Chapter 8Finally her lips pursed closed and pressed lightly, tenderly, upon the very tip of his penis. She held him there, with the softest of touches, her eyes still locked to his while he drew in breath after ragged breath, trying desperately to stay still so that he wouldn't lose one moment of that blissful contact. His chest rose and fell with frantic, panting breaths, and when her tongue flicked out into the tiny slit at the tip, within her enclosed lips, he groaned and arched up off the bed, unable to control his response. She held him tight, not deepening that erotic kiss, until he fell back to the mattress once more. Only then did she begin to slowly slide her lips down over the tumescent crown. Slowly, slowly, she let her lips open upon him, her tongue swirling over each incremental fraction taken in, until her lips were pressed tight to the rim. She held him there, just the tip enclosed, and began to suck softly, licking lightly over the tender slit at the top. He cried out and writhed beneath her, the touch of her mouth upon him in so intimate a way driving him mad. Finally she let her lips slide over the jutting rim, while her tongue circled the same from the top, until her mouth enclosed him entirely, her lips closed tight around the shaft just beneath the crown.
Her gaze stayed upon his face, and she watched as he moaned loudly, his eyes locked to hers in stunned amazement. He blinked rapidly, and his legs twitched as they lay alongside her body. She was nestled within the vee of his thighs, and now, with her mouth holding him at last, her hand left him until both gripped his hips, stroking and fondling his muscled flanks. She continued to mouth his throbbing flesh, her touch barely more than what had been before, but now she held the sensitive head enclosed completely, and his response was dramatic. A snarling gasp escaped him, and his hands, up until this point held far - and safely - away, swiftly descended to clasp her shoulders in an almost painfully tight grip. That pain was nothing more than pleasure, though, and she moaned in response, knowing he felt what she felt through their burgeoning bond.
Oh, god, he tasted so good, so hot and thick and hard...
The scent of him augmented the taste, both salty and spicy-sweet, and she was sure she would never get enough. He was so big that even this, the barest taking of him, filled her mouth. She wanted to take more, to give him more, but she realized that that was going to take some practice. That thought brought a fantasy image directly to mind, of her waiting for his return in their chamber - their chamber! - at the end of a long day chiseling hard rock. He would come to her, tired and tense, and she would ease him down into his chair, a bath, supper and tea waiting. But first...
First, she thought, amazed at the brazen nature of her plans, she would ease his tension and satisfy her own needs as well. She imagined how it would be, how she would grow accustomed to his surging thickness and length, how she would learn the right angles and the right rhythm, until she could take him deep within her mouth, then deeper yet, within her throat. She could imagine only too well how it would feel, the broad head sliding down as she caressed the satiny staff, her tongue held tight to the taut underside by the thickness of his shaft, the beat of his heart felt in that vein, running its length, until the erotic scent that was his alone filled her nostrils and heated her blood. She groaned as that vision overtook her, and he growled in response, the sound converted to vibrating waves upon his throbbing flesh.
"Catherine!"
His groaning growl easily communicated the growing need within him, and she drew away from that fantasy, tucking it away for later, to concentrate on the here and now, on the blissful sensations expanding in swiftly growing rings about them. Yes, my love, she told him silently, yes...
Her mouth tightened upon him, and she began to suck in earnest, one hand returning to stroke the length of his swelling shaft. Periodically she alternated that fondling caress, as she had earlier, with a stroking squeeze to the quivering sac below. He was moaning constantly now, more growl than groan, the sounds descending lower and lower, to a pitch she'd heard from him only rarely, when he was lost in the haze of that other, more primal nature. His shaft surged strongly in her hand, and suddenly she had to taste it again, pulling away from the throbbing head to wrap her lips as far as she could, around the underside of his steely shaft. He cried out, 'No!' bucking up beneath her, but she continued on, suckling firmly at the taut, silky flesh, tonguing the pulsing vein while she slowly slid down his aching length.
"Catherine, please!" he begged.
But still she continued on, until her mouth nipped and licked at the heavy globes beneath. He gasped and snarled, but his legs fell apart, his open stance clearly telling her of his pleasure. She took one firm sphere in her mouth, and sucked it gently, then repeated the same on its twin, until his cries were hoarse and rasping, filling the night air around them. A sudden swelling tension there told her of his approaching release, and she quickly moved back up the straining shaft, taking the broad head into her mouth once more. He groaned his need, and moved his hands irresistibly up until his fingers threaded through her silky hair and he was holding her against him, against his pulsing flesh.
"Oh please, Catherine, please," he whispered, over and over again, begging her, pleading, his voice aching and hoarse.
One hand pressed down tight to his belly, feeling the jolting shudders as they rolled through his body, while the other stroked along his shaft, up and down, up and down, silky skin sliding over a core of iron. The friction of her mouth increased, combining with the motion of her hand until he was writhing feverishly, frantically beneath her. He needed this, wanted this so badly, deserved it more than anyone else in the whole world, of that she was absolutely convinced. God, how she loved to hear him like this, to see him like this. That she could cause these responses in him, that she could be the source of such amazing pleasure... it was more than she'd ever imagined, a gift beyond belief. She groaned in erotic bliss, the sound vibrating through his straining sex. He surged in her mouth and cried out hoarsely.
She felt it then, felt the onset of his release, knew with certainty that there could be no more delay. She moved frantically on him now, drawing the life-giving essence up, urging it from the taut globes beneath with both hand and mouth, lips, teeth and tongue. The sounds changed abruptly, to a low, rolling growl, continuous, unstoppable, and with an abrupt thrust upward and a rushing roar, he exploded in her mouth, hot jets streaming against the back of her throat and tongue. She drank him in, exulting in the salty heat, her hand and mouth milking the shuddering contractions over and over and over again, until there was nothing left. He collapsed to the bed and she fell down upon him, her cheek resting at the curve of his hip and thigh, the now softening shaft still held safe and warm in her palm, the tender tip enclosed in the satiny heat of her mouth. She sucked lightly, taking every last drop while shivery waves of bliss flowed through her, from him, through the river which was their bond. Finally he lay still beneath her. Her free hand reached up to feel the steady thud of his heartbeat, now slow and sure. His chest rose and fell easily, with deep, even breaths, and within their bond she felt a hazy cloud of pleasure and contentment so pure that there was no denying and no resisting it. His pleasure had been hers, and slowly, easily, she allowed herself to join him within that blissful stream. With the last remnants of strength she possessed, she pulled herself up alongside him, drawing the blankets with her, pressed a kiss to his parted lips, and snuggled down to a deep, peaceful sleep.
