Part 9

They appeared as if they had always been a couple. After the limo dropped them off in front of Nikita's building, she took Michael's hand in hers and led him toward the entrance. It was extremely cold out tonight and she huddled next to him. His arm went about her, pulling her closer, warming her with his body heat. As they entered the building, he looked around at the comfortable setting of the lobby area. Garlands entwined with white lights and red bows seemed to drape everywhere and in the far corner, stood a six-foot tall brightly lit Christmas tree. He detected a faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting through the air.

"How long have you lived here?" he asked after they entered the elevator and the doors closed behind them.

She turned, stepping into his embrace, glad for his warmth as her arms encircled his waist. "Uhmm . . . a couple of years. Four, I think."

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly. "Cold?" he asked.

"Yes," she responded, burying herself deeper in him as he rubbed her back. She bent her head forward and pressed her lips to his chest, his neck, and finally his mouth. The elevator doors opened and she pulled back, then led him out and down to a set of double doors at the end of the well-lit hallway. Pausing, she removed her hand from his and opened her purse to retrieve the key. Michael stood to the side and waited for her. After she unlocked the door, he reached out and turned the knob. He opened the door, allowing her to enter before following her in, and then closed and locked the door.

He turned to see Nikita waiting for him. Taking his hand in hers, she led him into the living room, reached over to a lamp on a table and clicked it on. Michael looked around at the elegant yet simple black-and-white decor of the room. His eyes were immediately captured by the photos displayed on the living room walls. Removing his hand from hers, he glided over and studied the photos. They were family photos and showed shots of Nikita, Birkoff, and their parents at different stages of their lives. Michael was enthralled at seeing the photos of Nikita. In one, she looked as if she were about two or three, she sat in a floral print dress, blonde hair parted in pig tails, familiar blue eyes twinkling as she smiled for the camera. Michael felt his heart contract as his lips curved into a smile.

He felt her come up and encircle his waist from behind as she propped her chin on his shoulder, directing her gaze at the photo he was looking at. "She's adorable isn't she?" she commented with a grin and Michael laughed. Turning, his eyes roamed over her. She had removed her coat and shoes and stood before him now with only the dress that had been tempting him all night.

"Very adorable," he whispered.

Nikita reached her hand out and touched his cheek. "Do you want a drink, or something?" she asked quietly.

Michael shook his head. "No," he replied as he turned his face and brushed his lips against her hand.

Nikita smiled, then turned back to the photos on the wall as he took up a position behind her, his arms wrapping around her. She folded her arms over his. Together they scanned the photos.

"How old were you there?" he asked pointing to a head shot of a still youthful Nikita wearing a black turtleneck, platinum hair framing her beautiful face.

She leaned her head back against him and a small smile touched her lips. "Seventeen," she replied. "That's my senior class photo." Her eyes closed momentarily as she felt his lips press against her temple. He began to sway gently and she sighed, so very content to feel his arms around her.

"And that one?" he whispered.

She opened her eyes to see him pointing to a photo of her and Birkoff sitting atop a pony. A wide smile spread across her face. "I think I was about twelve in that photo," she replied. "We were at a fair . . ." Her voice trailed off as she recalled that memory of so long ago.

Gently they swayed side to side. Michael sighed, his cheek caressing her hair as he feasted his eyes upon the photos of Nikita's life. It filled him with a quiet joy to share in these memories. To store up more information about the woman he loved.

Nikita turned in his arms, her arms slipping inside his jacket. Her fingers glided around his waist and came to rest upon the curve of his buttocks as she leaned her cheek against his cheek. "What about you?" she asked. "Do you have family?"

His hand reached up to caress her long hair. Gently swaying. "Yes," he replied softly and pressed a kiss to her brow.

"A sister," he whispered.

He kissed her eyes.

"Monique."

Then kissed the tip of her nose.

"She's married now," he explained, and his lips found hers.

Their mouths merged, lips parted, tongues caressed, stroked.

She broke away and sighed. "Children?" she asked in a husky murmur.

He immediately bent his head, searching for, and finding her sweet mouth again. "A son . . . Michel," he breathed and then slipped his tongue between her lips.

"Mmm," she moaned.

Her eyes opened slowly and she tore her lips away from him once more. "Michel?" she asked.

Her fingers slipped lower, following the curve of his buttocks, pulling him in toward her. She moaned softly when she felt him already hard. She pressed herself up against him. Stroking his arousal with her body. Michael gasped and she felt his muscles twitch beneath her fingers. She closed her eyes and let her hands caress him . . . long smooth strokes.

"Yes," he whispered hoarsely. "It's French for Michael."

Her eyes opened and she gazed at him. "Michel . . ." she repeated in wonder. She closed her eyes. "Beautiful," she murmured dreamily, "very beautiful."

His hands slid slowly down her back, over her hips, then down the back of her thighs, and up the front. He watched as she swayed with the movement of his hands. "You're beautiful," he whispered, and his hands moved up over her breasts. "So very beautiful, Ni-ki-ta."

She moaned and her eyes flew open. The look of need and desire he saw earlier in her eyes had returned. Silently she took his hand and lifted it to her mouth, pressing her lips to his palm, then turned and led him to her bedroom.

Part 10

Nikita led Michael past the kitchen and into a short hallway that led to two doors. His eyes focused on her back, concentrating on the skin exposed by the cut of her dress. His gaze dipped lower and became fascinated with the gentle curve of her hips and the manner in which they swayed as she walked. The lacy hem that had tantalized him all night, flounced suggestively against her smooth thighs with each step she took. So intense was Michael's concentration on his private study of Nikita, he didn't realize she had stopped and he nearly bumped into her.

She looked over her shoulder at him, her expression tender as she reached for his hand and pulled him in behind her. "Wait here," she whispered once they had entered and she moved about silently in the darkened room. After a few moments, Michael heard the sound of a match being struck and saw Nikita in the corner of the room, bending over a table as she carefully lit a wide, white candle. She crossed over to the dresser, struck another match, and lit several more candles and a stick of incense. She held the burning match up and blew gently, extinguishing its flame, before dropping it into a small wastebasket next to the dresser.

