He moaned, as well. His eyes were half-closed, like a cat's, as he enjoyed her touch. His arousal throbbed strongly against her; he could feel the heat of her depths calling to him.

Her tongue ran along under his jaw, and she nipped at him slightly. He moaned loudly, his arousal jumping against her. She laughed a little, throatily, as she moved over to nibble on his earlobe. "Mmm, you sure know how to tempt a girl," she murmured into his ear; her hips gave a circling thrust against him--tormenting them both.

"God, 'Kita," he moaned. He wanted her so much.

He looked down at her finally, pulling himself reluctantly away from her wonderful mouth. His eyes shone at her. "I don't see any `girls' here," he whispered hoarsely. His hands pushed up the sweater she had been wearing and pulled it over her head--tossing it away to the side of the bed. He then put his hands on her shoulders, holding her down lightly on the mattress--watching her smile.

He watched her, his eyes burning; his tongue traced at the corner of his mouth--tempting her, and his eyes raked hotly over her body. They shone temptingly when he looked back at hers. "Definitely no girls." He ran his hands into her hair and started to pull her up toward himself--sitting them both up. "Just a completely perfect woman."

He caught the moan that rose from her in her throat, as he kissed her deeply. She held him to her, returning it passionately.

Her moans continued. She could never get over what his kiss did to her--how it made her feel. Her body trembled with it, her blood turning to warm honey in her veins; her stomach fluttered, her depths calling out to be completed, her heart aching with love, her mind clouding, her soul yearning. He was right; she was a woman. . . . And she was a woman who desperately needed this one, incredible man.

She moaned through the kiss, and his arousal jumped again in need. He wondered sometimes if she knew what she did to him--the effect she had. The nails of one of her hands sunk into his shoulder slightly, and he let out an involuntary groan of pleasure. Sadly, he doubted that she did--so, he decided to tell her.

It took him a few seconds to end the kiss; it just felt too good. Once he had pulled back, however, his hands took hold of her face--his thumbs rubbing lightly over her cheeks; his eyes held hers--showed her the honesty in his soul. "I want to show you something, 'Kita." He kissed her softly once more before he started to turn them around on the bed.

Her hands were on his chest. He lay himself back, pulling her along on top, until she was straddling him--her hands on his shoulders.

Her eyes shone at him. She *liked* this position--not that she had *ever* found one with him she didn't.

He brought one of her hands up to his lips and kissed its palm; she let out a warm moan. Then he placed her hand over his own heart. "The only time it ever beats is for you." His eyes still held hers honestly. "Feel it." He took her other hand and began to stroke it over himself. "Feel it, while you touch me."

Her eyes were utterly captivated by him. She could feel the strong, fast beating of his heart. She watched, too, while he took her hand and led it over himself--inviting, begging for her touch.

She moaned softly and took part in his offer with abandon. He led her fingers up the side of his neck, and they traced along it softly. His heart began beating even harder. She ran a fingernail down the cord of it, and he stopped watching her face to lean his head back--moaning, eyes closed.

She felt so good on him. He could *never* get enough of her touch--of its softness, its power, its incredible erotic strength. With just one finger, she could rule him completely; he was her slave to do with as she would, . . .and he never, never wanted to be free.

Her thumb traced over the underside of his throat and continued down to the pulse at the bottom. It and his heart were beating wildly with her light touch. She smiled at his beautiful face--his closed eyes--and then pinched slightly at a spot on his neck that she knew was incredibly sensitive. The beating increased.

His eyes popped open to watch her. They were slightly wet--were devoted to her alone.

He led/followed her hand, as it traced down his body to his chest. She refocused from her trail to his eyes for a second, smiling at him. "I love to touch you," she whispered huskily; his pulse increased once again--was mirrored in his throbbing shaft. She began to rub the entrance to her depths over his arousal--teasing them both, and smiled even more enticingly, as her fingers moved along to his nipple.

Her eyes went back to his chest. "You have no idea how beautiful you are, Michael." She pinched the tiny, firm bud slightly, and he moaned wildly--his eyes closing. She waited until he opened them again. "You have no idea how much I want to feast on you," she smiled.

His heart beat wildly, as she leaned down to take the small point in her teeth. Her hand stroked over the other in circles, occasionally brushing across it with her nail.

Both his hands ran into her hair, and he held her to him desperately. "Please, yes, 'Kita," he moaned. Her mouth could wreak such sweet devastation in him.

"Mmm," she murmured. She stopped nibbling at him and began to tease him with just the tip of her tongue. Her eyes locked to his.

Her wild gaze shone with a primal fire; he saw in them the beat of jungles--of animals both fierce and loyal. Their color reminded him of an ocean during a devastating storm--of a force of nature which refused to compromise or explain. . . . And he was utterly--totally lost to their feral promise.

She watched the look on his face, as she continued her torment of him. His mouth hung open; his breathing was incredibly ragged. His eyes were like those of some animal which had just realized it had been cornered by a tigress; this animal, however, was looking not to be saved from its predator but was waiting--happily--to be devoured.

She flicked her tongue over him again, as she raised her head slightly. "You're beautiful when you surrender, Michael," she smiled.

Oh God, she was perfect; his shaft throbbed harder with his incredible desire for her. He needed her so fiercely. Every ounce of blood in his body was calling for her--needed her to swim through his veins.

He couldn't wait anymore. "'Kita," he called her. He began to pull her gently back up his body.

She nipped at his bud lightly, to his shudder, and then allowed him to move her. Her mouth, however, found his tender places of need on the way, nipping at them.

His eyes closed, when she found just the spot on his neck that needed her most; he groaned and held her there. Her teeth devoured him slightly, to his trembling moan. His hands were still in her hair; he enjoyed the silken pleasure of her locks, as they slipped through his fingers.

She moved her head down to nibble at the joint between his neck and shoulder. "Oh God, 'Kita--yes," he moaned out, holding her to him.

His arousal was huge and throbbing now. He wanted her so desperately--wanted to show her how much he adored her, how perfectly mated they were.

She moved to begin to run her wet kisses up his throat--tasting it as she went along. He bared it for her, asking her to continue--exposing himself to her mercy.

She smiled and then suckled on his Adam's apple for a few seconds before moving up to the soft underside of his throat; he moaned loudly, and she licked at the tremor of it she felt on her tongue. He had opened himself to her, was letting her taste him in any way she needed. And she knew, to her delight, that he was adoring every second of it, as well.

He trembled, as she nibbled along just under his jaw. There was no one else he could ever want--there was no one else he could ever trust. She began moving her small kisses up toward his mouth, and he waited for her arrival as though he were waiting for salvation.

She saved him finally by capturing his mouth--giving him a deep, exploring kiss. He moaned beneath her and held her there; he could feel the warmth and honey of her depths on his stomach, and he groaned deeply--knowing what he needed, feeling it in his blood.

He gave her several small, desperate kisses, as he pulled her back from him slightly; his eyes were wild and needy. "Please, 'Kita, I need to taste you." He gave her one more hard kiss and then began to sit her up slightly. "Please."

His hand traced down her center, until it found the mass of curls at her depths; his fingers quickly found her tender bud and began to stroke it. She closed her eyes, moaning, and began to rub herself against his skilled touch.

His other hand held her head. His thumb moved over to trace her lips, and her eyes opened to watch him again. She opened her mouth to take in his thumb, suckling it fully; his arousal throbbed near her.

He stroked her bud faster. "I want to taste you, my angel," he whispered. "I dreamed when I was bereft of you of feeling your honey slip down my throat."

She moaned at his words, closing her eyes; his thumb slipped out of her open mouth, and he trailed it down her body before circling it strongly around an aroused nipple.

She was rubbing herself against his hands, her eyes closed. The feelings he gave her were amazing. He could touch her in *exactly* the right way; even when her desires changed, he always knew and was there with her in the same heartbeat, ready--desperate to fulfill them.

"Come to me, 'Kita," he enticed. He pinched both of her buds in just the way she needed and then continued to rub them even more strongly between his fingers.

Her nails were sinking into his shoulders, as she moaned--her orgasm starting. "Now," he told her. "Now."

She looked at him desperately, as his hands let her go. They moved, instead, to anchor her hips, helping guide her up toward his mouth. "Come to me."

"Michael," she moaned. There was something so submissive about this position for him, but right now she wasn't sure she really cared; his eyes were shining at her, were promising her joy--and that beautiful mouth of his was open, taunting her.

She gave in with a moan, and they positioned her over him. Her eyes looked down at him, her body already beginning to tremble with the pleasure he had started in her. He smiled at her and then leaned up to invade her depths with his tongue--running it deep inside her walls.

He felt her moan here, felt it as the slick, silken walls trembled around his tongue. He hadn't lied; he did *so* often dream about this--about his angel riding him here, taking all the pleasure he could give her.

He watched her ecstasy with a moan of his own. Her hands played in his hair, as she rode over his tongue. Her back was arched slightly, her depths clutching at him. Her nether bud was stroking against the broad expanse of his nose.

She was moaning constantly--moaning even more deeply when she felt his own moan echo inside her. His tongue never ceased its creativity, either. It moved from wall to wall--found an endless succession of spots in her which needed it.

"Michael," she groaned. Her hands clung to his head. He watched while she rode him--while her erotic, upturned breasts bobbed above him in her joy. Her face was at its most beautiful; it always was when she was in ecstasy. . . .Dear God, he loved her.

It wasn't enough, though. He wanted to give her more. He pressed his mouth against her harder and stroked his tongue into her as far as he could--coaxing out the warm, perfect honey which flowed only from her.

A loud moan erupted from her. Her eyes opened, and she looked down at him. Her hands grasped his head harder, pulling him further into herself.

