The Treasure *Phantom of the Opera* (sequel to The Quest)

Chapter XVII

A/N: One of those chapters responsible for the M rating ... very responsible ...

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**Chapter XVII **

In music the passions enjoy themselves
~Friedrich Nietzsche

How much better is your love than wine,
And the fragrance of your oils
Than all kinds of spices!
Your lips, my bride, drip honey;
Honey and milk are under your tongue,

~from Song of Solomon

xXx

Erik paced the meadow near the cliff. With little effort, he pushed aside thoughts of his second vexing encounter with the Drabarni that morning, recalling his vow to Christine that they forget all else in this flower-laden meadow they claimed as their own special hideaway. Instead, he allowed his thoughts to dwell on his Fair Rose. An easy matter. The unbearable length of time he'd been absent from her, to think of Christine had been like drawing breath. Constant. Necessary. Giving him life.

Not to think of her, that had been impossible.

They had not shared in the act of their love for one week. One full week of torture, not to taste her, not to touch her ... after endless days and nights without her, to wake up pressed against her soft warm body, aroused, and not make love to her had nearly killed him. But one glance told him she was still deep in the powerful grip of the elixir, so he had kissed her cheek and forced himself from her side, tending to those needs she would have when she woke, bringing her food and fresh water. He could never get enough of his beloved, the fulfilment of their union lasting only a short while before the ache for her rose again and his need intensified, making him want her even more if that were possible.

She already possessed his every thought, his every breath and emotion. He needed to be with her, to feel himself inside her. He felt he would go mad from the fierce desire of wanting her ...

Hearing the whisper of quick footsteps in the grass, he stopped pacing and turned.

She had come to a stop a short distance from him, her face glowing and flushed as if she'd run the entire way, her chest rising and falling fast. With a smile, she twirled the stem of his rose so that the petals brushed her full pink lips. Her lids half-lowered, she looked at him from beneath thick lashes, her expression all at once ecstatic, sultry, playful, even the slightest bit uncertain.

"You sent for me, my King?"

"Christine." He released her name in a rasp of a whisper.

God, she looked so beautiful standing there framed against the low moss-covered cliff; he could scarcely draw breath. The sunlight brought out the fiery ruby in her wild brown curls, highlighted her delicate features, revealed the enticing shape of her form through the thin white silk, the perfect curves of her high, firm breasts, her slight waist ...

His thoughts full of her, full of his need for her, he advanced toward her with purpose, wrapped his arm around her waist and backed her up against the shielding cliff of rock.

"Erik?" Her liquid brown eyes went wide in question but held the glow of mounting excitement. She lowered her gaze to his mouth and licked her lower lip so that it glistened.

Crushing her to him, he imprisoned her slender jaw with his other hand. Her eyes entreated him to do as he willed with her and he kissed her - hard, desperate, then more softly when she groaned in mutual need, his tongue darting along the inside of her parted lips to taste of their alluring sweetness. Eagerly she moved her tongue against his, intoxicating his senses. She tasted of oranges and wild honeyed wine. His pulse raced; the need, so long restrained, intensified.