She knew she should be used to sleeping alone by now; she had done it for long enough. Sometimes, though, her bed . . . her life felt so empty without him . . . whichever side of him she was thinking about.
Nikita sighed, as she lay on her back, staring at her ceiling. There was a dim reflection of moonlight on it which gave her something to half-focus on. Her mind was spiralling around in thoughts of Michael, as she struggled to define him. "Split personalities," she pondered. "No." She shook her head.
"Schizophrenic?" She laughed slightly. "Sort of, but not quite. . . . Jekyll and Hyde? Nah, same thing." She sighed. "Self-contained? Purposely mysterious? Just fucking annoying?"
A low rumble of a laugh escaped from her, as she actually smiled, giving up --for a few minutes--on her labels. She hated, in some ways, that she spent so much time trying to understand him, but she knew that--unlike ordinary people--she had little else to focus on: her bills were paid; her career-- unless it was cut short by injury or cancellation--was set; she had no real social life, hobbies, or friends to spend her spare time with, and Michael was the closest approximation to a significant other she had found.
She sighed slightly. It was hard not to think about him lately, too. After all, ever since he had spent three days with her--innocent and trusting-- before returning to his usual, hardened self, it was difficult not to try to figure out who he really was . . . and why she really cared for him.
There were times, certainly, that she hated him--that, in return for all the cruelty, brutality, and lies she had had to witness him force on others and herself, she wanted to hurt him--to attack him with all the knowledge of inflicting pain he had given her. She couldn't stand that side of him--was absolutely repelled by his actions.
She knew, however, that this was part of the man she loved--that the man whose face seemed carved from unfeeling stone could sometimes have the eyes of a brutalized prisoner of war--staring out at her through barbed wire. And, in his cruelty, as well, there was sometimes a brutal softness, as she had witnessed again a few days ago with his actions with Lisa Fanning.
She still didn't know what to make of this incident. She knew that--to Michael's mind--he had helped his old target, but to Nikita he had only damned her further. She still wasn't even sure of the woman's fate; for all she knew, the poor girl was still wandering lost in some forest--either with her husband there to torture her or with his blood now soiling her soul. In fact, she could even have taken the isotope herself and now be lying dead somewhere, understanding that it was her only real way out.
She let out a disgusted breath. Did Michael ever think of that? Did those possibilities even occur to him? . . . Or had he simply not cared enough to ponder it?
She covered her eyes and closed them. She could never get a grasp on him-- never understand him. On the one hand, he was cruel, manipulative, and cunning. On the other, he was gentle, tender, and beautiful. . . . How the *hell* did they manage to coexist?
She lowered her hand and looked at the ceiling again. In a way, she supposed, they didn't. They seemed in constant conflict--his eyes soft and tender one minute, hard and uncaring the next. He would do his best to destroy her soul--to crush all feeling from her, yet he would go to ridiculous and foolhardy lengths to save her life. She laughed and shook her head; he wasn't an easy man to love.
She did love him, though, in a way she could never explain and would never comprehend. She just wasn't entirely sure which side of him she did love. While she had never enjoyed--had never gotten off on his cruelty, his flat, inexpressive face and voice could never stop the rush of raw desire she felt when he stood next to her.
She knew, however, that she needed to feel his tenderness, as well, although she had experienced it so rarely. His repressed side, though, had been the embodiment of this emotion. . . . God, she missed him.
Which side of him did she want, then? Was she lying when she told herself that she only wanted his gentle side? Was there something twisted enough in her to be attracted to his Section persona? She shook her head again; she really didn't know.
Her mind returned to her previous dilemma, therefore. "Twin-souled," she decided. It was the closest she would come to a definition.
She rolled over on her side and decided to try to force herself to sleep-- anything to try to clear her mind of him, for awhile. It was hard being in love with two, very different, men . . . especially when they were both the same person.
Nikita should have known, of course, that her dreams wouldn't bring her relief from her thoughts of him. In them, instead, she awoke to the hormone- stirring feeling of a very skilled mouth on her neck--tongue and teeth arousingly tormenting her delicate flesh. She moaned, opening her eyes to discover that the soft feeling on her face was a mass of auburn hair; his stubbled cheek rubbed against her soft one, and he occasionally ran the rough hair on his chin over her shoulder to remind her, even further, of her need for him.
"Michael," she groaned. Her hand grabbed his shoulder, and she turned her head to lick the tiny hairs on his cheek, before biting at his jaw.
He let out a groan and pulled back from her neck to kiss her soundly-- deeply. He then lightly grazed his teeth over her lips before looking at her. "Hi." He kissed her possessively again.
Nikita was utterly confused but too overwhelmed by the kiss to pull away. His mouth conquered hers, demanding her sweetness, making any denial from her impossible. . . . She practically forgot to breathe.
He pulled away from her finally, as her head followed him involuntarily. He got off the bed long enough to pull the sheets off of her roughly, flinging them to the floor.
She saw that he was in his mission clothes, right down to the ludicrously- tight pants he favored; she had always wondered how he managed to wear them without risking either injury or permanent impotence. She forced herself to refocus on his eyes, her mind finally returning to her. She asked the obvious question. "Why are you here?"
He remounted the bed and covered her, taking hold of her hands and pressing them down to either side of her head. He pressed his hard arousal against the center of her desire. "Does it matter?" he asked before kissing her possessively again, his tongue filling her, making her yield to his demands.
"I guess not," she thought with some fragment of consciousness.
Michael's kiss was ruthless, letting her know who was in control; he stopped once or twice to nibble lightly at her lips before invading her mouth once more. His thumbs stroked sensuously over the palms of the hands he imprisoned.
While Nikita's body had no trouble with her situation--rapturously accepting his need for her, her mind refused to easily follow its course. When he sat back from her finally, therefore, she asked, looking briefly at his clothes before refocusing on him, "Am I a mission?" Her eyes were hard.
His hands ran up under the slip of a nightgown she wore, pushing it up. "I don't need a mission for you." His hands felt her breasts before he pulled the nightgown over her head and threw it on the floor. "All I need is an opportunity."
His hands returned to her breasts then, his fingers rubbing her aching nipples between them, as he kissed her nippingly again. He moved down to trace his teeth over her cheek and down to her neck and began marking her with bites which inflamed her desire.
Her hands clawed at his jacket, as she involuntarily arched her neck toward him, her breasts into his hands; her body and soul were completely divided. "So I'm just easy?" she suggested angrily. "Something to take when you can't get anyone else?"
He bit her harder, to her slight, pleasured groan. His fingers pinched her nipples once more before moving to claw at her back, holding her toward him, as his rough chin trailed achingly down her body. "There is no one else . . . not voluntarily."
He rubbed his stubble over her nipple, to her whimper of delight. "You're my lover." He ran his teeth over the aroused bud. "That's all that's real." Then, he possessed it, suckling it firmly before nibbling on it. His teeth closed over it in just the way he knew pleased her most.
She screamed softly in need, and his hand came up to torment its twin, while he continued his attentions. She was panting, her body in such need for him it was hurting her.
Her mind, though, was still caught up in their antagonism. Her hands held him to her, demanding that he continue, while her words flowed, as though they were from some other being. "Liar." He bit her harder, to her shudder of pleasure. Her body almost wanted her to make him angry, so he would further this erotic cruelty; her mind tried to ignore it. "You just want me, because I'm easy to control."
He grazed his teeth over her, as he pulled back; she pushed her breast up to him, trying to follow. He gave her a final lick and looked up at her. "No. I want you, because you can't be contained. . . . You're the freest soul I've ever known."
His face was still completely controlled, his words simple statements of fact. He leaned down to her other nipple and licked up over it repeatedly, like a cat smoothing its fur. She let out a moan. His mouth then took her in, suckling her deeply; his other hand ran a finger gently over the neglected bud, which was enough to send shards of pleasure throughout her body.
She whimpered, still holding him to her. It was only several minutes later, when he was moving down her once again--his hands running down to her underwear, that her mind returned again. Her voice was breathy, though. "So, I just fulfill some desire for you?"
He stopped to plunge his tongue into her belly button, as one finger rubbed over her panties, teasing her sensitive bud through them. When her navel was slightly red and very happy with his attentions, he moved further down. "No." He stripped off her underwear. "You're my only desire."
He plunged two fingers easily into her slick, smooth passage and began to tease her bud with the tip of his tongue. She gasped, her hips pressing against him. A third finger followed the others and began stroking her, as he suckled the bud firmly.
All questions were on hold for Nikita. She could only take in how good he felt, how well he understood her desires. Her stomach was knotted in need, her thighs taut, as they responded to his rhythm. Her hands were knotted in the sheets.
His tongue began flicking remorselessly against the bud, as his fingers stroked roughly at a very tender spot inside her. Her hips ground against him in response, in ever-increasing, burning tension.
He moved to finish her off by running his teeth lightly over her bud, as it quivered, before his tongue stroked over it once more. His hand gave a brutal stroke inside her.
She let out a short scream, as she bucked against him, hips lifted up to him. He suckled the bud again for a second, as she began to come down slightly and then looked up at her. His hands took hold of her hips. "You're my second skin." He plunged his tongue into her still-quivering depths.
She began whimpering ceaselessly, arousal building on arousal. He caught one of her hands and pulled it to rest on his head, asking her to guide him. She ran the other hand into his hair, as well, and willingly agreed.
She held him to her and led him to all her secret places of need, sometimes holding him lightly, as his tongue brushed her depths in feather-like strokes, other times holding him firmly, as his tongue beat into her ceaselessly.
She knew he needed no instructions on how to please her, but she was incredibly aroused by his willing submission. His hands held her from behind to help him please her; his hair brushed against her thighs, as he moved on her.
She led him first one place, then another--one second a light lick to her bud, next a deep, ceaseless beating against some tender inner spot. Her breathing was beyond erratic, as he fervently stroked a spot on one of her walls.
He was everywhere she needed him at just the right moment. "Deeper," she gasped, moving him. His tongue flicked far into her, exactly matching her perilously-aroused needs; it sent a spark of raw desire vibrating into her, to her astonished gasp. He pressed himself slightly forward and repeated his action at an even greater depth and force, and she let out a cry, as her walls trembled tightly around him.
Tears ran down her face. "Ohhhh," she moaned.
He continued feasting on her delicately, as her hands ceased their pressure on his head, her body relaxing. She stroked his hair lightly. Her eyes were closed; she couldn't believe the shockwaves of pleasure which continued to tremble through her.
Michael left her beautiful core finally, once her tremors began to subside. He licked once more at her bud and then continued up her body, tasting again all those parts he loved.
She was still warm with the pleasure he had given her, when she opened her eyes. Reality, however, set in for her, as she looked into his emotionless face and felt his body against her--still clothed in his mission wear. His eyes did hold deep desire and need, but this was still Section's Michael-- the one who had hurt her so often.