She was entranced by his eyes--by the way they shone at her. Her joy wasn't just centered in the fact that his tongue was stroking just against an indescribably-tender spot which was aching for him; it was increased incredibly, as well, by the fact that his eyes showed her all of his desire--his need--for her alone.

She could see it now--his fantasies. He truly had dreamed of this--of tasting her at incredible depths, while she moaned above him. He was begging her now, too, to give herself up to him--to fulfill his fantasy by allowing him to taste all of her honey, while it flowed down his throat.

He moved to fulfill the fantasy he could now see that she shared by finding the tenderest spot inside her and licking at it remorselessly. His hands held onto her soft curves, helped her ride him more roughly.

She didn't want to hurt him, but she could see in his eyes that that wasn't a problem right now. She held his head up further to her. His tongue erotically assaulted the spot which needed him most; his hands, too, held her up to him harder, rubbing her bud against the expanse of his nose. He jerked her roughly against him once more.

She moaned loudly, as their now joint fantasy was fulfilled. Her mouth was open, as she stared down at him in awe.

Her scent filled his senses. He moaned. Her depths trembled around his tongue, while he stroked the magical spot for a few more seconds. Then he began to drink from her with abandon, tasting all of her honey--bringing it into himself, welcoming it like salvation.

She was moaning desperately, watching him. Her depths were shuddering within her--were sending tremoring waves of warm desire through her, as she watched him drink of the pleasure he had given.

The honey within her seemed to be flowing through her blood, as well. His devastating mouth fulfilled her in a way which made her shudder uncontrollably. But his eyes--his eyes told her heart, her soul, that this magical man was hers alone--that the pleasure he gave her, the pleasure he took, could never be shared by any other but her.

He continued to taste her, until her tremors subsided. He had closed his eyes, lost in savoring her.

When he looked back up at her finally, however, he saw her trembling--saw the incredible love in her eyes. His heart, his shaft beat so strongly with his need for her. . . . God, he wanted her so much.

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

She moved herself off of him gingerly, to his moan at losing her. Her depths were so sensitized that just moving to his side practically set off another round of inner fireworks.

She came to lie half on top of him. Her eyes devoted her soul to him alone. "I love you, Michael," she moaned, before she pulled him toward her slightly.

They joined together in a deep, erotic kiss--neither of them quite able to get enough of one another. He was overcome with the joy of being near her. The taste of her honey was still on his lips, and now he was softly assaulting her perfect mouth.

He was drunk with her--was overwhelmed by his desire; he rolled on top of her--his arousal even heavier and more intense than before. His kiss was tender but commanding.

She moaned, sensing his overwhelming desire, wanting desperately to experience it in full. Her body was soft, as she yielded completely to his needs; she wanted to do anything he asked. She had never before been more insane to be his erotic captive.

He pulled back from the kiss slightly to look at her; his hand stroked over her face, as his eyes traced its path. "You're so beautiful, Nikita." He shook his head. "I don't know how I survived for 5 years without your touch." He looked even more saddened. "I don't know how I survived for a lifetime without it."

"Michael," she moaned.

The back of his fingers traced over her soft cheek. "I need you, Nikita. I want you. Now." His eyes begged for her permission. "I need to make love to you, or I'll never be completely whole."

She smiled at him, tenderly and invitingly. "I could always return your favor first," she offered.

He shook his head sadly--kissed her softly. "No. I've never done you a favor, erotically, 'Kita. I never will." He shook his head once more. "And you have to promise me that you'll never give me one, either."

"Michael," she repeated softly. That wasn't what she had meant.

He nodded. He knew, but he still needed her promise. His eyes watched hers softly, waiting.

"I promise, Michael," she whispered honestly.

"Good," he whispered in return. He lowered his head to hers to begin his erotic devastation of her mouth once more.

"Mmm," she moaned, through the kiss. He was being so tender; it was arousing her unspeakably.

She wanted him so much. She broke the kiss temporarily to capture his eyes. "Please," she begged. He nodded and then began to kiss her delicately again.

The soft kiss continued, while his hands stroked gently down her body. His touch was so light that it was just a whisper over her skin.

She was trembling beneath him. She parted her thighs further, asking for him--wanting him, but he was taking his time. As desperate as he was for her, he also wanted to show her how tender he could be--wanted her to know that he could arouse her, no matter how he approached her.

She moaned, as he pulled back from the kiss slightly--his tongue continuing its soft exploration of her mouth. His hands were a delicate breeze over her skin--were an erotic counterpoint to the hard, pulsing length which taunted her with its need.

Her head began spinning slightly. His hand traced up to brush oh-so-gently over her nipple, and she whimpered, bucking slightly. He caught her lower lip and suckled it softly.

He had never been quite like this with her before. Yes, he had been tender but never quite so--delicate.

She was amazed at how wonderful this felt. Everywhere his fingers gently roamed left a trail of tingling flesh in their wake. The tip of his tongue was now stroking softly around her mouth--was tracing its every feature; every once in a while his lips would press warmly to hers, as well--giving her a new sensation of warm desire.

She moaned. She wanted him so much, but she didn't want this to end, either. She had never felt quite so beloved before. She knew that Michael's feral need could please her, but she had never met this side of him before--not really; she had never imagined that it could be even half so wonderful.

His lips kissed softly over hers, and she moaned beneath him. He loved this. She was such a treasure--was so angelic. He had often taken her with his need, with his desire before, but he had never truly let his love speak for itself--had never let himself explore her like this.

In a way, he thought now that he had always approached her with need because he tended to use gentleness against his valentine targets. Giving her his most feral desire, then, had been his way of reminding her that she wasn't one of those unfortunate women.

But now he needed to show her something more--something different; he needed to prove to her, maybe to himself as well, that he could make love to the woman he adored softly--that he could arouse and fulfill her in this way. This, after all, was the start of a lifetime with her--and he didn't want her to know only one aspect of his love.

His tongue traced over her lips with featherlike tenderness. She was beginning to understand this new approach--why he needed it. She decided to return the favor he was giving her, as well; her hands feathered over the skin of his back--tracing every muscle and curve.

He moaned. His hands smoothed lightly over her abdomen, feeling it quiver beneath his touch. He adored sharing this; he had never been in a moment which felt quite so right to him before--and, by this point, there had been several with Nikita to try to rival it--without success.

Both of them kissed softly over the other's lips, tongues sweeping out to taste, as well. Her fingers traced so gently down to his soft curves; they aroused the tiny, fine hairs along his body which were undetectable to the human eye--leaving a trail of aroused flesh in their wake. They were both moaning softly.

When she carried this same, incredible treatment down to this area, however, his arousal jumped and grew even larger against her. He broke the kiss to groan, and she continued her devastating tenderness--awaking flesh that now felt as though it were being touched for the first time.

She was captivated by the expression on his face--by the look of utter, incredible pleasure. She leaned in and began to echo this same treatment across his cheek with her lips--awaking the skin here into intense life, as well.

The moan which echoed from him reflected the most desperate yearning. It was too much; he couldn't take any more. He needed her now.

He turned his head to find her lips softly again. She moaned. He suckled her bottom lip for a second before he let her go--placing one more soft kiss here before he looked back at her. "I can't wait anymore, 'Kita." His eyes held the most tender, most intense love. "I . . .," he trailed off for a second, unable to express his needs.

She kissed at his lips tenderly and focused on him with eyes which showed her love. "Yes, Michael. Please." She kissed him tenderly once more; her fingers were continuing their gentle torment. "Join with me."

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

"Yes," he breathed. His hands smoothed their incredibly delicate path toward her hips, making her tremble with need.

They watched each other, as he shifted his hips slightly to position himself. Their eyes continued to be locked completely, then, as the very tip of his incredibly tortured shaft finally touched her.

He saw her mouth open in a desperate sigh--felt both of their hearts beating wildly. His hands cradled her hips, as they both moved to begin entering him into her.

His entry was slow and erotic. Every tiny fragment of his huge length entering her made her feel as though she would shatter into ecstasy before he had even joined with her completely. . . . He just felt *so* perfect.

He could feel himself stretching her slightly; she was so tight around him. Her tender, slickened depths enclosed him in her need--in her love, caressed him.

He was throbbing insanely, as he continued his entrance. She groaned, the sensations rumbling through her soul. He felt *so* huge in her. Her breathing was incredibly ragged. The way he could fill her completely made her feel as though she had been created not just for this man but for this very moment.

His hands caressed her, as his entry continued. Sometimes, when their bodies merged, she wasn't sure--happily--whether he would ever end; she felt a sense of absolute wonder over how completely he filled her--over how intense his arousal for her was. . . . This was definitely one of those times.

He felt his shaft throbbing insanely, as the slow union continued; the head of it, especially, was so sensitized. He thought about it for an instant; it led the entry, was fortunate enough to meet with her honeyed depths before the rest of him--and he felt a fleeting moment of envy for a part of his own body.

He was very close to filling her entirely now. The only sound between them was their ragged breathing, and an occasional, soul-deep moan of pleasure.

Their eyes were searching each other's deeply, as he came to a rest at her core. He saw her breathing escalate dangerously, as they both realized that there was yet more of him which wasn't inside of her. Their eyes begged one another for more.

His tender hands held her steady, as he pulled out of her slightly. She moaned loudly, awaiting his reentry, and then gave a soft cry of pleasure, as he stroked himself back into her depths with a wonderfully gentle strength.

Her lips were trembling. She wanted to call his name, but they had made an unspoken agreement not to speak--to just savor this moment between them without words.

