A/N: Feedback is very appreciated.
"Why would I feel otherwise towards you?"
The challenge reverberated through his being, and Vincent could not avoid the echoes as they beat down upon him. While Catherine said the words so quietly, her voice full of love and innocence, his own nature amplified the question to loud and desperate reaches.
Only moments before, he had felt her despair at thinking he might be repulsed by her body. The reality had not sunken in at first, so foreign was the concept of what he had unknowingly wrought on her psyche. But once he realized his mistake, Vincent felt shaken to his core at Catherine's reaction.
How could she ever think I might find her… ugly?
Disbelief proved his prevailing emotion in this matter, but Vincent could not ignore the feelings which had come to him from Catherine through the bond.
She thought herself selfish for not even considering this possibility…
Through her eyes, Vincent had seen the reality those doubts had conjured, the otherworldliness of their disparate experiences. In that moment, he had experienced the topsy turvy nature of a world turned on end, a reality where he might be normal and Catherine a grateful recipient of his patient love.
Catherine.
No matter where or when or under what circumstances they found themselves, her mere name lit a small flame within him, creating a world of love and warmth, of tenderness and nameless joy. She soothed him, taming emotions which might otherwise threaten to overwhelm or even destroy.
Catherine reflected no fear of him, no terror at his nature or disgust at his body or his being. As intent as he was on her emotions, he could feel no shadow of doubt cross that threshold between them. And after a time, he could feel nothing from her at all but the dull and gentle hum of her absolute acceptance.
"I love you," she whispered simply into the darkness between them. "Anything you might want, I want to give you. Anything you might ask for… it is already yours for the taking."
Her feelings surrounded him, warm and hopeful and full of acceptance. For a time, Vincent relaxed enough to lose himself in that enveloping comfort - in the welcoming embrace of Catherine's endless affection. As minutes or perhaps hours passed, they lay together in his bed, either dosing or simply indulging in the heady scent of the other's presence. Catherine made no move to encourage him towards greater contact, but Vincent sensed within her a desire for something more.
She wanted to give him pleasure.
Vincent tensed in embarrassment at the intensity of her wishes. He felt them clearly through the bond, but still it felt strange and barbaric to admit to their existence. How could she possibly desire such a thing - of him?
But she did, his inner voice chided him. And Catherine did not wish it as a reciprocal act, something she was bound by duty or love to provide. Rather, she ached to share something with him, an act of passion and intimacy he could not deny or pretend away.
"Catherine," he said finally, finding his voice. "Would you…"
Just as soon as he thought he had secured the courage to ask her, he lost it again. Shaking his head, he buried his face once more in the curtain of her hair, letting the scent of her shampoo and perfume suffuse his senses.
"Would I do what?" she prompted.
He needed to say the words, Vincent knew. As much as the request tormented him to speak aloud, she needed it said as much as he did. They could go no further until he found the strength to give voice to his needs.
"Would you… touch me?"
The plea sounded pathetic and pitiable to his own ears, and Vincent's shoulders slumped in defeat at having uttered such a weak and deplorable request of her.
For a long moment, Catherine said nothing, and he sensed through the bond great surprise at his question.
"How may I touch you?" she asked finally, breathless with anticipation.
"However… wherever you might."
His body took that moment to remind him of where he desired her touch most, but Vincent ignored it, pushing aside the wave of lust which asserted itself in every fiber of his being.
But Catherine needed no further invitations.
Slowly, she moved from the circle of his arms, snaking her own hands across the nude planes of his chest and back. Her fingers traced trails of fire, igniting flesh which had long been denied any other touch, and Vincent suppressed shivers of delight and need both.
"Is there anywhere else," she asked softly, sensing his growing passion, "where you might want me to touch you?"
Desire almost overwhelmed him, and he Vincent helpless in the circle of her arms, unable to move away to safety or find the release which always proved so out of reach.
"Yes," he whispered.
Catherine leaned close, the smooth skin of her face momentarily touching his.
"May I touch you here?" she asked, and then her hand was upon him.
She made contact over his jeans, but he felt the electricity of her touch as though no layers at all lay between them. That thought alone almost sobered him, the image of her touching him, but a heady fog of desire kept him from fully experiencing that usual tumultuous mass of longing and self loathing.
He hissed sharply, and Catherine tensed against him, perhaps worrying she had caused him pain.
"Please," he finally managed, unable to voice anything more solicitous than that simply entreaty.
