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Secret Marriage

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It was one of many nights he was spending by his window lately--staring down at the lights of his living room. Michael's wife and child were asleep on the bed behind him. . . . The woman who was his soul was downstairs . . . out of reach.

It was tormenting to have her so near, to know that she was this close. He had dreamt so often of a reverse of this scene, after all--of being asleep with Nikita, while their child slept between them. . . . It was cruel to have it like this.

Section, however, had always been cruel. So often, under the guise of necessity, they had set scenarios in motion just for the sadistic pleasure of watching them play out.

In many ways, this was one of those times. He held open two slats in the blinds to look through them, hoping for a better view; all he could see, though, was a dim shadow of her figure, lying before the fire.

He sighed. He wanted--needed to be with her--to remind her that she was the only one in his heart. . . . But he wasn't sure whether it was a reminder she wanted right now.

He let the slats go and leaned back a little from the window, eyes still fixed on the light from her location; being so close to her was torturous. He began stroking his hand along the windowsill and closed his eyes. Then, not for the first time, he imagined the scenario his heart so desperately called for:

Nikita looked up--slightly wonderingly, as Michael entered the living room; his feet were bare--a robe tied loosely around him, showing drawstring pants and a dark tank top underneath. "Hello," she said, her voice slightly questioning.

She was lying there on her back before the fire--the light from it reflecting off of her hair, her feet propped casually on a nearby chair.

He couldn't speak, as he approached her slowly--his eyes taking in her beauty.

She looked at him curiously. "What is it?"

He knelt down beside her, eyes still playing over her face. He shook his head slightly, as his hand slid over her exposed stomach--gently stroking the skin. "It's nothing."

Her stomach quivered at his touch, but she pushed his hand away, speaking softly but urgently. "Michael, what are you doing?" She sat up on one arm, her feet returning to the floor--her casual air destroyed.

He tried to speak but found no words. His displaced hand stroked over her hair and the side of her face. "I need to be near you," he managed softly.

She grabbed his hand and pulled it away. "Are you *insane*? Get out of here before Elena finds you!" Her voice was still low but was now harsher.

"She won't." He took hold of her hand and began stroking the palm with his thumb, as he looked at it. "I put something in her and Adam's drinks. They're asleep."

Nikita snatched her hand away, as she sat up completely. "You *drugged* them?!"

He gave a slight nod, as his eyes played over her lips.

She was grabbing onto bits of the carpet in anger. "*Why*?"

His eyes met hers. "I need you," he stated simply.

She couldn't take anymore. She brought her hand up and gave him a vicious slap; she could have just punched him, of course, but she was more intent on showing her rage than causing injury. "You son-of-a-bitch." She stood up; he followed more slowly. Her voice was harsh with anger. "You lie to me for *four* *years* and then expect me to have it off with you, while your wife and child are asleep upstairs?!" Her breathing was ragged. "What kind of whore do you think I am?!"

He shook his head slowly--her attack leaving him seemingly unfazed; his eyes were wet--still connecting with hers. "You know that's not the way it is."

"I don't?" she challenged.

"Yes." He stroked his fingers lightly over her cheek.

Her eyes closed at the sensation for a split second but then opened again quickly, as she shook off his hand. "I'm not your mistress."

His eyes ran lovingly over her features; he was hurt at the very thought. "No, you're not." He looked back to her eyes. "You're my wife."

Her eyes grew very dark. "Don't play games with me, Michael."

"I'm not." The back of his hand ran softly down her hair, over her shoulder and arm, then to her left hand. He took it in his, stroking the palm softly, looking at it; he held it firmly enough, however, to keep her from breaking away from him. "If I could," he stroked her ring finger, "I'd give you some symbol to prove my feelings."

He looked up at her to find her eyes still cautious. He put his other hand on her cheek, cupping it--stroking it, but holding it just enough to keep her from pulling back. "Please, Nikita," he begged her to listen.

"You're my heart and soul." His eyes went down to her lips before returning once more to hers. "I've been bound to you from the day we met." He sighed. "The only union in my heart is with you."

The look in his eyes--the pain in his voice was sincere; her eyes softened a bit. She sighed and began holding his hand softly, . . . but she still shook her head. "I know they ma--," she paused, "they ordered you into all this, . . . but it still doesn't make it right."

He entwined his fingers with hers, as she almost pulled away. "I know."

He looked down at their hands, as she was won over slightly by the truth of his touch. "Nothing about my life is right but you." He refocused on her, his eyes sad and truthful.

She shook her head again. "Michael, I . . ."

He sighed, continuing. "I know. I know what I'm asking is wrong." His other hand stroked over her hair again. "But I love only you." His thumb stroked down her cheek, as she closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the emotion his hand conveyed. "I know I'm not much of a prize; I know all this has hurt you." She looked up at him; his voice was a whisper. "But I don't want to spend another night without you."

