The brownstone was warm and inviting as Catherine Chandler-Wells set out two wine glasses on the coffee table. The rich aroma of William’s beef stew filled the house, the cast-iron pot still warm from Geoffrey’s delivery an hour earlier. The young tunnel dweller had grinned at her.

“Catherine, this place gets cozier every time I visit,” Jenny Aronson said, kicking off her heels and curling her legs beneath her on the overstuffed sofa. “And please tell me that’s William’s famous stew I’m smelling.”

“The very same,” Catherine laughed, settling beside her oldest friend. “He sent enough to feed an army. I think he’s still not convinced I’m eating properly.”

Jenny poured generous glasses of Merlot for them both. “Well, married life certainly agrees with you. You’re practically glowing.” She raised her glass. “To almost a year of wedded bliss with the most extraordinary man I’ve ever met – and I’ve met some doozies.”

Catherine clinked her glass against Jenny’s, her green eyes sparkling. “To friendship that survives even the most impossible revelations.”

They sipped their wine, and Catherine ladled out two bowls of the hearty stew. The first few bites were eaten in appreciative silence before Jenny set down her spoon with a theatrical sigh.

“God, I needed this. Do you remember that time at Radcliffe when we tried to cook dinner for those guys from Harvard?”

Catherine nearly choked on her wine. “Oh God, the chicken incident!”

“The chicken incident!” Jenny dissolved into laughter. “We followed the recipe exactly –”

“Except we didn’t realize you were supposed to remove the giblets first!”

“And when Brad cut into it –” Jenny was laughing so hard she could barely speak. “The look on his face when all that – that stuff – came pouring out!”

Catherine was wiping tears from her eyes. “He turned absolutely green. And his friend – what was his name? Mitchell? – actually ran to the bathroom.”

“We ordered pizza and never spoke of it again,” Jenny said, refilling both their glasses. “Though I’m pretty sure that’s why Brad never called you back.”

“Oh, please. Brad was a pretentious ass who spent the entire evening explaining his thesis on post-modern something.” Catherine took a long sip of wine. “I was relieved.”

“Not as relieved as I was when that guy – oh God, what was his name? The one who collected Victorian mourning jewelry?”

Catherine’s eyes widened. “Joshua! Jenny, you dated him for three months!”

“Three months too long!” Jenny groaned. “He gave me a brooch made from someone’s hair for our one-month anniversary. Hair, Catherine. Dead person’s hair.”

“At least he was consistent with his interests,” Catherine said, trying to keep a straight face. “What about the guy who was really into Civil War reenactments?”

“Hector.” Jenny buried her face in her hands. “He wanted me to dress up as a Confederate nurse and tend his ‘wounds’ after battles. He had a whole uniform. With authentic period-appropriate undergarments.”

Catherine was laughing so hard she had to set down her wine glass. “You never told me that part!”

“Some things are too traumatic to share immediately. They require years of processing.” Jenny drained her glass and poured another. “Then there was Alejandro, who practiced tantric meditation and wanted to align our chakras before we could even kiss.”

“How long did that relationship last?”

“Two weeks. Turns out my sacral chakra was ‘blocked’ and he recommended I see his guru, who charged two hundred dollars an hour.” Jenny shook her head. “I swear, Catherine, you hit the jackpot with Vincent. Mysterious, romantic, reads poetry, lives in a secret underground kingdom, a.k.a. “The Magic Kingdom”—and most importantly, completely sane.”

Catherine felt warmth spread through her chest. “He is pretty wonderful.”

“Pretty wonderful? The man is a fantasy come to life. Literally.” Jenny leaned forward conspiratorially. “Okay, so speaking of men and their various qualities – what is it about Vincent that just does it for you? I mean, besides the obvious – the whole tortured romantic hero thing, the incredible mind, the devotion.”

Catherine felt her cheeks flush slightly. “His eyes,” she said softly. “Jenny, you’ve seen them. They’re like nothing else in the world. Such blue, and the way they look at me.”

“Mmm, yes, those eyes are something else,” Jenny agreed. “What else?”

