It had all begun a little under three months ago.
Catherine had returned from work later than usual, irritated at having missed a concert with Vincent, because Joe had ‘insisted’ that she should work late. Sometimes the man could be so infuriating! But she had relented because she had ‘owed him one’ as he had sourly put it when she had arrived in at ten o’clock on more than one occasion during the past week and he had covered for her with Moreno. And Catherine guessed that everything might have been okay. That she might have ridden out the storm raging inside of her at having missed a rare evening with the man that she loved, had it of not been for those damned hormones that plagued a woman near her time of the month.
So sitting out on the balcony alone, a cup of almost cold coffee in her hands, Catherine had felt the tears begin to flow, those damn emotional tears that a woman knew she couldn’t stop simply because it was so.
Coffee forgotten Catherine had lay her head upon her folded arms upon the table, her seat pushed out, her back slumped forward while the hot falling tears scalded her cheeks.
How long she had wadded in self-pity she did not know, how long she had cried out her heart she did not care. It was as if suddenly the dam had busted and everything, all the denials, all the raging unfulfilled desire had suddenly burst out of her in one almighty rush.
She should have realised of course, but she did not, and it wasn’t until she felt a firm yet warm pressure upon her shoulder that she realised with deepest regret that her tears, her anguish had brought Vincent to her side. That the Bond that they shared so deeply would tell him of her distress and he would come to her like a pin to a magnet, or more appropriately in this case, she sniffed, a moth to a flame.
Yes that was it.
Catherine did not turn nor acknowledge his presence behind her, nor seek through the Bond to know his feelings. Instead she contemplated that likeness. He was the moth, she the flame and he dared to go so close as to not get burned. And she the flame beckoned, this way and that way in fluid dance encouraging and watching him come as close as he dared, but always he was that tiny bit distant, always he remained within his realm of safety.

