***AUTHOR'S NOTE*** This is an epic, NC-17 suburban nooky saga. It was written over a period of six months, and contains a hefty amount of stupid inside jokes that may or may not pertain to its predecessor, Push and Pull (which is archived at Ranma's as well). Although this is not my magnum opus, it is long. Very long. ;-) Enjoy.

Nikita combed her hair back ruthlessly into a haphazard top knot and tried to ignore the deep ache in her joints. She felt like she was dragging another body behind her as she approached Walter's station. When Nikita reached the counter, she began stripping off the well-worn weaponry from her latest mission. The metal gate clicked up.

"Sugar!"

"Hey, Walter," Nikita greeted, clunking another glock onto Walter's previously pristine counter.

"You look like hell," Walter rasped and stood across the counter from her. Nikita tried to give the old man a fierce glare and failed miserably, dissolving into a tired giggle.

"Nice to see you, too," Nikita sighed, sluggishly bringing up her arm to wipe the tears from the corners of her hot eyes.

"You got yourself one hell of a tan," Walter whistled, readjusting his tie-dyed bandanna to get a better leer. "Where'd they have you, sugar?"

"Pakistan. I never want to smell curry again."

Walter chuckled and brought his supplies around. He picked up pieces of her discarded gear and stripped them down. "I'd say you were lucky. Michael got in this morning. Wherever they sent him, it was monsoon season."

"Michael's here?" Nikita's eyes lifted from her disconsolate perusal of her dust-caked boots.

Walter nodded, noting with mixed emotions the faint blush of color appearing on her skin. Her skin was too pale under the coppery tone she had brought back.

"Yeah. He's been holed up with Operations and Madeline for about an hour."

The tight knot between her shoulder blades eased as the chance of seeing Michael washed over her. Nikita hadn't so much seen Michael's face since that week after the Pfizer mission. Her last memory of him had been a potent one; she and Michael had brought one of her dream-fantasies to life with a pair of suede chaps. The subsequent rush of blood at the memory of Michael's powerful body and his intense appreciation of the suede set her ears buzzing.

That had been months ago. After the Pfizer mission, Section had been gripped by a flurry of activity. Nikita hadn't had more than a few hours of down time since the rapid-fire burst of terrorist attacks had begun. Like the well-oiled machine it was, Section had geared up for the attacks; hollow-eyed operatives stumbled drunkenly through the halls to collapse onto cots for a few hours of precious sleep, only to be roused when the next mission went live.

Michael will be in the thick of it, Nikita thought. He always is.

>From the rumors and news she had gleaned of him, Michael had been running on less than ten hours of sleep a week for the duration. He slept during transport only; when he arrived back in Section, he would go straight to his office and immediately begin work on other profiles.

Nikita was worried for him. No, it was more than that. She missed him.

"You all right, sugar?"

Nikita shook her head and blinked. From the concerned expression on Walter's lined face, she guessed that she had been spacing out on him for several minutes.

"I'm just tired. All I want to do right now is take a shower and fall into bed," Nikita told him. She pushed away from Walter's counter and grinned at his lecherous glance. "Alone, Walter."

That's a lie, Nikita thought. I'd do just about anything right now if I could haul Michael home with me.

"Sorry, Nikita," Birkoff's soft voice was apologetic. "You can't leave yet. Operations and Madeline want to see you."

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

Nikita blinked blearily as she entered her code on the pad beside Madeline's office door. She stepped through a moment after it slid open and clomped down the stairs.

I hope I track dirt everywhere, Nikita thought childishly.

When she could pull her eyes from the floor, reasonably sure she wouldn't fall over, a familiar tableau reached her eyes. Madeline sat regally behind her desk and Operations paced near her orchids. Michael reclined in the far chair in front of Madeline's desk.

The cells in her body cried out in ecstatic recognition. She took a snapshot of him and wrenched her eyes away. A second later she plopped herself down in the other chair.

His hair was longer, curling below his ears. There were smudges beneath his eyes and his face seemed thinner, more angular. The stiff way he held himself in the chair hinted at injury.

Nikita would have liked nothing more than to sit and swallow Michael with her eyes for hours on end, but not with an audience like the two vultures staring at her now.

"Nikita," Madeline greeted mildly.

"Madeline," Nikita responded.

Maybe if I'm polite, they'll get to the point, Nikita thought.

"We know this is rather sudden, but now that the rate of missions is decreasing we have a unique situation that needs to be handled," Operations announced.

Nikita held her head stiffly, forcing her muscles to resist Michael's magnetic pull. He wouldn't show a reaction in Madeline's office to the information. She needed to wait.

"Which is?" Nikita drawled at Operations' silence.

"The Agency has asked to investigate a possible security leak. In a neighborhood with a high concentration of Agency employees, there have been three accidental deaths of fairly high-placed agents."

"Why Section?" Nikita asked. "Can't this be handled internally?"

"Well, that's the point, Nikita," Madeline finally spoke. "If it's an internal problem, the Agency doesn't want the security leak to know he's been compromised."

"He?" Michael said softly.

Madeline typed in a sequence on her keyboard and brought up a picture of an austere, gray-haired man. "Martin Nelson. The Agency suspects him of working under the aegis of a hostile government, but have been unable to find any solid proof. He is unmarried and lives in the neighborhood where the deaths have occurred."

"Weaknesses?" he said.

"Yes. Mr. Nelson likes to watch," Madeline replied. "Nikita, you and Michael will move in next door to the target as a newlywed couple...with exhibitionist tendencies." Madeline smiled slightly at the pair of stone faces sitting across from her.

"So I'm to play the good, little nymphomaniac housewife?" Nikita drawled finally.

"For all outward appearances," Madeline agreed.

"We have reason to believe Mr. Nelson works for a group called Red Fist," Operations said, moving to stand behind Madeline.

The symbol for 'no quarter,' Nikita thought. How original.

"Red Fist has stepped up their recruiting. In the past months, the group has claimed responsibility for a number of embassy bombings and assassinations," Madeline said, picking up on Operations' thread. "A small, but lucrative, set of friendly governments and Section contacts has been eliminated. You and Michael will need to keep up two facades: mercenaries posing as ordinary suburban couple."

"This is an unusual opportunity to do the Agency a favor while pursuing our own interests," Operations warned. "Failure in either scenario is not an option. I want hard intel to indict Nelson, and I want you to infiltrate Red Fist. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Nikita said, a slow grin curving her lips. "I'm to play the good, little nymphomaniac housewife...with a gun."

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

Nikita was bored.

She had moved into the middle class neighborhood on Sunday without Michael, directing the movers to place the furniture Madeline had picked out inside the Cape Cod house. The Section movers had taken care of everything, leaving only a box of mementos on the kitchen table for Nikita to place on her own.

Nikita moved through the large, empty house, trailing her fingers across the new photographs of her and Michael. After the briefing, Madeline had directed them to get some sleep and report to her office early the next morning. Madeline had dressed her and Michael up in various outfits; the resulting photos displayed throughout the house were of their false wedding and honeymoon at some sunlit locale. Some digital retouching had tanned Michael's skin to match hers. Nikita stopped in front of her favorite, an impromptu photo session in a bar. She and Michael were casually dressed and sitting at a table, his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder.

They look genuine enough, Nikita thought, moving away to perch on the overstuffed couch in the living room.

To say that she had enjoyed the photo session with Michael wasn't quite accurate. She loved being close to him, to reassure herself that he was alive and relatively well. But there had been a tension in Michael's eyes; he had wanted to talk to her, but Operations had kept him running.

The resulting pictures were also a reminder of what Nikita could never have.

Nikita sighed and drew her knees up onto the couch. Michael wasn't due to arrive until Friday, and she hadn't seen him since their last briefing in Madeline's office. She had her own reservations about the mission. Nikita didn't relish performing for some peeping tom. How she and Michael were going to finesse their way into Martin Nelson's good graces and thus into his home computer and files had been left unclear. Especially when she was supposed to be baking cookies and fluffing pillows in between knocking people off.

I definitely need to talk to Michael, Nikita frowned.

Nikita had rattled about in the house all day yesterday, scouring it exhaustively for bugs and surveillance cameras. She hadn't discovered any, but Nikita didn't rule out the possibility. She got out to familiarize herself with the neighborhood and to pick up some groceries and a few books. Desperate, she had even gone down into the windowless basement and worked out on the equipment that Section had installed. But, as with the Armel mission so long ago, Nikita felt very bored and very alone. Suburbia was too far removed from her world. She didn't relish housework, by any means, and Nikita had yet to meet any of her neighbors.

"Two and a half more days," Nikita said aloud.

There was a tentative knock at the back door. Nikita scrambled to her feet and crossed through the kitchen. She lifted the curtain and saw the smiling face of a pretty, middle-aged woman staring back at her. Nikita clicked open the lock and swung open the door.

"Hi, I'm Tracy Ramsey," the woman said, sticking out her hand. Nikita grasped her warm palm. When she released it, the woman jerked her thumb at the house behind her. "I'm your neighbor. We sort of share a backyard."

"I'm Nikita. Would you like to come in?" Nikita asked hesitantly. She supposed it was because of Carla's betrayal that Nikita felt nervous around people claiming to be her next-door neighbors.

"I'd love to." Tracy followed Nikita into the kitchen, tugging at her ponytail.

Nikita seated herself at the kitchen table. "Have a seat."

"I saw the trucks on Sunday. I wanted to come over then, but I thought maybe you'd like to settle in first," Tracy chatted, placing her short, plump frame on the high-backed chair.

"I wish you had. My husband's on a business trip and..."

"How long have you been married?" Tracy asked slyly, her eyes flashing in merriment.

"Only a month," Nikita replied, warming to the older woman despite her reservations. She stood up to make herself some tea. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Tracy waved her hand. "Nothing for me, please! So, no wonder you looked so lost when I came to the door." Tracy laughed and craned around in the chair to speak to Nikita. "When does he get back, dear?"

Nikita made a face. "Not until Friday."

"Is that him?" Tracy was up and out of her chair, examining the wedding picture on the wall.

"Yeah."

"Oh, he's a looker," Tracy laughed and returned to the kitchen table. "You'd better watch out for Amy Muldoon. She's the resident divorcee and man-eater."

"I'm not worried," Nikita replied, smiling back over the rim of her cup.

