Chapter 7

Father sat at his desk waiting for Mary to bring tea. It was their afternoon ritual, a time when they most enjoyed talking about all the tunnel affairs. They were both worried about Catherine. She’d become so thin. She seemed happy enough but something was eating away at her. She was scared. He had to admit, four months was longer than he thought Vincent would be gone and Vincent hadn’t been in touch in six weeks although Catherine assured everyone that he was still alive. What she was most afraid of, he guessed, was that Vincent would find more pleasure in the wild life he’d had down there and never return. Father had to admit the thought had crossed his mind as well. Vincent was ever chafing against the rules of good human decorum. Looking back he wondered whether all those rules were really necessary. Why couldn’t he have just let the boy be himself and drink water with his tongue if he wanted? Catherine seemed to have no problem with the quirks of Vincent’s personality. She didn’t care that he chased mice. Why was it so important back then that Vincent act normal? Normal for who? Father sighed, "I must be getting old," he muttered.

"You know, the first sign of that is talking to yourself." The deep resonant voice startled him out of his reverie and he almost forgot his bad hip in his rush to get to his son.

"Vincent, Vincent, it so good to have you back."

"You’re getting around well."

"Ah, it’s sleeping next to a good warm woman that does the trick. You should try it."

"You never give up, do you? Where is Catherine? She’s usually here in the afternoons isn’t she?"

"Ah, well yes, but . . ."

"Vincent!" Mary came running in to greet him.

"Hello Mary, I see you’ve been taking good care of him."

"Oh stuff and nonsense. You look good Vincent." She eyed him up and down critically. "Different, but good."

"Your hair has grown," Father put in, "I’ll trim it for you if you like."

"No, I like it."

Father was about to protest about the wild look it gave him and then he realized that that was probably part of the reason Vincent liked it—it made him feel free.

"Well Catherine will, no doubt, love it."

"Where is Catherine?"

"She’s not here, at the moment, Vincent."

"Oh? Well, where is she."

Father and Mary looked at each other.

"What?" Vincent asked, his concern rising.

"Nothing, we were just wondering why you don’t know."

"I have been cutting off the bond, not with anything but effort. I don’t want to invade her privacy."

Father laughed, "Has she ever considered it an invasion?"

"I believe she did several weeks ago."

"That wasn’t the same thing."

"Actually it was. But Catherine and I will have to talk about that, so if you would please just tell me where she is?"

"She’s in Connecticut, visiting friends."

"Oh. How long will she be gone?"

"Just till tomorrow. She’s expecting to teach your classes tomorrow afternoon."

"That’s what she’s been doing here? What about her job?"

"She changed jobs. She’s working part-time at the DA’s office now."

"So what was she planning on doing when I returned?"

"Well, I’m sure I don’t know Vincent. I believe she had all but given up hope of that happening."

Vincent was startled by that revelation and Father instantly regretted saying it. "Did she really believe I wasn’t coming back?"

"I’m not sure, Vincent. I believe she was starting to think it might be a possibility." Father sighed and looked at his worried son, "She was worried when you stopped checking in on her."

"I stopped checking in on her because the bond was becoming too much for me to control in that way. I had to either cut it off or allow it to flow. The flow was . . . may be detrimental to Catherine. I was afraid of hurting her further."

"Your absence hurt her, but she will recover. You are back to stay, aren’t you?"

"Yes, I am."

"Well good. I know some children who will be very excited to see you tonight."

Vincent went with Mary and Father to dinner where everyone was excited to see him. Many of them asked him how he’d been and mentioned how well he looked. The teenage girls especially noticed something different about Vincent. They tittered and whispered in the corner while glancing surreptitiously toward Father’s table. After dinner most of the tunnel residents left to rest up for the next week’s activities. Father, Mary and Vincent sat talking for a while longer.

William came over to Vincent after the dishes were done and patted him on the back, "You ate well down there. It’s good to have you back."

"Thank you William. It’s good to be back."

"Have you seen Catherine yet?"

"No, she’s in Connecticut."

"Oh, yeah, that’s why Friday classes were cancelled. Well, you’re not gonna like what you see. I tried my best, but now that you’re back, you’ll get her back to eating well, right?"

