Part I : Perfect: The Kiss - Season Three Spoiler

Since Section got blowed up real good a week ago a few things have happened. I've had it out with Ops, not necessarily a good thing, but I think he knows a little better where I come from, not that he approves or understands me any better. I think that I have a pretty good understanding of where he comes from.

Some other wacko planet. He's freakin' nuts.

Can you say: One track mind? Get a life? Ever heard that there is life beyond one's job, Paulie baby? Geez, Louise, he loves this place. L-O-V-E-S. It is his reason to live. I saw the madness in his eyes just before he tried to blow that redhead away in the art gallery when we went to find Freddie in Montreal. He needs some serious time on the couch. Operations is the textbook picture of psycho.

I will never forget standing there trying to stop him, mesmerised by that little bubble of spit on his lower lip as he zoned out on me. I don't know where the hell he went, but it was weird. That scene comes back to me in frames, like picture postcards, the redhead screaming, Op's eyes bugging out of his head, me shooting that Matteo guy while the bobby pins dug into my skull from that stupid hairdo.

Yep. Michael was right when he said that was one hell of a week.

There are clean new walls and shiny new chrome and a brand new torture chair but this new Section is exactly like the old one right down to the ugly paint job and Ops has been stressing out like a crazed Martha Stewart trying to get it all back in order. I guess it's like a security blanket or something. He was ranting the other day at Michael over something that was done wrong.

" Get it for me, Michael," he screamed. " Just get it."

As usual, Michael just gave a calm, blank stare and a slight nod. I wanted to say: Yea, Michael, and when you do get it, tape it to a brick and shove it up his ass sideways.

Michael's been too busy to eat. Run ragged. Someone get that man to a donut shop before he turns into a shadow of his former husky, hunky self. I finally got brave again after it was over and asked him if he wanted to come to dinner. He came. And he told me he missed me and he told me that he thought it was time we started a relationship. He kept pouring the wine. He was trying to get me tipsy. I swear that's true.

He's determined. He had that look in those green eyes. That wild, jungle cat look. The one that puts me on the defensive, makes me say stupid stuff I don't even mean. Like my answer to his statement to the effect that this distance between us had gone on long enough that maybe our time had come." Maybe it's been too long, Michael." Geez, I wanted to bite that back as soon as I said it.

The bells and whistles were peeling off in my head. And I was wondering if I'd shaved my arm pits and if the sheets were clean at the same time I was thinking about running the hell away from him.

He's trying to control this , Nik, my head was telling me. Control you. He can control you.

He's trying to tell you when, where and why and how and--

And then he'll dump you. He'll leave.

Okay, you know, I've got this whole boxed set of issues. I told you before when he was saying those sexy things to me after he called me drunk from that wake, I was scared to death. And now I know I'm weakening. Okay, I'm on shaky ground here. I admit it. But I am just so afraid of being hurt by him. Or that something awful will happen to destroy everything. Like Ops will charge in with that little bit of spit in the corner of his mouth and that wild, POW look in his eyes and blow our heads off.

I've told you before that if I let myself get swept away again by Michael and his charm and his devastating talents in the bedroom I'm never going to come back up for air. If he tells me he loves me, says the words I'm lost. I'll never be able to just forget him and go on. So what am I going to do now? I'm a basket case. Even chocolate has lost it's appeal.

I'm into bubble baths now. Sinking into that hot water helps me forget.

I think I'll have a bath and go to bed now and try not to think about how he was looking at me today. I know those half-closed smoky green eyes and that slightly parted mouth are going to haunt my dreams.

February 2

Groundhog day. No ground hogs around here, though we're far enough under ground. Any ground hog stupid enough to come in this dump deserves to have his ass shot off.

God, I hate this place. It is like the proverbial Griffin arisen from the ashes. Burn it and there's another one right there to take it's place. New digs, same old shit, only softer.

I was leaning over Walter's table today talking when Michael came into get something. He didn't have to squeeze in behind me to drop off his comm unit, but he did. He let his hip slowly graze my butt. The contact was electrifying. Sexual invitation in the extreme. I'm getting tired of fighting him off. He's too damned cute. Should I just let him come in and stomp all over my heart? Come and get me, handsome. Do what you will.

