It was only a dream, of course; he tried to remind himself of that, as it began. It didn't matter, though. Once it began, he was lost. It all seemed far too real.

Michael took another step down the stairs, the sounds of chains clanking bothered him. He had eliminated the opposition and was doing a room by room sweep looking for his beloved. As soon as he had opened the door, he had sensed her distress and her stark fear.

There she was, chained to the bed, her pale hair glistening even in the dim lighting. Her arms were raised above her head, arching her back, throwing her breasts into prominence. Michael shook his head, *How can I even see that considering the situation?* He paused to consider the situation. Here he was, rogue, and there she was ... chained. He felt his loins throb and smiled to himself. *AHHH*

It was only a dream--but that didn't matter right now. She was drawn back, nonetheless, was in a strange, unconscious version of her prison for the last few days--a much nicer one, actually. She didn't remember at all that she wasn't awake.

Nikita seemed to feel her eyes flutter open, and she looked up to see him--the one man who always inhabited her thoughts. It was him she had been thinking of this whole time, him she had wanted to come find her. No one else mattered. And now, here he finally was. Yes.

She looked into him more deeply, absolutely forgetting for a second that she was chained, lost to anything in her surroundings. All she could think about was the glow in those beautiful green eyes, was the way they seemed to penetrate her soul. He knew her so well--intimately, in fact. Ohh.

Her mind shifted, and she felt herself squirming a little, all her old desires awakening once more. She started to breathe more heavily, her mind taking in the possibilities of their current situation. Hmmm.

Michael holstered his gun, his hand smoothing the leather of his mission pants in an unconscious caress. He moved further down the stairs, his senses telling him that he and Nikita were the only ones left on-site. She looked so delectable all laid out like that, her feet roped individually to the bottom of the bed. Nice and tight. Vulnerable. He paused as an almost painful throb went through his cock. Was it his imagination or could he smell her excitement beginning? He licked his lips and moved closer again. "Are you alright?"

She was trying to come up with a coherent response, but her mind was more than a little cloudy. It had nothing to do with the last several hours. She looked down his wonderful, so masculine, form, noticing the intense bulge in the pants which always hugged him so closely. She had to catch her breath. "I'm fine."

Her breathless response did not help his situation any, nor did her obvious interest in his crotch. He sat on the edge of the bed, examining her chains and noting the catch lock just out of her reach. He stroked a hand across her cheek and down her throat. Even as he was appreciating the soft skin, he was checking her pulse and noted with relief that, though slightly heightened, it seemed steady and strong. It seemed only natural for his hand to smooth across her neck and stroke her jawline before returning to her cheek and finally his fingertips were drawn to her mouth, circling, outlining, lightly tugging. He watched his own hand, mesmerized.

Oh God. Her eyes were so wide, her breathing even more ragged. There was such tenderness, such adoration to his touch. He worshiped her with his hand, just as he did with every other part of his body. Never mind that the worship was sometimes--well, often--rather wild. Every way he looked at and touched her made her want him even more.

She tried to pull herself back to reality, though--away, once more, from his now sparking eyes. Her breath was still ragged, however, every word broken by a slight pant. "We need to get back."

The silkiness of her skin drew him in, just as it always did. How many times had he stopped himself from just touching her, knowing it was the wrong time, the wrong place, in front of the wrong people? Now, now he was free to touch her wherever he wished. Her statement startled him, since it was so far from his thoughts. "Back where?" he questioned absently as he leaned over to nuzzle her neck and placed a quick bite on her earlobe.

The groan she let out was small and throaty, the sensation too sweet to ignore. She was angling herself toward him, already wanting more, all of her past ordeals forgotten. It took a lot of effort for her to form a thought. "Sec . . . Section."

Already she was responding to him, arching towards him. Michael allowed the thrill of power to surge through him. She was so responsive, so exciting and so much at his mercy. "Where?" he breathed, teasing her as he licked at her lips with tiny flicks of his tongue, imitating a pattern she was familiar with, only on another part of her body.

She was lost. "Nowhere," she murmured.

He smiled. "Oh, there? No, I don't think so." He reached up to rattle her chains as a subtle reminder and threat.

The moan she let out this time was loud and needy. She was angling her head up to try to capture his mouth--whimpering slightly when he moved a little away again. She had given up caring about such details.