Vincent turned to Father, "What does he mean?"

"Oh, well, Catherine . . . hasn’t been . . . she’s been . . . well, she missed you Vincent. She missed you terribly, and she started thinking you’d rather be there than here, and she was afraid you’d stay there and never come back."

"Is she sick," Vincent started to stand up towering over his Father. "Did you not take care of her?"

"I took care of her as best I could. It wasn’t me she needed, Vincent!" Father sighed, "Sit down, son. She’s not sick. She just hasn’t been eating as well as I’d like. She’s been preoccupied, depressed. She’ll be fine," then with a warning finger wagging, Father added, "as long as you don’t upset her."

***

Catherine came home to two notes on the floor. She recognized the tunnel stationery and wondered why Father had sent her two. Putting down her bags she picked them up and opened one. The contents made her gasp.

 

Dear Catherine,

Vincent is home. Come as soon as you’d like.

Father

 

 

Without looking she knew who the second one was from. She took a deep breath and opened it.

 

Dearest Catherine,

I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long and have not communicated with you. You told me before I left that I must find an answer to a particular question before we could talk again. I believe I have found that answer. Please come Below for dinner tomorrow so we can talk.

Love Always,

Vincent

 

Dinner tomorrow? She had planned to teach class tomorrow. Was he sending her a not-so-subtle hint that she was now out of a job? Well she wouldn’t have it. She’d gone long enough without seeing him. She was going Below now! She didn’t care what his timing was on the issue. Father had asked her to come as soon as she’d like and that’s now.

As she descended the ladder from the sub-basement she fully expected his arms to reach out and grab her. When they didn’t she was only mildly disappointed. The pipes would announce her arrival when she passed Kanin who was on duty Sunday nights and then he’d come, maybe.

The pipes did announce her arrival and Vincent looked up from his book, startled. He did not expect her to be so eager to see him. Somehow he felt she should be angry with him. Maybe she was. He went to his room to get his cloak but she was already strolling into the library by the time he found it. She greeted Father pleasantly and Mary. "Well, where is he?"

"My lady's presence makes the roses red, because to see her lips they blush for shame. The lily's leaves, for envy, pale became, and her white hands in them this envy bred." His voice shook her as it always did and she looked up at the stairs between the chambers.

He stood there looking relaxed, leaning against the doorframe. She gasped, he was different, very different. The first thing she noticed was he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt with nothing else over it—no vest, no second shirt, no cloak. His arms were beautiful and he let her stare at him, knowing it was the right decision to dress as he had. She also noticed that his hair had grown. Vincent was forever trimming his hair, mostly because it tangled easily if it got too long. But this didn’t look tangled. It looked wild and so did his eyes. He had a renewed confidence in his look, his manner, even in the way he greeted her. "That poem, who was that by?"

"Henry Constable," she shot back. He nodded his head with a smile.

"Come here and let me look at you closer."

As Vincent walked toward her, Father and Mary silently decided to give the couple some privacy and left the chamber without ever being missed.

Walking down the stairs, Vincent stopped three feet in front of her. He was standing up straighter, not hunched over like he usually had been. His entire demeanor had changed—more confident, more deliberate, more self-assured. He was sexy this way. "Oh God!" She thought, "What if he’s changed so much that he’s decided he doesn’t want me anymore?"

He tipped his head looking at her. She looked at his face and realized he was studying her, trying to determine what she was feeling. She sighed. He hadn’t changed that much. "Why don’t you just open the bond and let that tell you what you want to know?"

"Last time I did that," he replied quietly, "I believe I hurt you. Why don’t you just tell me what you’re thinking?"

"I’m thinking you’ve changed. I’m thinking that maybe you’ve changed so much you won’t want me anymore." Catherine looked down at her toes, not particularly interested in seeing his reaction to her implied question.

He looked at her. She looked so vulnerable. How had she let herself become so defenseless? He felt like he had all the power now. But was that even true? She may have given up her powerful position by baring her soul to him, but, by that admission, she showed her true power, her courage, and her love. They fall, and falling, they’re given wings. He must now make that leap she had already made.

"Catherine," he called, gently commanding her to look at him, "that can never happen. You are my chosen mate. I cannot stop wanting you. We are bound together."

