"Part One"
NC-17

Michael Samuelle left his vineyard in Saint Estephe in the Medoc Region in France taking off from Merignac Aeroport de Bordeaux in his Lear 35. He would be flying the 575 miles to the Gatwick Airport in London in a little over an hour. The Garonne River magnificent in its natural beauty disappeared quickly due to the high air speed of the aircraft, but the topography was so stupendous that he didn't seem to mind.

His spectacular visage reflecting the concern he felt. His eyes the color of the most exquisite emeralds carried the weight of his thoughts deep within them. He covered the jewels with dark glasses as to prevent the world from interfering. The weather was fine, he filed his flight plan and at 8:15 on a weekday morning he didn't have to worry about air traffic. The copilots relaxing since Michael insisted in flying himself.

His stepfather Paul Wolfe had called from America asking for his succor and empathy. His world was disintegrating because of his new wife. The woman, an aristocratic American was creating havoc in the orderly, content life the handsome older man had led. Paul needed Michael to basically insure him that the steps he was taking were the correct ones.

Michael, ever the family man, dropped everything to rush to his stepfather's side. He was going to ensure the man came out of this problem unscathed. Paul had just returned to London from America and had told Michael little about the trip. But Michael knew that deep down there was something Paul was keeping from him and he would fill him in when they met.

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The weather had turned in the blink of an eye. The early spring snowstorm had made traffic impossible, even at 11:30 at night. The blanket of snow, about 18 inches deep was covering the dirty seedy streets beneath it. The transcendental scene made the choice of going out or staying indoors an easy one. What a night to decide to take a short cut home!

Nikita Wirth's 1963 Rambler American broke down. Suddenly she was panicked for she could easily freeze to death. When she was living in the streets she would have known what to do, where to go in a moment such as this...and now? She had to think fast, her flimsy coat over her black skirt and white blouse would not keep her warm for long.

Her new life had started happily a short time before; she had finally managed to get herself off the streets. Her mother had died when Nikita was young so she had been in and out of foster care, until at 17 she had run away from the foster home. The life in the streets impossible, but the foster care system was worse.

Her mother Roberta had been born in Chicago Illinois, had moved to Sidney Australia following some guy; had gotten pregnant by another guy and had given birth to Nikita. When she was diagnosed with colon cancer she had moved back home, dying promptly after arriving in the States, leaving Nikita alone.

She was now working in a wholesale warehouse from 7:30am to 4:30pm and then a second job as a waitress in a busy small family restaurant from 5:15pm to 11:15 at night. On the weekends she had studied, passed her GED and now was taking University courses and baby-sitting her landlord Madelyn's 7 year old boy Steven in exchange for her apartment.

Nikita and Madelyn, a woman 15 years her senior, talked about going somewhere else, forging a new life...as soon as Madelyn finished her Psychiatric Residency. The woman had helped Nikita straighten her life out. She had taken her in at 19 and both women had helped each other - each one with their own goals, but with esprit de corps that was ...female.

The snow had come unexpectedly, it had been in the high sixties when she had left her apartment at 7:00 am and she had only worn a sweater and jeans and carried what she wore now, her waitressing black skirt and white blouse in her purse. She stopped for a second against a closed store front and put on the jeans under her skirt and her sweater over her blouse, hoping this would make her at least a bit warmer.

She decided to walk towards her 3-room basement home, which was about 20 blocks east. Nikita could hardly see were she was going, the driving snow making even walking a chore. She was not progressing, not only were her flats and stocking covered feet sinking into the snow, but her hair was drenched and the frozen water poured over her face and eyes. She was also exhausted - the cold was making her lethargic and sleepy.

The streets were not only barren of traffic of any kind but even pedestrians and street people were not out tonight. The lights on the posts cast an eerie wave of yellow light reflecting through the falling snow. The white vapor escaped from the heating vents, Nikita stood close to one - catching her breath and warming for a bit.

She saw a Mercedes SUV parked on the side of the road, she figured it had also broken down for this was obviously not an area were a car like this belonged. No buses were passing at this time of night, the closest subway station completely out of reach. The buildings all locked down and she needed a place to come in from the snow. She tried the car door and it opened, so she entered the back seat of the car, laid on the last row of seats, locked the doors and after a bit fell asleep.

Her dreams like always whenever she was afraid, even when she was out on the streets, calmed her, soothed her fears. She dreamed of piercing green eyes that loved her with a passion that evaporated her worries and strong arms that protected and took care of her. She had been having the recurring dream since she was 17; she was now 25 and still truly relied on the dream to appease her.

Paul Wolfe clicked the alarm of the car, helping his wife Corine enter the passenger side, the woman was high and could hardly walk. He reached over and buckled her seat belt, shook his head and started driving the long trip to the rehab.

After a two-hour difficult trip Paul pulled unto the opulent rehab in the outskirts of Chicago. The snowfall had slowed down, but not stopped, he figured that an additional 4 inches had fallen during his arduous trip. The trip, which usually took 40 minutes, had been difficult because of the slippery roads and now freezing rain.

The evening had started when Paul had gotten a frantic call from Corine asking to be picked up from a drug house of sorts; a taxi had taken him to the address. Paul had decided this was the last straw, he would tell Corine he wanted the marriage dissolved.

The woman had wanted to come to Chicago to a drug rehab and Paul had immediately acquiesced. She had obviously broken her promise to stop the drug use. Corine's call had made Paul frenetic.

Paul arrived at the rehab and Corine was asleep and softly snoring. Paul completely spent had to return this crazy woman who had previously made all kinds of threats to the rehabilitation center. Quite the evening indeed. Paul went inside and asked the attendants to help him with Corine.

When Paul returned Corine stood by the glass double doors, her long brown hair making her look younger than her 40 some years. She walked out unto the porch wearing a dress, no coat and a gun in her extended hand. Paul did not see her; he was looking back waiting for the attendants as he approached the car for he saw someone on the back seat and thought it was his wife.

Corine pointed the gun at Paul's back, pulled the trigger and shot two times. She then turned the gun to her mouth and again pulling the trigger finished her life. The attendants ran to Corine's fallen body and realized her face was missing, she had successfully committed suicide. They reached for the cell phone and dialed 911.

"Where did she come from?" The attendants questioned when they saw the wounded woman in the car, realizing the beauty did not belong in the car and knowing the Wolfe's were from England.

"She told me she had to find shelter against the snow and then passed out." Paul nervously added.

The sirens could be heard in the distance. The snow had not let up. When the EMS crew arrived they found Paul kneeling into the back seat of the SUV, he was talking softly to someone and a moan could be heard. The Paramedics saw it was a young blonde woman, her beautiful wheat color hair marred by the growing bloodstain.

They made sure Paul was all right, he had also been grazed by one of the bullets. The EMS staff could see the wound on the young woman's forehead, the second bullet had grazed her and left a nasty looking 'scrape' - just that.

Paul was exonerated of any fault. The girl's wound was superficial and the police were convinced this was a suicide. The Medical Examiner had taken the corpse to the forensic lab. No suicide note had been located, however heroin and paraphernalia had been found in the woman's rehab room...days later they would learn it had been a bad drug batch that had caused the rampage.

Paul had arrived at the hospital a few minutes after the girl had released herself against doctor's advice. He picked up the information she had given the hospital when he paid for her two-day stay. The doctor's notes had surprised Paul - it seemed that the DNA tests showed he was the girl's father. The nurse advised him, she had not read the file before rushing out.

-------

While Michael sat in the limo on the way to the mansion to wait for his 'dad' Michael remembered an incident with Paul's wife. She had shown up in Michael's downtown loft screaming, first looking for her husband, who Corine was sure Michael was hiding. And while she was there - uninvited - she had proceeded to give Michael a piece of her mind for having ended his engagement to Elena Vacek.

Michael was now thinking he should have told her that one of the reasons he broke up with Elena was the young woman's developing friendship and thus emulation of Corine. Michael had never liked his stepfather's wife...but he loved Paul and therefore he supported his choices. Whatever Paul wanted to do with his wife, Michael would go along, but he surely hoped Paul would stick to his guns and divorce Corine.

When Michael's mother had died in the car accident Michael was 21 years old and already out of the house, living on his own in Bordeaux. He remembered when his mother, a young widow had decided to marry Paul - 10 year old Michael had not been happy. But then Paul had raised him, become a good friend, the only father he knew.

When Michael's mother died Paul waited over 10 years to marry again. Michael had told Paul he didn't like this woman. Paul had answered that Michael used to say the same about him when he had married his mother.

Michael had accepted the marriage a year before and still had not gotten comfortable with the meddling woman. Corine was a little crazy, a lot obsessive and a lot more trouble than Paul needed. The more that Michael thought about Corine, the more he hoped Paul was serious about divorcing her.

-------

Michael's head reposed on the leather headrest. His eyes gazing out the limo window without seeing much, he was tired and emotionally drained. He decided to enjoy the solitude of the 30 odd minute trip from the airport to Paul's home. He knew he had to listen to his stepfather without giving his opinion - Paul wanted someone to lend him an ear, not give him lip.

