A/N: And with this chapter, the story will be marked as mature. Reviews are appreciated.
As it turned out, 'tomorrow' was not to be. Vincent found himself called away to the lower levels to assist with emergency repairs to a structural tunnel near one of the community's most important hot springs. After he sent word to Catherine through one of the children, he could feel her sharp ache of disappointment followed quickly by a warm, suffusing feeling of reassurance and understanding.
In truth, he felt a little relieved. Having made the requested date with Catherine on impulse, he now grew increasingly apprehensive about his intentions. While he had every wish to give her pleasure, he was also aware of his own inexperience in this area. And while books might exist on the subject generally, they were not to be found in Father's library. And asking Father was, of course, completely out of the question.
Other men in the tunnel community certainly had experience in these matters, but even the thought of bringing up the subject with others left Vincent intensely uncomfortable. In some ways, he felt as though the other residents of his community saw him as all wise and knowing beyond his years. Even if he could bring himself to ask advice from one of the others, the combined embarrassment of raising such a subject along with having to admit that he had no idea how to physically love a woman proved too great.
Upon great reflection, he decided that only one individual might be approachable with his questions, and it just so happened that he had already sought the man's confidence once before, making the subject more easy to broach. But Peter Alcott was not due to come below any time soon, so Vincent had to send a message through one of their messengers to arrange a meeting.
In the interim, even as Vincent's work in the lower tunnels came to a conclusion, Catherine became more busy than ever at work. She had been assigned as the lead prosecutor in another high profile case, leading her to work 80 hour weeks and, on some nights, fall asleep at her desk as she prepared for trial. While Vincent worried for her health and well being, he also felt intensely proud of her. Ever since the confrontation with Paracelsus and his horrible lies, Catherine seemed to have made a conscious effort to take on less dangerous work at her office. Having proved herself to her bosses as a competent investigator, she was finally moving into more skilled trial work.
A day after sending a message to Peter, Vincent received a response back setting a time and place for the doctor to meet him.
He approached the consultation hesitantly but with a heart full of questions he knew should be addressed before continuing the course Catherine had set for them. Vincent also forced himself to set aside his overwhelming sense of embarrassment. As a grown man in his thirties, he had some experience with love. The books in Father's library were full of it. But none gave many details of the acts of love themselves. Vincent had once seen a copy of the Kama Sutra but after a very subtle search, had never located it again. Unlike others below, he could not very well go above and search through the volumes at a public library. Nor, he had decided, was he able to ask his contemporaries about their experiences.
No, Vincent had always led a solitary life, and ever since Lisa had left, most of those below saw him as an asexual being. Having done nothing to dissuade them of that notion, he had sublimated any such feelings for as long as he could remember. And, for a very long time, that existence had been enough.
And then… he met Catherine.
Nothing had ever prepared him for her, for the pull of the bond between them. After a life of relative solitude, set apart from even those who loved him, he suddenly felt a connection which surpassed anything in his experience. Catherine filled his soul and his senses, wrapping him in a cozy feeling of love and acceptance. But beneath her easy adoration, he knew a deep river of passion ran deep and quick, and he trembled in fear at the thought of it sweeping both of them away.
If Vincent were to traverse that raging river, he needed more knowledge of the way.
"Vincent!" Peter greeted him with the usual exuberance of someone who had known him his entire life. As a helper, the doctor knew all the entrances to the tunnels and had met him at one of the older doors below near his clinic.
"I hope you are well, Peter."
"I take it if you've made another appointment that you are seeking more… advice?" Peter asked, his voice somehow betraying both amusement and sympathy.
"I… yes," Vincent admitted.
"Then how can I help you?"
Using as few specifics possible, Vincent quickly brought him up to date on the relatively innocent explorations he and Catherine had shared. He felt like a teenager again, confessing all in exchange for a few words of wisdom, while at the same time weighing the fact that Peter was nearly a father-figure to Catherine. In the wake of her own father's death, he was the closest thing to family in the world above.
"I just want to… give her something back," he said finally. "Surely, if she can bring me such pleasure with a mere touch of her hands, I can find a way to reciprocate?"
"Have you tried?"
With a shake of his head, Vincent sighed. "I cannot risk the possibility of harming her."
"And what makes you think you will?"
