A Song in the Night

A/N: WARNING for sexual content! At long last, we come to the conclusion of our story... I hope you have enjoyed reading it. Many thanks to those who have been reading so faithfully and leaving reviews... :-)

Chapter Thirty

To the accompaniment of cheers and applause, Erik carried Veronique up the front stairs of their home and across the threshold. Gently he set her on her feet and turned to lock the deadbolt that he had installed himself.

She snickered and he scooped her up in his arms with a grin, twirling around. "Now then, Madame Devereaux, shall we . . .?"

His bride of two hours slid her hand behind his head and pulled him to her for a long kiss. When they broke apart, Erik started up the stairs as quickly as possible. At the top, he strode into their bedroom and deposited her on the bed. "Je t'aime, mon coeur," he said, bending down to kiss her yet again.

Veronique looped her arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of her. Bracing himself on one arm, he stared at her, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "Erik?" she said softly, moaning as he kissed his way down her neck and along the lace at the edge of her bodice. When he didn't answer her, she grabbed his hair and tugged. "Help me out of this dress," she whispered.

Easing back, he offered his hand and helped her sit up. "Certainement, ma belle femme."

She presented her back to him and he began to work on the tiny buttons. Finally the dress gaped open and he pressed soft kisses on the nape of her neck and down her spine. Scooting to the edge of the bed, she stood and Erik attacked the remainder of the buttons. Soon the dress was held in place only by her hands at her shoulders. Veronique turned to face him and slowly allowed the dress to fall away.

"Sainte Mère!" Erik sucked in a breath at the sight of her in her fine lawn chemise and petticoats. When her hands went to the ribbons of her chemise, he stood and put his hands over hers. "Please, mon amour, allow me?" Slowly she nodded and he undid the knot, brushing the fabric aside with his fingertips, leaving her awash in goose bumps.

She moaned as her nipples peaked, hard and aching. They seemed to beg for his mouth and he took one, nipping it gently. Cupping the other breast in his free hand, his thumb dragged across the nipple again and again. She cried out and he smiled to himself.

Veronique's knees would no longer support her and she sagged in Erik's arms. Quickly he untied the tapes of her petticoats and helped her step out of them. Laying her on the bed, he shed his jacket, waistcoat, cravat and boots in short order. He started on the buttons of his shirt and she sat up and stopped him. "Turnabout is fair play," she murmured and he dropped his hands to his sides.

Slowly she pushed the buttons through their holes, watching his face as she did. After the third button, his eyes glazed over and she felt a tiny surge of triumph. Bending closer, she pressed kisses to the exposed skin of his chest, rubbing her nose in the soft patch of hair over his breastbone and inhaling the scent that was his alone. He hissed out a breath and she smiled.

Reaching behind her, he pulled the pins from her hair one by one. When the bronze-colored mass fell, he tunneled his hands into it and spread it over her shoulders. His hands slid down her arms and he tumbled them both to the bed. Quickly he stripped off his trousers and drawers, and turned to take his wife into his arms. Ridding her of her chemise and pantalets with her cooperation, he stopped and stared down at her. "Oh, ma belle," he murmured, skimming a hand over her breasts and down her stomach.

Reaching up, she cupped his scarred cheek. "Je t'aime, Erik," she whispered. He turned his head and kissed her palm. "Please, mon grand," she begged, "make me yours, once and for all?" Shifting slightly, she reached between them and took him in her hand.

He moaned and closed his eyes. "Oh, chaton," he breathed. His hand moved between her legs and she arched into his touch. Bending his head, he took one nipple in his mouth and laved it with his tongue, making her writhe in pleasure.

His fingers seemed to dance around the place where she needed him to touch her most, never getting to quite the right spot, never going far enough. Feeling as though she would explode, she thrust against his hand. "Now, Erik!" she cried. "Please, now!"

Her hand moved up and down his shaft with firm strokes, and he gritted his teeth against the sensations she unleashed in him. Kneeling between her legs, his hand now found wetness and that discovery nearly sent him over the edge. Slowly, so as not to cause her any more pain than necessary, he entered her. The combined moisture of their bodies eased the way a little, but in the back of his mind, he still feared hurting her.

Veronique inhaled sharply, and Erik froze. "Chérie? Are you all right?" Her eyes fluttered shut; her mouth moved but no sound emerged.

When he withdrew, she clutched his shoulders, her fingers digging into his flesh. "No!" she whimpered, and then cried out when he slid all the way into her. Staring up into his eyes, she saw her love reflected in them. She threaded her fingers through his dark hair, pulling his mouth down to hers. Their tongues dueled with each other, feinting and swirling.

Erik broke the kiss, gasping for breath. His hands covered her breasts as she rose up to meet his thrusts. With a final sobbing cry, she stiffened then went limp in his arms and he poured himself into her.

After a moment, he moved aside and looked down at his beautiful wife. Whispering, "Je t'aime," he pressed a kiss to her forehead. With a shaky laugh, he added, "I'm not certain my legs will support me, chaton, or I would bring you a damp cloth."

Sleepily, she replied, "I can wait for a bit," and snuggled next to him. She slid her arm across his chest and sighed. Several seconds passed and then Veronique giggled. "At least this time we didn't have to worry about being interrupted."

Erik grinned as he caressed her hip and leg, delighted by the goose bumps that appeared as he did. "And it was well worth the wait, was it not?" he asked. Veronique didn't reply immediately and he looked at her, faintly concerned. "Wasn't it, ma belle?"

Her hand trailed across his chest, following the pattern of the hair growth. "Mmm, yes, I suppose," she murmured.

