Chapter 6

It started out as no more than a vague wisp of thought, a minute, tingling sensation which barely intruded into the comfortable coziness surrounding her, but soon grew, at first with little pin-pricks of irritation, and finally into an overall itching sensation that dominated all else. Catherine woke abruptly to a semi-darkened chamber, to find herself enclosed above and below. Fluffy patchwork quilts kept the chilly tunnel air at bay, and the solid warmth of Vincent's chest beneath her cheek generated more than sufficient heat to make up for the lack of any automated systems, such as were taken for granted uptop.

Her torso nestled alongside his body, and one leg rested over the top of his own. Her face flamed when she realized that her hand still cupped the fullness between his thighs. Despite the luxurious surroundings, a spot on her ribs was driving her to distraction. Slowly, reluctantly, she withdrew her clasp on his body and found the accursed spot, scratching furiously at it. Eliminating one itch, however, only served to focus her attention on the others remaining, and it took all her concentration not to squirm wildly in an effort to eradicate them all.

Careful not to wake him, she slipped from beneath the covers. Vincent turned his head in her direction, shifting restlessly for a moment, but then settled down to sleep once more when Catherine calmed her thoughts to send a soothing stream along their bond. Padding silently about the chamber, she slipped into her angora wrap and slippers and headed for the doorway. She paused beside the wash-stand, then finally took the large ceramic pitcher from the matching basin it sat in, and left the room, heading left down the side tunnel.

In no time she was in the bathing chamber Vincent shared with Father. A small torch was always left lit in the public bathing chambers, and that habit was followed here as well. Ellen's crew would keep it tended and in working condition daily, as they collected and delivered laundry and towels, and refilled the wicker baskets holding the bathing supplies. Catherine glanced cautiously toward the extrance across the way, the one which led onward to Father's chambers, belatedly realizing that she hadn't thought to take a lantern to block that accessway. Both of the ones in Vincent's chamber had been pressed into service hours earlier, and still stood guard over his entrance from both directions of the side passage. Listening intently, she intuitively knew that it was quite late, probably past midnight. No messages were heard over the pipes, and though she knew they were never really silent, she expected no more than an hourly time-call and sentry check-in at such a late hour.

Finally she set the pitcher aside, on the rough-hewn chamber ledge, and slipped through the small side- opening to use the facilities. Emerging a moment later, she kicked her slippers off and slid the angora robe away to stand naked in the misty pool chamber. The torch was small, and the light dim, but looking down at her torso, she could easily see the glossy, dried patches coating her belly and breasts. They were almost translucent, though when she peered closely at one area, midway between her collarbone and right breast, she could see tiny, delicate cracks running randomly through it. The viscous liquid had contracted to a thin, artifical skin upon drying, and was now pulling tautly upon her flesh, resulting in the maddening itching which had woken her. She wasn't sure if Vincent was less sensitive to the effect, due to the thick thatches of hair coating much of his torso, or simply too tired to be wakened by it at this time. Either way, it was her intent to fill the pitcher with warm water from the pool for his use when she left. But first...

Catherine stepped off the chamber floor and onto the first step-bench, shivering at the contrasting sensations of cool air surrounding her body everywhere but upon her feet, which were now immersed to the ankles in the warm pool water. Slowly she moved about the perimeter of the pool in a counterclockwise direction, traversing four step-benches before she reached the pool floor, sighing with delight when the warm water finally encompassed her to just beneath her shoulders. The water had already begun to cleanse away the dried patches, and a few strokes of her hand along her torso completed the job. The itching was gone now, but some part of her couldn't help but wish it had not been necessary; she found the thought of his essence upon her erotic in the extreme. Lathering up her hands with a bar of rose-scented soap, she washed quickly, rinsed, then climbed out of the pool and toweled off, anxious to get back to him.

Once she was covered in her wrap once more, she dipped the pitcher in the water, filling it, then left the room via the exit which led to Vincent's chamber, just twenty-five yards away. Though she hadn't been gone more than fifteen minutes, she'd continued to send comforting waves to him through their bond, and when she re-entered the chamber, he was still asleep. However in setting the now-heavy pitcher back into the basin, a small clink of ceramic upon ceramic provided sufficient noise to wake him, and he sat up abruptly, scanning the chamber for an intruder. When he saw who it was, his heightened state of alert retreated immediately, though she felt it replaced, at least in part, with a tension that she could clearly feel through the bond. He sank back, tugging the bedclothes high to his chest, the sleeping expression in his eyes quickly replaced by a guarded awareness.

"Catherine, is everything...?"

His voice was husky and soft, even more of a whisper than normal, and in it she could detect an audible symptom of the anxiety she could still see in his eyes.

"Everything is fine, Vincent," she hurried to assure him.

Taking a wash cloth and two hand towels from the wash-stand, she moved toward him, noting with dismay that he instinctively moved back toward the fall wall of his bed. She kept that feeling isolated from the bond, though, pretending to be unaware of his response while spreading the towel over the bedside table. She left the other towel and washcloth there, then retrieved the pitcher and basin, and placed them both upon the spread-out towel.

"Catherine...?"

It was obvious he didn't know how to phrase the question, and Catherine wondered whether that was because he already
knew the answer.