Explaining himself seemed impossible, so he simply hung his head in silent shame. Suddenly, he was reminded of the aftermath of the first time Catherine had seen his face, after he had frightened her and run away. Upon returning, he had confessed, "I've never regretted what I am… until now."
"I know I am limited in the love I can give her," Vincent reiterated. "But if I can give her even a little pleasure without laying these hands on her…"
He curled his furred fingers into fists, and his claws pressed into the newly healed skin on his palms. The feeling of discomfort reminded him to go gently, and instantly the muscles in his hands relaxed again.
"So… what were you thinking?" Peter asked him slowly.
"If I were careful, perhaps I could..." He took a deep breath. "I have heard it is pleasant for some women if a man were to use his… mouth."
Slowly, Peter nodded.
"This is true," he acknowledged. Raising a curious eyebrow, he went on, "And is that a step you are prepared to take?"
Vincent looked away, his embarrassment evident. "I do not want to accept Catherine's love without offering her anything in return. It isn't safe for me to touch her, but…"
Peter smiled, obviously understanding his quandary.
"Well, you have my blessing, if that's why you wanted to see me."
"Actually…" Vincent sighed anew, frustrated with his inability to articulate himself in this. "I was wondering if you could tell me how to…"
Words failed him, and he looked away in mortification.
Taking pity on him, Peter suggested, "What you're talking about is often referred to as 'oral sex.' It is the pleasuring of one's partner using the mouth and tongue."
Looking up, Vincent nodded almost imperceptibly, hoping the doctor would continue.
"I don't know how much you know about the female anatomy…"
"The basics…"
Peter smiled in acknowledgment of the lack of depth in his old friend's teachings in these matters before giving a quick but thorough description of the differences between males and females. None of it was new information for Vincent, but the felt better hearing a professional in the subject put matters into plain terms. Peter culminated the lesson in a frank but poetic description of the heart of female sexual climax.
"It's the only body part which seems to be entirely dedicated to physical pleasure," he observed with a strange sort of reverence. "Perhaps that is God's recompense for what women suffer giving birth."
"But what…" Vincent began, feeling horribly uneducated on the subject, "...how do I know what she will like?"
After betraying a smile befitting his decades of experience both as a gynecologist and as a husband, Peter gave a little chuckle. "Vincent, as I understand your bond with Catherine, you can feel what she feels. Is that true?"
"It is."
"Then you have an advantage over every other man on the planet. While the rest of us could only guess based on body language and what our partners may share aloud… You know Catherine's feelings without even having to ask. You can feel what she likes, what she doesn't like… all without her ever having to say a word."
Vincent said nothing for a long moment but took in the older man's observations. It was true - he could feel Catherine's emotions, and he recognized the advantage the bond might give him in seeing to her physical needs as well. But apprehension still held him back, worries tearing at the edges of his mind.
Aloud, he confessed, "I fear that I might lose myself in the moment, that my concentration might not stay on Catherine's sensations as it should. If I should hurt her…"
Patiently, Peter waited for more, but he could not continue. The doctor finally prompted, "What, Vincent? What would happen if you hurt her?"
His eyes snapped up to meet Peter's, startled by the question. "You know my physiology better than almost anyone," he rumbled. "You know what I'm capable of doing to her."
"Oh, I know what you're capable of, and I know what you aren't capable of. From what Father has shared, you have never harmed anyone who wasn't a danger to you or others, except in a few moments of great emotional distress."
"I harmed Devon. And Lisa."
"As a child."
"I was not a child when I broke Father's arm."
"No, but you were under the influence of a psychotropic drug," Peter reminded him. "And as I recall, it was Catherine who was able to reach you when no one else could. Did you hurt her?"
Vincent answered softly, "No."
"Have you ever harmed Catherine?"
"No…"
"In all the time you've known each other, in all the embraces and touches and even just holding hands… have you ever struck her?"
"No."
"Bruised her?"
"No… not that I have seen."
"Drawn blood?"
"No."
"Even a graze?" Peter persisted. "Vincent, for all your concerns about your claws, you act as though you walk around with lethal weapons. But have you ever once even scratched Catherine's skin?"
Vincent paused, thinking hard as he searched his memory. Aside from the false memories Paracelsus had attempted to implant in his mind, he could find no instance fitting Peter's description. For all the times he had held Catherine in his arms, had walked with her hand-in-hand through the tunnels, he could find no recollection of inflicting on her the smallest injury.
