He began to pull off the rest of her clothes. The soft leather of her pants was tempting, but he knew it was nothing to the silkiness of his beloved. Right now, then, it was simply something to be discarded, to work past in his quest for her.

Once she was finally revealed, too--the rest of her clothes tossed to the side, his gaze finally left hers, singeing once more along her body. There was no other form more perfect than hers. His eyes lingered for a second on the sweet curls which covered her most intimate treasures, and his desire beat so strongly through him he ached with it. He couldn't wait another second for her touch.

He leaned down to catch her hand, pulling her toward him, sitting her up. His voice was rough. "Come here."

She let out a moan at the strength of his command over her, at the passion in his tone. He was still standing by the bed, his gaze burning into her; his whole stance spoke of undeniable power. She shuddered slightly, her eyes wet. Yes.

His gaze was lost between aching tenderness and fierce need for a few seconds before the latter won out. He put her hands on his waist, covering them with his own, and invited her to undress him. The small moan of desire she gave in response only made him need her all the more.

They both removed his shirt, then, and he discarded it, forgotten, on the floor a second later. The move, however, made her desire for him unbearable, the scent of him even stronger in her lungs. His perfect, beautiful form so close to her, too, was just too much. She had to have more.

She broke her gaze with him, therefore, to lean in to taste along his abdomen, worshiping along his flesh. She moaned even more loudly at the way he shuddered unconsciously beneath her touch. The taste of him, as well, was addicting. She moved her mouth up along him further, wanting more.

His involuntary, passionate shudder grew even stronger. No. He couldn't take it. He let out a groan and stopped her before she reached his small, erect nipple. If her amazing mouth touched him there right now, he wouldn't have been responsible for what he might have done.

He sat her back a little, then, his eyes feral and commanding, and she let out an open-mouthed groan in response. He growled and began to remove his shoes and socks with his feet, putting her hands over the zipper of his pants, issuing a silent invitation--and an order.

She moaned loudly and took up both desperately, needing him near her again. His hands still covered hers, leading her along, and her heart beat more wildly at his command. Only with him could she trust another soul this much, could she allow anyone else so much control and enjoy it. She could feel him beating wildly beneath her fingers, as they both lowered the zipper. Her mouth opened in a gasp, waiting for her view.

Once the zipper was down, she broke from his touch, reaching in to find him--unable to wait. He shuddered and lowered the rest of his clothes, watching her delight in him, spellbound.

She didn't even really notice him pushing these barriers down the rest of the way, was too lost to her wonderful rediscovery. Her hand stroked along him, loving once again the beauty of his shaft. It was so hard and warm, the skin so silky over all that strength; it beat wildly in her touch as well, responding to her by instinct--and she knew it was only her who could gain this true reaction from him. Oh, she loved him.

She leaned in to him and began to softly rub her cheek against his length; it jumped in response. She turned her head and kissed along it, licking along the hard, pounding flesh--moving toward the large, perfect head. She knew every inch of him, adored this lovely part of him as she adored his soul; her knowledge of him here was intimate and total. She understood every way he wanted to be touched and wanted nothing more than to fulfill his wishes. Oh, she needed him so much.

He let out a shaky moan at the sight and sensation of her rapture, his hand softly stroking over her hair. There were just no words for what she did to him at all.

He couldn't let her go on, though. As much as he knew she would have no objection--even seemed to want--to taste along him further, he just couldn't allow it. Her desire for him was too much, made him ache too desperately. Besides, it went without saying that he would spend every second she was gone needing her return, being tormented by her loss. What he needed to do now, then, was to ensure the same of her in reverse.

His voice was softer than he had expected, as he pulled her back, just before she reached the throbbing head. "'Kita." She let out a whimper at being held back from her obvious desires, but he refused to yield. "No." He stepped out of the rest of his clothes and moved both of them to lay fully on the bed, resting himself on top of her; his eyes searched her beautiful features for a second before regaining her own. "You're mine."

The look she saw in his eyes held so much--aching tenderness and need, undying love, singeing passion. She opened her mouth to try to convince him to let her touch him further, however, and he cut her off, capturing her in a deep, needy kiss. It had the effect he had wanted, as well; she gave up on protest and lost herself to him alone.

He closed his eyes tightly, as the softness and need in her response sank deep into him. It was too much, set off something immense within him, something he could no longer stop. He had to have her now.

His fingers trailed down her form, stroking finally over the curls at her center; her thighs already framed his hips, the softness of her skin too much temptation to bear. Every sense in him was on fire, as his thumb found her small bud, beginning to massage it in circles, a little roughly; his kiss grew harder for a second, before he pulled back to catch her eyes.

Her hands were clinging to his shoulders, her back arching her into his touch. Oh God--it felt so good; the roughened thumb taunted her, made her its own, as it worked her with all his knowledge of her body and soul. She moaned loudly, her eyes closed tightly, as she watched the lights forming behind her eyes--growing brighter. Yes.

His face was tender, as he watched her, although she didn't see it. Her beauty became so immense, so almost unbearable when she neared her peak. It gave him a need for her which almost hurt, as he watched her. . . . He had to give her more.

He began to play very lightly over her tender folds with two of his fingers; he could already feel how wet she was, could feel the honey of her he so adored. His thumb's pressure got stronger, then, playing her with all his knowledge of her soul; his long, throbbing length rubbed lightly against her incredibly smooth thigh. Just as she was beginning to gasp, too, he slowly pushed one long finger deep within her tempting walls, another joining it a second later.

She let out a deep, echoing moan, as she felt him in her. The ache he had started had finally blossomed, warming her, sending a flow of light deep into her blood. Her walls clung to him. "Ohhhh," she groaned.

He had been concentratedly watching her every minute reaction, but the sound of her pleasure was too much for him. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed. He couldn't wait anymore.

His whole body seemed to beat with his need, as he ran his fingers down her slick walls, teasing her, as he pulled them from her. His thumb gave her one more caress and then let her go, his hand grasping her hip; the other gently caressed her cheek. "Look at me, 'Kita." Blue eyes he adored regained his, shone out an eternity of bliss and love to him, and he had to close his eyes for another second, swallowing heavily, to keep himself together; he looked back at her. "I'm sorry." He moved his hips a little, touching her soft petals with the tip of his large shaft. "I just can't wait."

The world was a haze for her at that moment; there was just too much pleasure to take in. The warmth he had given her was still raging in her blood, but--combined with the tender, needy look on his face and the throbbing, wonderful head of his shaft against the entrance to her depths--it was nothing. She saw too that, even as he burned unspeakably, he was waiting for her permission; her eyes grew even cloudier with tears. "Yes," she whispered.

Oh God, he adored her; his heart ached so dearly with it. He was just about to enter her, too, when he felt another gift from her, her gentle touch slowly slipping down his back, coming to rest finally on his soft curves; his hard length jumped in response. He wouldn't wait anymore.

His hand continued to caress her face softly, then, as they both entered him into her. He lost her gaze when he was just inside, though, her eyes closing, as she let out the softest gasp of need; her hand squeezed his curve.

He stopped his entry for a second, the tears building up in his eyes. The most beautiful angel God had ever created was wrapped around his tip, but he could see--to his love and unbearable need--that it wasn't herself she saw as the gift. His heart moaned out for her. Oh, 'Kita.

He leaned down to capture her open mouth, softly possessing her depths. His hand caressed over to her curves, as well, and he gave another rotating stroke into her inner softness; he moaned, as the tight, wet walls enclosed him, welcoming him within her. God . . . Yes.

Her hand was now clawing at his tender flesh slightly. His hard length jumped, as he sank further into her; a tear fell on her face, as his hand caressed her head into the kiss. He had never felt so whole.

She was letting out a series of soft whimpers, overcome by him completely; her other hand moved down to join the first. He felt so incredible, the throbbing heat of him stretching her, filling her, making her feel whole and connected. She pulled him further in, to his groan and a twitch of his hard shaft; she moaned again. Yes.

She wanted him in her completely now, though, needed him to take her as they both so desperately wanted. He was just so perfect, and she loved him so much. She didn't want to waste another second without him inside her.

His mouth continued to capture hers, taunting and slow. He was using it, however, to make up for the fever which was growing inside him, his furious need to be one with her. From the very first time he had been blessed enough to sink himself deep within her, he had understood a part of himself he had never quite known before; the experience of her sweet walls stretching around him, of molding those wet, loving depths to his more generous measurements was one he had never quite grown used to, one he knew he never would. Bliss, after all--of the body, heart, and soul--could never become ordinary.

His heart was reaching out to her further, as he pulled back from the kiss, his teeth grazing lightly over her lower lip, as he moved away. She could feel it, could feel the way he had entwined his soul with hers. Oh God, it felt so good.