* * *The sensations surrounding him were hazy at first, almost indistinct, all detail ambiguously vague, and yet the overall effect was comforting and warm, blanketing him with a blissful contentment that was visceral in its impact. Everything was right here, everything was perfect.
He sighed, and snuggled deeper into that warmth, only to find the shadowy substance now taking shape against his body and beneath his hands. Warm and soft, satin and silk, curves, valleys and peaks. His hands stroked randomly along that shape, defining it without vision. It was beauty incarnate, it was perfection.
"Catherine," he whispered, his eyes still closed in that dream-like state.
"Yes, my love," she whispered in return.
The sound of her voice vibrated through him to nestle in his heart and he felt it skip a beat at that abrupt presence, then speed up, as it to compensate for what it had missed. He sighed with pleasure, feeling himself complete. Her hands moved then, and he knew that she held him in her arms, protecting him with the safe shelter of her body. Her fingers caressed him gently, along the deep intent of his spine, low down near his hips. The sensation was one of blissful joy, both spiritual and carnal. It was perfect, absolutely perfect.
There was no need to say more, no need to explain, no need to question, no need to agonize over what remained. What more was needed, when this utter perfection existed between them, when together they were so much more than they were apart? This feeling, the rightness he felt now, brooked no debate, no interference. They were meant to be together, and nothing could stand in their way. Nothing. With a groaning sigh of delight he moved, taking her with him, until the warm, slender length of her rested beneath him. His weight was heavy and hard, but he didn't consider it anymore than she did as she wrapped her arms tightly around him, as she lifted her legs to embrace him, to pull her to the center of all things. He growled in delight and sank within her, where he needed to be, where she needed him. Ahhh, bliss!
It was perfection.****
Their dream washed over him, filling him with a contentment he had never before imagined could exist. The images of it still in his mind, he began to slowly drift upward from the warm slumber enclosing him, only to find her there, in his arms, just as he'd envisioned her in the dream. Warm and soft, satin and silk, curves, valleys and peaks, his exploring hands rediscovered what the dream had revealed. Sleep dropped away in layers, and as his conscious mind surfaced, memories, dreams and reality separated, no longer one and the same. The memory of their last encounter, of how she had loved him, so tender and wild, of her lips swollen with lusty kisses and caresses he had never before imagined, filled him abruptly, and he gasped in response, his eyes flying wide as he was flung headlong from dreams to reality.
The room was dark, the twenty-four hour candle extinguished. His infallible sense of time, however, told him it was almost five AM. Soon the earliest risers of the tunnels would be up and about, if they weren't already. Certainly William most likely was, the requirements for feeding such a large community taking plenty of time and attention to detail. At the thought of food his stomach rumbled. It had been almost twenty-four hours since they'd eaten anything at all, but despite the gnawing hunger he felt in his belly, another sensation was stronger, pushing that need to the back of his thoughts. Catherine...
She lay beside him, naked and fast asleep. Though the chamber was now unlit, his acute vision was able to gather the tiny amount of light reflected from the torch some twenty yards down the passageway, outside his door, enough so that the room and its contents were visible to him, albeit only in shadows of various shades of gray.
Catherine was cuddled beneath the covers. Silky hair, dove gray in this light, fell across a cheek that appeared almost alabaster in contrast. Smokey, lush lashes curved enticingly against that satiny smooth skin, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to stroke one trembling finger against its pale, flawless surface. He drew back almost immediately, until they were no longer touching at all, stifling a gasp as his body responded, his erection surging in an instant to full, throbbing arousal. The effect she had on him was amazing! He was both frightened and dismayed by that visceral response. How would he ever learn to control this craving he had for her? It seemed impossible. Surely Catherine would be disgusted by this continuous desire, should she ever learn of it. He had to control it, he had to...
Catherine sighed, her lips pursing in a mewling coo that caught his attention completely. He watched her move her head languidly on the pillow, his eyes pinned to her full, luscious lips, half open with that dreamy sound. He'd always found her beautiful, even before she'd had all but one of the scars removed after her attack. He knew that regardless of the physical reality, she would always appear beautiful to him, such was the depth of his love for her, but being an innately honest man, with a considerable degree of logic in his makeup, he willingly conceded that her beauty was as absolute as it was subjective. She would be considered a classically beautiful woman by any standards, by anyone, and he was no exception. Right now, he was mesmerized by one particular area of that beauty, her mouth, and it was impossible for him not to recall, vividly, how she had loved him with it so very recently. A tiny groan escaped him, and he winced, clenching his teeth to stop that sound from growing. With his eyes closed, however, the vision of her kneeling between his taut thighs flashed intensely bright behind his lids. He saw her stroking his throbbing erection with her small, delicate fingers, saw her tongue peek out as he held his breath in anticipation, not quite believing that she would do what followed. Reliving that moment when her tongue touched him, his body bucked in response and his eyes flew open with a panting gasp. He had to control these thoughts...
His attempts at control were thwarted, however, by the insatiable curiosity that so defined his character. These physical intimacies were so foreign to him, so completely new and unexpected. Oh, he knew about sex, of course, in fact had had many introductory discussions on the birds and the bees with the younger children, and had counseled many of the adolescents when they came to him for information and advice on their burgeoning love-lives. This was completely different, though. Now it wasn't clinical, it wasn't academic, and it certainly wasn't dispassionate or objective. He couldn't imagine feeling any less dispassionate or objective, as a matter of fact, than he did at this exact moment, as the realization of all that he and Catherine had shared in the last few hours swept over him.