Before he could speak or breathe or refocus himself, Catherine had molded herself to his body and her fingers reached between them to ease down the zipper on his jeans. In doing so, she freed his aching erection, and Vincent briefly froze in shock and dismay as he waited to feel her response through the bond.
If he anticipated disgust or revulsion, Catherine provided no such response. Instead, he felt from her a simple moment of wonder, of gratitude and understanding. And then her hands were on him and he lost all capacity for coherent thought.
Never before had another person ever touched him thus. As much as he hated the differences of his body, he also deeply despised the organ which inspired sexual feelings towards those of the opposite sex. The first time he had experienced such urgings was in his friendship with Lisa. She danced beautifully, her young and lithe body so often gliding across the openness of the great hall like a real dancer.
He had wanted her, Vincent admitted freely. He wanted to hold her to him and kiss and love her forever. But that sort of expectation between them far exceeded the teenage relationship which had made him her willing slave. When the desperation of his young self had finally broken, when he allowed himself to reach for what he thought she offered... The moment turned out disastrous, an almost fatal blow to his fragile psyche. While he experienced sickness and fevers for week in the wake of that horrendous moment, Lisa had simply gone above to find more opportunities to dance…
Before he could focus more on that memory, Vincent felt Catherine's hand free him from the confines of his jeans. While the cool air of the tunnel might have chilled him, the warmth of her touch drove it away. Her hand traveled the length of him, both gentle and firm, and he shuddered at the unexpected pleasure that one simple motion elicited.
Oh, how he wanted her…
The desperation in his heart frightened him, and Vincent would have pushed her away. But then she slackened her grip and allowed her hand to slide along his erection once again, encircling and enticing him.
Undone, Vincent simply lay on his side, giving her free access to himself. His trust in her was utter - she had all the power, and she could use it to either love or to destroy.
Of course, Catherine chose love.
"How does this feel?" she asked, stroking his length once again with the fullness of her hand encircling him.
Vincent barely managed an intelligible groan, and a thread of amused satisfaction flowed from her.
She did not stop, did not waver as her hand pumped over him, careful to avoid chafing or discomfort. Catherine seemed to have an almost second sense about how to touch him, when to be forceful and when to give way. Within moments, she had, with only a few expertly applied caresses, brought him to an uncomfortable head of desire.
"Vincent?" she said quietly, her voice a strange but welcome visitor in the purely physical realm which now existed between them.
"Catherine…"
"I have a request," she told him, although the sensations of her fingers around him belied any sensical behest from him.
"Yes…"
She continued to stroke her hand along his length, giving him pleasure as she elicited from him probably the most embarrassing chorus of sounds.
"I want you to find release here," she instructed. "Now. With me."
As she voiced the supplication, her soft hand sped up even more, intensifying his building desire. Her other hand reached further between his legs, caressing his testicles, and he found speech momentarily impossible. Part of him knew he should answer, should assure her that he was entirely at her service. But another part of him balked at the image of her perfectly manicured fingers touching him in so intimate a manner.
Desire suddenly waned, taken over by shame and regret.
But Catherine's hand did not still as she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "I'm so eager to see you orgasm, Vincent."
Even if his own doubts fought him, her breath felt hot against the skin at his neck as she continued, "I've dreamed about this moment, about see you..."
His sex throbbed almost painfully as he imagined her awed expression watching him. She might even be telling the truth, he acknowledged to himself as his body betrayed him. Sensing his nearness, her motion sped up, focusing on the more sensitive head of his desire as he neared completion.
As climax overtook him suddenly, Vincent crumpled in on himself, focusing on the pleasure coursing through his veins, and Catherine rode the moment out with him. She continued to stroke him, hard and fast, until he had spent himself completely between them.
Hot semen spilled onto her body, but Catherine demonstrated neither surprise nor distaste. Rather, she hummed pleasantly as she extended his rapture, as she ensured he enjoyed every moment of the pleasure she had built between them. Then, she gently and casually guided him down came down from the gratified plateau which had completely overtaken his body.
Belatedly and with growing horror, Vincent realized what had happened. But Catherine's calm acceptance of the situation pushed aside his growing panic. Her fingers finally let go of him, and he watched dumbly as they followed the wet trail of his emissions across her belly and up to her breasts. While the sight should have horrified him, he found it strangely erotic, especially as she smiled at him with uncontained elation.
"Thank you," Catherine told him sincerely. "I'm so glad you were willing to trust me with that moment."