Michael also had to ask his Grandfather Walter to lend him a hand at the Winery, which meant he had to leave the Clinic unattended. Walter was not wild about abandoning his patients, as he would surely tell his grandson. Michael had a distribution trip to the States and was not going to be able to oversee the harvesting. Paul, Walter's partner at the psychiatric clinic was obviously not in a state of mind to assume the entire responsibility of the Jones Clinic.

The limo passed by the new Excell - a convention center of sorts. Michael remembered he only had a couple of weeks before he had to devote his time in late May to the annual London International Wine and Spirit show. The foremost wine show in the world had become a showpiece for Michael's St Mishel's Winery. And Michael fidgeted, a bit overwhelmed, for he was not sure how he was going to handle it all.

The Winery had won the coveted Show's honor for each category and for his region since the show's inception. Starting with Michael's great grandfather the family winery had always been a forerunner in the production of the famous and fabulous award winning wines. Since Michael had taken over the winery production, quality and profits had broken all possible records.

Even in the middle of this family crisis Michael had business in mind. He had never, not even during his intense love affair with Simone, put aside his work ethics. His grandmother Lady Adrian always said she longed to watch him throw caution to the wind and meet someone who would make him forget to breath.

Michael was looking forward to staying at his maternal grandparent's manor. When his stepfather had married Corine Michael had allowed Paul to remain in the London mansion that he had inherited from his father and Corine had quickly denied Michael access to his own London home. Michael had not made a big deal of this...he didn't like to make waves and upset Paul and when he came to London, he liked to stay in his loft anyway.

This had been Michael London's ancestral home. Michael's paternal great grandparents, then his paternal grandparents and ultimately his father had made copious amounts of money in the wine business. Paul was a very rich man in his own right, Walter was enormously rich also, but Michael's old wealth, both inherited and earned, was incalculable.

Paul paced the floor of the impressive library while he waited for Michael. La biblioteque as Michael called it, was a surprising combination of Anglo and Franco literature, not to mention good and bad reading - diverse described it best. Michael's mother had been a romance novelist of tremendous eclat and talent, writing both in her native English and French. Her works had been translated into 52 other languages.

Michael's maternal grandfather Walter Jones, an American by birth had married his wife Lady Adrian of English nobility after World War II and remained in London practicing Psychiatry until recently. They had stayed in London in a house equally as grand and in proximity to the one Paul now inhabited. Michael's father and mother had met when the French Lieutenant had come to stay in London after his stint in Vietnam as part of the French military advising the United States forces. Michael's father died when Michael was 5 years old in an accident at the Vineyard's his family had owned forever.

Michael finally pulled up to the mansion. Paul ran out to greet him, his ice blue eyes glazed with tears. "Michael, son I am so glad you are here." Both men embraced and Michael kissed his 'dad' on both cheeks. "She killed herself Michael...tried to shoot me...Oh God it was horrible."

Michael and Paul walked into the house, pausing long enough to greet the servants that had seen Michael grow-up. They went into la biblioteque and Paul filled Michael in on everything that had happened in his trip to Chicago. Corinne had been laid to rest in the States.

----

Nikita's dreams continued in the warmth of her own room. She was comfortably dreaming again, although aware she was thirsty...remembering a strong hand holding a glass of water and her head, helping her drink...Did she ask for the water, who did the hand belong to?

The man, his bright green eyes played tricks with her senses. They penetrated through to her soul there was nothing she wouldn't tell this man. What had she done? Being cold would have been better than having to learn how to live without the warmth of his stare now that she had finally experienced it. The man was all consuming and Nikita moaned.

His elegant long fingers played with his bottom lip. Meaty, moist, full lips that called out to be caressed. Hidden beneath - the straightest, whitest teeth she'd seen and slightly opened mouth in contemplation. His hockey dented nose in perfect harmony with the high cheekbones and the square jaw.

The man before her was perfection and took her breath away. She watched as he covered his face and sighed when he heard her voice. Nikita had been in and out of consciousness since she returned from the hospital. The medical records file lay on her desk unopened. Her dreams still giving her condole.

Behind a glass cage Nikita scared and nervous waited sitting on her bent knees. She had caught the magnificent looking man's gaze as he shopped slowly through the maze of beautiful women. In her fear she wondered why he was there. This fine specimen of a man obviously didn't need to pay anyone.

She heard him tell her jailer that he was turned on by this whole gendre. No strings, what you paid for was yours, no arguments. Sophistication and charm and she was frozen couldn't do a thing to attract his attention.

She heard his thrilling lilt ask her name. He smiled one that Nikita noticed didn't reach his eyes and asked if she could show him her breasts. She obliged fear at her jailer's look and quickly moved her top - perky breasts showing through. His face as always perceived in parts, never as a whole and always sporting the iron mask.

He had not spoken; just paid the ridiculous amount they had decided to ask for this 'peep' show. And now Nikita was trapped, she wanted to run, but towards the man, not away from him. All of a sudden she wanted this stranger to know she was a good girl, she was a smart girl, she was not this girl.

He had asked for a room, he didn't want the whole cheesy cage sex thing, and of course the outrageous fee bought him what he wanted. Nikita's hallucinations continued and she was speaking loudly repeating what she was dreaming. "Jamie, Carla and I have known each other for a long time" she had started. "They are married, I am single, they told me this would be easy cash. It is not, this is a white slave ring..." She whispered, hands wringing on her bare lap. She noted he was noticing her nervousness.

"I need money to relocate. I've never done anything like this ... I am sorry, I can't...." She blabbed he spoke for the first time.

"Nikita, is it? I don't want anything, need to be in this room though I am a secret agent for the Federal government. You will just lay there quietly and then I eventually will go away. No one will know." Nikita felt this conversation was real, not part of her dream. The man finished removing her wet clothes.

"But they are going to kill me when they find out I know about the slave ring." Nikita cried.

He stood and walked around the room checking the area. "Tell you what, if you do as I say, I will take you with me ... buy you, set you free. Just be quiet now I need to think..."

She nodded her head; he smiled to himself for this was one fantastic piece of ass. She added "Mr., we need to make believe in the bed, see they do come and check - they call it monitoring. Also if we look good doing it - they make a movie to sell."

The man turned and looked at her again. "OK what do we need to do?"

"Fast we need to get - physical. Do you have money?"

"Yes" he softly answered as he took off his clothes.

Nikita suddenly woke up. She was alone again in the room, nude but well covered with a luxurious blanket. The door a crack opened, she could hear muted conversation, could hear Madelyn and a man's voice. She tried to sit up, but the dizziness was too much and she could feel the vomit welling up inside.

Madelyn entered the room and smiled at the beautiful young woman "How are you feeling?" She asked.

"I have a terrible head ache, I feel nauseous and...am I home?"

Passing out again she missed when Dr. O'Brian walked in, the family doctor and neighbor smiled at the beautiful psychiatrist. He checked Nikita re-stitching the cut with butterfly stitches and wrapped clean perfect gauze around her wound. It was not deep and he started and IV drip with painkillers and antibiotics that had been prescribed at the hospital. Both MD's concurred this was the correct treatment.

Nikita should have not left the hospital against doctor's advice. They left the patient and went to the living room to talk about Madelyn's offer to further study in London at the prestigious Jones Clinic. O'Brian was happy for his friend Madelyn.

Nikita's dreams continued - The man crawled in the bed and kissed her when he saw the red light of the camera come on, she knew they were on display. She pushed the sheet off their bodies and he let out a sigh, half-truth - half-mission. The woman was beautiful; she wore just a thong, knee high stockings and CMF heels. He licked her genitalia through her panties with careless finesse and she led out a sigh of her own.

The man moved to the phone, naked as the day he was born. Proudly displaying for the cameras, the viewers and the girl in the bed his magnificent body and his obvious wanton penis. "I need Monsieur George up here at once ... and a bottle of Chateau Margeaux 1957." He walked back to the bed and pushed her hand to her own sex and told her to perform form him.

Nikita shyly put her hand to her curls, total proof her beautiful blonde hair was natural. She put one finger to his mouth and he sucked wetting the digit with gusto. She put her wet finger to her clit and softly, then with pressure, caressed her amazingly slippery nub. Her clear blue eyes were deeply communicating with him. She was feeling light headed and then a knock to the door.

Her eyes flew open, she suddenly realized she was in Madelyn's home, she reached for her head and recognized it was bandaged. She looked down and her body was uncovered, her fingers smell of her sex and she blushed. The knock came again - insistent.

Marco O'Brian walked in his eyes searching, "Are you alright? You were moaning so." She had drawn the sheet over her nakedness and again closed her eyes asking for water. Marco said he could only give her ice chips and wet her lips noticing she was again out, he watched her for a while.