Gazing at Catherine now, as she lay before him, he was struck by the contrast. She looked so fragile and innocent in sleep, and yet she had been wildly seductive with him just hours before, a tigress, determined to bring him to heights of ecstatic bliss he'd never dreamed possible, the wildness within her drawing out his own, carefully hidden, animal nature. The rumbling in his torso increased, and this time it had nothing to do with a hunger for food. He had tried so hard to hide this nature, to disguise it from his family below, and from Catherine especially, terrified that he'd frighten or disgust her by the base, primal layer that resided so close to the surface of the civilized, educated veneer.
Catherine had seen that primitive, animalistic part of his character before, much to his fearful dismay. He remembered the most appalling of those instances, when the outsiders had invaded the tunnels and he'd killed to protect her and his family and home yet again. She'd witnessed those killings, as she had others in the past, but the aftermath had seemed more brutally painful to him than any of those other times, so much so that he couldn't bear for her to see him in his shame. He had sent her away, then, and even now, at the recollection of that moment, he remembered the intense emotions of sadness and dispair he'd felt from her at his demand that she go. He had been sure, then, that those emotions were, at least in part, in response to what she had seen, but the objective side of him now told him that they had been for him, for them, for her sorrow at not being allowed to comfort him in his time of need. The deeper part of him had always known that, unacknowledged though it might have been on a conscious level at the time. Now, in the aftermath of this different, yet strangely similar situation, he had to admit to the truth. She loved him, both the bright and dark, the strong and weak, the civilized and wild. And she had her own primal nature, too, one that called to his with a strength he'd never imagined, one that was his equal, despite the contradiction her seemingly fragile exterior implied.
That thought brought him back full circle, to the consideration of that fragile exterior. She was so beautiful...
He sighed, letting those images fill him once more. He could never have imagined, no matter how much he'd dreamed of them in the past, what it would be like to experience her intimate touch in such a way, how it would feel to have the luxury of such intimate access to her himself. How could he possibly give that up now? How could he limit them to only so much and no more, when all he wanted now was to possess her completely, to bring her to those ecstatic heights over and over and over again, to hear her calling his name in her pleasure, and to know that it was he who had brought her to that place of total surrender? Even now, despite the denial of his mind, his body insisted that that surrender must be just that, total and complete. He had to have her, and just as much as he needed that, he needed her to possess him in the exact same way, to make him hers so that their souls were forever branded and tied in a knot of such strength that there was no undoing it.
There it was again. The murmuring sigh, delicate and soft, trembled on her silky lips. They were parted and moist, as though waiting for a kiss, and the physical reality of her, in his bed, combined with the images of the hours past and his speculation upon them, caused his body to harden further in an instant, painful rush of sensation. He groaned again, and leaned against the hard rock shelf at his back, trying to distance himself from her as he fought the growing urgency of his heightened arousal. He hadn't thought it was possible to be more physically aroused than he had been a mere moment ago, and he was shocked and distressed by the impact of that further stimulation on his body and mind. Even while pulling back, however, his eyes stayed hungrily locked to her mouth, aching to feel it against him again, upon his own lips and elsewhere...
He squeezed his eyes shut with a gasp, desperately trying to regain at least a part of his slipping control, but opened them again in an instant, the need to see her overwhelming everything else. Kissing those lips had been pure bliss. They were so soft and silky. He wondered what she had thought of his own lips, of the alien shape and texture of them. For so long he had kept even the simplest of kisses from her, afraid of her response to the foreignness of them, allowing himself the only intimacy his fragile psyche could endure in those earlier times by nuzzling against the silky softness of her hair at the crown of her head when they sat cuddled together, reading or talking. He loved the press of that silk against his lips, the scent of her drifting up. Sometimes it almost seemed to be enough...
But not any more.
He exhaled shakily, a trembling sigh in that sound, realizing that what had transpired between them in the last twenty-four hours had irrevocably changed everything. Not that he wished it undone - never! If nothing ever happened between them again, from this day forward, he would have these memories with him forever, of her touching him, of him touching her, of the excitement and pleasure that combination inspired. But at the thought of such a thing, of a retreat to where they had been before, memories of a single, perfect night all they had left to them, everything in him recoiled in horror. Never again to feel her satiny skin with trembling palms, fingers and lips? Never again to experience her hands and lips everywhere upon him, taking him to the most glorious heights of pleasure imaginable? Never again to taste the honeyed-sweetness of her mouth and body? No! Impossible!
Her head turned sharply on the pillow, and a low moan of protest escaped her lips. His attention was riveted on Her face in an instant. Her brow was no longer smooth and relaxed, but rather furrowed with tension, and he wondered if she had felt, through their bond, the anxiety growing in him over the thought of a retreat from this recent progression between them. Yes, he was sure that she had, given the openess of the bond between them in the last few hours. Ever attuned to her needs, he calmed his own thoughts. The tension began to dissipate. He felt it first from her through their bond, then saw the growing relaxation in her face follow. Unwilling to wait for its completion through their bond alone, he reached forward to soothingly caress those lines away. His fingers slipped through silken hair until his palm held her, thumb stroking featherlight over the softening curves of her forehead, temple and cheek, and even over one delicate eyelid, the flutter of her lashes soft and intimate against its pad. She sighed once more, only this time it was in pleasure and contentment, all lines of worry now gone, then turned to nestle her lips in the center of his palm, nuzzling there softly in her sleep.
Vincent's eyes widened as the vibrations in his body grew from this simple touch. He was frozen in indecision. He knew his touch was no longer needed, and yet he couldn't take his hand away. It stayed there as though it no longer received or obeyed orders from his brain, and he trembled with confusion. Finally she turned again, settling down on her side, her face completely free of guile in her innocent slumber. He sighed with relief and regret, and slipped his hand away, fingers trailing reluctantly through the silky strands of her hair until, once again, they no longer touched. That absence hurt, literally. He ached to return his hand to her cheek, to establish a physical link between them which would augment and expand on their emotional connection, through the bond. A dream image flashed into his mind abruptly, of them locked together tight in passionate splendor. This was the ultimate physical link, and his body responded instantly, viscerally. This was what they needed to complete their bond, he knew it was true, no matter how much some part of him tried to pretend otherwise.