“Catherine?” She did not know how many times he had spoken her name softly on the wings of a breath, but she was certain it had been more than once before the sound pulled her out of her retrospect. In his voice, that simply utterance of her name Catherine heard all his anxiety, felt all of his love, so why couldn’t it just be so? Why could she not respond to his calling her to him, turning and standing on tip toe to brush her soft lips against his? Why did she always have to brace herself as she continually came face to face with his fears, the same fears that he would not confront and pass beyond? Catherine knew that he loved her, but this relationship was going nowhere, and it pained her deeply. It pained them both deeply if truth be known.
His hand upon her shoulder squeezed a little, the firm pressure drawing her around to face him. Vincent longed to gather her to him, to brush away her tears with the pads of his fingers and to taste from them the salty dew with the tip of his tongue.
If only it were simpler. If only he could turn her to face him, pull her up into his arms and kiss away her tears with his lips.
Vincent’s heart was breaking.
He knew not her distress, but something told him that it had something to do with them, with him.
“Catherine?” He could only repeat her name, borne as it was from the depths of his heart where it nestled constantly.
He asked but he dared fear the answer, “Why do you cry? Has something happened at your place of work?” Though he knew that was not so, still he was stunned when instead of her expected reply she buried her face more firmly upon her arms and sobbed even harder.
That hurt. That really hurt. Vincent’s heart was bleeding with the pain and through a blur of tears each one of his hands reached beneath her armpits and pulled her to her feet. She came to him easily, her back held against the lean hardness of him, as if she were a mere rag doll that lacked substance.
There was no fight in her, and Vincent’s heartache consumed him. Turning her, his hands tangled in her hair he pulled her face close to his chest, kissing the top of her head as she nestled there and with his heart breaking he let her cry.
Catherine did not know how long she stood in the security of his arms but she suddenly felt very foolish. Her tears dried rapidly and she attempted some speech that would not come. Shyly she drew back just a little, daring to look up at him. In that rare unguarded moment what she saw in his eyes accelerated her heartbeat and her movements froze.
There was passion and desire, and there, yes surely there in his eyes, their dream came wonderfully, fantastically true.
He felt her move in his arms, felt her stiffen as her gaze rested upon his face. Through the Bond he felt her heart race and for one moment the need to flee and to hide from her the raw and naked desire he felt whenever he was around her was paramount. But then he relaxed, what did it matter anyway? Wasn’t she aware of how he felt? Of how he really felt? Did he not share the dream with her? In her? How long must they continue the way? The way that had been set for them? Almost three years now since he had found her that cold and bitter night. The night that had changed his life forever. And he knew that the dreams Catherine harboured were as one with his own, but could it ever be more than a dream? Could it really?
He felt, rather than saw her fingers touch his chin, glide up over the firm planes to touch his cheeks, to feel his tears wet upon her fingertips. He heard her voice, strangled by a sob, “Oh Vincent.” In that one word, in that simple utterance of his name he felt the complete and utter depth of her love for him and he was lost.
In that rarest of moments, a moment snatched out of time, Catherine could not decide whether it was Vincent or that ‘other’ that suddenly held her so fiercely. The firm pinpricks of his claws touched her skin through her satiny pyjamas and while her mind acknowledged the feel of them there, so too did it reel to find the hard length of him pulsating against her thigh. Catherine moaned, unable to help herself. Liquid desire raged through her limbs culminating in the very pit of her femininity and in like manner she sought the heat of his desire. Her arms gathered him close, closer, their bodies fusing as one, out there against the wall of her balcony, everything real and solid and safe against the unreality of what they were feeling, of what they were doing. Of what Vincent was allowing to happen!
Catherine heard him expel a groan. The raspy sound guttural and muffled against her throat. It had to be that ‘other’. Catherine’s heart plummeted. Unwittingly she had unleashed the beast. It was Vincent that she wanted. Vincent that she desired, not this primal beast that knew no boundaries.
She knew he had always matched her need. Yet hadn’t she tamed the beast before, but how could she allow him to take her? If she did what would that do to the man that she loved?
Catherine felt his hands through a haze of misgivings, felt the pads of both thumbs brush against the sensitised peaks of her breasts and a moan expelled from her throat of its own violation. Oh how she wanted him. Did it matter? Did it really matter that he was not in control? Could she lead him, would he follow if she walked toward her bedroom now? Did she dare? Did she have the courage to get that far and see Vincent run when that ‘other’ gave way as he surely must? And what then would become of their dream?
As she sought her answers, Catherine became aware of his lips searching her brow. When had they moved from her throat? She did not know. In her mind’s eye his hot breath had never left that area, and it was not until she raised a hand to the place and touched the sticky substance of her own blood that she realised why the warmth had remained.
Vincent would be appalled! Her heart pounded in her chest and rationally she sought ways to get out of this situation and fast before ‘the other’ hurt her further as Vincent had always insisted that he could. But those claws were now slicing through the fabric at her back and as wetness seeped down her side, Catherine knew that the same were true of her breast. Almost as she had thought it, the cold air of the night touched her bare skin, and she knew that the front of her pyjamas lay in tatters exposing her flesh to him.
Daring to raise her eyes to his face Catherine drew in a startled breath. In the stark light streaming out from her apartment his eyes so usually blue were green with desire encased golden glints within them that mesmerised her.
Standing staring up at him Catherine became aware when he inclined his head toward her. She saw him blink rapidly and felt him eradicate himself from her softness. Horror swept through Catherine, Vincent was coming back, fighting within against that ‘other self’.
If he should see the damage that he had done, if he should ever know, then she will have lost him, forever.
Catherine acted swiftly. Pulling back before he had won the battle, she excused herself, fleeing not into the stark contrast of light from dark, but instead to the confines of her darkened bedroom, where she donned a robe thus quickly hiding her tattered clothing from his sight.
Next her neck. Racing to the bathroom, she closed the door before turning on the light, and hurriedly scrubbed away the telltale sign before leaving the bathroom and reaching for a silk scarf to tie around her throat.
Catherine noticed herself as she passed by the mirror. She couldn’t prevent a tiny little laugh at the sight she presented. “New fashion” she told herself, imagining walking into a function wearing nothing but a bathrobe and a silk scarf, before her flash of fun vanished and she faced the task in hand.