She took hold of him from behind and pressed his aroused flesh against herself. "Come here to work off the after-effects of a mission?" she asked angrily. Her fingers clawed into his curves, and she felt him jump against her core.
"No." He was touching her face, examining it. "Missions don't arouse me." He looked in her eyes; his words were still matter-of-fact. "You do."
Her eyes were angry. She couldn't quite get over the fact that her body needed this badly a man she knew to be cruel; she had no desire to be played by him again, either. "Why are you here?" Her fingers pinched his curves, and she felt his arousal growing painfully in its confinement in response.
He groaned and tilted his head back, eyes closed. "To remind you," he managed, in a low breath.
She examined him analytically, as her hands continued their painfully erotic torment. "Of what?"
He pressed himself hard against her, to her whimper--her eyes closing, head back. He looked up at her. "That you're mine." He ground himself against her, and she whimpered again.
She forced herself to look up at him. "I'm not yours." Her hips thrust against him, however, denying her words.
The move wasn't lost on him. "Yes . . . you are." He thrust back at her. "We're mated."
Her nails ran under his mission jacket to claw down the black t-shirt he wore. "Like animals?"
His hands ran down to hold her up to him from behind. "Precisely." He thrust against her, knowing the slick material of the pants added an interesting friction for them both. "Everything else is a lie."
Nikita forced him to break his hold on her, as she pulled off his jacket. "I've got news for you, Michael." She pulled up his shirt as well and tugged it off of him; he kept constant eye contact with her, except for the split second the shirt was actually in front of his eyes. She dug her nails in his shoulders and pulled him firmly against her again. "I don't even like you." She ran her hand into his hair and kissed him soundly, roughly. She leaned back. "In fact, I usually hate you."
He gave her a brief, ironic smile and then captured her lips in his, holding her head in his hands and pushing her back into the bed. After a minute, he released her lips, leaning back. "Good." He nipped at her.
She dragged her head back. "*Good*?" she asked incredulously.
He held down her shoulders to make certain she didn't try to leave; he still had on his Section face. "It doesn't matter. . . . You can give me your hate, your disgust, your rage; you can tear me apart daily with your bare hands. . . . So long as you have some emotion for me, I'll live. . . . But the day you look at me with indifference is the day I will end my life." His voice was a whisper; his eyes burned into her.
She shook her head. "That's sick," she responded. "We're sick."
He shook his head in return. "It doesn't matter. It's still the truth of our lives. We're still mated."
His eyes grew more dangerous, and he smiled slightly at her again. "Now, my lioness," he put his hands on her wrists, "if you're so angry," he rolled them both over, until she was on top of him, "show me your rage."
Her eyes burned at him, in desire and in anger over how badly his lies had twisted her need for him--had made it dark and dangerous. She wanted to just deny him, but she knew that wasn't possible.
She leaned in close to him, their lips almost touching; if he wanted a lioness, he would get it. "You want to see my rage?" she challenged.
"Yes," he stated in his matter-of-fact way.
She growled at his equilibrium at their situation. She nipped at his lips, tongue flicking out to taste them afterwards. When he opened his mouth, she nipped at one of his lips and then moved out of their range, sliding down to graze her teeth over his throat, nipping at it. He groaned. Her teeth ran over to torment a sensitive spot on his neck, biting at it roughly.
Michael groaned and held her to him, as she marked him. "Harder," he begged. His hips thrust into hers.
She obliged his request, as he shuddered, moaning under her. Her hands stroked down to trace over his stomach, slowly working up toward the taut, small nipples which she could feel pressing toward her.
He tried to move her hand up to one, aching to feel her touch on his sensitive skin, but she slapped his hand away. Then, to remind him who had control here, she moved down to set her teeth at the crook of his neck, marring the delicate skin there, as he cried out for more, holding her to him.
Her fingers, meanwhile, finally reached their destination and lightly flicked against his nipples. His arousal jumped in response. "More," he gasped. Running her teeth up off the skin of his neck and releasing him--to his strangled cry--she then licked down his chest to capture one tender bud in her teeth. He gave a throaty scream and held her head firmly to him. "More, . . . please, more."
Nikita indulged him by suckling him sharply, her hand tormenting the twin. "Yes," he gasped. "God, yes."
She continued by flicking her tongue rapidly over him before running along him with her teeth. His breathing was incredibly unsteady. She then licked it goodbye and suckled his other nipple briefly before moving lower, knowing his real need was elsewhere.
His boots and socks were quickly removed before she came up to straddle his thighs. She locked eyes with him, as she lightly stroked her fingers over his need. He took in a breath and closed his eyes, head back. She leaned down and placed a light kiss on him to his strangled gasp. Then, very delicately, she released his tortured arousal.
A few seconds later, the rest of his clothes off and discarded, she straddled him again. She smiled down at his need; he was never a small man, but his current arousal had swollen him to truly impressive proportions. Her hand closed around his length and stroked lightly along it. Then, she leaned her head down to expel her hot breath over him.
He gave a strangled gasp and looked up at her desperately. "`Kita . . . please."
She smiled at him and flicked the very tip of her tongue lightly against him. He let out a cry, as his breathing grew more imperilled.
She took pity on him and slipped the head into her mouth, as her hand caressed the tightened sac below his shaft. He wasn't breathing. She sucked the head, as her other hand slowly traced the vein along him. Michael gasped sharply.
She continued her torture, nibbling lightly at the tip before running her tongue under its edge. She then plunged her mouth down over him, while encircling the bottom of his shaft with her hand, stroking him.
He let out a moaning scream, as he unconsciously arched his hips at her. God, he wanted this worship to continue, but he needed more. He *had* to be inside of her. He wouldn't last this way for long.
"`Kita?" his voice gasped out. He hadn't the will left to physically stop her.
She ran one hard suck up to his tip, releasing him with a final lick. She smiled knowingly, with fake innocence. "Yes, Michael?"
He could feel her heat pressed against his thighs. His eyes were heated and feral. "Come here."
She smiled; she rather enjoyed tormenting him this way. "What if I don't want to?"
He was upon her, before she realized he had moved, turning her under him. His eyes were aflame. "Then, I'll just have to convince you otherwise."
His hands ran long strokes up and down her willing body. He bent his head to worship at an overly-sensitive, aroused nipple, as his hands ran down to stroke up her outer thighs, holding them up around his hips. His arousal throbbed against her.
His tongue stroked back and forth over the nipple. "You don't want me?"
She groaned, holding him to her, still silent. She didn't want to give him the sort of control over her that her need for him had always engendered.
His hands slid around to her inner thighs and parted them, stroking against their silk. His arousal nudged her core.
One hand parted her depths, and he teased her with the tip of his shaft. She whimpered. He moved up to lick one of his fresh marks on her neck. "Tell me you want me."
Her hands were on his back, as her hips were trying to thrust to take him in. He held her away.
She didn't want to need him this badly. "No," she moaned in answer. He moved to taste her throat. His shaft would dip into her depths just enough to tease her and then pull back out. Her core was practically glowing with heat and need for him. "Tell me."
"Michael." Her hands ran down to try to pull him into her, but he stopped holding down her hip and caught them, trapping them over her head with one hand.
He locked eyes with her. "Say it." He was stroking shallowly just in and out of her.
She closed her eyes.
"Look at me," he demanded quietly. He was in complete control of himself. She did as he asked, eyes flaring. "Say it." He held completely still at her depths.
She was caught between blazing, insane desire for him and fury--at him and herself--for having this feeling. She gritted her teeth, giving in angrily. "I need you."
He smiled slightly.
"I want you." She surrendered to her body and him in quiet fury.
"Good," he stated plainly. He took hold of her hip and gave her the reward for her admission. He slid slowly into her, stretching her with his entry. She gasped and closed her eyes. "More," she said, through gritted teeth.
He completed his entry in one final stroke which left her shaking. He still had her hands pinned; his other hand was on her lower back.
She wrapped her legs around him. "Bastard," she whispered, once her immediate trembling ceased. Her feet pushed him into her. She opened her eyes. "Do it. . . . Hard."
His face softened, and he released her arms, leaning down to kiss her softly, his hands stroking her face. He ran his hands down her body to hold her hips, as he began moving in her.
They both closed their eyes. Every stroke was perfection. "More," she moaned, her anger flaring her need.
He increased his pace, moving almost completely in and out of her with every stroke. He leaned in to kiss her, and she accepted it, losing herself in his mouth for a minute. Then, she pulled back and looked at him. "I hate wanting you, Michael. I hate . . . uhhhh," he moved a stroke deeper, "uhhhh-ohhhh . . . more." She caught her breath for a second, closing her eyes. "I hate needing you."
Still watching her, he moved his hands behind her and rode her deeper. Her hands clawed his shoulders.
"Damn you . . . more." She looked at him. "I hate that you feel so God-damned good." She whimpered, as he rode her further in.
His face was still almost impassive, although his breathing was very ragged. "Do you like it?" His pace was relentless, matching her heartbeat; he played her desires as though they shared one body. His hands were on her lower back.
She closed her eyes again. "Yes."
"Look at me." She did, reluctantly. "I'm *yours*," he insisted. "*No one else* has me like this." He was on his knees, using them to help propel himself into her. His hands moved further up her body. His voice was desperate and breathy, although his eyes were steady. "You *own*--you *are* my desires."
He propped himself on his arms and changed his strokes, giving her long thrusts, purposely rubbing against the entrance to her depths and down one wall with each one; she was quivering slightly beneath him. "Now shut up, admit that we're mated," he continued his pattern but stroked her harder to emphasize his point, "and let me please you."
She nodded shakily at him, unable to overcome her physical needs. He dipped his head to suckle her breast. His strokes got harder, as he made sure they hit her with just the sort of rough pleasure she wanted. "Oh . . . more . . . Michael," she begged, her mind surrendering to him further.
He held her hips up to him, as he sat up. His hips danced roughly against her, bending her to his will. She was groaning, head back. "Tell me what you want." His eyes burned at her.
She looked up at him, her breathing unsteady, her eyes wet. His rhythm burned in her, escalating her desire. "More, Michael, please."
He moved in closer, deeper. "Tell me."
His strokes were sweet, rough fire; there wasn't much left of her conscious mind. "Uhhhhh . . . Michael . . . PLEASE!"
"*What* *do* *you* *want*?" he demanded quietly.
She groaned desperately, willing to say--to do anything now to gain the aching release he tormented her with. "You! YOU! . . . Take me, Michael, PLEASE!" She was crying. Her legs were wrapped around him like a vise, her feet pressing him into her.
He smiled at her and slid himself up her body, resettling her hips to the bed. His hands grasped her shoulders, as he gave her long, very hard strokes. "Very good, my love." He bit along his marks on her neck, until he reached her breast; he suckled it roughly.
Her hands gripped his shoulders, as she let out little whimpering gasps with each stroke.