"Warm water, Vincent. I brought it from the bathing pool. I washed already, but you were sleeping. Now that you're awake..." She didn't finish the sentence, instead dropping the washcloth in the warm water as she sat down on the edge of the bed. He recoiled even more, and she was glad the stained glass inset and rock wall were there, or he might otherwise have fallen off the far-side of the bed entirely.

"That won't be necessary, I'll use the bathing chamber. I have to..." He gestured vaguely in the direction of that chamber, as the sentence trailed off.

Catherine nodded, disappointed, but not really surprised by his response. This was all so new to him, and despite what he had already allowed, or maybe because of it, he was still intensely uncomfortable having her see the physical reality of him. She sighed to herself, but bowed to the inevitable, leaving the bed to retrieve his cloak where it lay on the floor. She handed it to him, then busied herself with removing the basin, pitcher and towels from the bedside table, returning them to the washstand while allowing him the privacy he needed. He slipped from the chamber quickly, and she sighed again, this time audibly, turning back to look down at the rumpled bedclothes. Almost...

She shook her head, determined not to let her disappointment negate the progress they had made in the hours past. Maybe this was as far as he could go for now, but it represented a vast improvement over where they had been before, and she was almost certain that dreaming would no longer be a problem for her, though she couldn't be as confident of the same where sleeping was concerned. In fact she was sure that certain images of him would most definitely be plaquing her nights - and days - in the immediate future. She sighed again, then picked up her nightgown from the ground and took her wrapper off just long enough to slide the silk garment back on. A cursory search of his wardrobe uncovered a spare set of sheets, and in moments she had the bed stripped and the fresh, albeit worn, linen in place.

The blankets and patchwork quilts were shaken out and returned to the bed, and just as she was turning back the covers, Vincent returned. His gaze took in the clean lines of the bedclothes, and then glanced down at the pile of sheets on the floor, and she was certain that for at least the tenth time in the last twenty-four hours she could discern a blush on his cheeks, despite the golden covering of silky down shading his face.

"They should feel cool and comfortable after your bath," she responded simply, and he nodded in turn, not meeting her eyes.

"I'll put the others in the laundry basket," he said, scooping them up and hurriedly heading for the door.

Once again she stood alone in his chamber. She looked about her with a disconcerted gaze. Did he want her to leave? She was almost certain he did, remembering that the guest chamber still awaited her. Should she go now, and spare him any additional embarrassment, or wait to say goodnight? The very idea that she should be concerned about such a question made her angry, but it didn't bring her any closer to an answer. While those confusing thoughts were still circling her mind, he returned, and the decision was taken out of her hands. She started at his silent entrance, and felt heat warming her own cheeks, glad now for the double layer of fabric covering her, delicate though both might be. She wrapped her arms about herself, holding the robe closed tight, then moved toward the chamber door where he stood. He held his cloak closed, too, though she knew his position was much more precarious than her own, that garment alone covering his nakedness. Hesitation was plain in his stance and expression, and that was enough for her - she wouldn't make this any more painful for him than it already was.

"Goodnight, Vincent," she murmured.

She had almost moved past him, when his hand reached out, tentatively touching her arm.

"Are you going back to the guest chamber?" he asked.

She paused, considering the question. Wasn't it obvious? And more importantly, wasn't this what he wanted? Suddenly she had to be sure.

"I thought you wanted..." She stopped, then started again. "Do you want me to go, Vincent?" She stared directly into his eyes, needing to see as well as hear his response.

He stood motionless for a moment, then instead of answering her question, asked the same in turn. "Do you want to go?"

She shook her head slowly, determined that there would be no ambiguity in her own response. "I want to stay."

He drew in a deep breath, and finally answered her question in kind; "I want you to stay."

It felt like a weight had lifted from her chest. Feeling suddenly shy, she nodded, then moved back into the chamber toward the waiting bed. Knowing she would share that cozy expanse with him for at least a little while longer was a happiness beyond belief. She hesitated beside the table, then slipped off her robe and laid it over a chair before crawling beneath the fresh bedding and moving back to the far wall. His own hesitation was easy to see as he stood near the door, hands clenched tight in the folds of the ebony black fabric. He clutched it about his body, and she turned away to fuss with a stack of books on the narrow shelf below the stained glass inset to give him a moment's privacy. Behind her she heard the rustle of wool and leather before the mattress sank beside her. Only then did she turn back towards him, settling on her side. He lay in a similar position, facing her, with a good foot between them, but his eyes were open, watching her closely. The covers were pulled up to his throat, but when he raised his left arm to curve it under his pillow and head, his upper shoulders were suddenly exposed to her gaze. He made no move to rectify that situation, but continued to stare at her intently. The silence seemed to stretch on for an eternity, but neither broke their gaze upon the other, and finally Vincent spoke, the frankness of his words catching her off guard.

"You know I have no real experience in this, Catherine."

He paused, obviously waiting for some response from her, and finally she nodded slightly.

"And yet," he continued, "I'm not ignorant of the issues we're facing. What books there are below on this topic, I have read."

He was silent again for a few minutes and she couldn't tell if that pause was to gather his thoughts or to await another response from her. Nevertheless she nodded once more, and he went on.