Drawing a deep breath Catherine hurried out onto the balcony, expecting to find him where she had left him. Her heart almost burst from her chest when she found he had gone.
That was too much, to expect him there, to expect to see him recovering from himself, from that ‘other self’ and then to find him gone was simply too much.
In automation Catherine walked back to her earlier seat at the table, and slumped into it, the oh so recent tears building behind her lashes once more and she let them come. Let them scald her cheeks once again as wave after wave of utter despair raced through her weary limbs.
Again she did not know how much time had lapsed. That the very streets themselves had become silent did not register in her tired brain, nor did a clock chiming three in the morning penetrate her mind. It was instead a sound, brought about by those ghostly chimes, a shuffling that sounded in the furthest reaches of her darkened balcony that brought Catherine’s head up sharply, her eyes searching through the inky blackness to see what it had been that had disturbed her slumber.
As her vision cleared her heart seemed to jump right out of her breast! Vincent! Vincent was there! He hadn’t been there all along had he? Or had he run from her, only to return afresh drawn by the latest bout of her distress?

“Vincent! How long have you been there?” She whispered, almost afraid that the apparition might melt away with the shadows, that she had imagined his presence after all.

He spoke groggily, the words torn from him, “All night”.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know?”

“I know.”

“Have you been asleep?” Her question was cautious. How much did he remember? His reply stunned her.

“It wasn’t him Catherine, it was me! How then could I sleep?”

For long moments Catherine denied his words. It couldn’t have been. It just couldn’t have been.

“No.” She cried shaking her head, “No Vincent, I saw him, I saw his eyes, green, gold and feral.”

“You saw what your heart wanted you to see, don’t you realise that Catherine? How is it that I can remember? You have no need to don a robe and a scarf to hide what these hands, what this mouth did to sully your perfection. It was me Catherine, me Vincent!” The last words were caught on a sob and Catherine’s heart went out to him. What on earth could she say to rectify matters now?

“You don’t have to say anything Catherine.” She heard him shuffle and knew by the faint silhouette of his position that he was standing now, leaning against the wall of her apartment and she knew what his next words were going to be.

“Wait!” She begged him while rising to her feet but deliberately not approaching him, knowing he would not allow her closeness. “I have something for you.” Her feet felt unsteady and her head light, but Catherine willed herself to say, “Please wait.” As she stepped through into her apartment where the overhead lights blazed.

From his position on the balcony Vincent turned and watched her walk into the room. Though her injuries were covered he could see them still. And he could feel his teeth against her creamy white throat and his claws against her tender skin. And he could feel other things too. What it felt like to hold her close, to be intoxicated by her scent so that every one of his fears was over ridden. He could remember the unadulterated joy singing through his veins when she had cleaved herself against him, willingly giving herself up to the demands of his body and fresh heat surged painfully through Vincent’s thighs as he remembered these things, filling him once again with a desperate need and longing.
Catherine had purchased the book only that morning and went to it immediately. It was as she has left it, bound in gift-wrap and lying upon one of her dinky sofas. It was easier and quicker to lean over the back of the furniture rather than go around to pick up the gift but in that split second of leaning over Catherine gasped out loud.
She had not heard his approach by the soft padding of his footsteps upon the rich density of her carpeting, but she felt him as their bodies had touched. Firm hands grasped her from behind, one either side of her waist, his lower body pressed tightly against her bottom, the circular movements signifying his need, the first gentle then firm pressure of his body tight against hers.
A moan erupted unbidden from Catherine’s throat, as he husked the words, “See it is me Catherine, it is me that needs you so.” Before his words broke into a torrent of tears flooding her soul with heartache.
Shocked her fingers dropped her gift, as her body spun around in time to see him leaving the apartment and her feet on wings of eagles flew after him not knowing that she had even left her place.

