Bonus Scene A Burning Theater In Paris #3
“Each of us are broken,” Christine murmurs.
“I broke when my mother passed and again when my father died. I broke a little more each time a man squeezed my breast or my ass, seeing me only for my body and not for my talents. You, sweet Angel—you saw my soul and adored my voice long before you craved my body. I loved you for that, even when I feared you. I swear that I will not betray you, and if you treat me with the respect I deserve, I will never leave your side.”
Air rushes deep into my lungs, a full and satisfying breath. The tension eases from my neck and shoulders. My heart rate is slowing.
“To be unmasked and loved openly,” I whisper. “I suppose that is what we all crave.”
I let them lead me upstairs, our path illuminated by lamps in ornate sconces. Raoul rings for the servants to prepare hot water, and we each bathe luxuriously in the decadent rooms of his home.
When I am clean, I wrap myself in one of his dressing gowns.
It’s too tight in the shoulders and upper arms, but I manage.
A servant leads me down the upstairs hallway to a small parlor where Christine sits on a sofa, wearing a lacy white nightdress beneath her own robe.
Raoul stands by the fireplace, his hand braced on the mantel.
They both look up when I enter, but they do not speak until the servant has left the room.
“Your people must wonder who we are and why we’re here,” I comment.
“They understand discretion,” Raoul says. “When my brother ran this household, there were many parties and dalliances. Compared to his debauchery, a couple of late-night guests are of little consequence.”
“Even one like me?” I gesture to the scarred half of my face.
“They will not speak of it,” he insists. “They are paid handsomely, and they have well-appointed rooms and plenty of days off. I treat my staff better than anyone else in the city. None of them will risk losing their place in this house by indulging in foolish gossip.”
His reassurance soothes me, but I’m more impressed by his evident care for his employees. He is effectively sharing his wealth with them, which speaks well of his character. Not that I’m one to judge a nobleman for how he runs his house, but the revelation of Raoul’s generosity pleases me.
I’ve never been generous myself. As I told Christine, I’m used to theft, blackmail, and trickery as the only means of getting what I want, and I do not regret it.
Why should other people have wealth, beauty, homes, and families, while I was deprived of all that?
I was only taking what I deserved, claiming what Fate withheld from me.
For all her previous vagaries, Fate is smiling on me tonight.
I’m standing in a comfortable room, amid plush furnishings.
The man and woman I’ve been chasing around the opera house are watching me with mingled caution and desire.
They’re still both a little afraid of me, and I find a dark pleasure in the knowledge.
My cock stiffens beneath the heavy folds of the dressing gown.
“This is my private suite.” Raoul clears his throat. “I can show you to your room if you’d prefer to rest.”
“I prefer to remain here,” I say.
Christine gives Raoul a secret little smile of pure delight. “Perhaps we should continue our game then?”
“The one where I put the Opera Ghost’s cock down my throat?” Raoul says casually, though his cheeks redden. “That game?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Or a variation thereof.”
Raoul walks through a set of open double doors, and we follow him into his bedroom, toward the immense four-poster bed.
He drops his dressing gown on the floor, and I do the same.
Christine sheds her robe, but she doesn’t remove her nightgown.
She stares at my body and Raoul’s, her cheeks a hearty shade of crimson.
Raoul goes over to a tray laden with decanters and glasses. He pours us each two fingers of whisky. I’m no stranger to alcohol, though I take it in moderation, and I throw back the offered drink quickly, enjoying the heated buzz of the liquor in my throat and stomach.
Christine coughs a bit on the first sip, but she seems to like the taste, or perhaps she simply enjoys the transgressive indulgence of drinking the Viscount de Chagny’s whisky in his bedroom.
She swallows a bit more of the liquor while Raoul and I approach each other cautiously, like a pair of lions contemplating a challenge.
When his cock touches mine, it’s like a jolt of lightning, a white-hot burn along my nerves.
I have never felt anything like it, and yet my body understands the sensation on an instinctive level.
It’s as if I already know this language of searing skin and taut muscle, of thick veins and burning fingers.
I grasp Raoul’s lean hip with one hand and his throat with the other, crowding in, feeling the grind of our two rods between our bellies. He’s breathing hard, his throat flexing against my grip as he swallows, but though I can sense his fear, he doesn’t ask me to release him.
Christine makes a soft sound, a whimper that draws our attention.
Her face is scarlet, her eyes wide. She’s clearly pleased by what she’s seeing, and yet she seems overwhelmed.
She is a virgin, after all. I am, too, but in this moment, I don’t feel like one.
There is no hesitation in my heart. I ache for them both.
I start toward her, drawn by her whimper, eager to show her that in this, as in our voice lessons, I can be her guide and her comfort.
“You revealed your soul to me already,” I murmur. “Bare the rest, and let me worship you.”
“Angel,” she whispers. “Touch me like you did when we sang tonight.”
I move behind her, pulling her back against my chest, wrapping both arms around her. One of my hands shifts to cup her breast, squeezing lightly, my thumb tracing over her nipple. Only the thinnest of soft lace separates her skin from mine.