She looked at him but his words did not sink in. They were only words. "I don’t feel that bond."

He looked back into her eyes, knowing what she was asking him to do. His eyes filled with tears as he whispered, "I don’t want to hurt you. I have never allowed you to feel the full power of this connection that we share."

"Let me decide for myself. I won’t keep the truth from you."

He drew closer to her and Catherine braced herself for an onslaught of Vincent, adrenaline and all. But that’s not what she got. He looked deep into her eyes as he released the bond he’d been keeping tight hold on for more than four months. He watched her reaction carefully as she was filled with his deepest emotions regarding her, himself, his family, and his existence. Then she felt her own emotions being mirrored back to her in wave upon wave, back and forth, until there was no way of telling where he ended and she began. She could hear his heartbeat as it slowly measured time with her own and she finally understood the depth of his feelings for her, the intensity of his need, his anxiety over his differences, and his vast aloneness which was now coming to an end as he was finally sharing his whole heart, his entire soul with her. She trembled under the weight of their combined emotions and her knees buckled.

"Oh, Vincent," she cried softly as he gently held her against him, preventing her fall.

He thought he should pull away, give her a rest from what she must surely feel is a burden, but she knew his thoughts before he had fully formed them into an attempt.

"No, don’t. Stay."

"I’m not going anywhere, Catherine."

What she felt, she could never have put into words. It was a burden, but it was a burden she wanted to carry. She had wanted it for so long. Her breathing quickened as she felt the full weight of the bond released to her and she felt a terrible need to be held tighter. Vincent complied with her unspoken wish and she moaned as she felt the sensation of his heartbeat hammering against her chest. The blood rushing through her ears was deafening, threatening to push her into unconsciousness, but she fought it and she knew, she knew without a doubt, for the first time, what he had been fighting all his life. A wild hunger was threatening to overtake her. She needed to claw him, bite him, anything that would bring him closer to her. She needed to be under his skin, inside him, covering him.

Vincent was surprised when he heard her begin to growl, softly at first, but as it grew louder, he wasn’t sure what to do. He began to pull away and she reacted quickly clawing at him to bring him back. Grabbing handfuls of his hair, Catherine screeched and pulled him toward her with all her strength.

"Catherine!"

"You said you wouldn’t leave," she growled.

"I won’t. But we cannot stay here, in the library." Vincent was hoping she understood although she seemed so out of control. "This is what I have done to her," he thought, "This can’t be what she expected." He concentrated on the bond, not closing it, but shifting it to a calmer state. It seemed to be working and as she released him, he breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Of course, you’re right, Vincent."

Vincent looked at the ground unable to meet her eyes for fear of the new storm he might cause. Quietly, he answered her, "It might be best if we had Father in here with us. We might find it easier to focus on conversation. We should talk, Catherine."

"No!"

The answer was so sharp it made Vincent’s head snap up to look at her. "N…no?"

"No. No more useless talk. You went away for four months. You said you had an answer to my question. Do you believe I love you?"

Vincent looked at her. She had lost weight. She’d been unhappy. He could see it and, what’s more, he could now feel it. "Yes, I do believe you."

"Do you or do you not want me?"

"You know I do."

"Then here I am. I have felt your need, Vincent. I’m here to fulfill it. I’m the only one who can." She held up her hand as he began to say something she could easily anticipate. "Don’t tell me you’re afraid that this bond will overwhelm me. I could just as easily overwhelm you. Yes, Vincent. I’ve now experienced the darkness you fight with, but unlike you, I know the cure. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of talking. I’m tired of pussyfooting around with you. What’s wrong with you is nothing that a little biting on me won’t fix. So get over here and get started."

Vincent gasped at her last words but wasn’t entirely sure she was serious. He could feel a slight humor in her mood and he hesitated, looking at her. He had the definite feeling the bond he’d just released had had more than the growling effect on her behavior. But he didn’t doubt her judgment. She looked back and raised her eyebrows indicating that he was expected to make the next move, so he did. In two large steps he was wrapping his great arms around her again and crushing her to his chest.