'Why?!' that scholarly side objected. Why couldn't they accept what they now had, and go no further? Wasn't that enough? After all, it was far, far beyond anything else he'd ever experienced before, and the pleasure they had both found was amazing in its scope and scale. Though she was cuddled beneath the covers, he could clearly recall how her body looked, how he had explored it with his hands and mouth. She was small, her bones so fragile. The curve of them, at shoulder, rib and hip, drew him hungrily from memory to memory. Her breasts were a study in delicious contrast, pale and rosy, soft and firm. He knew their weight and taste now, his mouth salivating suddenly, anxious to rediscover those delights again. The slim column of her torso, so unlike his, had its own muscled strength, belying the image of weakness her size otherwise implied. It sloped down and indented in, before flaring out to luscious curves, as if its very shape were designed to lead him on, downward, to the treasure below. And that treasure...
A groan gathered thickly in his throat and he bit it back, trying desperately to control his growing response to those memories. He had followed that arching, sloping length as a hunter pursues its quarry, with single-minded concentration, until it was before him, his for the taking. He remembered the sight and scent of her first, how both had held him enthralled with their delicate beauty, both rich and sweet, then the sensory overload as he tasted her, drank her in, greedily thirsting for the tantalizing, seductive tang and texture of her like a man long starved. The sounds she'd made then, the movement of her body as he loved her, it was heaven to him, pure and unadulterated bliss. What more could be wanted, on this earth or off, if he could have that exquisite delight? If they went no further from this point onward, surely she would not deny him this pleasure? He didn't think he could live without it, now that he had experienced it. There had been no pause, no thought or decision to make in doing such a thing, no question as to its rightness or propriety, no permission sought. Instinct had taken over completely, urging him on to initiate an intimacy of such heights he was astounded now, after the fact. And yet...
He swallowed hard, thinking about what had followed. When she had reciprocated that same intimacy with him he had been shocked. He still was, no matter what his rational mind told him about the equivalency of such an exchange. She was soft and delicate and beautiful in her translucent perfection, and he was not, not any of these things. He knew what the human ideal of beauty was, both masculine and feminine, had seen all the great works of art by the Masters of their eras, studied them by candlelight with delight. Michealangelo's 'David' and Rodin's 'Man of Bronze' were typical of the hundreds of such works. They were sculpted renditions of a perfection admired by all, for thousands of years. They were muscled and strong, and yes, so was he, but there was also a delicacy about them, a strength and softness combined that was difficult to articulate. And physically, well, there was no doubt about it, in this respect he didn't resemble those works at all. His muscles were more vividly apparent, despite the thick coating of fur-like hair which covered him almost everywhere. And of course that foreign coat only served as an additional reminder of how very different he was from those masculine ideals. And even the muscular soldiers, captured forever in sculpted form, had genitalia that suited and perhaps even underplayed their size and strength, both masculine and non-threatening at the same time. He was sure the same could not be said of himself. He felt himself grotesque by comparison, and he had been certain, should she ever see him so intimately, that Catherine would be repelled, even frightened by his appearance in this regard.
Vincent was so sensitized to this issue, after years of uncertainty stemming from that teenage incident with Lisa, that he was incapable of seeing the truth. He was incapable of seeing that he matched and exceeded those masculine ideals. His muscled strength, and slender, rangy height, his strong arms, broad chest and tapered waist, taut thighs and calves, all of these things were perfection itself, the epitome of virile masculinity. His genitalia, centered as it was in the overall perfection of his physical self, was utterly suited to his size and scale, and though no one could ever consider him delicate in this regard, there was no doubt that the robust masculinity displayed there was a flawless match to the rest of his virile makeup.Despite his inability to see all of this, honesty compelled him to admit that far from what he had expected, Catherine had not been repelled, and she had not been frightened. She had told him as much that first time, last night. Well, she hadn't said that exactly, but what she had said was just not something he could accept as the truth. It wasn't that he thought she'd lied, no, she wouldn't do that, not his Catherine, but the truth, as with all things, existed in shades of gray. She'd actually called him beautiful, said his body was beautiful, even with her hand upon him in that intimate way. Unbelievable. And then later... He focused his mind on that time once more, several hours after that first encounter, as he gazed down at her kneeling between his thighs, and attempted to read her face as she scrutinized him. He'd been far too engrossed in the physical and emotional sensations of their encounter at the time, but now he tried to ignore all of those memories, difficult as it was, and instead concentrate on her response to the sight of him. He saw her again, saw the long, graceful arch of her throat as she slowly tilted her head back, saw the yearning hunger in her eyes just before she...
No! He actually jumped, startled by the image his memory brought forth. Catherine stirred, murmuring softly in her sleep and he held his breath. Too late. Whether she'd felt that jolt physically or through their bond, she was definitely waking up now. Her eyes fluttered slowly, and with a sigh of lazy relaxation finally opened. She turned toward him, seeking him out, and he could tell from the look in her eyes that her vision could not pierce the darkness.
"Vincent," she whispered softly. "Are you awake?"
"Yes," he replied, whispering in turn. He cleared his throat, trying desperately to get that vision out of his head, then continued on.
"It's early, Catherine, barely five o'clock. You should go back to sleep."
Though he knew it was unfair, he couldn't resist perusing her face closely, while she was unable to see his scrutiny. Her eyes were languid with slumber, her lips full and so soft. No matter that he looked only, he knew how they would feel now, knew their texture and taste... He bit back a groan, hoping she hadn't felt that shuddering sensation through their bond. She stared blindly at him for a minute more, no sign in her face or over their bond to tell him if she had or had not sensed those things from him.
"Can you see me, Vincent?" she finally asked.
He drew in a breath, trying to steady his thoughts before answering.