“His hands.” Catherine’s voice took on a dreamy quality. “They’re so strong, but so gentle. And his arms – God, Jenny, when he holds me, I feel completely safe. Like nothing in the world could ever hurt me. He can literally lift me with one arm like I weigh nothing.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere!” Jenny kicked her feet excitedly. “The strong, protective type. Very appealing. Though I have to say, after dating a string of men that can’t open a jar of pickles without help, I understand the appeal.”

Catherine laughed, the wine making her feel pleasantly loose and warm. “Remember that guy you dated who was afraid of pigeons?”

“Derek! Oh my God, we couldn’t walk through the park without him having a panic attack.” Jenny topped off both their glasses again – they were well into the second bottle now. “He said they had ‘dead eyes’ and were ‘plotting something.’ Meanwhile, I’m sitting here knowing your husband is part lion and thinking, ‘Jenny, your taste in men is truly spectacular.'”

“Vincent is not part lion,” Catherine protested, giggling. “He’s just… unique.”

“Uniquely hot, you mean. Come on, Cathy, even with the whole –” Jenny gestured vaguely at her face, “– the man is stunning. That mane of hair? The cheekbones? The body?” She fanned herself dramatically. “If I weren’t your best friend and a decent human being, I’d be insanely jealous.”

Catherine felt emboldened by the wine. “His body is… It’s incredible, Jen. He’s so strong. All those years of living Below, working with his hands, climbing, fighting when he had to – he’s all muscle. Solid muscle.”

“Okay, now you’re just bragging,” Jenny said, but she was grinning. “Details, please. We’re best friends. I’m living vicariously here.”

“His shoulders are so broad,” Catherine continued, her words coming easier now, loosened by wine and affection. “And his chest – there’s this fur, this soft golden fur, and underneath it’s just hard muscle. And his back –” She broke off, biting her lip.

“His back?” Jenny prompted, leaning forward with interest.

“When he moves, you can see every muscle. It’s like watching poetry in motion.” Catherine was definitely feeling the wine now, her inhibitions lowering with each sip. “And his thighs – Jenny, his thighs are like tree trunks. Strong and powerful.”

“Okay, I’m officially jealous now,” Jenny declared. “The last guy I dated had the muscle tone of a noodle. A very pale, very thin noodle.” She paused. “So, speaking of physical attributes and their various… applications…”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Is he proportional?” Jenny asked, then immediately burst into laughter at her own boldness. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! The wine made me say it!”

Catherine was laughing too, her face flushed. “Jenny!”

“What? It’s a legitimate question! You’re talking about tree-trunk thighs, and I’m just wondering if everything is, you know, in proportion to that magnificent frame.”

“You’re terrible,” Catherine said, but she was still laughing.

“I’m curious! And drunk. Mostly drunk.” Jenny refilled their glasses yet again. “Come on, Cathy. We’ve been friends since we were eighteen. We’ve shared everything. You can tell me.”

Catherine took a long drink of wine, feeling reckless and giddy. “Yes,” she said finally. “Everything is… proportional.”

Jenny’s eyes widened. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

“Oh my God.” Jenny sat back against the sofa cushions. “You lucky, lucky woman.”

They both dissolved into giggles, the kind of laughter that comes from too much wine and complete comfort with another person.

“Okay, okay,” Jenny said when she could breathe again. “But seriously – and I’m asking this as your best friend who loves you and wants you to be happy – how is he? You know. In bed?”

Catherine felt her face flame red, but the wine had loosened her tongue considerably. “Jenny…”

“Come on! You’ve been married almost a year. You’re clearly happy. I’m just asking for some details. Consider it research for my next relationship, whenever that happens.”

Catherine bit her lip, then smiled slowly. “He’s…incredible.”

“Incredible how? Incredible like ‘nice and sweet’ or incredible like ‘oh my God I can barely walk the next day’?”

“Jenny!” But Catherine was laughing again. “Both? All of the above?”

“Now we’re talking!” Jenny settled in, clearly prepared for details. “Spill. Everything.”

Catherine took another drink, feeling bold, happy, and more than a little drunk. “Okay, so…you know how Vincent is normally so controlled? So careful and gentle?”

“Yes…”

“In bed, he’s still gentle, but there’s this…intensity. This passion.” Catherine’s voice dropped lower, more intimate. “It’s like he’s been holding back all day, being careful, being controlled, and then when we’re alone, when we’re together like that, everything just – unleashes.”