While Vincent might have otherwise argued with her, or stared at her in shock as she smeared his juices along her body, he simply locked his eyes on her lips.
He kissed her then - neither gently nor kindly. But instead of shrinking away from him, Catherine arched into his touch, accepting it with silent gratitude. She let him ravage her lips, wreaking from her an aching need to complete what they had begun between them. And within moments, Vincent realized that she lay spent with exhaustion and desire beside him, ready to give into any requests he might ask of her.
"I love you so much," she murmured into the darkness, and Vincent shuddered at the intensity of emotions behind her statement. Nothing else mattered to her - not the strength of friendship they shared, nor the bond between them, or even the fledgling relationship of flesh they had initiated. All that concerned her in that moment was the fullness in her heart, open and overflowing with love for him.
Vincent started awake, mortified that he had fallen asleep after the momentous event which had so recently occurred between himself and Catherine. But as he came to himself, he found that Catherine no longer lay stretched out on the bed beside him. Rather, she was near, but…
"I'm back," she announced quietly, obviously sensing his concern as he searched the chamber for her in desperation. "All clean."
She lay down beside him then, her hair pulled up in one of the towels she had found in the bathing chamber. She had wrapped another towel around her body but let go of it as she lay down on his bed.
Vincent glanced down but discovered himself to be just as free of the evidence of his orgasm as Catherine. She must have cleaned him while he slept, he thought belatedly, losing himself in the openness of her eyes.
"We should probably get dressed soon," she prompted. "Isn't breakfast served at eight?"
Even as she asked the question, Catherine stood up from the bed and let the towel around her midsection drop. Vincent stared openly at her nude form, the swell of her breasts and the triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs, while she vigorously toweled herself off.
"I don't want to risk Father's wrath," she joked, pulling a clean tunnel gown over her head.
Vincent watched as she dressed, pulling on underwear and then leggings and socks and boots to combat the chill of the tunnels. All the while, she threw him amused glances, as if they shared a secret no others in history could possibly understand. And indeed, he felt closer to her than ever before after their conversation and her expert caresses. But Catherine merely blushed as he reached for her, and she melted into his arms when he pulled her close against him.
"Mmmm," she sighed contentedly. "I'm glad you talked me into coming below."
Then she bestowed on him not just a chaste kiss of one's beloved, but a passionate press of her lips against his, an effort to steal his breath and rob him of all coherence.
"Oh, Catherine," he murmured upon finally managing to break away from the insistence of her kiss.
Catherine smiled, her eyes still closed, and nuzzled him closely.
"I don't know about you," she said softly, "But I've worked up quite an appetite."
Without further discussion, she pulled away from him, taking a moment to pull a shawl across her shoulders which would be appropriate for the temperatures in the tunnels. Vincent watched her in awe until she physically reached for him and pulled him out of bed, prompting him to dress so he could accompany her to breakfast.
William's Saturday morning brunch consisted mainly of eggs, sausage, and a variety of bagels pastries salvaged from above. Most of the latter were obtained through second-hand shops, dating the bagels and pastries to the edge of staleness. But Catherine seemed to show no hesitance as she picked up a half of a bagel and a crisp-looking scone and piled them onto her plate.
Smiling at Vincent, she preceded him in the breakfast line, doling out only a miniscule amount of eggs and one link of sausage before finding an open place to sit. Vincent followed her dutifully, and when he attempted to forgo the eggs and sausage completely, he stopped as William glared at him good-naturedly before deliberately spooning an extra helping of both onto his plate.
By the time he joined Catherine at a table, she was already laughing and talking with the other inhabitants - Rebecca and Pascal. Pascal, who always ate hurriedly so he could quickly return to the pipe chamber, seemed more subdued on this occasion. The pipe master listening as Catherine related some amusing anecdote from her experiences above.
"I wish we could use CB radios down here," Pascal was saying as Vincent took his place beside Catherine, "But the solid rock obscures the signals too quickly."
"Well, the pipes are already in place..." she observed.
"It makes for an easy system of communication," Pascal agreed readily. "They go to all the central tunnels and back."
Beside him, Rebecca pointed out, "And even the more distant chambers have access. Most are within a few minutes walk."
Excitedly, Pascal suggested, "You know, we've talked about extending the pipes to some of those areas, so the messages could be heard. It wouldn't be difficult, only expensive..."
