Guardian Angel

Chapter 14: Rightful Desires

A/N: Oh boy do things get heated here....yeah...heated...anywho, here I am to drop this chapter today and peace out because I have so many things to get done! Laundry, cleaning my kitchen, grocery shopping, food prep, setting my headphones out to charge (don't let me forget to do that or I will not survive the gym without my audiobook), and then, maybe a bath. Such a productive Sunday for me!

Also, I know y'all just got a chapter of this, but that cliffhanger was so mean so I typed this out this morning for everyone to enjoy. I hope it's spicy enough ;) would ALSO like to add that it's very short, I know. Very very short for me, but it's worth it!

Don't forget to leave a comment! I know you want to! Who is ready for the amping up of sexy stuff? I know I am!

It wouldn't hurt, he supposed, after all, it had been nearly two weeks since Christine first kissed him; two weeks of building torture from being so close to temptation but unable to allow the salvation of even a single suggestive touch. He knew what she desired, what she was working towards by wearing those damned sleeping gowns in lieu of her day wear and leaning in so very close to watch him while he worked. Her eyes flickering to his lips, bosom heaving when she carefully tended to his side, or how their limited time apart always seemed to be less and less with each passing day.

Christine wanted him, he was sure of it, but what exactly she wanted was another question: a simple touch, a lingering kiss, the sharing of their marital bed at long last? If it were to be the latter, how could he give her that? She did not love him; lust and love were two very separate feelings and he was far from confident that he possessed the courage to perform under the pretense of lust. It wasn't impossible, though, but he loved her dearly, so thoroughly, and the sharing of a bed without love can only culminate in a deeper self-hatred. Damaging what little he had left of his self-worth by copulating with a woman who only desired him for one thing-it would kill him knowing that was all she thought he was good for.

What did it matter though? He was already doomed to suffer in the depths of Hell, already despised himself with inherent conviction, so it truly did not matter if she loved him. All that did was that he loved her, he craved to cherish her and everything be damned, he would only bear proof of his foolish nature if he allowed an opportunity to deify her go to waste.

So, with a whispered oath and the courage from her tightening grasp, Erik let his lips fall upon hers, parting them instantly and giving way to the frenzy that followed. He was only vaguely aware that his hands found her bottom so he could hoist her onto the countertop, coveting her stockinged feet and trailing his fingers up the veiled calves until he reached the hem of her stockings. And finally-Heaven, finally! the delicate bareness of her thighs-velvety warmth under the pads of his fingers.

All he could utter was her name-akin to a worshipful vow-as he inched higher and higher, her gasps being all the encouragement needed to trace over the band of her drawers and hook his thumbs under the elastic. With one fell swoop, her underthings were but litter at his feet and, as much as he liked to further explore the sanctum between her thighs, his deprivation was far too great. He wanted, no, needed the deliverance which he had been denied since their wedding night; needed to claim the maiden flesh in which he had every right to as her husband.

But, just as he unclasped his trousers, the fact that they were still in the kitchen became abundantly clear. The kitchen. Not silk sheets as he envisioned, nor the shelter of his canopy bed, but a damn countertop in the kitchen! Christine, his Christine, deserved more than being treated as some sort of object, a whore; she deserved a bed, sweet-nothings whispered in her ear as he carefully revealed every inch of untouched skin which she had protected for her husband...for him...but moreover, she deserved the comfort of knowing that he loved her enough to provide her with even the simplest of cherishments.

Unable to withhold any longer, and knowing that he could ravage her at any second, Erik squeezed his eyes shut so he would not see her disappointment and fled. His swollen lips ached from the absence of hers, more so than anything had ever ached-more than the blood pounding through his manhood. The loss, however necessary it may have been, shrilled in his mind as he closed the door to his bedroom and did not stop, even when he drank down the remnants of his brandy and leaned his back against the wall, eyes still screwed shut.

All that flooded his mind were her whimpers, mewls, gasps, the way her nails raked down his clothed shoulders when he touched the silk of her thighs. It was too much, far too much and he couldn't take it any longer! To have her writhing beneath him in that ivory sleeping gown she wore when he first saw her, willingly spreading her legs and granting him access to break her chastity, hear her call out his name as he brought her to ecstasy-he needed release however long it would last, lest he make a fatal mistake.

Wasting no time, Erik finished unclasping his trousers and pushed them down enough to pull his steeled cock free before taking it into his hand. He relaxed into the wall, letting out a deep groan as he slid his hand from base to tip, applying careful pressure and rolling the budding fluid down the shaft. He shuddered a sigh when a tight knotting tore through his lower abdomen and his hips thrusted to meet the movement of his hands, chasing the long overdue alleviation.

"Christine," he breathed again and again as he imagined her before him, her wide brown eyes peeking up at him as she settled onto her knees and sucked him into her mouth, readying herself to drink down every bit of her husband's seed; or sprawling on her back, bottom flush with the edge of the bed as he pressed her knees into her stomach and surged into her sopping wet clutch. Tasting her! Oh, to taste her, to drink up her sweet nectar and listen to her moans and sighs as his lips and tongue brought her to climax, then filling her with every inch of his cock until she was begging for more! Or-

Through slotted eyes-his vision blurred with the fog of euphoria-the door flung open and slammed into the wall with a resounding thud. Fuck! He tried to correct himself, blinking away the haze as Christine came into view, her face painted with mortification and completely unmoving apart from her eyes which were slowly dropping down his body. While his reflexes were normally quick, he wasn't able to shield himself in time and she saw him.

"I-oh!" she cried, covering her eyes with her hands and pivoting on her heel. "I-I apologize, I should have knocked. Let me-oh, let me close this for you."

Christine reached out blindly, patting and sliding her hand along the door until she found the handle and started to close it, stumbling only once before the latch clicked into place. It was then and only then that Erik sunk down the wall-though it felt like the pits of Hell-and forced his head between his knees.

Oh, God.

Why did he not make sure the door was locked?! After two weeks of unhindered access to his bedroom, of course she wouldn't have thought to knock! What was he to do? She was surely traumatized, likely running to her room to hide from the savage!

Erik listened intently to confirm his suspicions, still shocked into silence and unsure if what had happened was actually real, as her footsteps receded. The sound of a door closing followed by the creaking of a bed told him she had indeed retreated to her room and he only had to await the terrible sobs.

But, nothing ever came. Instead, silent dread filled his chest and he wanted nothing more than to meet Death.