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

Nikita was feeling better. When she had gone jogging yesterday morning, she had met up with the woman who lived across the street. Lydia Johannson was about the same age as Nikita, and almost as physically fit. For companionship and safety, Nikita had offered to jog with Lydia every morning. She had enthusiastically agreed and had run with her the past two mornings. Her last two dinners had been spent at the raucous table of Tracy Ramsey. Tracy's husband, George, had rolled his eyes over the squabbling heads of their three children.

Nikita liked spending time with them, seeing how a real family worked.

She still yearned to see Michael. He was supposed to arrive sometime soon. Nikita checked the clock on the wall and hugged her knees closer to her chest.

Nikita jerked her eyelids open at the shrill ring of the telephone.

"Hello?" she said breathlessly into the receiver, her heart thudding against her ribs in a startled staccato.

"Mrs. Christophe?"

It's Birkoff, Nikita thought. Don't jump to any conclusions.

"Yes," she said.

"Your husband wanted me to call and tell you he is being detained at the office. He'll try to make it home later in the evening."

"Oh," Nikita said, pouring every bit of the bitter disappointment she felt into the syllable. If anyone was monitoring the line other than Section, she would sound exactly like a woman wanting her man to come home.

Nikita jabbed her finger through the coiled telephone cord. "How late did he say he would be?"

"Mr. Christophe should be home before midnight," Birkoff's voice assured her.

"Thanks," Nikita snapped into the receiver and slammed the handle down onto the hook. She pushed her lip out mulishly and climbed the stairs to the bedroom. Nikita grumbled under her breath as she changed into her sports bra and spandex shorts.

Nikita continued grumbling as she clambered down into the basement and began pounding on the heavy bag. After a few good hits, she calmed down and stretched.

Then she started her workout in earnest.

After an intense hour, Nikita backed off the heavy bag and brushed her sweaty bangs out of her eyes.

"Okay, so I'm a possessive good, little nymphomaniac housewife with a gun," she said out loud, grinning at herself.

I'd better shower and take a nap, Nikita thought as she ascended the stairs. I want to be well-rested when Michael finally shows up.

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

Nikita came awake suddenly, feeling her cheek pressed against a warm cotton pillow case. She pushed herself up with her arms and threw a sleep-narrowed gaze out the window. Dark. Very dark.

"What--" Nikita mumbled aloud, slumping back down onto her stomach.

Then she knew. She felt him.

Michael was home.

Nikita levered herself out of bed and threw on her terry cloth robe, rushing for the stairs. She saw the headlights of Michael's car flash across the front windows as he pulled into the driveway. Nikita vaulted onto the couch to watch Michael's progress from the car, her knees digging into the soft cushions.

He opened the door slowly, pulling out a suitcase and briefcase and stepping out with his hands laden. Michael shut the car door quietly. Nikita saw his head lean back to look at the second story, but the lack of a moon shrouded his features in shadow. Nikita held still as Michael passed the window as he advanced up the sidewalk.

When she heard his lightly thudding steps on the porch, Nikita slipped off the couch and padded barefoot across the hardwood floor. She pressed her ear to the door and heard a small clunk and a jingle. Nikita's lips curved in a smile, picturing Michael fishing for his keys. A key rasped into the lock from the outside.

Nikita flipped the bolt, unhooked the chain, and flung the door open wide.

Michael stood on the other side, briefcase in his left hand, with a faintly bemused look on his face.

"Brace yourself," Nikita warned. She saw confusion flare in his eyes before complying as Nikita catapulted herself forward into his arms. The solid impact of her body against his chest forced a small grunt from him; Michael leaned back against the wooden beam of the porch and clasped his hands over Nikita's terry-clothed derriere.

Nikita pressed her lips against his, their mouths opening and melding with a sensual heat. Her tongue rubbed against the velvety interior of Michael's mouth, entwining with his tongue.

"Hi," she breathed when they came up for air.

Michael chuckled and settled her more firmly against his hips. Nikita clasped her long legs around his waist more tightly and ran her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck.

"Miss me?" he murmured, nuzzling at her neck.

"Mmm..." Nikita's head lolled back. "Yeah."

Michael moved forward and Nikita slid down his body just inside the door. Michael turned around and collected his suitcase and briefcase, setting them on the hardwood floor and kicking the door shut behind him.

Nikita slammed him against the closed door and raised her face to capture his lips again, but the cloudiness in his gray-green eyes stopped her.

"Ni-ki-ta," he said. Nikita's breath caught in her throat and her stomach bottomed out.

He was asking if she really wanted him.

Men have such fragile egos, Nikita thought. With only a little scorn.

"It's not for the mission," she whispered into his right ear, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "I want you." Nikita nipped at his ear lobe. "The truth is, Michael," she continued, moving her attention to his full lips. "I'll take you any way I can get you."

When Michael remained unresponsive, Nikita sighed and took a small step back. He reached sideways and flipped the bolt on the door, his eyes a gleaming green.

"Then take me."

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

Nikita let out a low moan and pressed herself forward against the long length of Michael's body. Her hands crept upward and she slipped Michael's charcoal jacket from his shoulders, pulling him away from the door and settling him back once the cloth slithered to the ground.

She took her time loosening his striped tie, pulling it gently over his collar. Nikita smiled up at his glowing eyes as she undid the top button of his dress shirt. She slipped her fingers inside his collar and, with a strength borne of her physical regimen and hunger for the man in front of her, she ripped open his shirt. Buttons clattered and rolled over the hardwood floor.

Nikita eased the ruined shirt over Michael's muscled shoulders and then turned her attention to his belt buckle. She pulled the belt from its loops and tossed it over her shoulder.

"Take off your shoes," she purred into his ear. Michael's mouth twitched, but he kicked his shoes off and peeled off his socks as Nikita's fingers were busy unbuttoning the snap of his pants. She moved down him in a swift movement, leaving his pants puddled at his bared feet.

Nikita grabbed Michael's tie, still tied loosely about his neck, and pulled him into the carpeted living room.

"Lie back," she whispered. A sly grin took up residence under her heated gaze. Michael allowed her to push him to the carpet; Nikita straddled his thighs. "Let me look...at you." Nikita shrugged out of her robe and threw it behind her; there was a muffled thud as the robe knocked something off the coffee table. She grasped the hem of her sheer night gown and pulled it over her head, arching her back and taking her weight from Michael's legs.

Nikita heard Michael's soft grunt and looked down at him, her hair coming to rest over her shoulders. He had propped himself up on his elbows and was returning her heated gaze in full measure. His arousal pressed against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Nikita leaned forward, putting most of her weight on her arms, and began to explore Michael's body.

She dropped soft kisses on his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his stubbled cheeks. Nikita gave him a wet, searching kiss on the mouth, tangling her tongue with his. She continued to move downward, nibbling at his chin and sucking at the cords of his neck. Nikita pressed a soft kiss at the base of Michael's throat, where his pulse was beating rapidly. Her deft fingers unknotted his tie and she tossed it at one of the potted plants. Nikita nuzzled her way across his left shoulder and down his arm, dropping kisses on the soft skin of his elbow and wrist. She repeated the actions on his other arm.

Nikita moved her attentions to his chest, nipping at his flat nipples and leaving a wet trail of kisses down his abdomen. By the time she reached Michael's navel, his breathing had become erratic. Nikita pushed on, kissing the valleys where his hips joined to his waist. Nikita ignored his hard arousal, only brushing it with her soft curtain of hair. She grinned up at Michael, feeling a warm spike of pleasure at her core when his bright eyes unflinchingly met her gaze. Nikita rubbed her lips down his inner thigh and pulled his leg up to kiss the soft skin at the back of his knee.

"Ni-ki-ta," he rasped.

Michael was trembling ever so slightly and was sheened with sweat; Nikita realized with a start that she was none too steady herself. She prowled back up his body and kissed him hungrily, his lips hard and demanding.

"Had enough?" she teased, swaying over his tense body. His lids dropped and Michael levered himself up; he caressed her neck with his tongue. Nikita gasped and closed her eyes when he scraped his teeth at the base of her neck. "I guess that answers my question."

Michael's strong hands wrapped around her waist and guided her over him. Nikita plunged down, arching her back as his pulsating arousal filled her. She threaded her fingers through his hair as Michael's head dipped down. He drew lazy circles around her tightening nipples with his hot tongue, taking her into his mouth at her whimper. His callused thumb rubbed over her neglected breast as Nikita rocked rhythmically against him.

"More," she growled, pulling his head up and claiming his mouth. She could feel Michael's lips curve into a grin. He wrapped his arms around her hips and helped her increase the power of their thrusts. Nikita twisted her hips, increasing the friction against her inner walls. Michael groaned into her neck and she felt him grow even larger inside her.

"More," Nikita growled again, using her strong legs to propel herself off him with more force. Her hands moved down his back and curved around his muscled buttocks, pulling herself down on him viciously. "Not enough," she gasped.

Michael lunged forward and Nikita felt the rough carpet on her naked back. He slammed into her, balancing all his weight on his arms and toes. Nikita grunted at the contact and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist.

"More?" he whispered into her ear, biting her ear lobe.

"Yes," she hissed, bucking her hips up forcefully to meet his thrusts. Michael began stroking into her with a hard, staccato burst. "Yes," she groaned as he did it again. Nikita's nails dug into his back as the painful ache in her groin burst and blossomed open. Her nails scraped down Michael's back as her orgasm took her. Nikita's back arched and she forgot to breathe as dark spots edged her vision. Her blood sang in her ears, and Nikita dimly noticed Michael's final, powerful thrust into her. She welcomed his weight as he collapsed onto her, lips nuzzling her sensitized throat. Nearly a minute later, Nikita's nerve ends were still buzzing, her eyes glassy.

She was just starting to come down from the sensory high when she felt Michael's muscles shift; she wrapped her arms and legs around him to hold him in place.

"Mine," she said drowsily, closing her eyes at Michael's soft chuckle in her ear.

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

"Come on in, Lydia," Nikita said, opening the door wider. "Um, please ignore the mess. I'm running late."

Lydia walked inside the house, her attention drawn to the floor as a button skidded across the wood. Lydia cast her eyes around the hall and living room, grinning slyly up at Nikita when she saw the rumpled heaps of clothing. The laughing expression in her eyes was clear: I know what you did last night.

Nikita heard Lydia's giggling as she followed her up the stairs. "I'll just be a minute," she said, ducking into the bathroom.

Lydia leaned against the door frame and stifled a yawn. "No hurry. We might as well let the sun come up."