She forced her teary eyes open, focusing directly on the light within his eyes, letting out a small sigh of love. One hand reached up to caress through his hair, her eyes running over his beloved and immensely beautiful features; her heart pounded. She just loved him so much.

The simple touch of her hand as it ran through his hair, though, pulling at it slightly, as he slid a little further into her sweetness, was too much for him. Combined with the all the love and desire which shone in her eyes, as well, it reawakened his fury for her into absolute, aching life. He just couldn't wait any longer.

He closed his eyes for a second, then, a shudder of soul-deep need running through him; when he looked back at her, his gaze was burning. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes were confused for just a second, before his true possession of her began. His hand ran deep into her hair, holding her to the rougher, loving kiss he gave, but she knew soon that it was just a way to swallow the screams he knew would come with his next move. He pulled out of her slightly and then slowly, caressingly pushed his large, heated cock all the way into her, persuading her willing entry, until he was throbbing in her to the base.

The groan he swallowed from her in the kiss was immense. The move felt so good it just couldn't be contained. Everything in her was shuddering.

He wouldn't let her break from the kiss, however, swallowing her every desperate sound. His possession of her overwhelmed her, too, making her yield to him completely, making the brightness in her ache. Her hand left her slight marks on his curve to grasp his shoulder, her legs wrapping around him tightly, keeping him deep inside, his soul touching her heart. She never wanted him anywhere but inside her ever again.

His eyes closed more tightly at her reaction, at her absolute acceptance of him; it was too much. His love for her made him shudder with need.

Both his hands framed her face now, as his adoring kiss continued to overwhelm her, trying to make up in tenderness for what his passion wouldn't let him supply elsewhere. His heart beat so loudly it made him want to scream in love.

She could feel his heart, could sense his love flowing into her every pore. The kiss controlled her, took away all thought, made her his, but it was the sweet ache of his long, hard cock which preoccupied her the most. It felt so immense, made her burn to be stroked and taken by him. She could feel the heat rising in her blood, making her need match his own. She had to have him *now*.

He wouldn't let her break the soft, possessive kiss, would barely allow her a breath. This was his release valve, was his one way to allow him some tenderness, to keep him from beginning to stroke her like something unbearably savage. He couldn't let her part from it now.

She couldn't bear his lack of movement anymore, however; she was about to go mad. She got her message across to him, then, in another way.

He finally ended up breaking the kiss himself at her next move--at the shockingly feral sensation of the nails of her hand clawing lightly down his back. They buried themselves finally, too, in his soft curves, issuing something between an invitation and a command. He looked back at her to see her smile. "Yes," she whispered.

His heart thumped, a move which was revealed completely in his long shaft. He could see in her eyes an absolute permission, one which was overwhelming his concern for her safety, his fears about the dangers of his need. She eliminated the last of his concerns, too, by clawing at him slightly; he closed his eyes to suck in a sharp breath. She had asked for it.

He reached around behind him to grab her hand, pushing it up and into the covers above her head, no longer able to take this sweet torment; his eyes were burning into hers, showing little mercy. He was almost where she wanted him, then, she knew, but he still hadn't let go entirely yet. She gave a small, feral smile of encouragement.

That one look did it. His hot breath shuddered over her face, his fingers grasping hers more tightly, his heated eyes watching her own. His other hand, too, sank deep into her curves, holding her to him, as he slid his long cock slowly almost out of her depths before sinking it deep back in.

"Mmm," she moaned. She could see that he had almost let go. Her smile grew deeper, her legs' grip around his waist even tighter, as she did the one more thing which would ensure his abandon. Her tight walls squeezed.

He let out a hissing breath at the sensation--too erotic to describe. He could see that she had no desire for him to be tender, and her last move had destroyed every last bit of tenderness in him. All that was left was desire alone.

He gave her what they both wanted at last, then, both of his hands now holding on to her lower back, as he caught her in a deep, demanding kiss. His cock had grown further since his entry, and he was using it in a deep, long rhythm, roughly caressing every inch of her walls.

She whimpered, holding him further into the kiss, her hands tangled in his hair. Oh, he felt so good. Her body was supple below his, was arching into his intense thrusts. The lovely head of him worked every fragment of delicate flesh within her, bringing every minute nerve ending into indescribably tender life. His kiss, too, commanded her, told her without any room for denials how much he needed and loved her; she pulled him further into it. She never wanted to let this go.

That one thought, however, seemed to be echoing through them both ironically, but it was just too much to think that this might be the last time for them. It was too much to let themselves face.

For both of them, therefore, the pain of this thought lit the fury of their need, if in slightly different ways. For Michael, it turned him into an erotic conqueror, made his need for her pleasure too great to be denied any longer. It roared in his blood, blinding him to anything but finding the roughest possible way to take her into screaming ecstasy. It was all he cared about at all.

She broke from the kiss, letting out a throaty groan, as he pulled her hips further toward himself, his cock riding her roughly--echoing pleasure into every deep part of her. She opened her eyes to see his own--the depths of them flashing in feral possession, refusing to let her go, and she let out a whimper, her body even more supple and yielding in his grasp. God, yes. This was what she wanted.

He grew wilder still at her reaction, and she moaned, lost to him. This was precisely what she needed, after all, was what she had to have. She wanted to be possessed by him, wanted to know that there would never be anyone else in his heart or his bed. What Section might command him to do was meaningless, always had been; she knew that. Now, she wanted her reminder.

He gave it to her, a growl echoing deep in his chest, his eyes burning at her mercilessly. He was holding her hips to him roughly, was stroking through her increasingly tender depths in a way which made her gasp. And, if her quietly tender reactions weren't exactly what he expected, they just made him need her all the more intensely.

She proved this again a second later, too. His wild beauty above her, the long immense strokes and utter command of his shaft just brought out every bit of tenderness in her soul for him, reminded her over and over how real his love and desire for her alone was.

She reached up to his face, then, stroking tenderly over his stubbled cheek, as his thick shaft began to rub beautifully over the most incredibly needy spot far within her. Her heart and her love were in her eyes.

The look, the touch of her hand, were too much for him, made him too wild. Had he had himself less ruthlessly trained, he would have lost all control, would have come heavily into her at that moment. As it was, though, he just felt the sweet results of her soft touch aching through his length, making him incredibly heavy with need. God, he had to make this good for her, or he would go insane.

His eyes were still a little ruthless, then, as he held her gaze. He had taken to stroking his thick cock up and down one nearly-quaking wall; he watched her shudder below him, the light moving into her blood. He turned his head, too, and traced the tip of his tongue over the palm of her hand. The head of his shaft found her most tender spot and massaged it erotically.

She closed her eyes, starting to cry from the strength of the sensations echoing through her body; he traced his tongue along a finger, and she whimpered. He smiled and leaned down to lightly nip the most needy spot on her neck, just as he gave the tender spot within her one more heated stroke.

She whimpered more strongly and held him to her, something within her starting to float free. It moved into her blood, lighting along her body, making her groan in pleasure.

He smiled a little near her neck. A fine tremor had taken over her whole form, her depths clinging to his length shudderingly. She was giving little gasps of joy, her body warm with it. He looked back up at her. None of it, though, was enough.

He dipped his head back down her, then, ignoring the--to his mind--too weak orgasm he had just given her. His only focus was on building it further.

She whimpered more loudly, her legs wrapping tighter around his hips, as she felt his hot mouth tracing wetly down her throat; her nails sunk into his shoulders. Oh God, it felt good, was such a beautiful counterpoint to the whole of his sweet shaft sunk deep inside her. Oh--she wanted more.

Her warm, needy whimpers continued, then, as her hands ran into his hair, encouraging his desire to taste her. She could feel how much he wanted her, could sense it in her blood, and it made her weak with desire. "More," she whispered, her voice swallowed up by passion.

He could barely hear her, but he knew what she wanted, what she needed. He had every intention, as well, of giving it to her.

His tongue was licking up and down along her throat, then, as his hands ran down along her body, skimming over her form. He could feel the fine shudder she gave. He smiled and ran his tongue into the hollow of her throat, as his hands disconnected her legs from around him, taking hold of the soft thighs to hold them down on the bed.

She let out a gasp, as he stroked through her in this position, his whole body moving above hers. It just felt soooo good. He commanded every millimeter of tender flesh both inside her body and out. The big cock worked her, the strokes long and sure, breaking free warm sparks of light deep inside her with every one, as she tried to catch him tight each time. His mouth, too, had rediscovered a desperate little spot near the base of her neck and was beginning to nibble on it in a way which made her quiver. She held his head to her more strongly and moaned. Yes.