Rebecca blushed prettily before giving the pipe-master a knowing glance. "I don't know. Sometimes, I think it is nice to be just outside the reach of the pipes. Having that extra bit of privacy..."
For a moment, Pascal said nothing, his mouth hanging open slightly at Rebecca's response, and Vincent watched the way that Catherine monitored them both. A few heartbeats later, as the pipe master still seemed to be formulating an answer, Catherine interjected, "Privacy is a difficult thing to find anywhere in the city, and I'm sure that's especially true down here. As much as I love the tight knit community, I'm sure there are plenty of times when people must simply wish to be… alone."
Beside her, Vincent felt his neck burn at the words she spoke aloud. But he felt nothing but pride for Catherine's interjection. Having lived all his life below, Vincent had seen others use all manner of materials to gain a bit of privacy. While few inhabitants had actual doors on their chambers, curtains were a strong suggestion, a nod to the privacy those above enjoyed so easily. But in the tunnels, sound tended to carry and reverberate at odd and unpleasant moments, carrying more than just the tapping of the pipes. On occasion, the better part of valor required the residents to ignore sounds the makers might not wish to be heard.
"Well, there are some more distant chambers, the ones down several levels," Pascal pointed out. "Vincent knows all of them. He does supply runs from time to time, taking extra candles and firewood…"
Keeping his eyes lowered so as not to betray his growing embarrassment, Vincent murmured, "Yes, I am familiar with those chambers. They are often used as way stations for trips even further below, to places which regularly flood and require seasonal repairs."
Flashing a grin at Catherine, Rebecca added, "And with springs nearby, they even have bathing facilities. So sometimes they double as honeymoon suites."
Both men looked fully away from the table, obviously uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had turned. But Catherine met the other woman's gaze with a smile. "That makes sense. Everyone needs to take a vacation now and then."
Pascal took advantage of the natural pause in the discussion to say his goodbyes before returning to the pipe chamber. Catherine observed as Rebecca watched him go, her face inscrutable. Carefully, she looked at Vincent and raised an eyebrow. As answer, he only shrugged. Soon after, Rebecca also excused herself, murmuring something about checking to see if her newest batch of candles had set.
When they were alone, Catherine turned towards Vincent and smiled openly, as though she had discovered some great secret.
"Is it just my imagination, or...?"
"It is not," he readily agreed, his own version of a grin alighting his features. While Vincent rarely smiled, ever conscious of exposing his sharp canine teeth in a way which might frighten or disconcert others, he tried to show his humor in more subtle ways. Lowering his voice, he said, "For some time now, Rebecca has made no secret of preferring certain… company."
Unable to contain her excitement at the gossip, Catherine asked just as quietly, "And how does Pascal feel?"
Again, Vincent shrugged.
"He has said nothing to me. In truth… I'm not sure if he realizes."
Incredulous, she asked, "How could he not?"
"While her intentions seem obvious to those with clear enough eyes to observe, I do not believe she has actually said anything to him."
"Perhaps she's hoping he'll say something first," Catherine ventured. "I know how frightening it can be, to have those feelings and worry if they are returned."
For a long moment, Vincent simply looked at her. Focusing on her through the bond, he could feel the memories of the emotions she described, of love tinged by uncertainty and longing. But, strangely, he felt within her the shadow of such feelings directed at him. Furrowing his brow in confusion, he wondered when Catherine might have ever been in doubt of his own love for her. Even in the beginning, he had made it abundantly clear…
"What?" she asked, looking at him with questioning eyes.
Lowering his gaze, Vincent said simply, "I'm trying to imagine anyone not returning such feelings towards you."
This time, Catherine blushed as she looked away.
"Well, I must say, the whole situation with Justin back in law school gave my ego quite a hit. Perhaps that's why I fell so hard for Steven. But that's not the only time I felt that way."
He looked at her, hoping she would continue. But Catherine glanced around, obviously not comfortable offering such details in the dining hall where so many others could overhear them.
"Perhaps we should take a walk?" he offered.
Catherine gratefully accepted the invitation, and after thanking William for the delicious breakfast, they set out on a meandering route through the tunnels. For the first few minutes, neither said anything. But after a while, their silent trek was interrupted by a small column of children running by. Led by Zack, the troupe included Samantha, Geoffrey, Eric, and several of the younger ones.
"Where are you off to?" Catherine asked with amusement.
"The park!" Geoffrey told her, beaming with elation. "William gave us the last of the stale bagels so we can feed the ducks."