"Please don't misunderstand me, Catherine. I know you're a strong woman, emotionally and mentally, but physically, at least compared to me, you're very fragile." He spoke so earnestly, and she could do nothing but stare at him, wide-eyed, wondering how this would be resolved between them. "Tell me truthfully," he went on, "do you think this is possible between us?"

There was no doubt that he was referring to all the physical differences between them, not just his nails and obvious strength, which she now knew first-hand. His eyes entreated her to speak plainly for once, on a topic he had always done his best to avoid in the past, and she swallowed hard, suddenly overcome with sympathy for him, for the self-doubt that had plagued him throughout his youth, up to this very moment, in the fullness of his manhood. No matter what, though, just as she'd determined earlier this day, she knew that now was the time for nothing less than the full and utter truth between them.

"I wish I could say, with absolute certainty, that nothing will happen, but I can't." He drew in a deep breath, and she knew he was exerting a tremendous amount of control in order to stay still in this intimate - and to him, dangerous - setting with her. She quickly went on, needing him to fully understand how she felt. "You know I'm not inexperienced, Vincent," she said, and even as he acknowledged this with a slight nod of his head she continued on. "But that experience has been, relatively speaking, fairly limited. "I've never..." Despite her intentions, she found it impossible to articulate this thought clearly, and finally gave up on it with a shake of her head, hoping he understood. "I know two things, though, Vincent, and I'm sure of both of them," she amended.

Vincent watched her intently, futility and longing mixed as one in his eyes.

"I know that you would never intentionally hurt me. And I know that if something were to happen, unintentionally, that caused me pain, you would know it immediately through our bond, and you would stop." She saw the trepidation and fear begin to grow in his eyes once more. "I know that," she reiterated firmly.

"I wish I were as certain of the second one as you are, Catherine," he whispered, his voice husky and low.

Her heart ached at the desperation she heard there, and she reached out to smooth his hair back from his temple, murmuring simply, "I do too, Vincent, I do too."

He stayed absolutely still for a moment, then sighed, turning more fully into her touch, so that the back of her fingers now stroked his cheek and jaw. They lingered there for a while before sliding down and back until her thumb alone remained on his cheek, while her fingers curved beneath his ear and behind his neck, the heavy mass of hair laying like rough silk against the back of her hand. A vibration trembled under her palm, strumming through his carotid artery, and she paused there, caressing him slowly as she concentrated on that sub-audible response, feeling it grow in its vibratory motion at first, then finally hearing it as a low, rythmic hum. His eyes flickered closed and a sigh breathed out into the night. Was it a sigh of surrender or something else? Perhaps it was frustration at her unwillingness, yet again, to accept what he had always perceived to be an impossibility between them.

She waited for a further clue, motionless except for the light stroke of her thumb just in front of his ear. Her own sigh - one of relief - followed his when he lifted his hand to cup hers, holding it still while he turned to press a kiss into the center of her waiting palm. When he opened his eyes once more, they confirmed what she'd already guessed, that he was going to let them proceed, at least a little more, this evening.

"Catherine, you must promise me something," he said, holding her gaze intently.

She nodded eagerly, then stopped, chagrined. He wouldn't take her assurances seriously if she didn't at least appear to give them somber thought. Still, she was certain that whatever it was he needed her to do, she would move heaven and earth to do it.

"If I do anything, anything at all, which causes you pain, or makes you uncomfortable in any way, physically or emotionally, you'll tell me. You'll stop me. Promise me, Catherine."

She continued to meet his compelling gaze, though she desperately wanted to spare him the sorrow she knew he had to see in her eyes right now. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she nodded, clearing her throat before she was able to get her answer out clearly.

"I will, Vincent," she promised, thinking of how impossible it was to her that he could do anything which she would find repugnant or distasteful. Just thinking about what she wanted him to do to her, what she wanted to do to him, made the heat spread through her chest and face. She knew he could easily see the flaming color in her cheeks by the uneasy expression appearing suddenly in his eyes, and she blushed a brighter shade of crimson, knowing she had to explain before he assumed something far worse.

"It's not what you think," she interrupted his train of thoughts before they could lead him down a disasterous path. "It's just that..." Her face had to be scarlet by now, she thought, the heat intensified by several degrees. "I can't imagine anything you might want to do to be objectionable to me." He looked disconcerted then, and anxious as well, and she hurried to reassure him. "But I promise that if anything does, I'll tell you to stop. I promise," she added solemnly, meeting his gaze squarely so that he could read there, and through their bond, of her sincerity. The anxiety still remained, but finally he nodded, accepting her assurances.

"Will you do the same, Vincent?" she asked.

"Catherine?" He looked confused, as if he didn't understand her question.

"Will you tell me if I do something that makes you uncomfortable?" she clarified.

His look of confusion changed to one of shocked amazement, and she smiled to herself, suddenly certain that he felt now as she had a moment ago. Nonetheless, and despite the blush now coloring his own cheeks, he gave her his assurance in turn; "I promise, Catherine, to tell you if anything you do makes me uncomfortable."