Michael watched as her eyes lifted and met his gaze in the mirror. The soft flickering glow of the candles illuminated the luster of her pale hair as it fell softly about her and Michael was struck again with how stunningly beautiful she was.

He slipped his coat off, allowing it to drop onto the ground and walked with slow graceful steps toward her, his gaze never leaving hers. Standing behind her, he stood several seconds staring at their reflection in the mirror. He moved closer till his dark head was next to her long golden tresses. He smiled tenderly as he watched her lean her head toward his and close her eyes for a few brief moments. When her lashes lifted, her blue eyes looked at him expectantly.

Michael moved his hands to her hips, his fingers spanning over her flat stomach. His gaze watched the movement of his hands in the mirror. Watched as they glided in toward her center and then up. She blinked slowly and sighed. He raised his eyes to look at her face. Watched the languid expression that filled her countenance as he gently cupped and massaged her breasts.

The corners of her lips curved into a delicate smile. "Yes, Michael . . ." she whispered as she met his eyes. He bowed his head and pressed his mouth to her earlobe, then trailed a line of kisses down the curve of her neck. There he found the palpitating evidence of her desire for him and he smiled as he kissed the throbbing pulse. Her hand lifted and caressed his cheek as she watched him in the mirror.

She turned her head then, seeking his lips, her mouth parting beneath his as he kissed her deeply. When he pulled away, she moaned softly and called his name. Michael gathered her hair, placing it over her shoulder, then reached for the zipper of her dress and carefully pulled it down.

His hands reached within, his fingers spreading out smoothly across her bare back and glided around to once again cup her breasts. He marveled at the warmth and silkiness of her skin. She wasn't wearing a bra and his fingers trembled with desire as he felt her taut peaks. He closed his eyes and bent his head to rest on her shoulder as he fought the streak of desire that bolted through him. His lips glided up to her ear where he whispered her name as each of his hands massaged and stroked a hardened erect nipple.

Nikita let out a slow moan as her right hand slipped behind her, between their bodies, and found him fully aroused. She stroked him through the material of his pants, her desire escalating at the feel of his thick hardness. He groaned, his fingers pinching her nipples in reflex. Nikita cried out softly, her head falling back on his shoulder as she thrust her breasts out into his hands.

"Shhh . . ." Michael comforted her, pressing sweet kisses to her cheek and eyes as his thumbs gently soothed her sensitive skin. He watched in the mirror as she slowly rolled her head from side to side, her face relaxing once again. She lifted her head and met his gaze once again in the mirror. Raising her hands, she reached for the neckline of her dress and slowly pulled. She saw Michael's eyes darken as he watched the material slip off her shoulders and slide to the ground so that she stood there wearing only a lacy black panty -- and Michael's hands.

He moaned, his fingers tightening on her breasts as he felt himself harden even further. His eyes met hers and she saw the look of hunger that filled his eyes. "Ni-ki-ta," he whispered.

She smiled and rolled her head toward him, reaching over to kiss him softly on the cheek. He turned his lips to meet hers, as his hands glided down and reached within the top fold of her lace bikini. Nikita gasped, pulling away from his lips to look in the mirror. Her gaze met his, then she moaned in ecstasy as his fingers dipped further inside.

"Arghh . . . Michael," she moaned as she felt his finger slip between the lips of her femininity and begin to stroke her. She grasped his upper arms, her eyes closing, her face contorting in blazing desire as he relentlessly stroked her clit.

"Michael -- please . . ." she gasped. His finger left her clit and moved further south, her moistness arousing him further as he slipped his finger deep into her.

Her fingers clawed at his shirt sleeve as she thrust her hips against his finger. Her breath came out in quick, heavy pants as she writhed in sweet torture.

"Oh god!" she gasped as she raised herself up on her tiptoes, straining, wanting release from the rigid friction he was creating in her. She pushed her head to the side, burying her face in his neck. "Please, Michael . . . please!" she begged.

In one sweeping motion, Michael withdrew his finger from her and pushed her panty down and off her. He then lifted her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. Gently, he laid her down, his own need raging out of control as he looked down upon her exquisite beauty. She gazed up at him with wanton eyes, her lips parting invitingly as she held her hands out to him.

Quickly he divested himself of his clothes till he was as naked as she, his manhood thick and turgid as it throbbed achingly between his legs. Nikita moaned and called out his name, her eyes pleading with him. Michael climbed up on the bed and knelt over her, his upper body supported on his forearms which he placed on either side of her. He paused, his eyes roaming over Nikita's nakedness again, then slowly lowered himself over her.

The lovers moaned as their bodies came into contact, bare skin against bare skin. "Ni-ki-ta," Michael called her name out as his mouth sought to taste every inch of her delicious skin. He began at her neck, his mouth settling over the vein that captured his attention so often and he suckled her there before moving to her shoulder, then back to her neck. Nikita twisted about underneath him, torn between the desire to have him continue his sweet torment, and her mounting need for him deep between her legs. Her hips bucked up beneath him even as she thrust her breasts toward his wandering mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she pushed him to her right nipple, letting him know exactly where she wanted his tongue.

Michael acquiesced. His tongue swirling about the taut rosy peak before descending fully upon it and sucking her hard. Nikita cried out as she wrapped her long legs about him and clenched her fingers tightly in his hair. His mouth provided such sweet, painful ecstasy -- and she wanted more.

She lifted her head from the pillows to gaze down at Michael suckling her nipple and she felt another flash of raw desire rip through to the very core of her. "Michael!" she called, her fingers pulling his head away reluctantly from her breast as she slid down and covered his mouth with hers. Michael responded instantly to her increased intensity, his hands slipping beneath her and lifting her to him. Their mouths merged tightly as they hungrily devoured each other. Forced to break apart for air, they panted as they gazed into each other's eyes. Their desire raging out of control.

"I need you, Michael," Nikita whispered. Her fingers spread across his face and she leaned up to tenderly kiss him. "Please . . ."