"I love you Catherine," he whispered as he moved her hair to bare her neck. Gently he growled as he lowered his teeth to the soft white area where her blood pulsed so close to the surface. Opening his mouth he grabbed her neck with those fangs, pressing down until he heard her moan in pleasure. His growl grew louder as he held her with his teeth just tight enough to leave marks but not break the skin. He growled until her entire body trembled with the sound. Feeling it to her very core, she cried out in ecstasy while holding him tighter and tighter. Her pleasure reverberated in waves between them back and forth as if they had both experienced the same intense sensations over and over until finally, slowly, they feelings ebbed away, leaving them both weak and in awe.

Vincent and Catherine sank to their knees, still holding each other and panting. After some time Catherine managed to speak.

"We’ve got to try that again," she panted and smiled at Vincent playfully.

"If you don’t mind," Vincent panted back, "there are a few other things I’d like to try first. Shall I tell you about them?"

Catherine rested her forehead on Vincent’s. Smiling, she wondered if her breathing would have a chance to get back to normal any time that night. "How about if you just show me?"

Chapter 8

Vincent lowered his mouth to Catherine’s and she prepared herself for the first real passionate kiss she would get from him. But that’s not what happened. He growled again as he held her against the length of him from knees to shoulders. His open mouth brushed against hers and she felt his growl in her throat. It was a curious sensation, like she herself was growling. She responded with a purr that surprised her. His sandpaper tongue flicked out to touch her lower lip, tasting momentarily, and then it came back for a more thorough taste of her upper lip. All the while Vincent kept up a low growl that reverberated through Catherine warming her and making her slightly dizzy. His hands began exploring her back in long strokes until they disturbed her shirt to the point of finding the bare skin they sought underneath. Vincent’s confidence was overwhelming Catherine. There was no hesitation, no permission sought, no apologies. Not that she cared to have him hesitate. She was just amazed at the change, but very quickly all rational thought flew from her mind as what he did next left her gasping.

He pulled her tighter to him and kneaded her lower back so that she would move her belly into his erection, confident that she would accept his advances. When she reached around him tighter and rubbed herself against him he crushed her to his hard flesh, threw his head back, and roared triumphantly. As quickly as the roar died away, he grabbed her shoulders, swung her around while still on her knees and laid her on her belly, hovering over her back. He looked her up and down as if inspecting his prey, moving with catlike grace over her. His growl turned into something that sounded like a snarl as he opened his mouth over her ear. There was hunger in that sound and she could feel it in every part of her. She remained perfectly still while she waited to see what he would do next. He was moving slowly over the length of her entire body and just as she was about to ask what he was doing, it struck her that her was taking in her scent. His open mouth was reminiscent of a cat capturing every nuance of scent. He was breathing her in and she relaxed and waited until he was finished.

As if waking from a dream filled with Catherine’s sweet scent, Vincent finally remembered the softness he had felt under the t-shirt that now lay before him. Only inches from his face was a small span of bare skin between the top of her jeans and the bottom of that shirt. He lifted the shirt and slowly moved it up to reveal more of the spine that, for some reason, fascinated him. It was so soft and shapely on the sides, inviting a two-handed caress. Yet down the middle was an even more fascinating stretch of something he had to put his teeth on. As his four fangs bit into the middle of her back, just where she would have wanted him to, had she known there was such a spot made for biting, Catherine reacted by crying out loudly, "Oh, God!"

Her scream continued and grew louder as Vincent growled ever so quietly into one specific place on her back.

"Vincent! My God, Vincent!" Father’s interruption could hardly have been unanticipated given that they were still in the library, but Vincent gave a small roar of frustration before sitting on the floor next to Catherine looking unconcerned at the patriarch of the tunnels followed closely by Mary.

"Yes, Father?"

Catherine was far from calmed down and was at a point so close to the edge of something she couldn’t even describe that she was unable to look at Father. She sat up, shaking violently and put her hands over her mouth so that she could muffle the "Oh, God’s" still coming out.

Looking confused, Father went over to Catherine and lifted her shirt to quickly examine the place where he had just seen Vincent’s teeth. When he saw no broken skin, he just as quickly dropped the shirt asking, "Are you all right, Catherine?"