He licked the breast once more and looked up at her. "Now . . . come."
He returned to her breast and bit her perfectly, as he gave her three sharp, shattering strokes in quick succession, each deeper than the last. As the final one connected, she arched toward him and gave several little strangled gasps. Her nails tore at his shoulders. The hot, liquid pleasure radiated through her in spasms, tossing her body helplessly on the bed. She couldn't quite get out a coherent sound.
He licked around the nipple in circles and then looked up, as she was still struggling. "Good but not enough."
He lay himself over her and grabbed her hips. Then, he began pumping almost brutally into her, while she was still spasming around his shaft. She gasped and tried to make a sound. "Mi . . . chael . . . no." She panted, overwhelmed by desire. "T-too much." She was arching desperately toward him, caught between thunderously escalating need and fear for her own sanity.
Her legs had loosened slightly around him; he took them and spread her thighs, holding them down, as he ravaged her willing, aching depths. "You're wrong. It's not enough."
His strokes created the most incredible, shuddering tension in every part of her core. She arched her hips up at him, meeting his every insane stroke and gave up to her need. "Oh--oh, God, Michael . . . harder."
He smiled, holding her thighs down, and commanded her depths with his almost-dangerous strokes. Finally, when her whole body was quivering and she was barely able to draw breath, he pulled back and flew into her with a stroke which exceeded them all, as his mouth came down to claim hers. She felt the stroke, felt him twitch inside her, and she spasmed wildly beneath him, divesting herself completely to him with his kiss.
Her arms encircled him, clinging to him desperately, as the shock waves of her staggering release overpowered her, shook through her. She trembled around him, as she weeped through the kiss.
He held her more tenderly now, kissing around her face, as she still clung to him. "Yes, my love. . . . Perfect."
Quite awhile later, when she had regained some of her senses, she looked up at him in alarm. "Michael?" He was still throbbing in need inside of her. How the hell he managed this sort of thing she would never know. "Ssh, my love." He stroked her face. "Are you mine?"
She wanted to be able to deny it, wanted to be able to rid herself of him, but she understood the truth of it now; there was a sensual understanding between them which transcended logic. It wasn't lust, though, was more than just physical need. . . . They were mated.
She nodded. He--and her own primal instincts--had proved his point. "Yes."
"Are you my mate?"
"Yes, but . . ." she began, unsure where his thoughts were heading.
He kissed her. "Then, I need you, my beautiful lioness."
She looked up at him, bewildered.
He held her hip and slowly pulled out of her. "No," she protested, groaning, unwilling to lose him.
He put his hands on her back and dipped his head to her breast again, suckling lightly on the ridiculously-overstimulated bud; he pressed his need temptingly against her. She whimpered.
He looked up at her. "Do you want me?"
She nodded. "Yes, Michael." He licked her breast to her intake of breath.
"Yes, my lion."
"Good." He pulled back and rolled her over. He leaned over her and ran a hand under her--to her slick stomach. "Then, mate with me, my love." He pulled her up on her hands and knees.
Nikita agreed willingly, amazed at how much desire she felt for this man, how endlessly he could arouse her.
Michael pulled her wet hair off her back and trailed it over her right shoulder. His arms encircled her, leaning forward to stroke the slick skin of her body. His arousal teased her depths, as he bent his head to lick the sweat from her shoulder.
She moved back against him, waiting for his entry. He had awoken a primal need in her--to become one with her mate in the least human, most atavistic way.
Still tasting her shoulder, he asked, "Are you ready?"
"Yes." She turned her head to find his mouth, and they shared a deep, sweet kiss. His hand ran down her body and stroked her bud before holding her open for himself.
He teased her for a second, just inside her. Then he broke the kiss and closed his eyes, overwhelmed, as he slid slowly into her. Nikita let out a contented sigh.
He rested his head on her shoulder. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes."
She spread her legs a bit, inviting him in more. "Please . . . Michael," she begged. As he had needed his lioness before, now she needed her lion. His mate wanted him. It was more than he could stand. He began moving in her with deep, slow strokes.
God, this felt good. "Yes . . . ohhh . . . more," she pleaded, meeting his rhythm.
He took hold of her hips and fell into complete synch with her. He was stroking faster, almost completely in and out of her beautiful, slick body. His thrusts seemed to touch her soul. Her head was back. "Uhhh, more." He began stroking more sharply up into her, loving her sounds, bewitched by her smooth, hot core. "`Kita," he moaned.
His voice, his need aroused her further. Her words were broken by her sighs of pleasure. "Please . . . please, Michael . . . I need . . . more . . . of you."
The beast was rising in him. He had to have more of her, too.
He parted her legs and wrapped them back around himself, still stroking hard into her, as she supported herself on her hands. Ohhh, yes. That was it. "Uhhhhh . . . ohhhh . . . yes," she moaned, in utter agreement. He was becoming primal, possessive. He lay over her, leaning over to her ear, forcing her arms and his legs to support them both--which they somehow managed.
He needed her wild. "Do you like this?" he whispered, still holding her thighs. He stroked her harder.
If her life had depended on it, she still couldn't have strung together an entire sentence; his body was working perfectly on needs she could never have consciously identified. "Uhhh . . . ohhh, Michael, yes . . . please."
"Are you mine, Ni-ki-ta?" He stroked her more quickly, incredibly aroused, increasingly feral.
Tears of pleasure were coming to her eyes. "Oh, God, yes . . . uhhh . . .more."
He obliged, getting a bit rougher. "Do you want anyone else?"
"No! No. . . . More." She was addicted to the feeling of him inside her. "Who does your body belong to?" He began stroking her bud with his hand, leaving no doubt about her forthcoming answer.
She screamed, becoming overwhelmed. "God! God! . . . You, Michael--only you!"
He bit the side of her neck. "And who does mine belong to?"
She was quiet for a second, old fears reentering some fragment of consciousness. He gave a rougher thrust to prompt her, and the doubts dissolved somewhat. "Uhhh, God! Me."
"Say it louder," he demanded. She was going to get this point if he had to stroke them both into a coma.
"Uhhh . . . Me! You . . . uhhhh . . . you belong to me!" she told him, believing it more.
Her fears subsided further. "Mine! You're mine!"
"Claim me!" he commanded, stroking much faster. "UHHHH." She believed him more. Once she regained a bit of breath, she told him. "Uhhhhhh . . . YOU'RE MINE, MICHAEL!" It was a shout, if a breathy one.
His hand on her bud became as insistent as his thrusts. "And what is anyone else I'm with?" He was being entirely ruthless with her body.
"THEY'RE A LIE!" She screamed, as he stroked harder. "They're just . . . UHHHHH . . . a lie!"
"Yes." He had won; she believed.
He leaned forward even further, his thrusts brutal. "Come, my lioness. Come for your mate!" He pinched her bud.
"Oh God. Oh God . . . Uhhhh!" Michael stabbed deep into her, very hard. "Yes . . . God . . . MICHAELLLLL!!!"
He held onto her shoulders, holding her deep on him, feeling her deep, uncontrollable spasms around him. "Yes, yes. That's it. . . . My Nikita." He buried his head in her shoulder. "My Nikita."
She felt him thrust once more and then release himself in her, holding her incredibly close. She could feel his tears on her shoulder, as he trembled over her.
"Ohhhhh," he moaned, as his shaft danced uncontrollably within her in release.
"Yes, my lion," she whispered.
After several minutes, he pulled himself together enough to unwrap her legs from him and pull her to sit on his lap, her back still against him. He kissed her temple and her cheek.
She held his hands, as they held her. She rubbed her face up against him. "Mmmm . . . Michael."
He lowered them both down to the bed, settling on top of her. Then, murmuring, "Mine. . . . Mine," he drifted off to sleep, taking her with him.
Nikita's dream continued. Considering where it had gone so far, however, she really didn't have any complaints.
In it, she thought she woke up to find Michael still wrapped around her from behind. He was still buried inside of her.
She sighed contentedly. His soft breath hit her shoulder; his hands still held her close. . . . She didn't want it to end.
She stroked one of his hands under her and felt his lashes flutter open against her back; his smile formed against her skin. "`Kita." His voice seemed surprised but very happy. He kissed her shoulder with soft lips.
Suddenly, though, the spell was broken. He sat up quickly and pulled slightly away. "I'm sorry." His voice seemed pained. He slid himself out of her to their mutual groan.
A sudden terror took hold of her heart, as her mind spun in horror: "Not again. Please, not again." She turned over, frightened that he was leaving.
To her slight relief, however, Michael seemed confused by the fear in her eyes. "`Kita, what's wrong?" He stroked her face with his hands.
"You're not leaving?" she asked in a childlike tone.
His eyes were surprised . . . confused. He held her face closer. "Why would I ever leave you?"
"But you pulled away. . . . You apologized." He gave her a sweet, innocent smile. "I was afraid I was crushing you-- that you were uncomfortable."
She touched the beautiful smile, looked up into the innocence and love of his eyes. Reality dawned. This wasn't the Michael she had just been with-- the ruthless Section animal. This was the man she had only had three, far- too-short, days with. "Michael?"
His sweet smile deepened; he stroked her cheek. "Of course, my love."
"Ohhh," she moaned, a second before she threw herself into his arms, holding him painfully close to her. She was crying both from joy at his presence and from the sorrow of having spent weeks without him. "Michael, I've missed you."
"Ssh, my love . . . ssh." He held her in strong arms, his hands soft and tender on her back. "I'm always with you." He kissed her cheek lovingly.
She took in a breath. His soft touch aroused her perilously.
She panted slightly, holding him close; she couldn't quite take in her good fortune. "No . . . no, you're gone." There was a slight catch in her voice, her tears having mostly subsided. "When I look in his eyes, I can't see you."
He smiled, as he kissed her cheek again. "But I've seen you," he assured her. His hands smoothed a comforting warmth into her back; his light kisses trailed down the side of her face, spreading reassurance. He placed a wet kiss just under her jaw. She moaned. "I'm always there."
She pulled back at these words and looked at him. She was suddenly ashamed of her earlier tryst with his Section twin--with the cruel, ruthless side of this gentle man; her eyes filled with tears once more. "I'm sorry, Michael. You must be disgusted with me."
He was completely confused, not following the line of her thoughts, and reached out to stroke her face. "No. Why would I be?" He seemed concerned for her emotional state.
She rubbed her cheek tremulously in his hand but then pulled away. Her hands held onto her legs, as she stared at the bed. "Because I still want him."
He tilted his head toward her to catch her eyes. "And not me?" His worry was lessening; he already knew her answer.
She tried to look up at him but couldn't do it. He turned her head gently toward him, his eyes soft. His thumb stroked over her cheek. "Do you want me, Nikita?" he asked again.
She looked over his features, and her breathing quickened; he was so achingly beautiful. She reached her hand toward him but pulled back at the last second. . . . She didn't deserve him.