Nikita smiled at her quickly and pulled her hair back into a haphazard ponytail. When she splashed water on her face and started patting her cheeks dry with a towel, Nikita realized it wasn't just the clothes that had given her away. Her throat and cheeks above her sports bra were slightly abraded. Beard burn. Not only that, Nikita's lips were swollen and she had a supremely smug expression on her face.

Lydia moved into the bathroom behind Nikita, headed for the lip of the tub so she could sit down. Nikita whirled at her gasp.

Damn, Nikita thought. I left the door to the bedroom open.

She moved behind Lydia; for a moment, the sight of Michael mesmerized her. He was sprawled on his back in the king size bed, one hand fisted under the pillow behind his curly head. The other hand was splayed across his ridged abdomen, fortuitously covering a yellowed bruise along his ribs. Nikita's eyes traveled down to his heavy thighs and angular calves before settling again on his full lips. Nikita experienced a moment of pure female appreciation of his lithe body, and relief that she had pulled a corner of the sheet across Michael's hips before she had left the room. Light spilled in through a window, slanting across Michael's face. The golden beams erased the tired shadows under his eyes and illuminated the tan he had picked up since Nikita had last seen him.

Lydia's deep sigh broke Nikita's reverie. She skirted her neighbor and pulled the adjoining door shut. Nikita turned, the knob pressing into her lower back, and smiled. Lydia's eyes were bright and she was uncontrollably wetting her lips.

Lydia nodded towards the closed door. "Is that..."

"My husband," Nikita confirmed, taking pity on Lydia and steering her down the stairs. "Don't worry. You'll regain your powers of speech in a couple of minutes."

Lydia threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, God...I hope so!" She halted in front of their wedding portrait and shook her head. "None of the pictures do him justice."

Nikita simply smiled at her. The possessiveness which had infuriated her had evaporated with Michael's arrival. He was hers. She was his. She could only muster up a knowing amusement at Lydia's reddened cheeks as they stretched on the porch.

I don't know how I could have forgotten that, Nikita thought.

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

Michael stirred long after the door clicked shut downstairs, his hand creeping across the sheets. Michael's eyes cracked open when his fingers encountered the cool, and very empty, impression Nikita's body had left. He closed his eyes again and trained his ears to the sounds of the house. A faint creaking. A car sputtering to life down the street.

No Nikita.

Michael sighed softly and swung his legs over the side of the bed, padding to the walk-in closet. Nikita's clothes were hung in a jumble on the left side, shoes piled and overturned underneath the hems.

The other side, neat and austere, held an array of suits and ironed dress shirts. Michael moved a few steps forward, running his hand along the gray and navy shoulders of the suit jackets. He stopped in front of a hanger at the end, a smile curving his lips. Michael slid the pair of worn jeans off the hanger and pulled them on, leaving the top snap unbuttoned.

He left the closet with a fond backward glance at Nikita's mess and descended the stairs to the kitchen. Michael touched his hand to the scrawled note held to the refrigerator door by a magnet shaped like a pair of pink sunglasses.

"Went running. Love, N."

Michael rested his elbow on the open door of the refrigerator and poked his head inside, rummaging around for food to make breakfast.

Outside, Nikita was doing cool-down stretches with Lydia.

"Are you sure you don't want to come in?"

Lydia laughed and began backpedaling down the sidewalk. "No. I know when I'm not wanted."

"You'll have to come by later and actually talk to him," Nikita said, raising her voice.

Lydia's short, black ponytail bobbed again with laughter. "Why is that?"

"He's French."

Nikita grinned at Lydia's melodramatic sigh as she waved and crossed the street to her brick house. She opened the door quietly and slipped inside, only to be greeted with the sounds and smells of someone cooking.

Michael's naked back was visible over the counter, complete with the red scratches she had marked him with last night. Nikita's breath snagged in her throat until she walked into the kitchen.

Oh, she thought. He's wearing jeans.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his neck through a mass of cinnamon curls. "Good morning."

Michael drew her around and clasped her to his side with one hand, the other hand tending the enormous omelet in the frying pan. His mouth met her upturned face in a languorous kiss.

"Hungry?" he asked, caressing her lycra-covered hip.

"I...am...starving," Nikita answered, punctuating every word with a playful kiss to Michael's lips.

"So am I."

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

Nikita's stomach rumbled against Michael's hip and he chuckled into her ear.

"Food first," he murmured. Michael pulled away and walked around the counter with the steaming pan; he cut the omelet in two with a spatula and placed it on the plates already waiting on the table. Nikita leaned back against the refrigerator and watched Michael pour orange juice. He put the pan back on the stove and threaded his fingers through hers, drawing her to the table.

Nikita pulled her chair up to the table and dug into the omelet, forking a large piece into her mouth. "Mmm. I could get used to this." She kicked off her running shoes and socks and settled her feet in Michael's warm lap. "You made quite an impression on Lydia this morning."

Michael's hand stopped halfway to his full-lipped mouth. "Lydia?"

Nikita stifled a giggle as Michael's accent caressed Lydia's name.

Lydia definitely needs to talk to Michael, she thought.

"She lives across the street. We run in the mornings. I was late today, and she came upstairs to wait."

Michael put his fork down and gave her a curious stare.

"She saw you in bed," Nikita added, grinning when Michael sat back in his chair and cocked his head. She leaned forward and tucked an errant curl behind his ear. "You were tired."

Michael blessed her with one of his sweet smiles. Nikita's grin stretched at the message hidden in his glittering eyes.

You wore me out.

"And?" he prompted, cutting another piece of his omelet with the side of his fork.

Nikita sucked in a gasp as Michael's fingers began stroking the back of her calf. "She was speechless."

And so was I, but I'm not going to tell him that, Nikita thought wickedly.

The sight of Michael sprawled across the bed forced itself before her eyes, and Nikita began shoveling the food into her mouth. Michael raised a quizzical eyebrow at her as he sipped at his orange juice. She polished off the last piece and swung her legs from his lap.

"Come on," she ordered, holding out her hand. "I'll feed you later."

Michael stood up slowly, casting an eye at his half-finished breakfast. "Where are we going?"

Nikita preceded him up the stairs, putting Michael's hands on her hips. "We're going to see if two people can fit into our tub."

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

Nikita turned the taps for the shower and divested herself of her sweaty running clothes. She jumped in the shower while Michael was still peeling his jeans off. When he stepped into the tub after her, Nikita thrust a bottle of shampoo into his hands.

"Wash my hair?" she asked innocently.

Michael immediately squirted the shampoo into his palm, but the gleam in his eyes told her she would pay for it later.

And I'm counting on it, Nikita thought.

She turned her back to him and leaned in against his hard chest. Michael's lean fingers began working the shampoo into a lather, methodically massaging her scalp. Nikita sighed as he worked the lather gently down to the ends of her hair and back up again. Michael turned her around and tilted her head back under the spray, supporting her neck with one hand.

"You're good at this, Michael," Nikita murmured. "Were you a beautician before I met you?"

Nikita jumped as Michael playfully slapped her on the rear.

"Ouch!" Nikita craned her neck around the survey the damage, rubbing her hand over the faint red mark. "Are you gonna kiss it and make it better?" she demanded, slanting a mock glare at his face.

Michael shrugged. "Maybe later. It's your turn." He shoved the shampoo bottle into her fingers and ducked his head under the spray. Nikita squirted a medallion of shampoo onto her palm and raised it to Michael's damp hair; he caught her wrist and sniffed delicately at the liquid. He released her hand with a sigh. "I'm going to smell like a fruit cocktail."

"Good enough to eat," Nikita purred, kneading his scalp with her strong fingers. Michael smiled at her and closed his eyes to the lather trickling down his forehead. He settled his hands on her slick hips and drew her against his arousal. Nikita finished washing Michael's hair quickly and tilted his head back into the hot spray. She let her fingers wander over his face, moving down his forehead and nose. His lips pressed a kiss against her palm as she continued down, brushing her fingers along his neck, collarbone, abdomen. Michael's gray-green eyes opened slowly as Nikita's fingers reached his pulsing arousal. She tilted her head and nibbled droplets of water from Michael's chin, delighting in his body's reactionary twitch.

Michael dropped his head and ran his tongue along the outline of her lips, biting her lower lip gently when she sighed in pleasure. He pressed butterfly kisses on her closed eyelids, nose, and cheeks. Michael's head dropped farther and he nuzzled her neck, alternately licking and biting his way down. Nikita wriggled teasingly against him. Michael retaliated by lowering his attentions to her breasts, blowing cool air over one nipple until it tightened painfully. He barely brushed his lips across the hardened bud, continuing until Nikita threaded her fingers through his damp curls and pressed him to her. Michael took her nipple between his teeth, tugging gently.

"Michael," Nikita whimpered, arching her neck back. He flicked his tongue out and circled the aureole before finally taking her into his mouth. Michael suckled until her fingers tightened in his hair and he moved on to her other breast, repeating his actions with excruciating slowness.

She tugged his head up. "Michael," she gasped again, her tone demanding.

He nibbled on her lower lip. "Yes, Ni-ki-ta?" he teased.

Her eyes narrowed and she ran her hands down his broad back to cup his muscled buttocks. She pulled herself flush against him, tilting her hips with a soft slap of wet skin.

"Now," she demanded. A breath later, Michael's arms went around her hips and he lifted her up. Nikita wrapped her arms around his shoulders and moaned with pleasure as he lowered her down on him, filling her aching emptiness. The soft skin of her inner thighs hugged his muscled hips. Nikita groaned again as his muscles flexed when he turned to brace her back against the tiles. His callused hands began lifting her rhythmically, splayed across the curve of her rear.

Again, when the heat and pressure began to build, Nikita felt like she couldn't get enough of Michael in her. Nikita used her upper-body strength to thrust with him, twisting her hips and clenching her muscles to increase the friction and the pace. They were both panting, the hot spray angling between their joined bodies. Nikita took more weight on her arms, allowing Michael to free up a hand. He slid his palm down from caressing her throat, delving into the apex of her thighs. Nikita gave a strangled gasp as his fingers found her clit and stroked a counterpoint to his thrusting hips.

Nikita bucked convulsively and the world exploded behind her eyes.

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

Nikita could imagine Michael's wrinkled nose as she capped the lilac-scented bath oil and set in on the edge of the tub. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him against her chest, tightening her hold around his waist with her legs. Nikita settled back with a sigh and idly caressed Michael's warm, silken skin. She had her back to one end of the tub and Michael was nestled between her legs, spoon-fashion.