"Have you ever even torn her clothing?"
While he posed the question with feigned curiosity, Peter seemed to already know the answer even as Vincent slowly shook his head.
With a wry smile, Peter said, "Vincent, I appreciate your apprehension. I really do. And as the closest thing to a father that Cathy has left, I'm glad to know you are so concerned for your safety. But truly… I have no fear of you physically harming her. Your hesitance does you credit, but… I think it would do more damage to her psyche to keep waiting without any hope of... more."
Peter's voice tapered off as he met Vincent's eyes and recognized the deep-seated fear there. After a moment, he let out a huff and smiled. "But don't listen to me. I'm just an old man who wants to see you and Catherine find happiness." With a good-natured pat of the younger man's shoulder, he added, "Good luck, my friend."
He could feel her spirits lifting and floating even before arriving on her balcony. For perhaps the hundredth time that day, and maybe the hundred thousandth time since finding her, Vincent gave silent thanks for the bond between them. Never would he have attempted such an evening as he anticipated without this strange and wondrous connection between them. Knowing her feelings allowed him the freedom to step beyond his own self doubts and embedded fears.
And deep within him, a desire strummed with life, ready to awaken his body with sensation. But at the moment, he kept it tightly constrained.
On his hands he wore stiff leather gloves, the pair he sometimes sported when walking above with his hood up, hugging the shadows. His clothing was more sparse than usual, having forsaken his usual layers in exchange for greater access should Catherine wish to touch him. Besides, he had no notion of getting too cold, not while Catherine was near at hand.
Landing on her darkened balcony, Vincent felt a thrill run through him. The lights inside her apartment confirmed she was home as much as the feelings flowing from her through the bond. But still, for one long and insatiable moment, he felt like an outsider, a raider intent upon laying claim to more than he was truly entitled.
With a tap on the window pane, he let her know of his presence.
And suddenly, the bond between them was awash with feeling. He adored this moment more than all others, when she knew he was there and rushed to greet him with happy excitement. Her love flushed through his veins, more poignant than any drug he had ever felt, even the horrible substance Paracelsus had inflicted upon him.
His limbs went weak as Catherine opened the doors from her apartment and stepped out onto the balcony. She looked beautiful, as always. Tonight she wore a black silk nightgown adorned with pink roses and a matching robe, and Vincent could tell just from a glance that both were made of the finest silk. While Catherine tended to be less extravagant with her purchases, she also spent her money thoughtfully, on items of quality and value. Vincent could tell the gown and robe were new, specifically purchased for this occasion.
She smiled at him, and he was instantly undone.
With a glance, he noticed the crystal he had given her on their first anniversary, the chain dangling between the swell of her breasts. Her curves tantalized him in ways he could not express, promising softness and beauty and so much more. He was reminded of the feel of her hand against his bare skin, full of promise and opportunity. He also remembered his own intentions regarding this evening.
"Catherine."
He said her name softly, hoping to temper the desire in his voice so it did not come out as a growl. She beamed back at him, either not noticing his anxious tone or choosing not to show it.
"I'm so happy you're here."
'Acceptance' was too mild a word to describe the feelings emanating from her. Rather, she was alight with anticipation, her inner joy stoked at the sight of him. Vincent tried to push such observations aside, conscious that so lovely a woman as Catherine should not find him anything but repugnant. But the bond assured him of her truthfulness, and that knowledge buoyed his spirits.
"You look... beautiful."
The compliment made her cheeks flush, and Catherine dipped her chin with embarrassed delight.
"Thank you," she said simply, and the shadows in her eyes conveyed an unspoken sentiment back to him of her own appreciation of his appearance.
Without making a fuss of it, she showed him into her apartment. The electric lights had been replaced by candles and storm lanterns, their soft amber glow giving the illusion of being below. And while Vincent could sense the closeness of so many people in Catherine's building, when he looked at her, he felt as though no one else was around for miles.
"Would you like to sit by the fire?" she offered. "I poured us a glass of wine…"
Vincent rarely partook of alcohol, but on this occasion, he nodded in acceptance. Losing a bit of his inhibitions might actually serve him well this evening.
They sat together for a while just looking at the flames and sipping the cabernet sauvignon Catherine had selected. The vintage reminded Vincent of chocolate and cherries, but he quickly set it aside, anxious to partake of other more exotic flavors.
