by J. Smith
Erik paused. “I don't usually indulge in spirits, Jenna,” he stated. “After Persia, I have been rather wary of ever letting my guard down again.” Reaching for the bottle of red wine this time, he smiled and added, “But in present company, I believe it wouldn't hurt to indulge—just a bit.” He poured himself a glass of the dark liquid and raised his glass to hers. “To what shall we toast?”
“How about,” Jenna said, seizing an opportunity to broach Erik's favorite topic, “the masquerade ball?” She quickly clinked his glass and took a sip of her Chardonnay.
Erik sighed, “Jenna, I told you, I am not going.” He took a long drink from his glass himself. “I will be there to observe. But I shall not go as a guest. Besides, I cannot go. I was not invited.”
“When has that ever stopped you?” Jenna countered, adding, “Besides, you were invited by Christine.”
Erik sighed, “Christine invited her angel! Not me. And her angel shall be there, watching.” He took another drink from his glass, as if in punctuation.
“She invited her angel, because she does not know you as a man.” Jenna replied in exasperation. “I swear we've had this conversation before.”
“We have,” he swallowed holding his somewhat empty glass up to her. “And as such, you should remember that I have said she shall never know me as a man. Jenna,” he said, seriously, without sorrow, but as a matter of fact. “You've seen my face. It is an abomination. A curse.” He sipped long from his wine glass until he reached the bottom. Absently he reached over to pour himself another serving.
“Oh, Erik,” she admonished, “I've seen much worse. Back at the hospital, I saw patients come in with the majority of their skin burned off in fires. I saw accident victims arrive with their skulls collapsed inward, or their jaws hanging unhinged. I've seen kids born missing limbs. Your face, Erik, is not the worst deformity there is.”
Erik was truly touched by Jenna's attempt to downplay the disfigurement that had plagued him his entire life. “Though by some miracle it does not bother you, Jenna,” he began, topping her own glass off with more wine. “It would bother her. Perhaps it is a peculiarity of your time that people are able to look upon the deformed and not think of them as unholy monsters, but here-now-there is no hope. Christine could never look upon me as a man, Jenna. For her, I would always be the stuff of nightmares.”
“Oh Erik, you haven't even given her a chance!”
“I do not intend to.”
“Well then,” she grasped for another angle to try to make him see reason. “Go in your mask. Everybody will be wearing one. It will seem only part of a costume. Then at least you can dance with her.”
Erik rolled his eyes. “I cannot dance, Jenna!”
Jenna stared at him in shock, “Of course you can dance, Erik. Every move you make is a dance. You are the epitome of grace. You are music.”
Erik brushed off her praise, and looked away bitterly. “She will be too busy dancing with the Vicomte.”
“Erik,” she said, getting serious now, “You defeat yourself before you even try.” She stood up suddenly from her chair, and crossed over to his side of the table. Extending her hand, she commanded, “Dance with me, Angel.”
Erik looked in surprise from her offered palm to her smiling face. With raised eyebrows, he asked, “What on earth are you doing, Jenna, and why are you calling me Angel?”
“I,” she said with a smug smile, raising her voice about an octave in pitch, “do not know who this Jenna is. I am Christine, and I would like to dance with you.”
“Jenna,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Christine, Angel,” she corrected him with a bat of her eyelashes.
“We cannot dance, Mademoiselle.” Erik said, refusing to use the name Christine for his ridiculous houseguest. “There is not even any music.”
“Ah, but I was under the impression that this was the seat of sweet music's throne. That there is music all around you.” She gestured again for him to take her hand as she gazed, piercingly into his eyes and whispered, “Can you not you hear it?”
Erik mocked annoyance but was secretly amused that she was using his own words against him. She truly knew how to get to him like no other he had met before. Without breaking her gaze, he took her hand in his and slowly rose to his full height. “I do not have any idea, Mademoiselle, what it is you wish me to do.”
Jenna smiled a satisfied grin, realizing that she had gotten her way. She pulled him out onto the makeshift dance floor that Omid had provided and guided his free hand to the middle of her back. She, in turn, rested her free hand on his upper arm and taking a deep breath, said, “Just follow my lead, Angel.”
