LIKE A NATURAL WOMAN

Part 1 ~ by JoAnn Baca

Part 2 ~ by Jo Fredericks (rated R)

Originally published in the 2020 Conzine

Looking out on the morning rain
I used to feel so uninspired
And when I knew I had to face another day
Lord, it made me feel so tired
Before the day I met you, life was so unkind
But you’re the key to my peace of mind

‘Cause you make me feel
You make me feel
You make me feel like
A natural woman

When my soul was in the lost and found
You came along to claim it
I didn’t know just what was wrong with me
‘Til your kiss helped me name it
Now I’m no longer doubtful, of what I’m living for
And if I make you happy I don’t need to do more

‘Cause you make me feel
You make me feel
You make me feel like
A natural woman

~ lyrics by King/Giffen

PART 1
by JoAnn Baca

The strains of Aretha Franklin’s hit song played in Catherine’s head as she sat in a cab on her way home — an ear worm but a welcome one. She had often thought of this song in connection to Vincent and all he had done in changing her life, her perspective, and her dreams. True, there had been no kisses yet…but she was ever the optimist. And oh, how she longed to be a “natural woman” with him …

“That’ll be five bucks, lady.”

The cab driver’s nasal voice cut Aretha off mid-verse as Catherine pulled her focus from daydreams back to reality. Sighing, she handed her money to the cabbie and exited the cab, rushing through scattered raindrops toward the entrance to her apartment building.

The doorman swept the door open for her with practiced ease, tipping his cap to her with his free hand. “Miss Chandler.”

“Hi, Tony! How’s little Liza doing?”

Tony smiled the smile of a contented man. “She’s great! Slept through the night for the first time last night!”

Catherine chuckled. “What more can a new father ask?!”

He nodded, then turned to acknowledge another resident about to enter the building, and Catherine, still smiling, approached the elevator.

“Miss Chandler?”

She turned, recognizing the voice. “Hi, Brian! What’s up?”

He had been sitting in the lobby, apparently waiting for her, and now he approached and solicitously pushed the “Up” button for her.  “Just wanted to tell you: I got into Columbia!”

“Wonderful! I’m so proud of you!” She gave him a warm hug, breaking contact as the elevator doors whooshed open.  She stepped toward the opening. “Aren’t you going up, too?” she asked when he made no move to follow her.

“No. I’m waiting for Mr. Everman, our neighbor, to let him know, too. He wrote a reference letter that helped me get in, like you did.”

Catherine nodded. “I’m sure a letter from your Congressman carried a lot more weight than one from a lowly attorney in the D.A.’s Office,” she suggested, smiling away his attempt to deny the obvious. “Congratulations again, Brian. You deserve all good things.” He was still beaming as the elevator doors closed. 

Catherine thought about the general aura of happiness she had encountered today as the elevator rose and then deposited her at her floor. She mentally counted them off as she headed down the hallway to her door: Brian getting into his first choice of college; Tony falling ever more in love with his adorable firstborn; Joe being named Alumnus of the Year by his law school; Jen signing the author everyone was after, Edie calling from Syracuse with news of her engagement…

As she unlocked her front door, she mused that it seemed to be a landmark day for just about everyone she knew. Reflecting on their joy helped cover for the fact that her own life seemed to be stuck in neutral – going neither forward nor backward, no progress to speak of.

She admonished herself. She should be grateful for her life. WAS grateful. Her work was fulfilling, if demanding. She respected and admired the people she worked with, especially her boss, who didn’t ask more of anyone than he did of himself. She had good friends, a safe and lovely home, and no worries about money. Her health was terrific, apart from being a bit sleep-deprived, what with bringing work home most nights…and staying up late whenever Vincent could visit. That last thought led to the thing she was most grateful for: Vincent.

She had nothing to complain about. Really.

Except…

She admitted to herself that she wanted just a tiny bit more.

If things with Vincent would move forward even just a little, it would be heaven. That’s all. She only wanted…heaven.

