(This story is written strictly for the free enjoyment of fans of the "Beauty and the Beast" television series. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

Check and Mate

Angie

Chess is the gymnasium of the mind
- Vladimir Illich Ulyanov Lenin

Catherine entered Vincent’s chamber and caught her breath. He was standing, waiting for her, dressed in a long white sweater and soft white pants. For a wonder, none of his clothing seemed to either have patches or been cobbled together. He looked delicious and her chess game with Father, a few days before, gave her the perfect metaphor.

Vincent was her white and always virgin King – in some senses, she thought. She was his Queen, much more free to move around the chessboard of life, but tied to him with all she was, all she ever wanted to be.

Catherine dropped her overnight bag onto a nearby chair and moved slowly to him. His sweater, which laced up at the neck, was undone and she could see a tantalizing hint of long golden hair near the bottom of the "V". He wasn’t wearing his thermal shirt – and maybe no underwear at all, she thought, her heat rising. Neither was she. She wanted nothing to slow down their night of love. She would have arrived naked, if that had been practical. Instead, she had worn a long orange sweater, loose pants and desert boots without socks.

She stood in front of him and looked up into his eyes. A shiver of erotic delight, along with love and desire, ran through her and she knew it was not entirely her own. Suddenly she was in his arms, without knowing - or caring - who had moved first. Well, didn’t White get the first move? She’d give him credit, then.

"Catherine," he whispered hoarsely, as he bent to capture her mouth and hugged her as close as he could. That was very close. She could feel the bulge of his aroused manhood against her stomach, warm and full of promise. Tonight there would be no feints in their chess game. The chessboard was empty, but for themselves.

They stood thus for long moments, until Catherine’s impatience got the better of her. She’d never be a great chess player, but she didn’t hesitate when opportunities presented themselves. She looked up at him and pushed him firmly, wordlessly, to his bed, until it caught him behind the knees and made him sit down. He took one of her hands and kissed her palm, sending a shiver down her bones that made her weak in the knees. He knew how his kisses affected her. Good move, Vincent, she thought, and smiled at him.

Now it was her turn. She bent to take off his felt boots, noticed he wore no socks, and took a moment to hold and stroke first one foot, then the other. His feet were as beautiful as his hands – strong and powerful. She looked up at his face as she sat back on her heels. He was watching her, his eyes shadowed and his mouth slightly open, showing just the tips of his fangs – a sight that made her core ache with desire.

That this man should love her as he did was incredible. That they had found each other, against all odds, made her humble. But the next move was his.

He sighed, moved his legs apart and drew her up until she stood between them. His manhood was throbbing against her thighs now and he dipped his head, his hair brushing her face, to nuzzle under her sweater and lick her belly button. It was a classic move that distracted her completely for long moments.

She gathered her wits, reached to grab the bottom of his sweater, and lifted it. He obediently lifted his arms and she slid it off and tossed it behind her onto his big chair. Then she pulled off her own and added it to his. Suddenly, his hands lifted her and she found herself sitting in his lap, her knees on either side of him on the bed, her breasts pushed against the long, soft hair and tense muscles of his chest. He moved apart a little, then sat back and with a glint in his eyes, moved his lips to first one nipple, then the other. She canted her head and arched her back towards him, then gave a deep sigh that was almost a growl.

Was it her move now? She had lost track. No matter, they kissed again and the look in his eyes was enough permission for her to push him again. He obediently lay back on the bed, then shifted to lie along it, bringing her with him. She carefully loosened the drawstring waist of his pants and slid down the bed to ease it carefully over his eager organ. Then he canted his hips, making his penis rise to even greater heights. Again, she almost forgot what she was about. She quickly grabbed the bottom of each pant leg and pulled off his pants, tossing them to join the sweaters. Her breath now coming in gasps and she sat, her back to him, to remove her boots and peel off her pants, flinging them in the right general direction, but no longer caring where they landed. His hands were sliding along her back, making her shiver with arousal.