Michael groaned. He couldn't deny her anything at this moment. Taking her hand in his, he directed her down to his rigid shaft, moaning as he felt her fingers encircle him, stroke him. He bent once again and placed a quick kiss onto her lips, then whispered to her, "Guide me in, Ni-ki-ta."

Part 11

Nikita offered Michael a sweet, seductive smile as she stroked him. She reached her lips up to him, kissing his parted mouth as he moaned from her caresses. She loved hearing his sighs and deep moans of pleasure. Watching his flushed handsome face, she moved his manhood toward her moist opening. Holding him tenderly, she stroked his velvety tip against her, using him to pleasure herself. Michael's eyes shut tightly as he groaned, then buried his tongue deep into her mouth. When he withdrew, his eyes bore into hers, wild and desperate. "Now, Ni-ki-ta," he whispered hoarsely.

She stroked his tip against her clit once more, then guided him back down to her opening. Her eyes gazed into his and she held her breath and waited. Michael's eyes locked onto hers, watching her every expression as he pushed slowly into her. He watched her eyes widen slightly as he first entered her. Heard her sudden intake of breath. Heard her whimper as he pushed further in. Saw the look of incredulous wonder that crossed her eyes. He pushed further in and watched as her mouth opened in a silent moan. Saw her brows furrow in focused deliberation. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly, then pushed his cock further into her.

"Arghhh," she moaned and shut her eyes tightly. God, he felt so good. She didn't know if she could take any more of the erotic pleasure flooding through her as Michael slowly merged with her, filling her so very completely.

Michael halted his entry -- waiting till she was able to open her eyes again and look at him. His eyes searched hers, his thumbs reaching to stroke the sides of her upper arms.

"Ni-ki-ta?"

She felt her heart overflow with love for him as she saw and heard his concern. Her expression became tender and she guided her hands to his back and slid them down over his curves where she then stroked him. Gazing into his eyes, she whispered huskily, "More . . . Michael . . . please . . . ."

With a groan he thrust himself fully into her as his mouth descended upon hers. He kissed her then. His tongue filling her mouth as completely as his manhood filled her femininity. Nikita moaned against his mouth as she wrapped her legs around him and grasped his shoulders with her arms. Their focus converged fully on the astonishing sensations that rocked them with their joining.

Finally, Michael tore his mouth away and they gasped for air. "Kita . . ." he whispered. She unlocked her legs from around him and relaxed her grip on his shoulders as her hands glided down over his buttocks. Her fingers then squeezed, digging into his well-toned curves, urging him to continue. She smiled when she felt his shaft jerk in response.

Slowly Michael began to rotate his hips in a circular motion, allowing his thickness to push against Nikita's walls. Nikita let out another slow moan as she spread her legs further to accommodate him. He lifted his hips, withdrawing his shaft almost completely from her, only to slide back in -- slowly. Over and over he repeated the torture. Raising himself almost completely out, hearing her quick intake of breath, and then her sweet moan when he slid himself back into her. Occasionally, he would rotate his hips, then move higher upon her to increase the contact between his cock and her clit.

Nikita was moaning continuously now, whimpering his name as she tossed her head side to side. He was driving her insane. Just when she thought she couldn't take it any more, Michael began to increase the speed of his thrusts. Nikita moaned again, this time encouraging Michael to continue. "Yes, Michael . . . yes," she urged. She was burning up, the heat between their bodies so intense. His shoulders were slick from his exertions, but still he continued to hold back, not giving Nikita the full force of what she wanted and needed. He worked up a steady speed, his eyes always watching her as his mouth continued to rain kisses on her. Just as Nikita felt herself getting close to the edge though, he withdrew completely from her. Nikita cried out, dazed and confused as she watched him slide down her body, then her eyes widened as she saw him spread her legs and lower his head.

But he wasn't finished. Michael worked his way quickly back up to her, kissing her thighs, her stomach, breasts, before rising above her once more and plunging himself deep inside of her.

"MICHAEL!!"

She couldn't believe the pure passion that ripped through her as he began to pound into her incessantly. In an instant he ignited in her a desire so puissant, it pushed her beyond reason. She clawed at his back as she pushed her hips against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. Her back arched and she leaned up and bit the juncture where his neck met his shoulder. She smiled when she heard his gasp of pain. Locking her legs behind him, she flipped him over onto his back and gazed down into his eyes. She saw reflected in their depths passion as feral as hers, and she began to ride him hard.

"Ni-ki-ta!!!" he moaned over and over as she made love to him as relentlessly as he had to her. When they were both at the brink of destruction, Michael gripped her to him and rolled so that she was once more beneath him. Hugging her tightly to him, he thrust rapidly and deeply into her until he began to feel her tremble.

"Again," he whispered desperately, "come for me again, my love . . ."

Nikita shut her eyes tightly, her whole body wracked in sweet, agonizing torture. Tears formulated in her eyes and rolled down the side of her face as she felt herself being hurtled to a state of such total bliss as she had never known before.

"Michael!" she cried out, her fingernails raking down his back, and then exploded in ecstasy.

Michael cried out as she marked him, felt her powerful release and with a deep groan, thrust deeply into her once more and joined his love.

It was done. The lovers embraced each other tightly as the aftermath of their lovemaking rippled gently through their joined bodies. Nikita cried softly at the utter completeness she felt as Michael kissed her tears. He rolled over onto his back taking her with him as he reached for a blanket and covered their nakedness. Gently he held her and soothed her, his love for her overflowing as he stroked her head gently. Then, she shifted, raising her head to gaze into his beautiful eyes. When she leaned up and placed a gentle kiss on his lips and whispered tenderly, "I love you, Michael," his joy was complete and he cried.

Part 12

Nikita saw the tear roll down from the corner of Michael's eye as he turned his face away. She frowned and brought her hand up to gently turn his face back to look at her. "What's wrong?" she asked softly.

He gave her a tremulous smile, slightly embarrassed. "Nothing," he murmured. He reached up to hold her face tenderly in his hands as a seriousness entered his green eyes. "I just didn't realize how much I wanted to hear you say that."