Catherine, who, by now, was silent but still shaking, simply nodded her head.

"Well," Father said with a cough, "Perhaps you could take this to your own chambers. There are children here, after all."

"Yes, Father," Vincent said with not a bit of remorse.

Father noticed the pride on Vincent’s face and had to smile at his son. Well, it’s about time. Vincent helped Catherine from the floor and they both hastily retreated toward his chamber with Father and Mary holding back their amusement. When they had left, Mary looked at Father silently. Her eyes moved back and forth between the exit the young couple had just taken and her husband.

Father looked at her quizzically. "What is it Mary?"

"Now, where exactly," Mary whispered with her finger in the air, "was he biting her?"

Father, smiled as he gently guided her arm toward their own chamber and said, "I think I can find the spot."

Back in Vincent’s chamber, Catherine was still trembling. Neither of them was much in the mood for talking but Vincent felt the need to know what Catherine thought about these things he was doing. The bond was overwhelming him with sensation that told him she was feeling pleasure, but what was she thinking?

"Catherine," he hesitated, not sure how to proceed, "I’m having trouble discerning what you think about me."

"What are you talking about? I love you."

"Uh. That’s not what I mean." Vincent wasn’t sure how to ask what he wanted to know. Catherine had no idea what he was getting at and was having a great deal of trouble concentrating on anything except the feel of his teeth marks on her spine.

Vincent took a deep breath. "In the books I’ve read . . . about . . . love, about sex, none of them mention the things I want to do to you. I … assume that what I want is out of the ordinary—not normal for normal humans. I need to know how you feel about doing things like this with me."

Catherine looked at him in shock. She knew his library on the subject was far from extensive. It barely covered the basics. He was concerned. But, interestingly, not about hurting her anymore, not about the fact (and he thought it was a fact) that his desires were abnormal, not about his origins or his darker side. He was simply concerned that she be able to accept what they would do despite it all. He was ready and willing to do whatever she would be comfortable with. She looked him up and down. "This could be interesting," she thought.

"Vincent," she sighed, remembering again the way he took in her scent, "that spot on my back—it didn’t show up when I met you. Any man could have found it. But they didn’t. You found it because you were paying attention. There’s nothing you’ve done that is out of the realm of normal human experience, enh!" she quickly raised her hand as he tried to object, "including the growling, as I believe I’ve proved to you. You may do it better. God, you do it so much better," she dropped her head and sighed at the enormity of that statement, "but you’re not abnormal."

He looked down at his hands, thinking about all the times she tried to convince him how human he was. Maybe she was right. She could growl too. He smiled a small smile at the thought and raised his eyes to her. As his eyes darkened with lust, his voice deepened and in almost a threatening whisper he replied, "You haven’t experienced everything I want to do to you."

Catherine licked her lips and smiled back. With a growl building in her throat, she moved over on the bed in a silent invitation. But he would not have it. He lunged at her and pulled her off the bed and under him on the floor in one swift motion. Pulling her legs apart he laid down between them and allowed her to feel his erection grow again as he looked deeply into her eyes. Reaching up to her hair he softly combed through it with his claws, raking down her face, neck, and shoulders until she shuddered and moaned from the sensations.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to be carried away by the feelings he was evoking. She felt his breath on her neck, on her collarbone, then between her breasts. He was looking down at her breasts! She smiled while her eyes were still closed. Slowly, she began to feel a light, almost imperceptible touch, as if he was running one claw up and down from her cleavage to her neck. But this was colder than a claw, slightly heavier, and somehow, she knew it was not as sharp. He was deep in concentration on the task at hand, and she opened her eyes to see what he was doing. There, in his hand, was her crystal pendant, hanging from his hand as he slowly swept it across her neck and upper chest.

"Yours, I believe," he smiled, as he now offered it back to her.

She took it from him. "Does this mean you’re planning on keeping me around?"