She turned and pounced on him, not too hard, felt a whoosh as he let out some air, and then felt his arms around her once more, warm and softly-haired. His hands stroked her bottom and she closed her eyes to savour the joy. She could feel his arousal flaring along their bond.

She snuggled under his chin, planting kisses on anything she could reach, shifted a little so she could tease one of his nipples with her free hand. The other was under his hair, stroking an ear. He was quivering now and the pressure of his hard organ against her belly was sending waves of heat along her skin. His hands had moved up along her ribs to cup under her breasts and she had to move, fast. She abandoned his nipple and slid her hand down until she could slide it over his penis and then further to cup his soft, furry sac. He was fever hot in her hand and she sighed as she stroked him. She felt his growl rumble under her ribs, then his groan of delight.

She looked up at him then and suddenly she was on her back and he was on top, most of his weight on his knees, both of his hands on her breasts now, massaging lightly. She looked down between their bodies and reached to stroke his pulsing organ, felt the muscles of his legs tense against her, his growl – so soft, it was like the brush of velvet against her palm on his neck.

She hadn’t completed her move, she decided on reflection, could legally do more since she hadn’t removed her hand from the "piece". She angled his penis down lightly, closer to her core. He looked at her, his eyes deep pools of passion, and bent to kiss her and get their bodies just a little closer.

She felt him warm between her thighs and closed her eyes in expectation. His lower lip was hot and she ran her tongue along his cleft, felt him shudder. He spread her lips with his own and wound his slightly rough tongue around hers. The sensation nearly sent her over the edge and she knew he had sensed it.

He stilled, then moved his mouth to kiss her eyes and nose. She licked him under his chin and marveled at his smooth neck. Her hands, of their own accord, moved to stroke his hips and she slid them behind him. She was able to touch the top of the cleft between his buttocks and she stroked that smooth-skinned spot in sensuous circles. She wrapped her legs around his, delighting in the soft hair that slid along her skin like silk.

She felt a hand move between them as he shifted a little. One long-nailed finger eased, feather-light, into the warm wetness of her womanhood and she ground herself against him.

"Now," she whispered, so softly, she wasn’t sure he heard. But he had. He put one hand under her bottom and lifted her closer, then slowly began to slide his hot, engorged organ into her waiting passage. She arched her back, wanting him inside her, all of him, immediately, but he took his time, rushing nothing, like the superb chess player he was. Then he was almost in position, and her skin felt like it was on fire. Her core ached and fed a raging inferno, and she could feel his desire running over her, matching it. She clasped him to her and he finally relaxed and let himself down on top of her, his penis now fully inside her and the feel of his warm testicles making her thighs quiver.

Then she felt him swell inside her and pulled him closer, closer, until there was no separation and their heat merged.

Slowly, Vincent began to slide out a little, then eased in again. Then his chest muscles tensed and she sensed he’d suddenly lost his grip on the patient plan he had been pursuing. He groaned and pumped, first slowly, then quickly, until Catherine found her mouth open as she tried to get enough air. She lifted her hips to meet his and linked her hands behind his back, wanting him closer, closer. Suddenly they were bound in a net of fire and their joint climax exploded like a nova. Wave upon wave of hot winds ran over them, searing them into white, red, and finally, serene blue warmth.

Vincent sagged on top of her and she held him as the last of the shudders ran over them.

"Oh, my love, my King," she breathed into an ear.

He shifted to look in her eyes then.

"What?" he whispered, planting a kiss on her lips.

"Checkmate," she said, putting her arms around her neck.

"My white Queen," he rasped in his deep silken voice. "We are bound by laws no man can change."

"Not unlike chess," she replied.

Vincent chuckled and slid down beside her, gathering her in his arms. With a twitch he flung blankets over them both and relaxed, closing his eyes. She felt his purr grow into a soft susurrus that massaged her down to her bones. And that, thought Catherine, was something the chess laws would forbid, if they knew of its existence. Handshakes, perhaps a bow, that was all that was allowed at the end of a good game. So much for chess!

She sighed in contentment. This King and Queen made their own rules – and they were so much more satisfying!

END