Nikita felt her eyes moisten at his words. She smiled and bent once more to kiss his lips. "I love you, Michael," she whispered against his mouth. "I love you . . . I love you . . . I love you."

Michael hugged her tightly. His hands roamed over her body in a languid caress as he rolled her over so that they lay side by side, arms and legs entangled, their lips next to each other. "And I love you, Nikita," he whispered.

Physically and emotionally sated, their eyes slowly drifted closed and they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Nikita woke several hours later to a much darker room. Only two of the candles she had lit still offered light, providing enough light to give the room an intimate aura. She inhaled deeply and smiled in pleasure at the spicy scent of the incense she had burned, which lingered in the air. All she needed now was a little music. Casting her eyes on the night stand, she saw the remote for her stereo. Carefully, she stretched forward until her fingers were able to grasp it. Michael stirred, moaning a protest in his sleep. Nikita smiled and brought his hand up to her lips, kissing it before tucking it safely back under her breast.

Taking the control, she aimed it in the general direction of her stereo in the corner, and pressed play. Soon the soft sounds of Sarah McLachlan's Surfacing CD drifted lightly through the air. She heard the familiar opening strains of the song, Witness, begin -- it was one of her favorites. So sensual, sexy . . . She hugged Michael's arms about her tighter as she smiled and began to hum and sing along softly.

Will we burn -- in heaven
Like we do -- down here?

Her eyes closed as she nodded her head in time with the slow, provocative rhythm. The music flowed through her, transporting her to a distant lofty plane. Nikita sighed deeply. Quiet bliss flowed, undisturbed, through her as she lay there in the arms of the man she loved. Harmony . . . serenity . . . nirvana.

Will we burn -- in heaven
Like we do -- down here?

Michael lay absolutely still, listening to Nikita's low husky voice as she sang softly. At first, he thought he had been dreaming. He remembered thinking that he had never had music in his dreams before. Then, when he had felt and heard Nikita singing the same song in his dreams, he had known that he was awake.

He was unable to describe the emotion he felt as he lay there. The tranquility he felt as he held Nikita in his arms and listened to her soft singing. He had done the impossible, he thought, captured a siren, nymph, and angel in one. Or was it the other way around? He was the captured one. Enchanted by Nikita's physical beauty, her untamed spirit, her spell-binding love. Michael stirred, pressing his lips to the middle of her back before he rose up and rolled her over so that he could stare down into her eyes.

She stopped singing, her blue eyes gazing up at him with unabashed love and adoration. "Ni-ki-ta," he whispered, then he bent and kissed her tenderly. Sliding down a little, he lay atop her, resting his head on her breast. Nikita's lips curved into a sweet smile as her fingers gently combed through his hair. The music changed and she closed her eyes, her hands still caressing his hair, as she began to sing again.

Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There's always some reason
To feel not good enough

Michael sighed as he listened to his lover's voice. In all his life he had never had a woman who could make him feel so much. Ni-ki-ta. She was his, and he silently thanked whatever forces had brought him here to her.

And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh a beautiful release
Memories seep through my veins
Let me be empty, and weightless, and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight

He smiled. Peace. He indeed had found peace. She was his peace . . . his release from the mundane routine that had become his life over the past several years. Through his paintings he had tried to portray that inner peace which he desperately sought, without success. In one night, Nikita had given him that peace. Fulfilled him with such profoundness. Beautiful release . . . .

In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark old hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear

You were pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
Here in the arms of the angel
May you find -- some comfort here

His breath caught in his throat and he found himself blinking back tears as the words which, combined with Nikita's sultry voice and her gentle caresses, caused his love for her to ripple through him. He turned his head and kissed her stomach lovingly as he silently wondered how he could return home to France when his heart was here.

Part 13

Nikita stood before the mirror and surveyed her reflection. In the background she could see Michael attempting to watch her discreetly as he buttoned his black shirt. Her gaze switched back to her reflection, focusing on the hickey that marked her neck and the top of her breast. The latter love bite was all right since it could be easily hidden under her clothing -- but the other one . . . .

She had just finished sharing breakfast and an early morning shower with Michael and was in the process of getting dressed when she caught hold of her reflection and the telltale signs of passion. Dressed in only a white slip and bikini, she stood wondering how she was going to disguise the love bruise -- besides wearing turtlenecks over the next few days. As an Account Executive, though, or 'suit' as they were nicknamed in the ad biz, she was expected to dress in a certain manner because of her position as a liaison between the Agency and its clients. She had very little in her business wardrobe that would cover this. She sighed and raised her gaze to find Michael looking down at his hands as he finished buttoning his shirt. His lips were curved into a sly smile.

Despite her predicament, she couldn't help but echo his smile. Suit or not, making love with Michael had been worth it. She rummaged through her make-up bag to look for foundation or some other camouflage when she felt Michael's hands on her hips. She looked up to see him standing behind her, staring at her reflection. Silently he pushed her hair aside and bent his head to gently kiss the mark of passion he had left on her.

She felt his lips and then his tongue, and she laughingly pulled away. "Michael," she chided softly, "I'm trying to hide it, not make it more noticeable."

He raised mischievous eyes to look at her, "Hide it? Oh," his lips curved into a small sweet smile. "My mistake," he apologized, then bent his head quickly and sucked on the spot in question once again.

"MI - chael . . . ooohh, oh God, Michael, please -- no," she moaned and pulled her neck reluctantly away from his very talented mouth and replaced it with her lips instead. She turned to face him completely, her arms wrapping around his neck as his encircled her waist. When they finally broke apart, she moved in closer and laid her head upon his shoulder. She sighed as she felt his arms tighten about her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. She smiled and turned to kiss him once more on the cheek and then withdrew from his arms and strolled over to her closet.

"It's all right," she stated. "I'm sure I can find something suitable that'll cover it."

