There was no way he could get out of it - Michael was trapped. His brain worked feverishly, running down one escape plan after another, utilizing every ounce of training he'd ever received, but it was of no use. His situation looked hopeless, even to him. He felt like a performer being ordered to fulfill on command - to tango and waltz, to hit the stage dancing, even with broken bones or broken heart.

He sighed inwardly, straightened his tie, and chafed at the high collar of the white dress shirt that buttoned too tightly at his throat. It would only be for a few hours, he told himself. He could endure the discomfort for a few hours, and then it would all be over. He wondered why he had allowed himself to be coerced into this soiree - the woman was not his type, and he wasn't even remotely attracted to her. But she was an acquaintance of Operations, and as such, Michael felt obligated to show at least marginal politeness. As continental as he was - refined, cultured, lithe and graceful and completely composed - Michael loathed cocktail parties...

He took a deep breath, muttered, "Merde," under his breath, coughed into his hand once, and left the safety of the men's room to brave the crowd of barracudas schooling around for fresh meat to devour. Michael carefully didn't make eye contact with anyone, zeroing in on Operations and his lady companion and cutting a smooth path through the crowd as he glided to them. He saw Operations' face light up a little, and he noticed that the older man squeezed the arm of his female decoration affectionately.

"Corinne, this is Michael. Michael - Corinne Blakely." Michael nodded briefly to her as he took her hand and delicately brushed his lips to her fingertips. She smiled and acknowledged his gentlemanly conduct with a nod in return. Michael ground his teeth imperceptibly, managing to keep the surface-warmth apparent in his eyes. Silently, he was on the verge of doing something vehement and uncharacteristically rude.

Operations must have seen the dangerous spark in Michael's green eyes - he said, very deliberately to Michael, "Why don't you go get our guest a glass of champagne?" Michael nodded wordlessly, grateful for the reprieve. He was away from them before Operations had a chance to change his mind and detain him.

Safely at a distance, Michael let his breath out, wishing fervently that he had his gun and someone at which to point it. Then, after a moment, he felt his heart beating a little slower, his breathing coming a little more easily, and he was able to snag three glasses of champagne. As he made his way back to Operations and Corinne, he put on his mask, froze a smile on his face, and handed each of them a glass, then sipped his own champagne a bit faster than was generally acceptable in social circles of this caliber. He listened to the idle conversation without hearing it, and when at last he thought there was a suitable break in the dialogue, he said very softly, "Please excuse me," and stepped away from them.

He placed his empty glass on a tray carried by one of several waiters who wandered through the crowds for just such a purpose, and his eyes cast about, looking for a way to leave the party without drawing attention to himself. He wasn't aware, or he didn't care, that he had already garnered the attention of almost every woman in the room. Glancing at his watch, he saw that he'd endured this inane, useless waste of time for almost two hours.

Finally, he went back to Operations and Corinne, who were deeply involved in a conversation with some diplomat and his wife. Very quietly, he said, "I'm sorry - something's come up. I have to leave. It was nice to meet you, Ms. Blakely." He took her hand and kissed her fingers just as he had done when they'd met, and she smiled, just as she had done when they'd met. Michael gave a curt nod of goodbye to Operations, who seemed amused by his actions.

Outside, the night air helped to restore Michael's balance and his sanity. He thought, I will NEVER allow myself to get into this type of situation again. His breath formed clouds around him, and he could feel himself beginning to relax a little, despite the freezing-cold air. He let himself enjoy the night, now that he was free. Ironic, he thought, how something as abhorrent as a cocktail party could make even the simple act of standing in the street seem so blessedly wonderful and liberating.

He stepped into the limousine which had pulled up to the curb - summoned, no doubt, by Operations via cell-phone. The door closed and Michael fell into the seclusion and darkness of the leather seat. Soft music was playing, and the security divider was up between himself and the driver. Closing his eyes, Michael sank deeper into the seat.