Maybe I'll hold off a little longer, just let him dangle. This is sort of exciting. I like being the pursued rather than the pursuer. I kind of like seeing him twist in the wind. Is that cruel?

I have noticed that Madeline is looking pretty hot lately. I guess those few days of terror shook her up some, too. She came back to work in the new place sporting a new wardrobe, great makeup. She looks buff, too, like she's been lifting weights or something. I think maybe she's got a new guy. She smiles a lot more. Even Birkoff's eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw her strolling down the hall in knee-high boots. I wonder if she's trying to send someone a message.

I'm sure Ops hasn't noticed . He's too busy brown-nosing George and the oversight committee to take much notice of anything. I'm sure he got an ass chewing for letting that freaky Glass Curtain contortionist run through Section.

I don't even want to think about Sparks and how he possibly escaped that explosion. What comes to mind when I think of Sparks, is Simone, Michael's late wife. If Sparks survived it, why the hell didn't she? And if she did, where is she?

A whole new freaky thing to worry over.

I had a dream about that last night. It scared the shit out of me. I went to Michael's apartment and Simone answered the door. She told me, in her sultry French-Vietnamese accent, that Michael never wanted to see me again. I woke up in a lather at four a.m. and never did go back to sleep.

I don't know if he's thought about the idea of her being alive. I was looking at him when he told me it was Glass Curtain. He didn't flinch. He didn't react. I don't know if that's a good thing or not.

I tell myself that this sort of stuff only happens in soaps. But then my life is a soap opera.

One thing remains the same. He's relentless. He's psyched for this and he plays the game way better than I do. It's like Peppy la Pew and his little pussy cat. I feel like that pussy cat, scared and wanting at the same time. His walk is one hell of a lot sexier than Peppy's. I don't know how much longer I can hold out. I don't know if I want to hold out any more. All I do is think about him. Every time I lift up my head he's staring at me with those green panther's eyes and I melt for him.

I'm willing to die in his arms.

I bought condoms yesterday. A large box.

I want him as much as he wants me. I'm surprised there isn't smoke coming out of our ears.

I don't even care any more that it's him who has decided it is time. That's a load of petty nonsense I've used as a crutch anyway. Let him have a little control. Now. Maybe we are like animals. Maybe he just woke up one morning and finally realised that I am his predestined partner. He has given in to the inevitable, to the pull of nature. And like animals we should just do it and not pay any attention to who's watching us. Does that sound gross? Sounds pretty natural to me.

February 3

" I have to talk to you," he said to me. He was standing by my desk, looking like Mr. Inscrutable in his black wool suit, his hands clasped calmly in front of his flat abdomen. His face, as usual, a mask of indifference, but his eyes were another story. They were looking at my legs in brown tights beneath a very short leather skirt.

I looked up from the computer screen and swallowed hard. My heart was pounding. " Sure, Michael. Is it about the report on "

" It's personal. Meet me at eleven. Fourth floor."

" It's not finished up there yet. "

" I'm aware of that. We need privacy. To talk."

" Privacy? Could it wait? I have a lot to do and you could come over for dinner tonight."

" Eleven a.m. "

I watched him walk away. That sexy, saunter, wide shoulders swinging ever so slightly, his straight, tapering back, the to-die-for, sway of his elegant hips and oh-so-tight rounded butt. I wanted to lay my forehead on the desk and sob myself dry for the sheer poetry of that man.

My legs were shaking.

I walked out of the elevator, tripping over some debris, pulling my skirt down a little. Too short for the office, I was thinking, though the opaque tights were actually quite sedate. Not like I was wearing fishnets or something.

" Be calm," I whispered to myself.

I rounded the corner and saw him coming for me down the opposite end, his jaw set. He was not sauntering as he usually does. He was walking one hell of a lot faster. As a matter of fact, I almost turned then because I thought he was angry at me.

