I hadn't known what I would say to her once I saw her.

I hadn't foreseen what I would do once confronted with the living image of whom plagued me, awake or sleeping for six months.

It didn' t matter.

The icon of her monopolized my conscious thoughts while I came to her, and if not for her image my mind was void and blank.

I was furious with her because I died a thousand times every day, every time she ignored my messages and enjoyed her newfound freedom.

A freedom I gave her, while she hadn't brothered herself to signal me to let me know whether she was alive or dead. She hadn't cared.

I suppose that it's always grotesque when you notice you can't live without a person who can live, and live well, without you. I felt that sensation twice. Every time it was worse than the first.

I remember the boat docked at the harbor. Me looking inside the boat and glimpsing her seemingly sleeping.

I opened the door, and she jumped up.

It was her.

Nikita.

Beautiful and alive like in my memories.

Holding a gun at me in a trembling grasp, scared of me.

I felt something , some latest bridle, snap inside then.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, I was drawn to her.

I acted on that impulse, regardless of the rationality of the motivation.

I disarmed her. I pinned her against the bed.

I gripped her wrists tightly, like she could suddenly vanish. She was light under my weight, like I frequently imagined her.

It's possible that I was hurting her, but at that moment I was so intensely hurt myself that I couldn't help it.

The feel of her skin under my hands was impossible to describe …. At that moment I would have done anything to have her.

I felt her pulse building faster and faster.

I looked at her mouth, so close and yet, so far away.

I have never wanted anything or anyone like I wanted her that night, our first night.

I kissed her, starving for her.

Unexpectedly her answer was immediate, eager.

In the back of my mind, I was persuaded she would resist and fight if I ever showed her the bestial, dark desire I had for her.

The hunger escaped my control as the agonizing sensation of her body warm, shaking under me produced erotic, painful mirages spinning through my head.

I already felt myself pulsating against her, and made no effort to hide it.

I distanced myself from her lips, looking down at her, and caressed her with all the gentleness I could muster.

There was one thing I needed to say to her before going ahead.

"I thought I'd lost you."

I wanted her to understand. I had felt too much for her to behave differently. I needed to try and express it. I wouldn't have another chance.

I looked for a reaction in her eyes.

"You never had me."

The words were meant to hurt, and sorted the desired effect, principally because they were true.

I wanted her to be mine more strongly than she could ever fathom.

I wanted her to be mine at least for one night.

I made her mine. I dogged my tongue in her lips.

My kisses were shamelessly aggressive. My caresses rapacious. her response was equally greedy and unrefined.

Her taste on my tongue… I had never felt so addicted to something before.

Clothing felt abrasive, cold. My body screamed for her touch. The wanting ate away at me.

Clothes soon were tossed on the floor.

I remember that when she unbuttoned my shirt, the faint touch of her fingertips on my bare chest burned. I remember how hurried I felt, anxious to have all of her in my mouth, under my tongue, against my body: her face, her back, her waist and arms.

And the most beautiful and exciting thing was, Nikita was touching me back.

Her desire echoing mine.

We didn't need words then. There was so much to be said. But we couldn't.

I spread her legs apart and my mouth plunged, insistent, at her core. Her panting sounded loud inside my ears while she wreathed and arched, impatiently.

She gripped my head with her legs and my hair with her hands, violently pushing me deeper inside her.

Her flavor intoxicating, her pleading sounds, her convulsing around me were unbearable.

Before she finished coming I parted her legs again and I planted myself into her completely.

I gasped fatiguously while pulling out and pushing in, her palms grabbing sleekly my buttocks to urge me in further.

The most difficult thing I had ever done was holding back with her.

I was waiting so long for that, I longed for her like a thirsty man longing for water and I could resist her no more.

In a way it was a torture. The more I got, the more I wanted sooner than I could get it.

It felt like it wasn't enough or soon enough.

I remember her face glowing with sweat and panting in release.

I traced her cheekbones, her mouth, her brows and chin with absurd reverence. It was a such a rare privilege to caress her.

Her eyes were gleaming, and glaring straight into mine.

Just in these caresses and that shared look there was something far more arousing than anything previously. Before I knew it, I was hard again inside her. Nikita smiled. She kissed me and we made love again.

That night I wanted her to hold me while I slept.

I pushed all rational and wise consideration about our situation out my mind.

Simply, I refused to ruin the moment with reason or logic. I knew that we wouldn't be together like this again, and I said to myself it wouldn't matter. For now, I have this memory of a night without nightmares in her welcoming arms.

Which, now I know that it was foolish.

Now I know how she tasted, smelled, and felt.

The hardest thing I would ever do from then would be to live without her, or better yet, live close to her but with her just out reach.

Words often are illusive. Actions show the truth.

''I don't love you. I never did. '' she said.

I smile. I knew she was lying.

Soon we'll meet again.

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