Lady Saille

Christine's confused thoughts.

A kiss was a dangerous thing. It could change everything. It could take an innocent meeting of flesh and turn it into a heated wet exchange of secrets. Sweet and bitter, it could leave you breathless, and wanton all at once. It left skin that had never known touch suddenly aching for it. It made eyes that had always been clear as the morning sky suddenly hazy and shadowed with longing.

A kiss changed everything, a simple thing really, the meeting of pale pink lips that trembled with fear and desire. The sensation of fingers burying themselves in long dark hair. Lips that parted on a gasp of surprised longing, falling open to be brushed by the wetness of another.

He stared at me with such surprise. I couldn't draw my eyes away from him, the shock of what I had done had stolen my voice away. I'd kissed him, I'd actually listened just once to that highly inappropriate voice that whispered to me when we were together, and kissed him.

It had been unlike any kiss I had ever shared before. Too much wrapped up in the meeting of our lips for it to be a simple kiss. Too much emotion, too much passion, and fire and hate and desire. A thousand thoughts run across my fevered brain. I'd kissed him. My lips still tingled from the touch of his. I could taste the warmth of his mouth, the shocked sensation of his tongue against mine. I wanted to kiss him again, to see if that white hot feeling of pleasure was real.

How could I have doubted it? How could I have questioned the strength of my feelings for this man? He frightened me. He lured me. I craved him. I thought it was only his voice, but I realized now it was all of him. If he went back to being my nameless faceless angel, I would not be satisfied. I have been selfish and unthinkingly cruel, and all I want to do is lose myself in him again.

He's taken a step back from me, the eyes behind the mask are shocked, surprise clear in their depths, something else lives there too. Something dark, and heavy, and filled with hunger. I shivered, those eyes drinking in my every move with new interest. Almost against my will I moved closer.

I slowly closed the distance he created, it was but a few steps, but for me it's a kind of agony I have never known. Is this what it has been like for him? To be so close to me and yet not able to touch me. To fear his advances would be met with horror. Shame filled me, for until that very moment I think I would have shrunk from his touch, but like Eve I've tasted of the tree of knowledge and I know I cannot go back. I cannot undo what has been done. I will never be happy with being treated as an idol placed on a pedestal. Worshiped from afar and never touched.

I wanted to be touched. I wanted his hands on me. I wanted those hands that could bring forth sobs and sighs of pure heaven from the violin he so adored to draw those sounds from me. I wanted to feel his hands buried in my hair holding me tightly against him as he ravishes my mouth, taking that which I had freely offered.

God how I wanted.

Christine and Erik belong to Gaston Leroux
and are inspired by Susan Kay
and Lloyd Webber