He repeated his previous move, sinking more of himself into her. He moaned--the noise being torn from his soul. She felt so good--enclosed him so completely; in just one more stroke, he was sure, he would be in her--and then he could, finally, be whole.

Her eyes were tearing with pleasure, as he repeated the move again and then gave a small, final thrust to enter her completely. The moan which escaped her was brutally loud. . . . He--felt--so--GOOD.

Her hands smoothed up his back, tracing over its taut contours. Her breathing was ragged. There was nothing she could imagine wanting more out of life than this--this very moment; she could see his love in his eyes--could feel the blood his heart was pumping furiously into his thickened length, which was buried in her so deeply. . . . She had never been more in love with him than at this moment.

He understood completely. He saw her every emotion in her eyes, and his heart beat furiously in his love. His hands smoothed slowly up her back, as well--as he gave her a minute to adjust to him, to prepare herself for their union.

He leaned in close to her, their eyes still locked for another few seconds. Then, he kissed her softly--tasting her mouth gently.

She moaned, and her hands stroked delicately up to run over his hair--asking him for more. They both closed their eyes and then captured each other's mouths in a deep, warm, soft kiss.

He felt her body's acceptance of him, and he began to stroke into her slowly--deeply. Each stroke ran through her completely, the large head caressing every tiny portion of her walls.

She moaned beneath him and kissed him more lovingly. He felt so warm in her; he touched her so gently and yet so arousingly. He filled her with love.

His shaft throbbed in its joy at being part of her again; her walls made him feel so complete. She soothed him in a way no other woman ever could--enclosed him until he felt he was going to disappear in pleasure.

He stroked his hands up into her hair, as he continued the warm, intense kiss. His thrusts began to caress strongly along one of her walls--each one coming to rest deep within her core.

He felt her moan beneath him. Her legs entwined with his slightly--stroked up along his calf. He moved another stroke within her gently but even deeper.

She let out a gasping moan, breaking from the kiss. She was panting, as she watched him; she almost opened her mouth to speak.

His hand came over quickly, his fingers delicately tracing her lips. "Shh," he murmured softly, and she moaned aloud. He smiled at her, and traced her lips with his thumb, lost in the beauty of the soft petals he so loved to kiss--the petals which were now so swollen with his kisses.

She took in his thumb and suckled it, her eyes warm and loving. Her hips met him completely in his rhythm.

He began stroking her more deeply again, and he felt her moan around his thumb. He was enraptured watching her mouth; his body--his soul were made so whole by the way all her softnesses caressed him. Her mouth was stroking along his thumb--reminding him of their other union.

Suddenly, though, he couldn't just watch anymore. He felt alone; he needed those lips for himself. He pulled his thumb from her softly and ran it down her body to her breast--teasing the delicate bud softly.

He held her eyes for another few seconds, his eyes loving. He then leaned down to kiss her nose. They both smiled at each other, before he captured her lips once more--his kiss tender but intense.

Her legs moved up to wrap around him--inviting him more deeply inside her; he accepted. He began giving her short, deep strokes--his head rubbing repeatedly against her core.

Her hands were on his back--were holding him to her, as she met his kiss lovingly, passionately. Her hips met his every thrust, were lost to the rhythm of his body deep inside her.

He could barely accept the joy of this. She was *so* perfect--was so arousing. One of his hands stroked over her shoulder, while the other tangled in her hair--holding her lips firmly against his own.

He adored making love to her like this; their utter lack of words forced them to focus wholly on sensation--on touch. He was amazed to learn that he could indeed still make love so gently--that this still could have meaning to him after all the times he had used similar, but fake, moves against meaningless targets.

Part of his mind--a very small part--however, did wonder at the fact that he had to--yet again--take control. He couldn't deny, though, that this felt right.

It occurred to him, then, that maybe she was helping him to recapture his own innocence--his own joy in touch, no matter how small. There had been a time, after all, when he had been deeply moved by the tiniest touch--but only now, with his beloved Nikita, was this memory truly coming back to him.

He moaned at the realization and held her head to him, kissing her tenderly but much more profoundly. The head of his shaft beat deep inside her--throbbing against an aroused, needy spot.

She was beginning to lose herself. Everything about this felt so good. He began to stroke halfway out of her and then deeply back in, and she moaned loudly through the kiss.

She was holding him deep within herself--was holding him to her, as well, her hands on his back. He felt so perfect; he was soothing an old fear that had built between them--one which said that their desire for each other was more about pain than love.

She could feel, however, his desire building further--could feel it beginning to match her own, intense need. She thrust her hips back at him harder, wanting more of him--needing him to complete her, needing his wildness once again.

He didn't want to give it to her, though--or rather, he wanted to give her an altered version of it. His hands framed her face, as his strokes moved long and deep into her.

She broke the kiss on a moan, unable to keep from panting. He seemed to have grown even larger inside of her; she was beginning to ache with the desire to feel him lose control.

She opened her eyes finally to see the most incredibly tender look on his face. His hand stroked her cheek, as he gave her short, deep, hard thrusts.

She moaned loudly again. Her hands slid erotically down his back to take hold of his soft curves.

He moaned slightly, as well. Her hands were caressing him, were pulling him deeper and harder inside of her, as they cradled his sensitive curves.

This time, it was him who almost spoke; he was so overcome with need--with love. Nikita leaned up quickly to nip a kiss over his lips, however--silencing him.

He agreed, but he shifted his weight on her, propping himself slightly on his elbows. His hands stroked her face a little desperately, while he focused absolutely on her eyes. His thrusts would roam *deep* inside her; he was holding himself there for several seconds, before moving halfway out of her and then repeating the action again.

She was moaning beneath him. Each time he stroked--each time he held himself deep inside her, she pulled him in with her hands, as well; her hips were arching into him needily.

Every stroke connected them, made them shudder. They were both so sensitized; every thrust seemed to nearly destroy them--forced them to consciously hold on.

With mutual, silent consent, they began to speed up their rhythm; their mouths were both open, as they watched each other, panting. They knew they were both *very* close.

His shaft became less delicate with her depths, stroking into her more deeply--more quickly. She was meeting him, as well, with every one--was pulling him into her as hard as she could.

God, this was so good. His shaft felt *so* huge. Had he been less gentle, he would have been a conquering hero--but, as it was, he was just a man with a desperate, aching desire to please, to complete the woman he loved.

They were both so close--were so needy. His strokes connected with her most delicate, sensitized spot--sent small bolts of lightning-like pleasure into her body and soul with each one; her fingers were sunk deep into his curves, as she pulled him far into her. She was biting her lower lip to keep from begging him aloud, but she still couldn't stop the groans of pleasure and desperate need which escaped from her, nonetheless.

The head of his shaft was so sensitized that the feeling crackled throughout his length and then deep inside himself. She felt *so* perfect; he could feel a heaviness--an aching warmth which signaled the imminent approach of his release. . . . He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on.

Every millimeter of her silken depths was aching with need. She was wrapped around him so tightly--could feel every tiny contour of his shaft, as their rhythm intensified again.

The head of his shaft was aching with pleasure; every stroke was the most incredibly erotic torture, as he tried desperately to hang on. He had to please her, after all; there was no other choice. His soul--his sense of self--depended on it.

He knew it had to be soon, for both of them. They were both shaking.

She was moaning desperately, as he began giving her intense, rough little thrusts. He was hitting the most sensitive spot within her, was making her tremble with pleasure.

He leaned down to her and kissed her tenderly--sending an electric shock straight into her depths. Then, as they both approached a sense of absolute fever, he traced his mouth over to her ear and suckled the lobe for half a second.

Her desperate moans continued. They both felt like they were being fused together--their desire too intense. Finally, he began to set off the explosions within them both, by whispering in a hot breath in her ear: "Come for me, my sweet angel." His final, huge, incredible stroke connected with her completely.

They both froze for half a second, panting; everything within her was beginning to tremble. He managed--through a feat of will--to be able to look back up at her. Then they gave each other one more insane thrust, both of them holding his head to her core with a fierce force.

The screams of pleasure erupted from them both at once; his shaft beat wildly within her, forcing its warmth far into her depths, spreading its fevered heat deep inside her--while her walls tightened unspeakably about him, feeling his every thrashing spasm against her core. Their eyes were locked to each other; their screaming moans nearly inhuman.

He continued to thrust against her slightly, as they both rode out their release by sheer, pleasurable instinct. Their hands dug into each other's shoulders--holding them together as one; their eyes were desperate and loving.

She felt as though everything inside her had melted--had been overcome by molten pleasure. "Michael," she gasped out finally.

He wasn't sure he had ever felt more alive--more completely fulfilled. His eyes held tears. He shook in her arms. "'Kita," he breathed, before he covered her mouth--capturing her in an absolute, soul-sealing kiss.

The kiss was tender but intense. They seemed to exchange a thousand different agreements and endearments in it, without ever uttering a word.

They were both still trembling, as it finally became less demanding--several minutes later. When they parted from it, however, they did so with a shared gasp--their eyes meeting again.

Her hand ran over the side of his face, and she leaned in to kiss him tenderly once more. When she leaned back, she smiled.

It was a smile which held her heart--a smile which held a promise that there would be many, many more to come. "'Kita," he repeated, looking at her; his eyes were wide and loving.

He, too, leaned in to give her one more tender kiss, before looking at her once again. And he too--for one of the only times in his life in Section--gave a smile so sweet and pure that it captured her heart forever.

They rolled to their sides finally--still holding each other close, still touching one another softly. Their hands ran over each other's hair.

One of his hands stroked her face. "My wife," he smiled--his voice low and soft.

She kissed him gently once more and then leaned back to take him in again. "My husband," she smiled.