With a sigh, she locked her door and tossed her briefcase onto a couch. She kicked off her heels and padded stocking-footed to her phone, where she punched the blinking button on her answering machine to find out who needed something from her, hoping the requests could wait until tomorrow – she wanted a night off to do something crazy…like watching a little television instead of working on cases.

As she listened to her messages, her eyes scanned the living room, and she noticed something she had missed upon entering: a note had been pushed under her door. She had been so absorbed in her little pity party that she must have walked right over it.

After catching all her messages, she hung up and strode toward the note, eager to read its contents. There was only one place that delivered missives like this and usually only one person who sent them.

She picked up the note – just a folded piece of binder paper – and saw handwriting she didn’t recognize. But if her enthusiasm had slumped somewhat over that fact, by the time she finished reading, it had rallied.

Dear Catherine,

Tonight is our annual Ladies’ Night Below, and although it’s short notice, we would love it if you could join us. We’re gathering at the Mirror Pool after dinner. Wear washable clothes and bring a scarf or a hat – things can get a bit…messy!

Hope to see you soon!

Rebecca

Intrigued, Catherine checked her watch. She had an hour to eat something, dress as suggested, and travel Below. The phone calls she had to return could wait until tomorrow, and there wasn’t anything good on television anyway. Ladies’ Night, it was!

* * *

The women Below were still assembling when Catherine arrived. As instructed, she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, a jaunty scarf tied around her neck that she could re-purpose as headgear if necessary. Approaching Mary, she said, “I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I brought wine!” As she said that, she deposited two bags containing six bottles each at Mary’s feet.

Mary exclaimed, “Oh, how wonderful!” She hugged Catherine, adding, “I’ll send a message for Livvy to bring extra glasses with her when she brings our snacks.”

Other women embraced Catherine in turn, and she was gratified by the genuine happiness on their faces at seeing her. She felt a bit guilty that she still didn’t know everyone’s name, as she hadn’t really spent much time with anyone other than Vincent and, when pressed, with Father, when she was Below. And yet they were kind enough to include her in their annual gathering.

Rebecca entered the Mirror Pool chamber and Catherine waved. “I’m so glad you could make it!” the Tunnels’ chandler said, kissing her cheek but unable to hug her due to the number of baskets she was carrying. Catherine helped her by taking several from her. They were covered, and Catherine wondered at the contents. “Just set them with the others,” Rebecca requested, pointing with her chin, and when Catherine looked where Rebecca was pointing, she saw a number of other baskets already stacked atop several tables apparently brought from the Dining Chamber.

 “Who is missing, besides Livvy?” Mary asked.

“Mostly the younger girls – they’re bringing the bowls and towels,” said a woman Catherine thought was called Sally…or maybe Sarah. Seeing Catherine’s slight confusion, the woman confirmed, “We met only once, when you were first here. I’m Sarah.”

Catherine nodded, finally placing her – one of the ladies who had been sewing in a large chamber as Vincent walked her through his world toward a passageway leading to her own home. It had all been so overwhelming then, names were the last thing she could recall.  “I’m sorry –“ she began, but Sarah waved her apology away. 

“There are scores of us and only one of you – it’s far easier for all of us to know you on sight than for you to remember each of us!”

The lilt of excited young voices alerted those inside that the last expected group was just outside the large chamber, and all eyes turned to them. The young-teen contingent of the gathering entered at once, each carrying armloads of towels or baskets filled with bowls. Following them were Jamie, Brooke, William, Cullen and Vincent.

“We’re not here,” Cullen announced, a smirk on his face, as the three men, each carrying a table from the Dining Chamber, set their burdens down where instructed by Jamie, who was carrying one of the larger tables in tandem with Brooke. “We’re not here either,” hooted Zach, following a teen Catherine had recently met named JoJo; Zach led a team of young men who carried chairs and stools and placed them around the tables at Brooke’s instruction.

Vincent caught Catherine’s eye – very easily, as her gaze had fixed hungrily on him as soon as he’d entered – and he gave her a heart-melting look. “Have fun,” he murmured as he brushed against her while leaving, his fingers stroking hers as if by accident as he went by. Her heart hammered in her chest, relishing that brief contact. Around her, women smiled and gave each other knowing looks.