He caught her hand and held it up to his cheek. Her fingertips stroked it lightly. She refocused from them to his eyes. "Yes . . . I want you."
"But you want him, too," he stated. Her eyes filled with tears, and she began to pull her hand back from him, defeated. He caught it, though, and kissed the palm, returning it to his cheek once more, never breaking eye contact. "Why do you think that's wrong?" he wondered.
This time she did remove her hand, but he refused to let her withdraw completely. He held onto it--stroking it gently.
She allowed this but was still saddened; she tried to explain. "How many times has he hurt me? How many more is he planning to?" She shook her head. "What kind of freak am I that I still need him?" She looked away, tormented. "Do I just have some sick, masochistic need to be hurt?" His eyes were still gentle. "Is it pain you really want from him? You want him to hurt you--to control you?"
"No!" she answered instinctively, looking up at him.
"Precisely," he smiled. He tried to show her her own reasons. "What do you want from him?"
"God, I don't know," she answered truthfully, before her irony rose. "A good, hard fuck on those days I *don't* feel like punching him in the face?"
He laughed softly and started to draw her toward him. "Come here, my beautiful one." He held her close to him, his chin on her head, letting her draw comfort from him. She sighed. "It's more than just physical for either of you," he assured her.
She smiled slightly. "Then, could you tell me what it is?"
He kissed her head. "You and I are connected; we always have been. The monster," he couldn't help but think of his Section twin in these terms, "can't help but feel that, . . . but he isn't capable of sharing himself with you gently. There's too much pain, . . . too much grief for both of you; it has to come out when you're intimate with him."
He pulled back to look at her. "I and the monster are parts of a whole. We both love you, but we can't do it in the same way. His love is greedy-- possessive. Mine is giving." He kissed her tenderly, to her slight sigh. "And you love each of us the same way in return."
She shook her head, her eyes still teary; she understood his words, knew he was right, but she still wasn't really comforted. "I don't want to need him."
"I know," he smiled gently, "but you don't need or want his brutal side; you don't want pain." He kissed her delicately again, trying to comfort the fears her brutalized childhood had instilled. "Part of you is feral, though--it needs its mate."
He stroked her temple, his smile continuing. "That's not wrong; it's . . . human. You're just conflicted, because of all the pain, . . . all the memories."
He stroked her hair, continuing to explain. "You'll never be like your mother, Nikita. You don't think pain is your birthright." He leaned in and kissed her more deeply--to her moan--before pulling back. His soft, serious eyes pressed his point. "Neither does he." He looked saddened.
"There's not much he isn't capable of--it's true. Your relationship with him will never be . . . sane as long as you're both in Section." He sighed. "The only thing I will confidently tell you about him is that he will *never* hurt you sexually," his voice dropped to a whisper, "even if he finds every other method available."
She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, rubbing her face next to his. "I hate that side of myself," she whispered. "I hate that I need him that way."
"I know," he assured her, "but it's not what led your mother into the life . . . the abuse she lived in." He kissed her cheek. "You don't have to fear your needs." He laughed slightly into her hair. "You've never enjoyed being a submissive. It's unlikely you'll start now."
She held him very close and kissed his face. "Thank you."
He smiled. "Anytime."
She laughed and held him closer, running her hands over the beautifully-defined lines of his back. He sighed and returned the gesture.
After a few minutes, she leaned back to look at him. "I do love you," she whispered.
He stroked her cheek, and she turned to kiss his palm. "I never doubted it." Both his hands cupped her face; he searched her eyes for a second and then gently brushed his lips to hers, bestowing feather-like kisses on them, until they opened on her sigh.
Their mouths merged together, tongues softly exploring the wonders of the other. They stroked the soft insides of the cheeks, the hard roofs--curved around the lines of teeth. Their tongues happily puzzled out new configurations between them, new ways to stroke tenderly against the other, to taste all of their beauty.
Their hands, meanwhile, traced curves and lines, stroked fingertips lightly down sides, tested just how light their touch could be and still have the muscles react--blissfully wanting more.
Michael's hands stroked delicately under her breasts and felt her nipples awaken to beg for more. He smoothed his hands down her stomach and abdomen, stroking fingertips over her thighs. They then moved up to glide past her hips and around to her back.
Nikita's hands took the opposite route, running up strong thighs to feel his abdomen and stomach. They stroked up to his shoulders and then back down, brushing past his taut nipples, coming up next to cradle his neck and head, holding him to her, increasing the intensity of the kiss.
His arousal throbbed against her, his need for this strong, beautiful soul overwhelming. He pulled his lips along her tongue, releasing the kiss. "Please, my beautiful one, let me touch you." He kissed softly at her lips, watching her eyes.
"Yes, Michael," she agreed. She needed his hands on her, or she would die.
He held onto her back and kissed her, as he lay her down on the bed, knees astraddle. He moaned slightly, as he came to rest on top of her. He pulled back from the kiss to look in her eyes, his hands running over her. "You're so perfect, Ni-ki-ta--so soft." He kissed her again before temporarily forcing himself away from her lips.
He kissed over her cheek to her earlobe, gently teasing it--kissing it-- tasting it with his tongue. She held his head to her.
After a few minutes, his tongue ran lightly down her neck, sending shivers in its wake. "Yes," she moaned.
He sought out the tender spots on her skin, running the tip of his tongue softly over them. All of her earlier marks from his Section side had disappeared.
He suckled at each tender area on her neck, as she moaned and held him to her for more. Occasionally, his teeth nipped gently at her before he resumed suckling. She let out little sighs and moans.
As his mouth continued this pattern around her neck and throat, his hands stroked up to her breasts. His thumbs ran lightly over her nipples, as she pressed them into his hands to receive his touch.
"Michael," she moaned.
He moved down to one perfect breast finally, his mouth trailing a warm glow all the way. His tongue circled her nipple and lapped it into his mouth. She held him to her, moaning. "Yes."
He suckled her there--covering her, loving her in his warm, wet mouth. The warmth he created there was radiating through her, was running down to demand an answering tug within her depths. Her hips were beginning to arch toward him.
He released her to stroke the tip of his tongue over her several times before suckling again. His hand, too, was very lightly teasing its twin, reminding it that it wouldn't be neglected.
Her hands ran through his soft hair, as he worshipped her. Everything he did felt so good. She was emitting a sort of constant whimpering groan. Finally realizing that he needed to move on, he closed his teeth over her lightly, running up to release her. He gave a final, wet kiss to the bud and then moved to its double.
"Yes," she whimpered.
His hand gently soothed the nipple he had abandoned. His tongue greeted his newest plaything by flicking at it strongly for several seconds. He suckled at it then, before running his teeth lightly over it, and soothing it again in circles with his tongue.
Nikita's hands on his head were almost painful. "Mi-chael." He was creating an escalating hum in her body, a rhythm which called for him.
He increased the hum by suckling her firmly. She gasped. "Oh, yes."
After a few more minutes of this wonderful arousal, he pulled away with a final lick and moved back up to kiss her for a second before looking at her again. He smiled. "Roll over."
She looked a bit confused. He kissed her gently and then smiled at her again. He put his hand on her shoulder and lifted her, encouraging her movement, until she obliged.
He smiled down at her, as she settled her head on her arms. He moved her hair to rest over her right shoulder, since her head was turned left. He straddled her legs, holding most of his weight on his knees, and leaned over her to kiss her cheek, his arousal pressing into her back. "I love you," he smiled down at her.
She smiled lovingly back at him, and he leaned over to begin his soft enticement by running his tongue lightly over the back of her neck, along the hairline. His hands caressed her back--massaging . . . arousing. She let out a soft moan.
His mouth continued down slightly, giving wet kisses along the back of her neck. She drew in a breath and sighed in pleasure.
His mouth diverged from the path he was creating to close gently over the point between her shoulder and neck, suckling and nibbling at her there. He leaned further over her and reached around her to caress her breasts, stroking and massaging their fullness, while his thumb and fingertips closed over her nipples, stroking them between them.
She moaned, as her hands came down to cover his, encouraging his touch. She arched her neck into his mouth, as well.
He ran his teeth over her skin, as he released her. He pinched her nipples lightly, to her pleased groan. He kissed her cheek, as he released her breasts, taking hold of her hands to lead them away, depositing them once more beneath her head. "Let me please you," he whispered close to her ear, suckling the lobe briefly.
She groaned. "Yes."
He placed a kiss on her lips and returned his attention to her back. His tongue ran a line from her shoulder to her spine; she shuddered slightly in pleasure. He then continued, in this fashion, to lightly trace each rib. His hands stroked along her sides.
The butterfly touch of his tongue intrigued and aroused her. Each time he came to her spine he would suckle briefly at the vertebra, before running his tongue around it and continuing on to the other side.
He was exploring her in intimate, soft strokes. She had never been touched quite like this. Even her attentive lovers, including Michael's Section twin, had never spent quite so much time learning her. . . . It was a wonderful feeling to be worshipped so.
His mouth continued to trace the vertebra down the small of her back, until he reached her soft curves. Moving his body further down her, his arousal now even larger and throbbing near her calf, he kissed each curve before moving off of her slightly. He took hold of her hip and helped her to roll back over.
He looked up at her to give her a quiet smile and saw the look of devotion and love in her eyes. "Michael," she sighed. Then his hands worked up her legs to her thighs, parting them.
He lowered his face to her core and gave her bud a soft, wet kiss--to her sigh of desire. "Yes," she begged.
He smiled again and began softly lapping at the tender bud. Each lap sent a shock of arousal into her.
"More," she begged.
He subsumed the tender flesh with his lips and began suckling her, his tongue stroking her. She was breathing in little labored gasps. His hands kneaded her gently from behind, holding her up to him, increasing the pressure of his touch.
"Oh, yes . . . please," she gasped. The warmth and pleasure from her core was spreading through her, making her ache with tension.
He answered her growing need. He began suckling her hard, pressing her hips up to his hungry mouth.
She was groaning constantly now. One of his hands moved up her stomach to tease an achingly-aroused breast. She caught it and put his fingers in her mouth, suckling him in turn.
He groaned against her and suckled harder. She gasped, groaning, and released his hand.
His warm, wet mouth continued its wonderful, increasing pressure on this most intimate spot on her body. Her need was becoming unbearable.
While all of her attention focused on this tender spot, however, she was driven unexpectedly over the brink by the feeling of his wet, strong fingers entering her deeply, running down one of her walls and straight to one of her most pleasurable weak spots.
"Oh God! Michael!" she cried, her hips bucking against him. The vibrations from his mouth and fingers quivered through her, warming her--comforting her. She gave a little whimpering cry, as she shook slightly beneath him.
He licked her bud tenderly, as she came down. Finally, once her tremors had ceased, he kissed it gently and removed his hand from her. He put his fingers in his mouth and closed his eyes, loving the taste of her; he moaned slightly and then kissed his way slowly up her body, stopping briefly to suckle at her breasts.