"You suppose?" he repeated. With a playful growl he loomed over her. "We'll have to improve on that, Madame." He reached for her, and she shrieked when he began to tickle her mercilessly.

"Erik, stop!" she cried, nearly helpless with laughter, tears trickling down her cheeks. Suddenly he did, and she stared up at him, seeing his emotions flit across his face: fear, longing, doubt. "Oh, mon mari, mon amour," she whispered, cupping his face in her hands. "I will love you as long as I live, and even beyond that, for all time."

Sighing, he lowered his head and kissed her softly. She looped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss fervently, maneuvering so that she lay atop him. Breaking the kiss, she put her head on his shoulder, delighting in the feel of the warm flesh and hard muscles beneath her. When his hand caressed her back and slid down to cup her bottom, she squirmed against him. "So," she murmured, "you are ready to do this again?"

"What do you think?" he replied, moving his hips slightly.

Veronique smiled, sitting up to straddle him. She trailed her fingertips down his chest, taking note of each bulge of pectoral muscle and counting a couple of ribs, which made Erik yelp and grab her hands. With an impish grin, she leaned forward, letting the tips of her breasts brush his chest. They both moaned as she took him inside her again; she was ready this time for the sensation of being filled by him.

Or so she thought. It was the same, and yet different. As she moved up and down, bringing them both closer to fulfillment, Erik matched her movements and soon clutched her hips to hold her still. "No," she whispered, straining to reach the peak she felt building inside her.

"Wait," he said softly, and watched her as he thrust again. Her head back, she cried out as the wave hit and she convulsed around him. His own completion came seconds later, and she collapsed on top of him.

After a few moments, she stirred. "That was . . . wonderful," she sighed. "And yes, well worth waiting for." When Erik sat up with her in his arms, she asked sleepily, "Where are we going?"

"To the water closet, chaton. I thought you might like a bath." He set her on her feet next to the tub and reached for the spigots. She swayed and he snaked an arm around her waist.

"Too tired," she muttered and fell against him.

He settled for using a damp cloth instead and carried her back to bed. Climbing in beside her, he spooned her against his chest and wrapped an arm around her. As an afterthought, he pulled the sheet up to cover them. They were both asleep within seconds.

Some time later Veronique awoke, alone in the bed. Sitting up, she saw that it was dark outside. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and saw a beautiful emerald green silk gown lying across the chair. With a wide smile she put it on. It had a very low neckline, and the back was practically non-existent. The fabric slid over her skin, raising goose bumps . . . just like the touch of his fingers. Veronique blushed at her reflection in the tall mirror in the corner.

He has already seen all of you, the voice in her head chided her. It's much too late to be embarrassed now.

Ignoring the voice, she stepped out into the hallway—and heard music. She crept downstairs and peeked into the vacant room. Erik stood by the window, dressed only in his trousers, playing a song she had never heard before. Instinctively she knew he had composed it; its melody was lyrical and haunting at the same time.

His violin seemed to sob, and she felt tears gathering in her eyes. Then within a few measures, the tune became joyful and soared, bringing a smile to her face. When the last note had faded away, she sighed, and Erik turned around. He held out a hand to her, and she rushed across the room and into his arms.

"It was beautiful," she told him, her voice muffled against his chest.

Dropping a kiss on her tousled hair, he said, "I wrote it for you, chérie."

A soft sound drew their eyes to the window. On the ledge sat Samson, looking extremely irritated at being on the outside looking in. With a laugh, Erik cranked open the window and the fat orange cat leaped to the floor. "I see you found us, mon ami," said Erik as the cat stomped off in the direction of the kitchen. "You may not find much to eat, chat gros," he called, grinning when the bushy tail swished angrily.

Veronique tugged on her husband's arm. "He is not the only one to have found us," she said, pointing to the window.

Marguerite sat outside in the same spot, looking quite forlorn, and Erik leaned out and carefully picked her up. "Bienvenue, chérie," he crooned, and gave her a kiss behind her ear. Setting her on the floor, he watched as she sniffed and explored the room. When Veronique chuckled, he looked at her.

"I wonder how soon Giselle and Eléonore will be coming around, to see how we are faring," she said.

"They had damn well better not come around any time soon," he muttered. "You'd think they would understand about a couple needing their privacy."

"Speaking of privacy," Veronique began, only to be interrupted by the loud growling of her stomach.

Her husband slid an arm around her waist, caressing her through the thin fabric. "I do hope we have some food in the kitchen," he said. "After all, we need to keep up our strength."

Nine and a half months later, Erik and Veronique were blessed with a daughter. Named for her grandmothers, Catharine Josette came into the world squalling at the top of her lungs. She had a small dimple on her right cheek; in later years, she proudly insisted it was where her grand-père Erik Vangilder had kissed her before she was born. Soon she was the older sister to two brothers, Antoine and Guillaume, who were the bane of her existence until they went away to university.

Erik continued to work at Vuillaume's and also took private violin students, after some coercion from Veronique. She taught the cello to a few beginning students, all the while continuing her advanced studies under Erik's tutelage. When the children were older, she boldly auditioned for a position in the orchestra at the Opéra-Comique and became their assistant principal cellist. It was a position she held for many years.

Erik died peacefully in his sleep at the age of 68, with Veronique and their children and grandchildren at his side. The very same day, a new serial began in Le Gaulois. Written by Gaston Leroux, it was titled Le Fantôme de l'Opéra.

ma belle femme-- my beautiful wife

mon mari-- my husband

And just in case anyone was wondering, yes, the cats and their descendants remained very important members of the family... ;-)