She nodded, accepting his promise, and they gazed into each others eyes, both a little stunned to find themselves at this point. Their gazes locked for what felt like an interminable length of time. Catherine saw the hesitation still lingering there, and wondered what she could do to help him take the next step. Even as she considered this question, he answered, his words directed to it as if she'd spoken the thought aloud.

"I'm still afraid to touch you, Catherine. Letting you touch me as you did," he dropped his eyes for a moment, but then bravely met her gaze again. "It was very difficult for me."

He must have seen the dismay in her eyes, for he hurried on to assure her.

"I love your touch. I've never experienced - never imagined - that such pleasure could exist. Your touch is like nothing else in the world - nothing! But it's so unfair to you; you give me this pleasure and even as I accept that precious gift, I don't know if I can return it. These hands..." The hand which had cupped hers left it to clench into a tight fist, nails hidden, palm down. "Your body is so delicate, so fragile, compared to mine." He looked at her, anxiety and shame clear in the blue depths of his eyes, before finishing simply; "I'm afraid I'll hurt you."

"Oh, Vincent," she whispered, sorrow filling her. She cupped his closed fist and tenderly stroked the taut surface, desperate to assure him, knowing that words alone would not be enough. "Will we always be so at odds with each other on this issue?" she asked, dismay filling her. "What you saw as my gift to you, I saw as your gift to me. That you would let me touch you in such a way, that you would be willing to make yourself so vulnerable to me...." She shook her head in amazement. "It gave me such pleasure, Vincent. It's complex, and yet so simple; you allowed this intimacy between us, and that step forward fills me with joy." Her hand squeezed his in unconscious response to the images now consuming her. "And beyond that is the pleasure, the purely physical, carnal pleasure I felt from touching you. The freedom to touch you, to see you, to hear your response as I did; I can't begin to tell you how it made me feel. Your body is so beautiful." The words came out hoarse and low, her throat aching at the memory of that perfection, finally displayed before her. "Silk and steel," she whispered, "everything about you is so overwhelmingly masculine, so utterly, completely compelling..." Her eyes drifted shut and a soft mewling moan escaped her parted lips as the images continued to overtake her.

His gasp of incredulous amazement finally brought her back to the here and now.

"I ache to have your hands on me," she went on, meeting his gaze squarely, determined that there be no doubts as to her own feelings in this regard. She saw the flinch that followed her words, and continued on. "I want you so badly, your hands, your mouth..." She trailed off for a moment, caught by the glimpse of sharp incisor tips as he gasped for breath. "your body..." He blinked rapidly, and she clearly read the disconcerted doubtfulness there. "It's been so difficult keeping those needs from you, they're so powerful, so all-consuming. I know you fear your power, your strength, but I crave it in a way I can't begin to describe. I need you to possess me utterly, to take me and make me yours."

He shook his head, his dismay growing. "Catherine, you can't know what it means to ask that of me." He was unable to go on any further in that vein, the idea of such a possession frightening in the extreme to him. Instead he jumped directly to the restrictions he felt had to be imposed. "You have to accept that even if this is possible between us, there will be boundaries between which we cannot cross. I have to know that you accept that, I have to," he insisted..

She stared at him, eyes wide, considering his words. "I know you think that's true, and I have no valid way to dispute that, except for how I feel. I'm willing to accept what you say for now, but Vincent, I believe that ultimately we will not find the barriers you believe there to be. I need you to be open-minded enough to consider all our options as we go forward." His skeptical look drew a quick response; "Just promise to keep an open mind on this, please. I'll agree to any of your restrictions for the time being, but you have to leave the future possibilities open for us. Please, Vincent, please," she demanded urgently. "I need those possibilities to continue to exist between us, and I think you do too, no matter how much you fight against it."

His look then was such a dichotomy, a mix of absolute denial and desperate longing. He wanted what she wanted, that much was clear, and she accepted that as the assurance she needed, not insisting upon the words. Time enough for that, the thought flitted through her mind, beleaguered now with the same mix of sensations she so easily read in his own face. Her hand squeezed his once more, and now she focused her attentions on the more immediate issue; his very specific fear that he would hurt her with his strong hands and sharp nails.

"One thing at a time, Vincent."

Her words and glance drew his gaze in the same direction, and she felt him shudder, felt it through the trembling proximity of his body to hers.

"I know you're afraid to touch me, but I also know that you want that just as much as I do."

She looked up at him and read confirmation of her words in the anxiety-laden, expressive features of his face. Her fingers exerted gentle pressure a moment before she spoke again; "Open your hand."

He hesitated for a moment, then complied. His fingers shook as they rested in her own, much smaller hand, palm up. This side of his hand was the antithesis of the back, completely hairless, the skin a delicate shade of pink-tinged amber. Slowly she lowered her face until it was cupped in his palm, just as his had nestled in her own such a short while ago. She brushed gently against the sensitive, bare skin, then pressed a kiss to the waiting center, feeling his response quiver throughout his whole body. Finally she pulled away and glanced at his face, gasping at the taut lines of tension there. Pleasure and fear, they were so clearly mixed in that incredulous gaze. Holding his hand steady, she slid it along her jaw until it cupped her cheek. His fingers still trembled, but for the moment, at least, she saw no increase in his waiting anxiety; this was a touch he had grown accustomed to over time.