They stayed like that for another several long heartbeats--savoring their love, before he leaned down to grab the sheet--covering them both to avoid a chill to their sweat-slickened bodies. He moved her head to rest beneath his chin and rolled onto his back, taking her with him.

They sighed at the sheer peace and completeness of it--their joy overwhelming them. They both knew that, whatever Section may think, they couldn't be separated. Their union had been formed in heaven--and nothing Section could ever do would be able to sever that.

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

He smiled to himself. How was anything this wonderful even a possibility for him? Here he was--a man who, on a regular basis, followed orders he frequently only half understood--orders which told him to kill, to maim, to terrorize, to seduce; he had probably broken every commandment there was, as well as having committed quite a few mortal sins. And yet, here he was--holding a sleeping angel in his arms, an angel who loved him, who was still peaceful and content from the pleasure he had given her.

Michael kissed her head. There was only one thing to think. . . . There was something very wonderful to be said for having your fantasies come true.

He smiled and held his beloved Nikita closer to him. They had both fallen back asleep after their morning's lovemaking; he could rarely, in fact, remember having been so peaceful--but his angel had brought a sense of overwhelming contentment with her, one which had sunk into the deepest reaches of his soul, . . . and he had never, truly, been happier.

He buried his nose in her hair--letting her scent come into him. He could barely believe that he had had the courage to come to her like this, that he had finally allowed himself to open up. And the fact that she had actually accepted him--had allowed him to hold her again, to take up a place in her life, was more of a miracle than he could ever thank her for.

He sighed contentedly, continuing to think through his recent blessings. He was thankful, as well, that he had today off--that they both did. The thought of spending the entire day with his beloved one seemed magical--holy. . . . He had no intention of letting it slip by them unfulfilled.

Nikita shifted a little in her sleep, and he kissed the top of her head again, calming her. He could, of course, just spend the entire day in bed with her--such a thought, in fact, had plagued him only too often before he had come to her last night. But he had missed her in other ways, as well--in ones which had nothing to do with the rapture her body gave to him, with the joy he lived to give her in return; he had other plans for them, indeed--ones he was truly hoping she would enjoy.

As though she had understood his desire to start this day together--outside of their shared bed, his beloved began to come awake. "Mmm," she murmured, still only half-conscious. She could sense him everywhere, as she woke: his hands held her close; his body was warm against--and inside--hers; his tender lips rained soft kisses on her hair; his wonderful scent filled her lungs. She sighed, just before she opened her eyes. "Mi-chael."

He smiled and kissed her head once more. "Good morning," he told her for the second time that day.

She kissed his chest lightly before raising her head; her eyes were only half-open. "Good morning," she smiled.

Her husky voice warmed him. He smiled back at her, stroking his thumb along her cheek. It occurred to him, however, that he should probably withdraw from her body before he changed his mind about spending the day in bed. He leaned in to kiss her softly, then, while his hand ran down to push her hips back from his, as he tried to ensure that he didn't become *too* aroused.

"Mmm," she moaned through the kiss--partly savoring, partly in protest. She drew back from him finally to focus on his face, her fingers drawing softly over his shoulder. "So, I'm guessing you have some plans for us that extend beyond this bedroom?"

He couldn't help the surge of love that filled him, when he looked at her. It wasn't just the last move he had made which had brought forth this statement from her, he knew; she simply understood him so completely that she sensed his every thought, sometimes before he did. . . . God, he loved her.

He pulled her into a deep kiss for a few seconds, thanking her for having been born--for having come into his otherwise-meaningless life. She joined him thoroughly in the kiss, understanding what he was thinking, again.

After several long seconds, however, she finally pulled back once more and smiled at him. When he simply watched her with incredible love, her eyes looked softly into his. "So, you wanna tell me what your plans are?"

He drew her in for one more quick kiss, before he leaned back. A soft smile--one she had only seen rarely, and, for the most part, only very recently--lit his face. "Get dressed." His hand stroked her hair behind her ear softly. "I want to spend the day with you." He leaned in to place a light kiss on her nose.

She smiled deeply, as he pulled back. "Are you gonna tell me where, or do I get to guess?"

His hand was stroking over her cheek. "It's nothing fancy." He was still smiling, watching the path his fingers were trailing lightly. "You'll see soon." He looked back to her eyes. "Now, go take a shower, while I change the sheets."

She raised an eyebrow at him slightly. "D'you know where the clean ones are?"

His expression didn't change, but she could hear the soft humor in his voice. "And tell me where the clean ones are."

She laughed slightly and kissed his temple, as she began to pull away from him. She didn't know what his plans for today were, but she was looking forward to finding out. "They're in that bottom drawer there," she pointed, as she got out of bed.

His eyes smiled warmly at her, and she stood there for a minute, taking him in, her eyes stroking over him; he was *so* beautiful. She leaned in to kiss his temple again, her hand caressing his cheek for a second, before she pulled away, walking toward the bathroom.

"`Kita," his voice stopped her. She turned back around to find him within an inch of her. He pushed her softly back against the wall and kissed her, tenderly and deeply, for several long, heart-stuttering seconds.

Her breathing was very ragged when he finally pulled away. He breathed one more kiss over her lips, as he whispered to her. "I forgot to tell you how beautiful you were this morning."

Her eyes became incredibly gentle and loving, as an involuntary sigh of happiness rose from her. She pulled him back to her for a sweet, too brief, kiss. "Funny," she said, leaning back, "I forgot to tell you the same thing."

He smiled at her, giving her one more quick kiss before pulling back. "Go," he told her gently. She smiled and retreated to take her shower.

He watched her receding form and nodded to her to close the door, watching her finally disappear behind it. A sigh floated from him. He would have liked, of course, to join her, but he did *so* want to follow through on his plan--and he knew, sadly, that he would never get that far if he went to her now. Even as it was, he was going to need a *very* cold shower to keep his body in check.

He turned to strip off the sheets from last night, as he tried to calm himself. His body was so enraptured at the opportunity to be near her again, though, that it was clamoring for more. "Later," he told it mentally. Later, they would be together again. Now, however, they were going to spend the day not just as lovers but as friends, as well. He smiled deeply. He couldn't wait.

About a half hour later, Nikita was dressed in a dark blue dress--she knew how much Michael liked the color on her--and was making some coffee for him, while he showered. She still couldn't quite get over how strange this all felt--how odd it was to find herself living out a life she had always held to be an unreachable fantasy before. . . . Still, it was utterly wonderful, nonetheless.

She smiled, as his coffee brewed--her tea already steeping. She had emerged from her shower to find that Michael had not only remade the bed but had also found and washed her cup and saucer from this morning. Her heart beat warmly, as she thought about it; he had known what she was doing when she had slipped out of bed this morning--had understood that she needed the time alone, and he had given it to her without question. . . . She did love him so.

She sighed a little and decided to make them both a little toast. He had told her that they would eat where they were going, but she had decided that just a little something to get them there--wherever "there" proved to be--wouldn't be a bad idea.

Part of her still wished, of course, that she was being included a bit more in the decision making processes here, but she knew that she couldn't really change that, right now; Michael was both too set in his ways to change quickly and too, obviously, happy to be planning something that he thought they would both enjoy. She couldn't ruin his plans, then--whatever they might be. . . . Maybe in the future, however, she could make a few plans of her own for their days off.

His coffee finished brewing, and she turned to stare at it for a second. She had kept a coffee maker around for company for awhile, but it rarely saw much use; the last time it had, in fact, had been during the several weeks when she and Michael had tried to be friends.

She sighed, thinking over it again now. She had missed that time so desperately, though--after it was over, that she had hidden the machine away under the sink--not wanting to be reminded of the man she had mostly owned it for, the one she--frequently in vain--hoped would be there to use it. She smiled slightly. Maybe now, though, that was changing.

She felt him coming up behind her, even though--as he did by habit--he was walking too softly to detect. His arms wrapped around her waist, as his mouth began to kiss her ear.

"Mmm," she murmured. Her hands stroked over his, as he rubbed familiarly--warmly over her lightly-clothed stomach.

He kissed her cheek. "Good morning again," he whispered huskily.

She smiled. Closing her eyes, she could almost imagine that they were just an ordinary couple--that they regularly woke up together, that they spent time together like this on a normal basis.

She thought about this, however, for a second; most "normal" people she had seen, apparently, too frequently didn't take the time to truly appreciate such lovely pleasures as the joy of waking beside their beloved on a daily basis--such pleasures as being able to just spend a day together without overwhelming fears for their loved one's safety. . . . Maybe, then, for once, she didn't want to be normal.

She turned around to smile at him and then took in what he was wearing, smiling down at the sweater she herself had worn just a few hours ago. "We could stop by your apartment to pick up some more clothes," she offered.

He smiled at her and leaned down to kiss her nose; his eyes held a joy she could rarely ever remember seeing in him. "Maybe later." His hands were stroking over her back. "Right now, it still has your scent." He kissed her lips lightly. "I like it."

She leaned up to kiss him more soundly, and he returned it for another few seconds--before he reluctantly pulled away. He looked out her balcony window before gazing back at her. "We need to get out before the sun disappears; it looks like it might rain."

She still had no idea what his plans were, but she nodded. "Okay." She pointed at the coffee maker beside him. "Breakfast?"

He leaned in to kiss her once more, briefly, before pulling himself away with a slight, wistful, sigh. "Quickly," he smiled. Her eyes took him in happily for another few seconds, before she finally nodded, and they then began preparing their meal.

************** Another half hour or so later, Michael was driving them toward his chosen destination. Nikita smiled out the window before looking back to him. "Where are we headed, Michael?"

"You'll see," he smiled.

