Page 64 of Angel's Kiss
“Erik, oh God,” she moaned, and to his shock, her own hand found its way between them again to where his hard cock waited in his trousers. She was clumsy with it, but it didn’t matter. She was touching him, her hand encircling him and sending him reeling with pleasure and want. It spurred him on, and he fucked into her with his fingers in a matching rhythm. “Erik! Fuck!” she cried, her body tight and tense.
He drew back and watched her climax, adoring the twitch and tightening of her cunt. And that was enough for him too. He came in hot spurts over her bare stomach, his vision blurring with ecstasy.
How could he dare be so blessed? He did not deserve her smile or her touch, let alone the privilege of her pleasure. And that she would return that precious gift... It was unthinkable. Yet here they were, spent and panting. Here she was, exposed beneath him with his seed staining her skin.
He kissed her again, drunk on the sight. He kissed her neck and her breasts and her belly as she sighed and groaned. He kissed her thighs and listened to her cry of shock melting into delight when he licked at the sensitive folds of her sex. He kissed and licked and suckled and fucked her with his tongue, provoking spasms and cries as her climax rose again and again. He kissed her in worship and wonder, determined to bring her to the brink and beyond. Anything and everything to keep her here, with him. His angel in the dark. Forever.
10. Cursed
Christine wonderedif she would ever get accustomed to being a spectacle. That was always what she felt like at rehearsals nowadays; like everyone in the entire Opera was watching her and judging her. She had picked a strange career for someone who didn’t particularly like being observed and stared at. She’d rather be back with Erik, bare and exposed to only him, rather than up here among the thundering crowd as they shuffled off stage, nervous for the premiere ofRigolettotomorrow. She’d dreamed of being a real diva for so long, but now that she had achieved that impossible goal, all she could bring herself to want was to return to Erik in his windowless house, where he served her like a supplicant between her thighs.
“What are you daydreaming about?”
Christine blinked and Julianne gave her a suspicious glare. She remembered coming to her dressing room and Julianne reminding her not to walk off in Opera property, but if they had been talking, she didn’t remember what about.
“Getting home and going to bed,” Christine replied. It wasn’t entirely a lie.
The last few days had been a dream and whirlwind all at once. She had floated through the technical rehearsal on a cloud, barely speaking to anyone in the long stretches of inactivity while the sets were put in place. It had been a long, grueling day, but she had not been so tired returning to the house on the lake that she couldn’t accept her teacher’s praise and generous rewards. She’d let him please her until she could barely murmur for him to stop, and then he had taken his own pleasure pressed against her in the dark, grinding against her until he spilled over her back.
The next day and the following had been the same, the harrowing noise and chaos of rehearsals giving way to the glorious music and magic below, where the Opera’s darkest legend lived to serve her. He kept her mind occupied as much as her lust, it had to be noted. Erik would read to her or play. The only times that were more sublime than when his hands and mouth were upon her were when they sang or played together.
“Christine, did you hear me?” Julianne said. Christine turned back to her friend and shook her head. “I said, I didn’t think you’d been at home lately,” Julianne (apparently) repeated, her customary worry in her face.
“It doesn’t matter,” Christine muttered. If there was anyone she could tell about what had been happening within the walls of the strange house she’d begun to think of as home, it was Julianne. But to speak of it would make it all too real, and Christine was not ready for that. Christine straightened the jacket of her dress, wishing that she could feel Erik watching through the mirror and that she could just disappear through it rather than keeping up the charade of leaving the Opera like a normal performer.
“Are you alright? Truly?” Julianne asked, her face still concerned beside Christine in the reflection.
“I think so,” Christine replied. She was grateful for the knock that sounded at her door, and even more relieved when Julianne let Robert in.
“You look as lovely as always, my dear,” Robert said with a grin. “Are you ready for supper?”
“Yes, though I can’t stay out too late. I’m quite tired,” Christine replied, taking Robert’s hand as he led her into the hall. Julianne shook her head dubiously as she left them.
“As am I. The final days before a new production opens are always a nightmare,” Robert sighed. “It always feels like nothing will come together and then suddenly, like magic, it’s an opera.”
“It is magic, isn’t it?” Christine remarked as she caught sight of the stage. It was still a hive of activity, with dozens of stagehands yelling as backdrops were lifted up into the flies. She could swear some of them were looking at her, like everyone else. They continued on, and Christine resolved to ignore it.
