Nikita glanced at her bedside clock … ten more minutes.

She looked at herself in the full-length mirror on her bedroom wall, and examined her reflection.

Her blonde hair fell softly to her shoulders. The black knit cocktail dress she wore had a low square neckline that revealed the curves of her breasts, hugged her hips to mid thigh where it ended, and revealed a long expanse of shapely bare leg. The unadorned dress showcased her delicate skin and feminine body. Her bare feet were encased in high-heeled black evening sandals that revealed delicately polished toenails.

Satisfied with her reflection from the front, she turned around to look at the back.

“Uh oh,” she whispered. The outline of her panties was unmistakable against the clinging material of the dress. “I’ll try another pair,” she thought, glancing at the clock again. It was almost time.

She squirmed up the hem of her dress to her hips and removed the offending panties. With three quick steps she moved to her dresser and pulled out another pair. She quickly put them on, smoothed her dress over them, and again turned to the back. “Damn,” she muttered. These, too, had the offending panty line.

She heard a soft knock on her apartment door. He was here.

“Just a second,” she called. I’ll just have to go without underwear, she thought, and pulled off the unflattering panties. Hope no one can tell. Hopping on one foot as she adjusted an ankle strap, she moved down the steps toward the door, giving the slinky dress a final pull down over her hips. Out of habit, she activated the monitor to see who was at the door.

It was him.

She smiled slightly in pleasant anticipation, and combed her hair with her fingers before she opened the door. “Hi,” she said simply.

“Hi,” he answered.

Nikita paused a second to survey and appreciate the extraordinarily appealing man who was to be her escort for the evening ... Michael. Elegant, and green-eyed, with the hard-muscled body that all women found phenomenally attractive; he was dressed in black, his expensive clothes expertly tailored to accentuate the strong lines of his chest, shoulders, and legs.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Almost … come in,” she invited. She turned to grab the black satin evening coat that was lying on her blue loveseat. She turned back toward Michael and noticed that he was eyeing her dress with apparent appreciation.

“Do you like my dress?’ she asked with a note of teasing in her voice.

“I like it very much,” he answered in a voice that was redolent with the promise of pleasures to come.

She felt a rush of agreeable warmth in her face and abdomen in response, and said with a smile, “Okay, I’m ready. Where are we going for dinner?”

“I’ll surprise you.”

“Okay,” she agreed with another slight smile.

He took her coat from her hands and held it open for her. Pleased with his gallant gesture, she turned around and put her arms into the wide sleeves. Slowly, he slid the coat up her arms and stepped forward to adjust it around her shoulders.

After the several seconds it took to accomplish this, he dropped his hands, but continued to stand silently behind her. Nikita started to turn around, but he stopped her with his hands on her upper arms, and moved closer so that she could feel him in contact with the fabric of her coat.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled slightly in anticipation. He circled his arms around her and wordlessly buried his face into her soft hair. His arms around her waist were warm and delightful. She closed her eyes with a sigh, and placed her hands and arms over his, and snuggled back against him. Being held in his arms like this, and feeling his warm breath stir and heat her hair, was very satisfying.

After a few seconds of silent embrace, Michael reached up and pulled free the long silky hair that was trapped inside her coat, pushing it forward over her right shoulder. Goose bumps rose on her arms and legs as she felt his warm breath against her now-bare neck. She shivered slightly as she felt his soft, full lips brush against her very sensitive skin there.

“Mmmmmm,” she sighed.

Encouraged by her response, he began to softly kiss and lick the downy area where skin and silky blonde hair met.

“Michael,” she murmured in appreciation. He pulled her closer. She arched her head back against him and breathed deeply with enjoyment at his touch. He continued his attentions, gently biting her soft neck and caressing each spot afterwards with a moist kiss. She tightened her hands against his encircling arms and let out a delicate moan, “Ohhhhh.”

Michael’s hands began sliding down, rubbing his palms against her thighs, and pulling her lower body even closer to him. She pressed her body back against him in response, and he tightened his arms around her, holding her even more closely.

Her mind clouded by his touch, she struggled to think clearly.

“Michael, wait,” she murmured in protest.

“Mmmmmm, what is it?” he whispered after a pause, intent on kissing the soft skin at the juncture between her neck and shoulder, delightfully bare and available just inside the collar of her coat.