The green-eyed man pushed her head to his dick. His soft accented voice catching when he commanded the knocker to enter. Mr. George entered embarrassed the young rich Frenchman was getting head and didn't care who saw. "You requested I come? What can I do for you?" This while he dismissed the server and got busy opening the wine and serving it.

"This girl is a virgin. I want her with me, never had a virgin before. What do you want for her?" The man said, removing the sheet and caressing her beautiful ass. She continued the blowjob with gusto, she needed this man to get her out of the brothel and she was enjoying the experience anyway.

Nikita's eyes opened again, she could see the drapes had been pulled, the light of the morning coming through the large window. She was alone, covered again, and the IV had been removed, the bandage still there and she had no way of knowing how long she had been out. Her head still ached and she consciously made the decision to sleep now...the dream too good to abandon.

"Get out so I can cum, or quietly stand to the side and let me finish..." the man felt Nikita smile around his member.

"I will be right back." George said as the man let out a grunt, cursed in a foreign language and brought Nikita up to his lap.

She smiled at him again and he kissed her, tasting himself on her mouth, and somehow being very turned on. "Nikita do you think you can get us out of here?" The man said softly in her ear.

"Of course, I do need to get dressed." She said and finally woke up feeling better that she had in ...how long?

////////////

Michael Samuelle boarded the Concorde from Paris to New York City where he had to meet with his Advertising Agency and the American wine distributors who represented him in the United States. His relaxed attire gave him an air of gentility that his Grandmother Adrian proudly attributed to his lineage. Michael was a Lord and although he didn't like to use the title, Lady Adrian insisted that when in England the title was to be used. Michael loved his Grandmother so he happily acceded.

He was getting off in the City that doesn't sleep revved up and ready to party. To his peace of mind he had left Walter at the Vineyard because Paul had stayed at the Clinic. In exchange though, he had to meet with Madelyn Charles MD, a Psychiatrist who had just finished her Residency at the University of Chicago Hospital and Clinics and was the chosen candidate to do a Sub-specialty in Adolescent Psychiatry at the Jones Clinic.

Dr. Charles would meet Michael in New York and he would interview her in what was the non-medical part of the process. But Michael wanted to enjoy himself also, New York was exiting and he always loved this City and its people, especially the women. Michael was staying at the Waldorf Astoria; the old hotel always pleased him.

He arrived at the registration desk and everything had been taken care of. His suite on the 10th floor overlooked the Chrysler Building, from his bed he could see the beautiful edifice and he smiled. Tipping the bellboy handsomely he called the front desk to find out if Dr. Charles had arrived, the answer was negative. Michael then called his contacts and appointments were confirmed, including one for dinner. He lay on the king sized bed and took a nap.

Michael got up around 6:00pm, he had an hour to meet his dinner companions. He called a couple of friends, made plans to see them and proceeded to take a shower. He dressed less casually, but still the European style could be detected. The man looked like the poster child for haute couture.

A black single-breasted long jacket, triple pocket flaps on each side. A black soft short v-neck knit tee and black trousers. He wore a silver watch and bracelet, a silver chain around his neck and a belt with a silver buckle. He wore black short boots. Michael's Gautier clad body turned heads...and he smelled heavenly. He took his platinum American Express, his room card-key, ten $100.00 bills and walked out of the suit. He pressed the elevator button and waited for the 'lift'.

He boarded and then the door opened on the 9th floor and a beautiful blonde woman entered. Michael's green gaze filled with her form. Almost as tall as he, she had perfect blonde hair, hanging straight and loose, a strand wrapped around a black ribbon. Her perfect body dressed in a pair of black patent leather mary-janes, mini black leather skirt with a front slit and powder blue square neck sweater that barely touched the waist of the skirt.

No make up, just a pair of sunglasses adorned her face, she smelled of violets. Michael swallowed having one of those multiple sex thoughts that his Grandfather said men had all through their day. A young boy accompanied her, perhaps 8 or 9 years old who was reprimanding her for wearing the sunglasses at night. Michael smiled.

"See Nikita, even the gentleman thinks I am right, right sir?" The boy said.

"Of course, I for one would love to see your eyes Ni-ki-ta." Michael's husky, accented voice purposely said.

Nikita removed her glasses and blue eyes met green ones. Her dreams were becoming a reality, for here he was. She blushed more at her dirty thoughts that at her response. "So you guys win." She winked at Michael as the door opened on the Mezzanine level and they got off. Michael sighed; he should have introduced himself - what a stupendous piece of ass.

When Michael arrived at the lobby young Seymour and Jason Birkoff were waiting in one of the lobby bar couches. The table faced the elevator and both men rose when Michael appeared. They greeted each other as old friends, for they had been doing business forever. They sat, ordered drinks - a bottle of Grand Vin de Leoville d'el Marquis de Las Cases - 1984, a rich full-bodied red wine, which set the Birkoff twins back $300. They laughed, and talked, caught up as they waited for Craig Hillinger the advertising guru.

Michael told them the story of the girl in the elevator. "Well Michael if you know her first name, perhaps the Concierge can help you."

"Perhaps" Michael said a smile on his handsome face.

Hillinger appeared and they moved on to The Russian Tea Room, where they ate caviar and dinner, drank vodka and talked until 11:00. The night was young and Michael was these men's most important client, so they decided to go back to the hotel to continue talking and drinking. The new ad campaign would net the three men a cool million.

Hillinger who had heard of the wine they'd had before decided to order a bottle. He was not, under any circumstance, going to be less of a host than the Birkoff twins. They sat in the comfortable sofas in the east portico bar and continued talking business. Michael looked around, for he sensed her before seeing her.

She walked through the door accompanied of another woman and the boy, who was obviously tired. The older woman, striking in her own right, was holding the boy's hand and laughing with Nikita. She wore a beautiful ankle length black satin skirt with a wide belt with a crystal buckle and a white satin long sleeve blouse - elegant.

And Nikita...Michael's labored breath noticeable by the three other men who were equally impressed by the young woman's beauty. She wore a midnight blue Dior length gown in the softest of taffeta and tulle. The skirt had tiny rhinestones, which made it look like the firmament. The corset top accentuated the woman's breast and her narrow waist and she wore a cuff necklace of the exact same color as the dress. A tulle wrap finished the ensemble.

Michael stood and bowed his head when their eyes met. The young boy said "Look Nikita it's the elevator guy..." The brunette woman covered the child's mouth as to stop him from divulging anymore than he already had.

"Ni-ki-ta" Michael softly acknowledged. She was thrilled for he remembered her name.

At hearing his accent Madelyn asked, "Are you Lord Samuelle?"

"Yes." Michael answered not taking his eyes off the blonde who was blushing and becoming a puddle from the handsome man's stare.

"I am Madelyn Charles, Dr. Charles."

"Oh hello, please call me Michael. These are my friends..." Shaking Madelyn's hand he proceeded to introduce them all. Their eyes still glued on each other.

The boy said "I am Steven, you don't mind if I go to my room?" Everyone laughed and Michael called the Bell Captain who took the boy up to his room.

Madelyn then proceeded to introduce Nikita as her niece. Michael took Nikita's hand in his and kissed her palm, lingering on the feel of her skin against his lips. "Enchante mademoiselle."

///////

The conversation had been amiable and fun. Michael had been truly impressed with Nikita's knowledge of wine, especially his label. Nikita explained that she had taken several courses at the University. The table had roared at her description of the courses and the Professor. Madelyn had told Michael how they had toured his vineyard on a trip to the Bordeaux Region the year before.

Michael had regaled them with the story of how his late paternal grandfather had established this tour for he felt people needed to be educated about wine. How his maternal grandfather Walter would drink MD 20-20 and thus the horror the Samuelle elder had experienced. Walter's tastes advanced the program now in place for a couple of decades. Nikita had expressed her fascination at meeting Michael since his winery was so well known.

Hillinger had suggested Nikita should model and offered to help her develop a career in the field. Seymour went further and suggested Nikita should do Michael's advertising campaign. Nikita told them she was flattered but if Madelyn was offered the fellowship she would be traveling with her Aunt and Cousin to England. Michael was somehow thrilled with the prospect.

They spoke of their fascination with New York, how neither Madelyn, nor Nikita had ever been before. How tonight had been special for they had gone to see 'The Lion King' and how Steven had enjoyed it and they had adored it. Nikita enthusiastically spoke of how she wanted to see the Statute of Liberty up close and visit the Met.

The conversation went on and on and finally Madelyn ever the diplomat stood up and said she had to go check on 7 year old Steven who probably had driven the hotel sitter crazy. Taking a cue from the beautiful brunette, Hillinger and the Birkoff twins excused themselves with Michael asking the ladies to please wait. He then walked the men to the door, confirming they would meet the next day around 10:00.

Michael then returned to the beautiful women. He noticed how Madelyn was fidgeting with the collar of her blouse, trying hard not to appear nervous. Nikita on the other hand was comfortably slouched on the banquette and had winked at her Aunt reassuringly. The handsome man cleared his throat and sat next to Nikita.