His eyes opened suddenly and he gasped at the touch of a hand on his arm. Instinctively, he grabbed the wrist in a tight grip, realizing that the bones were small and fragile - peering into the shadows, he let his breath out in chagrin. It was Nikita.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, covering up the fact that her presence had startled him. His reflexes were a little sluggish, probably, he thought, because of the haste with which he'd drained that glass of champagne earlier.

"I know how you despise cocktail parties," she said, with a touch of humor, her blue eyes soft and laughing. "I thought you might need me to break you out of there."

Michael gave a small, almost imperceptible smile, letting go of Nikita's wrist slowly. Then, so softly she almost didn't hear him, he breathed, "Thank you." Nothing more was said for several moments - each of them seemed to be lost in their own thoughts. Nikita remembered the last time she and Michael had been intimate - it had been on the Armel mission, and playing "house" with Michael had been like living a dream. The night she'd had to lead him past his limits, knowing he had given her every opportunity to push him away, had been unspeakably wonderful for her. She'd known, even as he'd moved over her, pinned her wrists to the pillows and pressed wet, soft kisses to her neck, that Michael's actions were not completely within mission parameters. He'd had a hidden agenda of his own, one which he had not been able to keep under control. He burned hot and passionate, and though the love he'd made had been soft and considerate and tender, Nikita had felt the stirrings in him of something wild, almost animal in intensity. She'd known from the way his muscles had clenched rigidly in a supreme act of willpower to keep from wounding her in his abandon.

At first, that barely-controlled passion frightened her - she knew so little about him that she didn't honestly know his limits. He could be a brutal, sadistic savage in the guise of an intelligent, sophisticated man - she could not be certain. Yet, she'd felt him that night in Lyons, after he'd been almost completely convinced she was dead. His desire had taken her by surprise, and he'd made no attempt that night to reign in his emotions.

Nikita hadn't known he would be so passionate. But as he had stripped her tank top off and single-mindedly fought with her fatigues until she was naked, she had seen unbridled lust in his glowing green eyes. He'd wanted her so badly that he couldn't hide his expression - his lips were parted, his breathing rapid and harsh, his hands touching her everywhere - first reverently, then insistently, then greedily, then forcefully. Unconsciously, he had let out a soft groan of pure carnality, then all sound stopped when Nikita bit his bottom lip and breathed against his mouth, "Do it, Michael... Please..."

He'd wanted to be gentle, take his time with her and satisfy her as many times as she wanted before his own release - but she kindled a fire inside him that could not be controlled, and her voice in his ear pushed him past all reason. His last cognizant thought was that he would hurt her if he allowed everything inside him to come out...

Michael squeezed his eyes closed, back in the present. He realized that Nikita was gliding her hand up his arm until it reached his neck. Smiling a little, she undid his tie, unbuttoned the top button on his shirt, and ran her fingers along the imprint of the collar on his neck. Michael took her hand gently and pulled it away from him, murmuring, "Nikita, don't..."

She knew he would push her away - she expected it from him. But she also knew that there was something happening this night - something she had no intention of stopping. When Michael's fingers let go of her hand, she withdrew it, for the moment. Softly, she whispered, "Michael, there's no place we have to be tonight. We're free, at least for a few hours."

He looked at her and saw what appeared to be a glint of mischief. Instantly, he was suspicious - when Nikita had that look, he knew he was just one step away from a rollercoaster ride in a hurricane. The last time he'd seen "that look", he'd feared for his sanity. Nikita had deliberately tempted him almost beyond his own self-control, and it had been all he could do to remain stoic and unaffected by her. And she hadn't even been trying to seduce him, or even to drag him into trouble. She'd simply been doing what came naturally to her - laughing, dancing, setting his heart free. If anyone could successfully hit that stage dancing, it was Nikita.

He came back once more to the present at the touch of Nikita's hands. This time, they were lower, teasing him by unbuttoning his shirt. Again, he took her wrists and pulled her hands away. "Please, Nikita... Now isn't the time..."

