An hour later, as Catherine shifted restlessly against him, Vincent was instantly awake. "What’s wrong?"
She sighed and slowly eased away from his warmth. "I'm uncomfortable." Gesturing to her breasts, she grimaced. "Without Jacob here, I have to express my milk, or I’ll never be able to get back to sleep."
Vincent’s face was bathed in an expression of yearning. "I could ease your distress, if you would…allow it."
Glancing at him, Catherine wondered how someone could look so shyly hesitant and at the same time so utterly sensual. She knew what he wanted. She’d known for a long time of this ‘need’ he had never expressed aloud. Smiling at him, she waited for Vincent to ask the question, wanting him to feel secure enough with her to ask for anything.
He tried. "I want… I would like to…"
When he looked away sighing, defeated by his own shyness, she finished the thought for him. "You want to know the taste."
Silently thanking God for this woman, he breathed, "Yes, I…do. Please?"
"Vincent, you can ask me for anything, you know that."
"Oh, my Beloved…" Easing her back to the pillows, he rubbed the downy tip of his nose across one puckered nipple, and then peered up anxiously. "Is what I would do considered…normal? Is it allowed?" Swallowing hard, he whispered, "It shames me to admit that here have been times when I have envied our child his sustenance."
"I know." Catherine traced the curve of his hip with her finger. "It happens sometimes to most fathers, I would imagine."
Vincent looked extremely surprised. "Truly? Then, it's not unnatural for me to want you in this way?"
"Of course not," she calmly, reassured him. "It’s purely instinctive, although I’m sure there are those who would say otherwise."
Watching her from beneath his lashes, his voice was unsteady, tremulous with yearning. "It is what you would say or think that matters to me." He put one hand to her breast and ever so gently pressed his callused palm against it. "No one else’s opinion matters in the bed, except yours."
Looking at her, his longing explicit, Vincent trembled as his judgment tried to override his heart. Why had he asked to do such a thing? Even though Catherine didn't seem offended, was she? Why had he asked! Surely, she would think him…
Before he could finish the thought, Catherine tucked one finger under his chin. Urging his head up, she met his embarrassed expression with one of tender understanding. "When you were a baby, you didn’t have a mother’s love, or the contentment and protection that goes along with it. Although Father satisfied your intellect and guided you, he couldn’t nourish your body as a mother would have." She stroked his forehead. "Do you know if you had a wet nurse?"
He shook his head slowly back and forth. "At the time, there was no one available, or so Father told me some years ago, when I questioned him on that particular subject."
"What!" Catherine snorted. "You asked him THAT? I’ll bet he was a bit--taken aback--shall we say?"
Vincent fought off the urge to chuckle, and failed. "He seemed to take my inquiry quite seriously, and he answered my question. Or I should say he answered it once he’d stopped choking on the mouthful of tea he’d just swallowed the wrong way." His chuckle turned to a husky laugh.
Giggling with him, Catherine sifted Vincent’s hair between her fingers, recalling the times she’d been nursing Jacob and would look up to find his daddy staring down at them wordlessly. Although he'd watched the scene with interest, the look in Vincent’s eyes then had been unreadable. Now, she knew why.
As their child rooted at her breast, the sounds Jacob made as he fastened his bow-like mouth around one nipple were gently sucking noises. She tried to remember--had Vincent seemed jealous or envious? No. But he had looked just a bit covetous.
Hearing him sigh, she pulled back to look at him. "You really would like to taste the milk?"
He nodded slowly. Struck speechless by diverging emotions, Vincent licked his lower lip as though already savoring what was being offered him. Oh, how he wanted this.
Catherine realized that with one word or even a look, she could wound him to the heart right now, but to hurt this man was unthinkable. He looked almost childlike in his innocence. Openly, artlessly, his eyes begged her to satisfy him in a way that only she could. He was like a little boy who needed mothering, one who needed understanding and comfort; a comfort only she could provide.
