They stayed there, buoyed by the water and their love, for several long minutes, then finally, with a deep sigh, as if emerging from a dream, he lifted her up into his arms and moved slowly toward the other side of the pool. He chose the fourth step-bench this time, and when he sat upon it, she was in his lap, her head upon his shoulder, the water lapping against the tops of her breasts. He sighed again and closed his eyes, turning to nuzzle a soft kiss upon the crown of her head.
She smiled and stroked a gentle hand across his shoulder, looking up at his relaxed features with satisfaction. Despite what she saw there, she was sure he needed some time to assimilate this latest development between them. After a few minutes, she slid from his lap to crouch upon the stone beside him, her hands lacing together behind his neck. His eyes blinked open hazily, their blue depths betraying both his love and his uncertainty.
"You're tired, Vincent. You should go to bed."
"Soon, Catherine," he whispered huskily, shyly.
Those words confirmed her assessment, and she nodded, accepting his 
need to be alone.
"Don't stay too long," she said, before leaning in to press a soft kiss upon his lips.
When she pulled back to meet his eyes once more, he nodded, speechless.
She left the pool, dried off and pulled on her robe, then knelt at the edge. He had watched her the whole time, unable to tear his eyes away, and their gazes locked instantly. She slid her hand down along his cheek until it cupped his chin, tilting him upward so their mouths could meet in another tender kiss.
"Good night," she murmured, nuzzling his lips with her own as she spoke.
His own 'good night' was whispered out a moment later, when he finally found his voice again, just as she left the chamber.
* * *
The tunnel community was separate from the world above, but nonetheless they considered themselves a part of it in certain ways. Because of their tie to their helpers, they kept the same calendar, relatively speaking, though the holidays celebrated were not always the same. Thus Saturdays and Sundays were considered days of rest, and the children were given a break from their studies. Because the work-load had been reduced as of the day before, Catherine had no assigned duties this Saturday morning, and so she didn't set the wind-up alarm clock at her bedside table. She woke slowly, about mid-morning, her relaxation so complete she was almost unaware of that waking. Finally her surroundings gelled into focus, and she sighed, a blissful happiness filling her. Last night had been amazing. She had wanted him so badly for so long, but now a part of her had to admit that this voyage of discovery by increments was the most erotic thing she had ever done in her life, and all because it was him, making that same journey with her. She shivered with delight as images of the night before swept through her, wondering what the next few days had in store for them. Unfortunately, as she was soon to discover, fate's plans differed from her own.
After washing at the basin on its stand in a corner of her chamber - a bath would not be necessary this morning, she thought happily to herself - she dressed and hurried toward the dining hall, certain she would find Vincent there. He was, along with Father and five other men, all grouped together at one long table, a set of maps laid out before them. Backpacks with bedrolls were lined up against the far wall and her heart fell. They were obviously leaving the hub, and by the looks of it for a few days, at the very least. She approached the table slowly, trying to hide her disappointment, but he obviously felt it, turning to her in an instant and leaving the bench to meet her half-way.
"Good morning, Catherine," he murmured, his eyes meeting hers shyly.
After a short pause, he enveloped her in a gentle, short-lived hug. It was the most he could allow himself, she knew, in this public place, yet that sign of affection was an amazing move forward for him.
"Good morning," she replied, her hands stroking lightly along his arms in an almost invisible caress as he stepped back. Though it was unlikely any others in the chamber would take note of it, he definitely felt it and her intention, a warmth filling their bond. Her gaze left his to scan the backpacks along the wall. "You're leaving?"
"Yes. We had a major tunnel collapse several levels down. It's a key support area, so we need to repair it immediately."
"You'll be staying there?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
He nodded. "It's a three-hour walk - too far to go back and forth each day, and the work itself may take as many as three or four days to complete." He glanced over to the table as the others there rose and Father began rolling up the maps. "I'm sorry, Catherine. I don't like to leave you alone here so soon after..." He didn't finish the sentence, instead starting a new one to reassure her. "The security is sound now, there should be no problems, and if there are, I'm not too far. I can be here again quickly if need be. Please don't worry."
"I'm not worried, Vincent. I promise not to close the bond while you're gone," she added, knowing he wanted to ask, but hesitant to do so.
He nodded with relief. "Thank you."
"The maps, Vincent." Father appeared beside them, and Vincent took the rolled papers from him silently, turning to secure them to his pack. He lifted it into place on his back, then returned to her side. "Catherine, we haven't discussed your plans. Could I ask that you stay below at least until I return?" he asked, a tentative note in his voice.