"Yes, it is, Michael..." she breathed, her eyes half-closed. She would not be put aside so easily. Michael closed his eyes and thought, Merde, I'm lost...

Her hands slid over his chest, under his shirt, her breathing was gentle, seductive, her lips against his ear, whispering endearments and erotic suggestions. Michael called upon every tactic he'd been taught to withstand torture, and for awhile, he was successful. He continued to remain unmoved by Nikita's actions, his eyes closed gently, his heart pounding, his hands passive in his lap. Until she pressed her lips to his. That soft contact, the interplay between her mouth and his, the implications of that surrender - Michael groaned against her mouth and brought his arms up around her, whispering in sweet anguish against her lips, "My god, Nikita... How can I resist you when everything you do makes me burn?..."

In that instant, Nikita knew she had Michael, for those precious hours before Section called him back to work, before he came to his senses and regretted having succumbed to her, before the morning caught them and pulled them apart... In her mind, Nikita was already weighing the repercussions of her actions. She knew that if any aspect of Section found out about her deception, she, and possibly Michael, would be cancelled. However, she'd enlisted the help of two of her most trusted compatriots, Walter and Birkoff, and they had ensured that at least this night of passion would be monitor-free. Knowing that, Nikita was braver than she would normally have been. This seduction had nothing to do with a directive from Section, or a personal goal - it was a purely sensual, unabashed craving for Michael.

She wasn't sure what had brought it on with such force - it could have been a cumulative effect of all the times he'd pushed her away, with hunger in his eyes. His gestures had rejected her, but his body and his unspoken voice had pleaded with her, time and time again, to take him, ravage him, rape him and leave him devastated and sated. Always before, she had honored his gestures instead of his body, and had pulled away, hurt and angry.

Now, though, she'd had time to understand the man, and she knew, with a certainty that made her shiver, that he'd never wanted her away from him - to the contrary, he'd pushed her away, hoping against desperate hope that she'd fight him and move even closer...

And now, she was moving closer... And Michael shivered this time...

************

The car pulled to a stop at Nikita's direction. Michael stared at her, not having an inkling of what she was doing. In the next instant, she was climbing out of the limousine, grabbing Michael's arm and almost forcibly dragging him with her. She leaned against the driver's window and murmured instructions to him, still holding Michael's arm, and the driver nodded with a smile and drove away.

Michael locked his knees, forcing Nikita to stumble back a step with his reticence. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice controlled, his eyes dark.

"Nothing - yet," Nikita answered, and her eyes were a shade of blue Michael had never seen before. His breath caught in his throat, and he fought for some kind of control against the blatant onslaught of desire he saw there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her look at him that way. Well, yes, he could, but he refused to...

"I don't like surprises," Michael gritted out, his voice deep and containing a note of warning. Nikita felt how tense he was, how very alert and "perfect-operative" ready he was, and she almost laughed softly. He truly had no clue about what she was doing and what was involved. It gave her a feeling of power to know that she had friends within Section who would fight for her, would make concessions for her, would allow her to call upon favors in complete trust...

Michael's stoic refusal to move would normally have made Nikita a little bit angry - she recognized the emotion as a reaction to the frustration of her plans which was governed by her desire. Seeing the situation from other eyes, Nikita knew what was required to obtain Michael's acquiescence. She stopped, faced him, and took his hands, her expression soft. "Michael," she breathed, the cold air making her words form clouds of steam around them, even as it made his agitated breathing do likewise. His eyes remained riveted to hers as she said, "We're free - tonight. I've made all the arrangements, and no one except the driver knows we're together." She withheld the fact that the driver was in abeyance, and had been told that any deviation from the profile he'd been given by Birkoff would result in immediate cancellation. She also withheld the fact that Walter and Birkoff knew, but they were equally devoted in their loyalty to Nikita, and to her loyalty to Michael.