“Vincent!” She cried, stopping his retreat momentarily, “Wait!” The word caught on a sob, “Please wait!”

As if words alone were able to mould him into immobility Vincent hesitated. Half over the balcony like someone in fear of his freedom Vincent waited, head bowed and face hidden within the folds of his hooded cloak.

“I love you.” Catherine approached steadily but slowly, “And with love Vincent, all things are possible.”

For a long moment she thought he would say nothing and go, but she was wrong. Her heart hammered painfully in wondrous expectation as he brought back the leg that had already crossed the boundary line, and came to rest alongside the one standing upon her terrace.
He straightened, and Catherine watched hypnotised as he shortened the few feet that separated them, but as the light from her home once again caught his eyes, she knew that she had not imagined this. They were green, the gold glints shining, the feral tint faint but so obviously there.
Catherine held her breath, waiting for she knew not what, almost relieved when he spoke her name.

“Catherine.” It was raspy, it’s resonate sound deep as he came up close to her ear. She felt the hot breath once again on her neck and anticipated the bite to follow. It did not come. Instead Catherine heard the words that would shape and change her future, that would bring their dream to fruition.

“He once said you must go with courage and care my Catherine.” Shivers ran up and down her spine at the chilling sound of the ‘other’s’ voice, “but I say this. Tonight you have seen his passion. You have been shown that equally we are of the same mind. He wants you Catherine. You must be bolder, more daring, you must take the lead, and he will follow. My love, like a lamb he will follow, and the only slaughter will be his.” Catherine swallowed convulsively, understanding the signification at once. If she were to lead and Vincent were to follow, the slaughter he had envisaged to be hers would not happen. The only slaughter would be his, as a lamb to the slaughter he would give himself up to her.
Shivers, delicious shivers rippled over Catherine’s sensitised skin and she watched mesmerised as he stepped away and walked back toward the balcony wall. He would go now Catherine knew that. He would return to his world beneath the city streets taking her heart with him and for now she would let him go.
Their eyes met one last time as he turned to face her and Catherine gasped. His blue and stunningly beautiful eyes met her steady gaze and his voice before he disappeared from her view was husky and purely Vincent’s, “Lead my Catherine and I will follow.”

Coffee forgotten, Catherine went to her bed it had grown chilly sitting out in the kitchen and she was tired. Still her mind refused to relinquish its hold upon the events that had led up to the culmination of their dream, and as she slipped beneath the covers Catherine allowed her mind to feed upon the memories once again.

Awaking groggy and in some other world as the alarm had beat out a charade of sounds set to blow her mind, Catherine smacked the offending thing with one hand, sending it flying across the floor squealing its displeasure. She then glared at it, willing it to shut up, willing the ceiling to fall in and crush out its sound so that she could get back to sleep, when suddenly she remembered Vincent’s parting words.

“Lead my Catherine, and I will follow.” Delicious shivers ran up and down her frame curling her toes in surrender.

“Oooh Vincent Wells, what did you mean?” Her mouth curved into a smile, before her cheeks fused red as she remembered his body tight against hers, the feel of his manly hardness pulsating against her. Catherine leapt from the bed, her eyes wide, “Oh Vincent, I know exactly what you meant…”

