BOOK I

ONCE UPON A TIME

Michael Samuelle Section One Level 5 Operative rested his head on the back of the transport seat he now occupied. The one and a half hour flight back to Section gave super spyboy time to reflect before debriefing. The Treblianka undertaking had been a success, 100% containment with one injury due to the van door. Another terrorist act thwarted; what many thought difficult under his command developed into a simple ‘In and Out Mission.'

Philosophizing in contemplation and inwardly smirking he thought this was the way to keep a certain blonde Cold Op safe from cancellation adding, ‘always do the job well and rule by example.' Drifting off to sleep his subconscious aware while reflecting on her greatest gift that in sleep she assuaged his nightmares converting them into glorious dreams.

Today was the anniversary of the Vacek mission; the end of the two-year bereavement period he’d set. The task of allowing himself some happiness was now beginning and the most God awful period and assignment of his relatively young life was over. He knew Nikita deserved happiness, hell he needed some bliss of his own.

“Sleep per chance to dream” he recited before drifting completely into peaceful slumber. Michael’s dreams of Nikita had taken a sexual and sensual overtone driving the otherwise controlled and gentle man to desperation. Let’s just say his right hand had become stronger than his left.

The mission pants instantly uncomfortable at the thought of the perky blonde and giving way to the right hand caressing the crotch. A delicious smile playing across his parched lips “Nikita” he whispered to no one, “come to me my love."

He would take a nice cold shower upon arriving at Section.

Jacques divested himself of all Mission related garb except for a black muscle shirt and mission pants. In the closed-off section of the airplane, what would be the bulkhead in a commercial airliner, he was glad of the reverence and respect the team members felt for their enigmatic Leader. This private area contained computers, desk, small head, beverage service and a comfortable bench like seat to be used by Michael, or any other Mission Leader. Little perks that went with the terrible job, and you took what you could.

Michael relaxed his legs after taking ice from the fridge in his strong hand. After the hand and ice went into his mission pants, he started masturbating with total abandon. Always able to visualize anything he wanted, now imaged Nikita working her magic; wearing that Catholic girl school uniform she tormented him with. His strong grip and the swift up and down movement gave him a rush that could only be described as euphoric. He taunted his hard nipples through the smooth cool material of the muscle shirt. His eyes closed tightly, his lips a downy line and his mind quickly focusing on Nikita’s meaty lips and perky breasts. He felt her breath, saw her pink tongue, caressed her hair, and whispered her name like a prayer “Ni-ki-ta."

Quickly Michael came into his own hand with a grunt and a grin. While drying his hand and putting himself back into some semblance of order, he thought “Soon.” Not knowing how long he could continue the charade of keeping it casual, wanting and needing her with an intensity that …”Merde," he found himself again hard as a rock. This time nothing would be done about it, “No pain, no gain” he thought.

-*-

At the same time Nikita Wirth was awoken from an erotic dream by the ringing of the cell phone. “The protagonist of my dreams," she thought. Hopeful and happy, and expecting to hear Michael’s voice on the other end all she got was the voice of some anonymous Section operator. “Josephine, come in, one hour.” Nikita closed the phone, tossed it across the room and gritted her teeth.

The Dark Angel was an unfulfilled obsession the only man she could ever love. She thought of the valentine missions he’d been on, how jealous she’d get, how exasperated she’d be with his unfathomable silence. ‘Michael I could die happily in your arms’, alas poor Nikita would have settled with just hearing his voice.

This was not going to be a good morning; Michael was away on a mission, she was exhausted from her own mission hours before and now had to go back in. These people had no notion of time or personal needs, not even at 4:30 am. Section without Michael was like a day without tea. ‘Keep it up, emotional masturbation is all you need this morning’, she roared.

She went to take a shower worn out by the intensity of her reflections and sneering, took a hold of the shower massager and started gratifying herself. Body being covered with a sinfully expensive body wash and hands being used vis-à-vis a sponge slowly, purposely she brought her senses to life. ‘This’ she contemplated screaming Michael’s name when she came, ‘is as close to the real thing as I am going to get, though it is a much better form of masturbation.’

While dressing she looked for a sexy outfit discarded that idea and put on comfortable underwear and shoes. However, the little devil within made her put on a dark and stark pants suit that showed the bra she wore. Making a face in the mirror and proceeding to take off her bra, she decided to wear the jacket sans another garment underneath.

Nikita needed something to remain close to Michael in his absence, and fished through her jewelry box for the pair of earrings he’d given her. Michael had the habit of leaving little presents for Nikita. As out of character as the gifts were, they had great meaning. Never did he go anywhere without bringing her something. How he managed was a mystery; it wasn’t as if they went into airports or malls.

‘Little mementos of their lives together’, the notes always read. Never a signature, she chortled hoping they came from Michael. He was obviously oblivious to what Nikita wanted, although the presents were always exquisite, she wanted him to tell not show that he loved her. And there lied the difference between them. He was telling her in his own way, she just didn’t understand.

“There you go again trying hard to change Michael. Ah, the queen of emotional masturbation, back to my reality,” she deliberated. For her own enjoyment she wore a bright large fire red flower on her lapel. ’There,’ she premeditated, ‘that should get Operations juices flowing, military operation my ass.' It didn’t make her happy though; let’s say she was in a foul mood.

“Another outfit wasted on the masses, where is Michael to inwardly drool over me?”

He didn’t always touch her as she wanted, but his eyes always caressed her. This she pondered getting in the car; a car that pissed the shit out of Michael, the car Jurgen left her. It was only fair Michael, tit for tat.

-*-

Michael hurried through the corridors of Section on his way to the emergency briefing he had been summons to attend. Hair still wet from a quick shower, clung to the back of his black turtleneck sweater and made it damp. Breathing steady, eyes looking down, traveling thru a little known shortcut and then...

The wonderful smell of the hair, the flash of color from the big flower being worn on the lapel of the black suit, and the popping of the gum in the soft luscious mouth, quickly gave a clue as to whom he had knocked down. Not to mention the language, full of explicits being delivered by a husky, Aussie accented voice.

As he helped her up her jacket had opened, making the exposed expanse of skin glisten with the tea that had spilled. The contour of her breast made Michael’s mouth form a perfect circle and his sweet tongue moved swiftly in its velvet box. “Shit Michael, why can’t you watch were you are going, shit …," Nikita repeated looking at the now wet front of the low cut jacket…”just because you are a Level 5 Operative does not give you the right to be so god damned cavalier… ”

Michael showed her the rarest of smiles, a smile that totally disconcerted. His eyes traveled from crystal clear blue eyes, to scarlet painted lush mouth, to blond soft hair that was up in loose curls, to ears sporting little emerald & diamond studs he had given for no reason at all.

Michael was a happy camper, even though she was giving him hell. Actually this nervous chatter was due to the strong emotions Michael always evoked. He was smiling broadly a knowing smile; he loved this woman and it was reciprocated. Nikita abruptly stopped her diatribe when Michael, not being able to control himself for the first time in the three years plus since they’d known each other, attempted unhurriedly with the side of his hand, to wipe the liquid from the cleavage she so fashionably sported. Tenderly, leisurely and deliberately, in contrast to Nikita’s concentration on the wet garment, Michael concentrated on the task of drying her supple skin.

His fingers brushed her now taught nipples. His eyes shuttered, hers just closed. Michael let out a deep breath having enjoyed this simple chore, Nikita followed suit. Their lips an effortless whisper away, both opened, breathing erratic, tongues aghast. Not another word was spoken, and they continued quietly to the emergency briefing.

Nikita’s thoughts were jumbled and she was having trouble breathing, thinking ‘He is going to have to explain this to me.’ On the other hand Michael was castigating himself for being so careless with his emotions. He knew how Nikita felt, and also knew that she could not control herself as… as if he had just shown restrain. She would be hard to ignore from now on, Nikita didn’t do moments like this one well.

Michael pulled her to a dark nook before proceeding, his soft hold on her elbow made them both heave a sigh. His thumb caressing her eyebrow as his eyes, the color of the earrings watched her eyebrow intently. “I am sorry Nikita, I should…” and could not continue, for she was now facing him, eyes shinning with unshed tears and controlled fury. She quivered thinking of what he was about to say and quickly put her right index finger to his lower lip, caressing it and exposing beautiful straight white teeth.