“Wait,” she repeated, torn between the present pleasure, and the pleasure she had been anticipating all day. She turned around in his arms to face him, and paused, delighted with the aroused look in his green eyes as he gazed at her. He pulled her forward and started to kiss her lips. “Mmmmmm,” she sighed, “Michael … mmmmmm …. Michael … stop … please … I can’t think when you do that.” He reluctantly pulled back and looked at her expectantly. “Later … okay?” she entreated, punctuating her words with kisses against his mouth. “We’re never … going to make it to dinner if you keep doing that.”

“Alright … later,” he agreed with a meaningful look that spoke of avowal. “Let’s go.”

Pleased with his response, she smiled as she gently rubbed his smoothly shaven cheek with her palm, and gave him one more, quick kiss.

Michael followed behind Nikita as she grabbed her keys and black evening bag from the glass kitchen counter, and moved out the door. After she locked the door, and dropped her keys into her bag, they took the elevator down to the ground floor and walked out to where Michael had parked his black Porsche.

All during their progress to his car, Michael managed to keep his hands on her – either lightly keeping his hands in contact with the small of her back, her arm, or hand, while protectively guiding her toward his car.

He opened the passenger door for her and attentively helped her settle into the passenger’s seat, making sure her coat was fully inside the door before closing it with a soft click, and moving to the driver’s side of the car. He gracefully eased into the driver’s seat, and turned on the engine, before placing a CD of soft music into the CD player. The car was still warm from Michael’s drive over to her apartment, and Nikita relaxed against the leather seat, contented and soothed by the comfort of Michael’s car, and the pleasure of having him all to herself for the entire evening. She intended to enjoy this evening to the fullest.

Instead of placing the car into gear, and setting off, he reached over and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, and then placed his hand in hers as it rested in her lap, and gently stroked her hand. She turned her head and smiled at him in pleasure. He glanced briefly at her face, and then lowered his gaze as he began to softly ease his fingers between hers. His hand was warm, strong, and surprisingly soft against hers. He slowly separated each of her fingers between his own and stroked between and around each finger, giving each a gentle massage, his face intent upon his actions. After gently and slowly attending to each soft finger, he then slid his hand down around to her palm, his fingertips gently circling and slightly scratching the soft skin there. He spent several minutes on this task, their quiet breaths and the gentle music the only sounds in the car. It was relaxing, and very slowly arousing. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly.

She felt the air move and grow warm as Michael moved forward and raised her hand, turning it palm upward. First his breath, and then his lips, tickled her palm, as he lowered his head to move his lips against the extremely sensitive skin there, interspersing his kisses with the occasional barest touch of his tongue against her. Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, his mouth traveled across the delicate skin of her palm to the warm and vulnerable skin of her inner wrist. Her pulse leaped in response. She opened her eyes, the heat of his head palpable against her face. His head was just inches from her own, and she started to swim in the scent of his hair and his faint cologne. As he continued to kiss and caress her wrist, she started to ache with the need to feel even more of his caresses.

Before she could act upon her desire, he lifted his head, and released her hand. She whimpered slightly at the loss of his touch. Not done yet, he moved his hand down, across the fabric of her dress, and began to softly fondle the gleaming skin of her bare knees. She closed her eyes, and enjoyed the sensations as the heated tips of his fingers made lazy circles against her soft skin. Teasing and slightly tickling, slow and insistent, he continued. He started to ease his hand in between her modestly closed knees but she resisted slightly, until he whispered hoarsely, “Please … let me touch you.”

His voice brooked no resistance. She murmured her assent.

He slid his hand between her knees, and started to stroke and slide his hand upwards … softly and very gently stroking the exquisitely sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “Nikita,” he murmured, “you are so beautiful tonight.” She started to tense her muscles in response to his gentle touch and arousing voice. “I love the way you feel.”

Slowly and gently, he started to stroke higher, as if he had all the time in the world to worship and please her. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back against the seatback, biting her lower lip slightly. Michael glanced at her face and loved the pleasure he saw there. He began a gentle massaging motion in addition to his light caress. Nikita began to clutch the edges of the leather bucket seat, and squirm slightly as his hand inched higher and higher.

“Mmmmmm.” Michael’s knowing hand felt so delicious. She bit her lip a little harder. She was warm and floating in pleasure -- his touch producing a delicious ache and hunger for more of him. He treated each new inch of skin to the sliding and soft massaging motion as his hand moved higher. “Oh.” Her thighs started to gently clutch and release in response to the warm pressure of his strong hand. She bit her lip harder and struggled to not moan more loudly.