After Nikita's explanation of the circumstances, Michael relaxed a little, and his fingers clasped her hands a little tighter. He was still silent, but Nikita could read volumes of emotion in his eyes. She leaned forward, brushed her lips against his briefly, and pulled away as he leaned into her kiss. "Come on," she whispered. "I have something to show you."

Michael cast a glance around, searching, as was his ingrained training, for possible traps and dangers. Seeing no one, sensing no threat, he allowed Nikita to lead him through the darkness by the hand, her high heels rhythmically clicking an almost comforting cadence on the pavement. Michael's mind wandered for a moment - he remembered that night in Lyons, when he'd been so overcome with passion and relief that he hadn't been capable of reigning in his emotions. I was like an animal, he thought, but surprisingly, the memory did not bring the remorse he had expected. Instead, he recalled Nikita's reaction to his desire - she had been almost more feral than he, tearing at his clothing in her haste to reveal his skin to her touch and gaze...

Jerked back to the present by the loud honking of a car horn, Michael looked around him, not immediately recognizing his surroundings. Then, almost startled, he realized that Nikita was leading him into a cemetery, and he felt his blood run cold. What is she doing? He wondered silently. His mind raced forward, trying to predict the possible scenarios Section One might have planned for him. This had to be a secondary mission, tacked on to the one he'd completed with Operations' arm-ornament, Corinne Blakely. He wished he'd been briefed about this one, however - as he'd uttered to Nikita earlier, he didn't like surprises...

The freezing air snapped Michael to complete alertness - indeed, all his senses seemed hyper-aware, as if he were on some mind-altering drug which enhanced his perceptions. He felt the heat of Nikita's hand holding his as he followed her, docile and acquiescent, yet tensed against danger. Something about the extremes of cold and heat were playing havoc with his body - Michael began to feel the stirrings of desire and to his surprise, the pressure in his groin increased to the point where his slacks were pulled tight across his belly. His jacket hid the bulge, but it was almost painful for him to walk. Nikita's figure ahead of him, moving in that loose-limbed, easy stride she had, only contributed to his discomfort. His heart beat faster, his breath puffed around him in clouds, and his hand tightened around hers.

Nikita cast a quick glance back at him, and saw the look on his face - read the desire and the chagrin in his limpid green eyes. In response to his body language, she felt a deep, shuddering throbbing begin inside her. The shivers ran from the crown of her head to her toes and back up again, tickling her spine and touching her in every sensitive place.

They reached a secluded area of the cemetery, and Nikita led Michael to a large, open catacomb surrounded by trees. Michael shivered - it was almost too creepy, this secret meeting in the depths of a place where only the dead slept. He had no illusions about death - there were no guardian angels, no tunnels of light. Death was sleep without dreams. Everyone here in the cemetery was only asleep without dreams. There were no "ghoulies" or "ghosties" or "long-leggedy beasties", no "things that go bump in the night".

Only him - and Nikita. She pulled him inside the crypt, and before he could speak, she shushed him, then knelt down. Moments later, the crypt was illuminated with candles --dozens of them, lining the walls and lighting the small, secluded room where a feather mattress had been spread. A silver bucket cradled a bottle of champagne, and as Michael stared, Nikita poured each of them a glass, put the bottle back into the bucket, and moved it away from the mattress. "What's wrong, Michael?" she asked, a wicked smile crossing her face as she held out the champagne flute to him.

His eyes darted around, then to her eyes, then away, then back again. "What's... going on?" he asked in a hushed, slightly unbalanced whisper, for the second time that evening. His instant suspicion almost made Nikita laugh, but she understood his unease. This scenario smacked of a Section set-up, and it would be difficult for her to convince him it was real.

"Michael," she whispered. "All of this is for you. From me." She had kicked off her shoes and stood barefoot in the middle of the feather bed, legs slightly apart, in a seemingly-defiant stance. Her expression, however, was soft and luminous as she let her eyes rove over Michael from head to toe. Her heart leaped - he looked confused and vulnerable, almost boyishly frightened! Michael reached out and took the champagne, and Nikita was surprised to see him drain the flute in two gulps, then hand it back to her.