Vincent was almost at the chamber entrance when Rebecca called out, “We’re glad Catherine could join us, Vincent.” He turned to acknowledge her comment by nodding, and she added, “She’s a part of us, you know.” There was a chorus of agreement from the gathering.

“I do,” he pronounced solemnly. He gazed around the chamber and gave a nod that took in everyone before turning once more and exiting.

After the last of the testosterone had left the chamber, Olivia trundled in, pushing a cart loaded with covered bowls and assorted glassware. “I believe some of the glasses are for Catherine’s contribution to Ladies’ Night,” she announced, to a general murmur of appreciation.  The wine bottles were already opened and resting on one of the tables by then, awaiting the glasses. The wine was going to be very much enjoyed, Catherine could tell, no matter what else would be going on this night. She was glad she hadn’t come empty-handed.

Trying to make herself useful, she followed the example of the other women around her who were unloading food from the trolley as well as placing a variety of other items upon the newly arrived tables. As she followed directions from one after another, she asked questions, gleaning information about the origins of this special gathering.

In the early years of the community, women were hard-pressed to keep the “home fires burning,” as Sarah described it, and – feeling over-worked and under-appreciated – they had declared an evening’s respite for themselves, away from their responsibilities, to relax and just enjoy each other’s company. 

Over time, certain rituals were added. Each woman brought something nurturing to share. Young girls were invited to attend the annual gathering once they turned thirteen. Candles were lit in memory of those women who had passed away or returned Above during the year since they had last met.

Catherine was enchanted by the information, something she had never imagined – a nascent feminism that was carried forward from the beginning of the community.

Rebecca clapped her hands for silence. “It’s time! We will begin as always, gathering together in a circle as one true sisterhood.”

Everyone shuffled into place, encircling the Mirror Pool, extending their hands to each other and grasping tightly. The youngest girls, attending for the first time, stood between the oldest members of the community, and Catherine was invited to stand amongst them.

Mary’s voice rose, stronger than Catherine ever recalled hearing her: a woman in command, a woman who knew her own power.  “We gather tonight, as we have in years past, in support of one another and in celebration.” Mary looked around and smiled. “This year we have been blessed with much good fortune. No one has left us in death. Only one has returned Above. And several have joined our community. We welcome and cherish those who are newly among us, strong women all.”

Catherine saw the younger girls blush and smile as they shot looks at each other – part of the circle now and welcomed as women, not children.

Mary closed her eyes and intoned her next words almost like a prayer. “Let us remember ourselves. Let us remember what it was that brought each of us Below. Let us remember how we have created lives worth living here. Let us remember that each of those standing in this circle contributes to making our own lives more beautiful. Let us remember.”

A silence descended, filled with a kind of energy that swept over and through them all. The circle of women – all strong, inter-dependent yet personally powerful in their own ways – were caretakers, teachers, medical workers, craftspeople, students, laborers, guardians.  They all played vital functions in their world. Catherine, in taking her place among them, was conscious of becoming part of a whole greater than its individuals, something that reached from the past into the future, a continuum of knowledge and strength, amplified by the distinct voices speaking as one into the universe: a circle of feminine power.

Finding herself between Mary and Samantha, Catherine recalled the Triple Goddess that Robert Graves wrote about: the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. True, she wasn’t yet a mother, but age- and experience-wise, it fit. Each of them represented a period in the life cycle of a woman. Each stood on her own yet supported the other, here, now, and through time, in a never-ending progression. It was immensely comforting to her to acknowledge that she had a place in this gathering of spirits.

After a long moment of contemplation, the circle broke and everyone embraced, some with tears glistening in their eyes. Samantha hugged Catherine and she bent to kiss the crown of the young girl’s head, even as Mary surrounded them both in a hug. It was a moment Catherine would long remember with gratitude and love.

“Okay, now for the fun!” crowed Samantha, and the charged silence was broken as the women began to bustle with purpose towards the laden tables.

Unsure what to do, Catherine busied herself with pouring the wine. Mary showed her how to prepare watered-down versions of the glasses of wine for the younger girls, and Catherine finished that process and then handed the appropriate glass to everyone.

