PART FOUR

"I don't think so, Vincent," Catherine said, to his surprise. "Oh, for a long time I used to wake up in a cold sweat wondering what my life would have been like if I hadn't left that party early, or if I hadn't gone at all, but - "

"Would you have married him, Catherine?" The words were out before he knew it. She blinked, surprised at the interruption.

"You mean Tom?" Catherine shook her head decisively. "Never. I liked Tom well enough but even then I knew I wasn't in love with him and never would be. He was a bit of a jerk but he was someone to do things with, someone to fill the emptiness. Which brings me to the point I was making."

She looked him in the eye. "Vincent, you told me once that we are something that has never been. That's true. But I think we are more than that. I think we are also something that was meant to be. More and more I feel certain that our meeting would have happened anyway, even if things had gone differently that night. I don't know when or where or how, but sooner or later we would have found each other."

She smiled a little. "I don't really like the word 'destiny' but I'm forced to use it for lack of a better one. Does that sound crazy to you?"

Vincent was stunned; he had never guessed that Catherine held that belief. "No," he admitted, taking a deep breath, "how could it? For I feel the same way, as if our destinies were inextricably twined."

"Do you?" She tilted her chin invitingly.

"Yes." Vincent had only a second before he took her proffered lips in which to wonder what had happened to the defenses he had spent such long years carefully perfecting. They were gone, vanished as thoroughly as if they had never existed. Instead, in their place was a calm certainty and a love and gratitude so great he felt it in every cell of his body.

He kissed Catherine tenderly, lingeringly, once . . . twice . . . three times, enjoying each new sensation to the fullest - the soft fullness of her lips, the way they clung to his when he pulled back, the intriguing sensation when their tongues brushed together. He ended the third kiss and looked at Catherine. A light flush was discernible on her cheeks; a smile trembled on her lips. Slowly she opened her eyes.

"Why did you stop?" she murmured. One hand stole around his neck and caressed the sensitive skin at the nape.

Vincent caught his breath in a soundless gasp; tiny shivers ran up and down his spine. "Catherine, I - I don't know...I have no experien - "

"Shhhh," she broke in softly. "Wait and see." She urged his head down into a kiss different from the ones they had just shared, more urgent. He felt the tentative probe of her tongue and instinctively parted his lips to admit entry. The moist, flickering touches on his lips and tongue were bewildering and fascinating and sent the blood racing through his veins and -

Suddenly Vincent found himself doing the same to Catherine. Their tongues met and retreated in sensual exploration of textures and tastes. When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily and the temperature in the cave seemed to have shot up considerably.

Catherine gave him another kiss, pushing gently on his shoulder, urging him to lie back. He did. Catherine knelt beside him, throwing aside the covers. For the first time in several minutes Vincent was once more aware of his semi-clad state, but before he could react Catherine ran her hand caressingly over his chest and down one arm.

"God, you're beautiful," she breathed. The admiration in her voice was reflected in her eyes, which ranged over his bare torso with obvious appreciation - no, with more than appreciation. Even Vincent couldn't mistake the desire that darkened their depths. Lightly her hands returned along the path they had just taken, fingertips gliding over his biceps and shoulder, moving across his collarbone, stroking his neck. As they started down his chest, Vincent closed his eyes in tense expectation. He remembered only too well the thrill he had experienced earlier when she had touched his nipple, and wondered if she planned to do it again . . . hoped, with guilty excitement, that she did. It had felt so good -

"Ahhh!" He couldn't have stopped the exclamation if his life depended on it. Instead of the fingertips he anticipated, it was the moist warmth of her tongue which unexpectedly brushed over his nipple. A wild rush of sensation swept through him, tightening the sensitive skin, shaking his entire body. His eyes flew open just in time to see her head bend to him again.

This time Catherine gently took the hardened bud into her mouth and sucked. Vincent groaned and closed his eyes again. Instinctively his hands sought her head, twining in her hair, holding her in place. Her mouth pulled at him, her tongue flitted maddeningly over the responsive tip, sending exotic chills in a spreading path down his body. And all the while her hands continued stroking his chest and arms. She shook her head a little and Vincent released his hold on it, only to have her turn her attentions to the other side, with equally devastating effect.

Heat fanned out from a central line that led directly to his groin. His erection grew with a speed that both astonished and confused Vincent. Never had he responded to Catherine with such intensity . . . of course, never before had their physical intimacy proceeded beyond a chaste embrace and a few equally chaste kisses. He brought his knee up in a reflexive attempt to hide his condition.

"Catherine - " he choked out her name, breathing heavily.