"Madelyn, my grandfather and stepfather have given me the authority to offer you the fellowship if I thought you would fit in with the Jones Clinic family. They were very impressed with your credentials, as I am equally impressed with you...and your lovely family. I am honored to offer you the fellowship and would love it if you accepted the position. It is indeed a great opportunity for you and would be a tremendous asset for the Clinic if you joined them."

Nikita smiled, she was very proud of Madelyn, who answered "Of course, with pleasure I accept." They spoke for a few minutes more and Michael kissed both her cheeks and smiled broadly when she added, "I hope Michael that we will meet tomorrow before we return to Chicago."

"Nonsense" He said. "I have not done the NY tourist thing since I was a child. You offer me the opportunity to see the City again through your eyes. It would be my pleasure and my absolute delight to accompany the three of you, that is if you do not have a prior commitment or a reason to return to Chicago so quickly...Also the Clinic is paying for your stay, enjoy it."

Madelyn and Nikita laughed. "Oh no, I brought my niece and my son, so I am paying for the stay. I returned the airline ticket to the Clinic because we drove here, it is a good way for this Australian and Canadian to see Steven's America, don't you think?"

"Since we have no reason to rush back to Chicago, we can stay and 'do the tourist thing' with you anyway." Nikita added, somehow loosing the savoir faire attitude she had before he had rejoined them.

He looked at her blushed face intently, he stroked his lip and chin and spoke. "Well, unless you want my stepfather to kill me, you must allow me to change that whole expense thing. What they would say and do to me..." He said and they all laughed.

"Ok Michael as you wish." Madelyn added.

"But you must allow us to do something for you." Nikita shyly added.

"I tell you what, I have a ball to go to tomorrow, perhaps you could accompany me? I hate to go to these things alone." He asked them grabbing Nikita's hand and stroking it between his.

Nikita was melting, if she had not been 25 she would have sworn she was getting hot flashes. She felt wet in her most private places, was not sure if it was because of his proximity; or his French lilt caressing her hearing; or his eyes stroking her body. She was melting and thrilling in the feel of it. Madelyn declined the invitation saying that she didn't want to leave Steven alone, but perhaps Nikita could attend.

"I would be delighted," she added. "Would this dress be appropriate?"

Madelyn said she hated to interrupt but she needed to check on Steven. Michael again kissed her on both checks whispered something in French and bid the woman good night. He reminded her they needed to meet after 12 noon to formulate their plans and go to lunch. He again asked if Madelyn was sure that she didn't want to join them at the Governor's ball.

When Madelyn had gone, there was a strange moment between the two young people. It was...comfortable. Michael was intently looking in her eyes, her mouth, her eyes, her face, her mouth, and so forth. She was having trouble inhaling and exhaling in a set pattern; her erratic breathing in conflict with her overwhelmed senses. He had not released her hands and she was not complaining. Then he brought them to his fascinating lips and softly kissed the top of them, then her opened palms, then the pulse points on her wrist and then he just held them next to his mouth.

She looked at him, her blue eyes pure liquid emotion, "I have to go." She nervously whispered.

"Don't go...let's make plans...I don't know the protocol..." he moved forward and softly kissed her lips, he sighed against them and rested his forehead to hers. "You better go..." He told her and stood guiding her by the hand to the elevator.

Inside the lift the couple ignored the uniformed elevator operator. Nikita drew Michael to her; he let her and again kissed her softly. Their bodies fit perfectly together and Nikita felt worshiped enveloped in his strong arms. He got off with her on the 9th floor and walked together in silence to the door of her room, their hands intertwined.

"Kita..." his voice husky with emotion and desire. He kissed her again, this time a bit more desperate and disengaged, he was in total control, manipulating the blonde's reactions for she was too far gone to have a congruous thought. Not that his were any more coherent.

She realized she didn't have a key and straightened knocking on the door. Madelyn answered within seconds and smiled at the couple. "Tomorrow" he said, "you are moving to a suite...no arguments. See you both at 8:00 am for breakfast. Goodnight ladies." And then Nikita nearly fainted for he did his 3/4 turn, hip drop, step back turn. The women did not even discuss the young man as he retreated into the waiting elevator.

Michael had trouble sleeping, he called room service and ordered milk, then the front desk where he requested that the Charles party be moved to a suite, preferably on his floor. He booted up his laptop and emailed Paul telling him about Madelyn accepting the fellowship and filling him in on the brunette beauty...purposely keeping Nikita to himself. He then called his grandfather to check on the elder couple and his harvest.

He drank his milk, watched a movie on the WB which made him fall asleep. His sleep restful and filled with a certain blonde beauty doing things with him and to him too erotic to describe. Certainly the woman could even warm his commitment-phobic heart.

A floor below Nikita whispered and Madelyn heard, "It is him, the man of my dreams." Madelyn did not answer, it was not meant for her to hear and felt a tad jealous of her friend, in a good way though - new affairs were so attractive.

Michael awoke, brushed his teeth, drank his coffee and read the newspapers that had been left for him. He made phone calls, answered emails, asked the Concierge for help with reservations and showered and shaved dressing - black jeans, green tee and leather jacket. He looked hip, expensive and devastatingly handsome. He left his room while speaking on the cell phone to France and boarded the elevator busy with his business concerns.

The hotel restaurant was already bussing with guests eating breakfast. He spied Madelyn eating a grapefruit. Steven was being served a Belgium Waffle by a chef, he then proceeded to mound up the fruit and whipped cream. Nikita was no were to be found.

"Good morning" Michael softly told Madelyn, stroking her shoulder, he left to join Steven, "Good morning, don't you think an omelet would be better?"

"No, look at the whipped cream, it is free and it is good for you." The boy wild eyes and enthusiastically answered.

"It is a vacation, go ahead enjoy the whipped cream and pancakes." And smiled.

Michael ordered a two egg white omelet, no yolks. He sat with Madelyn, ordered orange juice, served himself coffee and began chatting with the brunette and finally asked where Nikita was. The blonde appeared before them, "Good morning, we are now in a suite on the 10th floor. You do move fast don't you?" Nikita saucily told Michael.

"Nikita, Nikita, look at the whipped cream." Steven screamed across the restaurant.

"I see" she whispered, signaling him to lower his voice. She went to where he was, helped him with the plate and served herself cereal, carrying it also to the table.

The group talked, laughed, enjoyed the food, the company and the moment. Michael suggested they meet at the studio of a designer friend; Rene Dion, was an old friend of Michael's who was an up and coming fashion designer. Michael gave the women the address and bid them both goodbye - padding Nikita's knee before standing up.

The day was perfect, the weather was 70, the sun shinning, the streets busy and the Bronx Zoo formidable. Nikita, Madelyn and young Steven drove the car to Rene's SoHo studio. Steven whining because he wanted to ride on the subway. The women promising to think about it as they maneuvered the Honda Civic into the narrow parking spot. The upscale boutique was astonishing; Steven sat at a small round table with children's books and building blocks. Nikita and Madelyn looked at the impressive posters, sketches and accepted some of Michael's wine while they waited for Rene.

The blonde, skinny designer appeared coming down the sleek Plexiglas and brass stairs. Michael, smiling and acknowledging the women was at his side. The two models that were getting ready to show a very well dressed couple some beautiful gowns giggled as Michael came into view. He looked magnificent and kissed Madelyn on both cheeks and Nikita softly on the lips and made his introductions.

Nikita was wearing white jeans, white round neck sweater and pearl jewelry. Madelyn wearing egg plant trouser and cotton shirt and a champagne color long scarf. Rene a charming man convinced Nikita and Madelyn to try some clothes. The women enjoyed the experience and when they left each took the clothing as a present from Rene. In exchange they allowed the designer to use their images in his advertisement.

They ate lunch at Mamma Leone's returned the car to the hotel and in the subway went to Wall Street were they boarded the ferry and went to visit the Statue of Liberty. "Michael do you know French people gave us the Statue of Liberty. You are French right? Steven asked. The group moved through the Statue and then went through the museum store. Michael was feeling happy; it had been a long time since he felt this light and worry free.

They stopped at Jan's and had huge sundaes. Steven suggested Nikita and Michael share one and Madelyn and him shared another - Nikita tended to eat more ice cream than Steven. They walked back to the hotel and Michael and Nikita made plans to meet at 7:30 to go to the ball. When the women and the boy walked into the suite they found a basket with 100 gardenia blossoms - a note that read, "Thanks for a lovely day...Michael." The basket handle had a gold game boy and three games for Steven.

"When did he do this?" Madelyn asked. Nikita was jumping up and down on the couch with Steven. "Hold on to him kiddo, he is a keeper."

---

Nikita dressed for the ball, she felt like Cinderella and she surely looked like her. The dress that Rene Dion had sent to the hotel for Nikita was truly spectacular in its elegant simplicity. The bodice all studded in crystal beads conformed to her torso like a new skin. It pushed her breasts up and gave her the most alluring décolletage. Her ears adorned with diamond studs.