“A toast,” Mary raised her voice to announce.  All the assembly raised their glasses and shouted, “To us!” in unison. Catherine repeated the phrase a moment later and took a sip from her glass. The warmth of the liquid was second only to the warm feeling of camaraderie that filled the chamber.

The covered bowls turned out to contain popcorn, strawberries, and other simple snacks – perfect foils for the wine. Everyone had a taste or two of something, especially the youngest, who made a beeline for the caramel corn, made by Olivia once a year just for the gathering.

Rebecca had her basket’s contents readied first. “Honey mask!” she declared. “Old Hannah’s recipe, rest her soul.”

Mary fussed with the items she had taken out of her own basket, straightening them on the table. “Baking soda scrub,” she announced, adding, “tried and true.”

Samantha set up a place for someone to lie back and rest and told those around her, “I have cold compresses for the dark circles under your eyes.”

Sarah’s basket contained the ingredients for an exfoliator she described as perfect for work-roughened hands, while Jamie offered everyone small jars of her ginger-eucalyptus oil to ease sore muscles. Nearly every woman in attendance had a scrub or a mask or tonic or a balm to offer, and they took turns being pampered and pampering each other with them.

When one of the older women grumbled that Samantha didn’t know the first thing about under-eye bags, another gently mentioned that it was a simple gift but one offered with love. The older woman nodded and gave a rueful smile – and was the first to avail herself of Samantha’s treatment.

Catherine wandered the chamber, taking in the smiles and laughter, and the occasional squeal as something cold or slippery was applied to someone’s face. She wondered how the Mirror Pool didn’t turn to champagne from all the bubbling happiness.

“Try it?” Mary’s last “customer” had just left, so Catherine nodded and sat in a chair. Mary made up the simple mask as Catherine tied her hair back with her scarf, explaining to her, “It’s just a tablespoon or so of baking soda, which everyone has in their kitchen.” Catherine privately doubted that she had any such thing in hers. “And you stir in a teaspoon of honey and a little water, just enough to make a paste. Here.” She offered the mixture to Catherine, who gingerly dabbed some on her face.

“Rub it in now, gently though,” instructed Mary, “then let it sit on your face for five minutes. After that, rinse it off using one of the towels soaking in that bowl of water. Your face will feel moisturized and refreshed. I use it all the time.”

Knowing how lovely Mary’s skin always looked, Catherine trusted the recipe, even if she felt she must look like she was ready for Halloween with it on. She rose and vacated the seat for another woman eager to try Mary’s mask, and ambled over to Sarah’s table, where she tried the exfoliator on her hands as Sarah explained, “It’s a simple combination of equal parts used coffee grounds and honey. I add a bit of orange zest for a nice aroma when I can get it. Just rub it in and then rinse it off.”

Catherine’s hands felt so soft once she’d finished with the scrub, almost as if she had applied lotion. She thanked Sarah for the treat, and then it was time to remove her baking soda mask. She laughed as Mary aided her, chunks of dried baking soda falling off her face as she wiped the crumbling mask off.

She was surprised by how relaxed, refreshed, and happy she felt after her treatments. It had been a long time since she’d done anything like this for herself, although she’d sometimes spent a lot of money at a spa Above with far less enjoyable results. She realized it wasn’t the money or even the ingredients that made this kind of pampering special; it was who was gifting it and the love that went into it.  Caring for each other and caring for themselves: that was the real recipe everyone used.

Jamie offered Catherine a small bottle of her special muscle rub. It had an enticing aroma that smelled warm and healing. Jamie confided that it was a recipe Narcissa had given her once when she was sore from martial arts training. It was made from olive oil and dried ground ginger, with drops of eucalyptus oil she saved all year to buy for just this night. Catherine was humbled by Jamie’s generosity, spending what little money she had to provide this gift to her friends…and that Jamie considered her worthy of the gift.