"I love the feel of your hands on me, Vincent. I always have."

He swallowed hard, but she held his gaze, and a moment later the gentle pressure of her hand urged his downward, along the arched length of her throat. She tipped her head back, but continued to watch him through half-lidded eyes, slits of green gazing through thick, lush lashes. His breath was coming faster again as he alternated his gaze between her face and his hand with incredulous fascination. When she reached the curve of her shoulder and neck, she guided his thumb over the hollow between her collarbones, remember how that delicate spot had captivated her own attention as she explored him. His gasping groan confirmed that he found that same spot on her to be equally appealing.

The tension beneath her hand was a strange blend of reticence and acceptance. He allowed her hand to guide his own, yet she clearly felt the outward press of his fingers as he instinctively held his nails away from her flesh. She recognized it, but decided not to force the issue, not yet. The progress between them would be incremental, of that she was certain, though she still held out hope that those incremental steps would happen quickly. How could they not, her mind screamed, when their mutual desire was so overwhelming? She let that thought go for now, determined to focus on the small steps themselves, to help guide him through them. She wondered, though, how objective a guide she could be, when his simplest touch upon her had such a devastating effect. Even now, with his hand upon her collarbone, she was intensely aware of its close proximity to her breast. Her nipples were taut and tight, and aching for his touch. They tingled and tightened further in that instant, and she clenched her teeth to stop the groan that threatened to escape her lips. She needed to have his hand there, covering her, touching her, and after a slight pause, she increased the pressure downward. His hesitation was also clear, but only for a moment, then he allowed her hand to move his own in the direction she chose. It slid, palm flat, beneath the covers and over the top of her chest, along the silk of her gown, then over the fullness of her breast. She didn't stop, not even when he gasped at that initial feel of that softness, until his hand cupped her completely, the rigid tip nestled to the center of his palm. A convulsive quiver shuddered through her at that sensation, and she couldn't stop the groaning sigh that fought its way upward then, moaning lowly while she whispered his name, "Oh, Vincent..."

His hand tightened upon her in an instinctive response, then loosened immediately, when he realized what he was doing. She caught his retreat and tightened her own hand upon his, purposely flexing his palm and fingers about her breast in a repeat of his unconscious movement, and holding him to her so that he could feel the unmistakable tightening of the tender bud. She groaned as the dizzying sensation swept over her yet again, and whispered; "Yes, like that," letting him know that his instincts were in-tune with her own desires. His own strangled moan told her that he felt it all. She leaned back until she rested flat on the mattress, with Vincent on his side, to her right, his hand held securely to her left breast, beneath the patchwork covers. His upper shoulders were bared to her, but most of chest, like her own, was hidden by the bedclothes. That wouldn't do. Pressing her hand tightly to his for a fleeting moment, she knew that he understood her silent message; 'stay here'.

When she read that confirmation in his eyes, she moved her own hand away to catch the edge of the blankets. She drew them down to her waist, until her upper torso was uncovered, and his along with it. She spared a quick sidelong glance at the magnificence of him, burnished copper, silky and soft, over golden flesh and taut muscles, so clearly defined that not even the lush hair covering him could hide them. But his hand trembled upon her, and she pulled her gaze back to her own body and his unmistakable focus upon it. She wore her silk gown, and his hand rested over top of it, cupping the small firmness of her breast. His hand was so large upon her - she looked ridiculously small by comparison, and that vivid contrast, in this intimate setting, made it impossible for her to misunderstand his own misgivings about her fragility and his strength. Still, despite that sudden empathy with his perspective, her own remained steadfastly sure of the possibilities between them. She loved the sight of his hand upon her so possessively. She loved the feel of his palm and fingers touching her. She wanted more.

The pressure of her own hand increased, and he started from the hazy daydream which seemed to have held him hypnotically still as he stared at her slim torso and his hand upon it. He glanced up at her face and read her intent, then back to their hands, watching them move together downward until he cupped the underside of her breast and the taut tip strained through delicate silk just above. He drew in a gasping breath in response to the erotic beauty of her, and the trembling of his hand increased. She kept her own, smaller hand on top, stroking her thumb along his, where it rested along the the lower, inside curve of her breast. His gaze turned hypnotic once more, and when the stroking motion of her thumb changed, tightened to his own, he moved with her without question, following her guiding, caressing motions upward, over the tip of her silk-covered breast. He groaned with a shudder, but couldn't stop watching as he stroked back and forth over the tender peak. The feel of her, even beneath the silk, against the bare pad of his thumb, sent erotic shivers through him that culminated in the aching heat of his groin. "Catherine..." he whispered, his voice hoarse and low.

"Shhh, my love, I know, I know..." she whispered soothingly in response. "Use the bond. Feel what I'm feeling."

His gaze moved to hers, away from the incredible sight of her tender breast, and he was lost, the liquid emotions betrayed by her eyes telling him all he needed to know. The bond sang between them, but even without it there could be no mistaking the pleasure she felt now, at this simple touch upon her.

"Yes, you see..." she crooned, her eyes drifting downward until only the barest slit of green remained, still pinned to the darkening blue of his own, which remained open in wide-eyed incredulity.