The blackness of the embossed material in exuberant contrast to Nikita's perfect alabaster skin. Her hair held by diamond hairpins, hung in a loose chignon by her neck, some wisps and tendrils loose framing her face. The skirt long and flowing shimmering silks completed the magnificent gown; a diamond broach adorned the waist of her bare back. She wore simple glass slippers - acrylic shoes that seemed to disappear and kept her shorter than Michael.

She walked out of the room and he stood in the middle of the sitting area talking to Madelyn. He gasped for Nikita looked like a fairy princess, what he liked mostly was the understated make-up, she was truly beautiful and he said so. "Tres belle Ni-ki-ta." And kissed her hand.

He looked incredible himself. The tux obviously tailor-made and the silk cream color shirt and tie lent him a cutting edge polish. Michael was a handsome man and Nikita thought as she smiled how beautiful their children would look. "Shall we go?" She asked, Madelyn handed her the wrap and purse.

They looked like the top of a wedding cake and Madelyn smiled closing the door, picking up the phone and calling room service. The couple walked to the elevator in silence, fingers intertwined like if they had known each other forever.

"I hate these affairs." Michael told her as they waited for the elevator. "But I think tonight will change that pattern." He lifted her hand to his mouth and gently kissed it.

"I've never been to a ball Michael, I want to thank you for asking me." She said.

"Just seeing you in that dress is enough thanks Ni-ki-ta." He smiled.

They got in the elevator and went from the Waldorf in a limo to Gracie Mansion. Michael explained that he was the acting Mayor of his town, a sister city to Manhattan. Nikita's eyes threatened to burst out of their sockets. The Mansion was grand and full of very important people, loads of light, music and elegance.

Michael moved among these people with style. He was greeted, he was listened to, he introduced her and they had a grand time. The cocktail hour was impressive, the dinner majestic and then came the dance. Michael held her close to his body, his hands caressing her arms, her exposed back. Her skin prickly from his attention; he moved slowly holding her waist to his body and whispered French phrases in her ear. Her senses in tune with his.

He kissed her ear, blowing carefully and biting her tempting ear lobe. "Kita, you want to go?"

"Yes." Almost unintelligible, husky voice full of emotion.

He grabbed her hand, bid their farewells to the hosts and to the other guests at their table. She took her purse, he wrapped the wrap around her shoulders, kissed her lips lightly and walked her out the door. "Let's go back in a livery coach." He said as he dismissed their limo, rode on the white horse driven carriage and covered their lap with a blanket.

Michael put his arm around Nikita's waist and she lay her head on his shoulder. From were she was sitting she could see his burgeoning manhood. He was ready, as was she. She wanted this man, had wanted him since she had her dream the very first time, she knew he would come to her somehow. He was softly kissing her hair as he stroked her back and arms with his elegant fingers.

"Michael...I had a great time." She said looking up at him and softly kissing his lips.

Her tongue snaking out of its velvet box and flirting with his. A tender kiss that shook the man to the core and confused him. Michael's heart lurched in his chest. He separated from the blonde, loosing contact and closing his eyes - pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Kita." voice husky with desire and something else...remorse. "I am a cad...a player who does not like to get attached. Don't play with me, for the only looser would be you."

Nikita quirked her head, smiled ruefully at him and crossed her arms against her body. Protecting herself with the armor that she so long before had developed. She thought she would act from her heart, or better yet her crotch and then have her mind sift through the ashes, for she had been warned..."And what makes you think I want anything more?"

He looked at her, his fire filed green eyes taking on a predatory hue, "You think you..." The answer was lost in a hungry kiss. The blonde moved forward and grabbed the back of his head with her proving fingers digging them into his luscious curls. Michael let out a sound of desire from deep within him and they were lost in the sensation of the moment, of the caress, of the kiss.

Michael was dumfounded, he had been forthcoming, perhaps because this being of light was an innocent he did not want to scoff with his lascivious activities or perhaps she was awakening feelings previously unknown to him. Who knew and who cared for now.

He sat exposed, allowing his emotions, his momentary vulnerability to be laid out to dry. He allowed her to take control...and control she took. Moving swiftly she laid her right hand to his fly and deftly worked the zipper, making sure the side of her hands firmly caressed his growing concern. Every time she made contact, no matter how brief, with his manhood, Michael would release the volt of electricity he felt, by moaning.

The streets of New York bustled around them. The cloppity clop sound of the horse's hoofs setting the rhythm of Nikita's attention. But New York didn't matterit melded into the background. She was in command and she took the proverbial bull by the horns. Pulling out his extremely erect penis she bent her coifed head to his lap and encased his rod with her mouth. First she sucked majestically, burying it deep with her mouth, touching the back of her throat with the source of his male ego.

She then pulled out, gasping for air, and licked the pre-cum off the slit on the top. The mushroom-like crown softly caressed by her talented tongue. She played with his privates as she fumbled with the waistband of his tuxedo, eliciting a chuckle from Michael and his quick help.

Her tongue licked his masculinity up and down, all around. She would lick and suck, lick and suck; he could feel the tension building. As if she was not causing enough harm with his control Nikita entered her strong hands into the equation, gripping strongly, almost painfully the base of his shaft. Nikita was sure the livery chauffeur heard Michael's cry of pleasure.

He could not hold any longer, he was about to cum and was desperate trying to figure out how to enter her in public and amid all the fancy fabric. He cursed Rene for not having made a simpler gown. He could feel Nikita's wicked smile wrapped around his penis as she read his mind.

She sat up, not releasing the grip, just replacing her mouth with the swift up and down movement of her other very strong hand. She straddled Michael, facing him, back to the driver, so Michael quickly pulled the canopy of the carriage further forward. She decorously moved the crotch of her lacy thong underwear out of the way and mounted the thoroughly impressed man.

She was beyond caring, beyond worry, beyond herself, she was actually fucking her dream...it was a reality, damn the consequences. Nikita rode Michael like an Olympiad, his head resting on the back of the seat, mouth aghast, face in delirium. She searched his mouth and sucked face - couldn't be described any other way.

They were fucking - this was not making love, foreplay, caressing, ardor or passion. This was animal instinct taking over; this was need - a desperate beyond all thought exigency. This was two people clinging on to the last vestige of necessity - like air to their lungs, blood to their hearts; sustenance, water, medication for the sick - this was life.

Nikita was moving through her own desperation, letting out tiny sounds that lovers make when they mate. Michael's forgotten hands suddenly came to life as he put them on her slender waist, picked up his head and decided to take charge. Their eyes locked, like the center of a flame both clear, precise and all consuming they moved to their release, two souls in concert.

Not a word, not a sound, just perfect synchronicity of climactic proportions; Michael dug his fingers into her waist, stopping all move. She felt herself sink deeply into his sex and they came - eyes still fixed, sex stilled, juices flowing and involuntary muscle spasms creating the most indescribable bliss either one had ever felt. And as they sat like that, looking at each other, Michael had finally forgotten how to breathe. Perfection.

The blonde came back to reality quicker. She sadly smiled and pecked him on the mouth. He followed her retrieving lips to no avail, the defense mechanism quickly moving into place to shield her heart from being shattered. She dismounted the man, whipped his lips of traces of her lipstick and proceeded to fix her clothing.

To Michael, who had never felt this way, had never met anyone like her, had never been this exposed - the woman's action confused and disheartened him and totally confused him. He pulled himself together, not saying a word, his defenses up - iron mask firmly in place. So she too misunderstood the silence.

They arrived at the hotel, after the silence had settled around them. Each with their anguished confused and yet elated thoughts. She was helped down from the carriage while Michael paid the driver who offered a wink and a thumbs-up to the French man.

Michael had to rush to catch up with Nikita who was walking in front of him into the lobby of the hotel. Before turning her around he said "We need to talk." When she turned he saw she was crying, sobbing her fear, her regret.

"No, Kita" and he embraced her, right there in the middle of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York, Michael felt his conflicted heart break into a million pieces.

She picked up her skirt and hurried away from him, sinking into desperation that terrified her. He followed trying in vain to catch up with her to stop the pain with three tiny words he thought he would never utter. As the elevator door closed with her inside it he yelled across the lobby "I love you, damn it."

She didn't hear him, she cried on her trip to the tenth floor; he took the next car up. When he arrived he heard her door close. He pinched the crown of his nose again and whispered - "Damn impossible stubborn woman." Cursed in French and went to his room to call her.

It was very late and Madelyn answered confused and concerned. "I am sorry Madelyn, may I speak with Ni-ki-ta please."

"I don't know Michael, is she here?"

"Yes, please we had a small spat, I need to speak with her."

"Look Michael, she is very stubborn, I suggest you come, not speak with her on the phone, I see her door is closed and her light is off, but I can hear her in there. I'll leave the door opened, good luck...And Michael she is not fragile, but don't be brutal."

Michael threw his jacket and tie on the couch of his suite and crossed the hall entering the dark suite and knocking on Nikita's firmly closed and locked door.