"You don't want to give me any hints?"

He looked at her warmly before refocusing on the road. "It's not that exciting. It's just something I want to share with you."

She nodded and propped her cheek on her hand--her elbow resting on the door. "I don't have any objections to this, y'know," she began.

"But?" he smiled slightly.

She paused for a second, gathering her thoughts. "Why were you so determined to leave the apartment today? You know I'd've been quite content just staying in."

He nodded, thinking about it. "So would I, in a way."

"In a way?"

He sighed--realizing there were things she needed to understand; he pulled over into a parking space, so they could talk. He put the car into park but didn't shut it off, as he turned to face her; his eyes stroked over her face. "Being your lover isn't all I want with you, Nikita."

She turned to him, leaning her cheek against the headrest. "I never said it was, Michael."

He nodded. "I know, but it's what you think sometimes."

She stared down at the gearshift. She knew he was right--and she suppposed she had pretty much accused him of it last night, as well.

"I'm not blaming you for it," he went on softly. "I do want to be your lover--your *only* lover--very badly." She looked back up, as his thumb trailed over her cheek--his eyes focused there, slightly unseeing. "I want so much to bring you joy."

"Mi-chael," she breathed.

He looked back to her eyes, as his hand found and began to stroke hers softly. "That's not all I want, though." He shook his head. "Not at all."

His head tilted down to watch their hands play over each other's; she waited for several seconds, before he spoke again. "You don't know how much it hurt me, as well, when I cut off our friendship." He refocused on her face, his eyes tracing over its contours softly. "I spent every night--every day--missing you, wondering what you thought--what you felt. I wanted to be there, to be with you--even if we weren't doing anything important." He sighed once more. "I missed our talks, even when they were about nothing."

He captured her warm, loving eyes deeply once more, as he finished off his point. "I didn't come to you last night just to find someone to fulfill a need; that's not what you mean to me at all." He knew that to think this of his intimate emotions for her would be a bastardization of his feelings.

His fingers stopped stroking over her hand and intertwined with her own; he saw the slight breath she took in at the gentle sensation. "I want to share a bed with you, but I also want to share a life--as much as that's possible for us. I told you once already, and I do mean it: I want to be your friend, as well as your lover." His warm fingers ran softly against hers. "You mean too much to me to miss out on any aspect of you." He sighed, his eyes incredibly honest. "I need them all."

She didn't want to cry; she didn't want to cry. . . . The thought kept circling in her head. Still, she couldn't help the tears which welled at the corners of her eyes.

She loved him--so dearly, so intimately. She leaned forward to rub her cheek against his, just to feel him close. He turned his head slightly to kiss her temple, and she moaned.

She kissed his cheek tenderly before leaning back from him to focus on his eyes. "I love you, Michael," she professed from the depths of her soul.

His eyes returned her love, as he brought her hand up to his lips; his gaze focused on her completely, as he turned her hand, kissing her palm tenderly. "Just let me share with you," he asked, as he laid her hand back down, his eyes still loving.

She nodded, her tears still threatening, and turned back slightly in her seat, prepared to share whatever he planned to show her. He smiled at her tenderly once more--a sight which seemed to make her heart ache with love--and then put the car back into gear to continue on their way.

Only about ten minutes later, he pulled into a parking space again and turned the car off--this time near a large park. He smiled at her. "We're here."

She knew the place, had been there many times before. "Here?" she repeated, as though she were suddenly incapable of understanding him.

"Yes," he smiled and got out of the car.

She shook her head a little. She wasn't really sure why they were there, but she decided to go along with him.

He came around to watch, as she exited the car on her own, before he got there to help her; Nikita had never been much of one for formalities. She closed the door behind her and joined him; a smile was on her lips. "So, what's here?"

He took her arm in his own and began leading her along. "A beautiful Spring day," he looked around them--allowing himself to notice those things he almost never did, "nature reawakening," a small child darted in front of them, careening full-throttle through the park, "children playing," he gazed back at her softly, "and the only person I want to share it all with." He smiled at her.

She leaned against him a bit more, enjoying the warmth he gave her--although the day wasn't very cold. She had the sudden desire to rub her cheek on his shoulder and did so, as they walked; it was, after all, *so* lovely to really be with him. He kissed the top of her tilted head.

Suddenly, though, her happiness was interrupted slightly by the fear of being seen. She looked around at the happy people surrounding them--many of whom were watching the lovely, loving couple pass by them--and wondered which of them were actually Section spies.

He felt her stiffen slightly. "Don't think about it, 'Kita," he advised gently.

"But what if they're watching?" She hadn't pulled away from him physically, but her emotions were already withdrawing.

He disengaged his arm from hers and put it around her shoulders. "It doesn't matter." He could feel that she didn't agree. "They'll know anyway," he added.

He could sense that she was debating over whether to accept this philosophy completely; he kissed her hair lightly, speaking near her ear. "I want to enjoy this day with you." She looked back at him, eyes a little frightened but loving. "That's all that matters to me now."

They had stopped walking; his fingers were playing delicately over her cheek. "And Section?" she asked worriedly--softly.

He shook his head; his eyes were determined. "We'll deal with them when it comes." He saw the beginning of agreement in her eyes, and he leaned in to kiss her gently.

She sighed and met his kiss, before she remembered that they were in the middle of the park. Even if Section wasn't watching, she hadn't really intended on showing her affection *too* openly here.

She kissed him lightly once more and leaned back from him. Her eyes searched his. "You're willing to do this?"

He shook his head, his eyes showing his unwillingness to change his mind. "It's what I *want*," he emphasized.

She smiled and kissed him once more, before she put her hand on his shoulder and continued walking with him. He kissed her temple, as they went on.

"So where exactly are we headed?" she asked finally. She could feel that he had a particular destination.

They went on a little further in silence, before they turned a corner of the park. "Here," he said quietly.

They had come to the weekend market the park started holding at this time of year. She smiled. She had forgotten it ever happened; it had, after all, been many years since she had been to it. "Any particular reason?"

He could hear the smile in her voice. "Doesn't it seem like a good place to be?"

She smiled deeply, sighing happily. Yes. Yes it did. She nodded slightly to him, and he kissed her temple again.

The day was still bright out, although the clouds kept threatening to overtake them. The scent of flowers which were newly in bloom was everywhere--was mixing with the scents from the booths--scents of food, of candles, of perfumes and oils. And, although it was rather an odd combination, it was wonderful to them both.

The booths were the usual, odd mixture such occasional markets tended to bring out--arts and crafts of dozens of varieties, a few selections of small antiques, and vendors of various snacks mingled side by side, waiting for customers. Some of them were the old hands who had done this for a living for many years, while others were simply students who were out to make a few dollars and spend the day in the park.

Nikita sighed happily, as they moved quietly from booth to booth. There was something so natural about this--as though they were just some everyday couple who could spend all their free time wandering together, roaming through the park. He kissed the side of her head again, understanding her happiness, and she sighed once more.

The afternoon, as well, turned into something of a shopping trip. First, it was the candles which just smelled too lovely for her to pass up. Then, it was a hand-embroidered dress which brought out her eyes so perfectly that Michael insisted, without words, that he buy it for her. Next, they came across a stand selling natural oils for perfumes, where they both discovered *just* the scent they felt the other should add to the wonderful ones of their hair and skin which they both so adored.

They seemed, as well, to cause quite a small stir, as they moved, in quiet contentment, among the stalls. They spoke so little, after all, but communicated so much. As usual, they made some of the stall holders nervous, while a few looked on jealously, and some--a few of the older couples--watched with smiles, remembering their own early days together.

As they approached a row of food stands, Michael's still-free hand--the other was busy holding their purchases, which he refused to let her carry, enjoying serving her--was stroking over her back. "Are you hungry?"

She smiled at him. "A little."

He smiled back at her. In Nikita-speak that meant, "I'm starving," and he knew it. He looked up at a stand in front of them. "Hot dog?" he asked. She smiled and nodded, loving the oddness of this day.

He led her over to a nearby, unoccupied table, which the food stall holders had set up, put their packages down near her, and then leaned down to kiss her on the forehead before moving off to buy their lunch. She sighed happily, watching him--and tried to repress a laugh. She shook her head. A little way in front of her, Michael was buying them both hot dogs; there, indeed, was a sight she never thought she would see. Here they were, a couple of Section cold ops.--people who were usually spending their time working out the best ways to blow up a building--acting as though they were actually normal people for a day. . . . God, it was just so wonderfully strange.

He came back to her finally with two foot-long hot dogs and two cokes, and she made herself only spend a few seconds wondering how he had managed to carry it all while still looking so graceful. She looked down at her meal, as he put it in front of her, and smiled deeply; it had chili, onions, and quite a few other things piled on top of it. She focused on him again, as he sat near her. "How'd you know?"

He smiled back at her. "I think I know you well enough by now to be able to order for you."

"Apparently," she thought to herself and then began to tuck into her lunch, with a bit more joy than grace.

He smiled, watching her. Personally, he thought the combination of items she was currently eating were the sort of things no sane person would ingest together, but he loved her for her odd appetites, nonetheless.

He began to eat his lunch, as well, then--only part of him wishing that it were something a little more upscale. He loved sharing this side of her too much to complain, loved seeing her so casual and open; he wished that they could do this all the time, that, tomorrow, they wouldn't have to return to their half-lives as operatives--but he was determined to enjoy this small gift while he could.

They ate mostly in silence, Michael watching her joyfully--while Nikita returned his pleased looks. It almost seemed too good to be real, but both of them, now, were determined to create a part of their lives where it was--where they could be the people they were here for a short time. . . . It was just too wonderful, after all, to give up.