"Yes, I'll stay," she said, not adding that she hadn't planned on leaving. "I'll continue to teach the middle classes. Do you want me to cover your morning class?"
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes, of course. I'd enjoy it."
"Thank you, Catherine. Father gets nervous when the classes are interrupted for too long, and several of the children are preparing for the SAT tests next spring. It's an important time for them. Their lesson plans are in my chamber, in a folder on the bookshelf with the textbooks. You know the spot?"
She nodded.
He nodded in turn, then gazed about him, finding Father talking to Cullen as he secured his pack. He caught his eye and after their conversation was complete, Father made his way over to them.
"Father, Catherine will teach the oldest class as well as the middle one while I'm gone. Will you have Pascal send out an announcement to resume that schedule on Monday?"
"Of course, we'll do it right away. That's very good of you, Catherine," he said, taking her hand. "I'm glad we won't have to delay that any longer. After the men are on their way, come to my study, why don't you, and we can go over the lesson plan together, if you like. Do you know where it is?"
She nodded shyly, stunned by his instant acceptance of his offer. She had been certain that he would have questioned it and her continued stay here instead, and was speechless at the lack of any reference whatsoever to such a thing. "Yes, Vincent told me."
"Good, then I'll see you shortly." He turned to his son, resting a hand upon his shoulder. "Take care, Vincent."
"I will, Father." They exchanged a long look and Father nodded, as though intercepting a silent signal from him. Vincent sighed with relief, knowing that Father would keep a close watch over her. Despite what he'd told her, and despite his firm belief in the truth of those words, he was still irrationally worried about Paracelsus' future plans, though he was sure that at least for the time being his power was considerably weakened and would most likely take some time before he resurfaced to plague them again. Father turned away at the call of his name by another of the men, and then they were alone again. He glanced around at the still busy dining hall. The men were beginning to leave, but there were still many others there eating breakfast. Turning back to Catherine he asked, "Would you walk a ways with me?"
"Of course."
They left the chamber and followed the others down the main passageway which led out of the hub. They walked silently, side by side, for ten minutes, until a side tunnel opened to their left. He tugged her arm and they left the main path.
He cleared his throat nervously. "Catherine, about last night..."
"Hush," she said, pressing a finger to his lips. "We'll talk about it when you get back," she whispered.
Rising up on tiptoes, she replaced her finger with her lips, pressing a soft, innocent kiss there. While she settled back on her feet, she watched his face. His eyes were closed, as though to keep the sensation of that kiss alive for the time they would be apart. His eyes opened slowly, and instead of leaving her, as she fully expected him to do, he slid one arm around her waist and slowly pulled her to him once more. He increased the pressure until their bodies were pressed tight, then reached down to rest his hand upon the curve of her hips, perilously close to the fullness he'd never intentionally t
ouched before, she thought with amazement.
The pressure of his touch alone lifted her up on her toes once more. She gasped at the intimacy of his touch, her lips opening in amewling coo. He took advantage of that opportunity, taking her mouth in a deeper kiss, his tongue searching out hers for a long, heady embrace. When he took his mouth from hers, her eyes were hazy with passion, her whole body trembling. He held her against his solid length for a few minutes, until she grew steadier, then let her go with a sigh. They exchanged one last look, and then stepped together back onto the main passageway. The others were now out of sight. With a final whispered 'good-bye,' he turned to the left, and she to the right. They had moved perhaps twenty feet apart when each turned simultaneously, seeking out the other once more. Their eyes met across the distance, and their bond grew taut. He raised his hand to her, then turned away. She watched him go until a curve in the tunnel hid him from sight. She sighed and reluctantly turned back toward the hub. Three days, maybe four...
* * *
Without any candles lit within, the chamber was dark. It would have been just as dark had it been nine o'clock in the morning, though it was now barely past three AM. Despite that darkness, the small amount of light from the torch twenty yards down the side tunnel behind him was sufficient for his keen vision, and he could see her sleeping peacefully, cuddled up beneath the cozy quilts. He sighed, leaning against the curved entrance to the guestchamber, watching her sleep. He didn't make a sound, and yet something in their bond must have alerted her to his presence, for she stirred suddenly, and whispered his name, her eyes fluttering open slowly. He froze, and for a moment considered slipping away before she discovered him there, but found his feet glued to the floor, and gave in.
"I'm here, Catherine," he whispered as she leaned up on one elbow to stare unseeing into the darkness.