Last night had been a dream within a dream. So much so that it had to have been a dream. Her first thought was to rush to the sitting room to see if the gift she had intended to give him was still there. When she found that it was, she knew that seeing it had resolved nothing. Then suddenly, with a hand to her brow and uttering obscenities along with the words, “how could you be so dumb Chandler?” Catherine flew into her bathroom stripping off the robe as she went and peeling away the silken scarf.
There!
They were there!
The marks that she treasured.
His mark upon her - the brandishing marks of his love - a clear sign that everything had taken place exactly as she had remembered!
Oh but how would he be feeling today? Catherine’s joy plummeted.
That irritating sound brought her back to the present and Catherine picked up and switched off the alarm on her clock depositing it back to its place, before walking back to the bathroom to shower.
She should be going into work today, but how could she? How on earth would she explain this love bite! Catherine grimaced, imagine Joe’s face and his words. ‘hot date Radcliff?’ and her reply, ‘Yes Joe, and you don’t know how hot’ her head now conjuring up images and telling her, ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet girl.’ That delicious thought playing havoc with her mind.
Leaning against the cold tiling was suddenly the only way to still her molten limbs from burning up. But her hands and the soap washing her flesh became his hands, the remembrance of the pads of his thumbs touching the tips of her breasts infusing her face to full colour, causing her eyes to shut tightly as moan after moan expelled from her lips.
Suddenly Catherine brought herself up sharply as she remembered that he would feel every ounce of her desire but a shudder ran through her as she remembered his words, ‘you lead and I’ll follow’.
In the past such times as these would force her to put a damper on her raging desire for him, but to be given free rein to her feelings was such a relief. “All right Mr Smartypants,” Catherine giggled, “I’ll lead. Oh will I lead.” And the next half an hour was spent in the delicious pursuit of showering and running her hands slowly and sensuously over every curve while imaging that it was his hands that were upon her.

*** *** ***

Down in his chamber Vincent’s cheeks had been crimson. Some said that he didn’t blush. Father said it was impossible for him to do so, but Vincent distinctly felt them burning. It was as well perhaps that from his standpoint Father was right, because as the older man chatted idly to his son about the day’s forthcoming events, Vincent was glad that he was none the wiser to his son’s turmoil.
Catherine was showering. He knew that. With her hands upon her skin and her mind feasted on him. Vincent had to sit crookedly and the strangeness of this action was the only one that Father noticed as out of the ordinary.
“You all right Vincent?” His son was sitting cross-legged in such a way that it worried him. And Vincent’s face wore an expression of tight-lipped pain.

“Yes Father. Please continue. I’m just a little tired.”

Father nodded, accepting his son’s words and continued to speak about the lessons that he wanted covering with the children that morning. Yet his concern returned when Vincent rarely commented.

“Perhaps you should take this morning off Vincent. You seem more than a little distracted today. Has something happened Above?”

“Above Father?”

Father peered over the top of his spectacles and scrutinised his son. “With Catherine then.”

Vincent did not know what to say. Everything had happened. Everything.
His silence in no way worried Father, just confirmed his suspicions and Father patted his son’s shoulder. “Take the whole day off Vincent. I’m sure that you need to do.”

“Thank you Father.” That his son had readily agreed bother Jacob Wells, patriarch of the tunnels, and there was something else, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something was happening. He could feel it in his old bones. There was something in the air that surrounded his son for him to know that something was changing. Father shrugged, ‘must be imagining things’ he told himself as he left the chamber turning back to look at his son.
Then Father laughed, softly, a chuckle that shook his frame through and through, ‘now I know that I am imagining things. Vincent blushing? Never! Must be the light in there.” And Father returned to his own chamber his face merry.

And suddenly Vincent was blushing even more. For Catherine was coming Below!
The need to run and hide utmost in his mind, Vincent was suddenly rooted to the spot. He couldn’t do that anymore. And really did he want to do? Especially after what had happened last night…
Allowing himself to remember Vincent fed upon the memories, the feel of her softness against him. His parting words, ‘you lead my love, and I will follow’. Vincent knew those words to be as true now, as they were when he had uttered them, but what had made him so bold as to say them in the first place he would never know. But say them he had, just as his actions had spilled over giving away his most deepest secrets and now Catherine was coming, coming to him!
Stepping through his chamber entrance Catherine’s eyes searched for and found the man that she loved sitting in his high backed winged chair watching the entrance for her arrival. He said nothing as she entered, but his eyes were luminous and wide and held a faint hint of fear.