“I love touching you. I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

“Please, Michael.”

As much as she was enjoying his warm and extremely sensuous touch, she realized with a sudden sense of panic that if he slid his hand much higher he would realize that she wasn’t wearing any panties. Then they both would be lost. She forced her brain to focus past the aroused haze that his hand had produced and whispered, “Michael, please. Stop”

“Don’t you like it?”

“Yes, I like it, … oh, please … oh … stop, Michael.” She struggled to keep her arousal out of her voice, willing herself to keep her voice from shaking.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” she answered with a smile, as she tried to suppress her moan of reluctance as she grabbed his very skillful hand from her leg. Leaning over to kiss him on his warm mouth, she told him “Everything is very all right … I’m just hungry,” she continued with an impish grin. “How about food now, and play time later?”

After examining her face thoughtfully, he acquiesced, and followed her playful mood. “It sounds like a good plan to me,” he answered warmly with a squeeze of her hand. He placed the car into drive, and they pulled out of the parking lot, swiftly accelerating into the city traffic.

She leaned back in the comfortable seat and was amazed at how pleased and relaxed she felt. For the first time in a very long time she felt safe. Looking over at the handsome man behind the wheel of the expensive car, she realized that she was … happy. Perhaps reading her thoughts, Michael turned and gave her a slight smile. He squeezed her hand in his warm one. She quietly sighed, and clasped his hand in return, with both of hers. He left his hand there for the remainder of the drive, and she greatly enjoyed the ride … relaxing, listening to the soothing music, and watching the lights of the city and the people on the city streets.

She realized she would be content to spend the entire evening doing only this … being with Michael was enough. Just the two of them … warm, comfortable, safe, and alone. It was a first. Their destination really didn’t matter.

Nikita watched the people on the city sidewalks. They were driving through the downtown area at the close of the business day. Well-dressed, successful people were on their way home from work to spend the evening with their loved ones. For the first time ever, Nikita felt a kinship with these normal people, and felt that perhaps, just perhaps, she was like them … she “belonged.” For just this moment she was not a stray cat that no one wanted -- a wretched, pitiful outcast from all that was good and decent in life. She clutched Michael’s hand more tightly between hers, and he squeezed in response. Yes, she actually was feeling content … happy … and not wishing she was anywhere else. A first

All too soon, her relaxed reverie came to an end.

They had pulled up to a luxurious entrance on an expensive street in midtown. The setting looked vaguely familiar. Michael exited the car, and came around to her side and helped her out of the car. She enjoyed her escort’s courtly attentions, and smiled up at him, feeling a little like Cinderella at the ball. She stood up, smoothing the wrinkles from the front of her dress, and then froze.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

She realized why the elegant restaurant entrance looked familiar, and turned to him, pain and betrayal deeply etched into her face. “Is this a mission, Michael? Is that why we’re here?” She struggled to keep her voice calm, not wanting him to realize how much he had disappointed her.

The elegant operative put his arm around her waist, and gave her a gentle squeeze, and kissed her ear through her silky hair. “Not at all.”

“Then why did you bring me to this place? This restaurant where we had our first ‘date’ together, when I realized that you didn’t want to be with me … that it was just a set-up for my first mission?” she uttered, the bitterness and disappointment evident in her voice, struggle though she might to conceal it. “Is this a mission?” she repeated, more demandingly.

Noting that the valet was standing close by, waiting to take the car, Michael gave the man the keys, and gently steered Nikita into the sumptuous foyer of the restaurant, his arm still capturing her waist.

“No, it’s not a mission. Tonight is just for you and me. No mission, no tricks, no lies. Nothing but you and I – a chance to be together and enjoy each other. I wanted to do that evening over … the way it should have been … the way I wanted it to be. I’ve waited a very long time for this.”

Nikita let out a sigh, and willed herself to relax, wanting to believe Michael’s words.

Somewhat mollified, she let Michael steer her first to the coat check window, where he divested her of her evening coat, and then into the elegant dining room. The maitre d’ instantly appeared, and they followed him as he showed them to their table -- a secluded leather banquette near a large picture window. The window allowed a lovely view of the river below, with its spanning bridges lighted up and casting sparkling reflections on the water beneath.