"Good." He stifled any chance for her to respond by kissing her tenderly, at first. His mouth gained more power and hunger as she responded. Michael shifted onto the bed, laying on his side. His hand crept down to her shirt, where the buttons beckoned. The first button slid open easily, and Michael slipped a fingertip inside to play with the slightly dampened velvet.

"Mmm," she moaned, lost in the kiss--and in him. If her hands were free, she would have pulled him closer--much closer. As it was, though, she was more than willing to "be patient"-- for awhile. He was, thankfully, not going *too* slowly. She couldn't have handled that.

He stroked his tongue across hers, his act a slow preview of the thrusts she would be receiving later, maybe, if she was good. The second button struggled with him, but he defeated it, his hand slipping into the gap to tantalize her breast, avoiding the nipple--that was for the third button. The third button, ahh what delights it revealed. Her nipple pulsed against his palm and he smiled against her lips. He tugged lightly with his thumb and forefinger. *So sweet, so delicious.*

Even as his touch gently brushed against her straining nipple, however, her mind seemed to give up on every thought outside of him completely. She wasn't even aware that she was still tied down. All that mattered to her now was that he gave her more.

Suddenly Michael could not ignore his hunger and transferred his mouth from hers to that tempting morsel, scraping it with his tongue, drawing it further into his mouth to "trap" it with his teeth and tug.

She let out a whimper at first--then a deep, loving scream. God, how could he make everything so good? How could he erase every pain and replace it with pleasure? She didn't know the answers to these questions, of course, but she really didn't care. All that mattered now was the way it felt to be in his hot, devouring mouth--was the sweet tug of need she felt deep inside of her. Ohhh. All she wanted at all was this.

Michael pulled back with a departing lick and kiss. "You screamed?" he asked, his voice as formal as if she had called for him from another part of the house.

She couldn't stand it--felt bereft without him, wanted him too much for sanity. He was teasing her, of course--he always did--but she just didn't know how much she could take before she broke.

He looked back down at the glittering berry and tugged her shirt the rest of the way out of her pants. In seconds her shirt laid on the sides, her chest and stomach open to his gaze.

Yes, finally. "Please, Michael," she begged.

Michael traced a random pattern across her rolling stomach, seeming to have all the time in the world. "We have a dilemma," he stated casually. "I don't want to untie you and yet ... yet your pants are in the way. Or are they?"

She blinked, *way* too aroused for logical thought. All she knew was that she wanted him--*now*. "Anything--please." Her eyes were shining in her desperation for him.

He didn't need the encouragement. With his question, he cupped his hand against her crotch and squeezed, the leather conducting his heat to her and her heat to him. He moved with her sudden hip thrust, keeping the pressure constant.

For just a moment, a picture of Nikita with her legs tied alongside her hands flashed through his mind. *She is flexible.*

She let out another scream then--insane, lost. Oh Lord--how did he manage to make her feel so much?

She didn't see where his mind was going--but didn't care. All she could do was move against his hand, whimper, and hope for more--the sensations within her tightening further.

He unbuttoned her pants and shimmied his fingertips inside. It was a tight fit with her increased breathing and the mission pants style, but he could just brush his fingertips across the little curls of her sex. He wiggled his hand down a little further and felt her moistness as well as the hardening nub of her clitoris. No matter how rough he may feel like getting, no matter how rough he did get, and there had been some times, Michael always reminded himself that some areas needed to be treated gently ... in the beginning. He slid a fingertip on each side of the clit and started to roll the little nub side to side in a pattern he knew she liked.

She felt the sweet bolt of sensation course through her, making her nearly weep. Oh God--she was aching for him, had a need for him so deep within her that it was making her cry. Her mind had started up a constant chant "More, more, more." All her body could do, though, was move with him and shudder, riding to the surges of pleasure he gave her, clinging to the edge of bliss.

Michael nuzzled her cheek, her throat, moving to her ear. "Come for me, come on," he encouraged her, increasing the movement of his fingers and adding a quick tug at random.

It was all she needed. "AAH!" she cried out, a tear rolling down her cheek, overcome completely. The combination of his tenderness, his passionate command, and his lovely, tantalizing moves was *always* too much.

Her whole body was shaking, the heavy storm of her pleasure overtaking every conscious sense. There was only one thing she could focus on outside of herself. She turned her head toward him, searching for his lips.

Michael drank in her cries, drank in her pleasure, and his head swam with his reaction to her joy. He gave into temptation and continued his movements, increasing the pressure and using her own movements to help him slip further down into her pants, his fingers slickened on her moisture.