The mischievous smile returned to Michael's face as he finished dressing. He was sorry for the trouble he was causing, but, god . . . he really had enjoyed making love -- and leaving his mark on her. His smile deepened. Nikita had left her own marks on him. Long red welts down the length of his back. He recalled her screams of passion as she had raked her nails against his skin. God, she was wild in bed, and he couldn't wait to experience the full force of her untamed love again.

"Are we still on for dinner tonight?" he asked as he glided over to where she stood holding a cream colored turtleneck sweater next to a blue blazer and a red one. "I like the blue," he stated. "It matches your eyes."

She smiled and returned the red suit back to the closet. "Sure," she said in response to his question. "I should be done at the office around 5:00/5:30. Call me?" she asked. He nodded as he took the sweater from her and placed it over her head, waited for her to stick her arms in, and then pulled it down and straightened it.

"I'll give you the number to my private line and pager," she stated. Unhooking the skirt that went with the blue blazer from its hanger, she lowered it to the ground and stepped into it. Michael came up from behind her and proceeded to fasten the button and pull the zipper up. His hands lingering on her hips. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he murmured as his hand slid down and gently caressed her buttocks then reached for the blazer and helped her with it.

Her attire complete, she turned and stepped up to Michael, straightening his collar then smoothing her hands down the front of his shirt. "Do you still want to come into the office this morning? We can talk about your account later tonight if you'd prefer?"

"Here?" Michael asked, and she smiled.

"Yes. Here," she responded.

He bent and kissed her again. "I'd like that."

"Good." She raised her hand and touched his cheek briefly. "Now let's go, otherwise Rose will have my head," she muttered. Together they exited Nikita's apartment, fingers and hearts entwined.

Part 14

"We've got a slight problem."

Nikita glanced up as Rose bustled into the office, immediately going to Nikita's computer and beginning to punch in a code. "There," she stated.

Nikita placed the profile she had been reading down on the desk and slid her chair over to look at what Rose was pointing out. "Damn," she muttered. She had hoped to get out of the office early, but now it looked like she would be delayed by at least an hour. Picking up the phone she pressed a button and spoke. "Gail, contact traffic. See if Fred or Frieda is available. I need to meet with them as soon as possible -- today. Thanks."

She hung up and turned her attention back to the monitor. "This will throw the whole J&J account off by at least two weeks," she murmured.

"You're bringing in the torture twins?" Rose asked with raised eyebrows, and laughed. "Ohhh! I'd love to be there when those two go after Production! Did you know they're even beginning to dress the same?"

"They're not twins," Nikita replied dryly. She scanned through the layouts for the J&J account, the account for which the two supervisors -- that her red-headed assistant and practically everyone else in Section referred to as the torture twins -- were being called in. "They're not even related, for crying out loud."

"Ha! Tell that to them," Rose snorted. She placed her palms on the desk and leaned over to whisper loudly, "I kid you not, Nikita. They're actually dressing the same. Black suits, briefcases, even the same horn-rimmed glasses. Ewww!" Rose shuddered and straightened as Nikita tried to refrain from laughing.

"Well, as long as they get the job done ... that's the important part," she stated.

"Uh huh, yeah. Right," Rose added with a roll of her hazel eyes. She turned then to leave the room and then stopped. "Hey, by the way, I've been meaning to ask you since this morning ... How'd it go last night?"

"What do you mean?" Nikita kept her face deliberately blank, carefully avoiding Rose's eagle-sharp eyes.

"What do I mean?" Rose walked back to the front of Nikita's desk and folded her arms. "Hello? The Frenchman? Remember? You did have dinner with him, didn't you?" she asked.

"Oh. Him," Nikita responded. "Yes, I had dinner with him -- and my parents and Birkoff. It was very nice."

Rose stood regarding her boss and friend. Working with Nikita for four years had taught her to read Nikita like a book. Right now, she knew that the chic blonde was definitely withholding something. She lowered herself into one of the armchairs facing Nikita's desk and crossed her legs. "Okay, hon. Spill the beans . . . ."

"There's nothing to *spill*," Nikita lied, but the corner of her lips quivered just from thinking about Michael. She missed him. Ridiculous she knew, considering that it had only been nine hours, thirty-two minutes, and twelve seconds since she had dropped him off at the hotel. Her eyes twinkled recalling how he had held her face tenderly as he kissed her goodbye and whispered, "Je t'aime, Nikita." At her puzzled expression he had translated for her softly, "I love you."

"Ah hah!!! I knew it!" Rose stage whispered as she sat up straight and slapped her knee. "Hot diggity dawg, girl! You slept with him!"

Annoyance bolted through Nikita. "I did not sleep with him, Rose," she stated coldly. The excitement that exuded from her assistant vanished and Nikita instantly regretted her tone. "I'm sorry . . ." she murmured, "I didn't mean to sound . . . Oh hell." She pushed her chair back, stood and walked over to the window, standing with her back to Rose as she folded her arms.

Rose stood and walked over next to her. "Nikita? Hey, what's going on?" she asked when she saw the tears glimmering in her eyes. "Did he hurt you? Did something . . . ."

"NO! No!" Nikita quickly assured her. She turned then and leaned back against the window ledge as a far away look came into her eyes. Turning her gaze to look at Rose, her voice dropped to a whisper, "I'm in love with him."

Her 5'6" assistant looked as if someone had just run over her cat. She stood with her mouth and eyes wide open, staring in astonishment at Nikita. "Did -- did you just say the 'L' word, hon?"

One corner of Nikita's mouth lifted in a crooked smile. "Pretty scary, huh? Me, in love."

Rose turned and sat down next to Nikita. Shock still evident in her eyes. "When did all this . . . My god, you two just met! And, and . . . damn, Nikita, are you sure about this? How does he feel? And what about . . . ."

"Whoa! Time out, Rose!" Nikita laughed shakily. She was actually relieved for Rose's demanding questions. It felt good to be able to confide in someone. Her emotions where Michael was concerned were so powerful, overwhelming, they bordered on being chaotic. She needed to be able to talk her feelings out, if only for the simple fact of understanding them for her own peace of mind.