The maitre d’ pulled the white clothed table out slightly, allowing Nikita to slide into the banquette with ease. Michael seated himself afterwards, and then nodded to the man, who quietly replaced the table, and asked, “Would you like a drink, ma’am … sir?”

“Do you have Chateau L’Evangile 1993?”

“Yes we do, sir.”

“We’ll have that.”

“Very good, sir,” nodded the waiter approvingly. “I’ll send the wine steward with it immediately.” He then turned to fulfill Michael’s request.

Nikita was impressed, as always, with Michael’s social expertise, and the way he quietly commanded respect from all those who came in contact with him.

After the waiter left, she glanced around at her surroundings. The banquette had a tall back and surrounded a small square table. Nikita was seated next to Michael, at his left. The table held an elegant array of china, silver, and shining crystal, and a delicate vase held a small bouquet of fragrant miniature red roses. Their table was situated in such a way that -- even though there were other people in the restaurant -- no other diners were in their view. They had their own little island of privacy in the middle of the lavish restaurant.

She sighed and turned to Michael. “This isn’t a mission?”

“No … it’s not. There are no missions pending for at least 18 hours. This evening is just for you and me.” Michael took both of her hands in his, and softly stroked her knuckles with his warm thumbs. “Relax … and enjoy this, Nikita,” he commanded in a soothing whisper.

Nikita was arrested by his softly accented, hypnotic voice … saying her name in the melodic way that she always loved, even when she was angry with him.

She turned to him and gazed into his eyes questioningly, searching their depths. He met her look unflinchingly, and allowed the silence to stretch between them, patiently waiting for her response. Using all her Section training, and all the hard-won intimacy recently achieved between them, she made a decision, and prayed a silent prayer that it was the correct one. She decided to believe him. She decided to relax and enjoy the evening for what it appeared to be – a date. An evening out between two people who cared deeply for each other, and who at long last might be able to enjoy a little bit of the pleasure that life could bring.

“Okay,” she answered with a halting smile. Michael squeezed her hands tightly in response, and leaned forward to give her a tender, lingering kiss that made her feel cherished and very pleased.

“Mmmmmm … I like your perfume. I hope you’re wearing it all over.”

Her answer was interrupted by the arrival of the wine steward, bearing the red wine that Michael had requested. Nikita watched Michael go through the ritual of approving the wine – examining the cork, studying the color, swirling it in the glass, inhaling the bouquet, and, finally, tasting it with a thoughtful look -- and she wondered if … just once … for a little while … it was possible to be happy in this life she had been relegated to … this unwilling assignment to the hellish world of Section One.

Michael signaled his approval of the wine with a nod, and the wine steward hastened to pour the ruby-colored liquid into their wineglasses … first Nikita’s, then Michael’s. This done, he made his departure, leaving the two alone with each other.

Michael raised his glass towards his blonde companion, and said softly, “To tonight.”

“To tonight,” she answered in a whisper, gently clinking her glass with his.

For the next few minutes they were silent, sipping the lovely dry wine, and enjoying the spectacular view that the window afforded them of the city, the river, and the last lingering glow of the sunset.

Involuntarily, Nikita sighed, and Michael turned toward her with an inquiring look on his face. Noting the look of relaxation and peace on her face, he asked her, “Happy?”

She paused, and then whispered, “Yes.”

Pleased, he laid his hand on her knee, and gave her a gentle squeeze, and moved closer to her, so that the warm length of his leg from his knee to ankle nestled firmly against hers. Nikita crossed her legs so that both of them were nestling against Michael’s under the starched white linen tablecloth.

He leaned forward and gave her a lingering kiss. His mouth was deliciously flavored with expensive French wine and the delectable taste that was uniquely his own. “Mmmmmmm,” she murmured in appreciation. Encouraged by her throaty response, he leaned in to capture more of her sweetness. She drank in his warm mouth and tongue with another small moan. Michael was as delectable as anything she had ever tasted. She sighed and Michael leaned in further, tilting her head back slightly with the ardor of his kiss. Eyes closed, Nikita’s hand crept up Michael’s chest, and clutched the lapel of his jacket, as she swam in the pleasure of his mouth.

He shifted his mouth from hers and began to gently graze his lips against the side of her throat. “Oh,” she moaned, goose bumps rising along her arms and legs with the pleasure his mouth evoked. “Michael.” Her hand tightened around the fabric of his jacket, and she closed her eyes and shivered slightly with enjoyment. She felt a rush of glowing warmth in her abdomen that moved lower, and gently started to flow throughout her entire body. Her other hand found and tightened over Michael’s knee.