Her hands ran down his sides to his hips, as he returned to her. They proceeded to feel his chest and back, as he kissed her. . . . God, she wanted to touch him--to taste him.
His eyes blazed with love and desire, as he broke the kiss to look at her. His arousal throbbed almost painfully, taunting her depths. "I need you, my beautiful one." His hand stroked her face. "I need you now."
She shook her head, eyes pleading. Her hands roamed over him. "Michael . . . let me touch you. . . . Please."
He took one of her hands and led her to his thickened arousal. Her hand closed over the throbbing shaft, and his already shaky breathing went completely erratic. He took back her hand and held it in his, his other stroking her face.
He kissed her before looking at her again. His eyes were wet and seemed to shine so brightly with love and need that it bordered on madness. "Please, Ni-ki-ta." His voice was almost broken with passion. "I need you," he whispered.
God, she wanted to touch him, to taste his beautiful shaft--to hold it in her mouth. She needed even more, though, to feel him deep inside her. Besides, she couldn't deny his plea.
She loosed her hand from his and held his face in both of hers, pulling him to her for a deep, slow kiss. She pulled back from it for half a second to look at him, while her hands roamed down to his hips. "Yes," she whispered before kissing him again.
Michael moaned through the kiss in desire. His hands ran down to her smooth thighs, parting them further. He danced his arousal teasingly against her before running his hands back behind her.
He moaned, as his tip was taken in by her. He pulled her up to him and slowly began to sink each throbbing inch into her tight, warm depths. Nikita moaned and broke the kiss. She knew this was the pace he needed for now, but she was half-insane with the need to feel him completely in her--his beautiful, throbbing shaft being caressed deep inside her depths. "Please," she begged. Her hands were on his hips, as she tried to restrain herself from pulling him into her in one hard, deep thrust.
He gave her a tender look but one which begged for indulgence. He captured her mouth again, softly ravaging the depths there to try to give her some temporary relief.
Her hands grabbed at his shoulders, and she moaned, as he continued his slow, sensuous entry.
When he was almost completely inside her, he pulled back for a second.
Nikita broke the kiss to cry out. "No!" A second later, though, he had stroked deep inside her, entering her completely.
She held his cheek to hers, her breathing labored. "Yes," she whimpered in a tiny voice.
He untangled her from around him and gave her a deep, soft, lingering kiss. His hands held her hips. He pulled back finally and looked at her. "I love you."
Her heart overflowed with her love for this tender, beautiful man. "Michael." She touched his face, eyes wide.
He smiled at her and began stroking into her. She closed her eyes. Every stroke filled her completely, touched her soul more intimately than there were words for.
He watched her happily and allowed her legs to wrap tightly around him. He began kissing her temple. "If you only knew," he whispered between kisses around her face, "how beautiful you feel."
He kissed her again, and she looked up at him, eyes full of love. "Heaven will never feel this good." He smiled beautifully.
Oh God, she needed him--needed to feel his soul singing in her. "Hold me, Michael . . . please." She pulled his head down to her, kissing him desperately. "Love me."
He encircled her in his arms and leaned over her, pressing her head back into his hand with the kiss. He stroked in her deeply, more insistently. She moaned. "More," she pleaded before continuing the kiss.
His lips pressed into hers, his tongue stroking hers insistently. His hands were on her upper back, as his strokes increased.
She could feel the head of his shaft sliding trhough her--back and forth, resting each time in her delicately sensitive core. She held his face in her hands, as she whimpered through the kiss.
Her tight depths massaged him in so beautifully intimate a way, as she responded to his thrusts. He couldn't help becoming more aroused, growing further inside of her.
She whimpered, trembling, as she held him to her, her hands on his back; her legs wrapped even more tightly around him. His swelling in her increased the incredible friction of their bodies against each other. Her kiss was now probably painful in its insistence.
He sped up again, as she met him, stroke for stroke. He broke the kiss. "No one else feels like you," he whispered. He moaned and kissed her cheek. "No one else holds me like you."
Nikita was groaning. "Deeper," she begged, gasping. She dropped her head to suckle on the skin between his shoulder and neck.
He groaned and swelled further within her. "Yes . . . good." He moaned and stroked her harder, thrusting even deeper into her hot depths. Nikita groaned before continuing to suckle him harder. He stroked her so perfectly, his head hitting her in just the way she most desperately needed him. There were tears coming to her eyes.
She was biting him slightly now. He groaned, holding her head to him. "Yes . . . yes." He continued to increase his thrusts.
She let go of his neck. "Oh God, Michael." She pulled her head back to look at him. Her eyes were desperate and loving.
So were his. They continued watching each other, as he reached down to hold her hips. Neither could speak. He used her hips to pull himself into her in hard thrusts.
She was crying--connecting with his liquid stare; she couldn't break the look. Their souls were entangling through their eyes--pleading with each other to understand the depths of their love and need.
His strokes were overwhelming her--each one echoing through her in shockwaves of loving desire. His head was rampaging through her slick depths before connecting with her heavily, making her desire escalate almost unbearably.
"Yes," she mouthed.
His hands took hold of her lower back, and he presented her with several, increasingly intense, sharp strokes. Her mouth opened, her lips trembling. Her eyes were wide in desire and understanding. He gave her one more deep stroke and then held still, feeling the beginning of her contractions around him.
They were both on the edge. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, his cheek by hers, as she held him tightly. Every muscle in them was poised, unable to take any further tension. They were both panting.
Their eyes closed, as they felt the other's love wrap around them--through them. It threatened to shatter their control, as the bond insinuated itself into every fiber of their increasingly-shared being.
Michael took a breath, trying to speak. His hand caressed her hair. "`Kita." He panted again for a second. He kissed her cheek, while she felt his every heartbeat as her own. "Oh God, Nikita. . . . I love you." "Michael," she whimpered, as he gave her one final stroke.
They both cried out, holding each other. The embrace would have been painful if they had still been separate beings, but they no longer were. As they arched into each other in shattering pleasure, they became whole, became what they should always have been--a single entity.
Their hearts, their souls reached out to and wrapped through each other, intermingling completely; it was a feeling of such light as to be almost blinding. Their shared body was trembling with the force of it.
They felt--they knew everything in the other at that moment. Most overwhelmingly, though they understood that they had finally joined--that nothing could ever separate them again.
They stroked each other's hair, as they became lost in one another. Their overpowering physical release blended seamlessly into this new, complete spiritual bond; it was an absolutely unified experience.
They had both forgotten the old boundaries--where their bodies began and ended. It didn't matter anymore. . . . They were one.
As they finally began to come down together, they sighed--feeling and revelling in their mingled love, before the whole of them finally fell asleep.
I should mention for this part that I realize the pronouns are a bit odd in places, but . . . well, you'll understand why, as you go along. :) Sorry if it all freaks anyone. :D
Nikita's dream had become so meaningful to her that she had no desire, at the moment, to let her conscious mind remember that this wasn't her reality. The events in her unconscious realm, however, were about to force her to accept a highly-altered version of her usual waking life.
She was convinced again that she awoke in Michael's arms. He was still lying on top of her, ensheathed in her depths, his arms around her, his hands on her back.
She was awakened, however, by the soft stroke of fingers on her arm, although Michael hadn't moved. Her eyes popped open in alarm.
When they did, she looked up to see Michael sitting on her bed, examining her possessively, as he touched her. She gasped, waking . . . whoever this was on top of her.
Her lover looked up at her to see what was wrong, and she saw that he, too, was Michael. She groaned slightly and shook her head, baffled and a bit in shock. "What's going on?!"
The man whose body was still connected to hers smiled gently at her and kissed her cheek. "It's alright, Nikita. It's just us."
She looked back and forth between the physically-identical, naked men in front of her. "`Us'?" Her voice was very small, as she tried to comprehend.
The tender Michael decided that she was going to need a few minutes adjusting to this concept. He took hold of her hip and pulled himself from her, to a shared groan.
Her eyes were closed. "I'm not sure that answered my question any further." She refocused on him.
"Look at me, Nikita," the other Michael's voice shivered through her passionately. She did. His face was harder than her most recent lover's, his eyes less gentle. "You know who I am," he stated authoritatively.
Her face grew a little harder in return. "Yes . . . I do." Seeing him next to his gentle, loving self brought back all of her anger at him.
"You're the son-of-a-bitch who's manipulated me for four years."
The tender Michael stroked her cheek, getting her attention. "Then I am, too."
She shook her head, her eyes softening. "No. You're not. . . . You wouldn't have done any of the things he has."
He nodded. "You're right. But that doesn't make me any less a part of him."
She sat back against the head of her bed, exasperated--drawing away from his hand. "Great." She thumped her hands down on the bed beside her. "So, you're both here to remind me that I'm totally conflicted about you?"
The Section Michael's eyes flashed for a second, remembering too well the conversation he had had with her--when he had told her about that same emotion in himself. "No. That's not why we're here."
"Well?" she prompted.
Her most recent lover smiled tenderly at her impatience. "I know it's hard to accept us both, . . . but we can't be separated." He smiled sympathetically. "It's both or none." It was an explanation, not an ultimatum. "Just as it is with you."
She shook her head in denial. "I don't have two sides."
Her ex-mentor sighed. "Yes. You do," his eyes locked with hers. "Everyone does. . . . And you know it."
His twin looked gently at her, drawing her attention with his soft voice. "You aren't split as radically as we are. . . . Most people aren't." He laughed a little. "You're a lot saner."
She looked over at the hard Michael and then back at the tender one. "Wouldn't it be better if I just got rid of him and focused on you?"
He looked sadly at her and shook his head. "I can't survive in Section." His eyes held terrible memories. "You know that."
She looked down, remembering, a little ashamed that she hadn't protected him better.
"No," he leaned forward to stroke her face--reading her thoughts. "You did your best. You did wonderfully."
"*I* failed," his twin broke in.
"You weren't even there," Nikita pointed out, looking at him--his double's hand still on her cheek.
"Precisely," he agreed.
She gave a little strangled noise of annoyance and hit his arm with the back of her hand--a gesture of frustration, not causing him any real pain. "Dammit!" she yelled, as she connected with him. "You're not responsible for everything! You're a total son-of-a-bitch, and you've screwed up my life something awful, but I *hate* that you think that any time you're human it's a mistake!"
He bore her tirade without any visible outward change. "That one was," he pointed out.
She screamed in frustration again and looked to his twin, whose hand still stroked soothing patterns on her cheek. "Would you tell him to shut up before I *really* hit him?"
He laughed slightly. "He wouldn't mind it even if you did."
She gave a strangled groan. "How sick is that?"