Her lips were parted in desire, and he drew in a deep breath abruptly when her tongue peeked out to lick the upper one lightly, coating it with moist dew. Without conscious thought, he leaned down to suck that lip between his own, stroking his tongue insistantly along its length to take that honey into himself with a groaning sigh. So sweet, she tasted so sweet... He had to have more. He moved down to cover her mouth with his, then slid his tongue between them and into the wet, warm, soft haven waiting. She met him eagerly, and he drank her in, their tongues stroking each other to dizzying heights of delight and need, their lips parting periodically to draw in short, gasping breaths of air before melting together again an instant later. Neither was willing to break their kiss for such a mundane commodity. Only when he felt her heart beating so strongly it frightened him - or was it his own? - did he pull away with a gasping groan, filled with both satisfaction and frustration.

Would he ever have enough of her kisses? Impossible! Even now, staring down at her beautiful face, taut with passion, at her lips, swollen with his kisses, he wanted more. She thrashed her head to one side abruptly, with a bird-like, cooing moan, and arched into his hand. He looked down with stunned amazement to see his fingers fondling her with a growing confidence, her hand now gone from his, and realized he had never stopped, but rather increased his exploration throughout the whole of that devastating kiss. More... He had to have more.

At that moment her hand appeared again and covered his. This time the pressure was up and away, and before he could stop himself, he uttered an incoherent groan of protest, shocked even as he did it. She paid no heed, though, and he went with her instantly, everything in him tuned to her slightest wish. When she finally stopped again, he found his hand upon the curve of her neck and shoulder. A moment later, when she pressed him downward, easing his fingers beneath the thin strap of her gown, realization finally dawned. Her hand remained on top of his, but the pressure was gone now, and he knew that she was leaving the choice up to him. He paused momentarily, then stroked slowly, caressingly, over her shoulder and down her arm, gradually revealing her bare breast. The soft fullness was flushed petal pink, the hard nipple plum-colored and straining. A desperate hunger grew within him to taste the lusciousness of that ripe fruit, and he licked his dried lips longingly. The strap caught just below her elbow, and she assisted him, slipping her arm free. Her hand didn't return to his, however, but remained outstretch at her side, leaving him an unfettered access.

His hand rose in slow-motion, and she held her breath, releasing it with a ragged sigh when it finally settled over her once more. He caressed her bare flesh reverently, with awe, watching the response of her body to his touch with a stunned disbelief. The flesh surrounding her taut tip was puckered with arousal, tightening even as he watched. When the sharp edge of a nail accidently grazed that tender bud he gasped and froze in horror. Her arching back and mewling groan of pleasure in that exact instant almost undid him, leaving him weak with relief. Still he drew back, disconcerted by what had happened, imagining suddenly what might have happened.

A small amount of space now separated them, and for a moment they touched nowhere at all. He felt that distance acutely, and stared at her bemused, uncertain of what to do next. He found there was no decision to make, when instead Catherine made the next move, reaching up to slip the strap off her right arm. She pushed the gown down to her waist, and Vincent gasped as her torso was completely bared to his hungry eyes. Signs of arousal were clear upon her, the flushed chest and taut nipples clearly telling him of her desire, but her right breast, at least to his eyes, cried out for the attention which had been heretofore lavished on its twin. He covered it with his large palm, cupping her soothingly, then finally began to caress and explore. His touch was firmer than before and his eyes eagerly watched the response of her flesh as she bloomed beneath his questing fingers. His hand stroked wider then, moving back and forth between both breasts, squeezing and fondling them with increasing urgency. When a frustrated groan escaped his lips, she reached up and cupped her hand about his neck, tugging him down with a gentle pressure.

"Please, Vincent," she whispered, her desires plain.

The groan rumbled to a growl, and after a hesitatant pause he dipped his head and pressed his lips to one aching tip. He held still in that erotic kiss for a long moment, until a wordless, pleading cry escaped her. At that insistent sound his tongue flicked across it and his lips tightened upon her. He sucked her into the yearning heat of his mouth, thirsting after her delicate flesh, aching with desire, desperate with need. Her arm curved about his head, holding him tightly to her, and he increased the strength of his caress, his hand covering her other breast protectively, possessively.

Finally she whimpered, and that sound, along with the pressure of her arm, told him instantly that she needed the same attention elsewhere. He shifted quickly, loath to lose the sweet taste of her, capturing her other nipple between his lips. One sharp tooth scraped across the tight bud in his haste, but her groaning response assured him instantly, and he never hesitated before once more beginning the delicious suckling that gave them both so much pleasure. He hungered for her, devouring her tender flesh with his hot mouth. Back and forth he moved now, kissing, licking and mouthing her flushed breasts with a growing urgency. His hand caressed each breast exposed, his touch growing surer and firmer upon her, until he kneaded her softness and tugged at the aching peaks. They tightened in response, and he thirsted after them, unable to satisfy the longing they inspired. The bond surrounded him with sensations, and it was impossible to separate hers from his own. It wasn't necessary, however, because there was nothing there but an ecstatic pleasure which grew tenfold as he loved her, their bliss transcending thought. He couldn't get enough of her. When she arched up off the bed and screamed incoherently, he was caught completely unaware, biting his tongue with a strangled groan as he resisted the effects of her unexpected climax on his own achingly aroused body.
He pulled away to watch her face with awe, spasmodically clutching her breasts with both hands.