“Hello my love.” Catherine walked steadily toward him, “How are you today?” Her voice held concern and a little uncertainty. Vincent knew she was asking a silent question, one he dared not answer. Not yet, not until he knew why she had come.

“You forgot your gift.” His eyes fell from her face to her hands and automatically his own reached out for the gift-wrapped parcel that she held out to him. “Open it.” She begged him with a warm encouraging smile.

“Later.” He put the gift down upon the table, knowing there was something he must do first. Something that he had intended last night, before that ‘other’ had taken over. In fact though he had been of himself, it was only that ‘other’ that had given him any courage at all. At least that was one thing to thank him for. If only Vincent could be made to realise and accept that there was no ‘other’ that he and that ‘other’ that he blamed for his differences, for his desires, were one and the same, that there was no split personality after all. Just a man hopelessly and deliriously in love with a beautiful woman. But Vincent had not realised that yet.

“Come.” His voice soft and inviting beckoned Catherine closer and Vincent opened his arms to her.
For a second or two Catherine looked at him from beneath her lashes trying to ascertain which of the Vincent’s now sat before her inviting her into his arms. Vincent knew her thoughts, “To me Catherine.”

With a whimper Catherine threw herself into his embrace and felt his arms close around her. “I love you Catherine.” His voice whispered against the crown of her head, “So very much.”

Catherine held her breath, daring to raise her eyes, inclining her face oh so slightly toward his. What she saw beginning to happen sent joy flooding through her limbs. His head was bending toward her and one hand caught behind her head to bring her face up to meet his.
Next their lips softly melded together and instantly with that one touch, that first foremost touch, their passion exploded.

“Why?” It was the only logical thing that came to mind, “Why now?” What had altered that he should become everything that she had ever wanted him to be with her?

“It is time.” He answered her very simply. “Marry me Catherine.” He swallowed with difficulty and she felt him hold his breath, but hers was stilled also. Had he really just said what she thought he had said?

Her eyes when they searched his asked the question and the doubt there was visibly apparent for him to see. Vincent smiled, kissing the tip of her nose lightly, a bout of humour fusing his heart at his Catherine, lost for words.

“Marry you?” Catherine questioned. Vincent nodded. Catherine expelled a breath, long and deep, “Really?” Her eyes were beginning to shine with hope.

“Yes.”

There were a few seconds of silence while Catherine came back down to earth but seeing Vincent sitting there, hopefully awaiting her answer told her all she needed to know. “Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.”

Once she had started Catherine could not stop and her lips were everywhere. On his cheeks, his eye lids, his brow, his chin, all around his mouth, everywhere but where he needed them the most, until at last she pulled back and looked at him long and hard her eyes shining with love for him. And then she answered his desperate need, her lips upon his, soft, demanding and oh so very passionate, and Vincent’s heart opened and blossomed like a flower as finally the last of his fears had melted away.