He bit her more intensely, to her ever-increasing shudder, and smiled near her skin. He knew what he was doing to her, of course, and he was reveling in every sweet second of it. He had her in a state now where she was shuddering constantly, the pleasure moving through her in little waves of light--never quite completely cresting--but always close enough to leave her breathless. He licked the spot he had been tormenting and kissed over her collarbone, tasting the wonderful sheen of her skin. She was just *so* perfect.

Her shudders and soft moans continued to increase, too, as his long, passion-measured thrusts worked her. She half-knew that she must be hurting his scalp with the way her nails had sunk into him, with the occasional, convulsive tugs of her hands over his soft locks, but she couldn't make herself stop. His mouth, after all, was beginning to descend further, his incredible tongue tasting down between her breasts, over her passion-slick skin. The anticipation was almost too much.

He knew how desperate she was, of course, understood completely how needy her desire had grown. It was just as he wanted it. Her wouldn't let her escape without experiencing the purest joy.

She was letting out little cries of need, as his wonderful cock began to ride her more completely, more deeply. It conquered her with every thrust, made her his, as the light built unbearably within her. His taunting tongue, as well, licked over the bottom of her breast--teasingly close to the point that needed him so. She tried to hold his head closer. Oh God--yes.

He knew how close she was; he smiled near her perfect skin, rubbing his stubble over her breast, still not quite where she wanted him. One of his hands caressed over her lower back, as well, one near her shoulder, as his shaft's thrusts moved more soundly, more deeply within her--making the light within her start to quake.

She was caught like that for a few, devastatingly beautiful, heartbeats, as his cock became more commanding and rough, his thrusts faster, with each one. Just when she thought she would go mad, as well, when she was so close to the peak she couldn't take any more, she felt her beautiful lover's mouth enclose her nipple tightly, suckling her into a whirlwind of erotic captivity.

She gave herself up to him completely then, crying out desperately. Her whole body shook nearly violently with sweet, sharp release. One hand held him within her, squeezing the curves of him tight, while the other held his suckling mouth even closer. The light within her kept increasing exponentially.

She continued like this, her cries of love and need shaky, for several minutes. The sweet devastation of his mouth, the soft thrusts of his cock against the most incredible spot, making everything in her quake unbearably.

He shook a little against her, as well, his eyes closed, as he lost himself to the beauty of her joy. Nothing else intoxicated him quite so much as having pleased her, as having been given free and loving access to her sweet body and having been able to repay her for this blessing with ecstasy. Only in these moments, after all, was he really quite whole.

He finally began to feel her tremors subsiding slightly, however, and his mind finally allowed his body's screaming need for her to pierce his emotional bliss at her release. He knew, could feel, that he couldn't hold on much longer. If he didn't take his opportunity soon, then, he might never get to please her again.

This last thought, however, was just too much for him, released all his repressed, volcanic need. He lifted his head to kiss her softly once, therefore, and pulled out of her, needing more.

She opened her eyes, her bliss starting to evaporate at his loss. He wouldn't let her complain, though, beyond her few, unhappy noises, as he pulled away. "Hush." He rolled her onto her stomach, moving her shortened hair to one side. "I need you."

She calmed then, knowing that he wasn't leaving her, wouldn't abandon her without first sharing in their joy. It was something she needed every bit as much as he did, after all. Just the thought of him not sharing in their bliss made her mourn, made something inside her want to curl up and die. She could never be happy if their love wasn't entirely mutual.

She knew now that it was, though, and she yielded happily to his new request. She wasn't sure what had prompted his need for this position, but, so long as he was back inside her soon, she wouldn't complain. She just wanted her lover back.

He felt her giving herself to him again, felt her continued desire for him, and he closed his eyes for a second, trying to hold together his control. He just loved and wanted her so much.

He lay down on her, then, his hands running over her stomach; her legs were open, her need obvious. He sighed in love and kissed her soft cheek before sinking his shaft back deep inside her walls again; she moaned happily and spread her legs wider, inviting him further in, and he let out his own moan of need. God . . . yes.

He had raised himself now on one outstretched arm above her. His other hand caressed gently over her abdomen, as well, as he sank back into her completely, sighing as he entered her once more.

They stayed like that, not moving, for several long seconds, as he tried to regrasp the quickly-scattering strands of his control. Just being in her again, after all, was almost too much, was too arousing. Her slick walls held him close, embracing him in joy. He lowered his head to rub his face against her hair, taking in her scent, sighing again. There was just no way to express how dear she would always be to his soul.

Soon, though, just being in her wasn't enough anymore. Being so close to her, having her scent in his lungs, his hands smoothing over the slick beauty of her skin, was too much, brought back the fierceness of his need. He had to possess her again.

He pulled her back toward him a little, therefore, as she braced herself on her arms; his own hands were on her shoulders. He was sunk deep inside her, was moving in slow, deep thrusts, working them both perfectly.

God, it felt good. Her hands were grasping the sheets, her depths trying to capture him deep within her again and again, the beautiful friction of his slow moves making her nerves jangle for more. She wasn't entirely sure, of course, why he wanted this position now, but she wasn't complaining. Nothing that felt this good, after all, was anything to object to.

He added to her utter contentment--and rebuilding desire--too, when his mouth tasted its way down the side of her neck, suckling over her skin. He had his reasons for this, indeed, even if he wasn't sharing them. He needed, truly, to have complete control of her here, needed the possession of it, needed to know that every second of her pleasure was his alone to give.

This, however, wasn't all. More than this, too, he could just bear no longer staring into her beautiful face, into the eyes which loved and begged for him. If he continued down that path, he could never let go tonight, would be tempted to simply hurt them both through constant attempts to build on her ecstasy, would feel too guilty indulging in his own--even if he knew without doubt that it was what she wanted as well. He would never quite get over his inherent belief, after all, that the one main advantage she gained from their love was his ability to please her sensually. He could never quite believe that there was anything else he could offer her.

Because of all this, then, he needed her like this, needed to force himself to simply get lost in her perfect, loving body--had to try to overcome his feelings of duty alone. He knew, after all, that this wasn't what she wanted, that she wanted him to feel the achingly tender, ever-rising heat of his shaft, that she needed his ecstasy almost as much as he did hers. For now, then, with the looming, tormenting possibility that they might be parted for a very long time this time around, he needed to take her like this, to remind himself of the sensual delights she always provided to him. There was no other way.

He hadn't even consciously noticed how much more intense his deep strokes within her had become. He was too lost to his love for her, to the pleasure she brought him alone. No matter what the appearances, he could never really let her go.

She was moaning more loudly, as his strokes became increasingly needy. God, he just felt so immense in her, made her feel *so* right. The heat in her veins, the shaking fragments of light deep within her, were starting to threaten to overwhelm her again. Her back was arching, trying to hold herself back to him, begging for more, as her walls held him tight--receiving him with joy. She didn't know how much more she could take before she melted.

He knew exactly how she felt, the ache within him growing too intense to ignore. He tried to content himself for awhile by tasting over the sweet skin on the back of her shoulders, only half-taking in the way the sweat-covered, muscled lines of her back felt, as his small, tight nipples rubbed against them. God, he couldn't take much more.

She was starting to sink ever lower toward the bed. His left hand ran down her arm till he twined his fingers around her own; the other hand traced lightly over her nipples. He encouraged her descent, too, lying on top of her, lost in how sweet she felt beneath him.

Her fingers were wrapped tightly around his own, her face half-buried against his arm, as she gasped out with the ever-increasing, sweet strength of each thrust. Each one made a moan shudder off deep inside her, made her want to beg for more--but her ability to create rational words was a thing of the past.

He could feel her continuing to tighten around him, taunting him--begging him. He let out a growling groan of need, his hand pinching her nipple ungently before beginning to trace further down her soft flesh. The heat in his shaft was incredible. . . . God, it had to be soon.

She was moaning more wildly now. His thrusts were incredible, were becoming beautifully feral. She could feel his slick body moving over her own, as well, his hand moving down toward the place that needed him most. The nearness of the searing light inside her wasn't delayed any, either, by the fact that he was nibbling along her shoulder, his tongue tasting her skin. She let out a guttural scream of need, her back arching--the light within her becoming unstoppable.

It was too good now, for both of them. Their moans and screams of need were joining together in a chorus of near-ecstasy, each of them riding the immense waves of the coming cataclysm, waiting for the final break.

It came finally for her, too, when his so-talented fingers found her small bud and began to manipulate it in about four ways at once--all of them ecstatically good: stroking, twisting, rubbing, squeezing. His nearly violent, unspeakably passionate thrusts were working the most tender, sensitized spot deep within her, too, as she screamed out for more. Her voice was reduced to merely broken little sobs.