////////

Michael could hear Nikita moving around and crying softly, he stood by the locked door knocking, caressing the door, whispering - pleading with her to open and let him in. Michael turned to see Madelyn walking out of the other room with Steven asleep in her arms. "Michael give me the card key...this will be better." He thanked her and she left the suite.

Michael's cell phone was ringing, Madelyn ignored it, but then the room phone rang - she answered. "Hello?"

"Oh sorry, I must have the wrong number." The male voice stated, "Is this Suite 1012?"

"Yes, I am sorry, you must want..." Madelyn answered.

The male voice interrupted "Michael Samuelle...this is his stepfather Paul Wolfe and who is this?"

Madelyn responded "Well hello Dr. Wolfe, this is Madelyn Charles, your son is not here right..."

"Dr. Charles, what are you doing in my son's room after midnight; if you don't mind my asking." His voice was not trying to conceal his anger.

"No...it is not what you think. Michael went out to the Governor's Ball tonight, he took my niece as his date and to make sure everyone gets enough rest, I took his suite with my son and he took my two room suite - for the night." Madelyn quickly said.

"I see, I am sorry if...I should have known better..." Paul answered and they started carrying on a conversation that quickly turned them from strangers, to colleagues, to friends, to confidants. They laughed and joked, talked seriously, talked theory, talked life experiences and personal matters.

Madelyn told him about the cardiac arrest that caused her husband's death. Paul told her of Michael's mother, the love of his life and the accident that took her from them and about Corrine her craziness and eventual suicide.

The conversation turned into a 3-1/2 hour talkathon. Paul remarked that he felt like a teen-ager using the phone 'till all hours of the night. She laughed and assured him she was glad she had accepted the fellowship. He concurred.

"Madelyn" Paul stated "I don't practice Psychiatry anymore. I run the Clinic and all its concerns, I am the COO, they call me Operations around here."

Madelyn laughed and told him she would call him Ops for short. She would be in London within a month and Paul insisted she stayed in his home until she found her own place. After much prodding she agreed, only if she could do all the cooking. "Agree, oh good a room mate." Paul finished, then they decided to talk again in a couple of days.

When she hung up she smiled broadly. She knew what Paul looked like from the Internet; she thought he was handsome, now she knew he was fascinating and charming. Perhaps this move was going to be a total success.

Paul hung up and smiled, for the first time in a long time. He knew what Madelyn looked like; her application included a photograph. He knew she was beautiful, now he knew she was captivating and enchanting. Absolutely life was starting to look up.

/////////

Michael still stood by the locked door knocking, caressing the door, whispering - pleading with her to open and let him in. He was now sitting on the floor, his back to the door, his shirt hanging open his washboard stomach devastatingly perfect. "Kita, please believe me baby, I love you. I made a mistake. I tried desperately to block your bewitching ways. I have never been in love - I didn't recognize what it was. The last 24 hours have been the most extraordinary time of my life. Please Kita open the door. I am sorry, I love you..."

Nikita was sitting on the floor on the other side of the door. She too was caressing the door and she was crying less now. It had been an hour and 10 minutes - she was timing it by the clock radio on the side of her bed. She decided she'd have enough and stood opening the door.

Michael still sitting on the floor didn't expect to see her towering over him. She was wearing a black short slip, both shoulder straps resting on her arms. Peeking through the top of the slip a lace bra covering her breasts, pushing them up to make them yet more inviting, and doing a piss poor job of hiding her magnificent nipples.

Her hair was down, having obviously been yanked by her angry hands. Her face was swollen and red. Michael had never seen a more beautiful sight. He stood and her eyes immediately went to his abs. This man was perfect, was there anything about him she could criticizes.

Michael took Nikita's face between his hands. He kissed first her lips, then her eyes, her cheeks, her ears, bit her chin, licked her neck, caressed her hearing with words of love. He sighed, a long agonized breath. "I love you Kita, please forgive me."

He didn't expect an answer, took her hand in his and walked her to the bed. "Let's cuddle, sleep. I don't want anything else, just to hold you."

She nodded, he pulled back the covers and took off his shirt and his tuxedo trousers, no underwear and he blushed. She laughed for the first time in a while and stroke his taut chest and stomach. He lay on the bed, didn't want to be tempted, he was going to just do as he had said - spoon.

Nikita, tears and all, got another idea when she saw his erect manhood. She stood over his resting body, straddling his legs and proceeded to take off the slip, pulling it over her head. Michael watched, mouth aghast. She was wearing thigh high black stockings, the tops matching her bra and her thong panties.

She smiled and spoke "Just sleep? I don't think so...I want you Michael, next time you want to just spoon, wear underwear." He laughed and stroke her legs until she sat on his hips ready to mate, ready to love, ready to 'relax'.

/////

"Sorceress", Michael thought he would become unglued as he whispered to Nikita. "If you think I'm under your spell, you are right... I am electrified." She wasn't doing much, just stroking his chest in a circular motion, eyes fixed on his nipples, every once in a while stroking them and pushing on the protruding points. Fascination displayed in her cherubic eyes.

"You know Michael" her voice deep, husky, somewhat vague. "I have dreamed about you since forever."

He smiled - subtly corners of his mouth quirking. It was not from her statement, it was from the feeling she was evoking with her incessant attention to his chest. The circles were growing now and she was coming awfully close to this man's nether regions.

"Tell me about it." He said stroking her head, for her mouth had joined her hand in her calculated ministrations.

"Well" she licked his navel, looking up her deep ocean blue eyes laughing, remembering, "it is always very erotic..."

"Always?" he asked and groaned. The combination of tongue, lips and hands so close to his manhood were pulling on his self control and he was loosing the battle.

"Mhhm." She affirmed. "You are always a spy of sorts...this dark avenging heroic figure that I wind up bedding." His eyes closed tightly, teeth biting lower lip. "And I wind up being so turned on I wake up when I climax."

She crossed the invisible border between the neutral section to the embattled field. Her tongue caressing the spans of skin that tautly covered the area between his hipbones. Stroking in a pendulum motion, from side to side, just barely missing his extended rod.

His head rocking back and forth, covering the same pattern as her tongue. He was continuously moaning, repeating words in French she didn't understand. She was marveling at his control, she was so very wet and ready that when she straddled his leg, like a bitch in heat, she came - shudders racking her lower body.

She was moaning now, she had rendered him speechless with the honesty of her action. He smiled again, his head no longer moving. Eyes opened, he watched her in fascination - his eyes changing color from light green, to deep hazel, to poignant gray. The woman was inspiring.

So... inspired by her need, he brought her up to him by sitting on the bed and stroking her back, gaining her attention. He pushed her unto the pillow he had been using, her hair fanning out like a halo - for she was his angel. He systematically separated her legs, bent her knees, feet planted on the bed; pushing her knees apart to gain better access. He lowered his head to her center, kissing first her left inner thigh, then her right and then her nub.

Directly, without hesitation he sucked the tiny pebble into his hungry mouth, he allowed her fingers to kneed his head. He was afraid he would swallow her center; positive that with his hunger and her need the axis of her femininity would become detached. She was incessantly meowing, praying to every deity known, begging to be spared from death - for sure she was about to die.

There was that smile again; he separated to her chagrin, smiled broader and took one hand and sucked her fingers into his mouth, then put her wet digits to her center and before joining them with his tongue, he said "Like this?"

His tongue gently but firmly swirled around the engorged clit, the extremely wet folds; he sucked the lips and licked her fingers, flicking her clit - encouraging her participation She was rubbing her pebble, almost making it shine, and she came, her cataclysmic climax a phenomenon in itself. Jeez what was this; the one hundredth time she reached her zenith and everyone had been superior to the one before?

"Like that." She grumbled, "But never that good." She smiled and kissed his mouth tasting herself and him.

He laid her down, guiding his penis into her, but first stopping to caress her clit with his crown. She shuddered and let out a resounding groan, as the 'petite morte' took her over one more time and as she was pulsating, her walls moving he entered her hard.

He was on his knees, holding her soft, round ass with his strong hands, her legs around him, her hips off the bed. He was moving rhythmically in out and around, every once in a while he would flick her clit with a finger. He would push way deep, he would pull way out; her walls massaging his dick and when he felt he was almost there, he would pull out.

A couple of times he had pulled out completely lowered his head to her center and sucked. He would dive back into the deep end of the pool. Nikita fascinated by this man's control, she was the ocean - pure liquid estrogen. She was coming so constantly that there was no resting point. She was sure she would combust - the heat from his eyes alone...

"Sorry Kita" he said, she didn't understand what he was apologizing for, she had never had a lover that had done this to her...or even come close.

"For...ohhhh myyyy." He picked up her back, sat her on his lap, facing each other, sucked her breasts, manipulated her clit, and pumped furiously - making them both come in unison. Both lovers crying each other's name as they came. Michael's mouth mercilessly bathing her nipples, biting, pulling, a tug of war with each pink tip - her mouth won, for he moved up and they shared a resounding kiss.