In answer, he replaced the movement of the crystal with a slow and sensual movement of his tongue, dipping low between her breasts and moving all the way up under her ear in one raspy stroke. He was slowly waking up parts of her she had never noticed before in love making. Her fantasies involved her spine, the top of her head, her eyebrows, but no one had ever bothered trying to figure out what to do with these parts and she’d never asked. Suddenly her eyes flew open. He was licking his way down from the tip of her nose to the middle of her upper lip and back again. It was not one of her favorite moves, but he seemed to be enjoying it. It did, however, give her his scent very clearly and she got the impression he was marking her so that she would remember him. How could she forget this? But there was more to it than that, and she suddenly realized what he wanted. Reaching up she grabbed his hair and copied his moves with her own tongue. He tasted so good and he moaned as her tongue slipped into the unique cleft of his upper lip and then out again as it made its way up toward his nose. Back and forth she went until, on the third down stroke, her tongue was again inside his cleft. Swiftly he grabbed her face on both sides, growling a command. It was unmistakable. He wanted her tongue to stay where it was.

He pressed his soft lips to hers, deepening the pressure into what became their first real kiss—an unbelievably heady experience. His lips molded perfectly to hers in a soft, moist kiss that left her sinking into a sea of soft swirling clouds. She felt as if she were floating, being lifted up from the cold floor into a warm, soft pillow. Then she realized she was being lifted. Vincent was lifting her and removing her shirt, but she hated to separate from that kiss even to do this. Finally, the kiss ended and Vincent quickly slipped the t-shirt over Catherine’s head revealing a lacy bra which he made short work of. "So much for that bra," she thought. Next time she’d just go braless to save her lingerie the damage.

She sat up with her legs folded under her in imitation of Vincent and reached over to remove his shirt, looking at him for permission. He smiled. "It’s your fantasy," he said as he looked at her steadily. She blushed as she remembered what she had told him. There was no embarrassment in his expression. He was confident that she would accept him. "Judging from the arms," she thought, "I am going to do more than just accept."

She was right. Vincent was very well formed. His muscular chest and stomach could have been in any muscle magazine ad, and the skin underneath was naturally bronzed despite his lack of sun. She caressed his chest, raking her fingernails through his thick fur. He reached over and copied her movements, placing his hand on the middle of her chest. She moved her hand down and so did he. She smiled a mischievous smile and looked up at him. Moving her hand slowly upward, she placed her hand over his right pectoral and then squeezed. He placed his hand on her right breast and gently squeezed, keeping an eye on her reaction, not so much out of fear as out of a need to see what she would do next.

Catherine thought for a moment and then brought her finger to her mouth, wet it, then quickly found the small pap with her wet finger and traced a wet outline around it. Looking up at Vincent, she raised her eyebrows to see what he would do. Vincent looked longingly at her breasts and then slowly moved toward her. Lowering his head to her right breast, he traced an outline of her nipple with his rough tongue then opened his mouth wide to take in as much of her as he could. He sucked deeply building a pressure in her core that she could hardly stand and she began rubbing shamelessly against his thigh to relieve some of it. Moving to the other breast he repeated the action and Catherine finally felt as if she would explode from the desire building in her. "Oh, God, Vincent!"

Vincent knew exactly where he wanted to go from here, but he hesitated, not sure whether Catherine really would be willing to go with him there. Yet she had assured him that nothing he had thought of was abnormal. Would she continue to feel that way?

"Catherine?"

"Vincent, don’t stop."

"I need you to do something for me."

"Okay. What?"

"I need you to be able to tell me if I do anything . . . distasteful to you. I need you to be able to tell me to stop."

"Okay, I will." She wasn’t really listening and he knew it.

"No, Catherine!" His commanding voice made her snap to attention and stopped her reaching out toward him in midair. "I need you to be able to get through to me. I . . . don’t want to continue holding back as I have been. I need to know that you can bring me back. We need to find a way for you to do that."

Catherine realized this would go no further until she complied with his request. Although they both knew it wasn’t a matter of him injuring her physically, Vincent was not totally convinced that what he was feeling was normal. He wanted to try it, but he wanted her to be able to stop him. She knew from her work in the DA’s office that many of the sex workers had clients with a "safety" word. That could work.

"Charles Chandler"

"What?" Vincent looked confused.

"If I say my father’s name, it means stop."

Vincent sighed in relief and smiled. Her father’s name, above anything else would certainly work to snap him out of whatever mood he was in. Catherine knew she would never use it, nor would she even think of it while in passionate moments with Vincent. It was, therefore, the perfect word.