When she fell back to the bed, he gasped in panting breaths, watching the scarlet flush along her chest and face slowly recede. With hands that shook, he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her limp body up to kiss her parted lips, rosebud sweet. When he gently lowered her to the mattress again, he slid down to press the same sweet kiss upon each nipple, both relaxing now in the aftermath of her release. He was trembling with excitement and desire, and those feeling only increased as the scent of her completion drifted upwards from beneath the covers, hot and earthy, dizzyingly sweet. While she lay still, her eyelids fluttering, he couldn't help himself, moving closer until his body was pressed alongside hers. He slid his thigh over top of her and hooked his heel about her leg, drawing it tight to the vee between his own, until his straining erection was pressed firmly to her thigh.

"Catherine, Catherine, Catherine..." he groaned deliriously, his head nestled tight in the warm valley of her soft bosom.

**********

She felt so heavy, so lethargic, as if the earth's density had suddenly increased ten-fold, dragging her down to its very center. But it wasn't a bad feeling, on the contrary it was marvelous. The addition of his own body-mass against her was heavenly, and with a low, humming sigh of contentment she managed to wrap the leaden weight of her arms around his powerful shoulders, her hands reaching up to stroke languidly through the golden mane of hair cascading down his back. Heavenly. A shiver ran through her body, and she let it run its course unopposed, basking in the tingling, internal sensation with no outward sign, except for the arching of her feet as it finally reached those extremities. Marvelous. She couldn't remember ever feeling this good. When she recalled what was responsible for this indescribable feeling, she gasped abruptly, with shocked amazement.

"Vincent," she said, her hands tightening in his hair to urge his gaze up to her face.

He brushed his cheeks against the inner swells of her breasts for a moment before responding to her command, but when his eyes met hers, they were full with a universe of conflicting emotions; hunger, satisfaction, anxiety and need. His arms held her fiercely, that touch somehow speaking of both protection and possession.

"Vincent," she repeated, her voice dropping to a low, hoarse whisper, "what you did..." He stared at her in apprehension, and she blushed before continuing on. "I've never, ever experienced anything like that - ever! - and you only touched my breasts," she finished, the last words almost inaudible, spoken in hushed awe.

His blush joined her own, and she could see that he found it impossible to respond to her highly evocative statement. At the same time she thought she spied a flicker of amazed pride in his expression, there and gone so quickly she couldn't be sure of its presence at all. And though she was pleased beyond words that she might have given him cause to feel pride in such an unexpected and unbelievable way, she couldn't in the least claim to have done so with that purpose in mind. Her words had been the absolute, undeniable, and uncontainable truth. Even now she stared down at him in stunned disbelief, the impact of what had happened overwhelming her entirely. If he had this affect on her with so little effort, what would happen when they progressed further? The possibilities inherent in that thought made her shudder with a raw excitement that dismayed her intensely. She had never thought of herself as a very physical person, romantically, but where Vincent was concerned, her hormones seemed to be in a constant state of raging desire.

"Are you sure I didn't hurt you, Catherine?" he asked, apprehension still present in his eyes.

She shook her head, part of her amazed that he could ask that after her declaration, another part finding it entirely understandable, given his extreme anxiety in this area. Despite her wide-eyed, silent assurance to the contrary, he leaned away to visually inspect her breasts closely, gently brushing the swelling undersides with the back of his fingers to ensure that there were no scratches. Her blush intensified as that purely solicitous touch evoked a fresh flood of creamy heat between her thighs. She felt so wanton, so shameless in her need, eager for any and every touch he could possibly imagine, and many more she was sure he had never, ever considered. Her dismay increased at the fleeting images that thought inspired. She squeezed her thighs together tight, and tried desperately to clamp down on their bond, embarrassed by how out of control her physical response to him was becoming. What must he think of her?!

A moment later, when a rolling growl rumbled through his chest and against her, she stopped worrying, resigned to the fact that she could hide nothing from him, and trusting that he would protect her in her extreme state of vulnerability. And in that moment, feeling the maelstrom of their bond so clearly, she knew that he required the same of her. He burrowed his face back into the warm valley of her breasts and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her toward him as he turned to his side. He nuzzled against her delicate flesh, licking and kissing the hollow there with a strange mix of reverence and raging lust. One arm held her tight, while the other roamed, his hand stroking down her back in a frantic, random motion, finally reaching lower to cup her buttocks. His palm almost covered her completely, and at the feel of her tender flesh in his hand, both soft and firm, his caresses grew more feverish still.

The groaning sighs were stronger now, more of a growl and less of a moan, rumbling and rolling through his chest and up his throat, the sound vibrating against her chest until her very heart seemed to reverberate in response. When she didn't think she could take a minute more, her heart pounding almost painfully within her chest, he slid downward, pressing his face tight to her abdomen, just above her navel. His stroking hand, now granted extended reach, slipped lower, tracing along the taut muscles of her leg, over the top of the silk, until he reached the hem at mid-calf. She clearly felt his fingers tremble, but that didn't stop him from slipping beneath the gown and tracing his way back upward again, this time against her bare flesh. When he reached her buttocks again, he paused only a moment before beginning to explore and fondle them with an urgency that left her gasping.