“Unleashes,” Jenny repeated, eyes wide. “I like the sound of that.”

“He’s so strong, Jen. He can pick me up, move me exactly where he wants me. Pin my wrists above my head with one hand while he –” Catherine broke off, blushing furiously.

“While he what?” Jenny demanded. “Don’t you dare stop now!”

Catherine leaned in closer, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. “While he kisses down my neck, my collarbone, my breasts. He takes his time, like he’s savoring every inch of me. And his mouth – God, Jenny, his mouth is incredible. His tongue –”

“His tongue?” Jenny was practically bouncing on the sofa now.

“He knows exactly what to do with it,” Catherine said, her face burning but unable to stop now. “Everywhere. And I mean everywhere.”

“Oh my God.”

“And his hands – those strong, gentle hands – he knows exactly where to touch me, how to touch me.”

Jenny fanned herself with her hand. “Okay, I’m definitely jealous now. Definitely, definitely jealous.”

“And when he’s inside me –” Catherine continued, the wine making her bold, “– it’s like nothing else exists. He fills me completely, and the way he moves, the way he looks at me with those incredible eyes, the sounds he makes – these low growls and groans that are just so primal and masculine and –”

“Primal,” Jenny repeated. “Of course it’s primal. The man is literally part beast.”

“He’s not –” Catherine started to protest, but Jenny waved her off.

“I know, I know, unique. But come on, Cathy, you have to admit there’s something incredibly hot about that raw passion.”

Catherine bit her lip, smiling. “It is pretty hot.”

“Pretty hot? You’re describing every woman’s fantasy here!” Jenny took another drink. “So what’s your favorite thing? What does he do that just absolutely drives you wild?”

Catherine was quiet for a moment, considering. The wine had definitely lowered her inhibitions, but this felt like crossing into even more intimate territory. Then again, this was Jenny. Her best friend. The person who had held her hair back when she was sick in college, who had helped her move three times, who had accepted the impossible truth about Vincent without hesitation.

“Okay,” Catherine said slowly. “But this stays between us.”

“Obviously! Best friend privilege. What happens at wine night stays at wine night.”

Catherine took a deep breath. “I love when he takes control. When he’s dominant but still loving. Like, he’ll pin me down – not roughly, but firmly – and just take his time with me. Teasing me until I’m begging.”

“Begging,” Jenny said appreciatively. “Nice.”

“And I love when he uses his mouth on me. Between my legs. He’s so good at it, Jenny. So incredibly good. He’ll hold my thighs apart and just –” Catherine made a vague gesture, “– feast on me. That’s the only word for it. Like he can’t get enough. And he won’t stop until I’ve come at least twice.”

“At least twice?” Jenny’s voice had gone up an octave. “At least?”

“Sometimes three or four times before he even –” Catherine broke off, giggling. “Before we actually have sex.”

“Four times,” Jenny said faintly. “Four times. I can’t even get most guys to find the clitoris, and you’re over here having multiple orgasms before the main event.”

“And then when we do have sex,” Catherine continued, on a roll now, “he’s so intense. So focused. He watches me the whole time, watches my face, pays attention to every sound I make, every movement. He knows exactly what I need. Sometimes I like it slow and deep, and he’ll take his time, these long, slow strokes that hit every spot. And sometimes I need it harder, faster, and he’ll give me that too. He’ll grip my hips and just –” She made a thrusting motion with her hips, then dissolved into giggles.

“I hate you,” Jenny said, but she was laughing too. “I hate you so much right now.”

“And the stamina,” Catherine added. “God, the stamina. We can go for hours. Literally hours. Multiple rounds. He’ll make me come, then he’ll come, and then twenty minutes later he’s ready to go again.”

“Hours,” Jenny repeated. “Multiple rounds. Okay, that’s it. I’m never dating another human man again. They’re all disappointing now. You’ve ruined me for normal men.”

Catherine was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry!”

“No, you’re not. You’re over here living your best life with your gorgeous, passionate, multi-orgasmic husband while I’m dating guys who think foreplay is asking if I’m ready.”