As he realized their last obstacle was overcome, his eyes darkened and focused on her bare breasts again. Her nipples hardened in response to his scrutiny and her breathing quickened as he approached. She waited for another caress upon her flesh, but that’s not what happened. As swift as a cat, Vincent grabbed her around the waist and lifted her like a rag doll across his lap, belly down. She thought he might spank her at first and fought the urge to laugh. Bending down to reach for her shoes he quickly removed them and then reached around her waist to open her jeans. As he did so, she had a momentary flash of a memory that took her breath away. "Oh my God!" she gasped as he pulled her jeans off, underwear and all.

She lay across his lap, completely naked now, wondering what he would do next. Again he began an inspection of her while taking in her scent. She felt like a small, naughty child across his lap and it was incredibly erotic. She stayed still and allowed the feelings to wash over her as a tingling sensation began to radiate outward from between her legs toward her buttocks.

Vincent slowly began to scrape his claws over her body from shoulder to heel and back, examining every inch of her as he went. She moaned and kept her hands on the floor above her head to steady herself. She had never felt so vulnerable, or so turned on. He lifted her off his lap and onto the floor where she instinctively knew he wanted her to stay (or did she want to stay there herself?) She could hear him removing the rest of his clothing. She wanted to look but feared embarrassing him, and then she remembered his reaction when she took off his shirt. He growled to get her attention and she realized he wanted her to look at him. He was back kneeling on the floor within easy reach of her and she reached out to touch his erection so large and hard in her hand. With his hands on his thighs, he threw his head back and moaned as she caressed him, but he would not allow it for long. She was lying on her side, her head propped on one elbow and in response to his darkened gaze, she turned back on her stomach. He caressed both sides of her, gently scraping his claws along her ribs, up the sides of her breasts and then down again along her hips and thighs. Finally he lifted her by the hips and placed her on his lap facing away from him. She fell forward with a gasp and couldn’t resist looking down between her legs at their bodies coming together. As their bodies made contact, she felt an intense stinging sensation and a growing need to envelope him. Groaning loudly she tried to push herself onto his shaft, but his hands held her hips securely. He knew their size difference was going to make this difficult. Despite her eagerness, it wasn’t easy for him to enter her. She consciously relaxed and spread her legs wide. Slowly he slid her onto his erection; she was so warm and wet, but it still took several minutes for him to completely penetrate her and when he did, they were both exhausted. Catherine leaned back, feeling profound satisfaction that he was inside of her at last. She rested for a moment while Vincent reached his arms around her and cupped her breasts lovingly. He’d never felt so loved, so accepted, so complete. And yet, there was much more to come. The urge to move inside of her was suddenly so strong he could no longer put it off. Slowly he began to rock her on top of him, moving her up and down to create the friction they were both dying for. She leaned forward again with her hands on the floor, bracing herself for a more active role. Vincent leaned over her and found the place on her spine he had bitten earlier and he again held her with his teeth. He began growling through her as she began thrusting furiously against him and moaning louder and louder. The trembling she’d experienced before was nothing compared to what she was now experiencing and she cried out in ecstasy as wave upon wave of throbbing, blinding, intoxicating euphoria hit her. For what seemed an eternity she felt as if all the answers to all the questions she’d ever had were within her grasp. Vincent was there, feeling it with her, experience the same heart-stopping emotions and she was grateful beyond belief. When the waves subsided, they were both completely spent. Catherine was sobbing and crying Vincent’s name. Vincent was completely still.

After several minutes, Catherine had calmed and started wondering at his stillness. "Vincent?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you all right?"

"No."

"No?" Catherine sat up from the floor they had both collapsed on.

"Look at you," he said smiling, "You can sit up. How did you manage that?"

Catherine laughed in relief and fell back on the floor. "I’m not sure. I think it’s adrenaline."

Vincent laughed back. "Sorry about that."

They both started giggling when Catherine suddenly remembered the brief flashback she’d had. And sat up again. "Vincent!" she said excitedly.

"What is it?" Vincent was curious about this instantaneous switch in moods.

"You said that none of the stuff you wanted to do to me was in books. Do you remember when you started wanting to do these things?"

