Unmasqued

Or to brace himself for what was to come. His masked face tipped toward her.

"I understand. Erik… I understand." Her breath was shaky; her knees were trembling. Would he release her? Would she at last touch him?

From his side of the harp, he slid his hands along its curves, down the straight column and wavy neck, and over her fingers, grasping the wood. The tips of his fingers were rough over her delicate skin, smoothing over the tops of her hands. Suddenly, one was loosened, and her arm fell to its side. And then the other.

And then, just the harp was between them. The harp, the strings… his mask.

Erik stepped back from the instrument. Wariness glistened in his expression, yet his face was hard and angry.

Christine moved toward Erik as she would approach a skittish cat… slowly and easily, even though her body screamed for her to tear into him. The inner parts of her wet thighs slipped against each other as she stepped, and the pressure on the heat of her sex made it throb even more.

Erik stood straight, his arms hanging uselessly to his waist as though he could not fathom what to do with them. When she came close enough, she reached out and grasped his large, elegant hands, one in each of her small white ones. They trembled and were warm, and she smelled herself on them.

Moving her hands up along his arms, she traced through his shirt the easy curve of solid muscle from his forearms up to rounded biceps, and over square-angled shoulders. And then… at last… hot, moist skin at the open throat of his shirt. His heart thudded under her hands; his chest rose and fell, hitching at the beginning of each deep breath. She pulled the shirt apart, touching everywhere… mon Dieu, everywhere, and still she wanted more… the hard, tiny nipples, the smooth, firm pectorals, the soft curling hair.

Erik's skin flinched under her hands, trembling as she passed over his belly, yanking the shirt apart and sending buttons bouncing to the floor. His breath came faster and shallower, and at last his hands moved, resting on her shoulders as if they needed to be propped up.

Christine pulled his trousers apart, sending them to the floor in a crumple at his bare feet, and at last beheld his gorgeous, straining cock. Magnificent and powerful, it jutted toward her in a gentle curve of flesh straining purple and red and golden brown.

She grabbed him with both hands, and he cried out. When she stroked him only twice, he pulsed and came, pouring over her hands, his fingers gripping her shoulders.

"Erik," she sobbed, pressing her body along the length of his, her face in his hot shoulder, her arms around his waist, pulling his hips and still-hard cock against her belly. Their bodies were steamy and slick with moisture, his, hers, sweat, tears. The throbbing between her legs was unbearable, painful and huge. "Please, Erik… please… now."

He lifted her into his arms, and carried her from the music room, the unmasked side of his face toward her. Several long strides later, and they were in another room, and he fell onto a large bed with her.

His hands were everywhere, his mouth too… her breasts, her shoulder, the side of her neck, her belly…

"Erik!" she panted, pulling him toward her, on top of her. Her fingers closed around his erection, still long and hard, hot and full, bringing it closer to her crying sex. Settling back on his mighty thighs, propping himself up with one golden arm, he grasped his cock at its base and teased her with its head.

Tracing the lips of her tender, swollen labia, sliding into the folds between them, the head slipped easily through the slick pool. At last, Christine could wait no longer. She reached for it, closing her fingers around Erik's thick cock, and lifted her hips in frustration.

But he pulled back, his strength easily greater than hers. "No," he said, moving her hands away. Before she could protest, he skimmed away, down her legs, and planted his big hands on the insides of her thighs, holding them so wide apart that her knees touched the bed.

Her sex was wide open, and her entire being was centered there, in that throbbing, hot, wet place. Erik's fingers were gentle but firm, holding her still as he bent to her quim.

When his tongue came out, he brought it quickly up from the bottom of her vagina, slipping into the narrow crevice and ending in the space just below her pip. He paused, jiggling under it, and Christine screamed in pleasure and impatience when at last the point of his tongue flickered right over the hard, protruding nubbin.

"Mon Dieu," she moaned, thrashing her head from side to side over the bed. "Erik! Please!" she panted, her hips trying to move, but held firmly in place by his hands on her thighs.

He teased her again, and again, his tongue pointed, then flat, then swirling through the juices and swollen lips of her sex. Flicking over her nib, into the deep crevice where she wanted his cock… but he never, never licked her in a rhythm that would give relief.