"Yes," he replied, his voice ragged and low.
"I can't see you."
She was silent then, simply staring at the direction of his voice, waiting. He sighed and gave in, reaching up to the shelf at the head of the bed. A candle in its brass holder waited there, and a box of matches, and in a moment a soft, golden glow illuminated them, leaving much of the remainder of the chamber in darkness. Her shadowed appearance, all ivory and kohl, was replaced now with amber tones of gold, tinged with pearlescent peach. Were there any conditions under which she was not beautiful? He didn't think so.
"How long have you been awake?" she asked.
He shrugged in response, "A little while."
"Tell me what you've been thinking."
He drew in a sharp breath at her words. Was that a request or a demand? She was so quiet, so still. He hadn't expected that of her, not after what they'd shared last night, and he wondered what that might mean. What did she need from him? What should he tell her? The truth, a voice whispered softly, only the truth, always the truth...
"About us," he whispered hoarsely, heeding that voice after a momentary hesitation, "about last night."
"Can you tell me what you thought?"
He was silent. Could he tell her? Could he possibly articulate the impact these recent hours had had on him? Oh, he had words within him, all jumbled and tossed about like boats in a storm-pitched sea, and he was sure that eventually they would resolve themselves into some form of coherency when he sat with his journal before him, but could he speak those intimate thoughts aloud to her, now? After what they had been through, it seemed both strange and ridiculous if the answer to that was no, and yet still he paused. The spiritual and carnal ecstasy were so intermixed, so thoroughly blended as to be indistinguishable in his mind. What would she think of him if she knew that to be the case?
She waited quietly, to all external signs patiently, but suddenly he felt a twinge of trepidation. His brow creased as he sought out that sensation, realizing with amazement that it hadn't come from himself, but from her! She must have read the expression in his face or over their bond, for she spoke then, forestalling the anxious questions so apparent in his own face.
"Vincent," she whispered, her voice almost inaudibly low, "did I make you uncomfortable?"His brow deepened at that question.
"You told me you would tell me if I did. I know so much of this is new to you. I know that I might have moved too fast, gone too far..."
He stared at her in confusion, and reading that, she sighed painfully, and repeated her first question.
"Did I do anything that made you feel uncomfortable? You would tell me, wouldn't you, if I did? If I did something that shocked you or... or made you think less of me?"
He gasped as realization flooded through him. She thought he would think less of her because she had openly shown him the more physical, sexual side of herself.
"Catherine, no!" He hurried to reassure her, amazed that while all his fears had been for her response to him, to his physical self and his insatiable desire for her, hers had apparently been much the same. Was this really possible?!
"Because I can live without a physical aspect to our relationship if that's what you need or want, I can." She insisted. "I won't like it, but I could do it. Everything is secondary to having you in my life, Vincent, everything."
He stared at her silently for another minute, absorbing her words, and when he spoke his voice was hoarse and thick. "If that's what I need or want? No, Catherine, that's not what I need and that's not what I want. If I thought..." He stopped, chagrined at what he had almost admitted, but she would not allow that, jumping in instantly.
"What, Vincent, if you thought what? Please tell me, I need to know, we both need to know."
"Catherine, I've tried all my life to hide the dark side of myself from those around me, my family and friends... you."
That last word was intentionally separated from the others, clearly indicating that he held her in a category separate from all others.
"Many times I had to expose that dark side, to protect them, to protect you."
Again that emphatic separation.
"You know how we feel about that, Vincent. Everyone defends their world Below, just as I do Above. We do what we have within our power to do."
He nodded, accepting that statement, though she could see there were qualifications hovering near his lips. She could almost hear them, she knew him so well, and thought it a good sign that for once he didn't indulge in them.
"Only you know, Catherine... You have to know now, if you didn't before, that that dark side does not consist solely of a capacity for violent, defensive action." He stopped for a moment, his eyes guarded.
She considered his words, trying to untangle their meaning. She knew what? That there was more to his primal side than just the ability to defend swiftly and without thought? There was no question about that, she had witnessed it herself several times. Often it was only the aftermath she saw, but she had viewed the events with the outsiders up close, and the instinctive nature of his response had been, well, awe-inspiring, she had to admit to herself. There was something magnificent in that part of him, some unquestioning certainty of justice. It was primal at its root, and the part of her that analysed action and effect to a fine degree, over days and weeks and months of scrutiny, had to be amazed by the instantaneous analysis of his thought process, and the resultant, immediate outcome of his response. In that instance only the child had been spared, and he was almost Vincent's undoing. Still, she knew that he did not have it in him, not the light side nor the dark, to condemn a child for his actions, seeing always the influence of the adults about him, and holding only them accountable. She pulled her thoughts away from the child, though they still focused on that incident, trying to determine what it was he needed from her, what knowledge did she have that eluded her now? Her mind scrolled through that event once more, the rapidity and efficiency of his motions, and the cry of triumph at the end. She focused on that one image suddenly, seeing his taut body, kneeling, straining up with flexing muscles when that final, adrenaline-laden response over-came him.
That sound was something she would never forget. It was easy, now, to not see his physical differences. Oh, not his physicality, impossible to ignore that, but his differences, when she saw him in Father's chamber with the counsel, in the schoolroom with the children, on her balcony reading poetry. But at that moment, when the threat had been removed from his home and family, from her, his differences had never been more apparent. In that instant he had no barriers separating himself from himself, no way to hide what he was or what he felt. The sound had been a roar, primal and exultant. It had moved her then in a way that she'd had no time to consider. There had been more in that sound, in the response of his whole body, than just triumph over an enemy. She let the image fill her once more, closing her eyes to view it in its entirety. When his body arched up, open and vulnerable, his throat bared as the rushing roar of sound filled the chamber, her own body shuddered in sexual response.