“You’ll find someone,” Catherine said, reaching over to squeeze Jenny’s hand. “Someone amazing who deserves you.”

“He’d better have at least half of Vincent’s skills,” Jenny muttered. “So what else? What’s your absolute favorite thing he does?”

Catherine felt her face flush even deeper, but she was too far gone now to stop. “Okay, so sometimes – and this is my absolute favorite – he’ll come up behind me when I’m doing something mundane, like washing dishes or reading. And he’ll wrap his arms around me and start kissing my neck. You know that spot, right behind the ear?”

“The spot,” Jenny confirmed. “Every woman’s weakness.”

“He knows exactly how to kiss it, how to nibble it, how to use his tongue. And his hands will start wandering. One hand will cup my breast, and the other will slide down –” Catherine gestured downward, “– and he’ll just touch me through my clothes at first. Teasing…”

“Through the clothes,” Jenny said. “The tease. Classic.”

“And then he’ll turn me around and kiss me, these deep, passionate kisses that make my knees weak. And he’ll back me up against the wall or the counter or whatever’s nearby, and he’ll lift me up – just pick me up like I weigh nothing – and I’ll wrap my legs around him.”

“Against the wall,” Jenny said appreciatively. “Very nice. Very romance novel.”

“And sometimes we don’t even make it to the bedroom,” Catherine admitted, her voice dropping even lower. “Sometimes he’ll take me right there. Against the wall, on the counter, once on the stairs –”

“The stairs?” Jenny’s eyes were huge. “That sounds uncomfortable.”

“It was,” Catherine giggled. “But also incredibly hot. There’s something about not being able to wait, about wanting each other so badly that we can’t even make it to the bed.”

“So what you’re saying is, Vincent is basically a sex god.”

“I’m saying I’m very, very lucky,” Catherine said, grinning. “And very, very satisfied.”

“I’ll say. Four orgasms before the main event. Multiple rounds. Hours of passion. Against the wall, on the stairs –” Jenny ticked off on her fingers. “Anything else I should know? Any other details you want to share to make me even more jealous?”

Catherine bit her lip, considering. “Well, there is one thing…”

“Oh God, there’s more?”

“Sometimes, when he’s close, when he’s about to come, he’ll growl. This deep, rumbling growl that I can feel in my chest. And he’ll grip me tighter, move faster, and the growl gets louder, and it’s just –” Catherine shivered at the memory. “It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

“The growl,” Jenny said faintly. “Of course, there’s a growl. Because regular sex noises aren’t enough. Your husband has to have a special, primal, incredibly sexy growl.”

“It’s really hot,” Catherine confirmed, giggling.

“I’m sure it is. I’m sure it’s absolutely mind-blowing and incredible and –” Jenny broke off suddenly, her eyes focusing on something behind Catherine. “Oh shit.”

“What?” Catherine turned, following Jenny’s gaze.

Vincent stood in the doorway to the living room, his blue eyes wide, his expression somewhere between shocked and amused. He was still wearing his cloak, which meant he’d just arrived. Which meant –

“Oh my God,” Catherine breathed, her face going from pink to scarlet in an instant. “Vincent. I didn’t – we didn’t hear you come in.”

“Clearly,” Vincent said, his deep voice colored with amusement. His lips twitched, fighting a smile. “I arrived during the part about…the growl, I believe?”

Catherine wanted to die. Right there, on the sofa, she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” Vincent said, stepping fully into the room. His eyes were dancing with mirth now, and something else. “Enough to know that my wife has been sharing some very…intimate details with her best friend.”

Jenny stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over her wine glass. “And that’s my cue to leave! Catherine, thank you for a lovely evening. Vincent, always a pleasure. I’m going to go now. Right now. Immediately.”

She grabbed her purse and shoes, shoving her feet into her heels while hopping toward the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Cathy. Or maybe the day after. Or maybe next week. We’ll see. Bye!”

The door closed behind her with a decisive click, leaving Catherine and Vincent alone in the suddenly very quiet apartment.