He smiled at her, as she finished. He could see that she still wasn't completely full, but he knew they could remedy that later; she was no longer really hungry, at least. "Are you happy?" he asked, more because he wanted to hear her answer than because he needed to know.

Her eyes met his with tenderness and love. "Very," she told him, smiling.

He returned the smile, even more deeply. "D'you want to see the rest of the booths now?" She nodded, and they then proceeded on their trip.

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

Awhile later, they came across a booth selling some lovely, handcrafted jewelry; the seller--a young man with long blonde hair and a beard--smiled at them. "You two married?" They just seemed too enraptured with each other to be anything except newlyweds.

"Yes," Michael answered, before Nikita could say anything. She smiled deeply at him, as he looked at her--understanding his message.

"You don't wear rings," the stall holder observed, as he caught sight of their hands.

"No," Michael answered, still watching his beloved. He sighed slightly and turned back to the man. "We're still looking for the right ones."

"Hey, I understand that," the man answered. "Josie and I waited a year, until we found just the right antique ones." He held out his hand, which had a silver band with an entwined sun and moon on it, for inspection.

Nikita looked down at it curiously. "That's an unusual design."

"Yeah," the man smiled. "Everybody always told us that we were like night and day, so we figured it fit."

The couple in front of him smiled, but he sensed, too, that there was some sadness there. He decided he better change the subject. "Would you like to see some rings?"

Nikita tried not to look upset; she forced a smile on her face. Michael came to her rescue--knowing that, however much they might like it--wearing rings was one thing they simply couldn't afford to do in Section. "We're looking for something antique, as well," he smiled; his hand rubbed over Nikita's back soothingly. The man in front of him nodded, deciding that maybe he better stay out of whatever emotional minefield it was that he had inadvertantly wandered into.

Michael's eye spotted something on the table. "Can we see that necklace?" he nodded.

"This one?" the man held up a lovely choker with tiny silver balls hanging from a small chain.

His customer nodded again. "Yes." He put down his packages and took it from him, placing it around Nikita's neck to clasp it in back. His eyes met hers lovingly, as she looked back up; his hand stroked just on top of it--over her skin. "Beautiful," he said softly, his eyes not focusing on the chain; Nikita smiled back at him. "We'll take it," he told the man without even looking at him.

The seller nodded, watching them, quoting a price he wasn't even sure they would hear; they were so wrapped up in each other. He didn't know what it was which caused these two people to look so sad at times, but--whatever it was--he hoped they could work it out; they were just obviously too much in love to let themselves get torn apart by whatever nonsense life was throwing at them.

A few booths later, a peppermint ice cream cone was now in Nikita's hand. Both she and Michael were taking licks of it, as they walked; sometimes, not unintentionally, their tongues would meet for a second in the icy treat, and they would both shudder slightly--pleasantly.

It was during one of these little interludes--far down in the cone--that they were passing a booth they had only barely taken in. "Would you like your fortune told?" an attractive, dark-haired woman asked them.

It was only Michael's quick action which kept Nikita from dropping the almost-finished cone. She had really been trying not to think about the future.

The couple in front of the woman didn't respond to her question verbally; in fact, they just looked like they had been caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. "Are you newlyweds?" she asked, wondering a bit what might have upset them so.

"Yes," Michael responded again, trying to calm the fear he felt in Nikita by reminding her of his love.

The woman smiled. She suspected that she had unintentionally upset the couple; she wanted to make amends. "Newlyweds I do for free."

Michael was about to turn away, when he realized that Nikita wasn't following him. She was looking in the fortune teller's eyes, as though the woman really could tell her what would happen in her life.

The look held for almost a minute. She finally, though, took a deep breath, coming to a decision. If the woman was a fake, so be it, but if she wasn't . . . She felt a sudden need to know. "Okay."

Michael looked at her curiously, but--a little reluctantly--gave in to her desire. Personally, he would have preferred not to know--not to even pretend that he did; he knew that whatever might come had a definite chance of being unpleasant, and he really didn't want either of them to have to focus on that right now. . . . Still, this was obviously something his beloved wanted, so he gave in.

He turned to kiss Nikita on the cheek and held up the cone to her once more, reminding her to finish it. She did finally, giving him a slight smile.

The woman breathed a sigh of relief; maybe she would be lucky and find out something comforting for this pair. "Good," she smiled, looking down at her cards. "You've got no idea how dull it can be to sit out here all day," she pretended to rationalize her decision.

She lay the deck on the table in front on them, face down. "Cut the cards," she told Nikita, who picked up half the deck and put it to the side. The woman then looked to Michael. "Now you." He paused for a second, evaluating their soon-to-be reader and then--deciding that she seemed to be an innocent, took the rest of the deck and put it on top.

"Good," the woman said. She laid four cards face down in front of them--pointing to them, as she did. "This represents your past, this your present, this your future, and this your far future." She turned over the first card. "Hm," she noted, pointing to it. "It's a major arcana card--that means it's a significant period in your life." The card seemed to show a circle of some sort, Nikita noticed. "This is the Wheel of Fortune." The couple in front of her focused on her, waiting. "That means you've probably just made some big change--that something that's been coming around for a long time has finally happened. Sometimes, too, it's something karmic--predestined."

Michael's fingers stroked softly over Nikita's back, as they watched the next card turned; the meaning of the first was so obvious for them. Nikita smiled, on seeing this one, too. "Do we need to ask what this one means?"

The woman smiled. "Well, actually The Lovers could mean more something--or someone--complementary, finding something which fills you out in some way, a completion of some sort." The couple in front of her smiled; she returned the look softly. "It can also mean that you're between two different paths--one which you've followed for sometime, another which is new, but either one you choose to take will be the correct one.

The two people in front of her continued to smile serenely; they had, after all, already made their choice--and they had no intention of returning to their old, solitary ways again. The card reader could see the basics of this in their eyes and decided not to discuss that one any further; it obviously didn't need it. She turned over the near future card.

Nikita bit her lip slightly, eyes widening. "That doesn't look good." The card showed a tower being struck by lightning; its occupants were falling from it. Michael's hand was trying to slowly spread some comfort into her.

The woman swallowed very slightly. "Well, no, it's not, usually." She hated it when the cards did this to her; why couldn't they just tell her customers something mindless and happy, once in awhile? "It's usually a sudden change of some sort." She was going to go on, but there was just no good spin to put on it; it was pretty much the worst card in the Tarot.

She looked to the last one, then. "Maybe this one will give us some more information, though." She prayed silently that it would be something brighter.

Both of her customers seemed to stop breathing, however, as it was revealed. Nikita swallowed heavily.

"It doesn't mean what you think," the woman tried to reassure them. The eyes of the woman in front of her were focused, in quiet terror, on the Death card. "It usually just means a change of some sort--that you're moving from one stage to another." She looked at them both. "Really, it's not always bad. Especially with The Tower just in front of it, it could mean that the next stage will get you out of that time."

Nikita's frightened eyes focused on hers. "Really?"

The woman nodded, completely sincere. "Really." She took a deep breath; the man's eyes were staring at her as though they belonged to someone who understood at least a dozen different ways of killing her. "They're all major arcana," she went on. "That's significant." She looked at them both, trying to explain--trying to get them to see the positive in it. "I mean, it makes sense, since you're newlyweds. Big things usually happen around that time; it could just mean that your in-laws decide to make life hell for you, and you then have to find a way to work around them."

Suddenly--to her surprise, the cloud which had been settling over the couple in front of her seemed to lift. The man looked at the woman deeply, and she returned it; incredible love and understanding passed through their eyes. Finally, he drew his wife into a deep, gentle kiss, and a second later--when they pulled back from it, he put a bill on the table to pay her. "Thank you," he told her, as they walked away.

The woman began breathing again, her focus on them complete; she jumped when her husband's voice broke her from her examination of the couple. "How's the day gone, Josie?" The man from the jewelry booth kissed her on the side of the head.

She looked back at him finally. "If I get more days like this one--shoot me."

He smiled at her, following her eyes. "So, what's with the two of them?"

She looked down at their cards once more. "In-law problems." She shook her head. With the looks those two had given her, though, they must truly have the in-laws from Hell.

The fortune teller's booth had been the last one they hadn't yet seen. Michael and Nikita wandered on away from the market; he was steering her toward the river.

They sat down finally on top of a picnic table near it, their packages on one of the seats, as they stared out at the water. Michael looked over at her finally. "What are you thinking?"

She gave a soft smile and focused on him. "I was wondering whether the fortune teller was right." She cocked her head slightly. "Maybe it is just `in-law' problems."

His fingers reached over to stroke down her cheek. "Let's not think about it, `Kita." He leaned in to kiss her softly. "Let's just enjoy the day," he added, pulling back

She nodded slightly, but stared down at the table; some of her fears were coming back to her. "Michael," she started softly, before she refocused on him. "You won't leave me, will you?"

He drew her in toward himself, kissing the side of her head, resting her against him. "I'm not leaving you in this lifetime, `Kita." His hold on her tightened slightly. "You can't make me."

She sighed happily, relaxing, and rubbed her head against his shoulder. "Good."

They stayed like that for sometime, holding each other--watching the water. They knew better than to question what was happening too far. . . . Whatever the future held, after all, they were together for now.

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

The weather began to turn, as the day progressed. They retreated, then--with their packages--first back to Michael's apartment to allow him to gather some clothes; he wanted to have some things, after all, to leave at her place.

He didn't, however--to her slight surprise, allow Nikita to come inside. He was too afraid that he would be moved to try to relive some of the events of their week there together--and he did want to get her to dinner eventually.