"More, please," he murmured, his eyes becoming a little unfocused and transforming to a lighter shade, almost celadon-green. Nikita recognized the look - she'd seen it once before, that night on the barge in Lyons, when Michael had unleashed the animal inside himself. It had frightened her, at first, until she realized he wasn't going to hurt her - couldn't hurt her. Not with the magnitude of desire and love he felt for her.

He heard her voice coming to him as if from faraway. "Don't hold anything back, Michael - not anything. You can't hurt me..." She had poured another glass of champagne for him, and he accepted it, as he took several steps closer and, with the grace of a cat, dropped to his knees in front of her on the feather bed. The door to the crypt was open, but the trees sheltered them. Cold air blew in, chilling them both, but somehow, Michael knew their heat would chase away the bite of the freezing air.

He drained his glass again, set it away from him, and put his arms around Nikita's waist, his mouth open against the material of her dress as it slid across her belly. "Nikita," he murmured, closing his eyes. His hands caressed her through the silky fabric of the dress - he felt the firm muscles of her buttocks, and at his touch, she tensed in desire. "Ahhh..." he breathed against her stomach as his hands slid over her everywhere, "...so beautiful..."

Nikita's legs turned to water, and she fell to the mattress, pulling Michael with her. His breathing was rapid and hoarse, and she could see that he was losing control. It thrilled her to know that the somber, reserved, unreadable operative with whom she'd completed so many dangerous missions was caving in to something close to animal lust. Once again, the combination of icy cold air and hot skin acted as an aphrodisiac to Michael. His hands feverishly stripped away the thin dress Nikita wore - he was surprised, yet not, to find that she was naked underneath. His fingers came into contact with her skin, soft, hot, willing, and he was lost. With a husky groan, he pressed his mouth to hers, gently at first, then harder when Nikita bit his bottom lip, then licked it. "Don't stop it," she whispered, her fingers eagerly pulling away the shirt.

With an almost indecent haste, they were both naked, bathed in the glow of the candles. Michael's skin was chilled, and he was almost shivering, whether from cold or from a complete abandon to his driving desire, he could not tell. All he knew was that he was dangerous now - more like a predatory animal than a gentle lover. "Nikita," he breathed, "I'm not..." He tried to tell her he was afraid he'd come close to ravaging her because of the intensity of his need, but the words wouldn't form.

His eyes, however, spoke to her, and she smiled, her own eyes half-closed. "I know," she said, her voice deep and husky with her own emotions. "I'm not in control, either. Don't worry, Michael. Just take me, whatever way you need - that's what this night was made for..."

Michael groaned again, and covered her body with his, his erect cock pressed against her stomach and throbbing with the beat of his heart. His lips burned her flesh everywhere they touched her, his breath and Nikita's forming clouds around them, bathing them in an almost ethereal sheath. Michael whispered, "Oh, god... so good..." as he rocked against her. Nikita's hands dug into his back, then slid down to his buttocks, clenching there and forcing him harder against her. She heard him moan when her fingers came into contact with his ass, and his cock jerked against her, growing even larger and more tumescent. She made a mental note, even as she surrendered further, to concentrate on this new discovery of one of his most sensitive, erogenous areas. His tongue was deep in her mouth, and she sucked on it, her eyes locked to his smoldering gaze even as her body locked to his.

Michael pulled back from her, eliciting a whimper of frustration from her as she reached to pull him down again. Her gasps stilled as she watched him position himself between her thighs, take his cock in his fingers, and slide himself up and down, using his own arousal to lubricate her. Then he slid slowly into her a little, closing his eyes, his mouth open in mute pleasure, the muscles in his arms and legs bunched in anticipation of the act of coupling. He pulled out again, dancing his shaft between her legs, then lunged forward powerfully. The thrust carried him entirely within her, and Nikita gasped at the size of him, and the completeness of his penetration. He held himself absolutely still for a moment, feeling her inner muscles moving to accommodate his size. When he knew she was ready, he began to pump in and out, hard.