“Mmmmmmm,” she sighed. It was incredible to her how aroused she could feel from having Michael do something as simple as kiss her neck.

As he continued, she trembled and goose bumps spread all over her body. She continued to clutch his lapel and his knee, as she started to lose awareness of her surroundings -- all of her attention focused on the ache that Michael’s mouth was producing as he continued to kiss her neck. He moved toward the back of her neck, and she responded by slightly dropping her head to give him more access. He started to lick and gently bite her, his teeth gentle but commanding against her neck.

“Michael,” she murmured her approval. Her fingers dug into his leg, and she pulled him closer by the fabric of his jacket.

He moved his mouth along the underside of her jaw, licking the taste of her perfume with his tongue.

Needing more contact with him, she placed both her hands against his chest, and relished the feel of his firm muscles against the flat of her hands. Sliding her hands upward against his neck, she enjoyed the masculine feel of the tiny rough bristles there. She continued upwards until she splayed her fingers wide and slid her hands into his hair. The skin of his scalp was so warm, hot really, and his soft, thick hair felt wonderfully silky against her hands.

“Michael.” Nikita was beginning to lose control and was feeling reckless, intent on her need to touch as much of Michael as the restaurant setting and their clothes would allow. “Please.”

“Please what?” he whispered teasingly, as he pulled back from her neck.

She struggled mutely, slightly frustrated, but aroused by Michael’s game.

“Touch me.”

“Where? … How?” When she hesitated … struggling a bit with embarrassment … he prodded with his voice husky, “Tell me.”

She lowered her hands and rubbed her fingers against his lips, gasping as he started to suck her fingertips into his warm mouth -- his eyes intently gazing into hers as he did so. “Tell me.”

“Kiss me,” she whispered. He leaned forward and captured her waist in both his hands, his strong fingers digging slightly into her ribcage, as he held her resolutely. He then lowered his lips to hers, his tongue teasing, and then silently commanded her mouth to open against his warm lips.

She moaned in response, feeling like a flower opening in the warm sun, vulnerable to Michael’s heat.

“Ahem.” A quiet voice intruded upon their reverie.

“I’m sorry, sir … I didn’t realize.” Nikita opened her eyes to see a waiter standing over Michael’s shoulder. The uniformed man’s gaze was now discreetly on the floor, discomfited by his interruption of the pair. “I’ve brought you your menus, sir … ma’am”

Michael turned, and quietly but assuredly answered, his hand gently resting on Nikita’s waist. “We don’t need to see the menu. We will have the Caesar salad, and then two filets … medium rare. The garlic roasted potatoes, and the green beans with almonds.”

“Yes, sir. Very good.” The waiter paused to refill each of their glasses, and then silently disappeared.

They looked at each other wordlessly for a few seconds and then smiled. Michael appeared thoughtful.

“Would you like to dance?”

“Dance?” Nikita stammered.

“Yes. There’s a dance floor beyond those palms over there. Can you hear the music?”

Nikita now became aware of soft violin music coming from the back of the room. “Yes.”

“Yes, you can hear it, or yes, you’d like to dance?” Michael asked with a touch of a smile.

“Yes to both.”

Michael stood up and held out his hand to her. She took it, and he pulled her from her seat. She settled her dress down over her lap and tried to ignore the ache in her lower abdomen, which was making it a bit difficult to walk. She smiled to herself. He searched her face, wondering why she was amused, and then led her by their linked fingers to the dance floor -- a small, polished, wood parquet area near the dimly lit bar area of the restaurant. Michael, but not Nikita, noticed the admiring glances that she received from various male diners as they moved toward the dance floor. More than one wife cast her husband a withering glance in response to his straying eyes.

Only one other couple occupied the dance floor. Four violinists stood on the side of the dance floor, playing a vaguely familiar love song at a languorous tempo. Michael turned to face Nikita when they had reached the center of the shining wood floor, and gathered her to him by a hand at her waist. They semi-automatically began the smooth dance techniques their Section training had taught them, avoiding each other’s eyes as they surveyed the room around them. After several seconds of this, awareness and a sense of wellbeing seemed to dawn on them, and they turned inward to search the face of the other.