Samantha was explaining to a skeptical Brooke that all that was on the cold compresses was chilled coffee, wrung out, and that placing them over her closed eyes for ten minutes would refresh them, bags and all. Catherine suppressed a smile at the face Brooke tried hard and failed not to make – partly indignant that Samantha thought her eyelids were baggy, partly intrigued by the idea of coffee being good for one’s skin. She finally succumbed to Samantha’s urging, and Catherine moved on, wandering through the chamber.

She stopped at the table where Rebecca was describing Hannah’s honey mask, which she was making up for Lena. “As you can see, it’s a tablespoon of crystallized honey, an egg yolk, and a tablespoon of cornmeal, mixed and applied. It’ll tighten on your face as it dries, so don’t worry about that feeling. Then rub it around to exfoliate, and rinse it all off. The egg yolk will plump up your skin a bit.”

Elizabeth, watching Rebecca apply the mask to Lena’s face, reminisced, “I do believe I was Hannah’s guinea pig when she first developed that mask. I seem to recall there was too much honey in her first batch, and it ran into my hair and made a sticky mess!”

Rebecca laughed. “Now I know why Hannah underlined that the honey has to be crystallized – no chance of it running that way!”

The variety of homemade hair and facial masks, toners, rubs, and scrubs was staggering. Obviously, these women had to be frugal and make do without commercial beauty products, but their creativity in developing this array of simple, effective treatments was amazing. Catherine thought that these recipes should be shared, not just Below but Above as well, and made a mental note to talk to Jen about publishing a little book containing the Tunnel women’s formulas. With the proceeds, perhaps the community could afford a bit more for themselves.

As the evening lengthened, the youngest were sent to their quarters to sleep. The adults sat and chatted, finishing the food and the wine and relaxing. They ended the gathering by standing together, in a smaller circle than before, their arms around each other, faces raised to the dim starlight which bathed the chamber, each woman murmuring her own prayer or blessing or thanksgiving into the universe. The warmth of their sisterhood imbued Catherine with a sense of quiet strength that gave her spirits a boost, the unexpected evening having gifted her heart with a renewed sense of possibility.

Catherine helped clean up, then carried baskets for the older women as they returned to their chambers.  As she was walking with Mary, she passed Vincent, who was on his way, along with others, to help the remaining women take the furniture at the Mirror Pool back to the Dining Chamber. He hesitated beside her, bending his head to whisper in her ear, “My chamber?” She nodded, smiling up at him, and they continued on their separate paths.

“He’s quite besotted with you, you know,” Mary murmured in the merest whisper, knowing how keen Vincent’s hearing was.

“So am I,” admitted Catherine, not caring if he heard her. “Besotted and most definitely in love.”

Mary paused at the entrance to her chamber. “Make him believe that, Catherine.”

The younger woman embraced the older. “I try. Hopefully, someday, I will.”

She smiled at Mary and backed away, blowing her a kiss goodnight.  Then she turned and headed toward the location of her second unexpected invitation of the evening.

* * * * *

LIKE A NATURAL WOMAN ~ Part 2
(rated R)
by Jo Fredericks

When Catherine arrived at Vincent’s chamber, he had not yet returned from helping to move the furniture back to the Dining Chamber.  As she waited, she wandered around the room, setting books in order and straightening things that probably didn’t need straightening, just to keep busy.

It was quite late, but the positive energy she had acquired from participating in the Ladies’ Night festivities was still with her. She felt not just uplifted but invigorated, filled with a sense that something just beyond view was soon to come into focus, if she could just concentrate on it. But what? That, she didn’t know. It left her feeling keyed up.

So when Vincent finally returned to his chamber, all that pent-up energy transformed into a desire and a need that she had rarely let him see in her. And somehow, tonight she didn’t care how much of what she was feeling he could sense within their Bond. She just threw herself into his arms, wanting him never to let her go, and clung to him.

His embrace tightened and he drew her closer still. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured, and she felt the kiss he pressed into her hair. “Tonight, knowing you were so near yet unable to be with you…” He left the rest of his thought unspoken, but she knew exactly how he had felt. He pulled back just the slightest bit, still with her captured within his arms, as he said, “Do you realize how special tonight was?”

She nodded. “They only gather like that once a year.”