“Michael," pausing and spellbound by his mouth she continued, “If you dare say you shouldn’t have, I will cancel you right here and now." She moved even closer, if that was possible. Michael, completely out of control, and actually not caring much right now for what could happen, took her errand finger into his mouth and sucked. His tongue reeked havoc with her fingers, “I was going to say I should go now, but after the briefing” he said softly “I’ll show you what we shouldn’t do.”

Moving just the fraction of the inch that separated them, Michael took her waist with both hands, and ground himself into her. He was very hard and the friction made her shutter in an exquisite way. By brushing his tongue around her lips he further sent shivers down her spine. Leaving protesting lips alone, he lowered his tongue to her cleavage and finished drying off the tea stained skin with his talented and powerful tongue.

Nikita’s legs gave under her, Michael holding her against the wall, looking deeply into ocean colored eyes, said, “If they cancel us, I’ll go happy.” He gave her a virtuous kiss, turned and walked away, with that distinctive gait that was so Michael. Nikita on the other hand, had to push herself off from the wall and concentrate in putting one foot in front of the other. “Left, right, left, right” she repeated to herself.

Talk about conflicted. “Michael” she screamed inside her head. What was he doing, what was he thinking, what had come over him? How was she going to seat through some briefing, she hoped someone would take notes and loan them to her after school. “What? Duh.” she hit her temple with her trembling hands.

“Left, right, left, right” she needed to concentrate. Holding the wall for support continued forward. Legs wobbling, lips stretched from ear to ear, heart pounding, breathe wavering. She was a mess. Hope no one noticed.

~*~*~

BOOK II

THE BRIEFING

Nikita’s mind reeled as she entered the briefing room her mood had obviously changed. When Walter and Birkoff asked about the visible wet spot, she just shrugged unable to speak. Michael on the other hand, having been pulled aside by Madeline and Ops, had been given the heads up that George, Adrian and the Committee from Center/Oversight were also in attendance through some comlink.

Michael let his Section mask fall firmly into place and purposely sat away from Nikita. He couldn’t trust himself to be next to her, and needed to concentrate to be the perfect operative.

The briefing started, as all briefings seemed to, with Operations standing on the other side of the table and delivering his succinct yet droll recount of some terrorist organization’s activity, random terrorist act or terrorist leader du’jour. Nikita was not listening, she would pay attention when she studied her panel. She was busy recollecting the feel of the strong tongue that had dried her just moments before. It felt like a caress, tender, yet full of promises…what was happening to Michael.

“Nikita, are you with us?” Operation said, exasperated by the blonde who was making him look bad in front of his superiors. Nikita looked at Operations and didn’t answer immediately, Michael cringed, but Nikita recovered brilliantly with some off the cuff reference to the target. Michael beamed, “That’s my girl," he thought.

And, as if God himself was speaking, George made his presence known and said. “OK, now to the Mission at hand, Michael since you did such an excellent job with the deep blood cover with Elena Vacek a couple of years back, we are proposing you to enter into another deep blood cover assignment. Michael you choose your partner, and as always you plan and run the mission.” Nikita had started listening again, right after the Vacek’s name was mentioned.

As George recited his statement Nikita, Walter and Birkoff displayed total shock. Walter was aware of the Vacek mission and couldn’t believe it was being spoken about in this fashion; Birkoff mildly remembered hearing about it; and Nikita was awe struck at what was going on. Without communicating with one another, they wondered why they were there, what would their roles be, and hoped that Michael would… well be Michael.

This type of mission had been taught to recruits during their training. Nikita remembered learning about this, but they stretched that it had been done only once and at great personal sacrifice to the Operative in question. Who would have thought it was Michael’s mission.

A deep blood cover was when a Section Operative infiltrated an enemy’s world by marriage, thus joining the terrorist “family." Nikita remembered the gossip about the sad ending of the mission. The target “wife” seeing her terrorist father’s death, killed the young infant the marriage had produced, wounded her “husband” and was quickly cancelled by Operations himself.

And then Nikita remembered the information that she had gained while a prisoner in the cages during the War. Michael had lost his son, and her heart shattered. ‘I don’t know what love is anymore.’ This man, the light of her life was the one perfect human. She on the other hand, was one of the most immature humans…”Oh get over yourself girl.”

While George continued about the Vacek mission, and about the incredible job that Michael had done for the good of the many. He recounted how he had endured pain, anguish and heartbreak, how Michael alone had faced this without complaint or remorse, and how all this had taken place during the time when he lost his beloved Simone.

Nikita kept her eyes on Michael the entire time. His head straight, his eyes fixed in some point above everyone’s head. His chin squared and his mouth in a straight line. Nikita could feel her heart breaking, her eyes full of unshed tears, her mouth trembling with the effort of not screaming. “Michael.”

Michael all of a sudden looked at Nikita. His heart amazingly healed, he felt her love, her warmth, and her sorrow. He realized that the past was past and that this woman in front of him was his future, his soul had mended. No more mourning, the two-year period was really over.

He smiled at her, nodded his head and mouthed, “I love you.” She let out a sob and wiped the tears from her beautiful eyes. She mouthed, “I love you” back and looked around making sure no one had seen them. But everyone was looking somewhere else, too overcome with this moment, in a place like this, to dare look at this man, perhaps the only real man among those gathered there.

After the accolades George started again reciting in great detail what the terrorist group’s long-term objectives were. He then went into even greater detail how difficult this mission would be. He actually used the phrase “Not a picnic for those involved.” But Nikita was at this point in la la land, there was no going back, Michael had told her he loved her.

Michael, stoic as ever deadpanned, “This has to be one of those ‘too good to be true scenarios’, how can I turn this offer down?” His lips quirked at the corners, pointed his right index finger at Nikita and said, “I could even choose her.”

The good thing about Section Michael thought was that you were only as good as your last effort. Quickly, perhaps because of everyone’s embarrassment at the display of emotion, it was back to business as usual. Section, Michael thought was to say the least, uniquely predictable.

“Yes, we figured you’d want her to “assist” you on this one” Adrian added, looking over smugly at Madelyn and Operations who had insisted in choosing Michael’s next mission wife. These two needed to be stopped or at least curved.

Michael nodded never looking Nikita in her eyes. “I need to know exactly what it will entail. How much time do I have?” Everyone was stunned. Michael, who kept things so close to the vest, was showing them openly that you lead by example.

Adrian continued for the first time giving them the name of the faction. “Michael, the newest organization we have encountered “Coperative de la Revolucion," an extremely well funded, well run splinter group of Red Cell is slated to take the lead in all terrorist activities worldwide. A couple, M. Carant and Mdme Wirth-Carant, run it.” Before Adrian could go on, the entire room, including Michael looked at Nikita, who looked up with tears welling up in her eyes. She now wished she’d been paying attention when Operations or George for that matter had been speaking.

Madelyn stated “This is not your real mother Nikita. You can be sure your biological mother brought you up. We have checked it out, and this is just a coincidence, no relations whatsoever.”

“But for our purposes, we would make it seem as though Madame Wirth-Carant was your mother” Adrian continued turning her attention back to Michael. “Twenty two years ago this couple had a miscarriage in the woman’s eighth month of pregnancy, the baby really died, but because neither of them saw the still-born baby, they believe, no let me amend, they have hoped the child survived.

Although the miscarriage was entirely their fault, terrorist activities having produced it, lately they have realized that they won’t last forever and have started looking for their daughter, hoping that she is married and that her husband can take over. They don’t want their daughter dirtying herself with terrorist activities, if at all possibly.”

At this time Michael spoke up. “I don’t understand, if Nikita fits the scenario so clearly, what if I didn’t want to choose her, why not make her the lead Op, why ask me?” He said this to show Nikita what could happen.

Operations who had been silent until now said, “That is exactly what I have been trying to tell them.” He pointed to the screen, and then continued “But they believe that you deserve to choose your partner in this one, it could last years. Some sort of reward for the Vacek mission.”