It's a tight fit, Nikita thought, her eyes wandering down his glistening body to their bent knees.

Nikita hugged him closer and rested her chin against his temple. Michael continued to hypnotically caress the underside of one thigh. "Michael?"

"Hmm?" he murmured sleepily.

A thousand questions and statements were running through her mind about the mission, but Nikita didn't want to disturb the idyll they had established just yet. Instead, she said, "You're addictive."

"It's the shampoo. Chicks dig the strawberry-kiwi shampoo," Michael informed her

"Michael!" Nikita gasped, squeezing him with her thighs in her surprise.

Michael leaned his head back onto her shoulder and closed his eyes. "That's what Walter told me."

Nikita gave strangled giggle and began combing her fingers through Michael's drying hair. "Hello, Michael's sense of humor. I'm Nikita. I don't think we've ever been formally introduced." She stuck her bath-wrinkled hand in front of Michael's face. His eyes remained closed.

"Enchante," he murmured, chastely kissing the knuckles on her right hand. Then, as if he reconsidered it, Michael brought her hand back to his mouth and suckled on the fleshy part between her thumb and forefinger. Nikita's giggle evaporated into a breezy sigh.

"Now it's your turn to tell me how addictive I am," Nikita said, catching her breath.

"You are," Michael stated, caressing the back of her thigh again. All hints of teasing were gone from his tone. "I can't keep your hands off me."

Nikita guffawed at Michael's deadpan delivery and smacked him on the shoulder. He took each of her hands in his own, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm and wrapping them more securely about his chest. They stayed that way, comfortably wedged in the tub, until the water grew cool.

Nikita sighed in satisfaction as she watched Michael lever himself out of the tub of rapidly cooling bath water. He turned around and grasped her outstretched hands, pulling her to her feet and then lifting her over the lip of the tub. Michael snagged a towel and dumped it on top of her head, rubbing vigorously at her damp hair.

"Michael!" Nikita spluttered, flailing at his arms. Finally, she reached around and gave him a pinch on one taut buttock. Michael slid the towel down and gently toweled off her back, pressing a kiss to her nose through a ragged curtain of blonde hair. Nikita glared mulishly at him through her hair, not bothering to push the mess out of her eyes. He knelt down and dried her legs, lifting her feet to wipe off the bottoms and between her toes. On his way back up, he kissed her on the rear where he had earlier slapped her.

You're not getting off that easy, Nikita thought to herself.

She took the towel from his fingers. At the gleam in her eye, Michael held up his hands and backed against the sink. Nikita shrugged and began spinning the towel into a rope. She flicked the towel out and it connected with Michael's hip with a resounding slap. He snatched the towel from her fingers and flung it around her hips, pulling her flush against him. Nikita eased her fingers down and caressed the red welt that was rising on Michael's hip.

I'm going to pay for that one, Nikita thought in anticipation.

"Remind me to never turn my back on you with a towel in your hands," Nikita murmured before his lips descended upon hers.

Michael chuckled from the vicinity of her breasts. "You know I can't do that."

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

Nikita breathed in deeply, nuzzling closer to the warm skin under her cheek. Michael's masculine smell was intermingled with a fruity, flowery scent. She felt his chest heave underneath her, and then realized what had brought her awake. Someone was knocking on the back door. Nikita stretched languidly and watched Michael slip on his jeans. She climbed out of the bed and crossed to the dresser, pulling out a T-shirt for herself and blue plaid for Michael. She threw the shirt at him and he slid his arms into the sleeves as he walked out the door and down the stairs. Michael buttoned the middle three buttons on his way down the stairs, leaving a good portion of his chest bare, and peeked through the curtain. A small, brown-haired woman stood outside on the stoop, clutching a covered dish. She shivered against the early spring wind and tried to bring the edges of her coat together with one hand.

"Hi," Michael said, pulling open the door. He leaned against the door, one elbow draped against the side over his head, his hand brushing back a curl of hair.

The woman stared at him for a moment, flabbergasted. "I brought lunch," she said stupidly, holding out the dish. Nikita appeared beside Michael in jeans and a T-shirt.

"Tracy! Come in, you must be freezing out there," Nikita announced, nudging Michael aside with her hip. She reached out and plucked at Tracy's sleeve, drawing the older woman inside the door and shutting it firmly behind her. "Let me take that." Nikita took the dish from her numb fingers and walked the few steps into the kitchen. Tracy followed Nikita wordlessly, casting a glance behind her as Michael followed them.

"Michael, this is our neighbor, Tracy Ramsey. Tracy, this is my husband," Nikita said, leaning back against the counter as she introduced them. Michael extended his hand, shaking Tracy's limp fingers with a warm grip.

"It's a pleasure," he murmured.

"We share a backyard," Tracy blurted. Her eyes dropped to her shoes and she grimaced, as if she realized how ridiculous she sounded.

Nikita broke the silence by lifting the lid from the dish and inhaling deeply. "This smells wonderful. What did you bring us?"

Tracy turned away from Michael gratefully. "Oh, it's just beef stew. I made it for my family, but George took off to an RV show this morning and my two oldest have been gone to the mall all day..." Tracy trailed off, realizing she was babbling. "I had so much left over, I thought I should bring some by," she finished lamely.

Nikita gripped Tracy's shoulder. "I don't know how to thank you. We hardly have any food in the house," Nikita looked over the top of Tracy's head at Michael. "See, I told you I would feed you later."

As if on cue, Michael's stomach grumbled loudly. Tracy blushed slightly at Michael's answering chuckle.

"Have you eaten?" Nikita asked, pulling some plates down from the cupboard. Michael moved around her and began making coffee.

"Me?" Tracy said. "Well, I only had a bite because no one was home, but--"

"Then stay and eat with us," Nikita urged. "You brought over enough for ten people."

Tracy's expression wavered. "I wouldn't want to intrude."

Nikita laughed and put her hands on her hips. "Not hardly. Right, Michael?"

"Please stay," he said. Then he smiled at her.

Tracy's hand crept up to her throat. "O-okay."

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

They were sipping coffee in the kitchen when another knock sounded on the front door. Nikita brushed her hand down Michael's arm and squeezed his hand. "Don't worry, I'll get it." Michael settled back against the refrigerator and took another swallow of his coffee, his eyes following Nikita's jean-clad rear to the front of the house.

Tracy cleared her throat. "I'm glad I finally got to meet you," she told him, feeling more comfortable with the exotic man after spending more time in his company. "Nikita seemed really lost in this house without you."

Michael's gaze fell upon her. "She did?" His eyebrows raised slightly.

Tracy nodded enthusiastically, swallowing the hot liquid before speaking. "She was really anxious for you to come home."

At her words, Michael smiled sweetly and dropped his eyes to the tiled floor. "So was I."

Nikita appeared in the hallway with another woman in tow.

"Hi, Lydia," Tracy called to the young woman.

"Hey, Tracy. I didn't know you were here," Lydia smiled.

"Michael, this is Lydia, the one I was talking about this morning," Nikita said, crossing to stand by Tracy. Michael put down his cup and moved forward.

"Ah, Lydia," he said. With his accent, her name came out like Leedjya. "I've heard so much about you." He shook her proffered hand and returned to his slouch against the refrigerator. Lydia's throat worked convulsively and she shot a desperate glance at Nikita.

"Hi," she squeaked finally. Nikita moved to Michael's side and leaned against him companionably. She knew exactly what Lydia was picturing, and Nikita was hard-pressed to keep that image of Michael sprawled across the sheets from roaring to the forefront of her mind. Another knock sounded on the front door.

"Again?" Nikita said incredulously.

"Allow me," Michael smiled, slipping from the kitchen.

As soon as he disappeared, Lydia blurted, "Holy sh*t!"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Tracy echoed, pressing her palm against her cheek.

Nikita's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Is the whole neighborhood going to come over to gawk at my husband?"

"Count on it," Lydia quipped, craning her neck around to look down the hallway. "Oh, god! It's the barracuda," she said with quiet dismay.

"Not Amy Muldoon," Tracy groaned, glaring into her coffee mug.

"Looks like she's already taking liberties with your Michael," Tracy snapped, leaning farther.

Your Michael.

Nikita smiled to herself. "Then I'd better go rescue him."

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

Nikita rounded the corner to see the 'barracuda' pulling away from Michael after planting several kisses of greeting on his stubbled cheeks.

Oh, god, Nikita thought. Not another person who likes kissing Michael the French way.

Amy Muldoon hooked her arm through Michael's elbow and he was leading her towards the kitchen. He had what looked suspiciously like an apple pie cradled in his other arm.

"I see you've met my husband," Nikita said pleasantly, extending her hand. "I'm Nikita."

The barracuda gave her a simpering smile and shook her hand. "As I was saying to your charming husband, my name is Mrs. Muldoon, but please call me Amy. I live down the street. I brought a housewarming gift." The petite blonde clutched Michael's arm closer to her generously endowed chest. Nikita eyed her critically from behind as she allowed them to precede her into the kitchen. Amy Muldoon wore a stylish, silk pant suit and had carefully arranged hair. And she had latched onto Michael like the predatory fish her nickname indicated. Nikita shook her head.

I'm going to enjoy this, Nikita thought wickedly.

"Oh!" Amy exclaimed. "I didn't know anyone else was here."

Nikita detected a faint hint of dismay as Amy nodded to Lydia and Tracy. "Would everyone like a slice of pie?" Nikita asked, keeping her expression bright.

"None for me, please," Amy said. She rubbed her hands over her hips and fluttered her eyes up at Michael provocatively. "I've got to watch my figure."

"Well, I don't," Tracy announced. She grinned at Nikita and nudged Lydia's elbow.

"Count me in," Lydia said.

"Everyone have a seat," Nikita said, bringing out a large knife from a drawer and slicing up the pie Michael had set on the counter. "Darling, could you make more coffee?"

"Yes, 'Kita," Michael's mouth twitched as he followed her instructions.

Nikita watched as three pairs of eyes followed Michael's progress around the kitchen; she quickly put four slices of pie on plates with a spatula. Michael appeared at her elbow to help her carry them to the table.

"It's the shampoo," he whispered in her ear, caressing the small of her back. The kiwi-strawberry scent wafted to her nose.

Nikita tried, but she couldn't hold in the giggle at Michael's teasing words. She swatted him on the backside as he skirted around her to take the plates to the table.

"Michael and Nikita are newlyweds," Tracy announced slyly.

