A/N: I have upped the rating of the story because of this chapter.
Chapter 3
They descended so speedily to Erik's lair, Christine could hardly keep up with him. Her knee was stinging, but she didn't ask him to slow his pace. He had promised her a trip to the Bois, so they were to freshen up and wait for night to fall in the house on the lake.
The endless stairs and rapid walking had finally taken its toll on her. She limped into the Louis-Philippe room as Erik exited to prepare their travel plans for later that evening. It was a wonder he had not noticed her hobble, but he seemed preoccupied.
Christine shed her garments, tossing them hastily on the bed. She pulled on a robe and went into the great marble bath to examine her knee. She unwrapped the bandage and saw the swelling. Wincing, she gingerly looked around the bathroom for a medical kit like the one in her dressing room. Luckily, she found it on a little shelf by the washbasin. Popping open the lid, she pulled out the ointment and placed generous amounts of the cool substance on her inflamed skin. She carefully wrapped her knee with a clean cloth and returned the kit to the shelf. She placed the discarded bandage in the little wastebasket by the door.
She returned to the bedroom and went to the wardrobe to plan her outfit for the evening. There was a dove gray woolen outfit that would do nicely for their outing.
"Christine, I have fresh towels for you," said Erik as he lightly knocked on her door.
She moved behind the screen near the wardrobe and told him he could enter the room. She would save her bath for later, when they returned from the Bois, and would be glad of the fresh linens then. She heard him disappear into the bathroom.
A few moments later, Erik emerged holding something white in his hand. She could see him through the gaps in the top of the screen.
"What is this?" he asked, bewildered and irritated.
Christine gasped as he held up the bloodied bandage that she had discarded in the bathroom. Stupid, she thought, she should have burned it! Erik would have seen it one way or another – and of course, he would question her about it.
"Christine?" She could hear the anger rising in his voice, anger mixed with concern. "This is clearly not from your elbow."
"I—well, I—" she stuttered. Hastily, she said, "I hurt my knee earlier as well."
She saw his mouth drop open and then shut slowly. "Why didn't you say anything?"
She didn't answer him. How could she explain her embarrassment without sounding like a complete child?
"And you allowed us to do all that walking?" he accused, his voice rising. "You stood on the edge of the roof as if nothing was wrong. You could have fallen to your death. Reckless, heedless girl!"
"But you were there," she cried in her defense. "You would not have let me fall."
He moved closer to the screen, furious at her. Christine sank down behind it, so she could not see him. He towered over it; he could no doubt see her trying to hide from him.
"I didn't want to ruin our day," she admitted to him softly.
There was silence from Erik for several minutes. She thought he might turn and leave, but he didn't. She waited patiently for his anger to dissipate.
"Are you decent?" he asked, his voice chilly but no longer livid at her. "Christine?"
She made no response, and he exhaled in frustration.
"I'm sorry for losing my temper. Are you going to come out from there, or must I come and fetch you?"
It sounded more like a promise than a threat. Her well-being was obviously of more concern to him than her modesty, or even his. Well, he had seen her in her robe before, hadn't he? Yet, she suddenly felt shy. She took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the screen, head down, prepared to face her punishment. She knew they would not be going to the Bois this evening after all.
"Sit," he commanded. He gestured behind her.
She obeyed him at once, moving over to the end of the bed and sinking down onto the mattress.
"Which knee is it?" he asked harshly.
She pointed and then waited to see what he would do next.
For a moment, he just stood there, hovering over her like some dark god come to take his vengeance upon her. This image was totally at odds with his gentle touch when he finally knelt before her and grasped her ankle.
"Do I have your permission to ascertain the extent of your injuries?" he asked softly.
She nodded, unable to deny him anything. She felt surprisingly calm, despite her racing heartbeat.
He pulled her slipper from her foot and lightly touched her ankle, moving slowly up her calf, applying pressure in some places, skimming his fingers over others. She watched him with no sound from her lips, and taking this as a good sign, he steadily moved his hands upward. When he reached her knee, she finally winced.
"I wrapped it just as you did my elbow," she told him, her voice shaking slightly. "I repeated everything you did. I'm sure it's fine. Just a little sore from walking."
"Hush," he breathed. He stopped as he came to the bandage beneath her robe, then looked up at her with a question. "I need to see."
Nodding slowly, she moved aside the white silk, exposing her bare leg to him at just above her knee. She heard his little intake of breath and felt the slight tremor from his hands which were still resting on her. His fingers were cold but not in an uncomfortable way. Slowly, he unwrapped the bandage and exposed her raw skin. The ointment she had administered had not been completely absorbed yet, and it glistened against the red abrasions. He took in the swelling and nodded as if he was expecting it.
"Don't move," he ordered. He left the room and she waited. She could have covered herself and fled, locked the door, holed up in the bathroom – anything to escape this awkwardness, but she didn't. She didn't even cover her leg while he was gone.
When he returned, satisfied she had done as she was told, he handed her a glass and ordered her to drink it.
"It will help with the pain," he explained.
It smelled like some sort of herbal tea. She drank it down, hoping whatever it was would not cloud her already muddled thoughts. But she trusted him. If he said it would help, then she believed him. She was certain he would not take advantage of her in such a state.
He took the glass from her and set it on a nearby table. Then he pulled out a tube from his cloak, knelt next to her again, and massaged an oily substance around her cuts.