George, looking at Operations sternly said “Michael, you are the only one in this scenario that cannot be changed, we could get any female operative that you chose to become your wife the only necessity is that she be or look 22. If you do not wish Nikita to be that Op, so be it, then we will instruct her to forget what she has learned here by reprogramming her memory, it is that simple."

Michael said, “No, of course she would be my choice” again letting his vulnerability show. Then added, “she has proved to be an excellent partner, my material, and she fits the profile down to the name. And the fact that she was brought up in Australia gives credence to their not being able to find her sooner. She is also 22, and has been in Valentine missions with me. She knows how I operate. Please go on, tell us more…” With that statement he put to rest the “vulnerability” factor they had all thought existed.

Adrian continued “You two would marry immediately, a real marriage, not like Michael’s previous one. Establish a home nearby and we would commence trying to get your wife and her parents together…”

Walter interrupted “Church wedding, white picket fence…”

Birkoff added “Minivan and a cocker spaniel…”

Madelyn continued, surprisingly with a forlorned voice “Maybe you could have children of your own.”

Adrian cleared her throat and continued “Yes, all that and Michael with a wife at his side, his mission, his profiling. We want to make Red Cell and all its factions disappear and if we cannot, then we want a strong Op running them, one of ours, until they finally disappear.”

This time Operations spoke, his tone sincere, conciliatory. “We need our best on this, you Michael are our best, the future of Section.”

Michael for the first time in a long while looked at Nikita who sat, in a nervous gesture, smoothing continuously the cloth of her slacks. She had just been told by Operations during her six-month review, days before, that Michael had been asked to keep a tighter rain on her. The bastard, Operations not Michael, she thought, and her eyes looked up to meet Michael’s. When Operations finished his statement Nikita thought, “There I go again, this is about Michael, not you Nikita.”

Nikita had learned that he rarely gave much away. He wore his mask, but she had learned how to read his eyes when he looked at her. The patented blank stare didn’t work with her, or so she thought. And what she saw then from his eyes was “Trust Me.”

“OK, Michael go, do whatever you have to do to come to a decision. We’ll reconvene in four hours at Oversight” . . . and with that the comlink was disconnected.

Madelyn and Operations, walked side by side to his lair without addressing anyone else. Walter and Birkoff disappeared to their respective areas. All of a sudden Nikita realized that the room was almost empty, this was perhaps the most profound moment she had spent in Section.

Confused, sad, but elated at the same time, the tall blonde caressed her lap for the last time. She couldn’t bring herself to look around. Many things going through her head, including the fear that somehow they were still being watched.

~*~*~*

BOOK III

COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING

Nikita started to walk away, Michael held her arm by her elbow. Staring at each other, Michael said “Let’s go." They walked out of Section with the same companionable silence they had shared before, each buried in their own thoughts, Nikita leaving the destination up to Michael. Once outside, as if by instinct, Michael took hold of Nikita’s left hand with his right hand fingers intertwined. He brought the hand up to his lips and tenderly kissed her fingers. He put his strong left arm around her shoulders and drew her close. When Nikita wore heels she was as tall as Michael.

Michael sat across from Nikita in the back of the American Coffee Shoppe. There was a closeness between them everyone saw, everyone told her about it. And everyone even Jurgen had told her that Michael loved her. But Michael had never before told her outside of mission parameters. He had never shown her, or at least she had never noticed. Michael was a mystery. But she had to admit she had been childish at times, she always thought that she knew better. Perhaps this time she should trust him

This deep blood cover assignment had been the reason he acted like he did. The reason he lived his life split in two. When Nikita had first come to Section, and well during her training he had been married to another woman. Even though this was a mission marriage that had taken place while he was married to Simone.

Even though the marriage had produced a child that he had tried desperately to prevent. Even though Elena, his mission wife was a terrorist at heart. Michael was an honorable man, and he had protected Nikita, honoring her, cherishing her, but she could not see it until now.

After the young cute waitress finished fawning all over the dark, gorgeous French accented, soft-spoken hunk sitting with the blonde. And after their order for coffee and croissants was placed, Nikita grabbed Michael’s hands in hers and said “Michael…”

Michael interrupted her, his lips were twitching at the corners, his green eyes were the color of a flawless emerald, his beautiful eyelashes shuttered his eyes for a split second, and he said “I will tell you everything you want to know, I will even say what you want to hear again, this time loud and clear, however, we have three and a three quarter hours to come to a decision, you will have as much of a say as I, for without a hesitation I need you with me.”

Nikita wiped the tears that were falling from her clear blue eyes, she let out a sound that showed he had her and said “Just one question first, did you know this was coming? What do we do?”

Michael let out a laugh “That’s two questions Kita. Wait, are you leaving this all up to me?"

Nikita smiled “You are always such a control freak Michael, I figured…”

Michael leaned across the table, softly grabbing her chin, caressing her bottom lip with his left thumb. Again he had not answered her, “how does he do that?" She thought.

“Kita this is our lives we are talking about. I have been married, once to a woman I loved, and once to a woman I had to pretend to love. Marriages are all about compromises and 50-50, and give and take. I want this one to be my last. I have never felt like I do when I am with or without you, I need you Kita, now."

Nikita was the one that now laughed as she thought, “that is how he does it," but said. “Now? And this started out as such a shitty day. You don’t know how awful it is to answer my cell phone and not hear you say ‘Jozzefeen.' It screws up my entire being. Those three syllables, which you make into fifteen, are the only thing that keeps me from bolting every time the phone rings.”

Michael, leaned in, kissed her softly on the lips, sucking her beautiful bottom lip into his mouth and whispered “Focus…”

The cute young waitress cleared her throat and when the Operatives separated she put down the cups. Looking at Nikita she mouthed, “Get a Room," turned and walked away. Nikita laughed. Then Michael continued.

“First Kita I must ask you, if you really want to do this.” Nikita smiled, a broad bright smile that filled her eyes, Michael continued, “I cannot assume that just because I love you, you feel the same way about me.”

He had said it twice now, he loved her. Nikita interrupted “You are the dumbest smartest man I have ever met. You doubt for one moment I love you Michael?”

“I have kept from you and, by omission also, done so many things to you Kita, I thought…” Michael whispered.

Nikita interrupted “Michael, don’t be a duffuss…”

Now it was Michael’s turn to interrupt. “A what?” he said with a smirk in his mouth, that mouth that Nikita had dreamed about for so long.

“Dumb Michael. I cannot believe that you could think that I am not dying for you. Michael you are my reason for living. You think you don’t know what love is anymore; well I know what love is and love is Michael Samuelle. Look around you Michael, everyone thinks you are hot, if nothing else, if just because of how you look in mission pants, I would join the legions of women who become hussies just at the thought of you.”

Michael shyly smiled “And I thought I must be a jerk, instead there are legions…maybe I should play the field…” Smiled broadly and added, “So decision made, we will do it.”

“Michael” she said “is Oversight very far from here?”

“About an hour, why?”

“And from my apartment, how far is it?” She insisted, her eyebrows arching.

“I think is better if we go to “The Plaza” Kita, no surveillance." Michael liked this give and take; Nikita was in awe of him.

She sprang to her feet, dragging him up with an exaggerated motion. He kissed her quickly when he was finally standing. He threw some bills on the table, much more than the check would add up to and grabbed Nikita’s hand again.

With her other hand Nikita was munching on the croissants, and feeding Michael. Somehow she knew that it was going to be a long time before they ate.

While chuckling he walked pass the cute young waitress, gave her one of his rare killer smiles and making his accent even more pronounced said, “We are taking your advice.”

The girl stood with her mouth opened, staring at the retreating backside of this inconceivable hunk and yelled in her thick Southern accent. “Y’all come back to see us, you hear?”

And even though Michael and Nikita were walking on air, at no time did either of Section’s dynamic duo let down their collective awareness. As they left the Café, Michael noticed the black van and Nikita squeezed his hand. Calmly slowly Michael approached Section’s van and told the driver, “Ashford, we are going to The Plaza, no need to follow us.” Ashford nodded at Michael and drove away.