Yes, it was sexual. Is that what he meant? That unleashing the physical yearnings inside him was synonymous with the unleashing of that dark side he tried so hard to contain? Was that where his fear stemmed? Realization flooded through her. He was afraid of hurting her because in his mind the violence and passion were linked, all part of the same being he had struggled against all his life. His family below had seen the defense mechanisms at his disposal many times, but never had they seen this other aspect to his primal side, with perhaps the exception of Father and Lisa, and that had been such a paltry thing, an incident blown far out of proportion to its import.Something only she would know...
Yes, she knew of his desire for her, diligent though he had been in keeping it from her. Even before last night she had known, or at least suspected, of the depths of his feelings for her. How could she not, reciprocating them as she did? There had never been any doubt in her mind about her own feelings. She loved him beyond thought, and so she craved him with a desperate hunger that only grew in the absence of a means for fulfillment. Of course she knew. How could he love her as she knew he did, without feeling that same physical need? Impossible...
And yet, maybe this was where his logic faltered. Did he think that one did not automatically imply the other? Had he really thought that? Was he afraid of what she would think if his love were anything else put spiritual, sweet and pure? Her face flamed bright red at that thought, wondering what he must have thought of her to be so brazen, so shameless in her pursuit of that carnal, physical pleasure with him last night.
"Catherine?"
There was trepidation in his voice, and she knew instantly it was in response to her sudden, visceral response, as vividly apparent through the bond, she was sure, as it was in her own face. She opened her eyes and found his own upon her, anxious and unsure.
"Vincent, I love you so much."
He drew in a deep breath, not expecting that response.
"You know that, don't you?"
He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers.
"I adore you completely. I love everything about you, everything!" she insisted emphatically. "Surely you must feel that through our bond?"
He looked less certain now, amazed and confused by her fervent assertion.
"Shall I tell you what I loved about last night?"
His look of confusion and anxiety increased, but he nodded hesitantly nonetheless.
"I loved that I was finally able to indulge the love I feel by touching you. That I could finally feel the fullness of your love in the touch of your hands, your mouth..."
She had to struggle not to let the soft moan escape that was caught in her throat, holding her speechless for a moment. "I can't separate these emotional and physical cravings, Vincent. I can't regulate them to the bond alone, as wonderful as that conduit is. I don't want to, but I will, if that's really what you want." She stared at him silently for a moment, letting him absorb that thought, watching with satisfaction as the dismay grew in his eyes.
"Is it, Vincent? Is that really what you want? Tell me if you would prefer that our love stayed on a more ethereal plane. Tell me if you don't want me to touch you again, like this," and reaching up she pressed her lips lightly, fleetingly to his, "or this," she said, upon drawing back, reaching forward to stroke her hand over his broad chest, beneath the covers. "Or this," she continued on, holding his gaze with her own as her hand slid down his tensing belly to close around his fully aroused erection. He gasped loudly, but she ignored that, going forward with a ruthless certainty. "Tell me if you don't want me to touch you like this," she whispered, her hand stroking his throbbing flesh slowly, tortuously, with my hands, with my mouth..."
He groaned in response, his eyes fluttering but never closing, pinned to hers.
"Tell me if you don't ever want to touch me again, Vincent. If that's what you want, I'll stop trying to tempt you, I won't wear silk negligees when you come to meet me on my balcony, I won't tease you with hugs and touches that would only make you uncomfortable." At that she withdrew her hand from his body, no part of them touching now in any way.
He groaned again, though this time she couldn't tell if it was in response to those images her words inspired, or the threat of their withdrawal.
"Tell me what you want, Vincent, and I'll do whatever I can to make it so."
"What I want?" he whispered hoarsely?
"Yes, tell me what you want," she repeated.
"I want you, Catherine," he said, "you know that. You've always known that, haven't you?"
She nodded, but he urged a more vocal response from her.
"Tell me how you knew. Tell me how you know now," he insisted, needing to understand.
"Oh, Vincent, how could it be otherwise?" she sighed. "How could we love each other as we do and not want this? Is it primal, is it instinctive? Yes, of course it is, but that doesn't mean that it's wrong. It's not. Don't you see how right it is, Vincent, that the depth of our love would crave this physical communion as well as the spiritual? I belong to you..."
He interrupted her sentence with a vehement shake of his head, but she continued on."Yes, I do, and you belong to me. We belong to each other. I want to possess you, and I want you to possess me. I want to feel you through our bond when we're apart, and be able to remember your hands and mouth upon me, your body filling me."
He gasped at her words, but she never stopped."I want to come home to you and have no barriers between us, no bar to the touches I crave, either in the giving or taking of them. I want you to feel the same way about me. I want you to be able to take what you want from me, what you need. I want to be that for you, I want you to be that for me."
He looked shocked, staring at her wide-eyed.
"Please, Vincent," she whispered, "please."
A gasping groan was his response, but finally he found his voice again. "Are you sure, Catherine? Are you sure this is what you want? I have such tenderness in me for you, and yet despite that, I don't know that I can be tender, not if I indulge my deepest needs and desires for you. Not everything I feel for you is tender, you have to know that now."
He looked so miserable at that disclosure, but she smiled, immensely glad he had finally found the courage to make that admission.
"It's all right, it's all right. Tenderness is not the only thing I need or want from you, either. How can you still think that after last night?"He blushed abruptly, and she knew he was now picturing her loving him, her mouth upon him in a blatantly sexual, demanding way.
"We will have tenderness between us, and we will have passion. We will have everything, Vincent, if only you will let it be. Please."
"But what if..." he began, his voice aching and hoarse.
"Shhh, no what ifs, not now. Believe in our love like I do. With it, all things are possible."
And still he hesitated, torn. He stood poised on the brink of a decision that would change everything between them, and she could see that some part of him was unable to make that final resolution.
"Vincent, it's Sunday. When I leave, you'll have time to make up your mind. If you decide yes, will you come to me Above?"
He brow furrowed in confusion over her question."Will you come to me Above, to my apartment? Will you take me there?"
He gasped, not only at the vivid, uncompromising clarity of her wording, but at the thought of doing such a thing, especially during their first time, Above.
"No, you won't, will you? You would want to be here, in your world, with Father nearby, wouldn't you?"