Jenna had intended to lead them in a circular waltz, but she had forgotten the fact that she herself was no great dancer. Her movements were jerky and a ungraceful, and the wine she and Erik had consumed was not really helping. Though he tried to follow her lead, Erik found himself being thrown a bit off balance, stumbling with the extra effort of keeping them both upright. Playing into her game, Erik muttered, “It is a good thing I am teaching you to sing and not to dance, Mademoiselle. I am not certain ballet would be the safest profession for you.”
“Oh Angel,” she smiled tightly, barely resisting the urge to step on his toes. “The things you say certainly sweep a lady off her feet.”
“No my dear,” he replied with a smile, trying desperately to hold in a chuckle, as she bumbled them around a bit more. “I am afraid that is your dancing.”
She tried to sweep them into another arc on the dance floor, but the ankle she had twisted in her flight from Buquet suddenly buckled and she tripped almost taking them both down in the process. Erik caught her fall, of course, pulling her tightly to himself in the process, and finding, once he had, that he had no great desire to let her go.
Gazing into her slightly mortified eyes, he said, “Perhaps I should lead this dance after all, Mademoiselle.”
Jenna merely nodded as she felt Erik begin to move them slowly from side to side. His movements were fluid, graceful, and she felt suddenly, like she was floating on air. “Angel,” she murmured as he turned them in gentle circles around the dance floor, holding her so close that their bodies were barely a breath away from touching.
“Mmmm?” he responded, taking a deep sniff of her hair.
“It appears as if the music has slowed,” her voice was trembling because of his nearness, wishing that this moment would never have to end.
“The music of the night has many tempos, Mademoiselle.” His voice was thick and rich, eyes half closed, as if drunk on the sensations he too was now feeling. “Sometimes a wild, frenzied allegro, other times, it is andante with a strong, pulsing rhythm. Still other times,” he whispered, as he lowered her into a dip, and slowly, fluidly guided her up again, brushing the entire length of her body against his, “A sweet adagio, languorous and slow, floating,” he breathed, the hand on her back reaching up to tangle in her hair, “flying on the wings of the song.”
“And you said angels couldn't dance,” she whispered, gazing up at him, falling deeply under his hypnotic spell.
“Angels cannot dance.” He reiterated, his voice hushed and low. “But men can.”
In that moment, that blessed moment that seemed to last for hours but was spent in a heartbeat, Jenna saw Erik's eyes flutter completely closed as he leaned forward and allowed his lips to brush against hers. Soft as a feather, but electric like lightning, the gesture was over almost before it had begun, and Jenna's eyes shot open to see Erik's gaze hazy with desire. Oh how she had dreamed of this moment, when their lips would meet and he would finally claim her as his own. But now as she saw his head once again slowly descend to steal another kiss, she suddenly heard that voice inside her head. It's not you he's kissing, it admonished. You started this game! You know he's dreaming of Christine. How can you accept his kisses when you know they're not for you?
It took every ounce of strength she had, but Jenna pulled slightly away from his embrace, and looked up at hi
m, shaking him a little as she did so. “Erik, I'm not really Christine,” she began, intending to break the spell of the game she had been playing. “I'm…”
But then he opened his eyes, that brown and blue gaze penetrating directly into her soul, and whispered, with a smile, “Jenna…”
Jenna. Jenna! She felt her heart give a leap and she let out a quiet whimper because in the heat of his desire, in his impassioned state, Erik knew her, and had called her name.
She reached her arms up slowly, holding his face in her hands, and pulled him to her for another precious kiss. This time, when their lips met, there was exquisite pressure, Erik's mouth at once both firm and pliant against hers. She felt his arms tighten around her waist and she sighed as she felt him pull her even closer to him, her lips slowly beginning to dance against his. Jenna felt him shudder at first, but soon he began to match her movements with a sensuous shifting of his own.
Slow and unhurried, long and languorous, it was the first moment of pure, unadulterated bliss Erik had ever experienced in his life. When they had parted, for the imperative of breathing, Erik studied Jenna, eyes glazed in wonder, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Is this real, Jenna? Are you real?”