When he came back to the car a few minutes later, though, he found that she had removed the choker he had bought her. His fingers stroked over her neck softly, as he pondered the now-bare area. "Why'd you take it off?"

She smiled gently. "It's so delicate. With the rain coming, I'm afraid I'll get it wet and ruin it." She knew the fear didn't make much sense--her choker was made out of silver--but she was still afraid of seeing it hurt.

His hand was now stroking her cheek; he understood the truth of her words, even if her fears were unlikely. "I could buy you another."

She shook her head, smiling even more warmly. "You couldn't buy me another day like today, Michael." She turned her head to kiss his palm. "That's what it will always represent to me."

He leaned in to kiss her--deeply and tenderly, loving her all the more dearly. She moaned in it. He pulled back a minute later, though, finally deciding to get them back on the road. If they stayed here much longer, indeed, he might try to pull her back into his apartment, instead.

A half hour later, then, their self-control having won the day, they were ensconced close together in a booth in the darkened corner of a restaurant he had chosen. "Why this place?" she wondered quietly.

He smiled, as their first course was brought to them--a cheese fondue. He gave her a long fork, and she speared a slice of apple, beginning to dip it in the molten cheese; he followed suit, spearing a piece of bread. "Don't you know the old tradition about fondue?"

She shook her head, lost, while she blew on her meal--tasting it a second later. "Mmm, no--but it's wonderful."

He smiled at her, while he--not by accident--lost his bread in the pot. She saw what had happened and looked back up at him. "If you lose something in it, you have to kiss the nearest person to you of the opposite sex."

She smiled, as he leaned in to her, and then repeated her earlier assessment, as Michael kissed her: "Mmm." His tongue circled her mouth briefly, tasting the remnants of the lovely bite she had just taken; she licked her lips when he pulled back--too soon. "I think I might have to be a little clumsy, during this meal," she smiled at him. He smiled softly in return.

They spent the next hour or so, therefore, sharing a three-part, wonderfully clumsy meal, ending it off with a chocolate fondue. When they were down to the final item--a lone strawberry, Michael speared, dipped, and then blew on it before tracing its warm chocolate over Nikita's lips.

She watched the heated look in his eyes, her heart pounding. She was about to lick off the chocolate, when he shook his head. "No, let me."

Her stomach fluttered wonderfully, as Michael took in her bottom lip softly and began tasting it--suckling off the chocolate. She moaned quietly, as he continued the process--licking and suckling the treat from her.

Her hand found his beneath the table, and they played over one another's, as she then returned the treatment to him--gathering up the bits of the sauce which had been transferred to him.

A low moan sounded from his chest. His hand came up to tangle in her hair, and they shared a deep, arousing kiss--the strawberry forgotten.

She pulled away from him finally, with a sigh, about a minute later. "We'll get ourselves arrested for public lewdness, if this continues, Michael." He smiled at and gave her one more small kiss, before calling for the check.

The weather, which had been threatening all day, finally turned completely. Once they were almost outside, they found that it had finally started to pour; they didn't have an umbrella. "Should we run for it?" she asked him.

He kissed her once more. "If you'd like."

She looked back out at the storm, took a deep breath and then ran off into the deluge, Michael following behind. Once she was at the car, though, and was waiting for him to let her in, she was surprised to find that he made no move to. She turned to look at him; the rain was incredibly cold. "Michael, I'm freezing," she begged.

They were both becoming soaked to the skin. He moved in close to her and ran his fingers down her cheek, however, and she forgot the weather, becoming lost in the passionate look in his eyes. He leaned in to kiss her deeply.

She moaned. She could feel his arousal pressing against her; she put her hands in his hair and pulled him closer--further into the kiss. The rain was pummeling them slightly, but they had stopped noticing it.

"Still cold?" he asked her, when he finally pulled back a little.

The heat of his body still enveloped her; she shook her head. "No." Her hand ran down to his hip, and she pulled him closer, pressing his arousal to her. A slight moan rose from her. "How long have you been like this?"

He smiled. "Most of supper." He kissed her softly--briefly--again. "That's the good thing about dark restaurants." His hot breath played near her face. He rubbed his arousal against her.

"Mmm," she moaned, before capturing him in another deep, passionate kiss.

They continued it for several minutes, both of them lost to the feeling of each other--lost to the sensation of the heated blood warming their veins. Finally, though, she pulled back; she couldn't take too much more without giving in to temptation. Her eyes fixed to him--were shining with desire. "Michael, let me in the car, or I'm going to take you right here in the parking lot."

He smiled slyly at her; he knew her too well. "You wouldn't dare."

Her hands moved down his chest and abdomen to find his waistband. She started to undo his pants.

His eyes widened--aroused, in love. He stopped her hands, as she had his zipper about halfway down. "I'm taking you home." She smiled and leaned in to kiss him.

They were both soaked, but they really weren't thinking of the cold on the ride home. Her hand, in fact, kept playing along his upper thigh, until he finally caught her roaming fingers--firmly but softly--and put them back into her own lap. "If you keep touching me like that, I'll pull over to the side of the road and take you right now." He wasn't looking at her, but there was a definite intent in his voice.

She watched him, pondering it for a second. . . . No, she decided, she would rather have him in her bed. Michael, after all--she was sure, was *more* than capable of keeping that "threat."

Once they finally arrived back at her apartment--a ride which seemed interminable for them both--and he had parked the car, he turned to pull her into a deep, intense kiss. She moaned in it but finally pulled back. "We'd be more comfortable upstairs," she noted.

He had a brief vision of the two of them attempting to squeeze into his minuscule backseat--like horny teenagers--and smiled at her, deciding she was right. Nikita, after all, was a meal to be savored; no man in his right mind would ever think of her as something to be taken quickly.

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

They managed to make it inside her apartment along with their purchases and the bag he had packed at home. Their things stayed relatively dry, too--but *they* were still sopping.

They passed by Mick Schtoppel in the hall on their way in, as well--but, if he saw anything unusual in the sight of two sopping wet cold ops. with their hands full of bags and eyes only for each other, then--for once in his life--he had the God-given sense to keep his mouth shut.

They abandoned everything inside the door--once they had closed out the world--and turned their attention once again to each other. They captured one another in a deep, impassioned, exploring kiss; his hands were back in her wet hair--holding her to him, sealing his lips to hers, as he commanded her mouth.

They could both hear the storm becoming slightly more frenzied outside of their little world together, as the kiss continued. Something about its energy, however, only seemed to be spurring the two of them on--the charged air around them adding energy and heat to their need for each other, making their desire primal and unstoppable.

The thin dress she wore had soaked to her; he could feel straight through it to her wet, hot skin beneath. His arousal beat wildly just at the thought of her.

He began to move his passionate kisses down her neck. Her skin was chilled on the surface, but the blood beneath it was warm. . . . It was an intoxicating combination.

His tongue was playing over the pulse at the base of her throat, while she groaned loudly with need. Her hands were in his wet hair, were holding him to her--begging for more. She could still feel his raging arousal through their clothes. "Yes . . . Michael," she moaned, pulling his head back up to look into his eyes. "I need you."

He recaptured her lips--kissing her deeply, commandingly. His body was aching for hers; he wanted to taste every tiny portion of her wet flesh--wanted to feel their skin together, the way it always should be. He began to unbutton the front of her dress. "I need you *now*," he told her definitively.

"Yes," she sighed.

He was about to lead her to the bedroom, when she stopped him suddenly. "Wait." She dug into one of the bags and pulled out a couple of candles--which, amazingly, were still basically dry. She looked back to him. "I want to make love to you by candlelight," she explained; her eyes were dark and commanding.

He smiled and nodded. "You will," he told her. She shivered a bit at his passionate, unyielding tone.

They made it to the bedroom and lit the candles quickly, before turning back to each other. He pulled her into another deep kiss, as his hands moved to finish his work in unbuttoning her dress; her own hands were running underneath his sweater--were smoothing over his damp skin beneath it.

He moved back the fabric he was playing with to uncover her and sighed when his hands finally began to stroke over her skin. His fingers moved down a little to find the aching points of her nipples--desperate for his touch.

He broke the kiss finally, and she took the opportunity to pull his sweater up. They both lifted it over his head, discarding it with an unnoticed wet thump on the floor.

His eyes were bold and dark. "Undress for me, 'Kita," he commanded softly. She shivered, loving the order, and moved away from him slightly to ensure him the best view; she slipped off her shoes with her feet and kicked them to the side before she began.

Her eyes held his, showing him the heat of her desire, but she purposely drew his attention away again by running her hands from her shoulders down her chest, opening the front of her dress wide, as she went. The sweet breasts he so loved to taste peeked out at him, the tightened nipples wanting him--having nothing to do with the cold.

She stopped her hands at her abdomen and then came back up to slip the dress off her shoulders. With a little work--it was stuck to her a bit from the rain--she continued to trail it down her, until it landed in a small heap at her feet.

His eyes took her in. Her body was absolutely perfect, but she still had on a pair of lacy underwear. He looked back up to her--his gaze demanding. "Keep going."

She gave him a smile of pure sensuality and led his gaze back down by running her hands along herself once more. She stopped for a second to rub her fingers lightly over her own nipples, until she saw his breathing speed up even more; his arousal was beating against its confines.

Her hands finally trailed back down to her underwear. She teased him by lowering them slowly, until they too finally dropped at her feet.

She could see that his breathing was increasingly unsteady. She stepped out of the last of her clothes, as his eyes trailed back up her body heatedly. When they held hers once more, they gave her a new command, just a second before a small crash of thunder pealed outside. "Come back to me."

She moaned and went to him instantly; her arms surrounded him--wanting him, holding him close. "Touch me, Michael--please," she begged him.