His eyes closed tight, the heat too close to hold back any longer, to have any desire to. His arm was holding her close, as he rode her roughly; his light beard scraped softly over her face, his breath hot against her cheek. She let out a broken whimper, and all of his moves grew near-convulsive; she was shuddering all over, waiting for the final push, when his passion-hoarse voice in her ear proved to be it. "I love you," he whispered. He bit the lobe sweetly.

The scream she was giving was deep and uncontrollable, her whole body convulsing around his. The heat which ran through her veins had her simply imploding. It was just too much.

Michael closed his eyes tightly. Her sweet depths were caressing him in the indescribably erotic way he treasured so much from her, her whole body shuddering under him. She was beyond speech, but was letting out deep noises of fulfillment which were moving through his blood; her hand squeezed his tight.

It was all too much; he couldn't withstand another second. His body rode against her for another few, instinctive thrusts, as he held her incredibly close, his breath gasping in her ear. "Ahh-ahh-aaahh," there was one more deep thrust, "ahhhh--'Ki-taaaaa," he moaned.

It was too much for her, as well. She let out another deep scream, her orgasm cresting wildly once again with the feel of his hot joy filling her. It just overwhelmed every sense, making her cry out in love.

He was holding her close, as he rode out the waves of light and heat which burned from him, his soul tangling close with hers. Both it and her incredible depths caressed him, welcomed him, begged him to stay with her forever--to never let her go. He gave her his silent answer: "I won't leave you."

She felt his unspoken vow, as her body continued to tremble below his. Nothing else in her life ever felt so right.

Her soul opened up to him like a flower, accepting him once more into the deepest sense of love and fulfillment he had ever known. He let out a deep sigh of love.

They twined their souls together unbreakably in that moment, then, refusing to let go. They shared everything: the searing heat of their ecstasy, the sweet tenderness of their love, the adamantine bonds of their commitment. Neither of them was ever willing to let go again.

It was only what seemed like the sweetest eternity later when the quaking depths of their release began to settle down, to cool off slightly. He realized he was probably crushing her into the bed and rolled them both to their sides; after another minute, too, his hand found the top of the bedsheets, and he maneuvered them under them, still holding her close.

They lay there then, beginning to quiet finally. They both knew, of course, that they would have to face the truth of their situation soon, but--for just a little while longer--they silently agreed to let themselves drift in their love. If their peace were to be stolen soon, after all, the least they could do for now was to savor it. Nothing their masters did in the future, at least, could ever take this moment away.

Extra warning: This part is, once again, NC-17. Please don't read it, if you shouldn't. :)

Chapter 4

The time between them was almost perfect. They lay there for about an hour without words, bodies held close if not connected, sometimes sleeping lightly, sometimes completely aware. But, while their lovemaking had brought them a deeper sense of peace than either had known in quite sometime, they were still both too aware of what lay before them, of the separation that awaited. Neither of them, then, could be quite as content as they would have liked.

This slight disturbance wasn't all which upset their calm, either; there was a restlessness, too, which lay in the words still unspoken between them, in the fears they had yet to voice. After awhile, therefore, it became a little too oppressive to simply lay still.

Michael had been happy for awhile, however, just feeling her in his arms, feeling the quiet rise and fall of her breathing, as he held her back to him. There was a sweetness to her like this--her body tired and sated, her love unspoken but strong--that was intoxicating, that was almost impossible to let go of willingly. He had missed it for so long, truly--for so many months, maybe even a year or so. It had been back before the terrible pain of the Gelman process had taken hold of her mind and ensnared her soul--back even before that, before their cruel leaders had decided to part them at whatever cost. Only in those first few weeks of their deepened relationship, really, had they been able to share this. After that, it had been a series of random, stolen moments--but the sweet peace which lingered had been necessarily sacrificed. This, therefore, was special.

He sighed quietly, as he thought back still. The quiet tenderness of this moment was something he had missed even since he had brought her back from Gelmanization. In the last few months, indeed--although they had shared times like this more than once--there had always been a tension to these moments, a collection of fears and pain which had welled within her, waiting to manifest itself at the smallest chance. Their lovemaking may have beaten it back temporarily, but it always returned, no matter how much they prayed for release.

This, then, this sweet moment of peace, was special. Yes, the future weighed heavily on them now--more than it had for quite sometime, truly. Still, somehow, now that the worst was upon them--a separation for which there seemed to be no end or escape--Nikita's fears had, ironically, diminished a little. She had cast them away to savor this time, instead.

He brushed back the hair from her face and kissed along her cheek softly, devotedly, his eyes closed. He loved her so much; no words could express it adequately, in any language he knew. It was--always had been--a feeling of such strength that it destroyed and created him all in a breath. It made him want to weep with its depths, made him want to live in a way he hadn't dreamed possible before her. It meant--it was--everything.

He kissed her temple, trying to place his thoughts--his tender emotions--in her mind, as his quiet musings continued. His love for her remolded him; he wanted to resurrect all that was good in who he had once been and create someone even better in the future with her. He wanted to exist in her every dream and fantasy--*as* her every dream and fantasy--and then he wanted to exceed them completely, make her wonder why she had ever dreamed so small. He felt a tear forming, as he kissed near her closed eye and down her face, his heart shuddering with tenderness within him. He wanted to live in, with, and for her, wanted to do nothing but what would bring her joy. He could never put it all into words or even into actions; it was too much to express, but it defined him now and forever, nonetheless. He could never let her go.

The tear escaped him, running down near her sweet lips. He kissed it away and then held back any words she might have given in a soft kiss. It was a simple, light press of lips, but it was a prayer of devotion from his soul. He hoped to God she understood.

She did, of course, and it made her own eyes tear. She had been lying there, swimming gently in the love which washed over her from him, the love he was softly bathing her soul in. To know again now, though, with that small tear on her lips, that his love was mingled completely with his pain--that he too was both enfolded in the sweetest sense of devotion and peace and yet still bleeding with the terrible tearing apart of souls to come--was too much. She had never felt such a mingled sense of absolute, unquestioned love and brutally raw pain at the same time. . . . She didn't know how to survive.

She ran her hand into his hair and tried to pull him into a deeper kiss, attempting to explain all of her devotion to him there; he wouldn't allow it, however. He knew that if he let this happen right now, if her lips parted and his tongue stroked over the sweet softness she held, they would never work their way toward discussing what was to come. And, although he had no desire to rush toward this necessity, he knew it had to be done eventually.

He caught her hand, then, continuing the soft press of his lips to hers for a second, and pulled back a little to look at her. She was still lying on her side, her back to him, while he was now half-draped over her. His quiet eyes looked into hers--their depths speaking a language all their own--a language of a million tender and intense emotions.

She understood him, of course; it was their language alone--one no outsider could quite penetrate, no matter how much they might want to. She smiled and kissed him softly, and he pulled back to lie behind her again, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, as he went.

He began, then, to hold to their new bargain. They had made a silent agreement in that look, after all, one which tried to compromise somewhere between their desire to continue this soft sanctuary and the lingering need to discuss their coming torment. They had agreed to go slowly toward this talk, then. If they ran too fast toward it, indeed, they might both break from the pain.

He started to touch her, too, in some of the ways he so often wanted. His hand brushed back her hair again, allowing its softness to slip between his fingers, the strands like captured sunlight to him--blinding in their beauty. His fingertips then began to trace lightly over the back of her neck, softly caressing the delicate skin. She shuddered slightly and let out a little sigh. Bliss.

He was both aroused and enraptured by his every small rediscovery about her, as he continued his explorations. His fingers stroked over her shoulder lightly and then down the length of her arm, coming finally to her hand. Each small, light hair on her arm was precious to him--the sight of a freckle or a tiny scar making his heart pound with love. He could simply neither imagine or see anyone else.

He kissed her shoulder gently, as he continued. This woman was everything to him, meant everything--was his sweetly devastating lover; his demanding, intelligent partner; his soul's wife; his angel and savior. His heart was her captive--had been from the first second he had seen her, . . . maybe even from long before that; he didn't know anymore, had no ability to doubt such spiritual possibilities. Nothing which could ever be done to them would truly separate him from her, could ever make him stop loving her. There was just nothing in the world--or beyond it--which could ever mean as much.

She sighed deeply at the beauty of his soft touch, as his hand began to play with her own, his fingers caressing over and along each of hers. She leaned back against his chest, her eyes closed. She could never describe how achingly sweet it felt to have his knowledgeable, loving hands on her; it was more than merely sensual, more than just arousing. The tenderness of it, indeed, seemed to curl into her soul, mixing with it, like tendrils of sacred smoke. He gave her a sense of love and adoration she had never believed existed on earth before him, before they began to live as one. His every touch, indeed, was a promise that he would always love her, that they would never truly be parted. There could never be anyone else.