*** *** ***

How long he stared at the creamy softness of her skin Vincent did not know.
Her actions had both surprised and frightened him. That she could, would allow him to follow through on such instincts that could only be described as feral he did not know, but even as he fought the instinct that led him now, Vincent knew that it could be no other way.
Reaching out a tentative hand as if he had never touched her nakedness before, Vincent’s finger tips finally encountered warm flesh. Catherine shivered sending spirals of desire shuddering through her frame. He hesitated, his fingers warm upon her but unmoving, as he continued to stare at her body from nape to softly rounded bottom and back up again.
He knew that she waited, holding her breath tightly, and he knew also that she was afraid that he would turn away from her even now.
“I love you.” The words were expelled as much to reassure her, as to tell her of his love, and Vincent felt her relax and release the breath that she had been holding so tightly.
“Roll over.” He pleaded softly and watched as she returned to lying upon her back, her head inclined toward him and watching his every expression. She said nothing, just watched and waited.
Leaning forward Vincent touched his lips to hers and with the muffled words, “you’re sure?” and her affirmative nod, Vincent’s mouth moved lower, seeking out the warmth of her throat.
What she had expected then did not come. She had expected that as before he would feast upon her throat as a lion did his mate before rolling her over and making her his but Catherine was wrong. What he did next both surprised and pleased her for she had not taught him this.
This then was purely instinctive and purely feral.
His tongue, hot and raspy touched her skin, first tentatively and then with a growing agonised need that surprised her.
From her throat to the tip of her breasts he licked her, his tongue tasting from one to the other as if he could not decide where to be most. And then when Catherine thought she would surely go mad with dizzying pleasure, his hot tongue strayed to the tender skin beneath her breasts and he nuzzled there absorbing her scent deeply into his lungs.
From there he licked downward, his finger tips now just grazing her skin lightly, sending bolts of pleasure racing through her inner parts. Catherine wanted to stretch; the desire to do so paramount and all at once she visualised herself as a she cat worshipped by the sun, lying sprawled and wanton in complete abandon to the heat above her.
Vincent, his head surrounded by golden mane and glinting by the light from one solitary candle looked up at her then, and Catherine caught the look in his eyes and her heart soared. They were blue, a deeper shade of blue than she had ever seen them before, and in that light from that solitary candle Catherine was left in sheer amazement that the light of love and unbridled passion from within those depths could be so very clear to her.
Reaching out a hand Catherine stroked her fingers down the side of his cheek and she smiled her encouragement and understanding.
To Catherine Vincent was a man, of that there was no doubt, but he was also half beast too, and there were times when one would over ride the other, and there were times when the two would mingle as one.
This was one of those such times, man and beast, together, loving her together, in complete agreement. That was why the blue eyes revealed the control of the man and the actions spoke of the beast but Catherine a woman of both worlds subjected herself willingly to them both.