"What is that?" she asked curiously. "It smells like lavender."
"That's because it is," he affirmed. "It's a mixture of chamomile and lavender among other oils. You did well, but this will work better for the swelling."
"Where did you learn all this?" she asked him. "I think you would make a fine physician."
He ignored her compliment and murmured something about the gypsies. When he was done with the oil, he capped the lid, setting it on the table next to the empty glass. He returned to rewrap the bandage around her knee. He pulled firmly but gently on the fabric as he wound it around and around. When he reached the end, he tied a small knot.
What he did next surprised her. With his hands still on her leg, he leaned forward and lightly blew against the bandage. Even through the fabric of the gauze, she could feel his warm breath on her skin.
"For luck and good health," he said, leaning back.
Was this a gypsy superstition? She didn't know, but his gesture had caused a very different reaction from the one she guessed he had intended. Or maybe this was what he had intended? She couldn't be sure. Her thigh shivered with little goosebumps, but she wasn't cold. His hands were still on her, and the thought of them caused warmth to pool between her legs. She felt flushed.
He noticed her reaction, and suddenly his hands began to move. They started kneading slow circles around her calf, skirting her knee and then brushing her thigh in wonder. She shivered again.
"Erik," she breathed. At his name, his hands stilled, and his eyes searched hers from behind the mask.
"Don't stop," she urged him. "It feels nice."
"Christine," he choked.
"Please," she said breathlessly.
One hand curled around her thigh above her knee, trembling. The other travelled past her knee to her inner thigh. She placed her hand on his, not to stop him but to guide him farther. When they reached the edge of her robe, he stopped.
"I want you to think about this before we go on," he said, his voice sounding desperate. "I need you to be sure."
She thought about it for less than a second and steered his hand under her robe closer to her core. She released him there and left him to explore.
This was what she had wanted since that night they had sung Aïda, wasn't it? How many nights since then had she imagined this?
His cool hand caressing her warm inner thigh was driving her mad for him. She grasped the lapels of his coat and drew him closer to her.
She had wanted him to kiss her on the rooftop. Something had stopped him. Well, she would not be denied now.
"Kiss me, Erik!" she exhaled. "Please!"
There was only the slightest hesitation before his mouth descended on hers. She felt the edges of the mask, but she didn't care as her lips pressed against his. They were cool like the rest of him, but his tongue was hot as he suddenly broke her lips apart and crashed his mouth against hers. She could feel his desire which was rising with her own. Their lips were moving in a silent symphony and a beautiful aching pressure was building below her belly.
When his hand moved on her thigh again, she whimpered. But his fingers continued their upward motion until they were perched just below her most secret place.
His mouth broke away from hers. "Tell me to stop," he pleaded helplessly, his voice sweeter than she had ever heard it.
"No, don't stop," she sighed in contentment.
"Please, Christine," he begged her. His thumb made circular motions against her inner thigh.
"I don't want you to stop," she repeated. The ache inside her was almost painful. She wanted something she didn't fully understand; she only knew she wanted it. She wanted him.
His eyes were an intense gold, full of fire and burning with passion. Hers were hazy with desire as she looked at him.
"Yes," she gave him permission.
This time he didn't hesitate. He kissed her tenderly, but the intensity increased and when one finger grazed across her curls, she cried out against him. Her eyes opened wide as he touched her throbbing center and then slipped one finger inside of her.
"Christine?" he asked, breaking their kiss, but not removing his hand from her. He cupped her gently.
She had never felt anything so intense, so exhilarating. Something amazing was happening to her. And this man who knew her, who loved her, could make her feel like no one had ever made her feel before. She wanted more of it, more of him. She shifted slightly against him. Instinctively understanding, he rubbed against her, again and again. His lips moved to her neck and her thoughts were a pinpoint of pleasure as his fingers moved within her. He was an expert musician, and he played her body as though she were a fondly loved instrument. Those hands, those beautiful, graceful hands she had watched so many times caress piano keys, were now caressing her body. One hand at her center, the other moved to her breast as he kissed her. She thought she would burst from the sheer bliss of her feelings. He was gentle, yet passionate – and her body responded. When she thought she had reached a pinnacle, he would pull her back and play her again. There was music pouring out of her soul as he touched her. Increasingly, his movements became more rapid and she was panting. Just when she thought she could handle no more, his fingers pushed deep inside of her and she cried out his name in ecstasy. Her body was pulsing, throbbing intensely as she came down from the crescendo of their shared passion.
Moments afterward she was still seeing stars as Erik gently pulled his hands from her, kissed her lightly, then settled her down on the bed. He laid an afghan over her and pulled out two pillows. One he placed behind her head, the other he positioned carefully under her knee. He pulled out a third and propped it under her leg near her ankle.
"You should keep that elevated," he said softly. His eyes were still looking at her lovingly, but his voice was businesslike again. "I'll check in on you later."
He turned to leave, but Christine stopped him. "Erik?"
What to say to him? Thank you? She didn't think that was appropriate. I love you? No – it was too soon for that, wasn't it?
He seemed to understand her struggles.
"Goodnight, my love," he whispered tenderly.
"Goodnight, Erik," she sighed, smiling at him affectionately.
She thought she saw the ghost of a smile in return and wonder in his eyes before he closed the door, and she drifted into a peaceful sleep.