He stopped in front of me and for the space of several seconds, stared at my face, his eyes fixed at the level of my mouth. I think in my three inch heels I was a little taller. I don't think it gave me much of an edge.

I was about to say something when he caught me around the waist and pulled me into an alcove under the stairs.

" Michael?"

" No, don't say anything." He pulled me hard against his body, his mouth covering mine. It startled me, his roughness, the element of danger, kissing me right there in Section, where anyone could see us.

It was like he didn't give a damn any more. I knew that I didn't.

I lost myself in that kiss, the intense rush of heat, the heady taste of his mouth. I think he'd just eaten a mint because he tasted cool and hot and sweet at once. That kiss said everything I'd been wanting to hear. His love, his need, his most basic and real emotions unearthed and in plain sight, clear and sparkling as precious gems.

That kiss, earth shattering as it was, barely hinted at the hunger and passion that burned beneath it, burned in him for me.

" I've been wanting to do this too long, Kita, " he said, kissing the words into my mouth. He slid his hands up my neck, burying his fingers in my hair, thrusting his tongue in full erotic possession of my mouth.

That's what it was. Possession. He is mine. I am his.

I pressed myself against his hard body, his thighs and hips, gasping at his arousal. He braced his back against the wall, sliding his hand down to my thigh, pulling my leg high against his, splaying his hand over my hip.

" Michael. Oh, God, Michael..." I wrapped my leg around his lean flank, clinging to him for dear life because I was throbbing, weak, aroused beyond caring.

He slid his mouth down over my cheek, nuzzling my neck, my throat, my collar bone, trailing heated kisses on my skin as his hand sought my breast beneath my thick sweater.

I stiffened as I heard whirr of the elevator and the click of heels on the steel covered floor.

" Michael. Someone's coming."

He looked at me, dazed, his mouth lax, his eyes half closed. His hair looked like a cyclone had struck it.

" Damn."

He pulled me deeper into the shadows, my heart almost bursting out of my chest. It was still light enough to see his face, the sweat beading his sensuous upper lip, his kiss swollen lower one. He looked drugged.

I wondered what I must look like.

Whoever it was passed our hiding place.

" We can't do this here," I said. His hand slipped up the back of my sweater, caressed my back. " I have to be in Maddie's office at eleven-thirty."

" I couldn't wait for you to come to me any more. I was going to tell you exactly how I felt."

" I think you just did, " I managed.

We started to giggle like teenagers under the bleachers at a basketball game. Not that I have any experience with that.

" Will you come to my place for dinner tonight? " he asked, pushing strands of blonde hair over my shoulder.

" Sure. Okay."

" If won't guarantee we'll get to dinner."

" You don't have to guarantee anything. I'll -uh-come uh- I'll be there." I swallowed hard, easing myself away from him. It was a hard thing to do. I finger combed his soft, brown hair and then straightened his collar. One of my fine blonde hairs was caught in his beard stubble. There was lipstick on his face. I rubbed most of it off. He moved his head and pressed a kiss to my hand.

" I'll be trying not to think about it, " he said, tugging his jacket down. " Don't laugh at me if I walk funny."

" Okay." I bit my cheeks in an effort not to laugh.

" Do me a favour." He pulled me out of the alcove. " Don't wear that skirt to work any more. I can't take it."

He left first because it was safer. I would follow in five minutes. I just leaned against the wall hugging myself, an idiotic grin spreading ear to ear.

Part II Perfect

I don't know why I am scribbling in this damned journal when I have things to do. I could be getting dressed, but I haven't figured out what to wear to Michael's place yet. Casual and comfortable like I don't really care? Maybe that Donna Karan skirt thing I bought last week. Or is that too ugly? I don't know about the cargo pockets. Maybe I can stuff some extra underwear in there for tomorrow.

Maybe I should wear something black, sleek and sophisticated? Oh, Michael, I can say to his dropped jaw, this old rag? Do I need to wear a bra? Or is that just something I'll have to take off? Not that he can't do that for me, preferably with his teeth, but if we're in a hurry...