“I love you.” Catherine sobbed, her heart aching from sheer happiness and feeling compelled to add, “Both of you. I love parts both of you.”
Vincent smiled and bent his head to nuzzle her flesh again.
Lying back against the pillows Catherine closed her eyes her attention spanned only on the delicious feelings his mouth and hands evoked within her.
This was bliss - this was heaven.
His tongue licked at her sides, up and over each rib beneath the taut skin that covered it, and ever downward to the scent that called to him below. Catherine, her skin sensitised to his every feather light touch absorbed his love deep into herself.
As the pads of his thumbs encountered and strayed over the hardened peaks of her breasts, Catherine expelled a long soft moan as arrow-heads of pleasure shot straight between her thighs causing her entire body to twitch uncontrollably.
For a long while his fingers remained there, softly stroking this way and that over the hardened peaks, his tongue gently lapping around the area of her navel. When suddenly, unexpectedly his hot tongue shot into her navel and Catherine’s hips bucked from the bed, causing Vincent to chuckle just a little. He repeated the action and was rewarded with the same. He had found an erogenous zone, and he intended to return to it another time.
For now though her lower body called to him. Primal yearning drenched his being and her scent heady and dizzying sent him ever on his way.
Sliding himself further down her body, Vincent heard a whimper of protest from his wife as his hands left her breasts, but that was soon replaced by a moan of pleasure as his hands encountered the dewy lips of her femininity.
This feeling was one that Catherine was well used to. After three months of foreplay with him Catherine had grown accustomed to Vincent’s fingers unfolding the petals of her flesh. This he would do while one of his legs held one of hers behind his, and the other pushed her other leg across the mattress, holding it there with his foot, so that her body was wide open to his perusal.
In turn Catherine loved this, giving herself up totally to the capture of her body by his. As his fingers worked and teased her, ripple after ripple of pleasure had brought her to orgasm and he would only release her when she had screamed out his name.
Now in the hazy remembrance of those times, a thought came to Catherine’s mind. Where had he gone afterward while she had lain there recovering?
Always in the aftermath of her orgasm, while she floated somewhere deliriously between heaven and earth, she had known of his absence, but when he had returned on her verge of sleep, he had taken her in his arms, and she had known no more until morning. And vaguely Catherine wondered if he would go, to wherever he went to, this night also.
Yet tonight everything was different even their position. This night, he did not lay at her side bringing her to fulfilment, neither should she expect that after tonight he would refuse to let her see him fully, as she had ached to see him in all his naked glory these past few months. Still though, even while her mind reminded her that she should lead and he should follow, Catherine knew quite well that tonight it was she that followed his lead.
Concentrating hard on the whereabouts of his hands upon her, it seemed that Catherine’s entire focus was on the parting of her flesh before his very eyes. Lazily she lifted heavy lids trying to scrutinise his movements, but could see little without lifting her head from the pillow, and that felt impossible to do. She was drugged. He had drugged her with his love and every limb felt too heavy to move so with a heavy sigh she lay back against the pillows again and gave herself up to his needs.
His hands upon her there, had always amazed her. His claws so treacherously sharp had never, not even once, had damaged the delicate skin of her womanhood. Here he was tenderness itself, every part of him concentrating on the very essence of her, as through the bond he ascertained her every need and complied with it.
Here in the very centre of her he would give, and give until she begged him to stop. Though sometimes he thought now, she would beg him to give more than he was prepared to give, and he smiled with wry humour. Well tonight if she so begged then he would deny her no more.
Tonight after he had sent her spiralling into orgasm he would have no need of leaving her in order to milk his heated flesh in the bathing chamber that he shared with Father. Tonight they would be as one in every sense of the word and he would willingly give himself up to her.
Watching her now, waiting as he felt the rippling tides of her orgasm climbing to a peak, Vincent surveyed the sight before him with lazy, hungry eyes. His timing was perfect. Through the Bond he sensed her climb, his fingers touching and rubbing here, and there, delving deeper around the folds.
Teasing her thus was torturous to both he and her, yet he would not touch her honeyed cavern until the very last, until she had reached the very pinnacle of her passion. Then he would delve his fingers deep inside, bringing her up and over the top and away into infinity and beyond.
How he loved her then. How he would look on with wonder, that she this beautiful woman could allow one such as he to touch her so intimately, could allow hands such as his to touch such perfection as her beautiful body.
She was growing closer now. Vincent could feel the urgency in her, the twitching of her limbs, and beneath his legs, the curling of her toes. Her head thrashing from side to side her hands reaching out on either side of her, her fingers clutching at the sheets wildly. And at that moment Vincent did something he had always yearned to do, had always ached to do ever since her scent had called to him from that very first time.
Bending his head he touched her jewelled offering with the tip of his tongue then delved deeper into the heat of her body.
Oh the taste of her…the feel of her quivering flesh upon his tongue, the scent…Oh the scent…
Catherine screamed, her arms and legs wildly thrashing upon the bed, her hands leaving the sheets to clasp and tangle viciously in Vincent’s hair, holding him tighter and tighter against her…
He kissed her over and over, his mouth dancing a rhapsody of love upon the deepest reaches of her, taking her higher, higher than she had ever been before, until her hands slid from his hair to lay at her sides and her laboured breathing signified her journey to insanity.
At that same moment Vincent rolled her, lying her upon her side, and inched his body closer to hers. His breathing ragged, Catherine half felt one of his hands slide down her belly and reach between her legs to open her to him as the other guided his manhood into her from behind.
Then there was nothing, nothing but the indescribable joy of being fused together as one, his body entering hers, his mouth on her neck and knowing at last the pure and unadulterated rapture of giving pleasure back to the man that she loved.
Joined they moved in perfect harmony, silent for a time, until Vincent lost in a delirious haze of passion shuddered to climax roaring her name. Catherine smiled. That sweet knowing smile of lovers, of first time lovers, as wave after wave of satisfaction and pleasure engulfed them both.
They had made it. They had joined, become as one. The dream had become reality. There would be no more looking back.
With that dizzying happy thought in mind, Catherine slept, curled in the safety of the arms of the man she adored still joined with him as one.

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To be continued in part 4.