His open mouth was panting for air against her stomach, and she felt his hot tongue tracing fervid, random patterns there. His sharp teeth pressed and grazed her flesh as he moved over her in mindless abandon, his shaking hand stroking and rubbing each cheek. Finally he cupped one, his thumb in the crease just beneath, at the start of her thigh, his fingers pressed tight to the moist cleft between, and squeezed her firmly, that touch eliciting a gasping cry from her own lips as she arched against him in response. His fingers stroked downward until they delved between her thighs and flicked close - so close - to her throbbing womanhood. Hot juices coated her inner thighs completely, and he moaned deliriously as his fingers stroked into that honey. When he drew his hand away abruptly, she cried out in protest, but stopped with a gasp, shocked, a moment later when he brought his hand to his mouth to lick the silky dew from each finger with a groaning sigh of delight. Only when it was all gone did he stop, sliding his hand around her hip to immediately find his way beneath the silk once more, and into that liquid delicacy coating her thighs. He stroked avidly, coming close but never quite touching her aching center.

This time when his hand returned, it was not to his waiting mouth, but rather to her breasts above. He messaged the slick wetness against the turgid tips of her breasts with a firm, kneading motion, his head tipped upward on her stomach so that he could watch that action through heavy- lidded eyes. Over and over again he dipped close to the source, returning each time to add a new layer to her tender flesh, until they gleamed and glistened with an exotic patina. Finally, with a strangled cry, he pulled himself upward along her torso and engulfed one breast in his hot, questing mouth. There was nothing delicate about this action, nothing civilized or refined. He feasted on her flesh in a primal, instinctive way, drawing in the scent, taste and texture of her as though he would devour her utterly. Her low sighs were gone now, replaced with eerie, hoarse, moaning wails as she clutched his head to her and thrashed beneath him.

She felt another climax hovering near, and fought against it, wanting to share it with him, but that was unnecessary, as her building arousal was cut short in an instant when he drew away from her breasts abruptly. His nostrils flared and his mouth dropped open to draw in gasping, gulping lungfuls of air, and she knew that he was, through his unique physiology, drawing in her scent more clearly that way. That scent, one of pure arousal, rose up to surround them, and she knew he was inflamed by it by the sudden gasping snort. His gaze was turned inward, all his senses focused on that earthy, loamy scent, and she gasped with a combination of pleasure and dismay, loving the sight of him like this, wanting him back.
When he moved next, it was to bury his face against her midriff with a groaning cry, his arms tightening around her almost painfully. A moment later he moved abruptly, sliding down to press his face against the vee between her thighs, his arms wrapped around her buttocks, his hands bracketing her hips to keep her there, where he wanted her. She cried out in stunned disbelief as his hands flexed over the thin silk of her gown behind as his mouth moved upon it in front, nuzzling through the silk and soft curls, desperate to reach the secret softness beneath. Suddenly he gave a snarling growl, and his hands slid up to catch the pooled edge of her gown at the waist, slipping below to strip it down her hips and legs with a frantic motion. As he tugged it away, he returned instantly to the soft curls at her center, now bare to the nuzzling caress of coarse-bristled cheeks and soft, thirsting lips. She pulled her knees up a bit, to help him slip the gown off her feet, and when his hands returned, one slid upward between her legs, cupping and stroking the delicate inner flesh until, without pause, he stroked firmly between the tight-pressed thighs and cupped her wet, creamy warmth directly. He cried out at the slick heat of her, his hand tightening for a moment upon her, before growing utterly still. A rumbling growl erupted from his throat to vibrate at her center and suddenly his hand began to move feverishly upon her, fingers stroking and delving through delicate flesh and honeyed dew, that liquid essence drizzling down over his fingers and hand as though it flowed from an endless source.

With a snarling gasp, his hand suddenly gripped the back of her thigh and pulled it upward. She cried out in shocked excitation, her feminine flesh open and exposed now. No interval of time existed for her to recognize more than that, though, before his gripping hand continued its motion, pushing her thigh up and out until she was pressed flat to the mattress. His hand held her open wide and with a groaning cry he buried himself against her hot, creamy core, kissing her passionately, lips to nether lips, tongue searching and caressing as he moaned deliriously into her hot depths. His tongue found the silky sheath at her center and plunged in, rasping along the quivering, convulsing muscles and flinging her headlong into an explosive orgasm. She screamed out, arching against him, and he stroked into her over and over again as she climaxed, urging it on for what felt like an eternity. One hand continued to grip the delicate inner flesh of her thigh, holding her open wide to his questing mouth, while the other pressed flat to her belly, low down, nails flexing in a primal, automatic response. She thrashed and cried out beneath his secure hold, until finally he released her and she fell back to the bed, her muscles completely depleted of energy. Her whole body trembled, and she was unable to do anything at all, as she lay there in the aftermath of that awesome power, his mouth still moving over her, this time in a more languid fashion, leaving hot kisses and nibbling bites on her still-convulsing flesh.

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