"So, Michael. What do you do?" Amy asked coyly, obviously changing the subject. She sidled up to Michael, laying a hand on his forearm..

"I'm an art dealer."

"How fascinating. How do you like the pie? I made it myself," Amy said; she inched forward until her breasts were pressed against his arm.

Michael gave her a devastating smile. "It's delicious."

Amy Muldoon's blue eyes widened and her lips parted in a soft sigh. "Thank you."

Poor woman, Nikita thought, digging into her pie. She has no idea how far she is out of her league.

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

"I can't believe her!" Tracy exclaimed, casting an evil eye to the front of the house where Michael was showing Amy Muldoon out.

"I warned Dan that if I ever caught him with her that he'd regret not forcing me to sign a pre-nup agreement," Lydia snapped, eyes flashing.

"Why? What's she done?" Nikita said.

"Done? She's broken up four marriages in this neighborhood alone!" Lydia answered, crossing her arms tightly.

"Keep an eye on her," Tracy warned, putting a motherly hand on Nikita's shoulder.

"Like I said, I'm not worried. I trust Michael. Besides, he's more than Amy Muldoon can handle," Nikita said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lydia giggled.

Nikita winked as Michael reentered the kitchen. "Did the bad woman take advantage of you?" Nikita cooed, looping her arms around Michael's neck.

"Shamelessly," he said, settling his hands on her hips. "She dropped her keys."

"She made you pick them up?" Nikita asked; her grin stretched across her face. Michael nodded, his lips twitching. "Did you give her an eyeful?" Michael nodded again. "Could she speak when she left?" Michael pondered it for a minute.

"No."

Nikita arched her neck around and grinned at her two friends. "He makes me proud."

Tracy shook her head and opened the back door. "I'll see you two lovebirds later. Bye, Lydia." She slipped out the back door and shut it quietly behind her.

"I'll let myself out," Lydia waved and walked to the front of the house. When the front door closed, Nikita sagged against Michael and buried her nose in his shirt.

"Alone, at last," she said, her voice muffled.

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," Nikita said, pulling her head back to look at his face. "What do people normally do on Saturday afternoons?" At Michael's blank stare, Nikita added, "And why am I asking you?"

"We could get groceries," Michael offered.

"How romantic," Nikita giggled. At the gleam in Michael's eye, Nikita changed her mind. He had made a trip to the mall one of the most erotic experiences of her life.

Let's see what Michael can do with food, Nikita thought.

Nikita gave Michael a wicked grin. "When do we leave?"

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

The sliding doors whooshed back and Nikita stepped inside, glancing around at the milling crowd of shoppers in the large supermarket. She grasped Michael's hand and pulled him farther into the store, sensing his reticence at joining the crowd. Nikita dropped his hand and tugged on the sleeve of the leather motorcycle jacket she had insisted he wear.

"Come on, Michael. You're acting like you've spent the last fifteen years as a covert, government operative," she whispered in his ear.

He angled his head slightly. "What gave you that idea, dear?"

Nikita flashed him a grin and broke away, wheeling back a shiny cart. "Here, you push." She flung the cart at Michael and he caught it deftly.

Michael edged the cart away from a wispy-haired elderly woman and smiled his apologies. "Naughty, Nikita," he called to her swishing back. She crooked her finger over her shoulder and gestured him forward imperiously. A moment later, Nikita heard the squeaky wheels come up behind her, interspersed with Michael muttering French expletives under his breath.

Nikita wandered through the produce section and bagged some oranges. When she searched for Michael to put them in the cart, she found him right behind her. "Strawberries and kiwis?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Michael simply gave her an innocent stare and propped his forearms on the cart handle.

"You don't like fruit?" he said.

Nikita snorted indelicately and moved on to the dairy section. When she returned to the cart with an armful of eggs, cheese, and yogurt, Michael was standing a few feet away perusing the bread. In the child's seat of the cart sat a spray bottle of whipped cream. Nikita slanted Michael a glance; he was smiling at her wickedly over his shoulder, chin pressed on the black leather. Blood rushed pleasantly to her face and her lips parted in anticipation. Michael started to turn around.

A large woman trundled around the corner, missing Michael with her cart but smacking him with her elbow and one half of her enormous bosom.

"Pardon me." Michael pronounced the words so quickly, Nikita couldn't be sure if he had spoken English or French.

"Sorry 'bout that," the woman drawled. She did a double take and raked her gaze over him from head to toe. "Lord have mercy!" She planted a plump hand in the center of his chest, effectively trapping Michael between her and the bread rack.

"Excuse me," Michael said, craning his neck around the woman to glare at Nikita. She pressed her hand to her mouth and rocked back on her heels.

"I would have taken you for one of the skinny ones, young man. But you got some meat those bones, don't you?"

Nikita glanced over at the strawberries and whipped cream, and sighed gustily. "There you are, honey," she called.

"My wife," Michael said to the woman, easing himself out of her grasp. She cast a disparaging glance at Nikita over her thick shoulder.

"If you ever want a real woman, give me a call," she insisted, giving Michael a bawdy wink and wheeling her cart forward.

"I think this town is a little short on sexy men," Nikita sighed, dragging Michael back to the cart. "Push."

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

Nikita deposited her latest armload of carrots and lettuce in the cart and glanced at Michael's new additions, ignoring his laconic lean. Beside the whipped cream was a squeeze bottle of honey and a glass jar of chocolate syrup. She felt the tingling rush rise again, spreading to her fingertips; Nikita feathered a soft kiss over Michael's upturned face and swished away.

Coming back, Nikita's eyes widened in surprise. This time, she ogled a jar of peanut butter and a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chubby Hubby.

He's getting inventive, Nikita thought. I like it.

"I just need one more thing," Nikita said, a mischievous grin lighting her face. "I'll be right back."

Nikita wandered down the booze aisle. Her eyes on the shelves, she didn't see the man until she bumped into him. "Sorry," she murmured, darting her eyes down slightly. The young man blushed, pushing back the bill on his baseball cap.

"Wow," he breathed. "I mean -- excuse me." Nikita smiled at him and continued searching the shelves. "You know," he started, clearing his throat noisily. "I've heard that the grocery store is a great place to meet people."

"Really?" Nikita gave him a cursory glance. He looked like a college student, around her age. Nikita could just imagine the conversation they would have:

"So, what do you do?"

"I'm an engineering student. What about you?"

"Oh, I shoot people...blow things up...throw people out of windows, stuff like that."

"I'm Joe. What's your name?"

Nikita snapped her neck around. "Uh, my name is Nikita."

"Ni-ki-ta? That's pretty cool. What are you looking for?"

"Champagne." As soon as she said the word, Nikita located a bottle of what she wanted.

It's cheap, she thought, examining the label. But we probably won't be drinking it, will we?

"Having a party?" Joe asked, shoving his hands in his baggy pockets.

Before she could answer, Nikita felt an arm snake around her waist and jerk her backward. "You can't sneak up on me smelling like a fruit cocktail, Michael," she laughed. Michael's warm lips nibbled at her neck.

"So that's why you did it," he murmured.

"Nice meeting you," Nikita called as Michael drew her along the aisle, leaving Joe staring after her with a forlorn expression on his face.

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

At the checkout counter, Michael's roaming hands and the jars containing various liquids did little for Nikita's patience. His fingers stroked her shoulder, his hip pressed against hers.

"What do you want to use first?" he whispered.

Nikita glanced at the bottles lined up in the cart and licked her lips. "The whipped cream."

Michael's lips twitched and his gaze dropped to her breasts. "I know exactly where to put it," he murmured. Nikita's nipples puckered at his intense perusal and he gave a low chuckle. "You read my mind."

Nikita tapped her foot and flashed a glance at the loaded cart in front of them in the line. The woman began stacking her groceries on the black conveyor belt; Nikita's fingers clenched the wire sides of the cart. Michael breathed rhythmically in her ear with the swiping beeps of the bar codes. To distract herself, Nikita skimmed the headlines of the gossip rags near the chewing gum.

"Cher gave birth to a two-headed, alien baby," she muttered with derogation under her breath. "Yeah, and I've got some property 500 feet underground that I'd like you to take a look at." Nikita gasped as Michael chuckled and nipped at her earlobe. She pushed at his chest, regretting the action when her palm slid over his firm pectorals. "People are staring, Michael."

"Let them," he murmured, drawing lazy circles on her back.

"You're going to get us banned from the supermarket," she insisted, her voice going airy on the last word as Michael turned his attentions to her neck.

"We'll shop somewhere else."

"Excuse me?"

Nikita and Michael turned. The clerk was ogling them; the bagger had paused stuffing the other woman's groceries into brown paper bags. Nikita grinned an apology and started throwing their groceries onto the belt. Every time she brushed against Michael while they unloaded the cart, the warmth in Nikita's groin seemed to double. She came out of her haze momentarily when she found Michael and the clerk staring at her expectantly. Nikita flushed and fished the check book out of her purse, remembering that she had dragged Michael from the house before he had the time to grab more than his jacket.

It felt odd to write out a check for groceries, seeing her and Michael's name on the slip of paper; odder still to have Michael beside her, idly spinning the whipped cream with an expectant gleam in his eye.

She examined him closely as he helped her load the bags into the trunk of their sedan, watching the leather grow taut between his shoulders as he lifted.

I need to talk to him about all this, Nikita thought. But not until after I find out what he plans to do with the peanut butter.

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

Nikita unpacked the groceries with fervor, slamming cupboards open and shut until Michael quietly protested that they would come off their hinges if she didn't stop. She whirled on him, snatching up the can of whipped cream and shaking it threateningly. When Michael didn't back up, she squirted a small bit onto his chin. Nikita leaned forward and lazily lapped it from his face, her tongue scraping against his stubble. She noted, with no small pleasure, that Michael increased his pace after that.

Nikita was reaching up on her toes to put the last item away when Michael's arms slipped around her waist. He turned her around and lifted her up onto the counter, and slid his warm hands under the hem of Nikita's T-shirt.

"Here?" Nikita asked as Michael tugged her shirt up and over her head.

His hot tongue darted over the tops of her breasts before he answered, "Easiest place to clean." His hands kneaded her hips, tilting them forward to press against his.

