"Your gown feels as though it is about to fall off," Raoul replied in a strangled voice. Yet his hands made no effort to move from their spot on her bare back.

"It is." Her voice was husky. It was Erik's fault for leaving her wanting more.

The timbre of her words must have seemed like an invitation for Raoul, for suddenly he tightened his arms, crushing his mouth down over hers.

Christine tipped up her face to meet his lips, and felt her breasts surge and her tender nipples tighten against the sagging confines of her stays.

After the initial rough impact, Raoul tamed himself and gentled his mouth. He tasted, sipped, slicked his tongue over her lips and slipped it around and along hers as she drew in her breath, deeper and harder, pushing her nearly bare breasts up against his shirt.

"Oh, Christine," he groaned, pulling away yet holding her hips firmly against his. His erection raged against her, through five layers of clothing, sending her own sex to throbbing again. "We cannot…" He drew in his breath, steadying it. "My brother, the comte, and the messieurs Moncharmin and Richard await us… We cannot be much longer. We must go."

Christine pulled away reluctantly, feeling the ache of unsated lust. Any guilt she might have felt for her response to Raoul's feverish kisses so soon after her intimacy with Erik was quickly dismissed. After all, he had taken from her, and he had left her wanting more. Of Erik, she wanted more, but Raoul was tall and handsome and elegant… and Raoul, she could see and touch.

But his kisses were different from Erik's, and the way he moved his hands over her body was too tentative, as though he was afraid to touch her. Erik was bold, and knew how to pull and coax forth and peak her desire… just as he did her music.