Unmasqued

have, and what Chagny took, and took… A long, turgid column sliding into dark, wet lips… faint suction sounds, slipping, slick noises… in and out, long and short, her lower lips moving together, then apart, as he moved in and out. Those heavy hands moved, covering her ivory breasts, dark and rough, squeezing them, just above Erik's face. He struggled, kicking at his tight ankles, pulling at his wrists, his hips jostling the bed… but nothing put Chagny off his stride.

Christine's body shone above him, moist with sweat, and with her own juices, sliding down her thighs to pool onto Erik's own belly. He was wild, pulling, thrashing, fighting… and still, Chagny pumped away, moving those hips teasingly above him, those breasts nearly close enough to touch… and then the end, the shuddering, quaking, heaving… and the last, worst ignominy… when Christine's knees collapsed and she and her lover fell atop him.

Trapping him.

His aching cock dripping and surging, his face wet.

His heart pounding.

Erik dragged his eyes open at last. Perhaps he could have crawled out of the dream earlier… but instead he had forced himself to endure. To feel the pain.

Christine had meant pain to him. Only pain.

He'd given her everything, and she had killed him.

His eyes, adjusting to the dim candlelight, saw the parchment curling next to him on the bed.

Maude had written, and he had yet to decide whether to respond.

The Vicomte de Chagny has moved Christine to a new dressing room… one where you cannot visit through the mirror. She is never alone, for the vicomte fears that you will visit her again. She is to move with him to Chagny House tomorrow, Erik. The count has insisted upon it, for he says she is not safe from the Opera Ghost.

To that end, they have laid a trap for you should you attempt to interfere, which, I believe, is exactly what the count anticipates. Whatever you do, have a care for yourself above all.

Erik closed his eyes. His dreams were about to become his life.

Chapter Fifteen

Christine had not sung onstage since her abduction by Erik, but tonight she returned, singing the role of Scheherazade for the first-and last-time.

Her dark hair had been gathered at the crown of her head, wrapped with gold and purple, and then left to fall in thick corkscrew waves to her shoulder blades. One long curl hung from each side of her temples, wrapped with jewel-laden cords so that they sparkled amethyst and carnelian and topaz. Despite the harem setting, her costume was more French than Persian, with silky, flowing skirts of sheer material that slid sinuously about her legs and brushed her bare feet. The bodice of her gown was heart shaped, the vee cutting well below and between her breasts. The rounded tops of the corsetlike bodice curved down around her breasts, cupping them like the hands of a lover, leaving only a narrow strip of boning thrusting up to cover each of her nipples.

When she stepped onstage alone for the first time, after the scene in which she had married King Sharyar, Scheherazade sang her most poignant aria, knowing that if her stories did not entertain him, he would put her to death. As she sang, Christine stared out into the sea of faces, remembering the way it had felt when she'd sung for Erik… when she known he was listening for her.

Was he listening tonight?

She sang as if he was, knowing it would be the last time.

It was her farewell to him… her last good-bye to the man she loved, but who had rejected her.

The spotlight shone down, sending a faint sheen of perspiration over her bare skin, trickling down between her breasts. Yet she could still see into the crowd… She could see the outlines of gendarmes waiting at the alcove of every entrance and exit of the Opera House.

They waited in the wings too, and in the backstage hallways… She had seen them.

For Erik. They waited for Erik, expecting that he would snatch her tonight.

This would be her last performance, for she would leave with Raoul tonight. He had told her they were to elope. The fear and loneliness Scheherazade must have felt rang deep within Christine as she raised her arms, beseeching the Persian gods to save her.

Her breasts rose as she looked up into the blinding light, her voice true and sweet. Tears spilled from her eyes from the light, and from the loss within her.

The music changed, portending the entrance of Sharyar, her murderous husband, and Christine held her final note, standing alone on the stage.

Suddenly, there was a soft pop, and the stage-the entire chamber-was plunged into utter darkness.

Shouts and screams erupted from all around and Christine froze, afraid to move and take the chance of falling into the orchestra pit. The air shifted above, and she felt something whump down behind her, just barely behind her… had she been a step farther back, she would have been crushed under the weight of…

Erik!

There was no mistaking those hands, that brush of his face against the side of her jaw, the smell of him, his presence…

His arms closed around her from behind-strong, welcome-and then she felt the whiplike motion of his hand, and then a short step, and then they were falling…

She screamed in spite of herself, as her skirts blew up around her and the cool air rushed over her bare thighs. She saw the faint glow of lights above as they slipped through a trapdoor in the center of the stage, a door that closed immediately behind them, leaving them bundled together in a smooth chute of darkness.

They slipped easily down some sort of slide, Christine caught up against Erik's long, strong body, held against him with one arm. Her heart raced madly in her chest… He had come for her! And he had bested the gendarmes; he'd foiled the comte's plans.

When they reached the bottom of the slide, Erik's feet planted abruptly on something hard, jolting their slide to a sudden halt. Then he was pulling her to her feet, dragging her after him. He had said nothing, and she did not know… She did not know if he had taken her in anger, or because he loved her still.

But it did not matter to her, for she was with him.

She was not going with Raoul.

Christine stumbled after him, her hand captured in his. When he spoke, he said only, 'Hurry.'

They ran and ran, through dark, damp twisting and turning corridors, taking first one branch and then another. Even in total darkness, Erik moved unerringly, one hand gripping her wrist none too gently, and the other brushing along the wall for guidance.

Suddenly, as they came around yet another corner, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back up against the wall. Her panting breath gusted out of her, but she had no time to catch it, for his lips crashed down onto her… her jaw, her chin, finally, her mouth.

Warm and sensual, Erik's kiss was nevertheless relentless and demanding, mingled with his own panting breath. Anger and need colored the way he devoured her mouth with his own, pausing long enough to drag in a deep draft of air, then back tasting her again. The deep, familiar flare of lust coursed down to her belly, unfolding and uncurling into tingling heat.

His strong hands pressed her shoulders against the harsh stone wall as her breasts rose and fell behind the confining corset. Gritty dirt and chill dampness bothered her bare back as she was pushed up against it, yet Christine lifted her chin and met his lips eagerly. Slick and hot, deep and strong, they kissed as though starving, legs twined, hips positioned against hips.

Her breasts burst free of the flimsy corset confines, pressing bare, hard nipples against his clothed chest in a slower rhythm and her breathing settled. She shifted her face away, found her mouth on the rough, unshaven side of his face… kissed along his jaw in between warm, hard breaths, and slid her hands over his shirt, feeling for skin