Still inside her, but quiescent, he pushed her back, lay on her body and flipped them over so she would be on top. "Don't move" he said stroking her back..."I want to wake up tomorrow with you around me."

She smiled "I love you Michael."

"Kita, let me take care of you...let me love you forever."

And the lovers slept. Perhaps life would rear its sometimes-ugly head soon enough, perhaps not. But for now they slept in each other's cocoon, sheltered, rhapsodic and content. An affaire d'amour full of possibilities...to quote a movie title "An affair to remember."

/////////

As always, the night turned into day. The sun pulled up the shades and let its incandescent rays in. Michael eyes opened, beguiled by the seducing brilliance of her hair. He noticed a faint scar on her forehead and devoutly stroked it. She moved below him, still encased in his quickly growing cock.

"A bullet grazed me." She matter of factly stated. "Good morning my love."

Looking now into his eyes, she saw concern. "He didn't protect you?" he reposted.

"Who?" Nikita said, answering his tender kiss.

"The 'spy' of your dreams." He answered moving gently his hips as he felt his manhood harden inside her suddenly wet insides. "He couldn't have been me. I would not allow anything to hurt you."

He kissed her lips so gently, she let out a sob. She knew he was not telling a lie, she knew he would do as he said, for he was an honorable man. "Don't cry Kita, I am here now. Good morning my love"

She, engulfed in his arms, moved her center in small circles, pushing in and at the same time kissing his neck. "Gentle, I want this gentle, comfortable." She asked.

He said "Alright, like this?" He was holding her lower back pushing it into him. His hips guiding the movement slow, lazy but still enthralling her.

She kissed his mouth languidly, and smiled. "If I go crazy and wild, don't hold it against me, ok?"

He laughed, "I have to hold 'IT' against you Kita. Ugh woman you drive me crazy."

They were moving fast now, but still as if this was something they had done a million times. Like the coupling of two old friends, two married people, two soul mates meeting again, no desperation or haste...just love.

Then he looked into her eyes, a breath away their lips appeared and he said. "Do you trust me?"

"Hmm, yes of course." She said.

"Come then..." She misunderstood the command and started climaxing, she almost cried as he began pulling out.

"Noooooo..." she wailed.

"Sorry, baby I..." pushing back in he untangled her hands from his and reached between them to send her careening over the cliff of pleasure.

"Now, what was it you wanted?" A bit more in control, but hardly poised.

"Let's...just follow me." He stood up and pulled her along by her hand to the bathroom, entering the shower stall. And there beneath the pulsating water, they made passionate astonishing love. Her hands flat against the cold tile, he entered from behind, jockeying her nub again until they both came in a pounding rhythm - savage, ruthless, contorted and mesmerizing. In tune were there bodies, their emotions and their soul.

The lovers finished bathing, he washed her hair, her body, her anima. She did the same, taking particular care with the manhood that brought her such joy. They dried each other, combed each other's hair. He combed her beautiful platinum tresses. She combed his exquisite copper and golden high lightened ones. She dressed stylishly, he put on his tux and they walked hand in hand across the hall to Michael's suite. Madelyn had left a note, she was downstairs either eating breakfast or in the Arcade.

Nikita was wearing a pair of jeans, the hems and hips embroidered in white scrolls and roses. Hip hugging, real low - the chain around her waist laced with white leather strips. Her top, a knitted white short tee, low cut neck, covering her flat stomach to her navel. White sandals, allowing her French manicured toenails to show through. Her neck adorned by a white knit cuff - she had designed and made herself. She looked magnificent.

She was sitting on his bed, watching as he moved about graciously, panther-like, like only Michael could. He put on jeans and a green brushed cotton bowling shirt, no underwear and he looked at her and smiled. "What are you looking at?" She commented laughing.

"Commando...is that what you called it when you failed to include underwear in that almost attire?"

"If you leave that top button opened like that and wear that shirt you are about to button opened...I will be arrested for I will attach myself to your manhood and ...or better yet have you ever seen a koala bear with her young?" She said approaching him and licking his stomach from his opened waistband to his neck and then biting each nipple in rapid succession.

He pulled her up and kissed her hard in the mouth. She stroked his bottom lip - tugging showing his teeth, eyes concentrating on her digit as he said. "I like it like this Kita...I have never had a relationship in my life were I have felt comfortable enough to kibitz." He laughed and padded her behind.

"Kibitz? You know Jewish terms?" She said, holding his stroking hands to her ass.

"There is so much about me you don't know...Kita I speak 7 languages - Hebrew being one of them." He said and pushed his stroking hand into the back of her jeans. "Umm, with these one doesn't have to travel far to get your...attention." Referring to the low slung pants.

"I see...anytime you want to get my attention Michael...just whistle." As he stroked the crevice separating her perfect cheeks. "Or lay those peepers on me - SWEET!"

The couple walked out of the room, into the elevator holding hands, close together, talking softly, laughing and sharing. They walked into the dining room and Steven yelled "Nikita look what I am having made for Michael."

Nikita motioned for him to lower his voice and went to Madelyn. Michael approached the boy, picked him up and smiled. "For me?" As he looked into a plate of bananas flambé.

"This is French, the chef told me." Steven proudly said.

"Absolutely, I am really grateful. What do you want to do today?"

The boy had made a list, from horseback riding in Central Park to driving to Pennsylvania to see the Mennonites. Michael agreed Steven was in charge and for the next three days they traveled, in an SUB Michael rented, having a ball.

"Thank you Michael, you know I am very happy you came into our lives," the boy said to Michael as they walked back from fishing at a campsite they were staying at on the last day, "We needed a cousin...but Nikita, man she needed you - she is happy."

Michael ruffled the boy's hair, took the fishes from his hand and said, "These are good for frying on an outdoor grill." Obviously moved by the boy's perceptive observation.

"Do you go to London at lot?" Steven asked as they approached the Winnebago that they had rented.

"It is only an hour and a bit from my home in France. You'll see...and you'll love my father and my Grandfather Walter, heck I know he'll adopt you as his own. There are no little children running around our family." Michael assured the saddened boy.

"I am not a little child Michael." Stephen told him angry.

"I am sorry, I didn't mean 'liddle' - you know English is not my first language." Michael answered as the women politely smiled.

"I know", padding his leg, "we'll have to work on that won't we?"

/////

Michael and Nikita spent their last night together back in Chicago, in her small basement home. She had held up, playing the brave soul, he was coming apart at the seams, distraught for only a small separation was too much. Madelyn was leaving also, and Nikita needed to finish her semester and graduate, oversee the sale of the house, resign her positions and give proper notice and a variety of other mundane things that she fastidiously had to accomplish.

"Two weeks, that is all, you will be in that International Wine Show anyway, too busy..." She was telling him, holding desperately to him as he awaited the shuttle that would take him to NY to board the Concorde to London. She began to cry softly, "Just two weeks."

"How did I live without you?" He asked, "My Grandmother would be so happy..." he said drying her tears, his eyes considerably shinning.

"Why, because you are leaving me behind?" She asked, annoyed at the prospect.

"Kita she is going to adore you, overwhelm you I am sure. You speak her language for heaven's sake...and you took my breath away...I forgot how to breath, this has been her life long dream..." He kissed her, allowed her to embrace Madelyn and a crying Steven and then he held her again. Hands extended across the room, they separated and he left.

She stood by the glass looking out...she heard him yell. "Keep the cell phone on...I'll call you when I get to New York, from the plane, from London..." He blew her a kiss and said, "I love you Kita". And finally walked into the plane.

---------

Paul took to Madelyn like both of them knew they would. She was quite the woman, quite the homemaker, and Paul, who had never had a child, loved Steven. Well let's amend that statement, Paul had never had a child of his own, Michael had been his son, he had always loved this man as if he had sired him. And then there was the matter of the records in Chicago, Paul was telling Madelyn this particular night after dinner about the night of the suicide. He didn't like to talk about it, so he did it very cryptically, not giving enough information for Madelyn to be able to make a connection.

Michael as always had won all kinds of awards at the Wine Show. As a vintner the man was the best. Well known and respected he was now telling Nikita how unhappy he had been without her by his side. "After all these years loving this experience, it seemed empty without you Ni-ki-ta."

As every previous day or night, or both, the lovers spoke on the phone for hours. Little sleep was had, she only had a couple of days until she could leave Chicago for London, and then France. He was going to meet her in London on the 5th.

"Kita, I want to ask you something about business and if you don't want to do it, you can say so."

"Ok Michael." She said.

"I want you to be the model for my ad campaign. I have never been involved in the process of picking a spokesperson, but Hillinger seems to think you would be perfect, we would do it all here and...well I don't want to have you working for anyone else."

"Michael, how troglodyte of you my dear. I now have a business degree and..."

"I know and that is the second part of my offer. You know a lot about wines, you will learn more, please Kita, come work with me, I need you by my side."