Her soul was floating lightly in the tender warmth he gave her. When he touched her, in fact, she could believe his promise to stay, could feel the truth of such a pledge. She sighed and rubbed her face against his closely-held cheek; he kissed her skin softly in return. . . . If only she could make herself understand it the rest of the time.

He felt her growing doubt and pressed his lips to her temple again, trying to instill his promises to her, trying to place them deep within her, once more; she sighed and relaxed a little again. Their fingers were entwined in gentle strength around each other's now, conveying all of their love. It all just felt so right.

He lay there for a few more minutes just softly kissing along her face, allowing their hands to join. The sweetness of her body beside his own was something he would miss terribly, when she went. It wasn't even the sheer sensual joy of having her as a lover which was so special; it was just having her in his arms, feeling her heartbeat against him, her soft breaths, as she slept which made him have to fight back the tears of love. She was just so special and perfect. Even if they had never been able to be lovers again, for some reason, he would never want to stop sharing her bed. The simple joy of having her in his arms touched his heart too deeply for him to ever want to willingly let it go.

The peaceful moment, however, couldn't last; the pain of the separation to come came back to his heart with these last thoughts, piercing it deeply. He sighed and kissed her cheek again, pulling back from her a little. They would have to discuss it soon, then, couldn't--as much as he might like it--just stay together here forever. He needed to continue on.

His hand went on with his soft exploration, therefore, letting go of hers to begin to run tenderly over the lovely lines of her back; his gaze was enraptured by the soft skin, as well. He was trying to memorize her, really--was attempting to stow away a sensual knowledge of her flesh beneath his fingers. He wanted--needed--to be able to close his eyes while she was gone from him and remember exactly what it was like to touch his beloved, to softly share her joy. He had to have that to survive.

He leaned in to kiss her neck gently, loving her, and she let out a soft sigh of pleasure, smiling. It felt so good to be touched by him like this. It was sort of a tactile adoration, every small stroke of his fingers a pledge of love to her soul. Her smile was warm and heart-felt. For once, of late, then, she let herself simply float in it.

They continued on like that for several minutes--Michael losing himself to his future memories of her, Nikita losing herself to his love. Neither one wanted to break the moment at all.

Finally, however, the time came; they knew they couldn't put it off any longer. Michael started, fingers still softly exploring her back. "When do you need to go?"

She let out an unhappy sigh and opened her eyes. "They didn't give me a definite time limit." He waited for more. "I suppose by the morning," she relented.

He nodded sadly and leaned over to kiss her temple once more, his hand ceasing its gentle caresses. She took it as a sign and rolled over on her other side to look at him. Dear Lord--he was just so lovely.

His gaze was strong and tender, too, as she sighed once more in love. He was attempting to hold back her pain by gifting her with this sense of strength. She loved him so much; her hand stroked softly over his shoulder, her voice quiet, as she tried to look into his mind. "What are you thinking, Michael?"

He swallowed heavily, as unobtrusively as possible, and looked down, no longer able to meet her gaze. His hand stroked over her back again, as he avoided her question; it made him hurt too much to even think of answering it. "Do you have a place to stay?"

She blinked at his words, knowing it wasn't his real answer, then sighed at his stubbornness--at his refusal to put his own pain on her, as well. It was a beautiful depth of love he held for her, but . . . "Yes."

He looked back up at her, his heart aching. He needed to know her feelings, knew she was focusing on him in order to avoid looking into herself. "What question are you avoiding, 'Kita?"

She smiled at the way he always cut to the heart of things. There were so many questions, though. Her smile faded with one of them. "What's the real purpose of this mission?" She took a deep breath, praying for his honesty. "You don't believe it's what they're saying, do you?"

He looked away. "No."

She breathed a little easier. In a way, it would have been nice to think that it was true, but they both understood that it wasn't. She thanked God he wasn't deluding himself like everyone else, then. That meant a lot to her. Still, she needed to know the rest of his thoughts--the ones he was trying to hide. "And?" she prompted.

He took a quiet breath and focused on her again, wishing there were other words he could say, answering the first of her questions finally. "I don't know."

She nodded, understanding; she hadn't really expected him to know everything. Her look grew worried, though. "Do you think they're trying to cancel me?"

She was taken off-guard by his response, her eyes growing wider when she saw the suddenly fierce look in his, as he answered her. "I won't let that happen."

"But," she started.

"No." It was a definitive statement. His eyes burned, backing it up.

Her gaze continued to show her fear, however; he sighed a little, understanding that he had to explain further in order to calm her. "I may not be with you, Nikita, but I won't let them harm you." His thumb stroked over her temple, his voice deep with determination. "You can count on that."

She let out a slightly relieved breath. He hadn't explained how he might know, of course, but she understood better than to ask. She could see the absolute truth of his words, after all--and that was enough for right now.

Still, her original question hadn't really been answered. "What do you think they're up to, then?" Her eyes grew wide with a new thought. "They won't try to hurt you?"

He smiled a little, his look full of love and reassurance, as his thumb continued to stroke his devotion into her brow. "I won't let that happen, either."

She breathed more easily again. "Then . . .?"

He looked down and away once more before focusing back on her, the answer hard for him. "I don't know."

She nodded and looked down. She wished he could tell her, of course, but he wasn't completely omniscient--no matter what she may have thought in her first few Section years.

He saw that she was calmer now, which relieved him. Still, there was something else he needed to bring up. He stroked gently along her cheek, tilting her head back up toward him, recapturing her eyes; his own were serious. "I need you to promise me something, 'Kita. I need you to promise that you'll try to enjoy your time outside--that you'll use it for yourself."

Her gaze was confused, saddened; her lips hung open for a few seconds in shock, before she answered. "But," her hand came up to hold his cheek; her look was more than a little tormented. "I don't want it without you." She shook her head. "You know that."

He sighed and closed his eyes for a heartbeat or two, the pain sharp in him. He took her hand off his cheek and kissed it softly before holding it in his own; his eyes met hers again. "You should."

He knew he had shocked her a little, had hurt her, but he went on, before she could interrupt; he was staring down at their linked hands, as he explained. "The last few months have been hard on you, 'Kita," he shook his head, "harder than I ever thought they could be." He took a deep breath, forcing himself to look into her gaze again. "You need some time on your own--no missions, no profiles, no mind games. You need to heal again--to find yourself, your center." He sighed once more, looking back to their linked hands, his face sad. "I can't give you that."

Her heart cried out for him softly, as she pulled her hand gently from his grasp, tilting his head up to focus on her; her look was tortured but determined. "But I have that now. I've been gaining it for weeks." Her eyes probed deep. "You know that."

He nodded a little, but his gaze was still slightly despondent; he looked away again. "It's not enough, though." He focused on her once more, his hand running from her cheek down her neck, stopping at her chest, above her heart. "The pain's still there; I still feel it." He sighed, his touch moving up again, his eyes following it as it stroked through her hair; his voice was hoarse from the torment of his words. "You've found a way to live with it, to integrate it." He shook his head, focusing on her again. "But you haven't escaped it." His thumb stroked her temple. "You need to do that."

She swallowed heavily. The words hurt--mostly because she knew they were true. It was a path she understood too well, furthermore, that he had once gone down as well. Try as she might to get away from his words, then, he knew what he was speaking of.

Her eyes were a little teary, as she answered, though, her frustration growing. "And you think this is the way--being sent away from you, from everyone I know? Having to live some other half-life which won't be any more real than this one--will be less real, in fact?" She shook her head, seeing his resistance; she got down once more to the heart of her problem, needing him to understand, her voice small. "How can I escape my pain when you aren't with me?"

He closed his eyes tightly for a minute, a tear in the corner of one, as he pulled her close to him. He lay back, taking her with him, simply holding her near. As much as he wanted to, he really didn't know how to answer her.

He tried to think it through, as he held her. He wanted, of course, to just pretend that she could be happier without him; he had certainly believed that for awhile. Now, though, he did know the truth, if he let himself; they completed each other--neither of them quite whole alone. No matter how little he may have been able to help her of late, he knew she wouldn't really be happy without him, then. God knew, he wouldn't be even remotely sane without her.

He answered her finally, therefore--or tried to. "I don't know." He took in a deep breath, trying to make himself go on. "But I know you have to try."

He could feel her continuing dissent, as she looked up at him; he stroked over her cheek softly, trying to explain. "You need the distance, 'Kita--need a place to live which won't include anything of this life for awhile, so you can focus on finding what you feel you've lost." He shook his head, swallowing back the tears heavily. "I can't give you that anymore."

