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

Chapter 47

***Chapter XLVII***

From Out of the Ashes

In the Garden of Paradise, beneath the Tree of Knowledge, bloomed a rose bush. Here, in the first rose, a bird was born. His flight was like the flashing of light, his plumage was beauteous, and his song ravishing... The Phoenix bird, dost thou not know him? The Bird of Paradise, the holy swan of song!... In Paradise, when thou wert born in the first rose, beneath the Tree of Knowledge, thou receivedst a kiss, and thy right name was given thee—thy name, Poetry.

~Hans Christian Andersen

"...I belong to my lover,
and his desire is for me...

~Song of Solomon

xXx

.

Christine moaned softly beneath her lover's tender ministrations.

The evening's swift advance had brought the need to light candles. Encased within their soft honeyed glow, Christine lay reclined upon her back in their bed, her body glistening like that of a porcelain goddess, while Erik stretched out on his side, facing her. What had begun as an attempt to soothe, with a milder blend of oils he had mixed together during Christine's convalescence, had become much more than that ...

He watched her darkened eyes flutter closed, heard her breaths come faster between rosy parted lips, and barely restrained from taking her again. Closing his own eyes, he struggled to bring his growing desire under control – a difficulty considering where his hand had been for the past minute. Slowly he withdrew his touch from her rich warmth.

In response, she uttered a mewling cry of protest. Her fingers latched around the muscle in his arm while her slim thighs clamped around his wrist, keeping his hand in place. "Don't stop," she whispered, beyond all reticence. "I don't want you to stop..."

He bit back a groan of tortured control and resumed what had escalated into yet another expression of pleasure between them, never able to deny her anything, never wishing to...

Beneath his steady, flowing caresses she moved rhythmically against his hand; he, the master choreographer leading his supple dancer in a ballet of their intimate design. He gazed along the slender length of her flushed skin, his eyes coming to rest upon her glowing face, her countenance one of satisfaction mixed with the deepening hunger he too shared.

Drawn to her, his need as vital, Erik pressed his lips against her silken flesh, kissing her warm stomach in a diagonal to her breasts, savoring the feel and taste of his Sweet Rose. Married three months, enclosed within their private world these past seven days, he could still never get enough of her. He doubted he ever would. They had tonight, after the performance, every night, their entire future together – but he wanted her now.

In the span of their past, they had too often been forced apart through unforeseen traumas threatening their very lives, often promising certain death. Was it any wonder that in a vague future capable of so quickly turning precarious, as history had proven time and again, their need to become fully one became paramount? To cling to everything they were, whenever they were able, in a manner that made them feel utterly whole?

She gasped as he greedily suckled her and thrust her hips desperately against his hand. A breathless cry left her lips and he felt her tighten around his fingers, felt her entire body tremble from a rush of release as much as his quaked from barely restrained need. Slowly he withdrew his hand, also breaking the strong suction of his mouth from her nipple. He brushed a soft kiss against the rigid pink crest then bowed his head between her breasts as he tried to stem the fast-rising tide of his own persistent hunger, the only thread that held his fraying control together – his concern of hurting her further.