Beside him, Catherine shivered. The room was anything but cold, and her motion quickly left him focused on her well being.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly, already pulling off his cloak.
"I'm fine," she assured him in return, silently refusing the physical warmth he offered her.
Setting the cloak aside, Vincent sat back and watched her carefully. The bond between them was open and flowing, but sometimes he had trouble navigating its confusing currents. The emotions from Catherine were jumbled, both upbeat and anticipatory but also desperately full of longing. She wanted him to initiate more but also feared what that next step might do to the established relationship between them.
She was beauty, in all of its warm and comfortable textures. Her skin gleamed by candlelight, her hair cascading like a blonde waterfall in the near darkness. And when she looked at him, her eyes were like dark pools of enchantment, the sort written about in fairy tales. But even if he could easily imagine her to be a princess, there was no denying that he was no prince.
Still… she looked at him as though she did not care if he remained a frog so long as she was allowed to kiss him.
Catherine leaned forward and her lips found his. The kiss they shared felt both innocent and insatiable, a promise of things to come on both of their sides. As they both pulled away in unison, Vincent noticed his heart racing. Anxious anticipation filled him as he looked down at her full lower lip, so succulent and inviting.
He wanted to kiss her again. But a warning in his mind brought him up short, reminding him of the purpose of tonight.
"Catherine," he sighed, "the things you do to me… I cannot put them into words."
"I feel the same," she assured him.
Going on, Vincent said, "Please. I would give you… I would like to give you some fraction of the pleasure you have given me. I can't deny it might not be-"
"I accept," she interrupted him, forcefully putting an end to the suggestion of his self degradation. "Vincent, I am yours. Body and mind and soul."
She leaned into him this time, letting her lips come near to his without kissing him. He took what she offered with slow, measured steps, claiming her mouth with less certainty.
The kiss was brief but sweet, mesmerizing and heady.
"May I touch you?" he ventured, running a hand along her collar bone until it came to the strap of her gown and the sleeve of her robe. The gauzy, almost transparent material slid from her shoulder without any further prompting.
"Yes."
Her simple affirmance and the force behind it gave him the courage to continue.
He kissed her again, this time with more confidence. And when her lips parted to admit him into her mouth, Vincent boldly slipped his tongue into that warm, wet haven, instincts assuring him that such an action might be welcome. Catherine's tongue met his, and she caressed it with abandon. But before he could pause to reconsider, her lips moved, taking in his full lower lip between hers and lavishing her own tongue along that sensitive flesh.
Groaning softly, Vincent leaned into her, and in so doing he let his hands have some agency to explore her body. Even through the leather gloves, he could feel her heat and make out the softness of her skin. She shivered at his touch but did not pull away, and boldly, he moved his mouth to press a hot and tender kiss against her shoulder. Tentatively, he moved to her clavicle, mesmerized by the softness of her skin.
"May I kiss you here?" he asked belatedly.
"Yes," she hummed.
Her skin had a slight saltiness to it, Vincent discovered as he dared to taste her. Through the bond, he felt her reaction to the sensation and had to admit she did not find it unpleasant. In fact, she seemed pleased with every action he had taken. And she longed for more.
The silk robe plunged to reveal a valley of flesh between her breasts, and Vincent allowed the remains of his courage to take his lips there. This time, he did not even ask permission before placing a heated kiss against her skin, and she moaned softly as his tongue drew a line all the way to the edge of her gown.
He needn't have glanced to recognize Catherine's nipples through the thin layer of fabric, both inviting and challenging him. The thought of glimpsing the bare breasts of his beloved again had haunted him since the night she had revealed her entire form to him in a moment of desperation, like an unwanted but ever present compulsion he knew he could never act upon. And yet, now…
Before he could debate the matter further, Catherine made the decision for him. Casually, she reached up and slipped the tiny straps of her silk gown from her shoulders. The bare wisps of fabric fell away, taking the gown with them to show exactly the expanse of nudity he had just been contemplating.
While Vincent had seen a few pictures of naked women, not to mention girls swimming naked in the falls when he was a child, he had never witnessed with his own eyes a grown woman without clothing before Catherine. Privacy was highly prized in the tunnels, and he had never been the to type to try and spy on others, even as a teenager. Even back then, Father's careful warnings had instilled in him the belief that no woman would ever want him.
