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 beneath.
It was so dark, she could see nothing… Her world was nothing but a maelstrom of sensation. The cool air on her skin, the heat of his body in front. The brush of his crisp, woven shirt against her arm. The scraping of brick against her shoulder blades. The dank, musty smell of wet stone. A trickle of perspiration between her breasts, matched with a line of moisture from the wall, sliding down her spine. Her being filled with his presence, his musky, masculine smell. Hot, slick sensations from his mouth. The firm grip of strong fingers at her shoulders. The brush of his eyelashes over her cheek.
"Erik, oh, Erik," she cried, tears leaking from her eyes. Trembling overtook her. "You came for me." She could not see his face, still could not tell if he was angry or resigned, pleased or subdued. But his mouth… it ate her; she felt as though it would devour her in the most gentle all-consuming fashion.
He released her shoulders and closed his hands over her breasts, one warm palm covering each. Pinning her against the wall with his hips, he shifted his torso away, leaving her skin bare and cool except where his fingers played with her nipples. Spikes of pleasure jolted through her and she sighed, closing her eyes, tipping her head back. A drip of water seeped into her hair, cold and sharp, contrasting with the deep, pitching arousal in her belly.
"Christine," he murmured into the darkness. "I could not let them have you. You are mine." He brushed his thumbs over the tips of her sensitive nipples, sending her shuddering and her breath jittery, then squeezed and lifted and squeezed again. Christine's labia swelled, moistened; her pip lifted and her hips nudged against Erik's most evident erection. Sharp heat coiled in her belly, the burning, tingling sensation of lust grew, and she reached blindly for his face.
Her fingers brushed his mask, and she felt him still for a moment… then breathe again as she combed through the thick dark hair behind it. "Erik, I love you. Mask or no, I love you. I did not mean to hurt you."
She felt his fingers trembling against her, sliding over her skin, pulling the corset away. When he bent, she felt it, and arched her back to bring her breast to his mouth. He kissed the side of it, his lips warm against her chilled skin, his eyes—one masked, one free—brushing over her flesh, wet with warm tears, gentle with fringed lashes. She cried too, relieved at last to be with him.
Then… with his head at her breast, she reached down and covered his hair with her hands. He sucked, licked, swirled, his nose huffing hot breath on her skin as she arched against him, breathing in his smell. She stroked her palms down over his ears, brushing the leather mask and warm, stubbled skin. She framed his face, jaw moving as he pulled at her nipple, and she held it there, while he suckled as though he wished to swallow it.
And then… holding him, she slipped her fingers under that mask and culled it away.
At her first touch under the formed leather, he stopped, froze, snatched in his breath as though to howl… but her insistent hands held his face.
"No, Erik…" she murmured, raising his head from her breast, holding him so he could not pull away… Of course he could, if he'd chosen; he was so much stronger… but he did not. He breathed shallowly, carefully, as though afraid to do that, letting her lead him.
The mask skittered to the floor at their feet; she felt it tumble against her skirts as it landed. "Erik… I love you… all of you. You don't have to hide from me." Still cupping his face, she moved her fingers over the bifurcated halves… one warm, covered with the texture of an unshaven chin… melding into smooth, moist skin…
… and the other rumpled and mangled, twisted like plant roots, hard, brittle, smooth.
She covered his face, there in the dark, learning it with her fingers, gentling him to the sensation of being touched by another human. Touching his shame.
Christine was crying for him, sobbing silently for his pain, as she pulled his face to hers, met his stiff, parted lips with her warm ones, and covered them gently. With her mouth, she closed over his upper lip, drawing it in, sliding her tongue over it in a slippery, sensual dance. He trembled in her arms, his own hands moving around to pull her close. He kissed her back, eating again at her mouth as though released from some great restraint. Her tears mingled with his, dripping down to where their mouths met in softer, gentler kisses. Loving kisses. Understanding and forgiving ones.
"Erik, please, I want you inside me," she whispered, aware of the growing throb of her sex. She fumbled with his trousers as he yanked up her flowing skirts, and there against the stone cold wall, he lifted her onto his raging erection.
When she slid onto him, her legs wrapped around his waist, he filled her, nudging that inmost part where the pleasure grew. Erik shifted slowly, so slowly, there against her, his breath ragged, measured… his movements matching. As though he wanted to take the time to savor every stroke, every inch, in and out, slowly… excruciatingly slowly.
Christine's nipples pinched; her pip ached as the pleasure built… so slowly and deeply. It was like a pit in her belly, growing larger and sharper, tingling and burning and sweet. She sighed, tightening her legs around him, pushing him into her with her heels, feeling him bump against the top of her vagina. His fingers gripped her hips; the wall shifted up and down behind her in their easy rhythm there in the dark.
Slowly… her slick quim closed around him, opening as he moved back out. Their breaths rose; the shivers pebbled her skin; more tears leaked from her eyes. In and out… slippery and hot… slowly, easily… thick and hard… sliding along her bursting pip, sending shivery sensations radiating from her center.