"How rom--antic," Nikita quipped, her voice breaking between syllables as Michael eased her bra off. He danced the cups teasingly over her nipples before reaching back and uncapping the can of whipped cream. Michael bent his head down as he shook the can, drawing a hot, wet circle around each nipple. Nikita arched her neck back and closed her eyes in pleasure. Her thighs clamped hard around Michael when the first chilly puff of cream hit her skin. Michael's hand immediately followed, his callused thumb working the whipped cream into her smooth skin.

Nikita moaned when his hand left her, only to be replaced by his slick, seeking mouth. She drew his hand up, suckling the cream away and mimicking his actions at her breast. Nikita bucked her hips as another jet of cold whipped cream covered her other breast. This time, Michael lapped away the sweet puff of cream, cleaning her until Nikita's skin glistened and shivered with delight.

Nikita forced him away from the counter and nearly ripped his shirt from his back, hands immediately scrabbling at his fly. When she had divested Michael of his jeans, she took the bottle of honey into one hand. "Lie back," she ordered throatily, her eyes glittering in anticipation. He complied, leaning back on the floor with one knee cocked. Nikita knelt between his thighs, squeezing a line of honey down his length, from his throat to the velvet tip of his burgeoning arousal. She put the bottle to the side and leaned over him on all fours.

"Good enough to eat," she murmured wickedly. Her tongue flicked at the quickening pulse at the base of his neck and his muscles clenched in response. Nikita lapped her way down, cleaning with her tongue and teasing with her lips. The honey was flavored by Michael's salty skin and heady musk, and she reveled in every groan and flexing muscle. As Nikita swirled her tongue in his belly button, she felt Michael shifted impatiently beneath her. When she swirled her tongue over his velvet tip, mixing the honey with the pale liquid pearling there, Michael's hips bucked.

"Ni-ki-ta." His guttural voice sent a flurry of blood rushing down into her groin, leaving her ears humming. She continued to lap and suckle away the honey, her own arousal sharpening with the knowledge of his pleasure. When Nikita had cleansed him, she circle her thumb and forefinger around the base of his cock and took him into her mouth.

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

Nikita giggled when Michael rolled her over. He had drawn her up and ravished her mouth when she had finished, clamping her securely to his chest. But to their chagrin, the combined liquids had stuck their skins together. Michael put his hands on the floor by her head and lifted himself up, while Nikita pushed back on his shoulders. Their skin zipped apart; Nikita's eyes darkened with arousal as she tugged her nipples away from Michael's chest.

"It's getting dangerous," Michael said, tugging her jeans down from her hips.

"In our line of work, what isn't?" Nikita responded, arching her back helpfully. Michael rose to his knees and plucked the jar of peanut butter from the counter. He eyed the jar speculatively and then glanced down at her splayed legs. "You wouldn't," Nikita said, her lids dropping and legs falling open in unconscious invitation.

"I would," he replied, unscrewing the top with a graceful twist of his hands. He dipped his finger inside and came up with a sizable dollop of the brown stuff. Then he grinned wickedly and drew a line from her ankle bone up to her inner thigh. Michael taunted her by sucking the excess peanut butter from his finger and crouching down on his haunches. Finally, his mouth began massaging the dip above her ankle, causing Nikita to sigh and lean back. She realized, with a jolt, that it was going to take him a considerable amount of time to work his way up her long leg and wiggled in frustration.

He'd better not even think about doing that to my other leg, Nikita thought hazily. At least, not until I get my turn again.

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

Nikita breathed in the smell of peanut butter on Michael's neck as he reached around her and turned on the taps. The hot water sluiced down her back and over her shoulders; Nikita turned her head up for a kiss. Michael's mouth was warm, tasting of salty sweetness.

He grunted when she attacked his sticky chest with a soapy loofah sponge, rubbing until his silky skin flushed pink under her ministrations. Nikita's tough gentled as she ventured lower, caressing his inner thighs with the sponge while his fingers slid up and down her water-slick arm. Michael took the sponge from her, flicking it over her breasts and down her tummy before crouching down and working his way up. He lathered her ankle, calf, knee. Michael rubbed her thigh, nuzzling the leg that had gone un-buttered in counterpoint. Nikita's fingers fisted in his damp hair, drawing him up to her mouth. Her tongue darted between his lips and stroked the velvety interior of his mouth as his hands continued to knead the sponge over her chest.

"Champagne?" Nikita murmured into his mouth.

"Turn off the water," Michael agreed, tossing the sponge out of the tub and reaching for the bottle with one lithe arm. The taps squeaked shut and Michael pressed his thumbs against the champagne cork. With a hollow pop, the golden liquid spilled up and over the lip of the bottle, streaming down their wet bodies. Nikita dipped her head and lapped a mouthful of champagne into her mouth. She held it there and threaded her fingers through Michael's damp curls, pulling his lips to hers. Their mouths slid together, the tingling alcohol commingling with hot tongues and spilling over lips.

Nikita felt the liquid slide down her throat as Michael tugged on her full lower lip with his teeth. He took a mouthful of champagne and suckled at her neck; it dribbled between her breasts and down to the apex of her thighs. Nikita pushed Michael's arm holding the bottle to the side and slid a thigh between his. She eyed Michael with a wicked little grin and sipped champagne from the bottle, letting it spill into the hollow of his throat. Nikita wrapped her hand around his, tipping the bottle up to let more liquid run down his chest. She felt Michael's muscles bunch against her skin. He threw his head back and groaned low in his chest; Nikita nibbled at his exposed throat. When Michael lowered his head, his cheeks were flushed, lips red. He gazed at her with half-lidded eyes over the end of the bottle, dribbling his mouthful of champagne over the tip of one breast. Nikita gasped and clutched at Michael's slick back as the tingling sensation spread throughout her body, centering on his skilled mouth..

Nikita took another drag from the bottle as Michael moved on to her other breast, first coating it with champagne and then lapping away the excess liquid. Nikita tightened her fingers reflexively in his hair and Michael lifted his head. His pupils narrowed at the sight of Nikita, her body glistening and rosily flushed. With a clank of glass against tile, he set the bottle aside and stepped from the tub.

"But --"

"Shh," Michael soothed, running the backs of his fingers over her cheekbone.

"The sheets," Nikita continued to protest half-heartedly, allowing Michael's hand to draw her across the hall and into the bedroom.

"They can be washed," he murmured. "Come to bed, 'Kita."

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

Nikita hung back for a moment until Michael turned around. She let out a breathy sigh and scanned the sculptured length of his aroused body, gleaming where the champagne had not yet dried. When Nikita's eyes traveled back to his face, she realized that he was returning the favor. A delicious ache arrowed up to her sternum as his heated gaze inched along her skin, and Nikita responded to the gentle tug of his hand.

"Come to bed," he whispered again. He lead her to the edge of the bed, climbing onto it backwards and pulling himself back with his elbows. Nikita crawled on all fours over him until they both lay diagonal across the bed. Their limbs entwined, slipping and rubbing together in a heady combination of warm, silken skin and the residue of champagne.

Michael's hand smoothed Nikita's dripping hair back on her scalp; he nudged her head down and propped himself up on one elbow, capturing her lips in a languorous kiss. Nikita rubbed her alcohol-flushed cheek against his beard stubble, softly murmuring in satisfaction. Michael rolled her onto her back, sensing wordlessly that they both preferred a leisurely pace.

Nikita ran her palms over the cords and muscles of his back, skimmed over his powerful chest, cradled his hips. Her nerves hummed with an awareness of Michael's nearness, separate from the hazy wash of the champagne. It was always this way with him, the current passing between their bodies, a feeling she could no more deny than the command to keep her heart beating. She craved it, him, all of it. He felt it, too. That thrum which raised his head whenever she looked on him from a distance, the unspoken communication on missions. He'd known it from their first touch; it had taken Nikita a little longer to understand.

Cradled in his warmth, his weight pressing down, Nikita's mouth sought and found Michael's. His fingers brushed down, circling her hip and delving further, caressing her moist, engorged flesh. Michael breathed a soft sigh over her lips, finding her more than ready for him. His other hand brushed over her face, tracing her brow, nose and lips. He fluttered kisses over her closed lids.

"Look at me, 'Kita," he murmured, muscles rippling. Nikita opened her eyes and cradled his face in her palms. Michael locked eyes with her, and with a shifting surge of muscle, he was inside her. Nikita saw his eyelids flutter, lips part, pupils narrow, and knew her face was a mirror image. When he began to move within her, Nikita's hips moved with him. Michael stroked into her liquidly, unhurried, his hands sliding down her ribcage to cup the backs of her thighs. They were already one, melded seamlessly together.

When Nikita came, it was as languorous as Michael's lovemaking. She floated up, back arched, losing control of her limbs. Nikita felt the constrains of flesh dissolve and she was suddenly the electric current, thrumming in time with Michael's heart beat.

Slowly, her senses returned and Nikita realized she was cocooned under the covers; her back was flush with Michael's chest, his arms cradling her, her head tucked into the hollow of his neck. Nikita covered his arms with her own, closing her eyes and allowing Michael's steady breathing to lull her to sleep.

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

The absence of Michael's warm body in the bed brought Nikita out of her sleepy haze. She swung her legs over the side and padded to the closet, unhooking her terry cloth robe from the knob. Nikita followed the smell of coffee downstairs, noting with a soft smile that Michael had cleaned up the kitchen for her. She poured herself a cup of steaming coffee and wandered into the living room where Michael was ensconced on the couch, typing at his lap top computer.

He looked a little rough around the edges, unshaved, hair untamed. He was wearing a white, ribbed tank top and a dark pair of sweat pants. Nikita moved into the room and sat on the other end of the couch, tucking her bare feet underneath the edges of her robe.

"Michael?"

At her voice, Michael typed for another few seconds before saving and snapping the screen down on the computer. "Yes?"

"I think we need to talk," Nikita continued, feeling the threads of apprehension knot in her gut. Michael's eyes swept the room and came back. "I've checked daily," she answered the silent question in his eyes. Nikita shrugged and Michael nodded; if they were being observed, so be it.

"How do you feel about it?" he asked, turning to face her fully.

"I didn't think I'd like performing for him," Nikita said, consciously avoiding names. "But to tell you the truth, Michael, it's been the last thing on my mind."

"He's set up a camera on our bedroom from one of the rooms in his house," Michael said, rubbing his thumb over his chin momentarily.

Our bedroom.

Nikita shook her head free of the thought and sighed. "When?"

"This morning."

Nikita nodded and sat silently for a few minutes. "I guess what bothers me the most is that I feel like I'm out of the loop. I need to know what's going on."