-*-

The Plaza was an old majestic hotel, full of antiques, architectural detail and old world charm. Expensive, quiet and quite conservative, it surprisingly catered to celebrities that wanted to spend their days in anonymity. Nikita told Michael, although he knew from the surveillance, that it had been her dream while living on the streets to come here for high tea. And the moment she got released from her training, she had made this a ritual, every afternoon she was in town. “High tea at The Plaza." Michael, drew her closer to him by her waist, kissed the tip of her nose and smiled broadly at the Concierge, who nodded courteously and slightly bowed.

“Bonjour Mademoiselle Wirth, how can I help you today?”

“Bonjour Marcelle, this is my fiancée Michael Samuelle” again the man bowed at Michael. Nikita continued, “We want a suite…”

Michael interrupted, taking over for Nikita who was now the color of the flower on her lapel, “The honeymoon suite. We are finalizing our wedding plans and would like to have the reception here were Nikita feels so much at home.”

Marcelle who, although The Plaza didn’t rent rooms by the hour was an experienced hotelier, knew the hormonal battle being wagered in front of his marble and granite desk, smiled and said “Congratulations Monsieur Samuelle, she is tres magnifique. Of course we can accommodate you, how long will you be staying? ” He said this in a tone that bordered on contemptuous.

Michael pulled Nikita even tighter, looked at her bowed red face and answered “Two hours," and then quickly amended “Sorry, I meant two days.” Nikita didn’t know this side of Michael.

He usually didn’t joke, but she could tell he was somewhat annoyed at the condescending manner of the Concierge, and amused at the newfound shyness of his beloved Nikita. Michael for his part was being highly sensitive to his surroundings as though he wanted to edge this experience in his subconscious. In case this was all a ruse, “Let us take what we can," he repeated to himself.

“We’ll need to meet with the planner at…3:00," it was now 8:03 am, and they had three hours and fifteen minutes to satiate their “need to relax."

The Honeymoon Suite on the 7th floor, the top floor of The Plaza Hotel in Paris, took Nikita’s breath away. It was huge, with a beautiful, ornate, yet tasteful living room, with a balcony that expanded the length of the suite. The bedroom was covered, one could say, with roses of all colors and sizes, and shared the long balcony with the living room. Before venturing unto the balcony, Nikita who was twirling like a ballerina on speed, walked into the bathroom to find a huge bear clawed tub, big enough for two and thick plush robes and bath sheets, and toiletries and candles. Michael leaned against a doorway, strong arms and long legs folded, rare smile plastered on his face, enjoying the spectacle before him. This was a superb looking woman who had filled his heart.

The balcony overlooked the magnificent City of Lights. Nikita because of her grief at being in Section never enjoyed the perks afforded her by being an Op. One of those was living in this beautiful, historical and magical city. Michael who had learned how to play the game had said, “You don’t have to like it, just do the job.”

He intended to give her everything in his power from now on. The night terrors, risky situations, borderline option, life and death decisions would not end, but perhaps she could learn how to retain her own soul, he would teach her. After all, she had taught him how to love again and she was the only one that had her soul intact.

Michael moved forward tipping the bellboy handsomely, who quickly exited the room smiling at the luggageless couple. Michael then continued to where his precious rummaged through the mini bar and grabbed her by her waist, pulling her hard against his already thick, throbbing member. “Nikita my love, I don’t want every time I make love with you to be in a hurry, let’s go to Center/Oversight and then…”

Nikita’s proving tongue and lips covered Michael’s mouth immediately. A lush chocolate covered strawberry being shared in this moment of hunger. “Forget it Michael," she stated against his lips, ”I haven’t gotten any since the Armel mission, and that was only one night.”

He bit her lip, and laughing out loud said, “But I alone came seven times, I think you doubled that. I have the DVD, want to watch?”

Nikita ignored him, and continued, “I dream about Leon every night. I need new points of references, and I need you now, hot, sweaty, rough and quick, but NOW.”

While delivering her command, Nikita was busy undoing Michael’s form fitted dress slacks. His voice was buried under a mountain of groans he couldn’t control. Her hands were stroking him through the expensive material.

Then quickly her hands were in his pants and to her delight she giggled “Michael you are going commando." To which she got no reply other than a hand going into the cleavage that had so tormented him. He twicked her left nipple and quickly fondled her entire breast. His tongue stroking her teeth, her tongue, her gums and then her nipples.

His eyes were fixed on her then. He was completely out of control and delirious with happiness. He wanted to forget the fear he felt every time he thought this could be just a carrot being dangled in front of him, a test to see if he would obey. He would obey, would do anything if just for this one moment.

Michael pushed her against the balcony railing and quickly lowered her pants. He smiled, “Kita, you on the other hand have on ‘passion killers.'” This all said amidst kisses and gropes. “What?” she mumbled confused.

“Panties, that look like briefs," he stated.

“Michael, either I wear these or nothing. I am not wearing those uncomfortable thongs when having to go into Section, who the hell is going to see them anyways, Operations?”

Michael couldn’t believe the nervous chatter coming out of his precious. He entered her quickly from behind, grabbed her incredibly slippery nub and whispered “Focus” as she just sighed “Michael…” coming into his gifted hands for the first time of many to follow.

She let out a moan and held onto the balcony railing, they were fucking over Paris he thought as he came, hot, sweaty, rough and quick, like she wanted, with only her name escaping his lips. She had been rendered speechless by the intense long awaited climax. Michael said the words once more “I love you Kita” as she milked the cum out of him. Spent they held each other, half dressed in a 7th floor balcony overlooking Paris.

Michael pulled out of her, to her obvious discontent, and licked her earlobe plunging his talented tongue into her ear and licking under the hairline at the back of her neck. All the while his hands were everywhere, but he needed to stop. As he attempted to rearrange and refastened his pants he once more touched the dripping wet apex of her legs.

“Mmm, Michael," she whispered, “Don’t start anything we can’t finish."

Michael smiled, “Satisfied are we?”

“Never” she recounted, “but we have to go."

He was now facing her, a small frown covered his placid face and she bit his lower lip. “A fuck for your thoughts” she said making him smile.

“You are a witch, you cast a spell that day in the White Room, and I have never been the same. Nikita,” he continued “today you have learned some things about me, but…”

She interrupted him with her fingers tracing his bottom lip, her eyes fixed on them as he sucked her fingers into his mouth. “Michael, you are going to have to fill me in on all the details of this extraordinary life you seem to have been living, however, nothing they say or do now will upset me, you asked me to trust you Michael, I will do just that. I love you, but you love me back. You could start now by filling me in other ways.”

And if as to show him she was devoted to him, Nikita knelt before him, again undid his pants and pulled out his dick, which was only slightly deflated. She licked the pre cum and residue of cum that remained on him. She tasted herself on him and with expert hard strong suction and with her hands firmly holding unto his incredibly strong smooth gluts, she heard him say “Merde Kita I’m coming." She made him come again into her mouth. She then swallowed and with an exaggerated approving sound she lightly bit the tip and said, “For heaven sakes Michael, I said let’s go, we don’t want to be late do we?”

His head was thrown back in abandon, his mouth a perfect soundless “O” of delight, his eyes closed tightly, his hands softly caressing her now disheveled hair. He helped her stand up and noticed she was still trembling from the powerful climax, she had come just by the feeling and hearing Michael’s release.

He smiled back at her for her comment and said again, “I love you my soul, thank you for trusting me.”

“Pas de quoi," she said “Je t’aimme aussie."

Her accent making him giggle, a sound, very un-Michael like. “Let’s go fiancé.” He swatted her butt. And one last time he plunged his tongue into her mouth.

She pulled him into the bedroom, down on the bed with her on top. He skillfully flipped her on her back and laid on her, “You want it straight?” he said kissing her mouth hard and putting his very hard dick into her very wet channel. She made a sound he took as approval and pumped furiously into his beloved. Her hips off the bed, moving in big deep circles in order to cause more friction with his pelvic bone, he was that deep inside her. They came once more, this time together, a sensation that had no comparison with any other. They were one, one soul, one heart, one life.