Her Section nemesis lost his patience and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her away from his twin. He looked in her eyes very seriously. "Listen to me. I need you. I don't care if you despise me every second of every day; I don't care if you leave bloody, open wounds on me. It doesn't matter. I just need you to accept that I'm always yours--regardless of what might seem to be true. . . . Anything you do to me after that is irrelevant."
She shook her head, her despair showing on her face. "Don't you see how unhealthy that is, Michael--for both of us?" Her eyes were tearing. "How long can we go on in this endless cycle of hate, passion, and pain?" Her voice got small. "Where will that end?"
The tender version of her lover put his hand on her back, as she and his twin continued to be locked in their stare. "It will end where it's supposed to, `Kita. . . . It will end where it needs to."
She sighed, slightly defeated, and looked at him, the other Michael still holding her arms. He continued, now stroking her face. "I know it's not pretty or perfect. . . . I'm sorry. We both wish it could be." His twin's hands stroked down her arms, as he looked down in saddened agreement. His tender side kissed her lightly and looked at her again. "It doesn't mean we don't love you."
She leaned back against the wall behind her bed--away from both of them-- and took a breath, trying to gather her thoughts. "I just wish I could love you without all the pain and anger."
The gentle twin leaned toward her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her softly before releasing her and leaning back. "We know." He sighed. "We know it's not what any of us want."
He shook his head a little, a small smile on his face, as his mind switched paths slightly. "We're lucky, though, really." His twin focused on him. "Most people never find the other part of their soul; they go for lifetimes--never meeting them--or finding someone convenient, convincing themselves falsely that they've discovered them."
Nikita listened, eyes liquid.
He let out a shaky breath and looked down at the bed. "I'm sorry for all my twin's done to you, `Kita. I wish it could be different--that I could spare you the pain I've given." He looked up at her, sadly. "But--even to save us both the pain of this life--I don't think I could want . . . to not have met you." He looked at his other self and back at her. "I-- neither of us--could live another lifetime without you."
She closed her eyes, head lowering. "Neither could I."
She sighed, after a second, mind switching tracks slightly, and looked up. "It doesn't seem fair, though."
"No," he agreed, "it doesn't."
She looked at the Section Michael. "You'll just hurt me again, won't you?"
He nodded, eyes filled with torturous knowledge. "Yes . . . whenever it can't be avoided."
"Whenever Section says it can't be avoided," his twin amended.
The Section side accepted this as the truth. "Yes," he sighed. "But it won't stop me from needing you."
"Or me from loving you," his other side added.
She closed her eyes again and shook her head. "Jesus, the Fannings look sane compared to this."
"No," the tender one answered, stroking her leg lightly. "David Fanning needed a victim." He looked over at his twin, once she looked up. "*He* doesn't want to hurt you."
"It's not really enough, is it?" she asked.
They shook their heads, looking at her. "No."
She let out a tired breath and leaned her head back for a minute before refocusing on them. She then began laughing slightly.
"What is it?" her ex-mentor asked.
She was still laughing a little. "Well, I just realized I've been having a deep conversation with two sides of the same man, while we all sat on my bed, totally nude. . . . Doesn't that strike you as a bit funny?"
He shook his head, accepting it with his usual stoicism. "No."
The tender side smiled at her.
"I'll have to buy you a sense of humor for Christmas," she chuckled.
The tender side smiled. "He has one. He just keeps it in a drawer until it's needed."
She laughed even harder. The situation seemed ludicrous.
She stopped laughing suddenly, though, when her mind began to really take in the situation; maybe it was all really just embarrassing. She blushed slightly, unaccountably beginning to feel her nakedness.
Her Section mentor examined her analytically. Then, he leaned forward and placed a light kiss on her cheek.
She took in a breath, closing her eyes.
He continued to place very light, teasing kisses down her face, until he reached her neck. There, he sucked a sensitive bit of flesh into his lips and licked it, before nibbling on it slightly. She moaned, holding him to her.
He pulled back after a few seconds and whispered in her ear. "Still embarrassed?"
She opened her eyes and looked at his twin. She released the man she held and looked down. "No." Her breasts were making her arousal fairly obvious to them both. "But," she sighed, looking up, "I want you both."
They both smiled at her; the tender twin's was warm--heart-melting, while his double's was just a slight quirk of the lips. "Why do you think this is a problem?" the Section one asked.
She looked back and forth between them. "Well . . . um." She couldn't think of any delicate way to say it; she took a breath. "You won't both fit into me--not in the way I want, anyway."
"Hell, one of you's enough for any woman," her mind added silently.
Their smiles grew, as though they had heard her thought. The tender Michael answered her. "Let us show you something." The Section twin looked at him and held up his left hand; his double moved over a little and put his behind it. A second later, they had fused into one.
Nikita's eyes grew wide. "How'd you do that?!"
"Touch it," her ex-trainer advised.
She did, tentatively. It was warm, solid--soft. She looked up at them, and the hand took hold of hers, stroking it gently. She groaned and looked back at it.
It continued gently arousing her. At times, however, it seemed to not be joined completely. Two thumbs of the hand would stroke her, then rejoin to stroke as one--whichever was more pleasurable to her.
She looked up at them. "This is weird," she insisted, although her stomach was flip-flopping a little in desire.
They smiled at her and held her hand more lightly. The Section one leaned in to kiss her palm--tongue running out briefly to trace a small line, while his twin took one of her slim fingers in his mouth, suckling it. Her pulse rate doubled, eyes widening again. After a minute, they stopped, looking up at her once more. "It has intriguing possibilities, though, doesn't it?" the tender one asked.
She looked at them. Alright, it was bizarre, but what a fool she would be to pass up an opportunity like this. "It does," she agreed, eyes wide, smiling a bit.
They leaned in to kiss the hand they held and then released it. Then, the hand they had joined separated again, as they each became whole once more.
"We love you, Nikita," her tender lover said. "If you want us, . . . we're yours."
She looked at them both. They were so incredibly beautiful--so perfectly made. She looked over the tender one--his eyes had so much love; he was such an open and giving lover--so delicately, passionately sensual, fulfilling--completing her, both body and soul.
She examined his twin next--his whole manner spoke of some predatory jungle cat, body capable of grace, danger, and a sort of savage beauty; his love was ruthless, endangering but deeply--almost brutally--satisfying. . . . God, yes, she wanted them both.
It was growing increasingly evident, looking at them, that her passion was returned. She opened her arms to them. "Please . . . yes."
They melded themselves into one; they were both still obviously present, however, in some completely indefinable way. They moved toward her and drew her into their arms.
They looked at her for a minute from the same eyes. Love and passion--both violent and tender--shone out to her. A hand pulled her head forward, and they kissed her, leaning her back on the bed.
Two mouths in one seemed to close on hers. One gently sought out ways to please her--touching, tasting. The other possessed her lips, her tongue--demanded acquiescence, commanded her pleasure.
She couldn't keep up with their conflicting demands, but neither seemed to mind. They seemed so happy to be joined to her, needing the soft, sweet depths, the reassurance of her love that the kiss held. . . . It was an amazing experience.
One strong arousal pressed against her nether bud, throbbing against her. She groaned, pressing her hips against theirs. One Michael nipped at her lips, while the other grew slightly more frenzied in his worship of her mouth.
Her hands moved down them, caressing the wide sweep of broad shoulders, tracing down the wonderful, strong lines of muscles, as they quivered in response. Their arousal twitched against her, making her groan again. There was a responding groan and one head rose from her lips to begin nuzzling and kissing down her cheek. When he reached her jaw, he nibbled just under it, suckling at bits of flesh. The other Michael continued to gently arouse her mouth.
The first Michael reached her neck, as he separated from his twin, some parts of them still overlapping. He began nibbling, slightly roughly, at its tender places of need. She moaned and held the other more firmly in the kiss. The first one bit her harder in response.
She gasped in pleasure, and her second lover kissed her once more before breaking away. He kissed tenderly over her cheek to her earlobe, nuzzling at it, suckling it. He then moved down to the unoccupied side of her neck and began suckling the tender places there.
The combination of their skills and passions was amazing. One was so tender with her, worshipping her flesh into warm, tingling arousal. The other was rough in his pleasing, reminding her willing flesh that it was his to passionately torment.
They were overwhelming her; her breathing was increasingly unsteady. When they traced their hands up her body to caress her breasts, she cried out. "Oh, God, yes! Please, Michael, more." She held their heads to her.
One head smiled against her neck in response, while the other growled. The hand on her right breast caressed it, stroked slow lines over the aroused nipple before squeezing her breast tenderly. Its matching hand, however, captured its nipple and rolled it roughly between its fingers; it squeezed her needy breast, reminding it who controlled its desires.
"Ohhh!" she cried. Her hands left the soft hair she had been caressing and--passing through their bodies ethereally--came to rest on their solid hands, holding them more tightly over her breasts.
She blinked suddenly, realizing what had happened. She looked up. "How did I do that?"
They ceased teasing her neck momentarily to look up at her. "Does it matter?" the Section one asked. They each caressed a breast.
She closed her eyes and moaned. "No," she agreed in a small voice.
They each smiled in their own distinct way and then began to move down her body. One licked her softly; the other gave her hard, teasing kisses.
They removed her hands, as they reached her breasts. One licked taunting lines around a nipple; the other ran his teeth lightly over her--repeatedly, followed each time by a soothing stroke of his tongue.
Her hands rested on their heads, stroking their hair, as she sighed in pleasure. Then, in unison, they each took a nipple into their mouths, suckling her firmly.
She moaned out her desire. "Oh, more," she pleaded. "Yes. . . . More."
The man on her right seemed to encircle her with his tongue, as he suckled her. His warm mouth drew her in, aroused her with tender desire.
His twin, however, held her in his teeth, his tongue running over the sensitive tip of the bud. His suckling would then begin again, until he interrupted it to bite her perfectly once more, commanding the aching desire there.
The pleasure from both of them was almost too much. One was soft with her--one hard, but both appealed to opposite sides of her nature. The combination of them was amazing--such skilled lovers--the *same* skilled lover, intent solely on pleasing her, because it was what they both longed for, as well. She loved . . . wanted them . . . him so much. She was moaning constantly by the time they decided to switch off their playthings. They changed sides and repeated their pattern again.
"Ohhhh . . . ohhhh, God, yes," she moaned. Each nipple was now being given the sort of love it had been denied before. One was soothed from its rough treatment by a loving touch--was reminded again of how arousing tenderness could be; the other was aroused yet further, was reacquainted with the mate who possessed it.
She was groaning and panting, completely lost in sensation. The Michael on her right began to move down her body, but the one on her left lifted his head up her slightly, till he kissed over her heart.
"Mmmm," she moaned, kissing the top of his head, as his twin reached and kissed over her abdomen, working downward. She still held them both to her, moaning slightly.
She was surprised, however, by a shock of emotion when the Michael at her heart suddenly flicked his tongue out and then--somehow--into the beating muscle there, placing an ethereal kiss to the symbolic center of her emotions.