Catherine couldn’t look at him. She stared down at her wine glass, her face burning. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean – we were drinking and talking, and I didn’t think –”

“Catherine.” Vincent’s voice was soft, warm. He crossed the room in a few long strides and knelt in front of her, taking the wine glass from her hands and setting it aside. “Look at me.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she raised her eyes to his. She expected to see embarrassment, maybe even anger. Instead, she saw warmth, amusement, and unmistakable desire.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said gently. “You were talking with your closest friend. Sharing confidences. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“But I told her – I said –” Catherine couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“You told her the truth,” Vincent said simply. “That we have a passionate, fulfilling intimate life. That I try my best to please you. That we love each other.” He reached up to cup her face in his large, gentle hand. “I’m not upset, Catherine. If anything, I’m…flattered. And perhaps a bit aroused by hearing you describe our lovemaking in such vivid detail.”

Catherine felt a flutter in her stomach. “Aroused?”

“Very much so.” Vincent’s eyes had darkened. “Hearing you talk about what I do to you, what you enjoy, the sounds you make –” He broke off, his voice dropping lower. “It’s incredibly sexy.”

“Oh,” Catherine breathed.

“And I believe you mentioned something about being pinned against a wall?” Vincent’s lips curved into a smile. Tender and predatory. “About being taken on the stairs? About a certain…growl?”

Catherine’s breath caught. “Vincent –”

In one smooth motion, he stood and lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Catherine let out a small squeak of surprise, her arms automatically wrapping around his neck.

“I think,” Vincent said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine, “that we should recreate some of those scenarios you described so enthusiastically to Jenny.”

“All of them?” Catherine asked between breaths.

“All of them,” Vincent confirmed, carrying her up the stairs toward their bedroom. “Starting with the part where I pin your wrists above your head and take my time with you.”

Catherine felt heat pool low in her belly. “And the part about your mouth?”

“Especially that part,” Vincent said, his eyes gleaming. “I believe you said something about feasting? About making you come multiple times before we even have sex?”

“I might have mentioned that,” Catherine admitted, her face flushing again, but this time with anticipation rather than embarrassment.

“Then I have a reputation to uphold,” Vincent said, shouldering open the bedroom door. “And if I recall correctly, you also mentioned something about hours of passion. Multiple rounds.”

“I did say that,” Catherine agreed, running her fingers through the thick mane of hair at the nape of his neck.

Vincent laid her gently on the bed, then stood back to remove his cloak. His eyes never left hers, and Catherine could see the desire burning in them, the love and passion and intensity that always took her breath away.

“You also mentioned,” Vincent said, his voice dropping even lower, “that you love when I take control. When I’m dominant but loving.”

“Yes,” Catherine whispered.

“Then tonight,” Vincent said, moving to the bed and bracing his hands on either side of her, caging her in with his powerful arms, “I’m going to give you everything you described. Everything you said you love. Everything you told Jenny you wanted.”

He leaned down to kiss her, slow and deep and thorough, and Catherine melted into it, into him, into the promise of the night ahead.

“Starting with that spot behind your ear,” Vincent murmured against her lips, and then his mouth was trailing down her jaw, finding that sensitive place that made her gasp and arch against him.

Catherine’s last coherent thought, before Vincent’s hands and mouth drove all thoughts from her mind, was that she really needed to remember to thank Jenny for suggesting wine night. And maybe to apologize for making her so jealous.

But then Vincent’s hand slid up her thigh, and his mouth found her breast through her shirt, and she stopped thinking altogether.

Outside, in a taxi heading downtown, Jenny Aronson smiled to herself and shook her head. “Lucky, lucky woman,” she murmured, then leaned back against the seat, already planning her next visit. Because if there was one thing tonight had proven, it was that Catherine Chandler-Wells had found something truly extraordinary. And Jenny, despite her jealousy, couldn’t be happier for her best friend.

Even if it did mean she’d have to endure hearing about Vincent’s incredible prowess in bed. Some sacrifices, she thought with a grin, were worth making for friendship.

Back in the brownstone, Catherine’s laughter mixed with softer sounds of pleasure, and Vincent’s deep voice murmured words of love and desire. The wine glasses sat forgotten on the coffee table, the stew pot cooling on the stove.

And in the tunnels Below, William smiled to himself as he cleaned up the kitchen, somehow knowing that his stew had been appreciated, even if it had been somewhat overshadowed by the evening’s other…activities.