Rearranging clothing, buttoning, zipping, fixing hair, grabbing one more chocolate covered strawberry and quickly glancing into mirrors, the couple exited the suite. Hand in hand in the companiable silence they had enjoyed all day, ready to face the beginning of a whirlwind that would become their life, Michael let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, praying that she would understand.

In the elevator Michael held Nikita close, the Operator looked at the couple who now had a semblance of fulfillment. Nikita, without the use of a mirror, expertly applied lipstick. Michael watched intently those lips that moments before had been licked, bit and pressed by his talented mouth. He let out a breath and she smiled, so did the elevator operator. These two were convincing as two people in love.

Little did Michael and Nikita know that they were being watched, that Michael’s worst fears were in play. This was already the beginning of the Mission. The Carants already had been watching their “daughter." The Organization that Michael and Nikita worked for was always three steps ahead of everyone. The scenario for the Carants has started way before Leon.

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

BOOK IV

AND SO IT CONTINUES

As they exited the hotel, Michael realized they had no mode of transportation; they had walked, no, run to the hotel. He pulled out his cell phone, called Walter and asked him to pick them up, and to bring Birkoff. He knew Nikita wanted her friends with her.

Michael wanted to talk to her, but she looked so relaxed, so happy. She was looking in the window of a little store in the lobby of the hotel. She picked up a magazine, a pack of gum and a candy bar. Michael watched her, intent on remembering her body language, all her moves, all of her mannerisms, all of her.

She asked him if he minded if she bought herself something else to wear. She was really worried that Jones would think her not properly attired. He assured her Mr. Jones would approve and laughed, tried to grab her, but she slipped pass him, and entered the store. Bought herself a beautiful black dress Michael chose, with a scoop neck and flared long skirt, at a cost that made her squirm and Michael not even blink. Of course he bought her beautiful sexy lace underwear, after all now she had someone to show it to.

Nikita watched Michael buy a cigar and pay for all their purchases. It was amazing to her how the simple act of handing money to a clerk disarmed her. This man was poetry in motion.

As they waited outside for their car Michael bought a peony from a street vendor, gave it to Nikita who said, “I love flowers, especially these, I am going to learn how to grow them when we get our home."

As the car with Walter and Birkoff approached, Michael made a statement that Nikita found odd, but she had promised to trust him, he said, “My mother grows these so easily…”

Michael again noted the SUV following them. He nodded his head at the Op driving it. He knew this was the way things had to be, Nikita on the other hand didn’t. “I know, I know, but it still pisses me off," she told him. The corner of Michael’s mouth quirked almost unnoticeably. “Oh no," she thought, “Mission Michael is back.” But then Michael put his arm around her and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

They entered the car, Michael walked over to the drivers seat and Walter got out and joined Birkoff in the back seat were he already sat. Nikita smiled at her friends and got into the passenger seat next to Michael. The doorman closed the car door, and Michael pulled out into traffic. Black SUV in tow.

Walter said, “OK Michael, this is the Intel you asked for… Your parents…”

Nikita then interrupted, “Who?” Asking confused.

Walter and Michael’s eyes met in the rear view mirror, “You haven’t told her, sir?”

Michael smiled, “We were busy Walter.”

Nikita mumbled under her breath, but everyone in the car heard her “I trust you, I trust you.” A mantra that brought a smile to Michael’s luscious lips, and a remark by Birkoff, who not thinking of the consequences, as always, said “God Nikita for the first time it is really nice to be in on something you are not…just wait ‘till lover boy here tells you who he really is, and what is about to take place.” Birkoff blurted out without realizing what he was doing. Michael turned his head and looked at the young man with a grimace. Birkoff feared Michael, but felt secure when Nikita was around.

Nikita was speechless. “I trust you” was playing over and over again in her head.

Walter, as if Birkoff had said nothing stated “Red Cell started this Mission just before the Vacek Mission ended Michael.”

“Wait Walter, I must do this first," Michael said looking over at Nikita who now had her eyes closed and her hands clenched into fists.

“Well Kita,” Michael stated grabbing one of her fists “I don’t think I can’t tell you what is about to take place, I don’t know, but I can tell you that Adrian and George are my parents.” Nikita’s fist relaxed as though she had given up. He continued, “The Center/Oversight is in the home where I grew up. When I joined L’Heure Sanguine my parents wanted to save me. They were one of the most powerful people on earth even at that time, and felt completely vulnerable because of my actions. They decided to put together this organization. All of us became ghosts; even my 13-year-old sister Rhine, who you will meet today, and thus this all started. I caused all this because of my misspent youth. Once we get there…” Michael told her sadly, but didn’t finish.

He was glad that all of this was out in the open. There was so much more, he couldn’t wait to tell her. He was concerned that all this would push her away. He would understand, he didn’t deserve her; it was just too much to take. This was Michael’s karma, his punishment for L’Heure Sanguine and Renee Dion. Walter continued with the Intel he had gathered. Birkoff filling in information from time to time and typing frantically into his laptop. Michael paid close attention while Nikita, well….

Nikita’s mouth hung open “ I trust you Michael” she mumbled and squeezed his hand.

They were just turning unto a road well guarded and majestic, about an hour outside of Paris. The road, which was really a driveway, lined with flowering trees led to an incredible mansion full of sculptured gardens, fountains and streams. The security was obvious and no one stopped Michael, he sailed right thought.

The majordomo opened the car door for Nikita and smiled openly when he saw Michael. “Master Mishel” he stated, “Bienvenue." Both her and Birkoff looked around as though they had just landed on the lunar surface. Their obvious awe garnered a chuckle from Walter and the following comment “Can’t take you two out, what is the matter, never been to Le Palase de Marseille?”

Michael, again very un-Michael like, rushed to greet the Majordomo. Folded the frail old Englishman in his powerful arms and told him “It is good to be home Giles.”

He then put his hand on Nikita’s hand and said, “This is Nikita, my soul. This is Giles, he taught me so much … oh, and well most importantly he taught me English.” Giles smiled and bowed gracefully. Nikita, still sitting in the car with Birkoff was stunned. She couldn’t speak, move or answer.

Michael reached into the car and helped her out. With one quick kiss to her cheek he whispered “Breath Kita, just breath.” Walter added, so “Giles old man where is Belinda, she is not coming out to welcome her husband? Come on Birkoff, close your mouth and come on out, we have only just begun.”

The house was like a fort, security all over the place; the kind which you could see, and the blind kind, with cameras and surveillance and God only knows what else. The entrance to this house was overwhelmingly beautiful. Five large stone steps brought you to the landing, with its columns, and doors. Heavy polished wood, marble, granite, stone, and with all this craziness surrounding it, it felt like a home.

Michael looked forlornly at the swing set on the side yard. There he could see Belinda, with Walter and Birkoff approaching, and his sister with his nephew, Adam. Michael knew that his sister deserved to have as normal a life as possible under these circumstances. He felt a twinge of jealousy; he missed his son, the child he hardly knew.

Holding Nikita’s hand and bringing them to his lips he said, “I can never pay for what I have caused all of them. Look at my sister, my nephew, what did they do to deserve to live in this military camp. And my parents, what have I made them do all these years. Just because they made a deal to keep me out of the guillotine.” Nikita reacting for the first time wiped a tear from her face and squeezed Michael’s hand. “They love you Michael, and the good they have done, it has not all been bad, has it?”

Rhine, holding little Adam, came running into her brother’s outstredge arms, she pushed him aside quickly, handing him the baby and hugged Nikita. “Sister” she said “thank you for giving us Michael back. She is gorgeous Michael, how did you rope her? There is so much that we have to share.”

Nikita smiled, she was going to like Rhine, and she conspirationally told her “It was easy, he had me at hello.” They all laughed and Michael hugged Rhine again, “Behave” he said, kissed the top of his nephew’s head and gave his sister a nuggy.

“You do know that my husband is Paul’s son Stephen," Rhine said. Michael told his sister in French, way too fast for Nikita to understand that Nikita knew very little and that she was there to learn it all. Rhine told him it was high time.

“Michael," Nikita said, “let your sister fill me in. You don’t put things as bluntly as her. I like her style much better. You know Rhine, he tends to soften the blow so much, and some times I miss the entire point. And by the way, don’t you speak fast in French to try and leave me out. It will not work, right Rhine?” She winked at her “sister-in-law," grabbed the baby away from Michael and started towards Belinda, who quietly stood to a side with Walter smiling broadly and hugging him fiercely.