Opening her arms, Catherine drew him towards her. "Don’t be shamed by your need, Love." Settling back into the pillows, she rubbed one hand over Vincent’s broad shoulders, waiting patiently for him to conquer the last of his inhibitions.
With a sound between a sigh and a whimper, he nestled against her, promising, "I won’t hurt you, and I shall try to give you pleasure as I take…my own." Hesitantly, gently, he nuzzled against her left breast. And then, gasping hoarsely, he opened his mouth.
Tiny prickles of heat raced through Catherine’s womb as he delicately teased and curled his tongue across her nipple. Stopping for a moment, his eyes flashed with hope as they met hers. "What depth of touch is acceptable and what is disallowed? I must know this."
"You can touch me in whatever way you want to." She caressed the curve of his lower jaw lightly. "Nothing is forbidden--not to you."
"Nothing?" The look Vincent gave her as he parted his lips, exposing long incisors, made Catherine feel as though her entire body had liquefied beneath a scorching gaze of blue.
"Remember, Vincent? I told you once that you deserve everything."
As he glanced up, the smile on his face and in his eyes was beyond definition. "But I have everything, Catherine. I have you and Jacob."
Purposefully shifting lower on the bed, Vincent lapped at her with renewed energy. As he tugged more and more forcefully, she felt his body go momentarily rigid, then completely limp as her milk spurted into his questing mouth.
Keeping his lips firmly pressed to her, he moved one hand to her leg. As he suckled fervently, kneading the softness of her breast with the pads of his fingers, he moved his free hand between her thighs. Curving one finger slowly in and out of her damp curls, he emulated the movement of his hand to those of his mouth and tongue.
Swallowing the delicious elixir with satisfied groans, Vincent closed his eyes, relishing both Catherine’s taste and the sensation of drowsiness that had enveloped him. Nudging his nose repeatedly against her, he rooted energetically while his hand kneaded and stroked her sensitive flesh. When a low rumble welled up from his throat, he didn’t try to confine it nor to conceal it, for this too, was part of what made him who and what he was. The reverberations intensified, vibrating against Catherine’ breast with each lingering, exceedingly contented swallow.
As the reality of what he was doing overwhelmed him, he found himself completely and fiercely aroused. This, he hadn’t expected. Oh, yes, yes. Highly stimulated, he murmured love words deep in his throat. Rubbing the crown of his phallus excitedly against her thigh, he tried easing his aroused state, but attempting to relieve his erection in this way only served to inflame him. Unable to stop himself, he strained toward her, rolling the engorged width back and forth across her vee-shaped portal.
When Vincent grunted passionately, Catherine felt the crown of his penis swell against her. It was already magnificently swollen, and incredibly wet. His warm fluids dripped down the side of her leg as she urged him onward with a softly prodding motion.
Vincent’s breathing pattern intensified to tenderly measured groans as he drained one breast of its milky flow. Tilting his head, he nuzzled the delicate skin between her breast, licking daintily. Then, shifting his weight, he fastened his lips to her right nipple, indulging in a banquet that was, this time, only for him.
As he sucked vigorously, she stroked his tousled hair. Sighing in contentment, she cherished the moment; celebrating the fact that only she would ever bring such nurturing to this wondrous being.
When she moved slightly, easing a kink in her back, Vincent whimpered, "No, not yet," and tightened his hold on her, as though fearing she’d leave him before he was finished. When she spoke to him, he didn’t answer, but his fingers relaxed again slightly.
He didn’t hear what Catherine said to him--he truly didn’t. A bombardment of feelings, love and passion, urgency and patience, satiation and appetite were crashing headlong against one another. Sweeping through him, they’d lulled him into a nearly trance-like stupor. At this moment, lost in the taste and scent of Catherine, he felt only deep pleasure coiling through him, along with a sexuality he’d never known he possessed.
