Page 48 of Angel's Flight

“Where did you even find something to read?I don’t remember packing that one,” Christine chuckled when he looked at her with the sweetest of smiles.It might have been because she was carrying food, but she liked to think she had some part in bringing him such joy.

“I borrowed it from...somewhere,” Erik replied innocently.“I’ll be sure to give it back.”

“If you can remember where you stole it from,” Christine sighed.“I shouldn’t give you dinner as punishment.”

“I can think of better ways to keep me in check,” Erik smirked, eyes sparkling behind his mask.

Christine had never blushed so fiercely in her life.She couldn’t even look at him with such ideas in her mind.She busied herself with the food instead, setting out the bread, cheese, and meat on the little desk in their cabin.“I...Never mind.”

“I didn’t mean to scandalize you, Madame.”

Christine jumped because, of course, Erik had materialized right behind her.He laughed warmly at her shock, peering into her face as she attempted to glare at him.“I’m not scandalized.I’m simply confused about...”Christine swallowed, her mouth going dry as she tried to name what had happened.

“What I needed last night?”Erik asked softly, and Christine was unable to look away.Even so, she didn’t want to do this with his mask on.Gentle as ever, she lifted it from his face and set it aside.

There was her husband, the man she loved with all his flaws and failings.The man she wanted to protect and heal.

“I don’t understand why you would want me to hurt you,” Christine said at last.“After all you’ve been through – all that pain – why would you need more?”

Erik’s golden eyes were thoughtful, but not scared or ashamed.“I’m not certain myself, but pain is different when it comes with pleasure from you.It feels liberating.Safe in its own strange way.”

“Safe,” Christine echoed, thinking back to how Erik had been the night before.A calm that had overtaken him in his desperation to obey and repent to her that had been beautiful and intoxicating.“I made you feel that way.”

“How did you feel?”Erik asked, touching her cheek and pushing back her hair in that soothing, entrancing way of his.

“I felt powerful,” Christine confessed, letting go of her shame.“Like there was one thing, at last, I could control.I guess that felt safe too, but...”

“But what?”Erik pushed, not allowing Christine to look away from him, even though she tried to.

“It still feels wrong to have enjoyed hurting you,” Christine whispered.“It feels cruel.”

“I know you would never really hurt me,” Erik breathed back.“I know you would stop if I asked.I know you know the difference between inflicting a sensation upon me I ask for and pushing me into the darkness.I trust you.”

“I don’t know if I trust myself,” Christine half-laughed.

“We don’t have to do it again if you’re not amenable to it,” Erik said with no judgement in his tone, but Christine was still sure he was disappointed.Perhaps because she felt a pang of panic herself at the possibility of closing that door.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to do it again.”

Erik raised an eyebrow, or what he had that passed for one.

“I just need time to consider and adjust,” Christine went on, even as a terribly wicked thought whispered in the back of her mind.“Or plan.”

“Plan?”Erik asked, so soft and awed Christine blushed again.

“Well, we won’t be doing anything on this damn ship, so don’t get too excited,” she chided, playfully pushing him away.

“Are you still feeling ill?”Erik took up a piece of bread to offer her.“Something plain may help.”

“Howard helped – with the seasickness, I mean.He had some concoction with ginger.”

“He’s an interesting man,” Erik muttered.“I still can’t comprehend why he’s helping us.He must value Jack quite dearly to aid his friends.”

“He also thinks we’re very interesting,” Christine said as she and Erik sat on the creaking bed that took up much of their cabin.“I didn’t have the heart to tell him how truly boring you can be.”

“How dare you.”Erik gave her a playful glare.“I’m the most unconventional passenger on this ship.”

“Perhaps,” Christine shrugged.“But I haven’t heard any of them go on for hours about the failings of English architecture or, God, what was it the other night?Some chemist obsessed with milk?”

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