After Nikita spoke with Belinda for a while, all along holding little Adam, she noticed the beautiful grounds that surrounded her. Michael and his sister spoke in hushed tones and in French while walking towards a huge patio like area with windows stretching the length and breath of the house.

Walter said, “Let’s follow them Sugar. To quote another beautiful blonde, ‘Braise yourself it’s going to be a bumpy ride.’ Remember Sugar, he can take care of himself, and he loves you.” Nikita just nodded.

Nikita walked carrying the baby in total silence. She was drinking in her surroundings. This time it was not only her Section training, but also she wanted to see all this luxury and comfort, all so different that where she grew up.

She could see stables to the right, and a huge pool outside, and a building housing an indoor one. She could see the tennis courts and the pond and brook that cursed through the property. And she could see the security.

Security everywhere. On the roof, behind walls, out in the open, making rounds. They all acknowledged Michael, and vice versa. Nikita pictured him growing up in this place. Being care free and innocent, not suspicious and introverted.

The trees, the flowers, the music drifting softly from the house, brought a tear to her eyes. This beautiful enchanted place was Section/Oversight. How can so much beauty live in so much pain? And she had a break through; perhaps I should concentrate in the good.

In her short 22 years of life she had lived a difficult life, an incredibly difficult life, no times of happiness, she had thought because of terrible lack of wealth and material things. Well, Michael and Rhine had had all of that. And the blonde wondered if Michael’s 25 years had not been more difficult than hers. At least she had been free from fourteen to her induction into Section at seventeen. Michael had been a rebellious youth here and at 16 his life, and that of those around him changed forever.

And as she walked behind Michael, and as she held baby Adam in her arms, she repeated to herself “I trust him, I trust him. He loves me.” She did notice the Peonies all over the yard.

~*~*~*

BOOK V

THE PRODIGAL SON

Michael entered the room and The Committee stood up. These men and women who had held his life in their hands for so long were Michael’s family, nemesis, tormentors, saviors and a host of other adjectives he couldn’t list now.

Effusively they all greeted the “Prodigal Son” as Stephen blurted out when he first saw him.

He said it in a playful tone, which made Nikita relax. Michael first greeted his mother Adrian, a beautiful elegant woman with Michael’s incredible eyes.

Although both children were French, the English gentility of the Samuelle couple showed through. Next came George quiet, intense and exuding power. The funny thing that went through Nikita’s mind was, “Where does Michael get his sex appeal?”

Then Michael gave a bear hug to Stephen. It was obvious that these two really loved each other, although they had not shown it when they had met last. Stephen would explain this to Nikita, he thought and said, “I am sorry Nikita. Welcome to the family.”

Everyone was talking to everyone else. Nikita stood to the side holding Adam as though he was a lifeline. She kept her eyes on Michael, who one by one greeted the Committee. From her peripheral vision she was also watching Madelyn and Operations.

In this scenario, they were completely different. Nikita felt the room spin out of control. She quickly sat on a nearby ottoman and looked at Belinda to hand her the baby. Michael was too far to hear, Stephen was next to her, so she handed the baby to him as he said, “I am sorry, we are all here for the good of the many.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen," the group heard Michael say, “We are here finally to finish what started so very long ago. Mr. Jones today has come home and once and for all to put an end to Red Cell and all its factions. I now yield the floor to my father. For I know little more than what I have just offered you.”

Michael sat next to Nikita, held her hand for a fraction of a second and turned to George. Nikita was so overwhelmed with information and emotion that she thanked God quietly for Michael’s nearness. And so George spoke, with that quiet tone that reminded Nikita of what she thought God should sound like.

“First let me advise you Mr. Jones what will be happening. Again let me remind you that the Committee has decided to leave this up to you.”

Michael remembered what Walter had told him in the car, looked briefly at his Bandana Wearing Old Friend, but both men knew this was Intel to keep for later use. Walter was Michael’s right hand, his most trusted adviser and friend.

George continued, “Operations and Madeline would no longer be running Section. They will be in Oversight and Center. This doesn’t mean you couldn’t share your resources with them and vice versa. Your Level 13 rank would be in effect again, Mr. Jones.”

At this point something odd happened, as if planned, the Majordomo announced that food was being served in the veranda. Nikita looked at Michael who gave her a warm smile. She did see that the weight of the world, literally, was on his strong shoulders. It was reflected in those beautiful eyes. She wasn’t grasping what had just happened. Michael was Mr. Jones.

“Michael is Mr. Jones. Oh God, Michael is Mr. Jones." She thought.

Everyone, with the exception of George, Adrian, and Michael, and because he held her hand Nikita, left the magnificent room, ‘La Bibliotheque’. Michael got off the ottoman he had been sharing with Nikita and walked over to one of the rich mahogany bookcases that covered every wall from floor to ceiling of the two-story room.

There Michael picked up a copy of Molliere’s work and handed it to Nikita, “This book shaped my life more than anything else.”

He turned to his parents and said, “All right. What is this new chapter about?”

George said, “You may be Mr. Jones, Mishel, but I am your father. And when reality rears its ugly head, I am in charge. Respect me.”

Michael nodded apologetically, while George and Adrian approached Nikita. Adrian said to Nikita “I am sorry my dear, I know that this is overwhelming to say the least. But our son loves you, and we know that you love him. Nikita the ends are just…”

Nikita interrupted, “But the means are ruthless, you people don’t care who you have to roll over. Innocents are suffering, I know the good of the few speech, there has to be a different way, a better way…”

Now Michael sat back down next to her, he held her hand as though she were a dozen eggs and said “Nikita what have you seen with your own eyes?”

“I know Michael, but…” she stated before George interrupted her mid sentence.

“And this Nikita is what we are trying to do. Perhaps with Michael finally in charge again and you by his side, we can make this what Adrian intended and envisioned when it all started some 9 years ago. This was the way of a mother to protect her son and to make amends for past sins. Not only his, but ours also. Nikita we made our incredibly vast fortune in weapons of mass destruction during the Wars, although they were used by the right side, you are correct, Innocent Lives were lost. We felt guilty, we felt and still do, that Michael had committed his indiscretions because of us. As parents do in wartime we gave not only of ourselves, we gave our son and daughter."

“Michael has the tendency to blame himself, it isn’t just him, it is also us.” Adrian added.

Nikita looked up at Michael. She held his hands in hers and said, “I trust you. Do what you must, lead and I shall follow.” She then whispered “Lucy, you g’t some esplaining to do," quoting I Love Lucy, which went right over the French man’s head.

Michael stood up, and pulled Nikita to her feet. Walked over to his mother and father and in flawless French told them how much he loved them, and how sorry he was. He turned to the blond, pulled her closer to him and whispered “Je t’aime mon couer.”

“How could she resist,” she thought and said “You did have me at hello you know.”

Adrian said, “Let us join the others." Looping her arm through Nikita’s arm, she added, “So what is this that you want to learn how to grow peonies. I am a master gardener my dear.”

This statement gave Michael the affirmation that nothing changes. Nikita on the other hand thought, “They heard, oh God, I hope they didn’t hear the sex part.”

Michael caught up to his mother and Nikita; he put his arm around Nikita’s shoulder and said to Adrian. “Maman you go with father, I want to show Nikita something first.’” Nikita was holding on to the book for dear life.

-*-

She followed Michael out the library doors through an incredible vestibule with pristine marble floors and roaring wood burning fireplaces, up a spiral staircase with banisters of the shiniest brass and carved wood and plush antique carpets. In the center of this room there was a huge round table with hundreds of the most fragrant magnificent flowers Nikita had ever seen, in a Ming Dynasty vase that was literally priceless. Her eyes seemed to bust out of their sockets.

Bright crystal chandeliers lighted the grand room. Benches of rich fabrics flanked the walls. Paintings of illustrious artists, Matisse, Renoir, Botello, etc. lined the walls. And light poured into the house from the massive windows, some with lush curtains, others sans. Nikita thought she would go into information shock, so much luxury, so much.