He smiled and leaned in to taste lightly at her lips with his tongue. His hands played just over the skin on her hips.

She moaned against him; her hands trailed over his chest. "Michael, please," she begged again. She was *so* desperate for him.

He captured her in a deep, tender kiss, while his hands ran over the strong lines of her naked back. She moaned against him.

He was loving this; he loved it when she was insane for him. He wanted to take control this time--wanted her needy and desperate by the time he took her--and he could feel that she, too, was *more* than willing to go along.

He pulled back from her slightly, his eyes capturing hers. "D'you want to touch me, 'Kita?" he offered.

"Yes," she moaned. The storm was getting a little louder, but its full force still hadn't hit them yet.

"Good," he told her. He ran her hands over his chest and watched her breathing escalate dangerously. The storm seemed to be giving him energy--seemed to be telling him to take control, to take command. "Show me you want me," he told her.

She moaned and leaned in to kiss him deeply for a second, pulling away from him by running her teeth lightly over his lower lip. A groan rumbled deep in his chest. She started to bite a small line down the cord of his neck--feeling his pulse jump at her touch. "That's good," he told her gruffly, and she moaned against him.

Her hands were roaming over his back, as she began to move her mouth down his chest--kissing him, licking him, tasting the remains of the rain which had collected on his skin—the rain which was now beginning to mix with his own aroused sheen. "I want you so much," she moaned, as she kissed down his breastbone--down the fine line of hair which covered his chest.

His hands were in her wet hair, as he held her to him. "Touch me, `Kita," his voice caressed. Her mouth found a small, hardened nipple, and he moaned more loudly, while she nibbled on him.

His head was back, his heart beating wildly. He held her to him more strongly. "That's it, my love--yes."

She bit him a little harder, to his loud groan in response. The sound made her wild. God, she was aching for him; she wanted to taste him more than she could stand. She wanted to be the lover of his dreams--the woman who made him wild, who fulfilled him so desperately he simply couldn't control himself anymore.

She could feel his heart beating wildly beneath her tongue, as she rubbed it in a circle around the small bud. Her hand began to trace down him, moving toward his huge, aching arousal.

He groaned, as she touched him. She switched off then, beginning to suckle his other small nipple--her teeth nipping over him from time to time. His hands clung to her hair. "Yes, more," he begged.

Her hands began to unfasten his pants, and some small part of his mind remembered that he was still wearing his shoes. He moved as little as possible to get both them and his socks off--succeeding just as Nikita freed his throbbing arousal, and the last of his clothing fell to his feet.

She was moving down his body with intent now--was tasting the wonderful, damp skin which met her progress. It felt so perfect he could barely think, but what was left of his mind was caught between about three, conflicting ideas, as her tongue played with the dark line of hair which led to his shaft: "God, yes"; "I should be doing this for her"; and "If she does this, I can't hold on."

He moaned and decided to try to stop her finally, overcoming his need to feel her mouth on him--knowing he couldn't save himself for her, if she did this. His desire was so intense--the increasingly raging storm outside somehow making him need her even more. There was also just something about seeing Nikita in the position she was now, too—about watching her heated, needy eyes, as she moved toward his shaft which made him desperate and insane.

His hands took hold of her head, therefore, stopping her half an inch above his arousal. "'Kita," he started.

"No, Michael," she shook her head--and it occurred to him that the balance of power had just shifted between them again. "I want you."

"But . . ." he tried to protest.

Her eyes held his heatedly, as she smiled at him. "I know your powers of regeneration," she taunted.

His shaft jumped near her. "'Kita," he tried to say again.

Her eyes took on a provocative, teasing light. "Don't you want this, Michael?" she taunted. Her mouth kissed very lightly along his shaft.

His breathing became incredibly imperilled. He moaned loudly, his eyes wide. He was losing the ability to speak, but he hadn't yet totally given his permission. He knew he could be ready again to make love to her after this, but he still felt a little unsure about asking her for something like this--even if she was the one offering.

Her eyes grew commanding once more. "You're my lover, Michael." Her eyes were very dark and powerful. "Learn to ask."

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

He groaned, as his shaft grew even larger--desperate to take up her offer; his thumbs stroked over her cheeks, as what was left of his mind worked through this. . . . He did want this; he did want *her*.

He gave in finally, his shaft throbbing. "Yes, please, `Kita." The broad side of her tongue stroked over the large head, and he moaned desperately--his surrender complete. "God, yes--taste me," he moaned.

Good. This was what she wanted; she wanted to taste him--wanted to bring him to an incredible, almost-unbearable arousal. . . . And she wanted him to want this, as well.

She kept up a heated contact with his eyes, while she stroked the tip of her tongue over the very end of his shaft. She saw him trembling slightly and smiled; she did love this.

He moaned at her look, at her touch, and moved her closer to him--asking, finally, for what he wanted. She gave it to him happily; her mouth enclosed the head of his shaft, as her hand began caressing his sac.

He groaned loudly, his pulse throbbing through him more strongly. Tears were in his eyes. She saw this and increased her efforts; her mouth switched off between suckling him and tracing around the head in a circle with her tongue--pressing into him just enough to make him shudder.

A deep moan rose from him. . . . God, he needed her. He wasn't sure why she wanted this, but--dear Lord--she felt good.

Some tiny, functioning part of his mind, however, gave him the answer to his question. She needed them both to be the givers and the receivers in this relationship; she needed them, indeed, to be partners--both of them capable of pleasing the other, of arousing them until they could no longer stand it.

He gave in, therefore--needing her so much. He wanted her to understand just how much she fulfilled him, just how much he always wanted her.

His hands ran back into her hair; his touch asked her softly to begin to move on him. She agreed, happily--loving that he had finally understood.

Her tongue ran along the back of his shaft, as she began a tight rhythm around him--her other hand stroking up along him, as well, enclosing him. He moaned and continued to pull her in a rhythm along his hard length, his eyes amazed and loving.

The thunder outside was beginning to crash a little more loudly--the lightning flashing a bit more steadily, but still the true storm hadn't closed in upon them completely yet. She watched his eyes widen, his moans increase, as she moved her rhythm faster. She wished he could understand just how much she adored this, how incredible he tasted to her; she adored all of the sensations of this, in fact--loved the feeling of the balls in his sac rubbing against each other in her touch, loved the power of his huge shaft throbbing in her hand, loved the taste of him--the feeling of him in her tight mouth, of his throbbing shaft beating more and more steadily--becoming increasingly harder, the pulse building, as she stroked over him, of her tongue as it teased the vein along the back.

His eyes were captured completely by hers; his heart hammered. Despite what anyone watching may have thought, he was her slave. . . . She was so beautiful.

He could feel the aching warmth building in him, moving through him, making it incredibly difficult to hold on. His breathing was rattling in his chest; his hands were clinging to her hair--were pulling her along him in a rhythm which begged but didn't demand. His eyes had tears in them, as he focused on her completely.

She saw all of this and loved him for it. The groans he gave were completely involuntary, as he was losing himself to her. His shaft was hot in her mouth--was beating furiously; she could tell that holding on now was an act of pure will for him.

She wanted him to lose control; she wanted to taste him. She wanted to be the woman who could bring him the aching pleasure he was so close to--who could make every sense explode in ecstasy.

She increased everything; her mouth and hand moved faster, more tightly. He let out a desperate, crying groan--his eyes tearing further, and she drew her teeth along him ever so lightly--just enough to shock him into release.

She knew he was there. She rubbed the tip of her tongue into the indentation at the end of his shaft, and he let out a fierce groan; his hands were balled into fists in her hair. The end of her tongue continued to tease him--her mouth just back from him, and she flicked her tongue there just long enough to let him witness the beginning of his own release. Then, her mouth recaptured him strongly, holding him, as he came.

His desperate moans became half-screams, as he felt himself exploding. Her tight mouth stroked him through it, increasing the sensations almost unbearably; his hands helped draw her along him--some tiny, still-functioning part of his mind making sure he pulled her back just enough, when his uncontrollable thrusts against her might go too deep.

She moaned, as she happily swallowed his warmth--feeling its heat trail through her body. Her eyes told him everything he needed to know--her love, her desire, her absolute joy in giving him such pleasure.

"`Kiiii-ta," he moaned out, watching her, in near shock with overwhelming pleasure. His shaft throbbed out its release in her, while he watched spellbound. He was amazed, as her eyes told him of her love for him and for this; he was groaning loudly again.

Even several minutes later, he was panting, groaning desperately. His shaft felt like it was whimpering in satisfaction; it still trembled in her mouth involuntarily from time to time. His heart was still thundering in love. His whole body was shivering slightly with the incredible ecstasy which ricocheted through him. It seemed likely that his knees would give out at any second and send him toppling to the floor.

She saw all of this and released him finally. Neither of them quite noticed that the storm outside was notching up to an even higher level--was moving closer.

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

She stood back up and helped him step out of the heap of his clothes--starting to lead him, on his now shaky legs, over to the bed. He managed to grope at the covers enough to tear them back; his eyes refused to leave her.

She sat him back on the bed, and his hands held onto her hips. "Come to me," he told her. She smiled and climbed into the bed beside him. "Yes," he moaned and turned them until she was lying beneath him.

She moaned, as well, and he captured her lips in a deep, searing kiss--tasting himself there. His moan joined hers.

She felt his arousal twitching against her--felt his sense of command returning to him. He angled her head slightly with his hands and ravished her mouth more deeply.

A peal of thunder shuddered outside, and he growled near her; she whimpered against him, holding him close. His hands were already exploring her, were stroking over her stomach and up toward her breasts.