"You're back!" she cried softly, pleasure filling her voice.
"Yes, we finished the repairs early."
She peered in the direction of his voice, but he could tell by her searching gaze that she couldn't see him at all. She began to pull the covers back, murmuring, "I'll light a candle..." when he stopped her.
"Stay in bed, Catherine. I'll do it."
She eased back against the pillows while he moved into the chamber. A box of matches rested on the bedside table, next to a candle in a holder, and he lit the wick, then eased down on the mattress at her side, meeting her gaze, his own eyes chagrined. She didn't look uncomfortable at all.
"What time is it?"
"A little after three. I'm sorry I woke you - I just wanted to check on you before I went to bed."
They both continued to whisper, as though the cozy darkness they'd begun in had set the stage for the conversation to follow.
"Three in the morning? Then you must have left just before midnight. Why did you come back at this hour? Is everything all right?" she asked, worried by this unexpected turn of events.
"Everything's fine. The others aren't back, though, not yet," he said, looking away for a moment to hide his embarrassment. "We worked late into the night last night so that we could get home early today, rather than late. The others slept at the site - they should be ready to leave for the hub in another hour or two - but I decided to leave after the work was complete," he added bashfully.
It was clear he'd left early because he couldn't stand to wait any longer. He'd missed her as much as she'd missed him. That was no surprise, of course. She had already noted his damp hair; he'd just finished bathing - no doubt the first thing he'd done upon returning to the home tunnels. He wore his robe and sweats, and had obviously intended to go straight to bed after his bath.
"You worked all day and night, then walked for three hours? Vincent, you must be exhausted!" she said. Still, her pleasure outweighed her dismay, and she felt a blush warming her cheeks.
"I am tired, but it doesn't matter. I'm home now, and it should be a relaxing day today," he assured her.
She nodded, then slid over toward the wall, making a space for him. He stared down at it, confused.
"You're tired, Vincent, and your hair's wet - you'll catch cold. Lie down and cover up."
"I should go to bed, Catherine, we can talk in the morning," he replied, beginning to rise to his feet. She caught his hand as he did, stopping his ascent.
"Please stay," she whispered, her eyes as well as her voice imploring him.
He stared down at her, mesmerized by the shadowed planes of her face in the near-darkness. Lie with her in her bed?
"Catherine..." he began.
She interrupted, her hand tightening on his own. "Please, Vincent."
He continued to stare at her, bemused and dismayed, but the truth was he wanted nothing more than to stay. The last three days had seemed endless without her.
"All right," he murmured, capitulating, "But only for a while."
She nodded her agreement, released his hand and sighed, settling back on her pillow as she waited for him to join her. He leaned forward and blew out the candle, glad when the chamber was immersed in darkness once more. After a moment's hesitation he slipped his robe off and threw it across the back of a chair nearby. He kicked off his slippers then turned back to the bed, where she waited for him. Slipping onto the mattress, he hugged the edge of the bed, trying not to move too close, unnerved by the sudden influx of memories of a similar event a few short weeks ago, when they had lain on a mattress together, facing each other, moments before the unthinkable happened. She reached toward him and he flinched back, startled, the memories of that time strong upon him, but it was only to pull the covers over him, and after a moment he relaxed - as much as he could under those conditions - and slid in a little closer, until he didn't feel like he was ready to topple backward off of the mattress and onto the chamber floor.
"Did the work go smoothly?" she asked, her routine question calming him further.
"Yes, it went just as we planned. The repairs look sound - they should hold, though I'll go back in a few days to assess the result again. How did your classes go?"
"Fine, no problems at all. All the children here are so curious, so eager to learn. It's been a real pleasure. And the oldest children know so much by standards above. I think the ones getting ready for college will find they're well prepared. You've done such a wonderful job, Vincent." He shook his head, and though she couldn't see more than his shadowy outline, now that her eyes had adjusted a bit, she could hear a slight sound and knew that he was rejecting the credit she offered. "It's true, Vincent, you and Father and all the others here, you've made a tremendous difference."
He breathed an almost silent sigh, then whispered "Thank you," his shadow stirring restlessly across from her. "The children have all worked so hard..."
"I know. Everyone below does. They've missed you," she ended quietly.
He stirred again. "I've missed them. There's more than enough hard, physical work to be done by everyone here," he said, sighing again. "It's something I especially am needed for from time to time," he admitted quietly, reluctantly, "But teaching is my favorite responsibility."