Christine sighs in my arms, relinquishing her fears and becoming a creature of passion and fire, like she did onstage, before I was betrayed. Before the theater burned.
With her back to me, she takes both my hands and guides them firmly down her body, over her stomach, shoving them between her legs. She prompts my left hand to gather up the material of the nightgown, then shifts my right fingers into the delicate, bare cleft between her thighs.
I can feel her—the soft lips of her sex, the bits of tender flesh between them. Touching that part of her drives my brain into bright delirium, incites a deep groan from my very soul.
Raoul kneels in front of us, his eyes on Christine’s sex. With both hands, I part her legs wider, revealing her to him. When he puts out his tongue and licks between her sensitive folds, she shivers against my chest.
With a surge of strength, I gather her, carry her to the bed just as she is, and sit naked on the edge of the mattress with her on my lap. In this position, I can open her wider for Raoul. I hold back her thighs and splay her dripping center to his view.
Christine winds her arms around my biceps, clinging to me while I present her to the viscount. He’s on his knees, eyes mad with desire. At the stroke of his tongue, she writhes, panting.
“Yes, yes,” she gasps. “How does that feel so delicious?”
“Sin is always delicious,” I murmur against her temple.
Raoul has done this before, that much is clear. I watch him carefully, memorizing his use of pressure, his little coaxing nips and kisses, the way he suckles at the apex of her thighs and then laps at that spot with a swift rhythm.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” Christine gasps out, twisting in my arms again. “I feel…I feel…ah…” She squeals faintly and jerks her hips against Raoul’s mouth. Her body convulses once, and then she’s panting, easing, relaxing.
“Look how beautifully you came for me,” croons Raoul, sliding two fingers against her sopping flesh. “Now you’re ready for him. Lift her, Ghost, and she’ll slip smoothly onto your cock.”
“May I?” I whisper in her ear, and Christine nods eagerly.
I feel Raoul’s fingers wrap around my length as I lift Christine. He guides the tip of my cock to her center and pokes it inside as I lower her body onto me.
The viscount’s eyes meet mine as our beautiful Christine begins to take my cock, and I understand that this is her choice, yes, but it’s also his gift to me. He wants me to have her first, so I will know his sincerity and believe in his love.
Christine cries out softly, and Raoul presses his mouth to her sex, licking the peak of her folds where the pleasure seems most intense, soothing her while she takes a little more of me.
She is soaked and slippery, but my cock is large and long, so it takes time for her to acclimate.
I hold her suspended in place, my biceps swelling.
Despite the strain, I refuse to seat her fully on my length until she is ready.
Gradually I ease her down, lowering her bit by bit, while Raoul teases her toward another climax.
“Lift her again,” he says, glancing up at me with wet, scarlet lips. “Raise and lower her body. Gently now, a steady rhythm.”
I slide Christine up my cock, then down again. The slick gloving of my length by her tight heat is more than I can bear. I’ve never felt the inside of a woman before, and it’s exquisite as heaven.
Christine seems to enjoy the movement. Her breath catches and she begins making sharp, eager little sounds as I move her up and down on my cock, pushing inside her more deeply each time.
Raoul follows our progress with long licks of my shaft and her opening, while his hand jerks rapidly along his own cock.
He rises, bending to kiss first me, then Christine. When his mouth meets hers, he comes with a ragged gasp. I feel his hot cum fly against the place where Christine and I are joined, drops of his release slicking my length and her pussy.
With his thumb against the peak of her sex and my arms pumping her faster on my length, Christine comes, shrieking her bliss. She throws her head back while her body convulses around my cock.
The stimulation of her climax is more than I can take. I release the full force of my desire inside her, my cock throbbing. Raoul strokes the base of my length with his fingers, then cups my balls in his hand, grinning as he feels them tighten.
“You are both so beautiful.” Emotion thickens his voice as he leans forward to kiss each of us again. “My darling friend and my passionate enemy.”
When we’ve recovered a little, Raoul gives Christine some wine to blur the slight soreness between her legs.
We settle her on fluffy pillows in the center of the bed, and I slide in beside her, between silky sheets.
Raoul drapes a duvet over us, blows out the candles, and crawls in on Christine’s other side.
Sleep comes softly, pressing my eyelids like a lover’s touch, seducing me like a strain of whispered melody.
For the first time, there are no schemes in my head, no violent torment of love unsatisfied, no wretched jealousy, no molten resentment.
Here in this grand house, in this richly appointed room, in this comfortable bed, I am at peace.
I am with the woman I have loved for what feels like ages—the sweet, fiery, gentle soul I adore.
With us lies the man who has been her friend since childhood, who loves her dearly, and whose generous heart is open to me as well.
What secrets will we learn from each other? What joys will we experience, and what desires will unfurl in this very room? What heights of music and beautiful madness will we reach?
I cannot be certain, and yet I am not afraid.
I listen to their soft breathing, and it is the loveliest music to ever grace the night.