With a loving smile, she shifted her head so that she could lightly press her lips to the hand that was stroking her face. “I promise, Erik. I am real.”
“Never before,” he told her, his voice a thready whisper, “has there been anyone in this world who could see fit to kiss me.”
Jenna's heart clenched at the reminder of how lost and alone this remarkable man had been his entire life. She looked him directly in his eyes, tangling her fingers in his thick black hair, and said, “Then we have a lot of time to make up for, don't we?” When she pulled him back to her mouth, it was with an abandon that had not been there before. Her tongue traced the line of his lips, and when they parted for her tentatively, she nipped and nibbled at them, causing him to groan low in his throat at the tightening sensation he began to feel deep in his stomach. When she felt his arms hold her even closer, almost crushing her against him, she went to deepen the kiss, only to find that the mask got in the way. Gently she pulled back from the kiss and her fingers began to loosen the ties of his mask.
Instinctively, Erik stilled her hand, looking, for a moment, panicked. “Please, Erik,” she implored him. “I want there to be nothing between us.”
Though his hand still held hers, he allowed her fingers to continue their work, and when they were finished and the mask fell away, he was amazed to feel her lips grace the crevices and folds that her fingers once traced. Slowly, so deliciously slowly, Jenna's mouth traveled every inch of that papery skin, that had only once before felt the kindness of her sweet hands. She placed delicate kisses on his eyelids and forehead, and nuzzled his cheek with her own, grazing her lips gently against his jawline on her way back to his mouth. When she looked up at him, with the intention of kissing his lips once more, she noticed that there were now tears in his eyes.
“Jenna…I…” He struggled for words to express the raw emotion he felt at what she had just done. “You…” at a loss, he settled for something far less profound than what he wanted to express, “are so beautiful.”
Eyes shining with tears of her own, she reached up and kissed him firmly on the lips before saying, “So are you, my Erik.”
With a whimper, he crushed her to him and his lips crashed down desperately on hers. Even his mother had refused to show him the slightest modicum of affection, but this woman, this beautiful, magnificent woman kissed his lips, kissed his face, and then claimed him as hers. The sweetness in his heart was almost too much to bear.
When Jenna parted her lips to deepen their kiss, he was right there with her, melting into her, almost forgetting where his lips ended and her lips began. He felt his legs begin to sway, and before he lost his balance entirely, he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the settee, never once abandoning their kiss.
Firmly nestled on his lap, no longer having to put forth any frivolous effort to stand, Jenna was free to marvel at the magic of his kiss. His lips, so misshapen and deformed, proved themselves quite capable of creating the most exquisite sensations. Firm on one side of his mouth, yet soft on the other, his kiss was both commanding and yielding, vulnerable and strong, and so uniquely Erik. Jenna felt the kiss growing deeper and deeper, as their tongues sought one another in an impassioned, fervent dance.
When the intensity of the kiss had threatened to overwhelm, Erik broke away, panting heavily. “Oh, my Jenna,” he whispered, grasping a handful of her precious hair and bringing it forward, burying his face in it and breathing it in, letting the scent intoxicate him once more. “You are exquisite.”
“And you, my Erik,” Jenna purred, as she craned her neck for the kisses he was now trailing down her throat, “are sublime.”
Though she was still seated on his lap, entirely ensconced in his arms, with their next kiss, Jenna could not help but feel that she needed to be closer to him—so much closer. She let her hands trail across his back, adoring the feel of the taut muscles beneath the fabric of his clothing. When her hands reached his chest, her fingers began to work the buttons on his shirt. Erik broke the kiss and looked at her questioningly.
“Jenna?” he rasped.
“I need to feel you Erik,” she explained the burning desire she felt in her chest. “I need to touch you.”
Erik groaned in response, as she continued to fiddle with the buttons, unable to utter more than a breathy “Jenna,” when she began trailing hot kisses down his throat. When at last the buttons were done, she temporarily stopped her ministrations to push open the front of his shirt, and gaze at her prize. She winced at what she saw.