She laughed at his enthusiasm, and Vincent found himself overcome with by her child-like sense of wonder emanating through the bond. In so many ways, Catherine's soul could be glimpsed in her awe at the simplicity of life below. Of course, as a woman who had been born and lived all her life above, she might find their ways… basic. Mundane, even. But Catherine never seemed to find the lives of those in the tunnels boring or provincial. Rather, she took everything in like a child, accepting it easily but also finding something beautiful or special to admire about its simplicity.
"I wish I'd thought to bring my wallet," she mused after the children had left. "I could have given them money for ice cream or candy."
"They are talented at finding their own amusements," Vincent assured her.
She nodded, letting the matter drop. But she slipped her arm into his, bringing their bodies into exquisite contact as they walked. At first, Vincent thought he should take her to the Chamber of the Falls. During the day, light often found its way down, illuminating the waterfalls with a strange sort of perpetual glow. They often ended up there when Catherine had a weekend free to spend below. But on this occasion, Vincent felt a less public space might be in order.
"Would you like to see one of the 'honeymoon' suites, or so Rebecca terms them?" he asked. "The closest is about an hour's walk…"
"I'd love to," she assured them.
They meandered more than hiked, and the time took much longer than his estimate, but neither took note of the time. Rather, they talked of lovely but inconsequential things. Vincent updated her on the recent lessons of his literature class. She chimed in now and then with questions and comments, but underneath it all, he sensed a stillness within Catherine, a holding back.
When they finally reached the distant chamber, Vincent hoped that she would not be disappointed at the meager and limited provisions of the room. The bed was but a worn twin mattress, elevated off the floor with a few stray pieces of wood which had been carved and pieced into a frame. But the bedding and blankets were clean, and a nearby chest stood filled with extra candles as well as a small supply of emergency provisions.
"It's very… secluded," Catherine observed.
"Few come this way," he confirmed. Taking a deep breath, he relayed the history of the space. "In the beginning, it was nothing more than a way-station. A place for workers to stop and rest on their way back from repairs to the tunnels more likely to flood with summer rains. But in the off-months, it became… more sought after. As you observed, privacy can be difficult in the tunnels, especially with so many well-intentioned friends about. After a while, Father began to keep a calendar with requests to use the more private chambers. But… things became tense when those who made requests…"
He paused, searching for the best way to explain the situation.
"Father didn't always approve?" she guessed.
With a snort of amusement, Vincent answered, "Yes, that was part of the problem. I think he also had trouble with the obvious purpose for such requests. Eventually, Mary took over the calendar. She has a more thoughtful mind for such matters…"
He stopped, realizing how closely the conversation was veering towards their own experiences of late - experiments of body and flesh to which Father would never give tacit approval, but for which Mary would likely smile as she penciled them in for the next open weekend.
"I've always been curious about that sort of thing… down here," Catherine admitted.
Turning to her, Vincent raised his eyebrows in question.
"You know…" she said shyly. She had sat down on the edge of the mattress and looked up at him with curiosity. "Dating… romance. Even marriage."
Nodding, Vincent sat down beside her. "Well, dating below is… I assume it to be much as it is above. Two people decide they wish to spend more time together, and they do so. Sometimes we see them sitting together at the dining hall. Sometimes we simply stop seeing them at all… except perhaps in glimpses at the more popular locations below."
Catherine nodded in understanding, and he felt a strange glow of contentment about her.
"Eventually, if the couple so desires, they declare their intentions to be joined. They must of course tell Father, and then a date is set-"
"So they aren't formally married?" she queried, not so much concerned as curious.
"Our ceremonies are not recognized in the world above," Vincent reminded her. "But if there is a licensed officiant, they can perform a ceremony so that the marriage may be formally registered in your world."
He was reminded of Lynn and Henry, the young Chinese couple of their acquaintance who had risked everything for the sake of love. The two had been married below, the wedding performed by one deemed trustworthy enough to keep the secret for their entire community. Still, Vincent had hung back, observing things from the upper level of Father's chamber rather than standing beside Henry as Lynn had requested of Catherine. Some secrets were too large to ask of strangers all at once.
"In my world, the law has certain requirements to recognize a marriage," Catherine said slowly, giving no judgment to the observation. "Down here, I'm sure it doesn't matter as much."
"In the tunnels, what matters is the intentions of others. I would not say we have divorce, but… there have been at least a few 'un-joinings,' to use the term. For instance, Elizabeth-"
"Elizabeth?" Catherine interrupted, incredulous. "You mean Elizabeth the artist? Elizabeth who fills the painted tunnels with her works?"