They exchanged the very briefest of satisfied smiles.

Michael gently pulled Nikita closer to him, and rested their clasped hands against his left shoulder. She unabashedly examined his face, just inches from her own. It was wonderful to be so close to Michael. His breath grazed her forehead. All the scents of him flowed over her – his soft breath, his cologne, his hair, and the essence of him – the indescribable scent that was Michael’s own – a scent that she could identify even with her eyes closed. It was an indescribable luxury to be able to focus on him for so long. She took her time and examined all her favorite parts of him – her eyes lingered on his eyes, and then his lips … one of her favorites.

She raised her eyes to look into his. The intensity and heat of his gaze made her tighten her hand against his shoulder. He pulled her even more closely against him so that they were in full contact with each other from head to foot -- their cheeks lightly brushing against each other’s, their chests, hips, and legs … nestled against and between each other -- softly rubbing as they moved to the music. Nikita pulled back to look at Michael again, and he gave her a soft kiss on her lips, and pulled her near again. She closed her eyes, put her head on his shoulder, and lost herself in the music and the feel of him. She relished the feel of his masculine body, and his expert lead as they swayed to the harmonies of the violin music. It was a perfect moment. Nikita realized once again that there was no where else on earth that she wanted to be. She closed her eyes and cherished the moment.

Her feeling of total contentment was augmented by a subtle ache that started to ooze and flow. Her bliss started to build into a heat, a hunger -- a restlessness that needed to be fed. Michael, sensing her thoughts, moved his cheek from hers and studied her face. Reading her thoughts, he wordlessly pulled her from the dance floor, toward their seats. The musicians nodded their appreciation of the attractive couple as they left the floor. They silently reached their table, and Michael helped Nikita slide into the banquette, and he gracefully slid in after her.

He studied her wordlessly, and after a few seconds, told her, “You look so beautiful tonight.” Nikita lowered her chin but kept her eyes on Michael, not answering.

Michael plucked a spray of the tiny red roses from the crystal vase, and gently shook the water from the thornless stem. He moved closer -- so that his knees were touching hers and started to brush her face with the delicate petals. First against her eyelids, then he grazed them against her upper lip, giving her a delicate scent of her favorite flower. Sliding them under her chin in a lover’s version of the buttercup game, he lingered for a second, enjoying how the red hue glowed against her skin.

He then swept them into the hollow of her throat. Loving this wonderful caress, she closed her eyes. He continued to glide the blossoms downwards until he started to tease the sensitive skin over the curve of her breasts. Back and forth … back and forth … along the edge of her neckline he continued. Then, slightly impatient and wanting to touch her himself, he dropped the flowers on the table, and replaced them with his hand. With the very tips of his fingers he traced the tops of her breasts above the neckline of her dress. He then lowered his hand and started to brush over her nipples with his knuckles. He softly massaged their softness with the back of his hand until they hardened in response. He seemed completely intent and totally unhurried in his task. Nikita sighed and started to squirm. Pleased with her involuntary evidence of pleasure, he increased his attentions, capturing each nipple in turn between his fingers, and massaging the tip with his thumb.

“Michael.”

“Shhhhhh,” he soothed her. “Let me please you.”

She began to shift helplessly in her seat, increasingly aroused by his attentions. His hand cupped each breast in turn, and rubbed the nipple with his thumb.

He lowered his head and kissed her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress, his breath hot and moist, as it sought her sensitive bud. Nikita buried her hands in his hair, and held him to her. He increased the pressure, and softly nipped the nipple with his teeth.

“Ohhhhh,” she murmured. Further encouraged, he began to push down the neckline of her dress with his fingers, following each baring movement with his mouth, kissing each freshly revealed centimeter with increasing urgency. With a final tug of the stretchy knit fabric, her rosy hardened nipple was revealed, and he covered it with his mouth.

The exquisite sensation shot through her like a lightning bolt, and she jerked and moaned loudly in response. His tongue swirled around the tip, and she arched her back involuntarily, “Oh, God … Michael.” He began to suck gently. “Oh, God,” she repeated. “Please.” The ache she felt between her legs surged into flame. She clutched his shoulders in something like panic, almost frantic with need.

Some fragment of rational thought sparked into life at the back of her head.