She knew she could trust Rose. Though they had started out with a strictly working relationship, a strong friendship had soon developed. Rose had proven several times her loyalty to Nikita, even turning down another job with great potential for advancement in order to stay with Nikita. "It's not all about money," she had told Nikita concerning her decision to decline the job offer. "I'm the sort of person that's gotta enjoy what I'm doing, and who I'm working for."

"I didn't sleep with Michael," she repeated in a quieter tone, her eyes meeting Rose's. "But I did make love with him," she whispered, and her eyes softened at the memory.

Rose watched the emotions running through Nikita's expressive eyes and a shimmer of understanding flowed through her. "I'll be damned," she whispered incredulously. "That Frenchman really has won your heart . . . ."

Nikita smiled as she folded her arms again and cast her eyes down to the floor. Yes, the Frenchman had indeed captured her heart. A part of her wanted to shout the fact out to the world. To run an ad in The NY Times declaring that she, Nikita Wolfe, self-proclaimed bachelorette for life, was in love. She suppressed a giggle at how preposterous the whole idea seemed.

Rose's next words though had a very sobering effect as she asked quietly, "What are you going to do about Stephen?"

Part 15

Nikita was spared having to answer Rose's question by the buzzing of the intercom. She stood and walked over to the desk. "Yes, Gail?"

"Fred and Frieda are here to see you," her secretary responded.

Nikita glanced over at Rose who proceeded to contort her face in an exaggerated grimace at the mention of the torture twins' given names. "Give me a minute, Gail, and then send them in."

Rose stood and prepared to leave. "Don't go!" Nikita whispered loudly, as if she feared Fred and Frieda might hear her.

"Why???" Rose asked.

"Because I don't like to be alone with them!" Nikita hissed. Despite her earlier words to Rose regarding the Traffic Department's supervisors, they did give her the creeps. "Just . . . hang around in the background like you're doing something for me, or . . . I don't know. Think of something!"

"Oh? And what happened to all that talk about them not being torture twins?" Rose hissed back. Just then a knock sounded at the door and the knob twisted open. Nikita and Rose both flew to attention as both tried to think of something to say.

"Uh, yeah . . . Okay, I'll just . . . wait back here until your uh, meeting is finished," Rose stammered loudly. Nikita gave her a relieved, 'thank you' look, as she nodded.

"Good. That's good. F-fine," she smiled then turned her attention to the two individuals who were standing just inside her door, staring at her and Rose morosely.

Lord, Nikita thought, Rose was right. The two were even dressing alike now!

"Fred, Frieda," she greeted them with false gaiety, "Come in. Have a seat."

The two somberly dressed supervisors walked stiffly across the room. Both wore black suits, though Frieda's was with a skirt. The type of shapeless, unimaginative skirt that reminded Nikita of those strict schoolmarms of long ago. She suppressed an urge to shudder as she watched them walk across the room, turn with almost military precision to stand behind the two armchairs facing her desk, and then bend at the knees to place identical briefcases down on the floor -- all perfectly in synch. My god, Nikita wondered, what do they do? Practice?

"You wanted to see us?" They stated the question simultaneously. Their voices, like their eyes, were totally devoid of emotion. As Nikita glanced from one to the other, she wondered vaguely if there might not be some truth behind the premise of the show "X-Files".

"Yes. Have a seat," she motioned to the chairs in front of them as she began to sit down herself.

"No thank you, we . . ." Frieda started.

". . . prefer to stand," Fred finished.

Nikita froze, then slowly straightened again. In the background, she saw Rose make a scary face, and she coughed to cover her laugh. The twins turned their heads simultaneously to stare coldly at Rose, who quickly lifted the profile she was pretending to read up to shield her face -- as if it were a cross and the twins were part-vampires. The twins turned their heads slowly back to the front and faced Nikita.

"What is . . ."

". . . the problem?"

Same pattern again. Frieda started the sentence and Fred completed it. Nikita decided she really needed to talk to her father about where he had hired these two from. "It's the J&J account," she replied. Might as well just get straight to business and let them handle it, she thought. Besides, the quicker she could get these two out of here, the better. "Production is a week behind schedule. It's holding up the rest of the process. I need your people to get on their backs and make sure that they complete their part by tomorrow at the latest," she explained.

Frieda: "We'll take care . . ."

Fred: ". . . of it personally."

Frieda: "Is there . . ."

Fred: ". . . anything else?"

Nikita stared from one to the other. Incredible, she thought. Hell! This was more than incredible. It was downright SCARY! No wonder they had such a high success rate at getting recalcitrant departments to meet deadlines.

"No!" Nikita smiled. "That's it. Thank you."

The twins nodded, bent at the knees, retrieved their briefcases, spun, and marched out of the room.

After the door closed, Nikita and Rose stared at each other for all of ten seconds and then collapsed into a fit of giggles.

Several minutes later, their composure somewhat restored, Nikita glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost five. She wondered where Michael was and what he was doing at this moment. She would have been surprised, no shocked, if she knew.

*****

Across town, Michael sat sipping coffee in an elegant women's boutique as a line of beautiful women, all of whom eyed the handsome Frenchman with discreet admiration -- some less discreet than others -- paraded before him in expensive designer evening wear. "Do you see anything you like, sir?" the saleswoman asked.

"Actually," Michael replied in his quiet accent, "I was thinking of something with a high collar, yet still sexy."

"Something, maybe backless?" he suggested.

The woman nodded and smiled. "I think I have just the collection you'll want to see." And with that she waved the models away and disappeared along with them to choose the next set of gowns for the handsome man's perusal.

Michael lifted his cup and sipped. He had already purchased a number of business outfits for Nikita that would cover the hickey he had given her. It was the least he could do, he thought. Especially since he couldn't promise holding back when it came to making love to her. Now he wanted something strictly for pleasure -- his pleasure. Michael smiled and took another sip of his coffee.

Part 16

It was almost seven when Nikita finally entered her apartment. Closing the door behind her and locking it, she shrugged out of her coat, slipped off her shoes and, grabbing both, made her way to the bedroom. Michael was meeting her here at eight. That gave her enough time to take a nice hot shower and wash away the exhaustion she felt from work.