How about a fur coat, four inch heels and nothing else? Sheesh. That's too sleazy. I think saw that in a movie once. Was it Natalie Wood? Maybe it was that slasher thing with Angie Dickensen and Michael Caine. Maybe Michael Caine was wearing the coat and the heels. I forget. Why am I thinking these things? I don't have a fur coat anyway. Leather. That's a good thing. He liked that skirt today. He had his hand halfway up it.

Oh, God. I must not think about that now. That kiss. I didn't expect that at all. I have never been kissed like that. I think he really did mean it when he said it was time. That he missed me. I can't believe he took that chance at Section. I guess he was pretty sure there are no cameras up there yet. I won't think about Section. I tell myself to take what I can, enjoy it while it lasts. We've wasted enough time.

Okay, I know what you're thinking. I'm a mess.

Sense a pattern here?

Yea. I'm scared. I'm in terminal freak out mode. In three hours or four, if I'm lucky, I'll be wanting to light up a cigarette in that sumptuous bed of his. And I don't even smoke.

If it's as good as I think it's going to be I'll definitely go up in flames.

What about protection? Do I bring something? And my toothbrush? Do I bring it or assume he's got one for me? That is, if he wants me to spend the night? Does he expect me to spend the night?

Maybe he won't want me to spend the whole night. Oh, God. I hope so. I love sleeping with him, feeling him nuzzle his nose in my hair, his breath on my neck, his hand on my hip. I love waking up first and just watching him sleep.

I think he is almost too exquisite. Maybe if he had some physical flaw I could handle this thing I have for him with more dignity. I get scared sometimes by the intense physicality of my reaction to him. Every time I close my eyes I see that face, the heavy lidded misty-green eyes, those slightly pouty pink lips over even white teeth, those curls he tries in vain to tame, that godlike body. I want to touch and kiss and look. Sometimes just look and look and look. Discover all the details, marvel at the way he's been put together. Like how one studies a fabulous work of art. My eyes are insatiable. Would I love him this much, this deeply, if he was not so beautiful? If his body wasn't quite some pagan temple to be worshipped. If just seeing him didn't make my heart become a sledge hammer in my chest.

I can't change the facts. He is perfect. He has no equal in my eyes. He actually had a cold sore last week. I will admit he has the odd bad hair day, but I have never seen so much as a pimple or a shaving rash on that elegant face and when I saw that nasty little blister, I could not help staring. Wow, I thought, a cold sore. It appears you are human like the rest of us shmucks, Michael. Not even you can defeat Herpes Simplex.

I thought that little blister at the corner of his mouth was the most endearing thing I've ever seen. It made me love him even more.

I looked at my face in the mirror. Pale. Lips pinched. Scared. Lord. Is that a rash on my chest or just a flush? This is not how I am supposed to look. Maybe if I tried something new with my hair.

I don't think so. Last time I did I looked like I had one of those lame hairdos I'd give my Barbie when I was nine. No wonder Birkoff smirked and asked if I was keeping eggs warm up in there.

I will just wash it, I guess. And rinse it with lemons and I'll put on that new body lotion. No perfume. He hates perfume.

I bathed and showered, shaved my legs, polished, plucked and powdered and spent an hour looking over my clothes and then the phone rang.

It was him. He sounded panicked. I have never heard that before.

" Do you know anything about washing machines. Plumbing? " he asked.

" Um, plumbing. Sure. I'm okay with plumbing."

" Can you come over here now and help me? I need a screw-on hose clamp and coupling for a washing machine. Can you stop at the hardware store."

" Is this some kinky sex thing I should know about? "

" Jeez, Kita." I think he swore at me in French. He sounded frazzled. It was cute.

" I can be there in a minute," I told him. " I was just getting ready."

" Wear a bathing suit." He hung up.

Well, that took care of wardrobe choices.

There was the most awful smell in the hallway outside his loft. It kind of assaulted me as I got off the elevator. Like asparagus. Only worse. Burnt asparagus and burnt fish. I wiped my nervous hands on my jeans and tried the knob. It was unlocked, so I went in.