Michael walked down a long corridor to double oak doors, polished to a mirror like sheen. He opened the doors and said, “This was my room long ago." The four-poster bed, the settee, the armoire, the desk. Michael had been born with a silver; no make that a gold spoon in his mouth.

She released herself from his grasp and twirled, the same move she had used at The Plaza, and he smiled. “Hmm," she said, “I wonder is there video and audio on?”

Michael continued smiling “Let’s give it a try, shall we?”

She said austerely, “No, I want to talk Mr. Jones.”

He gave her a cat that ate the canary look and whispered “Later." He stretched his left hand into her top. Grabbed her breast with it and started massaging her. With his other hand he reached under her skirt and massaged her clit through the now wet fabric of her panties. All the while he said her code name, as though a prayer, “Jozzefeen." Nikita’s eyes closed and she held unto him by the waist of his pants.

Michael whose smile had not eased said “I have always dreamed about making love on this bed. Oh, and you know where else?”

Nikita’s mouth was just making little sounds of pleasure; he was enjoying this too much. “No," she whispered, while forgetting to breath.

“In Section, right in Operations lair, hands against the glass for you." They both laughed. His breath running havoc with her insides as he whispered all this into her ear.

“Level 13, are we?” she said.

“You now have to do what I order without question, and I order you to let me show you to the dressing room," he said.

Nikita couldn’t say how she got across the huge bedroom and into the dressing room, she was aware of his very hard member flush against the crack of her ass as they walked. But there, next to the immense double sink, flanked in all sides by mirrors, Michael lifted her skirt, ripped her new panties, lowered his zipper, and entered from behind, reaching around to rub her clit, which was now dripping wet. Fast, swiftly doing it like a Level 13 Op should.

She was mouthing incoherently, to Michael’s chuckle, “God, I am screwing Mr. Jones.”

Michael commanded Nikita to look at them in the mirror. The reflection they both saw was that of two beautiful people in the throngs of the most devastating passion. She was rubbing her breast, which now were completely out of the scoop neckline and out of her bra. Michael tugged off his jacket and sweater. Her head resting back on Michael’s bare shoulder, he switched them so she was leaning forward over the sink, holding the smooth granite counter. Now he divested himself of his slacks.

He again told her, as he reached further to pinch her clit, not to close her eyes. He accommodated her on his lap, almost as if he was sitting and he banged into her with great force. He was hardly breathing and at one point thought he would pass out from the strain of holding his climax. His tongue licking its way to whatever surface of skin he found. One of his hands held on to her clit, the other held on to his dick real tight as it slipped in and out of her dripping wet channel.

She moaned continuously as she came, over and over again. The force of his thick cock inside her pussy was mind boggling, her “G” spot being rubbed raw, but she didn’t care, “If they cancel us now, I’ll die happy” she repeated, her face contorted in pleasure. He said softly, almost as an apology, “I can’t hold myself any longer Kita.”

She smiled and squeezed “Come for me Michael. Better yet, let’s come together.”

Once, twice, three times more Michael pumped his hard cock into her highly sensitize very wet pussy, and they came. He continued to rub her clit to where it felt as though it was going to fall off. Nikita, who had come more times in this period than in the entire year since the Armel mission asked, “When we are married,” her voice quivering, almost crying “can we do this more often?”

He laughed, a throaty laugh and said “Oh God, I’m coming again.” They stayed like that for a few more minutes and then Michael pulled out of her. He looked at his watch and said “Merde Kita we have been here for an hour and a half.”

“Then I am glad you're Mister Jones. Level 13, you better come up with something good," she told him in a throaty whisper and bent down, sucked his dick once and he held onto her head. She continued sucking very lightly because he was making incoherent sounds, until he came again his thick cock deep in her mouth. She swallowed it all, they were facing the mirror sideways now and Michael could see her sucking him, and moving her half clothed ass. He thought this was probably the strongest climax he had with her to date, hell, with anyone. This reflection so erotic, he probably could have come even if she wasn’t sucking him. “I love you," he said.

He knew he should stop, but he didn’t he started licking her lips, her teeth, her gums, her tongue and moved down to suck hard and bite softly her incredibly erect nipples. She as though possessed took her left hand to her pussy and started touching herself, right there with him watching her. He could see her in the mirror, and he started to get hard.

She was touching her clit, sticking two fingers into her opening, pumping them, and he was enjoying this incredible display of uninhibited libido, all while sucking her very taut nipples. She came again and fell on her knees to suck him again, he just held her. Waiting for both of them to come down before facing the people downstairs, he wondered what the hell he was going to tell them, and worst yet, would they believe him.

“It’s going on two hours now” he laughed. She was beyond thought or action; no way she was leaving this room. She was like an addict, looking and needing her next sex fix. They both, simultaneously, came again.

“Michael, do I call you Michael, Mr. Jones, or will Your Excellency do," she said this as she tried desperately to fix her dress, now without panties and so wanting to touch him again.

He smiled, this was becoming a good habit she thought, and told her as he himself tried to put his clothes back in order. “God will do. You have been calling me that all day. You were calling me when you called his name in vain, right?”

He was overwhelmed with love for this woman and he changed his tone and added seriously, “I wanted to tell you so many times. I needed to be with you, to love you.”

And realizing this was not the moment for serious, “Right now don’t come near me or I will take you again and let everyone watch.”

She sashayed her way to him, just out of reach and said, “Let’s show them who is in charge.”

He tried to grab her so he could kiss her. She blew a kiss at him and turned to leave the room. She passed a side table next to the couch and saw something that brought tears to her eyes. In a beautiful silver frame Michael kept a picture of a baby. Michael rushed to her side, picked up the frame and told her “He was a beautiful boy. Promise we’ll make some of our own.”

She cried openly now, sobbing loudly. He then held her tight and kissed her softly. She told him in a whisper, horse with emotion but full of hope, “I am sorry mon couer, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

~*~*~*

BOOK VI

GETTING TO KNOW YOU

Nikita smiled shyly, “Michael, you know I was not the innocent either.”

He smiled, “I don’t know about then, but your actions of the past two hours have surely…”

She understood his attempt to bring some levity unto a difficult moment, and she swatted him softly in the face, faking a slap. “Are they going to come in here and take me to the white room for slapping Mr. Jones?” she asked.

“No, but once, only once deny me sex and I personally will cancel you,” he retorted walking out of the room, fingers intertwined.

“Michael, I am hungry. Do you live here all the time? Tonight, can we do it outside?” she said plaintively.

“Let’s go eat. No, you have seen my loft, and tonight, I’ll show you were I lost my virginity.” He answered, patently amused by her whining.

Michael was not going towards the veranda. Instead he was taking her through a back staircase that was just as majestic. As they passed the guards, in their gray garb, this was Center after all, they would nod at Michael with respect and admiration.

Nikita knew Michael was a fair leader, but she realized here everyone knew him better than she did. She watched the portraits in the long corridors, the crystal chandeliers, the soft plush carpeting, the polished floors, the light pouring through the stained glass windows. It was an enchanting place, she asked, “Michael, did you really grow up here?”

“Yes," he said as they entered the kitchen, and before he could continue, a robust short woman in her late 60s approached, grabbed Michael, who was smiling now more broadly than before “Nino Miguel, que felicidad.” The woman said.

“Rosita, Ingles por favor. This is…”

The woman interrupted, “My Nikita. I see what you mean we are going to have to put some meat in her bones. I don’t believe what you say that she eats constantly, I fixed you a plate, come sit.”

Michael pulled a chair out for Nikita, and one by one acknowledge with a warm greeting all the staff that occupied the kitchen at this point. Speaking with them in their native tongue, Nikita counted 6 different ones, he then introduced them to her. “These people, Nikita, are my family.”

“Nino Miguel,” Rosita said, “Are you here to stay?”

“No” answered Michael. “We have to go back tonight, but we’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”

Nikita looked confused, but didn’t stop chewing. He smiled and whispered “Waste not want not, I did pay for two nights at the Plaza.”

She nodded and took home made pompe frite from his plate; he swatted her hand and ate. And just as fast Rhine and Stephen came into the kitchen. You could hear outside the people talking and laughing and milling about. Rhine came behind her brother and took a fry, he also swatted her hand.