His experience with Lisa had only confirmed that lesson.
Yet now… Catherine not only revealed herself to him freely but with pleasure and desire. Those feelings permeated to him strongly and without restraint, as if she were projecting her emotions to him deliberately.
As Vincent reached for her. Having already felt her breast once through the nothingness of silk, to experience that touch now through the much tougher barrier of a leather glove proved maddening. Through the bond, he felt something similar from Catherine as well but just as quickly as it was there, she had banished the thought from her mind.
Besides, Vincent reminded himself, his hands were not meant to touch her. How could the feel of furred, claw-tipped paws possibly bring her pleasure? She might feel not only disappointment but revulsion if he put his hands on her directly. And worse - she would force herself to hide such a reaction in order to spare his feelings.
But a deep part of him hoped that his mouth… his tongue… could gift her with a taste of the ecstasy she had already given him.
"May I-" he began, but she interrupted immediately.
"Yes." She said the word on an exhale, and a moment later, catching her breath, she added, "Please."
The soft pinkness of her areola reminded him of her lips, but the peak of her nipple, hard and yet yielding at the same time, stirred erotic feelings in him he had only imagined in dreams. Already, his body responded to her, calling for him to find more hidden patches of softness to plunder. But Vincent pushed those feelings away, determined not to let his own lust ruin anything for her.
Her eyes had fluttered closed, he noted as he glanced up to see her expression. But her face showed nothing but enjoyment, and Vincent took that as encouragement to go further.
At the touch of his tongue against her, she gasped. And yet, she leaned into him rather than push him away, as though she wanted more from him rather than regretting the contact. Through the bond, he felt only a mixture of love and pleasure, and those feelings reassured him that he should go on.
For many long moments, he lavished her breast with attention. The bud of her nipple fit perfectly at the peak of his cleft lip, as though it were intended to be caught there so he could use his tongue to sample and tease. And when one breast grew too hot with sensation, he moved to the other.
Throughout his ministrations, Vincent became aware of twin currents of emotions in his mind. One he recognized as his own desire, pressing tightly against the confines of his jeans. For most of his teenage existence, unwanted erections had plagued both his waking and nighttime hours. In early adulthood, he had learned to master his own hormonal reactions and to clamp down on such physical displays of male vulgarity. But ever since Catherine had come into his life…
Shame burned through him as he thought about how she would feel to know how often he had imagined just this moment. While part of him knew that she should feel disgusted, even violated that she played a role in his deepest fantasies, a voice within reminded him that she was the one who had initiated the physical contact between them.
That led to the other feelings which could not be ignored - a yearning had developed deep inside Catherine's body, something he had felt from her many times. But just as he sublimated his sexual desires, she had done the same as well.
Not this night.
No, instead of pushing away her body's desperation, she channeled it to him, as if guiding his mouth further down her physique to a throbbed center which impatiently waited for his attention.
On cue, Catherine sat up, breaking the contact between them. Vincent realized that they both still sat in front of the fire, but he had leaned so far over her that he had pressed her back onto the floor.
The floor, a deep part of himself repeated with angry agitation.
Her bed is not five paces from here, and yet you push her to the ground to ravage her like, like, like an animal?
The sight of her nightgown bunched at her waist, both erotic and pleasing to him in its display of her nudity, also filled him inexplicably with shame.
You leave her half dressed and wanting? What kind of lover cannot see to the needs of his beloved without ensuring her modesty and comfort?
Her deepest desire pulsed through the bond, reminding him that she ached for his touch, for him to go further with his explorations and kisses. The bond left her feelings clear, and he could not deny that her acceptance of him was without limitation. He knew that even if he stopped at this moment, she would smile at him with delight and sublimate her body's burning demands for more without a hint of complaint. But if he went on...
Her scent enticed him so invitingly, the delicate odor both spicy and familiar, a more potent version of Catherine's typical smell. Deep inside he responded to her, his aching body longing to complete itself within her, to find in her embrace the end to a longing he had know his entire life. With a growl of frustration and triumph, Vincent scooped her into his arms and crossed the threshold from her living room to the boudoir. Depositing her on the bed, he quickly began to remove her nightgown completely, certain that if he did not do so now he would lose his nerve completely.
She wore nothing beneath.