" Michael? "

" Laundry room!" he called.

I walked through the kitchen, looking at the pan of burnt dry asparagus still hissing in the steel sink. There was a pot overturned on the floor. Looked like blackened salmon. The smoke alarm was hanging by a single wire from the ceiling.

Michael stepped out into the hallway from the laundry room. He was wearing a soaking wet, too short white tee-shirt with Tin Tin and his dog Snowy printed on it and faded jeans that hung low on his hips and revealed the maker of his underwear. There was a big slashing hole on his right cheek and I could see his blue Calvins through it. He was drenched, from head to ankles. I think I've told you before wet is a very good look for him

" Hi," he said. " Welcome to Michael's Den of Seduction."

I had to smile at that. " Sexy tee shirt. Are you a fan? "

" Yes. Since I was a little boy." I referred to the beloved French cartoon character. I know Adam had loved the red headed boy spy/ detective and his little dog. I like thinking about Michael as a little boy, his nose buried in a book.

" My washing machine blew up. The hose came off the coupling and spewed hot water everywhere. It took me five minutes to find the turnoff valve."

" Are you burned?"

" My hand is." He held out his palm. There was a red blister there. He snatched it back before I could look at it.

" Did that happen when the asparagus went up in flames?"

" No. I dropped the burnt salmon on the floor because I forgot to use the pot holder,"

"I thought you could cook."

" I can. I was trying to impress you with my culinary skills. I left the asparagus and the salmon on high when I saw the water shooting out the laundry room door. I was washing the sheets. They were burnt by the time I got back. Not the sheets, the food." He ran a hand through his wet hair. "Are you impressed ? "

" Clean sheets are always impressive." I looked at his chest. That was even more awe-inspiring, sumptuously defined by sheer, wet, white cotton. I have never seen anything so sexy in my life. Even on a Calvin Klein billboard. "And I give you full Brownie points for the wet Tin Tin tee-shirt, Michael."

" Did you bring the clamp? "

" Yes. I can put it on for you, if you like. Do you have a Robertson screw driver? Is there a lot of water in there? I assume there's a drain? "

" There's water in the hall here. Luckily there is a drain, but it squirted everywhere, right out the door. I've never seen anything like that in my life. Ever had a hose fight as a little kid? I had to fight my way in here. I fell flat on my butt twice. It took me five minutes to move the washing machine to get at the shut off valve behind the machine because the tub was full. My back is killing me."

" You could have turned it off from the hot water tank, I think, Michael. I think you need a woman around the house. "

Oh, God. Why did I say that?

" I think maybe you're right. I'm not good in domestic emergencies."

I tried not to smile.

" Kita, I wanted this to be perfect."

The way he said that was so sweet. Miserable but sweet. I didn't really know how to make him feel better. I could always have said I came for the sex, not dinner.

" It's okay. I don't like asparagus or salmon anyway. Not that I wouldn't have choked them down with a big, happy smile on my face. "

" Really? I thought everyone liked asparagus and salmon. Why? "

" Bobbie always gave me the canned stuff with all those gross little spine bones intact. And she had this boyfriend who kind of turned me off asparagus. He told her he'd never eat food that made his pee smell funny. They had this big fight and she dumped the pot on his head. Isn't that gross? " I don't think I should have told him that. Bet none of his other dates talked about pee.

He frowned at me.

" You asked. I don't lie. Are you going to get the screw driver? "

He nodded and went back into the kitchen. It took me about five minutes to remove the broken clamp and attach a new one. " Better get a new hose one day Michael. This might happen again. Hot water wears down rubber. The cold one rarely goes."

" How do you know this stuff? "

" I used to tag along after the super in one of the building we lived in. That was until Bobbie found out he was a weenie wagger. He used to invite Jehovah's Witnesses into his place and sit with his bathrobe open. He never did it to me, fortunately. I've known a lot of weird people in my life. But at least he taught me how to change a fuse and tack down a carpet and about a million uses for duct tape."