“Arête Rhine. Stephen can’t you control your wife?”

“Mr. Jones, you made her a level above me, she pulls rank all the time.” Stephen said.

Nikita was amused with their familiar repartee. Rosita quickly put a basket of the fries on the table, and said, “Rineta leave your brother be.”

Rhine laughed, “I want to hear how she butchers up your name Nikita.”

Michael spoke with Stephen in French, real fast again. All Nikita understood was something about the Triblenka mission that Michael had just been at. They both let out loud, long laughs and Nikita looked at Rhine “Men," they both mouthed.

Rosita said, “I know Nino Miguel, mas leche."

Nikita said, “Para mi tambien por favor.”

Michael reached over and kissed Nikita. Stephen grabbed his wife and kissed her. “You are not going to make me look bad brother.”

Michael stood up, tapped him on the back and winked at Nikita, “Too late."

Nikita let out a squeal as Michael grabbed her and push her across the table.

Stephen pushed his wife against the huge refrigerator. Rosita said “Mother of God, children, I am calling Mrs. Samuelle. No milk for any of you.”

Everyone laughed, and Walter walked in. “Mr. Jones it is time," he said, his deportment serious, this was a Walter Sugar didn’t know.

Nikita looked at Michael to see his Section mask lock into place. Put aside were the games, the love making, it was business and it was serious. She noticed everyone looked the same, and wondered “what the fuck”?

Michael grabbed her hand tenderly and said, “Time to go to work my love.” You are now a Level, what level are you Rhine?”

“Five” she said.

“Sorry sis, she is going to be my wife, Nikita you are level seven, along with Rhine and Stephen who are now both level 7.”

“I don’t care about Nikita” Rhine’s last joke of the moment, “but how can you elevate Stephen, I like being on top.”

As they walked, Michael’s hand in Nikita’s, his arm around his sister now, he whispered, “He tells me you like it on the bottom also.”

“Michael," both Nikita and Rhine remarked.

But with all the back and forth between them, Nikita could see the Section mood setting in. He was going to ease her back to reality, but he had to do it, she knew this. Now accepting it, well that was a different thing. When were they going to be normal.

“We take what we can.” His words long ago were the only sound in her thoughts.

-*-

They entered an elevator going down, and were now in a corridor that Nikita noticed was completely different to the house. This resembled Section in its modern, almost austere décor. And the people moving around wore charcoal gray. “Who comes up with the color code?” Nikita thought.

Stephen, Walter and Rhine had walked ahead. To her total shock Michael answered, “I do." She looked up puzzled, and realized she had said it in a loud voice. Saying, “I may have to take over that job.”

“Not on your life, who wants a bunch of antiterrorists dressed in Periwinkle and Chartreuse.” Michael whispered mischievously.

Nikita, pretending to be in pain said, putting a tragic hand to her forehead, “I am offended, you are so out of touch with reality, where is your fashion flair?”

Just before the door to Oversight opened, Michael pinched Nikita’s ass, and winked. He let go of her hand, straightened his black Gautier suit and walked just ahead. It started spyboy was back, back to the reality that surrounded her, which most of the time plainly sucked, back to the future.

-*-

Nikita first noticed that this was totally a Com room. There was nothing else to be seen, no Operation’s den, no Walter’s munitions, just Birkoff and all the toys any over achieving boy would need to bring terrorism to its knees. It was Section, bigger, better and improved. Hell they could blame Canada.

Nikita’s mouth hung open, and Michael, who had walked around, came back, put his finger under her chin and with a raise of his eyebrows closed her gaping mouth.

“Too much to digest?”

“Ahaa” was all she could say.

All of a sudden, Ops of all shapes and forms were milling around, bringing Michael, information. He hovered over Birkoff who was showing him some sequences of data Michael found interesting.

Intel was being displayed on screens all around this massive room. Sims were being conducted everywhere. Nikita could see and feel the seriousness and importance of this place, but somehow it felt different to her. She stood to the side, just as an observed, and … observed.

Rhine approached her, handed her a cup of tea and whispered. “A penny for your thoughts.”

She thanked her for the tea and answered “To let you in on a little secret, I am overwhelmed. So much information to digest all in one day, and Michael and I have not had a chance to really speak. I am drained…but I am blissful.”

Michael’s sister just nodded. Nikita continued, “Did you know them?”

“Who” Rhine wanted Nikita to give her more, to open up.

“Simone and Elena” the blonde retorted.

“No Nikita, you are the first woman Michael brings home since, forever. Few people know who Michael is. Some things must remain a mystery even from us. Simone never knew who Michael really was, and Elena…well Elena was just a mark, just a mission, never anything else, and by the tragic end, there was already you.”

“Tell me more about Michael,” the blonde asked.

Michael’s sister continued “He was distraught when Elena got pregnant. He knew that a child fruit of that union would be a terrible mistake. Pain and anguish for everyone. He also always suspected that Elena was a high-ranking officer in her father’s organization. Then there was a period of around six months about a year ago, almost the end of the Vacek mission, when Michael was like a crazy man. Oh, he did not let his guard down, but he walked around as though he was really a ghost, his soul was missing, and then the mission ended like it did.”

At this point before Rhine could continue she was called by Stephen and Walter to help solve some problem with the gage on a valve and the conversation was put in the back burner.

Nikita knew exactly when Michael’s sister had been speaking about. He had given her what she thought she wanted, her freedom. And then after she realized that freedom without Michael was worse than being in Section with him, she searched him out, and they shared the most incredible night of their lives in Leon.

Michael wearing his comlink moved around busily. His eyes moving back and forth concentrating on the Intel that was coming in. The codes flashing from the screens, the data displayed for modification. His arms across his chest or linked intertwined where they stretched. Multiple anomalies being fixed by the incredible display of intelligence present, the human and the machine kind.

Michael had changed his sweater for a charcoal gray one with a short v-neck, his slacks were now also charcoal gray and his jacket was of the softest leather, but the gray was even darker, more of a pewter. Section Michael was in full bloom. Not once had he looked away from the tasks at hand. It was the Prada Michael, yet another level of the man.

Nikita let out a breath as Madelyn and Adrian approached her. They had changed also and now wore gray suits; Madelyn’s not as austere as the ones she wore at Section; and Adrian displayed her magnificent jewels. They smiled at seeing Nikita sitting near Birkoff “helping," and asked her to join them in wardrobe.

Michael looked over and saw the blonde looking lost and frantic, walking with his mother and Madelyn. He took his earpiece off and walked quickly towards them, he knew from that look he needed to save her. “Ni-ki-ta," Michael said.

The blonde turned to him grateful to say the least. Maman Adrian and Auntie Madelyn wouldn’t dare contradict Mr. Jones she thought, so they stopped also. She realized he was wearing something different and wondered when he had changed.

“Remember we have the appointment at The Plaza at 3:00.” He said seriously, sporting his mission façade.

“I think that this will not take long Mr. Jones” Michael’s mother said “we were going to measure her for the wedding dress.”

“Non” he said, “I need all the planning to be done by the “bride” out there in the real world. We want Mrs. Carant to believe this is real. We have a meeting at the hotel with the caterers, and a wedding planner. We are already cutting it close with the time constraint.”

“I don’t want her to look like Barbie. Mr. Jones, perhaps Adrian and I should attend the meeting with the Bridal Consultant, especially since the wedding is going to be in short notice, a regular person would allow her mother-in-law to be and her mother to help her.” Madelyn said.

“My mother?” Nikita asked, too disgusted to even address the Barbie remark.

“Mrs. Carant’s believes you were brought up by a single mother, that is were you got the last name.” Adrian said.

“Ni-ki-ta?” Michael said.

“OK Michael, it makes sense. We’ll all go to The Plaza for the meeting, and then we’ll go to the Church of the Sacre Couer with them.”

“We’ll let’s go in different cars, we are staying in the hotel tonight. This is the cover story, any problems with this?" Mr. Jones asked.

No one answered. “Good then we will reconvene in the front of the house in half an hour. Ni-ki-ta, I need to see you now.”