She closed her eyes, a tear running down her cheek. He could feel her pain, but he went on, hoping she would listen. "You wanted this life you're going to get once--wanted freedom. Find that woman again," she looked back at him, "find the part of you which used to enjoy solitude."

She looked deep into him, as he continued trying to convince her, and he smiled, trying to be encouraging. "Do all the things you always wanted to--live simply, enjoy the sunset, enjoy the fact that the sun will rise without life and death choices being made, without the smell of gunpowder on your skin." She swallowed heavily and looked away; his thumb stroked over her cheek softly. "Just live for yourself for awhile."

Another few tears had joined the first. "And without you?" She looked up. "Are you suggesting I find someone else?"

He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to hold in his torment at the thought. "If you want to, yes." He shook his head at her tortured look, his voice very soft. "I want you to be happy, to live--whether I'm with you or not."

Those last words, however, were too much; her fears, her anger, her pain finally boiled over. Her hand slapped over his shoulder--part of her wanting to hurt him much more, part of her not wanting to hurt him at all. "Damn it!" She swallowed back her tears heavily. "You think I'm just going to be happy out there without you! You think you can just tell me to go and everything will be alright?"

He took hold of her shoulders with gentle strength, his eyes probing into hers. He was trying to cover it, but all of his agony was there for her see. "We don't have a choice."

Her eyes closed tightly, her tears flowing freely, as she lowered her head onto his chest, wilting. His attempts at advice had almost made her forget that this wasn't his decision. . . . Damn.

She felt his arms holding her close, and she let out a shaky breath. "I don't want to live without you."

He closed his eyes and held her tighter, kissing her hair; his voice was very hoarse. "I know." He kissed her again. "But I need you to promise me that you will." She looked back up at him, surprised and upset; he explained. "It's the only way I can go on, as well."

Ohh, it was all too much. She could feel her love and her need for him overflowing her, making her desire to connect with him--even if it were the last time--almost unbearably intense. She leaned in to kiss him demandingly.

He moaned in the kiss, swamped by the sweet sensation of need and love which flowed from her. Still, he hadn't yet gotten his answer. He pulled her back, holding her eyes strongly, his look demanding.

She sighed and closed her eyes briefly before focusing on him once more. "I promise, Michael."

He closed his eyes, as well, taking her promise into his soul. They were words which tormented him, ones which hurt, but they comforted him, too. He had to know, after all, that she would try to live, would try to enjoy her time on the outside, however long it might go on. It might be a constant torture for him to live in separation from her, then, but--if she did this--he could at least feel it was all worth it. Without it, though . . .

He looked back at her, then. With this question out of the way, he could focus on something more important to him, right now--on saying goodbye. He might refuse to believe that this would really be the end for them--that they would never be together again--but the chances of the two of them living apart for quite awhile were high. Until they were together once more, then, he wanted her to remember him, to feel his love for her deep in her soul--without any doubts. If he knew she did, he could go on.

The look in his eyes caught her, pulled her in completely. It was the sort of strong, seductive look which had so often taken her breath away with him. When he looked at her like this, she felt like he was gazing deep within her--gauging her emotions, sifting through every desire and fantasy she had ever had. What amazed her the most, however, was that he always seemed to find just what she needed there, even when she herself hadn't known what it was. . . . How he always managed it she would never know.

His hands were stroking over her face gently, as her mind turned. One thing she did know, however, was that--no matter what she may have promised him--she would never find another man like him; she would never find anyone else who understood and loved her so deeply. That, truly, could never happen again.

He saw the saddening in her eyes, and his own grew a little fierce in response. "No," he growled. He pulled her toward him, nipping over her lips lightly. "Nothing outside of tonight exists." He gave her a brief, but deep and thorough kiss; she could feel the fire of it running through her blood, as he pulled back to focus on her again. "Understand?"

Her sadness melted away, burned off by the heat which rose from him. Yes. She understood--understood that he was right, that they both needed this time without fears, needed to love one another completely. She nodded.

His subtle smile grew deeper, more possessive at her agreement. Of course, what they had already shared tonight could have been a beautiful goodbye as it was. Still, given this chance for one more, he wouldn't turn away.

Neither, it seemed, would she. She was looking down at his chest, a small smile on her lips. She had started just by diverting her eyes for a second but had been caught by the view. She decided, then, to take advantage of it.

His breathing snagged slightly at the look in her eyes; they were bright and knowing, her smile devouring. She looked back up at him briefly, and he let out a moan. Wherever this was going, he was more than willing to follow.

A small, moaning laugh echoed in her throat, as she focused on his chest once more, and she began to take advantage of her view. Her fingers traced lightly over his broad shoulders, as her smile grew wider. She had stared at them for almost as long as she had known him; it was one of the many views she had always enjoyed.

She moved her rediscovery along, loving every second of this. Her hands traced lightly down his sculpted arms. She loved the way they felt when they held her, the strength of him. He had such power--could have hurt her badly, had he wanted to. The fact, though, that he had no intention of it, that he adored using his strength to please her, instead, made her moan. Oh, she loved it.

She had barely started touching him, and he already didn't know how much he could stand. Just the look in her eyes was enough to take his breath away--the command, the desire, the sheer need in them was immense. God, he wanted to make this beautiful woman moan in ecstasy so intense it threatened to shake her apart. It was what he was born for.

He let her quiet explorations continue, however, trying to forget how long it might be before he was allowed to enjoy them again. He let out a hiss of need, too, when she leaned over to nip at his bicep, his muscles twitching. God, she was arousing. He was going to make her pay, before the night was out, for how unbearably needy she made him--and he was going to be sure that she enjoyed the hell out of every last second of it.

She was well aware of how lost he was in her. She loved it. It would practically have been enough just to know that this beautiful man wanted her touch. To know, though, that her touch brought him pleasure in return . . . well, that was just too arousing for words.

She let out a moan, then, as her fingers traced lightly over his collarbones and then down his chest--exploring every inch. There was a light line of hair which lay in the middle, which always seemed--to her mind--to ask to be explored; it was matched, too, by the even lighter hairs near his small nipples. Her fingers ran down over the middle patch and then out to circle around the tiny buds; she could tell his breathing was getting faster. She smiled. Good.

She knew she was tormenting him, of course, but she was adoring every second of it. She ran her nail lightly over one of his small, hardened nipples, then, to his hissing breath in response. A laugh rumbled deep in her throat, and she looked up to meet his burning eyes. Her smile grew wider at the look, and she leaned down to lick over the delicate point; she loved the feel of it on her tongue.

He let out a moan, his shaft jumping below her, as she was kneeling above his body. He had been hard for quite awhile now--since long before she had started this--but her knowing explorations made him weak for her, made the fire in him burn incredibly bright. God help them both--when he broke, there would be hell to pay.

He let her go on in her subtle torments for now, however--as she took her pleasure in baiting the lion. She licked over the small bud again and heard him growl softly, his eyes closing. She took him in her mouth and suckled him, and delighted in the fact that his hands tangled in her hair a second later, holding her to him. Yes.

She could feel the results of her torments, too, in the wild beating of his shaft; she rubbed herself over him, to his deeper growl. She loved how much he reacted to her, loved all the ways she could give him pleasure. She had known other men who enjoyed being explored, of course, but none who seemed to burn with it as he did. She would never stop wanting to be the cause of that fire.

She suckled him more tightly, and his eyes opened--the flame in them licking at her. It made her want him more than she had words to express that her touch aroused him so. She wanted to be--and knew she was--the only woman who could make him so wild and needy. And, Lord, she did adore the results in the end, too.

She ran her teeth back from him, then, to his lingering growl. Mmm. Her eyes roamed his face. He was *so* beautiful like this.

She leaned up to catch him in a deep, lingering kiss, loving the bright passion she awoke in him. He caught her and held her to it, his breath hot against her face, as he took control. She allowed it for a few seconds, as well, reveling in his growing fire.

She did pull back finally, however, her gaze silently demanding that he let her continue her rediscoveries. She smiled, too, at the look of deepening arousal in his eyes. Ohh, only he could make her so hungry.

She nipped a small kiss over his lips, therefore, before she began to move back down him. Her tongue ran out to taste along his jaw, enjoying the stubble prickling along it. She had always loved how it felt against her--the slight sting of it always sharpening her senses, making her need for him grow. He moaned, and she gave him a small bite at an ultra-delicate spot--and smiled at his groan of pleasure in return. She had never complained that he didn't shave enough.