I think his mouth fell open then. I knew that I was talking too much out of sheer nerves. I couldn't believe I got the hose clamped the way my hands were shaking. As I talked I could feel my jaw quiver. There was just something about that wet shirt. I could see his small, flat nipples right through the fabric. One of them was making Snowy's beady eye stand out in 3D.

" Do you have some old towels, Michael. Um, we could start mopping up, especially the hall. The floors are wood. They might stain."

" I'll get them."

I turned him off. Talking about weenie wagging janitors was the last straw. Why am I such an idiot?

" Do you want to try that now? You might want to finish the load," I said as he came in with the towels. They were nice thick sage green ones. I imagined him naked just out of a hot shower with one wrapped around his waist.

" I'll do it tomorrow. I trust your handiwork." He was on his hands and knees, wiping up the puddles of water.

" So what was the plan? "

" Good food. Wine. Conversation." We sopped up the water in the hall and started in the laundry. Most of it had gone down the drain. " Candles, music "

" Clean sheets? " I flushed, sitting back on my heels, looking into his beautiful light green eyes. Wet curls touched his straight, dark eyebrows. His eyelashes stuck together in starry clumps.

"I managed to get the other set on. I did something right today."

" You took a chance today," I said softly. " I never though you'd kiss me at Section. Would-uh-that have gone any further than- " I swallowed, " it did? There? "

" I never meant it to. I never meant any of that to happen. I just wanted to tell you how I felt. I always mean to tell you and then I start looking at you and your blue, blue eyes and your mouth and your long legs and I get choked up " He was shivering.

" You're wet and cold," I said softly. I leaned over and took one of the dry towels, wrapping it around his wide shoulders.

He caught hold of my forearms and pulled me forward onto his lap, my jean clad legs and sneaker clad feet spread out awkwardly in the tight space by the washer. My heart started to pound wildly then. " No, Kita," he said, looking into my eyes and then at my mouth. " I'm not cold. I am mad with needing you. "

I think that sentence drove every thought out of my brain.

" I'm glad you came over. I was afraid you wouldn't."

He threaded one hand through my hair, the other on my shoulder. I could feel that pads of his fingers against my scalp. Jeez, I thought, he even sets my hair on fire. He pulled me closer against his chest, brushing my mouth with his velvet-soft lips, coaxing my lips apart with light licks of his tongue and feathery kisses.

He teased and tasted until I was limp, until I somehow forgot to breathe. I just hung on to that towel around his neck like a puppet. Make me real, Michael. Make me real again, I was saying in my head, just making these silly, mewling pants.

" Breathe," he whispered. " Enjoy this."

" While it lasts?" I am ever the pessimist.

" It will last, my love, " he sighed against my mouth. " I swear it."

His tongue did not have to coax my lips apart. He plunged in boldly, his sleek satin tongue filling my mouth, each languid, swirling stroke more satisfying than the last, yet none of them slaking the hunger. I pulled him closer, feeling his sex harden, rising strong and urgent against to soft fabric of his pants, so strong, so potently, primitively male.

He pulled his mouth away, a slow seductive grin curving his lips. He began to trail those sweet licking kisses down the line of my jaw, nipping at my chin ever so lightly with his teeth, soothing the imaginary hurt with presses of his lips.

He smoothed his hands down over my shoulders, down my chest to cup my breasts through my sweater, flicking his thumbs over my already sensitive nipples. I gasped at the sensation and the hungry look on his face, my insatiable dark angel. Fire licked me. Dangerous fire. Honeyed, almost sacred in its power. Everywhere he worshipped he left a trail of heat.

" I've been waiting, too. Michael. Let me..."

He stared at me through half closed eyes, " Oui, moi aussi..."

I touched his hard chest through the damp tee shirt, revelling in the warmth of his skin, the pulsating flutter of life at the base of his throat. I pressed my lips there where his pulse beat wildly for me. My senses reeled at his nearness, the soap and man scent of his fevered skin. His jaw tasted salty hot against, my tongue, his beard sensuously abrading my lips.

" I meant to shave."

" Hush. I like it. Love it."