"Yes?" Now she was planting a trail of kisses across his chest and stomach. Vincent jerked to alarmed attention. If she continued on the same path, it would be only a matter of seconds before she discovered -

Too late. Thank God he still had his sleeping trousers on, inadequate though they were to restrain - or even hide - his errant flesh. "I'm sorry," he managed to tell her, writhing with a mixture of embarrassment and desire.

"Sorry? Why?" Catherine raised dreamy eyes to his. "For this?" And she deliberately cupped her hand over his erection. Vincent's breath failed him, along with the last vestige of rational thought. "Vincent, this is what is supposed to happen. In fact, I'd be quite disappointed, not to mention hurt, if you hadn't reacted like this." Then a strange, almost alarmed, look crossed her face.

"Vincent," she seemed to choose her words carefully, "Father did talk to you about the birds and the bees, didn't he?"

Vincent had to smile, however faintly, at the quaint phrase. "Don't worry, Catherine. I'm well aware of the . . . the technical side of the birds and bees. It's just that I never expected to . . . need the knowledge for myself." He added awkwardly, "It's all been a bit . . ." He searched for the right word.

"Overwhelming?" Catherine supplied with a sympathetic smile. He nodded silently, keenly aware that her hand had never moved from its position over his groin. Though perhaps that wasn't quite accurate, for in actuality she was making little pressing, rippling motions with her fingers that acted on his stiffening flesh with delicious results. Vincent closed his eyes momentarily and shuddered as a particularly precise shaft of heat pierced him.

When he could open his eyes once more he found Catherine watching him, and something in her expression captured his full attention. With her eyes steady on his she reached up and untied the bow holding the bodice of her gown together and pulled the silken cord out of the top set of holes . . . then the second set . .

Vincent swallowed. His eyes were riveted on the cord criss-crossing the front of her gown halfway down to her navel, and on the smooth skin slowly being revealed as the laces were removed and the edges of the gown drew apart . . .

. . . the third pair of holes . . . a shadowed cleft came into view, and a tantalizing hint of roundness on either side . . .

. . . four . . .

. . . the fifth, and last, set . . .

Catherine's hand dropped and she sat, looking at Vincent . . . waiting.

His heart in his throat, Vincent sat up. He reached a trembling hand toward Catherine, who smiled at him encouragingly. He touched her face and leaned closer. As they kissed, slowly, deeply, he stroked her neck with light, gentle caresses, enjoying her shiver of delight. Her skin was warm satin to his touch. He traced the line of her collarbone and with a sudden spasm of courage pushed the sleeves of her gown off her shoulders. He gave Catherine a moment to free her arms of the entangling cloth then finally allowed himself to look at her.

He saw smooth skin, lightly tanned all over. Her breasts were small and utterly beautiful, crowned with dusky tips. They swayed enticingly as she leaned toward him. His hands ached to know the hitherto forbidden softness, and before he knew it Vincent had brushed his fingertips across one velvety nipple. Galvanized by the incredible softness and by the sighing sound Catherine made in her throat, he did it again...and then once more, staring in fascination as the tender skin slowly drew tight in response to his touch. Utterly absorbed in what he was doing and seeing, Vincent failed to hear Catherine until she repeated his name in a louder voice.

"Vincent. Please, lie down." Yielding to her gentle push, Vincent lay back, Catherine following until she rested half atop him, bare breasts against furry chest. "Mmm, I've wanted to do this for so long." She moved sinuously against him, eyes half-closed in sensual delight.

"Do . . . what?" Vincent asked faintly. His head was spinning from the assault of emotions: the physical excitement generated by her action together with the visual stimulation of watching her do it and seeing her own enjoyment. Not to mention the double whammy of experiencing her emotions through their bond.

"Feel this against my bare skin," she answered, rubbing her cheek on the wavy hair. "I've dreamed of it, Vincent."

"You - knew I had fur?" Vincent was staggered.

Catherine opened one languid eye. "Well, it seemed a pretty safe bet, Vincent, given the way your hands look."

"I . . . see," he said faintly. This was perhaps the biggest shock of all. His family Below knew about his fur, of course, at least the ones he'd grown up with did - but Catherine . . . Not wishing to shock her, and afraid deep down that she might be repulsed by his appearance, he had tried his utmost to conceal it from her, always lacing his shirts clear up to the throat and making sure they had long sleeves, not to mention wearing additional layers of sweaters and vests to further disguise the thick coat of fur which covered his body pretty much from shoulder to toe, though it was thinner in some areas than others. To now learn that all those sweltering hours had been wasted effort . . .

A groan struggled with laughter for supremacy. The laugh won.

"What's so funny?" Thank goodness Catherine sounded amused, not miffed. Vincent shook his head, still chuckling. "It's nothing important; I'll tell you some other time."