He gasped again, clearly understanding the implications made in that statement; '...with Father nearby, in case something should happen...'
"It's all right, Vincent, it's even wise. I think Below is the right choice."
He blinked rapidly at her voicing of his silent concerns.
"Then would you come Above to tell me? Would you come Above to ask me to come Below?" She stared at him, assessing those thoughts, then apparently reached her answer. "You wouldn't, would you? You would wait for me to come Below, whenever that might be, maybe next weekend."
He blushed a brighter shade of red, amazed at how her thought process was working right now, when his own seemed to be in complete absence.
"Do you want to wait until next weekend, Vincent?" she asked, jumping straight to the heart of the matter. "We're Below now, naked, in your bed. It's early, the lanterns are out. Father is nearby, but most likely still asleep. We won't be interrupted..."
"Catherine," he gasped out, amazed at the brazenness of her suggestion. And he had been worried about her response to his own physical urgings!
She smiled and his body jumped in surprise at the touch of her hand upon him once more, fingers stroking and exploring.
"You want me now, Vincent. You can't deny that," she whispered seductively.
Her hand left him abruptly and he had to hold back a cry of dismay. She reached for his own hand and tugged it beneath the covers. Resistance never entered his mind. In a moment he found it pressed tight between her thighs, felt the creamy heat coating her that drew him so irresistibly. She brought her hand back to him, and began a languid stroking motion that made him gasp with pleasure.
"And I want you, Vincent. I'm not trying to hide that from you any more, either.
He groaned at the feel of her silky flesh, his fingers caressing her without conscious thought even as hers caressed him.
"Yes, oh yes..." she sighed, her lids falling down until only a tiny slit of green could be seen, her words mirroring the bliss he himself felt. "Are you sure you want to wait, Vincent," she muttered thickly, engrossed in the touch of his fingers upon her so intimately and of her own upon him, "for a whole week to pass before we can touch like this again?"
The groan turned to a deep rumble in his chest. Her eyes flew open in shocked dismay when he pulled his hand away, then widened even further with astonished delight when he used that hand, along with his other, to draw her body tight against his own. He pressed himself against her, trying to touch every inch of his flesh to hers. When he couldn't do it to his satisfaction, he pushed her to her back with a growl, gripped her wrists in one hand and pulled them taut over her head, then settled on top of her, rubbing his hard, muscular length against the slenderness of her own.
"No," he groaned in a strangled voice, his face buried against the curve of her shoulder and neck. "No, I don't want to wait. Please don't make me wait."
"Never, my love, never. I'm here for you, now and always. Whenever you need me, whenever you want me, I will be there. Anything for you, Vincent, anything," she whimpered, caught up in his rapidly escalating emotions. "I need you, Catherine, I want you. I don't know if I can even tell the difference any more. I only know that I need this," He arched his hips against hers, emphasizing the physical aspect of his need, pressing his aroused sex against the silky flesh of her belly, "and that I need it from you, my love, only you," he moaned.
"Only me," she murmured thickly, possessively. She stuggled against his hold, and when he released her her hands came down to encompass him instantly, stroking fervently along his back, grasping him to her tightly. "Come inside me now, please. I need you there."
"Yesss," he groaned, his erection surging against her in response.
She opened her legs and he settled between them naturally. When she drew her knees up, locking her ankles around his waist, he groaned again and moved downward, thrusting the growing urgency of his sex against the wet warmth of her own, growling at the silky sensation that touch inspired. Finally she felt the broad tip positioned at the mouth of her entrance, and wriggled against him with a ragged moan, trying to bring him inside, needing him there. She was so empty without him. God, how she needed him! But she couldn't do it alone, finally begging him to help her.
"Please, Vincent, oh, please!" she whimpered, her emotions taut with need.
He pulled back so their eyes could meet, their torsos still pressed together tight. His hands cupped her cheeks, holding her still for his intense perusal. His eyes burned into hers, and through the bond she felt his growing urgency, felt the demand there, strumming through it until her whole body vibrated with its motion and need. She felt that vibration as little shivers at first, present everywhere, but soon they grew to trembling shudders which culminated in the very core of her womanhood.
"Oh, god!" she groaned, arching up against him, desperate to have him fill that aching emptiness.
"Yes, my love, yes," he breathed, holding her gaze with his own. "I need you now, Catherine, now," he insisted.
Her whole body responded to the command of his voice, to the demand of his words, opening to him with an abrupt relaxation of her muscles, as if everything in her had gone quivering and weak at the sound of his voice. He felt it in an instant, felt it through their bond and against his body, twisting his hips in response, until the thick head of his sex was buried inside her. She cried out, arching up against him again as that relaxation of muscle and tissue was followed by its instantaneous reversal. Everything in her tightened with a convulsive, grasping surge, and she moaned at the feel of him held there, even as he moaned at the intense physical sensation of her body enclosing his.
"Oh, Catherine..." he whispered, his eyes falling closed as sensations undreamt of overwhelmed him.
"Yes, yes," she whimpered, her thighs quivering tautly as she tightened their grip about his slender hips. "Please, Vincent, don't stop, please don't stop," she cried.
"I can't stop, I can't," he gasped hoarsely. "I need you, Catherine, I need you," he said, thrusting abruptly against her silky softness until fully half of his thick erection was buried within her.
She cried out as she felt herself filled with his surging length. He was so deep within her she didn't know if it was possible to go further, but she didn't care, couldn't help herself, wriggling her hips upwards to his, begging shamelessly for more. "Please, Vincent, please," she moaned.
He answered her cry, tensing his hips an instant before flexing them once more. The power of his body overwhelmed her completely and she screamed as she felt him deeper than she had imagined was possible, then burst into tears, sobbing with both relief and a desperate desire.
"Catherine!" he cried, shocked into abrupt stillness by that dramatic response, afraid to believe it was as the bond told him.
"Don't stop, Vincent," she stuttered, through her tears, "please don't stop. Love me now, please, my love, please."