“Not that. Didn’t you notice? There were no other Helpers there. You were invited as part of the community, Catherine, as one of us.” Her face reflected her dawning realization as he added something she would not have understood had he not told her. “The women of the Tunnels were making a point. To me. A very… pointed…point.” At this he smiled as sardonically as his unique lips allowed him to.

He released her and she stepped back, staring at him, surprised. “What…point?”

He shrugged and tilted his head, as if the answer should be obvious.

She didn’t get it. “What point?” she asked again. “That they accept me? That they care for me? I knew that already and have always been grateful for their friendship and kindness.”

“No, Catherine. Of course, it’s all those things as well. But tonight they were also…let’s call it ‘reminding’ me …that they want you as a member of this community, not just as a Helper.”

Still not sure what the “very pointed point” was, she shook her head, her confusion evident on her face.

Instead of addressing her confusion, Vincent stood staring at her, seeming to be considering something momentous, something he apparently needed to decide about on his own, for he didn’t say another word.

She waited, uncertain, as the moment stretched on with silence between them. Then a memory surfaced. “Mary told me something tonight. She said that…” she blushed to reveal Mary’s words, “…that you’re besotted with me.”

His eyebrows rose at the description, and he bent his head to hide his further reaction. But he didn’t walk away or try to change the subject, so emboldened by her hours of female empowerment indoctrination disguised as a ladies’ night, she went on, “I told her that I was besotted, too, and very much in love, and she suggested that I make you believe that. I told her I try…and that someday I hope to convince you of it.”

She couldn’t believe she had gotten all that out, and not just to her own mirror, but to his face! That unusual energy she was feeling was making her bolder than she thought she could be when discussing their relationship with him. And not with euphemisms or hedging – with no evasion, just plain speaking.

Vincent continued to look at the ground, as if studying it. Catherine couldn’t figure out if this was a good thing or a bad thing. But she was here and so was he and…that was good enough at the moment. She could wait. It was something she had gotten good at, after all.

His voice was husky with emotion as he answered her after his long period of silence. “I do know it.” He looked up at her, finally. “I do know you love me, Catherine. I’m not sure I deserve it or should accept it but…your love is a gift I cherish beyond thought, beyond words.” He seemed to struggle to get more words out, his hands sketching in the air as if they could express what he could not. “I…I love you. So much. So deeply. I don’t know how to express it. I…” His mouth was open, but no further words came out of it. He truly was at a loss for them.

Approaching him once more, bold in the face of his frank declaration, Catherine murmured, “Perhaps it’s time to move beyond words, Vincent.”

She captured his face between her palms and tilted his head down as she lifted her face to his. Their lips brushed lightly, and she stood on tiptoe to deepen the contact. There was a brief moment of surprise as their lips finally met, swiftly followed by an awareness of how natural, how right it felt, their kiss an insight, recognition of how perfect they were… and would always be… together.

Catherine felt all tension melt away – her fear of rejection even now, her worry that this might be too much too soon for Vincent – when he swept her up in a fierce embrace, molding his body to hers, his mouth demanding a deeper kiss. In that moment, Catherine knew that Vincent had let go of any remaining apprehensions and was finally allowing himself to become hers, and the knowledge that he now steadfastly believed in her, in them, seared through her. It was something like triumph, something like relief, something like the heaven she had been wishing for just a few hours ago.

The night was deep and silent there beneath the city streets. In that chamber, hidden and safe, they offered themselves to each other completely. Clothes were swiftly stripped away, covers thrown back, and pale flesh met burnished, unencumbered, intertwining.

Catherine’s skin felt newborn under the warmth of Vincent’s adoring hands, her flesh baptized with his mouth, his tongue. It seemed like he couldn’t get enough of touching, of tasting her everywhere, and she never wanted him to stop. She ran trembling fingers through the rough silk of his golden hair, tugging his head up for more kisses and still more. When they were face to face, she rolled atop him, glorying in the firm muscles beneath her hands, her body, wanting to discover every inch of him, to commit him to memory by feel, by taste.