His entire chest was crisscrossed with scars, obviously not designed by nature. Some were raised and almost white. Others were still pink, almost red in hue. There was not a region of his chest that was untouched by the evidence of past cruelties, and Jenna blinked to hold back tears.
“Still beautiful, Jenna?” Erik asked darkly, a bit of bitterness entering his voice. “Still sublime?” Jenna felt him emit a mirthless snort as he cast down his eyes and looked away from her.
“Let me show you how much,” Jenna responded, as she leaned forward and brought her lips to his battered chest. First she placed a tender kiss over his heart, which she knew was the most beautiful, yet most tortured part of his body. She allowed her lips to journey from there and soon they had traveled the path of every wound, her tongue tracing every scar. Her hands kneaded and soothed the oft-abused flesh, teaching pleasure in a place that had heretofore only known pain. By the sounds of the little gasps and moans that escaped Erik's lips and the way his fingers tangled in her hair to pull her closer, she got the impression that he was enjoying the lesson, which only urged her to kiss him and touch him more. If she could erase every lash of cruelty with each fevered kiss she would gladly do so. Instead she prayed that her touches, her kisses would replace the remembrances of cruelty with the expression of her love, for that is what she wanted Erik to know in his heart at this moment—that he was loved.
When she wrapped her arms around his back and lifted her lips to adore the tender skin of his neck, she felt that he was trembling. “Erik,” she asked, knowing that she had to check in with him—she had to be gentle. “Are you alright?”
“Oh Jenna…” he sighed, looking in her eyes with absolute awe and adoration. “I am more than all right. I just don't know what to do with…these feelings…” his voice faltered as a wave of emotion washed over him. “Jenna, I just don't know what to say.”
“Shhhh,” she whispered, hugging him tighter and kissing his lips gently to quiet him. “You don't have to say anything. Just trust the feelings, Erik. And know that they are real,” she kissed him fully once more on the mouth, breaking away only to say, “And know that they are shared.”
Erik's moans grew stronger and more frequent as his body responded to Jenna's continued kisses and tou
ches. He hissed in a ragged breath when she flicked her fingers across his nipples and he groaned deeply in his throat as she pressed her body tightly against his. As she ran her fingers through his hair, to pull his mouth even deeper into their kiss, he felt a burning ache join the sweetness that was filling his soul. Long-repressed desire was re-awakening in his body, and as she shifted slightly in his lap, moving against his ready manhood, he had to pull away and bite his lips together to stifle a shout that threatened to break loose.
“Erik?” she questioned, her eyes enjoying the look of absolute rapture on his face.
“I want, Jenna,” he gasped, breathlessly, as he shifted his own hips to try to recreate the sensation. “I need.”
A sensual smile curled on her lips as she asked, “What do you want, Erik? What do you need?”
“I want…” he panted, looking in her eyes, his hand cupping her flushed cheek, “I need to touch you,” he implored, asking her permission. “As you have touched me.”
“Then touch me, Erik,” she murmured, reaching for his hand and slowly bringing it down to rest just above the neckline of her dress. “I am yours.”
Erik gazed at her reverently, as he watched his hand carefully trace the outline of her bosom, which had, just heartbeats before, been pressed so exquisitely against his bare chest. With agonizing slowness, he allowed his fingers to trail along the gentle curves of her breasts, pausing briefly at her gasp when his thumb brushed her nipple through her dress. “Do you like that, Jenna?” he asked in a hushed whisper, remembering how good it felt when she had touched him similarly.
“It is heavenly,” she answered, eyes closed, her head falling back as she drank in the sensation of his hands on her, loving each feeling, but aching for more.
Encouraged by the blissful expression on her face, he cupped her breasts in his hands, applying more pressure this time, as his face fell forward and he trailed hot, but gentle kisses to where her breasts swelled above her neckline. When she arched forward, effectively burying his head in the sweet valley of her cleavage, Erik soon felt he too desired more, and gazing in her eyes to gauge her acceptance, he slowly began to unfasten the buttons on the back of her dress. “Please, Erik,” she nodded, her eyes glazed with need. “Yes, please.”