"Oh God," she cried.
He kissed it twice more and then leaned up to kiss her cheek before moving to join his twin in tracing down her body.
Nikita's eyes were still closed. She was still in shock from this new ethereal ability of her lover; it had spurred all of her emotions, had connected her with him in the most spiritually intimate way. She had let them both go, overwhelmed, as she tried to remember to breathe. She was lost in loving and erotic sensation.
"I love you," she whispered before opening her eyes again. Michael had corporeally recombined and was now sitting between her parted thighs. He looked up from kissing one and smiled at her. Her eyes shone at him. He gently spread her legs further apart and bent his head to the part of her he loved to tempt the most--the area of her whose desires he most loved controlling.
Tears of love and desire filled her eyes. Then, she felt the shock of two erotic mouths connecting with her tender flesh. She moaned loudly. The tender Michael was licking her bud, like a cat lapping cream. The other held her depths open with his fingers, as he ran his tongue around her--just inside her; he then lowered his mouth further and slid his wet, inventive tongue into her, flicking it at a tender spot he had found.
She held them each to her, as she moaned out her approval. The Michael at her bud began flicking at her remorselessly, while the one inside her stroked a hot path up and down one sensitive wall. They both held her to them from behind, as her breathing became dangerously erratic.
She was groaning very loudly, as her tender lover changed his pattern again. He took her between his lips and stroked at her with the tip of his tongue--up and down mercilessly. His twin created a suction on her with his mouth, drinking from her honeyed depths. She was giving a constant kind of groaning scream.
A second later, her more feral lover plunged himself ruthlessly back into her--his tongue hitting and commanding a secret, quiveringly sensitive, spot.
At precisely the same moment, the other Michael pulled at her with his lips, brushing her with his teeth and a flick of his tongue, as he released her.
Nikita whimpered beneath them. Her hips arched uncontrollably at them, lifting from the bed. She felt incredible shockwaves of pleasure vibrate through her, crashing over her in waves. She moaned, caught in them completely.
Both Michaels rejoined to drink from her deeply, loving the pleasure they had given her. They both knew this was how it should be--that any pleasure either of them gave to their treasured Nikita was right.
They had trouble tearing themselves away from her sweetness to return to her. They eventually did, though, each massaging his way back up, retasting the lovely parts they had missed in their absence at her core.
Once they finally returned to face her, she held them to her, kissing them soundly, possessing their mouth. Their devotion at her depths had made her need for them insane.
Finally, she pulled back and looked at him. "You're mine," she whispered. She rolled him over, landing on top of him, and kissed him again. She nipped slightly at his lips and then began to kiss over his cheek, licking at the stubble with her tongue, before moving down to nibble at his jawline.
Michael groaned, holding her to him. She ran her tongue under his jaw and then kissed lovingly along it.
She moved further down to seek out the delicate spots on his neck, the ones which responded only to her--a fact she only knew in this ethereal place. She caught at one, as he held her to him. She suckled at it, showing it all the erotic attention it deserved. His breathing was a bit shaky in response.
After a few minutes, she grazed at it with her teeth slightly, as she let it go. Michael groaned and gently moved her head on him, guiding her to a spot that needed her attention. "Please . . . hard," part of him groaned. She grazed her teeth over the spot before biting at him, tormenting him. He panted, holding her to him. "More."
She bit him harder and felt his arousal jump against her, growing. "Yes," he moaned. She loved the delicate spot roughly, fulfilling its not-so-tender fantasy.
She had bruised it by the time she left. He was still panting. "Thank you."
His hands guided her again, gently stroking through her hair. Another spot needed her. "Please," his gentle voice asked.
She took the spot softly in her lips, letting her tongue run over it. He moaned. She suckled him tenderly--passionately, as he sighed. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes."
Her hands slid up his chest, meanwhile, until they found the small, hard nipples. She teased him--pinching one, gently rolling the other between her fingers.
"Ohhh, yes, `Kita," he moaned in response. "Please, yes."
She let go of his neck, pausing for a second to run her teeth over and suckle one earlobe. Then, she began to kiss her way down to his chest. He was tense with anticipation.
She licked over to one nipple and ran her teeth over it, as her hand gently aroused its twin. His hands continued in her hair, his voice harsh. "More."
She bit him, suckling roughly, while her hand stroked the back of his shoulder, holding him to her. He moaned. "Oh yes . . . yes."
After a few more minutes of this rough treatment, she licked that nipple goodbye and moved to its double. She took it gently in her mouth and suckled at it. Her hand caressed the abandoned one.
He panted. "Wonderful," he moaned.
A minute or so later, she left this thoroughly-aroused bud, as well. Before she moved further down him, however, she placed her head over his heart and kissed his skin. Then, using his trick, she flicked her tongue into the muscle and kissed him.
He panted, groaning. "Oh God." His voice was rough.
She could feel the connection to him even more strongly here. His love for her beat loudly--washing through her; she understood that she was the only person he really kept there.
"'Kita," he called. He pulled her back up to him and kissed her deeply, sharing his love for her. The kiss and the emotions they shared in it were astonishing. He tried to roll her back over, but she stopped him. She looked up, locking his eyes.
"No, Michael," she told him defiantly. "You're not denying me this."
She smiled slightly and then began to kiss her way back down him. She came to rest with her head hovering over his arousal. She started touching him very softly with her hand, her palm just brushing up and down his length. "I know you need me, Michael," she smiled at him. He forced open his eyes to look at her, her touch already inflaming him. "But I have to taste you."
He closed his eyes, too tortured by the passion she offered him to be able to watch her, but she wouldn't let him go so easily. "Watch me, Michael," she taunted him, as he managed to look at her once more. "Watch me love you."
She reached down below his arousal and cupped the sac beneath; he took in a breath, heartbeat thundering. Then, keeping eye contact with him all the way, she bent down to take the head of his shaft into her mouth, suckling him. The hand below began to caress him, as the other closed around the bottom of his need, stroking firmly upwards.
He groaned loudly, his eyes closing involuntarily, too overcome with her willingness--her desire to please him. She continued stroking his length, as her tongue circled around the tip--tormenting him. He grabbed hold of the sheets. Her tongue ran just under the rim of the head. "Yes . . . yes," he moaned.
She continued to suck him, moving her mouth further down. She took in as much of him as she could, but he was too large to be completely subsumed by her mouth.
It wasn't like it mattered. Not only did he not expect it, he was completely overwhelmed as it was--was groaning loudly enough from her present efforts to please her immensely.
She moved up and down in a rhythm, sucking him hard. His breathing was dangerously erratic, his hips trembling, as they met her pattern softly. She wanted to continue, to coax his sweet warmth from him--which she was very close to achieving. There were two of him this time, after all; maybe she could fulfill one this way, while still saving the other for her hungry core.
"Noooo," she heard him groan. He pulled her away from his aching arousal, brought her up to face him.
His eyes were desperate. "I'm sorry, `Kita," he panted. "I have to have you." He barely had the breath to talk. "Please." He rolled her over until she was beneath him, kissing her deeply as he did. "Now."
Still panting, his hands stroked up her thighs. He held himself over her, his aching arousal pressed just against her depths. "Please," he begged desperately, waiting for her agreement.
She smiled at him and felt his length jump against her. "Oh, yes," she moaned, closing her eyes for a second.
He held her hips and skillfully adjusted his. His body was trembling slightly with his need for her. . . . God, that aroused her.
He leaned his head down to kiss her, his eyes focused on hers, as the head of his shaft began to press into her. She kissed him in return, watching him. Her hands ran down behind him, cupping him, and began to pull him into her. They both groaned, as he started to enter her. The kiss continued lightly, his eyes still locked to hers, as they felt inch by throbbing inch slide slowly into her warm, velvet depths.
The kiss ended. They were transfixed by each other's eyes--able to view the missing part of their soul there.
They were each convinced that they were part of a miracle. Only something holy could create this. They were parts of some ancient mystery, their bodies made--molded perfectly for each other alone.
There had been others, of course; there would be again. But nothing--no one else would ever come close to this. It just wasn't possible. This was sacred--transcending all simple concerns of the flesh. This was a return to a natural, holy state--one most people travel through lifetimes without ever discovering.
They each saw--understood all this in each other's eyes. Every beautiful inch connected them--bound them together, allowed them to join all aspects of their love--mated bodies, mated souls.
He was so close to filling her completely now. No other man would ever feel like this, and she felt clearly through his eyes that he understood without question that no other woman would ever match her.
He had almost reached her limit. They both knew, without doubt, that this was what God had made them for.
He touched her core, reached into her as far as he could go. They both closed their eyes and rested their foreheads against each other. The sensations in this amazing, ethereal place were so intense; they shared all their emotions on top of a complete sensual understanding.
Their arms came up to hold each other, their hands stroking one another's backs. They ran their foreheads lightly against each other's, glorying in the feelings they shared.
"I love you, Michael." It was superfluous to voice it at this point, but she did anyway.
He groaned and held her closer, kissing her cheek. "My `Kita . . . I love you," her joined lovers moaned. His hands massaged her shoulders, as he began to caress her depths in long strokes; her words had sparked his needs. One side of him flared in near-despair at the pain that still lay between them--and the pain yet to come; the other had an overwhelming desire to apologize, to try to make up for all the evil he had done her.
Her arms encircled him completely, as she felt him stroke her. She rested her head against his shoulder. She loved the way he felt in her--the incredible, controlled power he used to please her. She met his thrusts, glorying in being the recipient of his love.
His strokes were long and deep, almost exiting her every time before sliding back into her core. Her soft, yielding depths surrounded him, caressed him with each journey; she wrapped around his throbbing erotic ache, soothing it with her tenderness.
He needed to fill her, needed her to feel him give himself to her--to offer himself in the only way possible for him. "Mmmm," he heard her murmur, as he stroked her slightly deeper. He began breathing more heavily. . . . He couldn't take much more of this.
He pulled back and grabbed her head in his hands, moving her from his shoulder to allow him to taste the sweet depths of her mouth.
"Yes," she murmured between kisses. Her legs wrapped around him, allowing him further into her.
"Ohhhh," he groaned, leaning back from the kiss, his eyes closed. She felt so good, and he needed her so badly. He couldn't be controlled much longer.
The two sides of him merged completely; they both needed her, both had to love her with everything they were. Their reasons varied slightly, but their love was absolute. Without her now, they would die.
He groaned again. His tormented eyes caught hers. "I'm sorry, Nikita," he groaned. "I just can't be gentle tonight."
His mouth closed on hers without giving her time to react. He didn't need to; he felt all her emotions, knew she was in agreement with him. She needed him for all the same reasons.
His lips pressed against hers, pushing her head back into the bed, as he kissed her deeply--demandingly. His hands ran down her sides to hold her hips still, as he took control, needing--more desperately than he could possibly have expressed--to please her.