All of him, every bit, she took pleasure in then, and he of her. Lips and fingertips traced the lines of shoulder, of stomach, of hip, of buttock, of every delicious inch of each other. How long had they waited, had they dreamed, had they ached with yearning for each other? No more. Now they would know, they would share deeply, completely, all they were, all they had. The glorious connection that began with hearts, minds, and souls would find its ultimate expression through the joining of their bodies as well.

It was a long-awaited homecoming, so perfect it drew tears of joy from both of them, their bodies completing each other with every thrust, every gasp, every caress, every stroke. Passion built upon desire, and the fire they lit consumed them both. In the depths of that night they were reborn as one, their Bond entwining them ever more tightly, so that they were never truly apart again.

* * *

Night crept by and entered morning slowly, languorously, even as their bodies sought each other again.

“Heaven…” Catherine murmured. “You taste like heaven.” She lifted her head and looked up at the man who was now her lover, her gaze taking in the planes and valleys of chest and stomach, of thigh and groin, that she had explored so thoroughly, ready to venture again across them with stroking fingers and tongue.

Vincent sighed gustily, his contentment giving way rapidly to his obvious desire as Catherine slid upwards, her bare breasts grazing his sensitized skin, his body responding to her touch in ways that satisfied her every sense. 

“You are my heaven,” he whispered huskily, but her lips stopped his from any further declarations. Right now she wanted the man of action, not of words. He accepted the unspoken challenge, and oh, how his actions deeply gratified her, as she trembled and moaned her approval.

The sounds of his awakening world began to intrude upon them, urging them toward a speedier climax than either would have wished, but one that was thoroughly satisfying nonetheless.

“It’s a good thing that was our fourth time and not our first,” Catherine grumbled good-naturedly, far too happy to really complain.

“Fifth,” he corrected her, his smile one of pride in accomplishment that drew a corresponding smile from her.

“I stand…well, I lie here…corrected.”

She kissed him thoroughly before beginning to rise. He caught her arm before she left his bed and gently pulled her back until she laid full length upon him once more, his large hands cupping her bottom and pressing her against him. “We’ll take up where we left off when we are together again,” he promised her, nuzzling her throat and nipping lightly at her earlobe.

“A promise made should be a promise kept, that’s what Daddy always told me,” she advised him, her eyes dancing with anticipation. Nonetheless, she forced herself to push away from him, ever so reluctantly, and began to find and don her clothing.  As she did, she started humming the song that had been stuck in her head for several days.

“What is that tune?” Vincent asked, rising and searching for his own hastily discarded clothes, dressing much more slowly than he had disrobed.

Catherine was pulling her sweatshirt over her head when she began singing the words softly.  “You make me feel…you make me feel…you make me feel like a na-tu-ral womannnn…” Her head popped out of the neckline, and she saw the skeptical look on his face.

“Really?”

He wasn’t aware of most popular music, and she could see he didn’t quite believe she was singing an actual song.

“Really.”

She continued to dress, sitting down to pull on her socks and shoes. “It’s been in my head for days. Now that I think about it, it’s possible some of Narcissa’s psychic ability has rubbed off on me! Anyway,” she shrugged, “it’s just become my favorite song!”

“Mine, as well,” he responded, smiling. He tugged her against him, front to back, and held her close as she wrapped her arms around his. “You are, you know.”

“Hmmm…?” Leaning back against him, feeling his warmth and the strength of his embrace, she was losing focus on their conversation.

“You are a natural woman. My natural woman.” He turned her to face him, cupping her chin in one hand. “My woman, Catherine. For now and for always.”

“Oh, yes,” she vowed, “and you are my man. Don’t even think about the Lisas or Lenas of this or any other world who may try to flirt with you, either. You… are…mine!” Her last three words were punctuated by her finger poking at his chest.

* * *

As they exited the chamber arm in arm to travel to Catherine’s threshold, their progress was observed by several pairs of eyes. Word passed swiftly and, within a short span of time, the attendees of Ladies’ Night were all smiling, winking, or nodding at each other in silent congratulations.

Sometimes it took a village to convince a man of something he should have known all along.