"Of course, it would be," she responded quickly. "You were such a good student yourself, and your love of learning, your curiosity, have to be invaluable in imparting that knowledge to others. They couldn't have a better mentor or example, Vincent."
He shifted once more, then settled down again, and through their bond she felt a further relaxation.
"Have you always taught the middle and older children? When did you begin?" she asked, curiously.
"When I was eighteen. I assisted Father and the others early on, mainly with the middle children - the older children and I were too close in age for me to be very effective then, and the younger children have always done so well with Father's tutelage. He has more than enough other responsibilities without that, but I think he finds that chore to be too satisfying to give it up. It connects him to the young ones at an early age, cements a bond that seems to have a lasting impact on them all to one degree or another. You've been to many of the story hours, Catherine, you see how well-attended they are, not only by the children, but by their parents, some of whom were themselves taught by Father years ago. It's been very good for our community."
"That's easy to see," she said, in complete agreement. "What about you? Do you have a preference for teaching the middle children or the teenagers?"
He hesitated a moment before responding. "Once they've conquered the fundamental learning blocks - reading and mathematics - setting them on the right path to understanding and appreciating literature, history, the arts and sciences, it's so important to the middle children's later growth," he finally murmured. "It's quite a formidable task, and all the more satisfying when the results are seen." He paused again. "Discussing these topics with the older children, though, moving on to the next level, is especially stimulating for me. They are not the only ones who learn in the process," he finally admitted ruefully. "I suppose I've never lost the excitement of being a student myself, of absorbing new and fascinating ideas and concepts. Teaching them is a constant challenge, a real joy."
He saw her smile, and was glad she could not make out his own features clearly in the darkness. Despite their conversation, the bulk of his fascination at the moment resided in his observation of her beside him.
"It's the perfect combination," she agreed, nodding happily. "I only wish you could spend more of your time at something you're so particularly well suited for."
"I am particularly well suited for moving heavy stone as well, Catherine," he reminded her gently. "Living below has other challenges besides the cerebral."
"I know that," she said quietly. "It wouldn't be what it is without the effort required of everyone. You've made a world together, Vincent, one you can all be proud of."
She saw his shadowy form shift again, and wished for the hundredth time since he'd blown the candle out that she could see his features clearly. Despite the illogic of it, she couldn't stop from searching them out, unaware of how unguarded and adoring her own gaze was. He cleared his throat nervously, and she peered toward him, wondering what he was thinking. Finally, after a short silence, she spoke again, this time more hesitantly, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"Before you left, you started to say something about..."
She heard him catch his breath in an almost inaudible gasp.
"About the night before," she finished quickly, afraid that if she hesitated again she would lose her courage altogether.
He was silent, though his breathing came faster now. She felt the pulsing heat of it against her face, and knew he had turned away by its sudden absence and the shifting of his shadowy outline once more. She castigated herself for asking such a tactless thing when he was just beginning to relax. Even in the darkness she could tell, from his shadowed shape, now turned away from her, that he was stiff with discomfort and fear. She felt waves of distress emanate over their bond, and overcome by the need to comfort him, she ignored the voice that told her not to and instead slid over and molded herself along his back, slipping one arm around his waist and other up over their now-joint pillow to stroke the drying strands of his silky hair back from his temple and neck. He tensed against her, his knees pulled up tight to his chest, and she tightened her hold, sliding her own knees up along the back of his thighs until she was spooned against him. He was frightened and nervous, that much was clear, but he didn't attempt to move away. There was no place to go, really, unless he chose to leave her altogether, and she was somehow sure that he wouldn't do that. He had promised her as much that night in her apartment over a week ago, when he had come to ask her to return below with him.
"I'm sorry!" she whispered urgently. "I shouldn't have asked that, not now. It wasn't necessary, and we were both so comfortable, so relaxed. I've missed you so much while you were gone, and I don't want you to leave yet, not because of what I've said. Please forgive me? Just forget I asked..."
"Forget?"
The voice was his own, but deeper and huskier than usual, a strangled catch in its whispered throatiness that made her toes curl. "I can never forget, never want to forget that night..."
She froze, stunned by his unexpected response and uncertain of how to reply, dreading that the magical moment might be lost for good by one unthinking word. It seemed he didn't need to hear anything, though, in order to feel suffocated by his own response. She felt his muscles swell and strain against her, as though he would flee at any moment.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," he murmured, distraught.
