldn’t. He didn’t know what she wanted or why she had made this display but...he couldn’t give in, even as desire twisted in him like a knife.
Then, she began to sing.