Upon entering her bedroom she automatically went through her after work routine. Shoes were put neatly away in the closet. Her coat hung up, along with her blazer. Her watch and earrings came off next and were placed on the dresser. Last of all, she began stripping away her outer clothes, leaving on only her slip. Strolling over to the night stand, she picked up her stereo remote and pressed play. Sarah McLachlan's CD was still in and, since it evoked such pleasurable memories for her, Nikita decided to leave it as she went about preparing for her shower.

She occupied her mind with the details of Birkoff's surprise birthday party, which she still had to finish planning. Actually, most of the details and arrangements had already been taken care of. There were just a few last minute things that needed her attention. Very last minute, she mused -- and not very pleasant either.

Nikita strolled over to the dresser again and opened her jewelry case, removing the black velvet ring box inside. She opened it and stared at the diamond and sapphire engagement ring inside as her lips pulled into a frown. Stephen.

He would be at the party and he would be expecting an answer to his proposal. Nikita sighed. The relationship was over. It had been for a long time. Though she had been able to procrastinate actually saying the words that would end it, the events of the last twenty-four hours dictated that she do so as soon as possible. Preferably before the party.

Then there was Michael. Should she tell him about Stephen? Looking up at her reflection in the mirror, her gaze was drawn to the mark that stood out darkly against her white skin. Her fingers reached up and touched the spot tenderly and she smiled at the memory of Michael's mouth upon her. She sighed. Her body ached just from thinking about him.

She turned to finish undressing, when she heard a knock at the door and froze. Michael? He was early. She reached for her black silk robe lying at the foot of the bed, slipped it on and headed for the front entrance. She glanced at the kitchen clock as she passed and saw that it was only 7:10. Looking through the security glass, she saw that indeed it was Michael.

Smiling she unlocked the door and swung it open, then stood in surprise as she beheld the glossy packages he carried in his hands. "What's all this?" she asked as she stepped back and allowed him to enter. Michael walked with his bounty toward the living room and carefully placed the packages on the sofa. Turning, he stood with his hands clasped in front of him.

"Reparation," he stated quietly.

She broke out into a smile and sauntered over to him. "Reparation?" she asked as her hands slipped inside his coat and glided down his chest. "For what?"

His gaze focused on her neck, and leaning forward, he kissed her tenderly.

"Ahh," she sighed, and began to pull his coat off. "Feeling guilty, huh?"

"Yes," he stated softly. When she had finished pulling his coat off, he pulled her into his arms again. "Forgive me?" he asked, and bent once more to give her a lingering kiss.

Nikita moaned softly, kissing him back fervently. "Yes," she whispered against his mouth. "Yes, yes, yes . . . ." His hands had found their way inside her robe by now and had worked their way around to her back. Nikita could feel his fingers pulling her slip up and she moaned and pressed herself closer to him.

"I missed you, Nikita," he whispered between kisses. Her slip was bunched up at her waist now and he quickly slid his fingers underneath to feel her heated skin beneath. Nikita gave a whimpering cry and lifted one long leg to wrap around Michael. While one hand continued northward, his other hand slipped down to her leg and began to slide up toward her core.

"Oooh, Michael," she cried, pulling her face away from his and arching against him.

"What about dinner?" he asked.

"Not hungry," she murmured desperately and leaned forward to devour his lips again. With his lips still attached to hers, he glanced sideways and saw the dining room set. He unwrapped her leg from him as she moaned in protest and guided her toward his goal.

Pulling out one of the straight-back chairs, he gently disengaged Nikita from him, and quickly stripped her remaining clothes off as she pulled out his belt. Several frantic moments later Michael, his trousers and briefs several inches lower, sat on the chair and pulled his beautiful, very naked, Nikita toward him . . . .

Part 17

As Michael pulled Nikita toward him, he watched as she raised one long limb and crossed it over to his other side. Leaning forward, he pressed his open mouth against her flat stomach as she stood in front of him. Nikita closed her eyes as she felt his tongue delve into the gentle valley of her navel, his hands found their way behind her knees and began a slow sensuous ascent.

With feather-light strokes, his fingers glided up the back of her thighs, drawing circular patterns that extended to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She held her breath as she felt their delicate touch approach her core, then retreat as he stroked down and away. Her hands grabbed onto Michael's shoulders as his mouth moved slowly south toward her golden curls, then retreated back north. Thus he teased her, fingers approaching from the south, his mouth from the north, both zeroing in on her, then retreating. A game of cat and mouse that increased her aching to be touched and filled. Nikita began to feel her frustration mounting. She felt her legs becoming weak. Moaning, she grasped Michael's hair, pulling his head back for a kiss as she began to lower herself onto him.

His desire-filled gaze met hers, his mouth parting in anticipation of her kiss as the fingers of his right hand moved up to touch her descending core, then entered her. Nikita gasped, the muscles of her femininity reacting instantly to Michael's probing fingers, tightening around him as he slid in and out of her hot moistness. Her arms wrapped around his head, hugging him to her. As his fingers continued to slide in and out, Michael's mouth found Nikita's left nipple and began to suckle gently. Nikita moaned again, her hips thrusting against him, enjoying the sensations he was evoking in her. After a while though she wanted more and, whispering his name, she removed his hand and reached down between them, positioning his strong, steely shaft, as she slid down onto him.

They moaned and gasped simultaneously, gripping one another tightly. Michael, his arms wrapped around her hips, pulled her in tighter as he dropped his head onto her shoulder, his breath coming out quickly. Her warmth was intensely comforting. It welcomed and caressed him. Two parts of a whole coming together in tight unison.

Nikita gently held his head between her fingers and pulled him back to gaze lovingly into his eyes. "So beautiful, Michael," she whispered as she repeatedly squeezed his shaft with her inner muscles. Michael moaned and thrust his hips up against her. She lowered her head to his and brushed her tongue against his lips as he thrust upward again.