He moved so that he was partially on her, rubbing his almost painful erection against her thigh. He felt that, even through the two layers of leather, he could feel her soft skin rubbing against him.

The stroke of his tongue along hers, the absolutely possessive, yet gentle, way he kissed her made her wild, made her float. Still, it was his increasing desperation--and the incredible feeling of him against her thigh--that made her too needy for words. She broke the kiss. "Michael, please."

Abruptly, he pulled away, his chest heaving with his own excitement. He climbed off the bed and started to untie her legs, removing her shoes first to free the way. The ropes parted easily under his harsh demands, freeing her legs. He grasped the top of her pants and yanked, tangling her panties along as well.

She watched him, a low moan in her throat--and moaned more loudly, as he finally undressed her. Her mind assessed him, with a small smile only a few more, relevant pieces of clothing, and he was hers.

She lay nude from the waist down except for her socks, her shirt still sprawled on either side of her body, but for all intents and purposes, his to ravage as he would. He retied her legs before she had a chance to react.

Oh. "Mi-chael," she moaned. She had never had any intention of going anywhere, of course--but she was *more* than willing to play along. He was so much fun when he was wild.

Michael stroked his hand up her right leg, delighting in the flexing muscles' reaction to his touch. He paused for a moment to lightly caress the back of her knee and then moved further upward. He reached the top of her thigh and spent several moments gliding a fingertip across the velvety surface, before he ... started again on her left leg.

She let out a little cry of frustration and squirmed wildly, trying to move toward his touch. It was useless, though. The ropes held her fast--although there was no pain there now. Still, the fact that she couldn't rush him along was her only objection to their current situation. "Mi-chael," she drew his attention to her with her begging tone, "please. I want you."

Michael arched an inquiring eyebrow, as he again stroked her upper thighs. Her scent was driving him wild and making his mouth water. The blond curls enticed him and, almost against his will, his hand was drawn to her, sliding on her moistness to a slow penetration of one finger into her tightness. His cock throbbed in envy and forced him to add another. He closed his eyes as her inner walls grabbed at his fingers. It was almost too much to bear, but he drew on his well of patience, reciting arithmetic tables until he was able to breath again. Then he began to push inside of her further.

There was a low, groaning, "Ohhhh" in response to his incredible teasing. She did love his talented hands.

Her walls clung to him, wanting more. Her whole body was so incredibly sensitized, was aching to feel his devotion in full. She wanted every last inch of him--and every ounce of his desire. She whimpered, the heat within her building yet further. Now.

He moved his thumb upwards so that, with every inward stroke of his fingers, her clit was brushed against. Michael called on his knowledge of Nikita's hot spots as well and curled his finger slightly so they would rub against her spot. He so loved to pleasure her that he could spend all night just touching her and watching her reactions. Never had someone trusted him as much as Nikita did, her surrender to him complete. Even his valentine missions were not this trusting of him and they were well deceived.

Oh. There was no question about trust in Nikita's mind at the moment, although there wasn't much left but sensation for her any longer. Dear God, he felt so good, made her feel so very perfect. It never even came into her thoughts that she was tied up and entirely at his mercy. She would have taken anything that he wanted to give her--and loved him for the opportunity, knowing, all the while, that he adored her like no other. She had never wanted any man more.

His strokes into her, too, were becoming wilder, more intense. She was moaning ever more loudly, insane for more. Her breathing was shaky, as the moans began to rise to screams, her hips meeting him constantly--begging for the sweet release only he could give. Oh God, she loved him.

Michael climbed more completely onto the bed, nudging her legs even further apart, his mind on only one thing . . . to taste her. He licked his lips in unconscious anticipation. He pulled his fingers free and grasped her hips, holding her still for him.

His tongue stroked slowly up the length of her slit, starting just at the entrance to her cunt and moving on up, spasming it over her clit until she was gasping with new surges of passion. Embolded by her responses, he sank his mouth closer onto her. He pushed against her upper thighs, sucking her lips and clit into his mouth, gently running his tongue over the oh-so-tender spot. He licked at her flesh, tasting her juices as they ran down and over his mouth while she heaved on the bed.

Her entire body had taken on a deep, aching, and entirely uncontrollable, shudder, thoroughly overcome. There were just too many different levels too it, was too much pleasure to fully accept. She trembled wildly, bucking against him, every cell tingling with joy.