I continued to kiss him, growing bolder in my forays. His fingers pressed hard into the flesh of my thighs. I knew he liked it, my hands stroking, exploring the ridges of his ribs, the curves of his torso, the taut beauty of his abs and stomach. I pulled away the towel, took the edges of the silly tee shirt and pulled it up over his head.

He was so breathtaking, looking down at me with his multi-coloured eyes, his mouth lax with desire, his hair curling as it dried. " You're too beautiful, Michael," I said, nipping at one of his flat, small nipples touching the hard, heat of him through his damp jeans.

He pulled my head back on a level with his. " Take it slow, Kita, " he groaned against my mouth. " We'll never make it to the bed."

" Slow is torture," I said.

" Torture is good. Sweet torture.. I think I'll torture you. Every inch. All night."

" I was hoping for always."

His voice had a catch in it. " You can have that. Anything." We struggled up to our feet in the small space. " Let's go upstairs. I want you in my bed." he said, his accent thick, his tone husky.

He helped me remove my clothes, smiling, touching, his warm hands charting my body as if marking territory, memorising each curve with avid eyes, fervent hands, searching lips. He pulled me to the bed, after removing his own wet clothes quickly, without ceremony. By this time we were both shivering, beyond eager.

" I've dreamed this. Exactly this," he said, taking my hand, his fingers locking, melding with mine.

His gorgeous mouth found my breast, his hand still clasping mine above my head, while his other hand played over my stomach, my waist, my thighs. I buried my free hand in the thickness of his chestnut hair. It seemed all the pleasure was centered there, in me. I took it all. Took it as a gift, losing myself in his ministrations, stifling my cries against our locked hands.

Perfect. He was right as he is right about so many things. Sweet, sweet torture.

" You. You now," I managed.

I pushed him to his back. His eyes were half closed , his hands half-fisted on the pillow. So masculine. Mine. He is mine. Sometimes I believe it. No one will ever take him from me.

I bent to take his mouth, that full kiss-swollen bottom lip, exploring the sweet depths within as he had done to me, training paths of pleasure along the strong cords of his neck, the hard tendons of his shoulder and biceps, down over his smooth firm chest and flat belly. Lower and lower. Touching him there. Kissing. Fiery licks where he already burned until he rocked, shuddered.

I love him when he is out of himself. When he lets go of that control with which he steels himself. When allows himself to feel, to live, he is more beautiful than I can describe.

I can't recount it any better than that. Let's say that it burned hotter, flashed brighter than a tropical storm. The memories send pebbles of gooseflesh up my arms. When I think of his face, the way he closed his eyes and groaned before his release took him with explosive force, I want nothing more than to live in that night, forever there, knowing him again, locked in his arms, feeling his heart thump against mine.

I know as I lay there, replete, I was thinking of marriage and children and all the things we cannot have. I felt frissions of dread along my spine. Will Section find us out? I was thinking. Do they know?

I can't let you go, Michael. I fear the future. I fear letting him down in some way. I don't know why that thought haunts me.

I know he wants perfect. I am not that. I will never be that.

The violence of my love for him is almost too much to bear. I remember something he said to me as we lay there, our bodies melded in the dark stillness. " Stay with me, Kita. No matter what. Don't leave."

He sounded desperate. Afraid, as I was. I don't know if my murmured answer calmed him. I think at that moment of realisation that there would be consequences, nothing could. He pulled me hard into his arms again, his lovemaking urgent, almost painful in its intensity. It left me breathless, melancholy. It was as if he was trying to drive away demons with that dark angel's body.

I think, as I look back on it, as I write these words, that the emotional connection shook me as much as the physical one. I have never felt that close to him. I know his body. I know it as well as my own it seems, but there, there in that room, with his possessions around us, the slight rasp of his breathing, moonlight filtering through dark clouds which I could make out even through the skylights, I felt more of a bond with him than I have ever felt before. After he went to sleep, his arm wrapped around my waist, one heavy leg looped over mine, I remember crying, trying not to wake him, feeling the hot tears trickle down into my ears.

Nothing is perfect for us. Nothing ever will be it seems.

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