Nikita closed her eyes, still shaking her head, her face pained. "Michael . . ."

He put his arms around her softly and drew her close. "Just hold me, Nikita . . . be close to me." He ran his cheek over her hair.

She returned the embrace finally--needing him but still afraid of being seduced. "That's not all you want."

"No," he agreed, running a hand over her back, "but I won't ask for anything more."

Her eyes teared finally, as she buried her face in his shoulder, her conflicted emotions overtaking her. "I hate loving you."

He held her softly closer. "I know." He kissed over her ear lightly. "I'm sorry." His voice was almost broken; his tear ran down her neck.

She shuddered and held him closer--the truth of his emotions overcoming her resistance; she relaxed a bit in his arms, as he kissed lightly at her jawline, . . . but he didn't move any lower. She sighed--needing to feel him near her--and ran her hand up to cradle his head, guiding his lips further down her neck.

He closed his eyes, giving in, and opened his mouth to taste her skin, drawing it in--the tip of his tongue running lightly along it. She sighed again.

He moaned, his arousal growing against her, until he abruptly pulled away. His eyes were closed, as he held her back by the hips. She watched him, waiting for an explanation.

He looked up at her, ashamed, eyes playing over her features. His breathing was ragged. "I can't, `Kita." He looked over her, as his thumbs lightly stroked her hips. He shook his head sadly. "When I taste your skin, I need you more than I can bear." He took in a deep breath. "I know you don't want that." His eyes connected with hers again.

She stepped in to stroke her fingers along his cheek, watching them before looking back at him; she needed to know the truth. Her voice held a slight challenge in it. "If I'm the wife of your heart, Michael, then prove it to me. Make love to me." She ran her hand over his now-shortened hair, focusing on it for a few seconds before looking back at him very seriously.

"Show me I'm not your mistress."

He needed to agree--ached with the desire to, but he had to be certain of her feelings. "Are you sure?"

She held his eyes seriously. "Yes, I am." She sighed, slightly worried but still challenging. "Can you do it? Is it possible for you . . . for us?" It was a test.

His eyes still held hers; they were loving and sad. He took her hand from his hair and held it, bringing it to his lips, determined to use this chance to prove himself to her.

He kissed her palm and then began tracing the tip of his tongue over the lines there, kissing the soft pads of it. "Yes, it is." Nikita closed her eyes.

He ran his tongue up her thumb and took the tip in his mouth, suckling it -- stroking his tongue over it gently before letting go. She looked at him, as he repeated the process with each fingertip. His eyes held hers, softly and intently--lovingly; this was no mission. She shuddered and swallowed slightly.

Having finished with the last of them, he slid his hand into hers and held it at his side. His other hand went to her face, his thumb stroking over it lightly. She closed her eyes, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek softly.

Their eyes met, as he leaned back briefly. He then closed the distance between them again, kissing her lightly--his hand on her face. He looked at her once more before leaning in to deepen it.

His hand tangled gently in her hair, as he held her to him; her free hand held his shoulder. His mouth softly explored hers, tongue caressing the soft depths--pulling back occasionally, only to move slightly on her and begin his exploration anew. Her hand now clung to his shoulder, while the other let go of his to run along his back.

Frustrated now with the feel of his robe, her hands ran slowly around to start to push it off of him. He caught them in one of his, though-- holding her in their kiss a bit harder for a second, before he broke from it.

Eyes locked with hers, he released her and stepped back a little to allow her a full view of him. He untied the robe and pulled it off, letting it fall on the sofa behind him--inviting her to watch him undress.

Her eyes ran over him, as he watched her face with a tender smile, his eyes loving. He caught the bottom of his shirt in both hands and slowly pulled it off, as she examined the lines of his chest. She was breathing a little faster now.

He ran his hands down himself and untied his pants without any haste; he pulled them off, as well, exposing his arousal to her view. He then simply stood there and let her take him in, the firelight playing over his skin.

Her eyes raked over him, finally coming to rest on his erect shaft. She swallowed and unconsciously--almost unwillingly--ran her tongue over her lips. His breathing grew slightly unsteady, his arousal growing. Her breathing matched his, as her eyes returned to his once more--both of their looks heated and vulnerable.

She swallowed again and held out her hand to him, as he returned slowly to her. He placed the offered hand on the side of his thigh, holding it there, as she lightly stroked his skin. Taking her chin in his other hand, he turned her face up to his to kiss her gently several times. She closed her eyes.

Her hand ran down his side, playing lightly over his hip. He pulled her further into the kiss--lips gentle, tongue teasing, eyes half-lidded; he then drew her into a tender embrace.