Clearly, Catherine had taken him at his word about wanting to touch her. This lack of barrier also explained why he could smell her so strongly tonight. The sight of her completely naked form, of her full erotic glory, filled his eyes and his heart and his loins. Before he could rein himself in, his mouth was on hers, delving and tasting and plundering. His hands moved to touch her breasts before the reminder of that thin layer of leather between them caused him to pull them away. With great effort, he placed his hands on either side of her and gripped the bedclothes tightly.
But his lips found and soothed her breasts, causing excitement to grow between them once more. Catherine shifted her legs beneath him, rubbing them together as if to build some pressure where she needed it most. But he could sense her intentions and her needs.
Breaking away from the tender flesh of her breasts, he panted heavily before moving further down her body and asking, "Catherine, may I…?"
Before he could complete the question, she was already nodding.
"Yes," she affirmed, arching up against him. "Please, Vincent. Anything. Everything. Yes, a hundred times over."
Drunk with desire, he kissed his way down the flat planes of her stomach. The nest of curls at the apex of her thighs called to him, and Vincent put his mouth on her fully before his resolve could fail.
She reacted instantly, arching into him as though she had experienced an electric shock. But the bond confirmed it to be a pleasant, albeit intense reaction to the warm wetness of his tongue. At first, he struggled with doubts, unsure what to do next or how to please her. But then Catherine reached down and gently clasped her palms on either side of his head. She did not force him to her but rather affirmed how much she adored his ministrations.
Within the bond, everything sang beautifully. Catherine's harp notes vibrated crisply between them, affirming her enjoyment of every sensation he wrought upon her body. But he could also tell when their shared music began to build once more, taking them to new heights and expansive reaches.
Her taste intrigued him, both sweet and salty, sometimes reminding him of the wine they had shared as well as other, deeper flavors he hoped to explore later. Using his tongue and lips, Vincent made love to her with eager abandon. Just as Peter had suggested, he tuned himself into her own emotions in order to judge what she liked and what she did not. And for the most part, she loved every touch. But certain movements propelled her forward, intensifying a mounting need within her sensitive bundle of nerves. And as easily as that, he simply continued to apply that pressure until he felt her hands bunch into fists, gently clutching his hair in desperation.
Through the bond, he sensed her physical response grow almost to the point of pain until it was nearly upon them both. And then so suddenly, she shattered into tiny pieces beneath him, and Vincent looked up the length of her body, watching as her eyes squeezed tightly shut as a much anticipated orgasm rolled through her body.
He rode it out with her, allowing her to crest the first wave of pleasure, slowly find her way down from it, and then roll steadily across several smaller waves until the entirety of her climax had been fulfilled. Only then did he reluctantly move from that spot between her thighs, placing a close-lipped kiss to her sex before moving to lie next to her on the bed.
Watching and experiencing her pleasure through the bond had set his own body on fire, igniting within him a passion he fought desperately to keep contained. The strain on his jeans both irritated and settled him, as he knew the tough denim would do the job it so often had by keeping him physically constrained. Beyond his own desire, he could feel Catherine's satiation, a deep well of contentment and exhaustion engulfing her and calling for sleep.
"Vincent," she managed, when speech finally became available to her again, "That was… incredible. I don't even have the words to truly describe…"
Her feelings through the bond matched her speech, or lack thereof, and he allowed himself a moment of pride at having finally been able to fulfill one of Catherine's needs.
"I'm glad," he whispered, settling his head on a pillow near hers.
A sense of tiredness settled over her heavily, and Catherine sighed as she lay spent on the bed beside him. He waited, almost impatiently, for the deep well of fatigue to take her. He watched, expecting her eyelids to flutter closed and for sleep to carry her off. Peace radiated from her so strongly, perhaps for the first time he could remember, but it warred sharply with his own raging hormones.
The eroticism of bringing her to climax had brought his own desire to the forefront of his attention. His sex pulsed painfully, restrained as it was, and Vincent pushed aside the thoughts his mind conjured to quell that aching desire. He wanted to claim her, to push his way inside her and feel the warm, wet heat of the passion which was still on his lips. Her scent was like a siren's song, and by only a thread was he able to hold back from its alluring call.
She will permit it if you ask, a voice inside whispered insidiously.
And like an angel to his inner demon, another voice reminded him, Tonight was supposed to be for her pleasure, not your own. Don't let your nature ruin something beautiful.
TBC