Michael felt the beast take over then - he couldn't be gentle, and he knew Nikita didn't want him to be. Too many emotions had been stuffed away, and they had to come out. The cold air made him even harder, and Nikita's nipples were erect - Michael bent down and took one into his mouth, sucking her breast, teasing the nipple with his tongue, then biting it, just hard enough to send a bolt of sweet pain through Nikita. He did the same with the other, thinking, Nikita...only with you...I'm an animal only with you...

He knew it would happen fast - he couldn't have held back everything he was feeling. From Nikita's cries and the movement of her body, the tightening of her inner muscles around his swollen cock, Michael knew she would not last much longer. His thrusts were deep and powerful, faster as his lust increased. His breath was rapid and harsh, every exhale a sob. He felt Nikita's hands gripping his upper arms for leverage as she moved in time with his rhythmic stabbing, her face flushed, her eyes shiny with desire. "Michael..." she panted, then words failed her as her orgasm ripped through her, sending her body into spasms. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Michael watched her as she climaxed, felt her inner muscles squeezing his cock again and again in diminishing waves as her orgasm gradually wound down. The pleasure was unbearable. He lifted her body against him, holding her by her buttocks, and drove his shaft into her faster, wanting to bury himself so deeply inside her that their bodies would be fused together like this forever. Nikita was sprawled on the feather mattress, hair a wild mass around her shoulders, eyes fixed on Michael, watching him as he made her his own.

His strokes didn't slow down, didn't decrease in intensity - if anything, he seemed to be feeding on the passion he'd absorbed from Nikita, and it stoked a fire he hadn't known he'd possessed inside him. Gasping, his hair curling around his face, his body slick with sweat in spite of the freezing air, Michael rode Nikita almost violently, dancing with her in the most primal, most sensual of dances. He hadn't thought he could get any more hard, but with each thrust, he could feel his cock becoming more engorged, to the point where it was almost painful for him to hold back any longer.

Finally, he felt Nikita tightening around him again, and she gasped out, "Oh god, Michael..." as another climax rocked her body. She had no strength to pull herself up into Michael's arms - all sensation was centered around where she and Michael were joined deeply.

Her release touched off Michael's climax, and he gasped out, broken syllables, "Merde... coming... ahhh, god..." as the first spasm hit him like a tidal wave. He pitched forward, bracing himself on his hands, and rode out his orgasm, his body convulsing again and again, his cock beating inside Nikita's warmth like a living thing as he emptied himself in her. His eyes were closed against the intensity of his passion - it frightened him that he had been so abandoned to his own lust.

It took a long time for Michael's body to finally be still. Even as he lay on her, his cock still moved within her, stirring, spasming with the after-effects of his release. He slowly regained his normal breathing, feeling Nikita's fingers sliding through his damp hair, caressing his shoulders, moving down his back to his ass, stroking him and laughing huskily when the intimate touch caused his cock to jump inside her. Her soft stroking motions lulled him into a doze and for a few moments, he slept in her arms, his lips pressed against her neck, his cock still inside her.

The air began to bite at their exposed bodies, chilling them. Michael roused himself sleepily, gave a soft groan and lifted himself up on his arms to look down at Nikita, the beautiful siren who had lured him to this unexpected place and gifted him with the most cherished of presents. Her eyes were half-closed and warm as she returned his gaze. Without warning, she clenched her inner muscles around Michael's cock, and his eyes widened in surprise as he felt himself growing erect again.

This time, he didn't protest - only whispered, "Ni-ki-ta..." and closed his eyes again, letting her do whatever she would, knowing that his own pleasure would be guaranteed, no matter what she chose to do... He was willing to surrender to the night, to hit the stage, dancing, this time...

The End