Vincent thought about that question. "Uh . . . ever since I started noticing girls. Why?"

"Hmm. So you’ve wanted to bite the spine of a girl for a very long time?"

"Oh, well, no. Actually, that one I’ve only wanted to do since I met you."

"What about pulling me across your lap like you did?"

"Um . . ." Vincent hesitated, looking at Catherine with a question, "Did you not like it?"

"I loved it!" she smiled, "Did you want to do it since you were a teenager."

"No, actually that one came up when I met you too. Why do you ask?"

"Bear with me. Was there anything you did with me tonight that you wanted to do before you met me?"

Vincent thought for a moment. "I think not. But my ideas have changed over the years. I had plenty of wild ideas about sex when I was attracted to Lisa, including . . ."

"Scratching her?"

"No! No. That was an accident. Holding her, so tight." From his prone position on the floor Vincent raised his palms in resignation, "I thought she wanted me to do that."

"Vincent, she did want it. I’m sure she did. And when she pulled away from you, I believe she was warring against her own desires, which made it difficult for you to let go."

Vincent looked up at Catherine. "Catherine, are you implying that I somehow responded instinctively to her desires? That I . . ." he sat up, "Catherine, you did not make me the way I am."

"That’s not what I’m saying, Vincent. Not exactly. But the first part you got right. I believe you do respond instinctively to the desires of your mate, adapting to her needs as you have adapted to mine. Wait, let me tell you why I believe this is so." Vincent held his objections until she finished. "When you pulled me over your lap, I had a flash memory of a time when I was a teenager and a boy in high school did the same thing to me. He was pretending he was going to spank me. He was a big flirt and all the girls adored him, including me. Anticipating his next move was the single most erotic experience of my teen years and I have had a fantasy about it ever since—a fantasy I have never shared with anyone. Vincent, I have waited years for someone to do that same thing again."

"What, spank you?"

Catherine laughed, "No, just pull me over his lap, like you did. Just give me that feeling of anticipation, like . . . something a little naughty is going to happen." Catherine looked down at her hands crossed in her lap. After everything she’d done with him, she suddenly felt shy to be telling him this secret she’d held for so long.

"You can be naughty around me anytime you want." he growled.

Catherine looked at him with slight frustration. "Don’t you see, Vincent. I don’t think they were your desires that you were trying to find in those books and not finding. I think they were mine. Or at least they were partially mine. The way we made love—on the floor, wild, facing the other way—this is how I wanted to do it. My guess is you’ve had other ideas."

Vincent inclined his head in partial agreement. "I like the bed myself. Wh . . . what don’t you like about the bed?"

"I like it just fine," Catherine replied with a giggle, "we can get up on it anytime you’re ready."

Catherine grew quiet for a moment and her brow wrinkled in thought.

"What are you thinking?"

"Vincent, what if you only react to my need and I can’t react to yours. It seems like the only thing we’ve done tonight is fulfill my fantasies."

"Is that such a bad thing? If I live to serve you, how bad can that be? Judging by our first time, I’d say I’ll live and die a happy man."

"Well, I won’t have it. There’s got to be a way I can serve you to."

"And so you shall. You can start by bringing me a blanket since my legs still don’t work and this floor is getting cold." Vincent laid back and waited for her to comply.

"Hmm," Catherine looked at him mischievously, "What if I don’t want to cover you up yet? How about if I want to keep you warm some other way?" She crawled up over him and kissed her way down his side.

"Catherine, I’m not sure that’s going to work all that . . . Catherine!"

She’d been kissing her way down his side and had made it to his thighs. Licking down his left leg, she stopped at his knee and worked her way up the other side, making a slight detour to pay special attention to his once more burgeoning erection. She looked up playfully as he screeched her name.

"Yes, Vincent?"

"Catherine, this can’t be one of yours also!"

She smiled, amused at his reaction. "Remember, Vincent."

Vincent groaned. "Remember what? Love?"

"No. Remember, I’m a very naughty girl. You might just have to teach me a lesson one of these days."

Vincent flopped his head back on the floor and groaned again as she continued her ministrations. "Oh, Catherine! I think we are going to be very happy together!"