They stood there kissing for some time, his arousal pressing into her, his hands in her hair. Her hands caressed slowly down his back, before running further down, over his soft curves, till she ran her nails lightly along the backs of his thighs. His arousal beat firmly against her.

She leaned back finally to be pulled into one more kiss, his hand on her cheek. She stepped back slightly and began to lift off her shirt.

Michael moved forward quickly and stopped her. He removed her hands from the material and then ran his under it, caressing her slowly, as he lifted it off; his eyes still held hers.

Once it was off, his eyes ran over her face, his hands on her lower back; his thumbs stroked her sides. Her desire-filled eyes caught his, as she moved his hands to the button on her pants. He continued his work, slowly unfastening them. His hands delved inside to run over her curves, and then he knelt, as he removed the rest of her clothing.

Once they were discarded, he looked up at her, his hands on her hips. She tried to get him to stand, but he just smiled softly.

He leaned in to kiss her stomach. Tasting slowly along her skin, he reached her belly button. He delved his tongue into it, probing her tender skin, as she held him to her, beginning to moan softly.

After a while, he began to move her down to her knees, as well, his hands on her back. Once she faced him again, he kissed her deeply, one hand in her hair, as he lowered her to the floor--manuevering her to lie back completely; her head came to rest on a pile of clothes he had put there as a pillow.

Now lying on top of her--her soft body stretched beneath him, he kissed her for another few minutes, as his hands began to roam along her sides. Although his arousal throbbed against her, he seemed in no hurry. She held him to her in the kiss.

After some time, he finally relinquished her mouth and began kissing slowly over her cheek. He then moved lower, until he was back at the patch of skin on her neck which it had so tormented him to taste before.

He sucked it into his mouth and then suckled on it, moaning, as she sighed, holding him there. He took his time then, moving around her neck and over her throat to all the warm, intimate spots on her skin.

"Michael," she sighed.

He moaned at a spot near her shoulder. He kissed it once more before raising his head to look at her. His hand stroked her cheek, as his eyes looked softly into hers. "I love you so much, Nikita." He sighed. "I should have told you a long time ago."

He gave her a few soft, wet kisses then--asking for no reaction to his declaration--before beginning to move down her again. She kissed his temple, while he was suckling a spot near her shoulder. A tear escaped to run down by her breast. "Michael," she moaned.

He kissed his way down her, running soft kisses up her breast to the tip. He took the erect bud into his mouth and ran the back of his tongue over it, as she moaned. He then lifted his mouth and teased her by running the very tip of his tongue over it repeatedly.

His thumb, meanwhile, was stroking over the neglected bud, just lightly enough to make it almost ache with need. Her hands were on his shoulders, her head back, as she let out little gasps and moans.

He took the bud his tongue had been teasing into his soft mouth finally and suckled it tenderly. She held his head to her, as she gave little breathy moans.

After a minute or so, she kissed the side of his forehead. He suckled her harder for a few seconds--to her groan. He then gave the bud one long stroke with his tongue and switched to the other.

She gave a loud, throaty moan, as he suckled her anew here. His hand came up to stroke the bud he had abandoned, his fingers pinching it very softly. His thumb then stroked over it lightly, continuing its arousal.

She moaned under him.

He leaned up to kiss her before trailing his mouth down her center, his hands down her sides. Reaching her abdomen, he began tasting over her skin as he had at her throat. "Ohh," she breathed. "Yes." He tormented her softly by never quite reaching her core. "Michael," she groaned. He moved down then to kiss around her inner thigh, moving slowly closer to the center of her desire. "Please," she begged.

He took pity on her by giving one wet, soft kiss to her bud. She groaned.

Then, however, he moved on to her other thigh, repeating his caresses there.

Her breathing was incredibly unsteady. Her eyes watched him, begging. "Michael, please."

He looked up at her for a second, his eyes warm and soft. He came up to lean over her and pulled her head to his, kissing her cheek softly. He then held her eyes, as he returned to her core.

Running his hands along her spread thighs, he kept eye contact with her, until she closed hers, as his tongue touched her bud. He then lowered his head to her in earnest.

His tongue lapped up over her bud, starting a pattern. She was sighing, giving soft moans. He increased his rhythm, lapping her with just the intensity she wanted.

At the same time, one of his fingers began to trace very lightly around the entrance to her depths; her breathing was erratic. "Michael, yes."

He continued to lick over her more rapidly, as two of his fingers began to search further into her, stroking softly. "Uhhhh," she moaned, her hips moving toward him for more.

He gave her what she wanted. He closed his mouth over her bud and suckled hard, as his fingers stroked deep into her, hitting a very sensitive area; she cried out, holding his head to her.