Aware of each contraction of her womb as he feasted at her breast, Vincent wrapped one hand around Catherine’s hips. Urging her legs apart with his knee, he pressed closer, feeling safe and secure; feeling wanted. When the last droplet of her warm milk beaded on his upper lip, he licked it off slowly, resigning himself to the fact that for now, there was no more.
Blinking himself back to reality, Vincent’s lower lip curled into a sensuous pout as other needs took the place of the one for nourishment. His penis was rigidly forged as he moved one finger gently into Catherine’s velvety channel, readying her. At this moment, nothing and no one could have stopped him from having her. When she arched her back, seeking more of his touch, he was undone.
"At this moment, I want you so much, I…" Unable to finish the entreaty aloud, he inhaled, and then blew the breath out roughly, the sound one of tense expectancy.
Unable to prevent it, still braced on his hands and knees, Vincent swayed unsteadily. Thinking to perish of the need if he didn’t unite their bodies soon, he rocked up and down, parodying the act of love before they were even joined. Checking himself just before claiming her mouth, he demanded, "Accept me, yield to me…" Crushing her lips beneath his, Vincent buried himself within Catherine in a single flawless thrust.
This lovemaking was as no other before it--rough, unyielding, and totally fulfilling. What this impassioned being wanted, he would have. Each solid drive of Vincent’s pelvis against her was accompanied by words of love he’d never used before. Glittering in the dark room, his eyes were comparable to the bluest of gems. "Do you like me in this way? Does having me take you as I am now, bring you pleasure?" Not waiting for a response, he snapped his hips from side to side frantically. "Do I please you? Do WE?"
Raking her nails along his tensed arms, Catherine tried to respond, but his passion took her voice, his desire took her senses. She was lost, floating in a world that consisted only of this special man’s eyes, tongue, teeth, and body.
As he curled both of his hands into her hair, impassioned eyes met hers. "Feel what I feel at this moment. Catherine, look at me." Each roll of his pelvis tugged them closer and closer to the edge of his passion. He hovered there breathlessly, watching her. "Tell me what you see now," he commanded, remembering the night she had insisted on calling him a ‘man’. Was he still a man even now--even NOW? At the height of lust, fully aroused, unrestrained, was he still a man, to her? Struggling against the pressure building along his scrotum, he repeated, "Look into my eyes and tell me what you see?"
As his weight pressed her down into the mattress, Catherine managed to gasp, "I see the man that I’ll always love. Always!"
Gulping, fighting anxiously to breathe, Vincent fought to steady his wildly pounding heart. His eyes filled with tears of gratitude. Even now, when his nature was wholly primal, she considered him a man. To her, he would always be a man, no more, no less. Never less. Even as he yanked her hips toward him, Catherine would not disallow or retract one word of her ‘truths’.
Turning her in his arms, he settled her on top of him as tremors of relief shook his frame. Any other response right now other than the one she’d given would have indeed destroyed him. He needed to hear the words again. Drawing her down onto him, Vincent began pumping wildly, uncontrollably, pleading, "Again? Tell me again!"
Catherine’s eyes were luminous as they locked to his. She knew what he was doing. He wanted ‘him’ to hear the words, too, and finally believe them-- totally, unconditionally; to believe that no matter what he did, or how he behaved, he WAS loved. She loved all of him as the being he was; man, more than man. Whatever Vincent was, she did love him.
Collapsing forward onto his chest, she sobbed, "You’re the man that I love!"
Unable to forego the ecstasy for even a single breath longer, Vincent’s pelvis jerked off of the mattress. Tensing his thighs, he brought his knees up. Spreading them further apart and lowering them to the bed again, which served to lift Catherine forward, he impaled her on the rigid banner of his passion. Oh, the hunger, the hunger!
Gripping her firmly around the bottom and arching toward her, he coursed into the woman he cherished in a jetting expulsion of seed, crying joyously "Yes, I’m the MAN that you love! I am!"