Her silken walls grabbed him, held tight around him, as he began to give her long, forceful strokes--helping him love her in the way they both so desperately needed. The head of his shaft sent warm shudders through her depths, as it helped thunder a path through her . He stopped kissing her and leaned his head back. She felt so achingly good around him.
Her hands were over his on her hips, helping him to hold her down. She needed him like this--needed his love and desire to be dedicated to her alone, needed to know without doubt that it was real.
Her eyes were closed, as she felt his constant advances. She leaned up blindly to nip at his exposed neck, knowing by instinct where it was.
"Michael," she moaned, as she kissed his exposed throat. "No-ohhh," she was interrupted in her thought when he began to stroke dedicatedly up and down one sensitive wall, leaving sweet fire in his wake. She panted, trying to catch her breath enough to speak. "No one else could ever . . ." She was about to say, "No one else could ever love me like this," but realized what a ridiculous understatement that was. "No one else exists," she murmured finally. She suckled at his Adam's apple.
"Uhhhh . . . `Kita," his harsh voice groaned. "`Kita . . . yes, please." His strokes were still long but were growing much harder. "I," he panted, "need you."
"Yes, Michael, yes," she groaned.
He looked down at her, as she refocused on his beautiful, impassioned face. His entire body was straining above her, was racked with tension. Every muscle was defined in his effort. His thrusts grew deeper.
He was groaning, trying to speak. She put her hands on his neck, holding on--stroking the back of it tenderly. "I want . . . to love you softly, `Kita." He groaned, closing his eyes briefly, holding her hips even closer, as he rode her further in--to her whimpering sigh. He looked at her again, his eyes begging for forgiveness, for understanding. "I can't." He panted. "I have to have you." His eyes were wet. "Forgive me."
He unwrapped her legs from around him and took hold of her silky, tension-filled thighs. He pushed them up her body and then ran his hands further up, placing her legs over his shoulders; the backs of her thighs ran along his chest. He was watching her eyes for a reaction.
He got one. She closed her eyes and moaned. "Oh Michael, yes." She groaned, pushing her hips toward him. "Harder . . . please," she begged. Fortunately, she was limber enough to get away with this position.
He could barely withstand how deep her desire for him ran. His need for her was a fire singing in his blood.
He drove into her with hard, sharp thrusts. She let out little gasping "Oh . . . Oh, yes"es with each stroke. In this position, there was an incredible friction for them both.
He rode her even further up her body. His hands held her hips where he needed them, bending her to their shared will--to the thrum of their overpowering desire for each other.
"Please, Michael . . . Ahhhhh," she cried, panting. "Please, yes. . . . More."
He leaned further over her, riding her hard, his eyes taking in the incredible, impassioned look on her face. "My God, Nikita," he moaned. The head of his shaft was beating into her core with an incessant, mounting rhythm. "There will *never* be anyone but you."
Her eyes were still closed, as she focused on the vibrating tension they were creating between them. He felt absolutely huge inside her, stretching her--filling her in a way so perfect it could never be described. The aching, singing warmth he was giving her was almost unbearable. She wasn't sure it was possible to take any more of him, but she was desperate to try.
"More, Michael," she moaned. She looked at him. "Please . . . give me a little more." She sounded--accurately--like an addict.
He groaned. "You want more of me?"
There were tears in her eyes. "Yes, yes . . . please." Her hands stroked in his hair.
He held her lower back. His eyes were wide and bright. He trapped her firmly beneath him, as his long strokes sang through her--hitting her incredibly deep. "More," he panted, "than that?"
"Ohhhh," she groaned. She dug her heels into his back, trying to hold herself up to him further. "Michael, yes . . . yes, please . . . more."
His hands moved to mid-back. He pumped himself further and further into her depths, his head hitting her hard. "Like that?"
"OHHHH!" She panted, eyes closing. "Ahhh, ohhh . . . more." She looked at him, eyes pleading and willing.
He looked a little frightened, the two sides of him battling slightly. Her hands caught at his hair, pulling it a bit. "Michael, . . . ohhh." She panted once again. "Listen to me. . . . I'm not afraid of you. . . . Please," she was begging, "don't hold back. I need all of you." Her eyes were desperate.
A tormented groan escaped from him, as his tender side gave up on its fears and allowed his ruthless self free range.
He leaned closer to her, riding her further in, stretching her body even more. "You need me?" he asked ferally.
"Yes!" she begged. She closed her eyes, lost in the feel of him. "Ohhh, yes."
"Look at me," he ordered. She did. His hands moved to her shoulders.
"You're mine . . . only mine." He burned deep within her. "Forget it ever again," his Section side warned her, gripping her shoulders, while he stroked brutally into her, "And I can't be responsible for my actions."
His rough rhythm trebled then. He was savaging her depths, as she pulled him further in, groaning roughly.
His hands caught her face; his eyes burned into hers. He was impacting against her core with brutalizing force, his head pummeling her. "Now," his voice was rough, "come, my love," he demanded, as he slammed into her once more and ground himself into her perilously-oversensitized, slick core.
"Mine!" he demanded and repeated the action once more, his mouth closing over hers.
Her groaning scream was caught in the kiss. Her nails raked at his neck. She was weeping uncontrollably, biting at--suckling his lips.
The vibrations sang through her, convulsing her entire body, spasming her helplessly. He leaned back from the kiss, because she was weeping too hard to take part in it. Her eyes were closed.
"Mi . . . chael," she sobbed. She looked up at him, her eyes divesting everything she was to his care. She was overwhelmed by the trembling warmth which ran through her entire body, shaking her to her soul. She was still crying.
He looked at her and groaned. "`Kita." He took her legs off his shoulders and leaned over to hold her, picking her up--holding her to him like an infant.
He cradled her in his arms, as he sat them both up. He buried his face in her neck. "I love you." He moaned. "Oh God, I love you."
She hadn't much strength left to respond, but her love reached out to his soul, as her crying finally ceased. She held him, kissing his cheek. "Michael. I love you. . . . I love you."
His hands stroked down her back in long sweeps, as he held her--his love flowing through her, and she somehow managed to feel desire again. . . . How he could do this to her, could create this phoenix-like resurrection in her so easily, she would never know.
He leaned back, examining her, stroking her face, feeling her desire and love course through him. "My beautiful Nikita," he whispered. He groaned, kissing her deeply. He began stroking into her, as she sat on his lap.
"Oh Michael," she whispered, holding him in the kiss again. He had completely--magically reawakened her desire with just a few soft touches.
He continued searching her sweet mouth. His rhythm was steady and deep. He was swollen almost painfully in her, but he couldn't let go yet. . . . She just felt so good.
He pulled back for a second to look at her. Then, he gave her another sweet, deep kiss, while his hands went to her back and lifted her. Her depths were so overwhelmingly sensitized that being carried on him like this came as close as she had even gotten to the oxymoron of "sweet pain." She clung to him, as he moved her to rest against the wall at the head of her bed, his knees still on her mattress, as he held her up.
He put his hand behind her head and then propped her there, his other arm around her. She had her legs wrapped around him but was mostly riding on his swollen length, which was buried deep within her.
They kissed, clinging to each other, as he rode her in very deep, short strokes. His head was at home deep in her core.
He pulled back from the kiss to look at her. "`Kita, I love you." He moved her a bit further down him, so that he rode her further up her body. His eyes pleaded with her to believe him. She panted, listening to his words.
He kissed her once more, as he stroked more deeply, a bit harder. She groaned loudly in it. He looked back at her. "There will never be anyone else in my heart."
Her eyes were closed, as the tension of their passion sang through her. She was making a constant, high-pitched whimpering noise.
He gave her a nipping kiss once more and then adjusted her so that he rode her as deeply as was possible, his strokes a smooth, deep, radiating warmth. He trailed his kisses down her neck until he placed his mouth over her heart. "I love you, my soul," he whispered. Then, his tongue seemed to stroke deep into her; he kissed the depths of her heart, as he gave three, increasingly deep, hard strokes into the silk of her absolute core.
"Mi-chael," she whimpered, as every wall she had melted. Her body trembled and bucked in throbbing, overwhelming release. There was no cell in her . . . no part of her being which didn't experience it.
"Ohhhhh," she was crying. Her body had been re-formed by him, recreated into a new whole which only understood pleasure; she was only silk, fire, love, and passion.
She was his; he was hers--this essential truth sang through her, as she clung to him, finally able to move enough now to kiss down his cheek. His overwhelming love ran through her, warming her--completing her even more fully than his sweet body had.
There was only one more thing she could ever possibly need. . . . She needed him to join her.
He was holding her, eyes closed, breathing labored. Her fulfillment washed through him, hovering him on the edge.
She leaned her head down and poised it over his heart. "I'm yours, my dear love," she whispered. Then, she stroked her tongue into it, placing a sweet, giving, ethereal kiss on his innermost heart.
"`Ki-ta," he whispered in a breath so soft she barely heard it.
She raised herself back up and held him to her, mouth at his ear. "Yes," she breathed into it. She kissed his cheek and held him close, fusing her soul to his.
Michael trembled. His hips gave one more rotating stroke into her, and then his release swept completely through him, erasing all that had come before.
He felt her in a hundred different ways. She was in his heart--was swimming through his soul; she was the comforting spot of sanity in his mind.
As she inhaled a breath, he exhaled the same one, their bodies understanding no boundaries.
The sensual release of it was almost the least important. He came into her deeply, feeling it in every fiber of his body and hers. It melted every cell in him into her, allowing them a complete fusion. . . . Whole . . . he was finally, finally whole.
She understood and shared every second of it, agreeing completely. They held each other as one joined, complete entity--one which existed every second in a state of total ecstasy.
They understood, knew the truth of it. This was what every living creature wanted. . . . This was Heaven.
Nikita opened her eyes from her dream finally, sorry she had had to wake. She supposed it didn't matter, though. She smiled. Where she had been frustrated and tense when she went to bed, she was now utterly content.
She knew it probably wouldn't last long, of course. Michael would no doubt have her hating him again within a week. But, for now, it was an amazing, short space of bliss.
She looked down at her bed and realized that she must have kicked the covers off in her dream. Huh. Then she noticed something even stranger. . . . She was nude.
"I must have really been hot and bothered," she thought. She moved to pull back up her covers and saw her discarded nightgown and underwear on the floor, just where the dream Michael had discarded them. . . . Weird.
Oh well, sleep was like that sometimes, she supposed. She snuggled into her sheets and smiled, remembering her linked dreams. If they wanted to be like that more often in the future, she wouldn't object at all.
Maybe being twin souled wasn't so bad, after all, she thought. As far as she was concerned, in fact, her subconscious could work out her problems this way any time it wanted to.
She drifted back off to sleep again finally, smiling, imagining Michael's scent surrounding her. She had no need to complain. . . . Memories of Heaven were close enough.