She tightened her hold upon him, knowing that her strength would mean nothing if he really decided to go. "Please, Vincent, don't go!" she implored him, her own breath hot and pulsing now against the bare flesh at the back of his neck, just at the curve of his shoulder. "Please!" she reiterated once more. Though he hadn't really moved at all yet, she sensed a sudden hesitancy in the tension of his muscles, and suddenly she knew that he would stay, despite the trepidation she felt so clearly from him over their bond.
After a long, strained silence, he finally spoke again: "You see how... how hopeless I am in this, Catherine," he whispered. "Always I push you away, driven by my fears, only to draw you back once more, driven by... those other emotions." It was clear he couldn't make himself say the simple word hovering on the tip of his tongue, but they both heard it clearly nonetheless as it echoed softly through their bond; desire... "How can you stand it? Why do you put up with me?" he asked, desperation in his voice.
"Why?" The word was suffused with good-natured irony, amidst a low chuckle. "Because I'm hopeless, too, hopelessly in love with you. You have to understand that by now, Vincent, or you're not the astute man I know you to be." He was silent, trembling against her, and finally she went on, whispering against the curve of his ear from behind. She could feel the touch of that tender flesh against her lips as she spoke, and she could feel the effect it had on him as he shuddered with each word. "Do you think this is easy for me? It's not. You're not the only one driven. Standing in front of you in the bathing chamber, naked..." She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts and reviewing that memory, her hand tightening upon a fold of the soft knit cotton covering his trembling chest as she did. "I felt so vulnerable, so afraid..."
"Afraid?" he interrupted, astonishment in his voice. "You?"
She nodded, forgetting he couldn't see her, positioned as she was behind him now. He felt her response, though, and after another minute he spoke again.
"Afraid of me?" he asked, both fear and resignation in his voice.
"Afraid of what you would think of me," she clarified.
He started then, turning abruptly to face her once more, shocked out of his stillness. "I don't understand, Catherine."
"I didn't know what would happen. You might have rejected me again. I was so afraid of that. You might have found me... lacking somehow..."
"Lacking?" he repeated, stunned and totally confused by the thought of such a thing.
"You're so afraid of being seen, Vincent, that I think you don't recognize how difficult that is for everyone else, as well. The truth, whether you believe it or not, is that your physical appearance is stunning. Your size, your musculature, your strength..." The words trailed off to a whisper as she lost herself for a moment in the vision of him in her mind's eye. She shook herself out of that pleasant daydream and focused once more. "You question your origins, afraid others will find you less than a man, but believe me, that's impossible," she said wryly. "No woman could look at you naked and ever think that." A flash of heat echoed through her and she knew it came from him, from their bond. She shook her head, bemused. "But I do understand your fears, even if it's to a lesser degree than you experience it. It's normal for people to see what's different in themselves and imagine the worst. But different doesn't have to mean bad. It doesn't have to mean good, either. It just is. We're all stuck with the way we are to some extent, no matter how much we wish it were otherwise."
"And you, what do you wish were otherwise?" he asked. He stubbornly ignored her attempt to redirect her first words in a more general direction, away from herself and back to his own fears.
"Nothing, forget it, that's not important," she said, shaking her head, distracted. "What's important is what we do with what we have, what we are. You taught me that when you found me. You taught me that my life was what I made it, that I can make a difference."
"Yes, change what we can, and accept what we cannot. Father taught me that, taught us all that, when we were children. He taught us that some things, perhaps many things, are beyond our ability to control," he conceded. "He taught us to recognize those things, to find other ways to compensate for them when we could, to gracefully accept them when we couldn't. I had, perhaps, more difficulty in absorbing that lesson than did the others. Well," and here he actually smiled to himself, for a moment the weight lifting, "perhaps Devin had as difficult a time of it as I, all in all." He turned those thoughts aside and stared down at her once more, unwilling to let what she had said before drop. "Many times I've dreamt that I looked like a normal man, that I was a normal man. Each time I awoke from that dream unchanged. I know now that the way I am can't be changed, it just... is... just as you said. But if you could, if you could change something about yourself, physically, what would you do?" he pressed, still focused on her first words.
For the first time her gaze, half-blind in the darkness, didn't seek out his own. She had slid down to rest upon her forearm now, her features half-hidden from his scrutiny. "Well..." Her voice was so low it was barely audible. "Thin may be a good thing in the general consensus of our popular culture above, but most men there prefer their women to be a little better... endowed... than I am," she finished, a flash of heat sweeping up over her cheeks. He was silent, and after a long pause she turned away, her arms wrapped around herself protectively, embarrassed for having revealed such a juvenile concern. She felt his astonishment and confusion over this disclosure and her blush increased. Suddenly his hand closed over her upper arm, and she jumped. The last thing she expected was for him to initiate any physical contact between them under the unusual circumstances they now found themselves in. The pressure was definitely there, though, and growing stronger. A moment later she found herself lying on her back, his dark shadow hovering just overhead as he propped himself up on one elbow.