“Michael, wait … wait … please.” He moaned in response but continued, not wanting to be distracted from his undertaking. “Michael, please, we can’t do this … someone will see.” With some difficulty, she managed to extricate herself from Michael’s embrace. “Please.” The fabric slid up and covered her nipple, the cloth giving her another gentle caress as it slid into place.

He turned his attention to her mouth, and kissed her. “Mmmmmm … Michael.”

“I need to touch you. Please, Nikita.”

“We can’t do this here, Michael.”

“Yes, we can. I have an idea.”

Nikita looked at him wonderingly.

“I know you’re not wearing any panties.” She looked at him, half afraid to reply, wondering where he was going with this. “I want you to touch yourself.”

She was stunned. “What?” she whispered.

“Give me your hand.” She complied, and he guided her hand down, over her lap, and to the hemline of her dress. “Touch yourself.”

“I can’t,” she sputtered in a whisper.

“Yes, you can. Trust me.” His gaze was locked onto hers with great intensity.

Nikita slid her hand slowly up her skirt, as she gazed into his eyes -- their gaze riveted on each other. “Touch yourself,” he whispered again. As her eyes locked on him, she did as he asked, and shivered in pleasure at the sensations her hand produced -- as it slid up her inner thigh, aided by the smoldering heat of Michael’s gaze. She closed her eyes as her hand approached her feminine core, and she let herself be led by his commanding voice. “Gentle … gentle … keep going.” When her fingertips encountered the intense heat and moisture at her most sensitive area of her body, and she gasped. “Yes, my love,” he encouraged. “That’s right.” He grabbed her wrist, and pulled her hand toward him, and she whimpered a bit in protest, now totally enjoying this erotic game of his.

He kissed her inner wrist, and then began to kiss her hand … slowly moving toward her fingertips, which held the heady feminine scent that was the essence of her arousal. He kissed and licked her fingertips, intoxicated by the evidence of her arousal. He started to rub his face with her hand, and started to suck her fingertips, “I love the way you taste.”

Nikita moaned helplessly in response.

“My turn,” he muttered.

“Michael, we can’t do this here.”

“Yes, we can.” He lowered his hand to her knee, and his hand and arm were lost under the long linen tablecloth. His other hand he used to clasp her hands on the top of the tablecloth. “We just need to be fairly quiet,” he murmured with a kiss to her lips. Her wonder turned to understanding as she felt his warm hand start to slide up her leg.

“Michael’” she started to protest.

“Trust me,” he answered. She acquiesced – though actually she had no choice. Michael’s knowledgeable hand was making her swim with pleasure. His hand slid up between her thighs, leaving her skin burning in its wake. Sliding upwards, his thumb was the first to reach its coveted destination. Gently flicking back and forth he teased the entrance to her feminine depths. Surging forward he parted her entrance and very tenderly touched the most sensitive bud hidden within.

“Ohhhhhhh,” she moaned her approval. He tightened his hand over hers on the tabletop, holding her immobile in his embrace. He leaned forward to kiss her, his tongue parting her lips, mimicking the motion of his hand below. Nikita struggled against responding, aware of their surroundings in this public place, but she was no match for Michael’s formidable erotic skills. He held her hands immobile on the tabletop, while his other hand, hidden by the white tablecloth, caressed her most vulnerable erotic area, and he used his talented mouth to gently stroke her mouth, his tongue tender but firm at the same time.

“Ohhhh.” She was helpless and no longer cared where they were – all she could do was respond to him. His fingers probed and teased her delicate folds, his thumb softly stroking her bud. She was so wet, and he, with shameless ease, began to slide his fingers into her … first one … then two … his thumb all the while relentlessly continuing his work on her bud.

“Ohhhhhhhh, please.” He was relentless. “Please.” She had now lost all awareness of her surroundings – her whole universe was Michael’s incredibly talented hand and mouth. “Michael,” she moaned against his mouth. Encouraged by her pleasure, he added a third finger to her depths, which made her moan even more loudly. “Michael, please.”

“Shhhh, love,” he chided.

“Michael … I … I …please … oh … oh … please.”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She was so close to the edge of fulfillment that she was incapable of making a coherent answer. “Oh … oh … ohhhhhhhh.”

“Now, Nikita,” he commanded. He moved his mouth to her ear, and whispered, “I need to hear you come for me. Now … let go. I want to hear you moan … I want you lost … yes … now … yes … yes. You’re mine”

Michael’s erotic mantra was the last straw. His warm mouth buzzing her ear was the final ingredient to her amorous downfall.