Michael reached over and turned his lap top on again, flipping up the screen. Nikita stared at him, her cup of coffee forgotten in her hand.

He's not going to let it go at that, Nikita thought. Is he?

Michael looked up and beckoned her with his expression. When Nikita started to scoot over on the couch, he turned his attention back to the computer screen and began drawing up files. "We need to start feeling out contacts in the area."

Nikita rested her hand on his shoulder and peered at the screen. "Are we going to do some dirty work for Section to get us established?"

"Yes. Section has picked up some existing contracts that will bring us into contact with certain people who have Red Fist affiliations."

"What's our cover going to be?" Nikita wondered out loud. Her thoughts strayed back to when she and Michael had posed as Peter and Sage in similar circumstances.

"We'll be posing as mercenaries mainly on the weekend. If Sections recalls us for an extended mission or there is a new development, you'll accompany me on a business trip."

"So what's our first job?" Nikita asked, her confident voice betraying how relieved she was that Michael had brought her back into the information loop.

"Corporate espionage," Michael said, bringing up the file for Nikita to view. She slid off the couch and propped her elbows up on the coffee table and peered at the screen.

"A little breaking and entering the old fashioned way?"

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

Nikita ran in a ducking crouch through the unlit hallway, feeling curiously naked without her Section mission gear bumping gently at her waist. She watched Michael prowl in front of her, taking out a guard with a tranq dart. Cat burglary seemed to come naturally to him, even without Birkoff's minimalistic help on the feed. What they were doing was an extremely scaled down operation; free-agent mercenaries just didn't have the resources that Section did.

Nikita and Michael had slipped into the corporate headquarters through the heating and air ducts, bypassing the security with relative ease. The security had been tight, but Nikita knew it wasn't on par with world class terrorist organizations or hostile government facilities.

It's a piece of cake, compared to our usual penetration missions, Nikita mused, covering Michael as they turned down another dark hallway.

Nikita reigned in a giggle as the absurdity of the situation hit her. A few hours before, she had been trying her hand at chocolate chip cookies and vacuuming the carpet. Michael had been reading the newspaper at the kitchen table.

Now, she was dressed in black fatigues and carrying a tazer and a gun loaded with tranquilizer darts. Suzy Homemaker meets G.I. Jane.

Nikita took up position outside the lab's only exit as Michael ducked inside and sought out the stand-alone computer. Out of the corner of her eye, Nikita saw him insert the disc and begin copying files. Minutes later, the download complete, Michael pressed his hand on her arm and they retreated along the same route they had entered.

Leaving the computer and the building standing left Nikita feeling the mission was incomplete as she crawled through the ducts again. All they needed was the information, and it didn't matter if someone knew it had been stolen. Nikita slid out the duct, landing in a crouch, and surveyed the area as Michael slipped down beside her. She nodded at his pressure on her arm and carefully crossed the open area to the chain-link fence. Nikita crouched down and waved Michael forward, holding up the section of clipped fencing for him to scrabble through.

When they reached their rented van, Nikita was out of breath and feeling jubilant that the mission hadn't included the death of innocents or a giant fireball of destruction. She slowly relaxed as Michael drove away from the building to an alley across town. She clambered into the back, while Michael kept watch, and struggled out of her fatigues and into a clingy black dress. Nikita left the clothes in a heap and climbed back to the front, carrying her stiletto pumps by the straps. She tried to keep her eyes from straying to the rear-view mirror while Michael doffed his fatigues and untied his top knot. He pulled on a pair of form-fitting black pants, a charcoal T-shirt, and a thigh-length leather jacket.

Michael scooped up their clothes and shoved them into a duffel bag. He exited the van from the back and entered an apartment building to dispose of their gear in a randomly chosen incinerator.

When he returned empty-handed, they drove to the rental parking lot and exchanged cars. Nikita put the keys in the drop box as Michael discreetly loaded their weapons into a briefcase. Minutes later, he parked in a busy lot near a club. He killed the motor and glanced at her.

"Ready?"

"Let's go," she said, flashing him a saucy grin.

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

They walked into the smoky club, touching only with entwined pinkie fingers. The dance floor was crowded with swaying couples, writhing to a Lenny Kravitz set. Nikita slanted a sultry smile at Michael and pulled him onto the dance floor; she slid one hand behind his neck and the other around his waist. Her fingers brushed against the disc case shoved in the tight waist band of his pants. Michael's arms rested loosely on her hips. They automatically adopted a pose where each had easy access to their weapons: Michael with his gun at his hip, and Nikita with her weapon tucked inside the purse slung over her shoulder.

They began swaying to the song and Nikita rocked against Michael to the sensual, slow beat. His finger tips massaged her skin through the thin material of her dress.

Michael slid his thigh between hers, causing the long skirt of her dress to ride up. Nikita scraped her fingers along the back of his neck, wrapping a lock of his hair over her index finger. She tugged his head down slightly and brushed her lips along his jaw.

"How long?"

"Fifteen minutes. We're early," he answered, sliding his hand to cup her buttock. The song segued into another, and guitar riffs cut off any reply Nikita might have made. The new song had a faster beat and had garnered appreciative cheers from the other dancers. Nikita ventured a glance around the club and tilted her chin to whisper in Michael's ear.

"Looks like we won't get kicked out of here, Michael."

Nikita felt Michael's chuckle rumble in his chest. For once, most of the other patrons were more scantily clad than Nikita, and were dancing more scandalously. Michael's hair grazed her cheek as he bent to whisper in her ear.

"Don't encourage me, Nikita," he said. Nikita's eyes lit up and she flashed Michael a challenging grin. She used her hand at his waist to grind against his thigh, sliding and bumping against him to the sensual music. Michael responded by raising his left hand high on her side so that his thumb grazed her breast and falling into the rhythm she had established. His right hand flexed on her buttock, tilting her hips to a more advantageous angle.

When the song ended, they parted slowly. Skin flushed and sheened with sweat. Lids drooping, throats dry. Michael's hand closed around Nikita's elbow and he led her to the bar as the club DJ put on some house music that pounded in time with the strobe lights. Nikita propped her elbows on the bar and faced the crowd while Michael ordered.

Nikita rolled her head on her neck and peered up at Michael through her lashes. A bead of sweat was snaking its way past his hairline. Nikita wiped the drop away with her index finger; Michael turned towards her as she slowly put her finger on her tongue and licked at the salty wetness. Michael's lips parted.

His hand dropped from her shoulder and traveled along the low-cut neck of her dress. His thumb flicked at the bead of sweat winding its way through her cleavage. Michael started to pull his hand away, but Nikita captured it and raised his thumb to her mouth.

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

Michael stared in rapt attention as his thumb disappeared between Nikita's pink lips; a soft sigh edged past his lips when her teeth closed around his thumb, her tongue swirling, hands massaging his captured appendage. The bartender slapped napkins down on the bar and set their glasses on top. Nikita released Michael's hand reluctantly, noting through her heavy-lidded gaze that he brought his hand up to suck at her taste on his thumb.

Nikita shifted so that her stomach pressed Michael's hip and lifted her glass of sparkling champagne. Their eyes met over upturned glasses, sipping at intoxicating liquids. Michael paused, his eyes straying to the entrance of the club. Without obstructing his view, Nikita leaned in close.

"Where?"

"He's heading to the booths. Third from the back," Michael said.

"What's our approach vector?"

Michael tossed back the rest of his brandy and offered her his hand. As Nikita slid her palm across his, Michael said, "We dance."

Nikita's senses kicked into high gear as he skillfully maneuvered her across the dance floor, moving slowly to avoid drawing unwanted attention. She and Michael had morphed instantly into operative mode, firmly putting their brains in charge of their bodies, alert to the weight of their weapons.

Nikita dropped her mask for a moment and looked Michael in the eye. "I'm much better at this than bouillabaisse."

"Yes," was his unguarded reply. Before Nikita could take exception to his bland statement, Michael spun her to a halt in front of a circular booth. She graced their contact with a sultry smile and slid over the vinyl covering of the booth, leaving room for Michael. Nikita immediately plastered herself to Michael's side, giving the impression that she was fondling his backside when she was actually increasing her access to her purse wedged between them. Her other hand strayed across his hip and settled onto his heavy thigh.

The man sitting across from them looked like he frequented pawn shops. Thinning, dark hair. A goatee. Purple silk shirt. A perpetual sniffle. Supposedly named Lucas.

"Do you got it?" he demanded, an unlit cigarette dangling from his thin lips.

Michael turned and nuzzled Nikita's throat, taking the disc from her right hand and passing it under the table to Lucas. Michael put the small case he had exchanged the disc for on the seat, by Nikita.

"Half. You'll receive the rest when we confirm the information."

"Fine," Michael replied. Beside him, Nikita flipped open the case and surreptitiously counted the money. "Do you have anything else for us?"

Lucas passed his eyes over the crowd and withdrew a battered photograph. He slid it face-down over the table with his index finger. "We'd like you to take care of him."

Michael flipped over the picture and handed it to Nikita. "Name?"

"Von Sants."

Nikita pulled a PDA from her purse and entered the data. She pressed enter for the search and tucked the picture in the inside pocket of Michael's jacket. When the two didn't answer him right away, Lucas swallowed.

"I know it isn't your usual gig," he said to Michael, his leg developing a nervous jig.

Nikita's PDA beeped and she scrolled through the information. Sants wasn't currently green-listed by Section, and Birkoff had given them the go-ahead. "It doesn't conflict with any of our existing contracts," she said, speaking directly to Lucas. "How do you want it to look?"

"What?" Lucas asked, light flaring up on his sharp cheekbones as he uncapped his Zippo.

"Murder, accident, natural causes. Choose one," Nikita supplied succinctly.

"Natural causes," Lucas said, glancing back and forth between the pair.

"Time frame?" Michael asked quietly.

Lucas jerked his chin in unshared amusement. "You guys are real professionals. Uh...two weeks?"

"Will that be all?" Michael said, blank stare firmly in place.

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

Lucas had smiled at them with bonhomie, obviously wanting to chat and be seen with higher caliber criminals than he was wont. He sniffed deeply and stroked his nose. His expression seemed to say:

My boss is gonna be happy, and when he's happy, he gives me the primo sh*t.

"Want to share a drink?" Lucas asked, leaning his elbows on the scarred table. The twin ice masks staring back at him checked his eagerness. "Hey, I'm buying," he protested weakly. In sync, Nikita and Michael slid across the vinyl upholstery. He stood gracefully and offered Nikita his hand.