"Catherine, you know, don't you, that no matter how you looked, I would still feel the same about you?" he asked, his voice and the words completely serious.
She nodded, unable to find her tongue.
"That said," he continued, "you must also know how beautiful, how utterly perfect I think you are," he said, his voice as deadly serious as it had been a moment before.
She turned her face away, not wanting him to see the tears which suddenly gathered in her eyes. "Vincent, you don't have to..."
"It's true, you must know it is," he insisted.
His hand came to rest on her cheek, cupping the line of her jaw tenderly, two fingers buried in the hair at her temple, two more behind her ear, upon the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. He turned her face toward him so that he could see her features more clearly. His thumb stroked over the taut fullness of a cheekbone and continued on, over the trembling lashes and delicate skin of a fluttering eyelid. Sliding downward, it brushed lightly along the bridge of her nose until it reached her upper lip where he stopped to trace the smooth, feminine outline with fascination.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered, staring down at the shadowed paleness of her face. "I wouldn't have you change anything." His thumb was almost still now, pressed lightly to the center of her lips, as though he couldn't stop touching her. It finally slid away, only to be replaced by his own lips in a gentle kiss. "Not anything," he whispered, between fleeting, nuzzling touches of his lips to hers.
She gasped between each nipping caress, trembling each time he left her, sighing with each return, stunned by this sudden turnabout, and desperate not to do anything to end it too soon.
"You don't have to say that, Vincent, none of us is perfect."
"You are," he insisted, kissing her again and again. "Your eyes," and his lips miraculously moved to press lightly upon each closed lid. "Your nose, your chin, your lips." Each tempting piece was kissed in turn, though he stayed longest at her lips once he reached them again before moving on. "Your ears," he murmured, nuzzling his way across her cheek to kiss it as well, his hot breath making her shiver. He grew bolder there, tracing the intricate curves first with his lips and then his tongue, finally gently sucking the tender flesh of her lobe between his lips while she shuddered beneath him. When he finally stopped, he didn't move away, but instead continued to caress the surrounding flesh of her neck and throat, still whispering husky, almost inaudible words in her ear as he did. When he murmured, "Your breasts are beautiful, Catherine, perfect...," she gasped.
"What...?" she stammered, unable to believe she'd heard him correctly.
He made no immediate reply, instead pressing a longer kiss along the throbbing artery in her throat. She arched up and moaned softly, unable to control her body's instinctive response to his touch. While he kissed her there, his fingers traced down along the other side of her neck, then inward to the tender hollow at the base of her throat. He smoothed his thumb over it with a sigh, then allowed his fingers to drift down lower, trailing lightly over her trembling skin until he reached the neckline of her tunnel gown. The fabric was an amazingly soft weave of ivory cashmere, its seams and hems handstitched with tunnel threads, and she had frequently wondered which helper had donated such a luxurious bolt of fabric for use below. She was grateful to whoever it was, regardless. The front opened from neck to navel, secured with four ties of pale green ribbon, each spaced about four inches apart. His fingers stopped at the first tie, and after a momentary pause, she felt the bow tugged loose. She held her breath with disbelief as his fingers moved downward, undoing each of the other three in their turn. Was it possible that of all the good reasons she'd given him over time to do such a thing before, it was pity that drove him on now? The thought of that twisted painfully in her stomach.
"Vincent, you don't have to prove anything to me. I believe you. You don't have to do this..."
"Shhh..." he interrupted, still nuzzling her throat and ear. "Let me, please..."
She groaned again. Let him? He made it sound as though she were doing him a favor, when all along she had craved this exact touch from him, had wished for it and dreamed of it with such an intensity she was sometimes sure her will alone might bring it to fruition. That craving had only increased since their imprisonment in Paracelsus' cage, when she had finally gotten a taste of that forbidden fruit. She didn't think she could stand waiting a moment more to savor that sensation again, and all concerns over his motivation left her. She didn't care why he had finally decided to move forward, only that he had. The only real thought running through her mind right now was a fervent prayer that whatever he did next, it would not be to stop. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry, and nodded, murmuring a husky, quivering, sibilant "yessssss..."