She continued to move back down him, her tongue licking at the throat he had exposed to her. She moaned in pleasure. She loved how vulnerable he made himself to her, how open he was. No other woman could ever truly approach him like this, after all. He allowed her alone to know his passion and his love, to understand all that he needed. She nipped more strongly at the delicate flesh between his shoulder and neck and felt him shudder strongly in response. God, she loved him.

He was moaning, as she moved her tongue's softly-devouring lines further down him; his hands were in her hair. God, he loved how she did this--the way she felt as she carried out all her tender explorations of him. Only she knew him so well, understood every way he needed to be touched and loved. The beauty of her caress, though, made him practically insane. How, truly, could an angel as perfect as her ever find joy in a creature as flawed and unholy as him? He didn't know--never would--but he wasn't sure how much more of her sweet devotion he could take.

She could feel the need for control rising in him, but she had no intention of letting him act on it just yet; her mouth suckled briefly at his other nipple, as he groaned loudly. She was enjoying her sweet rediscoveries too much to let him go now.

Still, she understood that he wouldn't hold out much longer; he would demand control again soon. She had no real objections to this, either. He was so amazing when he turned the tables, made her whole body ache with need and then fulfillment so strongly that she wasn't exactly going to fight him for control forever. She loved his feral nature, when it came out.

She did want a few more minutes in control right now, however. She ran her tongue lightly down his stomach and abdomen, teasing near his oh-so-aroused shaft; it jerked with the sweet torment, and she smiled. She wasn't going to let him take command until she had tasted him again, had held him in her mouth. The tip of her tongue ran up the throbbing vein on the back of his shaft, and he let out a loud, lengthy groan. Mmm, yes. This was not something to be missed.

She sat up a little, catching his insanely hot gaze, as her hand began to stroke along the length of him. She had been a little amazed--she remembered--the very first time she had really seen him naked and aroused; she had practically been intimidated. He was a man of very formidable proportions, after all.

Her hand enclosed him tightly, feeling the heavy beat of him in her grasp, and began to stroke him more intensely; she smiled, as he closed his eyes on a gasp, his hips instinctively moving toward her touch. Still, those days of anxiety were *long* past her. All there was anymore was desire.

Her smile lingered, as she leaned down to suckle the large head of him softly; he let out a loud groan. Her other hand had enclosed his sac, was enjoying the feeling of massaging the tight balls together in her grasp. God, she loved this.

She watched the unconquerable joy on his face, as his hands ran loosely through her hair--his touch loving and gentle. Perhaps it was this, too, which so intoxicated her--the fact that he never would have dreamed of hurting her here, would never have demanded anything which he hadn't been entirely certain that she wanted to give. It had taken her awhile, even, to really start to convince him that she found her present position erotic; regardless of the pleasure she knew she gave him, he had almost fought against it, early on--and even that made her love him more.

Of course, she knew that he didn't want completion here right now; she smiled, then, as she ran her mouth up, letting him go, and placed a kiss on his tip. When she ran her tongue softly across the head, as well, he opened his eyes to focus on her; the depths of love and desire there made her ache for him. Yes, in so many ways, he had ruined her for other men. In every sense there was, he was the whole of her desire.

His whole body had taken on a fine tremor; he couldn't let her go on, or he might go mad. He took her hands from him, then, and pulled her toward him, his body shuddering. God, he did love the way she tasted him--the small moans she gave, as her mouth wrapped around his shaft. He would never deserve it, of course--that went without saying--but he didn't deserve any of her love, anyway. The passion in her eyes in those moments, though, was about the most arousing sight he had ever had.

He pulled her back up toward him, toward his kiss, and took her mouth deeply, devotedly. She moaned, and he shuddered again, rolling them both over, until he held her body captive below his; she moaned happily once more and held him in the kiss.

He was lost there for at least a minute, his emotions warring. Part of him still wanted her fiercely--every cell on fire for her touch, for her pleasure; he wanted to sink himself deep inside her, take her to heights she had never come near before, and never let her down again.

There was another part of him, however, which was just moaning loudly--was pleading with her not to go, not to leave him. He knew she had to, of course--knew it certainly wasn't her decision--but he couldn't help the deep feeling of abandonment which had been lit within him--the fear that he hadn't been good enough for her, hadn't given her enough joy to merit her continued attention. This part of him, then, was mourning, was begging his beloved one to give him another chance. . . . He really didn't know how he would survive the separation.

The kiss became deeper, a little wilder--his tongue searching, commanding, refusing her any quarter in his despair. What made all of his pain worse, as well, was the fact that he knew she shared his unutterable sadness, knew that she had no desire to go. Somehow, this made it even more terrible, more unbearable, than if she had made the decision herself. If it were just her he needed to convince, after all, it might be possible, but with their masters . . . no. There was no hope of mercy there.

His warring emotions banded together, therefore, made him stronger and more desperate in his desire. He knew this might be the last time for quite a while--although he refused to believe that it could be the last time forever. No, he still had a strong mental vision of the two of them in the future--both older, a few more wrinkles, more gray, but still entwined together in unbreakable, unsurpassable passion. He had no intention, either, of allowing that not to come true.

He needed, then, to give her a goodbye she would not soon forget, one which would give them both something to live on, until they were finally able to join once more. It was what they both had to have.

His emotions were reflected in her, shuddered through her, as their kiss grew wilder. They were letting out small moans, as they held each other in it, trying to explore every tiny, hot patch of the other's mouth, trying to take the sounds deep within their souls, to ensure that the memory stayed with them on long, lonely nights. . . . Neither of them wanted to let--or be let--go.

Soon, though, the kiss wasn't enough. Michael's hands, too, began exploring her, running down her soft, lovely form--the one which had tormented his dreams for so long, which still did. He pulled back to suckle her bottom lip, as she whimpered, and his hands found once more the soft, willing breasts, the tips hardened and aching to be touched. God he had to have more.

She let out a louder moan and captured him once more in a deeper, wilder kiss. Her hands, too, traced down his arms, enjoying the play of his muscles there, until she came to his hands; she held his to her breasts, begged him silently to touch her. She wanted the sweet memory of his hands every bit as much as he needed the memory of her flesh beneath them.

Their kiss went on, then, as he demanded control in it once more. His tongue warred with hers, invading her soft, willing mouth in just the way he wanted to explore another area of softness on her. He shuddered slightly again, too, his eyes closed, as she moaned out for more. . . . How much more of her could he take before he broke?

Her moans continued, as she enjoyed the wonderful feeling of his body lying over her own. His sweet, hard cock tempted her--beat wildly against her--as a constant reminder of his need for her alone. She whimpered. Yes.

Oh, he needed more. His thumbs were caressing along her incredibly-sensitized nipples now, were teasing them with the lovely, light touch which made her skin tingle for more. She whimpered again, and he let out a deep, aching groan. He was just *so* hungry for her.

He pulled back from the kiss, and she followed him, nipping over his lips. His shuddering breath warmed her skin, as his loving, needy, saddened gaze burned into her. He pinched her sweet buds, as well, and she moaned out hungrily. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed. Now. He had to taste her now.

He leaned his head down to trace his lips over her cheek and down to her jaw; she shuddered again and ran her hands up into his hair, holding him close. His stubble rasped at her, as his mouth traced down her neck, finding all its tender spots; she knew he was doing it on purpose--and she moaned out, wanting more.

He was trying to keep from crying, the tears building up in his eyes. His beautiful, beautiful Nikita wanted him, was begging for him. It was just too much to take.

He ran the prickling beard on his chin lightly down her throat, before he followed it with his tongue, and her moan grew louder. He wasn't sure how to survive the future anymore. He needed her; every breath he took depended on her, and she wouldn't be there to love him anymore--to make him real. He nibbled lightly at a tender spot on her neck, as she cried out for him. Oh God, he needed her.

He wasn't alone in his torment, however; all of his desperation was felt, and shared, completely by her. She trembled, too, as he ran his stubble and his tongue lightly down her chest--the sensations making her skin feel hot with need. God, she just never got enough of him.

He was nowhere near ready to let her go, either. He carried his treatment over to a deeply-sensitized nipple, as well, before suckling her hotly. He just wanted her so much.

His erotic power was too much for her; her tears spilled over. Oh, she needed him--so much--so desperately. How could he let her go, even for a day--no matter what their orders? How could he force her to live without his touch?

He knew she was crying softly, could feel it in his heart; his own tears spilled over, trailing around her sweet breast, as he suckled at her wildly. There was nothing to him anymore but this.

She groaned and held him to her more intensely, swallowing heavily, before letting out a small moan--of both need and torment. His mouth was making her burn inside, made the tug deep within her pull incredibly tight, made her ravenous for him. At the same time, though, it also reminded her of what she wouldn't have in the future, of what she was losing. "Michael," she moaned.