Wiggling her hips, Nikita slid as far down onto him as she could, her mind focusing completely on the feel of his long, throbbing length embedded deeply in her. Leaning her head back, her eyes drifted closed as a sensuous smile spread across her beautiful face. Michael groaned, his hands holding her tightly to him as she leaned further back, her long golden hair falling back to touch his thighs, her breast thrust temptingly out at him. Nikita pushed her hips against him. Raising her head, she looked at him with a look of pure erotic pleasure.

Michael watched her, completely enthralled by her seduction of him. He felt himself becoming harder and thicker as Nikita -- her eyes watching him carefully -- placed her hand at the base of her neck then slowly glided her hand down.

Her fingers trailed down to the valley between her breasts, lingering, touching her hardened peaks. Michael's mouth opened, his tongue flicking over dry lips, as his eyes continued to watch her hand. Nikita raised her finger to her mouth, wetting it, then returned it to her breast, swirling it tantalizingly around the nipple. Michael groaned and thrust up against her.

She laughed, low and husky, as her hand descended lower. He was breathing rapidly now. Burning up, torn between his desire to ravage her and his fascination with Nikita's sensual movements. His cock throbbed inside of her, aching for action. But still, Nikita resisted and continued to torment him.

Her hand slid down between their bodies and Michael gasped as he felt her fingers lightly scratch at his pubic hair. He closed his eyes tightly, the muscles in his neck straining as he tried to maintain control. His fingers dug into her buttocks, pulling her closer. Finally, Nikita squeezed her finger through and found the spot where their bodies were joined, touching the very base of Michael's shaft.

With a loud groan Michael rose, taking her with him, and lowered them both onto the floor. He was through waiting -- he needed her now. Nikita wrapped her legs around him as he gently laid her back onto the floor, their bodies still joined. Bending over her, Michael quickly removed his jacket and shirt. His skin was on fire and he needed to be free. Throwing his shirt to the side, he grabbed her hands and lifted them above her head. He held them there as he gazed down upon his lover's face and with a moan began to thrust powerfully inside of her.

Urgency drove him as he pounded his cock inside of her. Faster, deeper, he loved her with every ounce of strength he had in him, watching through passion-glazed eyes as her breasts heaved beneath him. Watched as she arched up, her eyes shutting tightly. Watched as she cried out his name, over and over. His fingers laced through hers, she squeezed his hands, gripping them tightly. A look of pure wild lust filled her eyes and she struggled against him. She screamed in her desire to touch him, dig her nails into him, but Michael held her captive as he continued to thrust in and out.

"MICHAEL!!!"

She arched, every muscle in her body straining as she reached the apex of her passion and exploded into blissful release. With a loud groan Michael thrust mightily into her again, holding himself deep in her, feeling the trembling convulsions of her release, and, with a strangled cry, climaxed inside of her.

Michael collapsed onto her, his body weak and heaving as Nikita wrapped her arms protectively around him. She kissed his brow, his eyes, and his cheek as she listened to his ragged breathing. Hugging him to her, she kissed the top of his head, gently stroking his auburn hair as she felt his arms curl up around her shoulders.

"Ni-ki-ta," he whispered.

She smiled as she held him tenderly and whispered, "Shhh, my love . . . rest."

Part 18

Nikita gently stroked Michael's hair as he rested upon her. Her eyes blinking slowly in dreamy contentment. The pounding of her heart began to return to normal, her breathing becoming sluggish. She inhaled deeply, feeling her breasts rise to meet Michael's muscular chest, then fall back. She turned her head to the side and peered down to see that his eyes were closed, a look of utter calm gracing his handsome face.

She smiled tenderly as her finger traced the line of his cheek. Michael's lashes opened slightly at the caress, than closed again. His lips curving into the sweet little smile that Nikita loved.

"So where are you taking me for dinner?" she asked.

His smile widened. "I thought you said you weren't hungry," he replied sleepily.

"That was before."

He smiled as he opened his eyes and glanced at his watch. "We might still be able to make our reservations," he said looking at her.

Her eyes twinkled as she gazed down into his face. "Let's eat in," she suggested and he smiled in response. Raising himself up, he slid himself out of her as she sighed.

"Later," he promised, and bent to kiss her, then pulled his clothes back up. Standing, he reached down for her hand and pulled her up to her feet. Nikita smiled as he began to dust off her back and buttocks, a look of serious concentration on his face. He turned then and picked up her discarded robe from the floor, shook it out, and then draped it around her shoulders -- holding the sides as she stuck her hands in, then belted it. His eyes lifted to see the laughter in hers.

"What?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing," she whispered, and stepped into his arms, her hands coming up to gently hold his face as she kissed him. "I love you."

His eyes shone as they roamed over her face and he leaned in and kissed her again. "Je t'aime, mon Ni-ki-ta."

She sighed and hugged him briefly, before turning and going to take her much-delayed shower. Michael watched her leave, a smile playing across his lips as he heard her humming. Turning, he began to restore the room to order. The chair was replaced in its rightful place, his jacket draped over its back. His shirt he picked up and shook out before slipping it back on, and last of all he picked up the rest of Nikita's discarded clothing -- her slip and bikini -- and headed into the bedroom. He heard the shower water running and smiled as he listened to Nikita singing about 'finding love on a two-way street'. Glancing around, he saw the hamper by her dresser and headed over towards it.

As he passed the dresser, his attention was captured by the open black ring box, and the diamond and sapphire ring inside. Michael paused, a slight frown forming on his face. He reached out slowly and touched the ring. It could have been a gift from her parents, or Birkoff, or maybe she bought it herself, he reasoned. But an aching little doubt tugged at his heart. This was a man's gift to a woman. A gift that a man in love would buy for a woman. Possibly even an engagement ring.

His eyes turned toward the bathroom where he could still hear Nikita singing and his heart contracted.

Was there someone else?

When he had first met her, he hadn't dared hope that she was free but, after last night, he had assumed that she was.

Michael moved toward the hamper and placed her clothes in it before he turned and walked slowly back to the living room.