His hands gently caressed her thighs, as he sucked her cunt, his tongue running deep between her lips, over her clit and down to the tight entrance. He thrust his tongue inside, pushing into her. He released his hold on her thighs and reached up to rub her nipples, rolling her crinkled buds.

He sucked on her clit harder, his tongue flicking over her, matching her internal rhythm. He took her flesh into his mouth while his tongue licked up and down and inside, flicking over her clit and rubbing her spot.

She had almost ceased breathing now, her sounds uncategorizable. Her entire body was bucking and arching at him, floating in shuddering joy--but aching so sweetly for more. Oh, how she adored him.

He held onto her breasts and clamped his lips around her clit, milking another orgasm, or two, out of her before he slowly caressed his way away from her.

She was nothing except a collection of whimpers and moans, by this point, was lost from the sheer intensity of her bliss. It was still rolling off her in waves. A tear ran down her cheek, as well, as she continued to shudder, looking up at him. She just loved him so very much.

It took her quite a few, incredibly long, moments, as well--moments when she was lost entirely to his gaze--before she could force her pleasure-stunned body to speak. "Kiss me," she begged.

Michael gazed at her, lost in the endless ocean of the blue of her eyes. That he should be able to give her so much pleasure, that she would be willing to accept it from him--it was more than he could fathom. But he had learned to take what he could from life and, God help him, he wanted Nikita, and he was going to take her and keep her. He pressed an almost chaste kiss onto her lips, a kiss full of devotion and promise.

She whimpered. It wasn't enough, couldn't be. She needed him so much, needed to feel his devotion to her--and she needed it now.

Michael lowered himself onto her, his pants keeping them both from their most fervent desire. He rubbed his covered erection against her, rocking against her. He knew he needed to move so he could get undressed. He knew that the pleasures that awaited him were worth the momentary lapse of contact and yet he could not make himself get off of her.

She moaned, trying to create more of the friction she needed--wanting him. She could feel how aroused he was, how much he wanted this. Oh God, she needed him. "Please, Michael, yes," she moaned.

"We have another problem," he told her, a wicked gleam in his eyes, as he rotated his hips in a small circle.

She blinked, waiting, still moaning at his actions. Her mind was far too fuzzy to think.

Michael delighted in her look of lost wonder, her body having gained the upper hand. With a groan he levered himself up and knelt between her legs. "Tell me," he stated as he looked at her. "What do you want?"

Oh. She couldn't help herself. She looked down his body--his lovely, sweet, muscular body--until her eyes lit on the very palpable evidence of his need for her. She dragged her eyes back up to his. "You."

"You just had me," he reminded her. He plucked at his t-shirt. "Should I take this off or leave it on?"

She smiled dreamily at his reminder. Mmm.

Her mind began to focus on the question, after a second, though; her eyes roved over his clothed chest, before meeting his eyes once more, her look heated. "Off."

Michael bowed his head submissively and with a smooth motion slowly stripped his t-shirt off. He shook his head when it was free and loosened his hair. "Anything else?"

She let out a moan. God, he was beautiful--and the strange role reversal he was working with her only made her want him more. As though she weren't the one who was tied up.

She looked down again, her gaze stroking along his gorgeous body, until it settled back at the still most intriguing--and most covered--part of him. She smiled. "Yes." Her heated gaze met his once more.

Michael stifled a smile, his body burning with the heat of her gaze. His cock strained at his pants in desperation to get at her. If he were less controlled, he would have been rutting away on her at this very moment. "My shoes?" he guessed.

There was a definite squirming beneath him, as she groaned. Damn his self-control. As much as she adored it sometimes, it drove her *crazy* at others. "Mi-chael," she pleaded.

"You want me to keep my shoes on?" he teased, his hands drawn to her body. He stroked her sides up to the edge of her breasts and down to her hips, up, down, up, down. My god, he loved to touch her.

Oh. The tears were beginning to build in her eyes, her patience exhausted. No woman could survive too much of this teasing. She moaned, begging. "Make love to me--please." She tried to lean up to find his lips.

For a brief second, his heart contracted at the sight of tears in her eyes but then the sensual pleading reached his ears, and he relaxed. He was torn between teasing her some more, a lot more, and giving into the raging beast that was starting to feed on his patience. Soon it would not be a choice. He reached down to his pants, his movement capturing her attention.