He let out a deep groan of pain and pulled back from the tender bud, grazing it with his teeth, needing even more of her. He placed another soft kiss there, to her shudder, and then moved to its twin.

His heart seemed to beat through his entire body, as he looked up at her for a second, poised over the small bud; their eyes met in the same love and torment, before he closed his eyes tightly again, his head lowering once more to her breast. Everything in the world he understood was her.

He was just over her heart now, as he suckled her sweetly; they both moaned. The feeling here was more than purely sensual. All of their love for each other mingled, stroking through, comforting the other. God . . . yes.

He stayed here for another few, long heartbeats, until his need for her pulled him away once more. He loved her so much--needed her so deeply. He had to taste her everywhere, had to remember her like this--moaning from the pleasure he gave. He had to remember without doubt that she was his, or he would just go insane.

She moaned loudly, shuddering a little, as his tongue ran further down her. He stopped for a few long, lovely seconds to suckle at her belly button, sending a shock of warm desire down to her deepest core. She moaned loudly again and led him further down herself--needing so much more.

He let out a shaky little groan, as he complied. He was moving ever-closer to the part of her which needed him the most now, the part he so adored pleasing. He ran small kisses down her body, over the small curls which hid the treasure he adored. As he drew closer, too, his hands smoothed down her back and sides to rest on her hips, as he lay between her spread legs. "'Ki-ta," he sighed hotly over her tender flesh before he kissed the small bud reverently. He opened his eyes. She was just so beautiful.

She was watching him lovingly, her hands running softly over his hair. He looked up at her--their eyes meeting in adoration for a few heartbeats--before he lowered his head to her treasures again. Yes.

He sighed in pleasure, as he enclosed her beautiful little bud in his warm, worshiping mouth. The tip of his tongue ran up and down over her, as she trembled strongly. He moaned. God, he loved tasting her--loved pleasing her here. There was a joy in feeling her, as he flicked his tongue over her, was a joy in the way her breathing began to escalate wildly--wanting more. He loved every way there was to please her, didn't want to ignore a single one. Nothing else--ever--was as beautiful as her ecstasy.

She moaned warmly, too, as he began to tease her in earnest; she held him to her more tightly. She was always amazed by his abilities and desires here; he never saw any bit of pleasure he could give her as a chore or an unfortunate predecessor to his own needs. No. She moaned more loudly. The way he lapped over her, or used the tip of his tongue to tease--moving in tiny circles, side to side or up and down--made her want to scream, something within her tightening, the need becoming stronger, more intense. He enclosed her in his mouth again, drawing on her strongly, and she began to give panting groans. No, she knew that he was as addicted as she was, at the moment. Oh God, she loved him so much.

He felt how close she was, knew she couldn't hold on much longer. His tongue moved faster, then, switching off his shocking little licks and sucks constantly, as her body followed his lips. He closed his eyes tightly, breathing a prayer of need for this blessing she was about to bestow upon him. Then, just as she neared the peak, he ran the stubble of his jaw just over her, as two of his fingers probed slowly inside her walls.

She bucked against him, screaming, moaning out her pleasure, and he gave the smile of a man who had just been given the most treasured gift. He enclosed the small bud again, treasuring her, suckling her, as she came. His fingers, too, stroked along a trembling wall, making everything within her scream.

Her body was bucking against him, her whimpered moans constant. The shocking joy within her now was bright, overwhelming; it roared through her blood, made her feel weak. Oh . . . yes.

He continued here for another few heartbeats, until he could no longer stand the immense temptation of her. When the desire to truly taste her grew too great, then, he gave her small bud one last, loving lick and stroked his fingers slowly back out of her, down a wet, perfect wall. He closed his eyes tightly, as he took in her scent, as well, and rubbed his stubbled cheek softly over her incredibly smooth inner thigh, before giving it a small kiss. Then, looking up to watch her pleasure--savoring it--he finally allowed himself the sweet, sensual indulgence of tasting her.

Her eyes opened wide to watch him, her back arching to beg for more. "Michael," she moaned, as he licked his way slowly inside her; his eyes were so loving and heated, as they focused completely on her own. She had to close off the sweet look from her gaze finally just to survive the pleasure.

Yes. He loved this. He followed her lead, closing his eyes once he was inside her, tasting her sweet depths on his tongue. He then pulled her toward him, loving her in earnest, running his tongue down deep within her to taste every sweet wall. There was just no other woman on earth.

Oh . . . God. The moans which moved out of her were loud, long, and rumbling. He felt so incredible inside her, always seemed to find just the spot which needed him and devoted himself to it with the most amazing, passionate care--made her depths tremble uncontrollably. He never left her wanting at all.

She moaned loudly again, her hands deep in his hair--begging for more. The shocks of his love were too intense. She could never get over it.

His eyes were closed tightly, as he lost himself to her beautiful depths. Everything about her here intoxicated him. From the first time he had been allowed to touch her here, he had felt blessed--holy. From the first orgasm she had ever experienced from his touch, something sweet and unspeakably beautiful had been born inside him, something he was determined never to let die. She granted him a gift with her desire which he could never equal with the pleasure he gave. Nothing he could do could ever show his full love.

He continued to revel in her taste, therefore, completely lost to her perfection. The hunger he carried in him for her--for the incredible taste of her--could never be fought down. He wanted to lap all of the sweet ambrosia from her shuddering depths now, wanted to store the taste of her for the terrible days to come. He needed to remember, when she was gone from him, after all, that this wasn't just a fantasy, wasn't a delusion. An angel *had* once welcomed his touch. . . . Nothing else could ever be so right again.

He went on tasting her here--deeply, devotedly, wantonly. She was trembling, desperate. Each stroke of his tongue--each new exploration--sent off a new little shock, built on her earlier pleasure even more completely. She held him to her more tightly, and his need seemed to treble, his tongue becoming wilder, exploring her more insatiably. She groaned loudly, the fire in her blood, the singing in her depths roaring more intensely. Oh . . . God . . . yes.

He knew she was incredibly close, felt it rolling through him, as well. He needed her release again now, had to know that he could please her once more. It was all he wanted out of life.

His tongue seemed to reach to impossible depths, stroking over a desperately-needy inner spot. She gave a whimpering scream, and he attacked the pleasure point more wildly, holding her tightly to him, his tongue beating in her furiously.

After about two more small strikes of his tongue to this desperate point, Nikita jerked against him, her moan wild and deep. "Mh-iiiii-kellll," she groaned, before whimpering wildly. The fire in her was roaring.

Yes. This was what he needed. A tear ran down his cheek and onto her beloved skin, as he lapped the sweetness from her. He could never have explained to her--to anyone--how much this meant, how cherished her release was for him. There just weren't human concepts for it at all.

He stayed here for several minutes then, before he pulled back finally. She was just so good. He placed one more soft kiss on her delicate bud and then began to move up her body once more, trailing light kisses all the way. He had to have her now.

She was still moaning deeply, shuddering, when he returned to face her. She opened her eyes to take him in and saw the incredible love and sadness still mingled in his gaze. "Oh, Michael," she whispered.

He swallowed heavily. He needed her so much. His eyes trailed over her beloved features, memorizing each one once more.

Her hand stroked lightly over his face, though, and he closed his eyes. He was caught between two conflicting sensations. Physically, after all, his need for her was intense, almost painful. He had been aroused for so long now that to hold on at all was an effort of will. He did want to love her soon, then--to please her deeply, so that they could share all the sweet joy of their release.

There was another part of him now, however--one which argued against this, which held him back. He knew, after all, that--especially given his incredibly aroused state--the sooner he gave into his desire and need and entered his beloved, the sooner their one last union, for however long, would be over--and he just didn't know if he could bear that.

She swallowed heavily, seeing the conflict on his face--and understanding it in her heart. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes, and leaned up to kiss gently over his own, tasting the tears which ran softly from them. She kissed down to his mouth, as well, and shared the taste with him, to his overwhelming moan. She did just love him so much.

Her sweet gestures broke him finally, ripped away any last shreds of restraint. He just needed her too much to deny.

He held her head to him, then, drawing her deep into the kiss, exploring her. God, she was perfect, was so amazingly beautiful. He lay down further upon her, feeling her sweet, giving body below his own, and a large moan moved out from him. Oh, he had to have her *now*.

She felt the shift in him, the overwhelming need resurfacing, and she held him further in the kiss, yielding to him entirely. With her other hand, too, she stroked softly down his back, then around between them; her hand took hold of his strong, throbbing shaft, and he broke from the kiss to gasp in need--his eyes closed for a second. When he looked back at her, his gaze was burning.