"Why not now?" she wanted to know.

With one heave Vincent reversed their positions. "Because right now I have something more important to attend to."

"Oh?" An arch smile twitched the corners of her mouth.

"Much more important," he assured her. Resting his weight on his elbows, one on either side of her, he kissed her deeply, intensely. Her eager response refueled his passion, and by the time he felt her hands move from his back to caress his buttocks Vincent was in a sweet agony of desire. His erection, squeezed against the blanket-covered ground, throbbed painfully, and through their bond he caught an echo of discomfort from Catherine, though he could tell she was trying to suppress it. An idea came to him.

Rising to his knees he pulled Catherine to a sitting position, then stood up and helped her to rise. Ignoring her puzzled questions and trying not to stare at her naked breasts, he led her to the other side of the fire where her rumpled sleeping bag lay atop the foam cushion she had lugged there. "I think this will be more comfortable."

"Much more," Catherine agreed, and smiled at him. An awkward moment then ensued as Vincent realized the implications of what he'd said. He took a deep breath but before he could say anything Catherine pushed at the nightgown draped around her waist. The thin cotton slid down her legs to the ground. Vincent's mouth went dry as she stepped out of the encircling cloth and came closer.

Putting her hands at his waist, she fingered the waistband of his sweatpants and gave a slight tug to the fabric. The pants moved down about half an inch then stopped, restricted by the drawstring inside. Vincent tried to say her name but all that came out was a hoarse gulp. He put his hands over hers, stopping her motions.

"Oh, Vincent," she murmured, kissing his chest here and there - especially there - "Vincent, you are beautiful." She waited and slowly Vincent lowered his hands, freeing hers to continue. His heart thumped so loudly he wondered if she could hear it. He certainly could, even through the roar of blood in his ears.

Deftly Catherine untied the string. Slowly she drew open the waistband just enough to admit her hands, which she slid around to caress his buttocks. "Kiss me," she whispered, tilting her head back.

Vincent bent down to her waiting mouth; his arms went around her, thrilling to the feel of her nakedness in his arms. Without his willing it, his hands moved downward and cupped the firm, resilient mounds below her back. Catherine moaned softly and moved even closer. She pressed deliberately against his erection, at the same time lightly raking her nails over his buttocks.

Vincent threw back his head, gasping at the twin assaults. A moment later there came a cool breeze on his genitals and he felt his pants skim his legs on their downward flight. On the heels of that realization came the shock of Catherine's fingers gently stroking his scrotum.

His back arched and a low, guttural cry was torn from his throat. The next few minutes forever remained a jumbled recollection of struggling to extricate his feet from his pants, sinking to the mattress with Catherine, and feverish memories of mutual explorations which left them both covered in a fine film of sweat and gasping for breath. Out of the kaleidoscope of sensations and images, one moment was retained with perfect crystal clarity: the instant when he first entered her body - the look on Catherine's face as he began his slow penetration, the unimaginable feel of her hot, sleek depths encasing his length.

Vincent saw tears on Catherine's cheeks and didn't know whether they were hers or his. Not that it mattered. From the moment they joined physically, their bond entered a whole other dimension of communication. Vincent felt a new richness to his awareness of Catherine, and knew without asking that for the first time she was receiving his emotions as he always had hers. As their bodies moved together and they climbed the heights of passion, they achieved a unity neither had believed existed. In the instant before they reached the peak their souls touched and clung together in a blinding moment of completion. Then deep shudders convulsed them both, as they crested one rapturous wave after another.

The return back to reality was a slow one. At length Vincent raised his head and looked at Catherine. Tears still leaked from the corners of her eyes, but he knew beyond any doubt the emotion behind them. How could he not, when his own soul was vibrant yet with the same blend of awe and gratitude and wonder, and through it all a radiant, sparkling stream of utter and complete happiness?

"I am the dream and you my gates of entry,
The means by which I waken into light."*

"I love you, Catherine." Tenderly he kissed her, right in the middle of her whispered reply. They settled themselves more comfortably, closely entwined. Catherine rested her head on his shoulder in the place that now seemed designed specifically for that purpose.

He drew the covers snugly around her and felt her yawn. A wave of sleepiness swept over him; his eyelids drooped. Drowsily he wondered what the future held. Whatever lay in store for them, he knew their lives were now irrevocably joined. Phrases from a song came to mind; a song heard through an open apartment window on one of his late-night wanderings through the city. The words had stuck in his memory, finding a responsive chord deep within him:

Love, love changes everything
Live or perish in its flame
Love will never, never let you be the same.**

THE END

*A.D. Hope, "The Gateway"

** "Love Changes Everything", from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Aspects Of Love