"Then marry me Michael." She said and shocked him.

"But I am supposed to ask that..." He smiled at her boldness.

"Get with the program Michael, what do you say to my proposition." Amazing this was the 21st century after all

"Well, I guess I am going to have to think about that, and get back to you." He flirted.

"Then the same applies to the jobs buddy. And I am glad you are not here, for I would have denied you sex." She laughed.

"That will be the day...you are needy and greedy Kita, and I love that about you."

Their conversations were always like that. Of course there were serious moments between them, like when Nikita told him about her life before Madelyn. She cried, he mourned for her losses, for her misspent youth, for her terrible childhood. He vowed to make it up to her, as though it was his fault.

She didn't want Michael telling her about pass lover over the phone. She wanted to see his face, get a feel for what he was thinking. So he understood and told her "Tit for Tat" but confessed she only had two lovers in her life before Michael.

"Grey Wellman and Helmut Volkner". But they had nothing on Michael.

"Hmm." He tried desperately to sound nonchalant.

"Michael you want my confession - I never had an orgasm with either?"

Michael had answered "Good."

Other times the calls would take a rapacious, predatory tone. "Tell me what you are wearing. Seduce me, make me cum." This from either of them. But always they ended with the two swearing their undying devotion, their complete dedication to each other, their alliance.

--------

Michael had gone home. He'd taken Steven with him for he was in summer break and missing Nikita also. Also, Michael had been asked by his father to allow him time to "bond" with Madelyn.

"Bond, is that what they call it in London?" Michael thrilled that the man was finding a new love.

"Michael don't be so irreverent, it isn't like you?" Paul joked. "You sound like Walter, he called it 'buffing, doing the horizontal mambo'.

Michael roared, "Now that is irreverent." And that night Michael told Nikita, whom already loved the man that had gotten to calling her "Sugar" when they spoke on the phone.

------

The boy was excited to be riding with Michael piloting the jet. He was sitting to Michael's right, a professional co-pilot Chuck sitting right behind him. Michael was actually letting Steven play with the instruments.

The boy's enthusiastic 7-year-old curiosity driving poor Chuck crazy. The man laughed and asked Michael in French "Does he ever shut up." Michael laughed.

"I understood that" Steven reported. "Michael has been teaching me French buddy...I am sure you don't know the answers to my questions." Steven said.

"I do too." Chuck played, let's see how many questions you can answer...in French." The men, for Steven was a 7-year-old man, played back and forth, both older men impressed with the quick ability of the boy with the language.

Michael's impressive Chateau enthralled the boy. He could only utter "Wow", to which Chuck joked, "Is that French Steven?"

"Wait 'till Nikita sees this...this is bigger than the whole of Chicago." He said as they drove through Michael's property - and it very well may be.

Michael took the boy to the beach, the property so large that he had to take a glider to the shore. Steven shrilled, so excited that Michael could hear him over the hover craft noise. "Do you have a hot air balloon?" He asked.

"We'll go up when Kita comes." He said.

"You two should be alone first, we'll wait ok?" Steven knowingly attested.

"Were did you get that from?" Michael asked.

"From Nikita. She told me not to be a pest and to understand that she needed to be alone with you... Something about adult fun...tell you what Michael, I don't know that you'll have more fun with her than with me - I am better than her at Tetrus, and I let you win every once in a while." Steven proudly told the amused man.

"I agree Steven, but let's not tell Kita ok?" He smiled.

/////////////////

THIS PART IS NOT TOTALLY MADE UP. THERE IS A GROUP OF VITNERS WHO FOUNDED SAINT-ESTEPHE CELLARS, I DON'T KNOW MUCH ABOUT THEM, JUST THAT THEY CALL THEIR LABEL THE MARQUIS DE ST. ESTEPHE.(GREAT WINE) , SO I HAVE MELDED THAT ENTITY INTO MICHAEL (CHANGING THE NAME AND TIME FRAME ALSO)...LIKE WITH THE CHARACTERS MICHAEL & NIKITA, AND THE OTHERS - THIS IS NOTHING BUT FAN FICTION, NO INFRINGEMENT OF ANY KIND IS INTENDED....

Michael took Steven up in his vineyard's hot air balloon, the boy had been right - when Nikita came, they needed to be alone. The handsome man wearing jeans and a polo shirt, tennis shoes and dark glasses fidgeted with the controls and they ascended. Steven screaming with an exuberance only experience by a child. "Sometimes I have wanted to scream also." Michael said at the boy's shrills when he saw the fire. The truck that would bring them back leaving the area as soon as Michael's basket was at the set distance.

The magnificent red balloon with the Château Saint Mishel tawny color logo floated above his vast land holdings. He could see the chateau, the vineyard, the crops, the Bay of Biscay to one side, the Gironde River inlet on the other. Michael's Château was in southwest France in the Region of Médoc a peninsula in the northwest of Bordeaux - as far as Michael was concerned the most beautiful geography in the world.

He owned other properties, just as impressive, just as vast. He even owned other vineyards around the world, areas that produced excellent wines. But this area contained some of France's most famous vineyards, specifically his - Château Saint Mishel - one of the Regions most renowned. Here is were Michael wanted Nikita to grow old with him. He looked at Steven and imagined his children, he couldn't wait for that.

Michael's family had been vintners for generations, but in the 30's they founded and finally acquired an association of cooperative cellars. This had further entrenched them in the world of wine, a proud family tradition that had brought them not only inconceivable wealth, enormous world recognition, but a fantastic sense of family, known only to those who work the land.

His family had established and Michael had stringently carried out that only wines made in these cellars be from grapes grown in Michael's vineyards. His crops harvested in well-exposed yards planted exclusively with premium grape varieties. Under Michael's exact supervision the utmost care taken and methods applied based on ancestral experience. Thus the cellars inherited traditions that justifiably made them proud of their worldwide renowned wines. Pride a word Michael used a lot when talking of his products.

"See the men and women working the fields?" Michael told the impressed boy.

"How much land is there here?" The boy asked.

"120 ha - there is 2.471 acres in one hectare, so there are 396.52 acres of land." Michael answered.

"That's a lot ha?" Steven asked.

"Not really, but there are over 8000 vines that those people are harvesting." Michael added.

"Wow Michael, tell me more." Steven said.

Let's see, the soil is gravelly and sandy ridges." Michael always fascinated by the process, had advanced degrees in everything and anything that had to do with the execution - from planting to tasting.

"You mean the grapes grow in sand and gravel?"

"Hmm" Michael continued, " we produce - err make 890,000 bottles".

"Michael, is like everyone in the world gets a bottle of your wine." The boy said.

Michael laughed "There are many more people in the world Steven."

"Yeah and kids don't drink wine." Michael didn't want to tell him in France that was not the case. "Tell me more."

"Well, the wine is aged in vats, a lot of them are new barrels, some have been used a couple of times, but only a couple of times." Michael said.

"Yeah I bet because the juice of the grapes paints the barrels right?" Steven proudly noted.

"Right. Then there is a thermometer inside the vats that monitors the temperatures." Michael said.

"Like when I get sick and Mom puts a thermometer in my mouth...sometimes when I was a baby she would put it in by butt...I'm glad she doesn't anymore. Tell me more." Steven told Michael, looking around, moving from one side of the balloon to the other.

Michael smiled, "Mmm, We mature the wine for 12 months." Michael said.

"I know what that means - for a whole year you leave it in the barrels right?" Steven added.

"Hmm." Michael agreed.

"How do they pick the grapes?" The kid questioned.

"The majority by hand, some by machine - see the machines over there?" Michael pointed.

"Can I see one of those up close?" Steven requested.

"Absolutely, when we get back." Michael said.

The man didn't tell the boy, that at Michael's insistence - which had paid at the end, the distribution was 20% to the trade and 80% direct - he was distinguished for his business savvy. Or that the grapes always turned into a wine of exceptional quality. The wines made in the cellars of Chateau Saint Michel a distinctive bright ruby color, rich aromatic flavor, finesse and softness enabling them to achieve the characteristic bouquet of the appellation/label.

"What color is your wine Michael." Steven asked.

"You know there is more than one color wine?" Michael now asked the boy.

"Yes, Billy Joel has a song that says "Bottle of red, bottle of white, perhaps a bottle of rose instead..." Michael laughed and padded the boy's head.

"Who taught you that song?" Michael asked.

"Nikita, she loves Billy Joel and plays his CD - as Nik says, at nauseaum." The boy answered.

"What does that mean?" Michael asked laughing at the precocious child before him, obviously part product of Nikita's influence.

"That it makes you want to throw up - enough already type of problem. So...what color is your wine." Steven asked.

"Ruby red - like a jewel." Michael added.

"I'm having something to eat?" The boy said opening the picnic basket and taking a bunch of...grapes.

Michael was proud of his wine, of his people, of his area. He sighed looking at his life, happy with who he was, what he'd become, what he'd accomplished. And the future looked even better because of Nikita.