"Our business here is concluded," Michael said tonelessly, wrapping her arm around her waist

Michael danced her away from the booth; Nikita allowed his presence to soothe the tang of distaste in the back of her mouth.

"Where'd they dig him up?" Nikita grated, closing the gap between their bodies and resting her head in the hollow of Michael's neck. He didn't answer, but his hand began rubbing her lower back. Nikita sighed and resisted the urge to crawl into Michael's arms and demand that he take her to a sunlit beach and rub coconut oil on her hard to reach places.

"When can we get out of here?" she asked, refusing to give voice to her anger at the situation. Killing had entered once again into her carefully constructed fantasy world.

"Now."

She sat silently, head resting on the seat belt strap, as Michael drove from the club to another car rental agency by a circuitous route. While they dropped off the car, Nikita found herself automatically scanning and covering for Michael until he rejoined her, taking her hand for the walk to their car. She sighed deeply, breathing in the cool spring air, heels clicking on the ruptured sidewalk.

Michael surprised her by bringing their joined hands up to drop a soft kiss on her knuckles. "I'd give you my coat, Nikita," he said, trailing off when he turned his searching eyes upon her face. Nikita startled herself by chuckling. If Michael gave her his coat, he'd either be unarmed or everyone in sight would get a good look at his big gun.

"I know, Michael," she replied, squeezing his warm fingers to let him know that it was enough that he had wanted to do so. "And I'd make you carry my purse, but then I wouldn't be able to pepper spray you if you got fresh with me."

Michael's eyebrows shot up. "Fresh?" He dropped her hand and snaked his arm around her shoulder, palming a breast. "Like this?"

Nikita stared at him, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Michael was teasing her out of a bad mood, and she didn't have the heart to deny him.

Yeah, right, she thought. I'm just being selfless. Nothing in it for me.

"Remove your hand, or I'll break your wrist," Nikita threatened.

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

"As you wish." Michael stared at her with a wickedly innocent expression for a moment more and then dropped his hand. His fingers then proceeded to trace over her shoulder, sliding down her partially bare back and into her dress where the scooped back curved above her buttocks. "Better?"

"Let me go, or I'll scream," Nikita answered, tilting her chin up coyly.

"Then scream." Michael's lips twitched. The muscles in his arm flexed and he snapped her around, pulling her flush against him.

Nikita's lips curved into a sultry smile. Her left arm was pinned, so she brought her other hand up to trace the dip under his stubbled chin. "You're going to drag me to the car and have your way with me, aren't you?"

Michael's eyebrows lifted again. A moment later he started pulling her towards the alley where they had parked the car earlier, walking backwards.

"Have you ever..." Nikita asked, trailing off at the gleam in his eye.

"Not with you." Michael dipped his head down and nipped at her neck, halting any further questions.

"Good thing we have the sedan," she sighed. Nikita dug in his jacket pocket as Michael backed them to the car, fingers closing around the keys. He led them around the trunk until his back bumped against the driver side door. She drew the keys out and fumbled with them while Michael's hands roved from her neck to her hips.

The lock clicked open and Nikita pulled Michael away from the door. She backed him inside, climbing into his lap and leaning forward so the back of her head pressed against the car's padded roof. Michael's body flexed underneath her as he slammed the car door. The power locks snicked shut and Michael reached around her. He caressed her cleavage with his chin and nose as he tilted the steering wheel up. Nikita shifted so her knees cradled his hips, bending backwards to reach the handle to slide the seat back.

"Better?" he asked, reclining the seat halfway. Nikita wriggled against him, a smile curving her lips as she wrestled his jacket off. She flung the leather garment into the passenger seat and slid her hands over the sculpted curves of his chest. His hands were working over her thighs, kneading through the thin spandex of her dress.

Michael's arms went around her and pulled her tightly to his chest, his lips capturing hers in a wet, searing kiss. Nikita shifted convulsively, scrambling to get closer to his hard warmth.

"Ouch!"

Michael's hold loosened and he brushed the blonde strands back so he could see her face. Her nose was scrunched up ruefully. "Nikita? What is it?"

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

Nikita put her hands on his shoulders and moved her leg back to cradle his hips. "Manual shift," she explained, rubbing at the sore spot on her thigh. Michael's hand took over the task, murmuring soothing phrases under his breath. His mouth found her taut nipples through the stretchy fabric. Nikita's head fell back as Michael's velvet tongue wetted the material, shoulders bumping against the raised steering wheel.

She bucked when Michael's teeth closed about one nipple and tugged. The horn let out a surprised honk and Michael cursed as his knee banged against the steering wheel. He settled their hips together and leaned back, staring at Nikita with a speculative expression on his face. She stared back, her eyes half-lidded, one hand fidgeting with a lock of hair. His fingers made a brief pass over his chin.

"What?" Nikita finally demanded, rocking forward to catch his attention.

Michael turned his face up and languorously stroked the silken walls of her mouth with his tongue. He pulled away with her bottom lip held captive between his teeth. "Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn around," Michael repeated. Nikita waited, poised over him, until her face softened in understanding.

Jesus, Nikita thought. Why didn't I think of that?

She clambered around on top of Michael, bumping her elbows against the door, his chest, the steering wheel. Nikita snatched at the edge of her dress, which was hanging up on the manual shift and halting her progress. Michael sat patiently underneath her, holding silent when Nikita's knees and elbows poked at him. The transition finally complete, Nikita sighed and leaned her head back on his shoulder.

Michael's talented mouth nipping at her neck spurred Nikita into action. She arched her back and wriggled out of her panties; Michael wasn't able to stifle a groan when she sat back on his lap and drew them down the length of her legs. She arched her back again so Michael could undo the snap of his pants, tantalizing her with the rasp of a zipper. He arched up to meet her, brushing against her as he wrestled with the material over his slim hips. Michael's hands moved to her thighs, drawing up the material until it bunched above her hips.

They sat again and Michael slid his warm forearms around her waist. He pulled her up and back, lowering her down slowly. Nikita gasped as his throbbing arousal penetrated her, arms going up to clutch at the headrest behind them.

"Good...idea," she sighed, twitching her hips and enticing a moan from the hard man beneath her. All thoughts of teasing fled her mind as Michael lifted and thrust into her. The rough fabric under her thighs coupled with the velvet heat stroking into her was a heady combination. Nikita dimly realized that she had lifted her spike-heeled pump to the dash, amazed that she hadn't punched a hole in something or someone. Her fingernails scored the leather headrest as Michael's hand ventured down and cupped her, fingers sliding into the cleft and teasing the engorged flesh.

Nikita strained forward against his questing hand, rocking back as Michael continued to thrust into her. His fingers continued to stroke a counterpoint and Nikita's breathing quickened. The air in the car grew heavy and fogged the tinted windows; Michael's breath was hot against her neck. They arched together simultaneously; Nikita felt the air whoosh from her body and her muscles twitch. Her convulsing inner muscles sparked Michael's own climax. She felt his teeth close hard on her sweat-sheened neck.

That's going to leave a mark, she thought muzzily. She smiled in self satisfaction.

He marked me.

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

"Dan and I are having a dinner party on Friday," Lydia said, huffing slightly on the porch. She put her hands on her hips and stretched out her back muscles. "Can you and Michael come?"

Nikita glanced up through the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail from their morning run. "I don't know. What time is it?"

"Well, it starts at six, but it's a progressive dinner party," Lydia replied, hitching up her hip onto the porch railing.

"Progressive dinner party?" Nikita said doubtfully. She ran her fingers inside the sweaty waistline of her spandex running pants.

"Don't look at me like that," Lydia laughed. "It's not an orgy, or anything!"

If you only knew, Nikita thought irreverently. Being asked to an orgy is much more common for me and Michael than an invitation to dinner.

"The appetizers are at Tracy and George's. Dan and I are serving the entree at our house. Dessert is at the Davis'. You haven't met them yet. Lisa Davis is my older sister. Would you and Michael serve the after dinner drinks?"

"Sure," Nikita said, cocking her head hesitantly. "But I'll have to check with Michael first."

"Cool. Let me know."

Nikita shrugged and stretched her shoulder, her unzipped jacket falling open. When Lydia gasped, Nikita wrestled with the urge to drop into a crouch and unholster the gun she wasn't wearing. "What?"

"Are those teeth marks?"

Nikita craned her neck around, but the bite was where her neck joined with her shoulder. "Oh, that," Nikita said. Her cheeks flushed and she bit her lower lip.

"What happened?" Lydia continued, jumping off the railing and reaching one aghast hand towards Nikita's shoulder.

Nikita cleared her throat and pulled her jacket closer around her neck, smoothing the front and playing with the jacket hood. She flashed a grin at Lydia's confused face. "It's, ah, a long story," Nikita drawled, her lips twitching in amusement.

Lydia's expression changed visibly from worry, to shock, to guilty interest. "Your...he...did Michael do that to you?"

Nikita's eyes seemed to turn inward and her smiled deepened. "Yeah."

Lydia sat down woodenly on the railing, her hand creeping up to play with her earring. "Did it...hurt?" she asked hesitantly, worried at her bottom lip with her teeth.

"I was kind of distracted at the time," Nikita said candidly, rubbing her hand over one eyebrow.

"I can imagine," Lydia laughed, standing up to go.

"No," Nikita said suddenly. She winked at Lydia. "No, you can't."

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

Nikita felt ridiculous walking into Section dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt like a carefree suburbanite. Black clad operatives swarmed around her; unfamiliar faces cast her odd looks, but those she knew winked knowingly. Nikita found herself at Walter's counter without any realized intention of going there, but she was early for once.

"So how's suburban life treating you?" Walter rasped, glancing up from his magnifying glass. Nikita burst into laughter and he rocked back on his stool. "Whoa. Major deja vu."

"Isn't that a sleazy strip joint?" she said, propping her elbows on his cluttered bench.

Walter barked out a short peal of laughter. "I wouldn't know, Sugar. What are you doing here?"

"Madeline wants to talk with me," she answered grimly. Walter started humming the theme from Jaws under his breath. "Shut up, Walter. I've got enough to worry about."

"Like what? Listen, sweet stuff, I've seen the profile. You shouldn't be so grumpy. That is, unless Michael isn't performing up to speed," Walter trailed off, glancing up at Nikita with a wicked glint in his blue eyes. Nikita flushed slightly and bent down to examine her fingernails. "C'mon, Nikita. You know you can tell me anything."