He groaned in response, then slowly withdrew half of his aching shaft from the silky wet channel that held him. The absence of that sensuous grip unnerved him instantly and he needed to be back, burying himself within her once more with an urgency and power that overwhelmed her entirely."Yes!" she cried, "Oh god, yes..." The words trailed away as her head fell back in abject surrender upon the pillow, her arms flung out to rest, palms up, beside her face. Her naked throat was bared to him, the pulsing artery running its length hot and throbbing to his searching gaze, his heightened senses. "Please, Vincent, please," she whimpered, "don't stop..."
The physical and emotional sensations were devastating, and completely irresistable. He grasped her wrists once more, drew them over her head and held them there with one hand while his other slipped beneath her and lifted her up. The rigid tips of her breasts strained outward, begging for his touch, and he drew one into the wet heat of his mouth, suckling there fiercely, the cleft of his lip holding her tight. She moaned and thrashed beneath him, caught between the strength of his hands and mouth and pulsing sex, loving every minute of it. He switched to her other breast, engulfing it completely before nestling the hard nipple directly into the sensitive cleft, then pulled strongly, feeling the corresponding pull at her feminine core, felt it convulsing about his straining sex. He drew in a shuddering breath, eased out of her once more, then thrust back with a triumphant cry, his head thrown back, the tendons of his neck taut, exulting in the vanguishing of a long-feared foe. All his fears were gone now, his anxieties and trepidations vanished into thin air. All that remained was Catherine in his arms; Catherine warm and willing, Catherine tender and fierce, her body taking his completely, holding him safe and tight in her own, loving him, wanting him, needing him...He groaned loudly and lunged again, harder and deeper, rejoicing in each cry of pleasure-filled satisfaction his thrusts engendered. He needed more, wanted more, craving those sounds from her with an endless urgency. His thrusts came quickly now, each withdrawal longer than the last, each penetration deeper, harder and faster than before, until her wailing cries became a continuous, keening moan. Yes, more of that, he needed more of that. Her body embraced him, received him gladly, tightened at each withdrawal as if to keep him there, in her hottest depths. He luxuriated in her, stroking his iron-hard erection against those secret depths, against tender, sensitive walls of slick tissue, feeling them grasp and hold him, feeling them clutch and cleave to him, only him...
"Oh, Catherine, Catherine..." he moaned, lost in her, lost in their love.
The speed and urgency of his thrusts increased, and the convulsive quivers of her satiny walls kept pace, winging him on.
"More, Vincent, more," she urged him, relentless with need.
Attuned to her at the most basic level, he gave her all that he was, taking her completely, making her his, and giving her everything in return. His moans turned to rumbling groans, and from there to groaning growls, until the sounds she had craved before were continuous once more, a sweet symphony of music that made the hair on her neck stand up. Everything in her was taut and tight in response to him, and his every sound was a fervent command her body obeyed in an instant. Her chest vibrated with the growls from his own, and her throat ached with the raspy, moaning sounds they inspired. She couldn't stop crying, couldn't even spare the energy to try. There was only one objective before them, only one goal, and they sought that out now with a single-minded focus. She didn't think it was possible, but suddenly his thrusts increased in urgency, and her cries turned to wailing sobs.
"Mine, you're mine!" he exulted in hoarse, raspy tones, and at that fervent declaration, as if in response to his unspoken demand, her body shattered into thousands of glass-sharp shards, piercing sweetly through her body and mind in an explosive orgasm that ripped all thought from her."Yes!" she screamed, the sound unrestrained and filled with ecstasy. There was no way to mute or inhibit it, not with her mind and body in that other world, far from the cares and concerns of the more mundane one surrounding them. The convulsions of her body were almost painful in their urgency, and she writhed beneath him riding it out, loving the feel of him hard and deep and strong within her. The impact of those sensations overtook him instantly, clasping the rigid length of him deep inside her, milking the swollen shaft with continuous, gripping strokes, velvety soft and steely strong.
"Catherine!" he cried. The sound escalated to a rushing roar as a blood-red haze washed over his eyes, covering everything. He felt himself swell abruptly, felt the tensing of taut globes, an instant before all was lost in an explosive burst. His release was ripped from him with blazing heat, and he roared his pleasure and satisfaction, the sound echoing off the walls to blend with her own, the combination a music never before heard, and never to be forgotten.
* * * * * * *The shivering sensation grew, like rings expanding in a pond from a dropped stone, widening the rent in the fabric of reality until their bond held it away and apart, to let in dreams. Warmth filled them, and light followed, hazy and dim. A sensation of encompassing pleasure washed through them first, and then, an instant later, the image appeared, two figures kissing, their separate forms blurred as one. The light grew, but strangely enough so did their perception of the figures within, and with that increased awareness came heightened sensations. So sweet, so warm, the silky softness of her in his arms, the tender caress of his lips on hers... Oh, Catherine... Oh, Vincent...
The images resolved themselves, and it was them, together, just as it had to be. Suddenly that clarity disappeared, and they were cloaked in mist once more. It swirled about them, and when it finally began to dissipate, a new picture emerged. He cuddled her close in their bed, their naked bodies reassuringly close. Their chamber was lit by the muted glow of one single candle, enclosing them within a golden aura of soothing light. Pressed between them, and to her breast, an infant nuzzled at her taut nipple, drinking thirstily, the cleft of his upper lip holding her tight. The child kneaded at his mother's breast with sharp-tipped fingers as he drank, and the clear blue of his eyes gazed up at them steadily. Their hands stroked soothingly along his back beneath the cozy quilts, holding him close and secure in their endless love. Blue eyes met green and in that meeting, as in all others before it, a trembling light ignited. Their bond blazed between them, holding their child close at its center. Slowly they drew together, savoring the meeting of lips to come, until at last they touched, the connection complete. The swirling mist rose once more, engulfing them until the image disappeared. The sensation remained, however, clear and strong and powerful. The light dimmed as slumber enclosed them, and in that darkness there was no fear and no regret, only love, tender, sweet and eternal, forever waiting, forever theirs.
The End