With a wry smile, Vincent nodded.
"Yes, that Elizabeth. Long ago, she was joined with a man named Daniel. I cannot even say how long their joining lasted. But one day, as I am told, she suddenly declared them unjoined. And while they have remained friends ever after, there has been no rumor of anything else."
While Vincent knew that Catherine had met Daniel on several occasions, he also suspected that she had never thought to connect the two older tunnel inhabitants.
"I never would have thought," she said a moment later. "I always assumed Elizabeth to be married to her work, to her art."
"And perhaps that was the problem," Vincent agreed. "Daniel never joined with anyone else, but he continues to live below - a quiet life. But one full of love and laughter and giving."
Catherine smiled at the bittersweet ending of his tale, but she seemed to give it no weight beyond one more anecdote shared during their day together. With a deep sigh, she laid back on the bed, stretching her arms out above her head as she clearly sampled the comfort of the mattress for her own purposes.
Still hung up on the morning's discussions, Vincent chose that moment to broach a subject which he knew he probably should let rest without inquiry. Unfortunately, fear and apprehension drove him onward.
"Earlier," he said quietly, "You mentioned worrying that your feelings were not reciprocated. I could tell through the bond that some of your response had to do with your… earlier relationships. But, I felt that perhaps some of your reflections applied towards... us."
Even though he had rehearsed the words all through their walk to the way-station chamber, Vincent still felt awkward saying them aloud. For her part, Catherine simply smiled wryly before sitting up again and staring off into the distance.
For a long moment, she said nothing, although he could feel the swift current of emotions within her. They flowed deep and quick, like a dark and nameless river of his acquaintance, and Vincent sat mesmerized.
Eventually, she answered him.
"I have never been in doubt of your love," Catherine ventured. She did not look at him as she spoke, but she went on, "You were never casual or unclear about how you felt for me. But it took me a while to realize that your feelings, as deep and complicated as they were, extended to more than just a platonic relationship."
Vincent cocked his head to the side as he considered her response. Of course, he had never tried to press upon her a physical relationship. The very idea of it had been abhorrent to him then, and even now he struggled to accept that she might want such a thing. But Catherine had always seemed to leave that side of their connection open, a bookmark with no chapter end, so to speak. She did not ask for him to define their relationship, not when the boundaries between them were so new and nebulous.
But as he focused on her words, Vincent understood how she might feel rejected. If she had wanted more than just a love in name, a relationship built on longing looks and mutual appreciation of poetry, then her desire for more might feel seem like an unwanted complication.
"I never felt like I had the right to ask for more," he confessed softly. His body nearly hummed at her nearness, at the thought of recreating the bliss they had shared so early in the morning hours of their day. "Even now, I still have trouble believing you could want such a thing…"
Beside him, he not only felt Catherine's deeply held physical desire flare to life, but he was able to witness her abandonment of control. Turning to him, she put one hand on the side of his face, curling his fingers against his cheek as she meekly guided his lips to hers.
"Please, Vincent," she begged, their mouths almost touching. "Please believe me. I want all of you. Everything you could ever hope to give me and more."
The truth of her emotions echoed out through the bond, and Vincent lost control of himself as he acceded to her wishes, claiming her lips with his own. The kiss heralded not only love and longing, but a re-awakened physical desire between them.
He kissed her thoroughly, delving and exploring and plundering with his mouth and tongue until Catherine lay fully on the mattress, her back pressed into it from his moment of dominance. But even as Vincent paused, taking stock of her overwhelming feelings, he saw his own furred and clawed hands reach for her.
She gave herself up to him willingly. No - gladly. Nothing about his unusual touch seemed to give her pause. Rather, Catherine reacted to him as she might any other lover. Her emotions betrayed no hints of disgust or rejection. His body excited her with glee and anticipation just as any other might. Perhaps, she might have admitted if pressed, he kindled in her an even greater desire exactly because of his relative inexperience. If he had little to compare her to, she could more easily be the picture of feminine beauty he proclaimed her to be.
"We should… stop," Vincent managed, breaking away from their kiss with some effort.
Catherine lay next to him, also panting for breath but looking more beautiful in the process.
"We should, yes," she acknowledged. "But I really don't want to…"
With that, she grabbed the edges of his cloak and pulled him back to her.
TBC