“Oh … oh … oh … ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Her fingers clutched the tablecloth and her head arched back in response to the spasm that began in her loins, and started to ripple out in waves from the epicenter of sensation. Michael quickly covered her mouth with his own, partly to muffle the sounds of her pleasure, and partly to “taste” her orgasm, wanting to participate as much as possible in her fulfillment – her pleasure being his ultimate gratification.

His mouth glued against hers, his moan joined hers. There was nothing so gratifying to him than experiencing her climax. He loved the way she sounded, felt, and tasted as she came. Her orgasm brought him previously unknown physical and emotional pleasure. When he was alone, his fantasies of her centered on her pleasure rather than his own. He daydreamed of bringing her to repeated, endless orgasms until she was spent and collapsed, and weakly pleading with him to stop.

He tightened his hand on hers as the waves of her pleasure continued, and she moaned against his mouth. “Ohhhhhh.” He continued to stroke her moist folds, and his fingers could detect her internal walls clenching around them -- the tremors rhythmic and regular, slowly diminishing into a soft echo as the seconds passed.

Their foreheads were pressed together, and Nikita’s brow started to slowly slide down, brushing past Michael’s cheek to slowly rest against his shoulder. With a final murmur she buried her face into Michael’s neck, and a complete relaxation began to spread throughout her body – until she was limp and sated with pleasure. He removed his hands from her leg and her hands, and began to stroke her cheek, and kiss all the exposed parts of her face that he could reach, feeling unutterably happy and grateful to this woman who brought him so much pleasure. Nikita sighed in satisfaction at his tender touch and nestled her face against his neck in enjoyment. He brushed her hair back from her face and continued to caress her face with his lips.

“Sir? … I have your first course.” Michael glanced up to see the waiter holding the plates of Caesar salad for which the restaurant was so famous. Michael nodded, and the waiter placed the plates before Nikita and Michael. He refilled their wine glasses, and after a slightly curious glance at Nikita asked, “How is everything, sir?”

“Everything is fine.” The waiter nodded in response and retreated from view.

“Nikita?” Michael whispered. “I don’t think you’re going to want to miss this,” he continued with a slight smile. She muttered something into his neck, still limp with pleasure. “Aren’t you hungry? Here … lift your head.”

Nikita raised her head and opened her eyes in response.

“Their Caesar salad is famous throughout the province. Open your mouth.” Michael held a silver fork poised in front of her lips, laden with an enticing array of greens and croutons -- loaded with an extremely aromatic dressing. “Open your mouth.”

She obeyed, and Michael tenderly forked the salad between her lips, then watched her face to see if she enjoyed it. “Do you like it?” She nodded -- still rather dazed from the activities of the last few minutes. “Good.” He followed his response with a kiss to her moist pink lips. “Here, have some more.” She tried to take the fork from his hand, but he resisted. “No, let me. I want to feed you.”

Michael continued this way -- speaking soothingly to her … alternating his kisses with forkfuls of the salad, pausing occasionally to dab her lips with her napkin, and raising her wineglass to her lips to sip the dry wine that mingled deliciously with the salad in her mouth.

“Happy?” he asked her. She nodded. “Good. Me, too.”

Michael glanced at his watch and advised, “We still have about sixteen hours until the next mission is on the pad.” Michael let this statement hang in the air. Nikita made no answer, but waited for him to continue. “Will you come home with me?”

She paused for just an instant, and then answered, “Yes.”

“Good,” he punctuated his reply with a kiss. “It doesn’t really matter what we do – I just want to be with you.” His hand caressed her face. “If you just want to sleep – that’s alright. I just want to be with you … for as long as I can.”

Nikita was a bit stunned to hear this humble, tender statement from the taciturn Michael. She opened her mouth, but was interrupted by a group of waiters bearing their feast -- sizzling, two-inch thick steaks, with buttered new potatoes, and savory green beans flecked with small jewels of almonds. The waiters hovered and fussed over them -- anxious that the elegant couple should enjoy their meal.

When they finally were left alone, Michael raised his wineglass to Nikita, and clinked hers -- the fine crystal making a sweet ringing tone. “To tonight,” he toasted.

“To tonight,” Nikita answered.

“And the rest of the night.”

“And the rest of the night,” she echoed, as they tipped their glasses together to honor the rest of this toast.

THE END

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