She let out a small moan, her voice still begging. "Please." God, she wanted him now.

He hesitated.

Her eyes widened, her breath ceasing again for a second. She shuddered below him, her eyes drawn back from his movements to meet his gaze, begging with him there to take her, to make love to her, to enjoy every heated, aching second of pleasure he could take from her. She couldn't speak anymore, though. Her lips moved silently "Please."

Michael heaved an internal sigh and climbed off of the bed, moving so he could remove his shoes, hating the mere seconds it took him, hating the time away from his beloved. The beast within was growing and he no longer had the ability to draw out the lovemaking, so he wasted no time taking off his pants, no delaying over each button, no swaying towards her in slow motion, no time for that. His level of arousal forced him to take his time around the more delicate motion of releasing his cock, however. At last he was nude. His cock slapped at his stomach leaving its own trail of moisture. His eyes riveted on Nikita.

She let out a gasp which could only be described as joyful. Her eyes widened, caressing every inch of his beautiful, thick cock. Her body ached to feel him again, to be possessed by him. She shuddered, desperate, before she met his eyes once more; she still couldn't form sounds. "Yes."

Michael closed his eyes again, his breath shaky, his chest heaving and his cock throbbing. He tried to find his patience; he searched for it, but it was gone. Instead, in its place was a barely restrained beast. His cock led him to the bed and between her thighs, pushing against her.

Oh God--God, yes. He was so close, was so near to giving her what she wanted, what she needed from him. If her hands were free, she would have pull him toward her, would have helped guide him into her. As it was, though, all she could do was moan and beg with her eyes.

With a sharp thrust of his hips he sank into her, parting her walls, as he moved deeper and deeper in, every inch a joy, every inch a another moment of loss of control. He did not pause when he hit bottom but began to move in and out of her, tilting his hips, grinding down on her.

She gave a long scream of thanks, of absolute love, arching at him, begging him to never leave. There was just no other sensation anything like having his incredible cock buried deep inside her, like having him love her till she moaned. She leaned further into him, seducing him with her body, stroking as much of herself as she could along his glistening form. "More," she begged. There was just no other gift like having him wild.

With a sub-human growl, he pulled out, reached back and untied her legs, lifted them up to his shoulders and sank back into her, his movements harsher and harder. He leaned forward, pushing her into the bed, the ripples of her excitement driving him wild, driving him to greedily grasp for more sensation. He grabbed her hands, his mind struggling to remember how she was chained and calling upon his years of Section training to be able to create an escape for her hands.

"Yes!" she groaned. He was ravishing her, was treating her entirely without mercy. Oh God, she loved it--loved him. She never wanted him to hold back at all.

He never stopped moving, spiking into her, now that her legs were somewhat free, he pushed himself further between them, crushing her clit with every stroke, scraping over her spot with every withdrawal. The blood was singing in his ears, and his body was wholly guided by her responses. He struggled to give her every pleasure he was capable of.

Her hands sank into his hair, as well, pulling him deeply into her kiss, conquering his mouth in just the way she was begging to be conquered herself. He was the only person, ever, that she could feel so entirely needy with.

His strokes through her felt huge, almost too intense--but she had no intention of pulling back, couldn't have forced herself to, if she had tried. It was too good, made her feel too free. The shudders within her were heated and ever-increasing; the tears of joy building in her eyes. She kissed him more wildly, begging him again to never let her go.

The quaking need inside her rose constantly, desperately. She was letting out insane little groans and whimpers, as everything reached a nearly-blinding point of light, begging him with her needy kiss to spare her nothing. With one more stroke, too, she was utterly lost.

Every inch of her was wracking beneath him in her bliss. He sank into her mouth, even as his body ravished her; he surrendered to her passion, surrendered to her love. He trembled in the face of such devotion and cried out into her mouth, as his orgasm ripped through him, cried out his pleasure and his love.

She was still kissing him, but it was punctuated with tiny whimpers now, with the groan of love and pleasure which echoed out of her throat. The rush of his heat as it filled her made her tremble even further, made her feel wholly loved and possessed, made her adore him more than she could ever express. There would never be any turning away.

It took her quite awhile to find anything like sanity. When she could manage it, though, she pulled back from him slightly, her eyes teary. "I love you, Michael."

He kissed her again, still unable to say the words that lived in his heart.

She understood, feeling them, nonetheless, adoring him, the warmth of his love entwined in her heart and soul. She would never let him go.

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