Page 38 of Angel's Fall

Erik was not sure howlong he had been sitting on the ground with his back against the wall, head in his hands. It had been long enough for the cold to seep into bones. It was comforting, in a way. The chill didn’t feel good, but it felt real. It was solid and quiet while everything in his head kept getting louder. Why was it so loud? He should be happy – or something like happy. Christine had sung like her soul was on fire tonight, awing all of Paris, but where was she now?

He’d come right to the stables when he heard someone had been hurt, berating himself for not investigating further earlier in the day. Now, Jean-Paul was beaten and bruised, and everyone thought it was the ghost. But it hadn’t been him! Or had it? Erik could not help but wonder. What if he was so broken that he had done something awful and forgotten it?

No, Shaya had said there was someone else in the Opera. Why did that even matter with Christine off at the party laughing with that boy?

“Erik? What are you doing here?”

He looked up, certain she was a dream. Christine knelt and pulled him out of the darkness. “I’m sorry, I—” She embraced him before he could finish, so tight it pushed the air from his lungs.

“I heard about Jean-Paul. I thought something had happened to you and I was so scared,” Christine whimpered into his shoulder.

“I’m fine. It wasn’t me. I didn’t—”

“I know,” Christine cut him off, pulling back to look at him carefully, hand against his masked cheek. “I know you wouldn’t hurt him.”

Erik wanted to say she was wrong. He’d hurt so many people, but he was speechless, overcome by the trust and love in her eyes. “We need to go. I’ll explain at home.”

“Alright.”

Erik held Christine’s hand tighter than usual as he led her down to the lake, listening at every juncture for some noise, waiting to feel something wrong. Luckily, there was nothing, barely even the sound of rats or dripping water. Soon enough, they were safe between the double casing in the candle-lit parlor he had built.

“Someone has been trespassing; someone who wants people to believe they are me,” Erik answered before Christine could even voice the question. She grimaced in confusion as she came close to him, touching him gently as if to soothe him.

“Who? Why?”

“I don’t know.” Erik huffed in surprise when Christine threw her arms around him again. “What’s wrong?”

“I told you, I was scared,” she whispered before she kissed him. Why did kissing her make it all go away? All the fear, all the shame and doubt. When her lips were on him, there was nothing but good in his world, and he was safe again. How did she accomplish such magic?

“I’m fine,” he sighed against her cheek. “Though I think I was more worried than you.”

“About what?” Christine asked, pulling away to reveal debauched lips and heavy eyes. “Are you still convinced I won’t return?”

“Every time,” Erik confessed, looking down in guilt.

Christine answered his doubt by pulling off his mask. It was another kind of witchcraft, the way she looked at him with such tenderness every time his awful face was revealed. “One day I hope I will be able to convince you that I’ll always return.”

“I hope so too.”

Christine pulled him towards his room, and he followed with no resistance. It was strangely relaxed, the way she began to undress him once they were behind his door and surrounded by the dark hangings of his bedchamber. Domestic, even. He helped her in turn, undoing the laces and buttons on her violet gown, and soon, they were free of everything but her chemise and his trousers.

“Come here,” Christine commanded, guiding him to the bed until he was sitting on the edge. When she knelt before him, he suppressed a gasp.

“You don’t need to,” he gulped, even as her hands pushed his knees apart and she nuzzled his thigh. “I don’t expect—”

“Let me.” It was such a simple request, but the way she spoke it – husky and soft, looking up at him from beneath her dark lashes – left Erik breathless. “Please.”

He nodded, words failing him as Christine undid the fastenings of his trousers and took his stiffening member in hand, stroking him to full hardness before licking at the tip. He groaned as her lips encircled him, soft and careful. His eyes fell closed in pleasure, his head falling back as her mouth welcomed him slowly, teasing him with her tongue and sucking in turn. When she hummed, it sent lightning through him, and he gasped when she added her hands at the base.

“Christine...” he exhaled her name, hands knitting into the sheets as his body grew tense and bliss zinged in his veins.

She sped up her attentions and he forced himself to open his eyes. The sight was perfect and obscene when he looked down, his cock disappearing into the throat that so recently had let forth music that had thrilled him and the audience alike. But this was his alone.

Christine squeezed his thighs as she met his eyes, bobbing her head and taking him deeper. Was she encouraging him? His body responded before his mind, his hips fucking upward as his climax built at the base of his spine. He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to lose control, but her mouth was tight and warm and she was all his, on her knees before him, and it felt so good to beseenand trusted.

Erik cried out, grabbing Christine’s hair as she worked her throat in some incredible way, and he came. She held him in place as he did, swallowing down his spend in another act that left him awestruck.

“More often than not, I think you must be a dream.” Erik fell back onto the bed. He loved the way she laughed at that, how warm and kind it was. “How else could someone like me deserve you?”

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