He ran his tongue firmly over the bud several more times, as his fingers stroked at the sensitive area ruthlessly. He then suckled her, as his fingers hit the sensitive spot inside her several times--slightly roughly-- in the way she needed most.

"Mi-chael," she cried, groaning. She bucked against him uncontrollably, shuddering. She was trembling around his fingers.

As she came down, letting his head go, he softly kissed the bud once more. He drank briefly at her depths then, causing her to shudder further, before he began kissing his way up her body, savoring all the sweetness of the woman he loved.

Several minutes later, she still wasn't breathing quite regularly.

Michael lay over her, stroking her face, taking in her joy. From time to time, he would kiss some soft, beautiful feature before watching her again.

He didn't deserve her, he knew--didn't deserve anything that resembled happiness. But he couldn't stop loving her; not even his death could cause that.

She opened her eyes to see the intense tenderness in his. She smiled and ran her hand over his cheek. "I love you, Michael." The words pained her a little, but they were true.

He kissed her lightly and looked at her again. "My heart chose you long before I knew what was happening . . . maybe before we even met." His hands were behind her head, playing in her hair. "When we're together like this, you don't need to ask me to make love to you." He shook his head. "I can't do anything else." His eyes roamed her face. "All of my passion for you is love." He caught her eyes again. "There is no other kind."

He leaned over to kiss her--expecting no answer to his words--and then pulled her up to her knees, as he sat up. She was now positioned over him. He kissed her again. "Now, take me, if you want me."

She looked at him tenderly and traced her hand slowly down his chest-- leaving an erotic fire over his skin in her wake; she continued until she ran the talented fingers beneath her and began to stroke her hand around his firm length. He closed his eyes and took in a breath. She positioned him at her entrance, as he swallowed. She then began to kiss from his temple, down his cheek, and over his neck.

He took her hips and helped guide her, as she lowered herself on him. About half-way down, she stopped kissing his neck and sighed, holding onto him; he returned the embrace.

They rubbed their cheeks against each other, as they continued. Inch by inch, she took him slowly into herself. They held each other tighter. When she had taken in almost all of him, she was shuddering, her breathing unsteady. Her forehead was against his throat now, as the pulse there throbbed against her. "Michael," she moaned.

His hands were in her hair, as he kissed her forehead and temple. "`Kita." She felt so good, but he was afraid he was hurting her. He pulled back slightly.

"Noooo," she moaned. She ran her hands down behind him, as she kissed his chest. Then, she pulled him completely into her.

"`Ki-ta," he moaned hoarsely. He swallowed, trembling slightly, as he held her. There was no one else who would ever feel like her.

She closed her eyes and sighed at the feel of him in her before looking up at him, a tender smile on her face. She brought her hands up and stroked his face, kissing his cheek. He let out a shaky sigh. She moved to kiss his temple. "I love you, Michael," she whispered, refocusing on him.

He drew her face to him with both hands and kissed her. Then, having felt her adjust to him, he stroked slowly up into her.

She broke the kiss to sigh, eyes closed. She looked back at him before kissing him more deeply; her hand ran behind him again to pull him up into her, needing the wonderful sensation repeated.

He broke the kiss this time, his head back to gasp. "Yes." She did it again, and he groaned.

Kissing him once more, she lowered him back to the floor. Now above him, she leaned up, her hands on his shoulders, and began to ride him--stroking her tight, hot depths smoothly up and down his long shaft.

He kept his hands on her arms and watched her. Her eyes were closed, as she moaned with each stroke. His arousal grew further, at the sight; she laughed happily and began to ride him a bit faster, impacting firmly on him with each downward thrust.

The feeling jangled his nerves with bone-shaking desire; his hands held her arms more tightly. He had never seen anything so erotic--had never felt so important. He was groaning constantly. The sight of this woman-- who was the partner to his soul--above him in all of her glory, using his body with such abandon to please herself was the most beautiful of his life.

Part of him wanted to roll her over and take control--practically wanted to ravish her with his tremendous need, . . . but there was no way he was losing this moment.

"Yes . . . `Kita," he moaned, and she laughed happily again, looking down at him. She began riding him further down; she closed her eyes again and groaned, her head back.

He licked his lips and groaned, as well, watching her, swelling further. His hands were on her shoulders. His face was lit with a joy he couldn't remember ever feeling before. "How does it feel?"

She gave a laughing groan. "Good." She looked down at him with her temptress smile. "*You* feel good."

He ran his hands further down her back. "So do you," he smiled.

Her smile widened. "I know." He twitched in her, and she laughed, moaning--eyes closing momentarily. "You keep giving me hints like that." Her eyes were devilish and happy.

He ran his hands further down to hold her hips, as he stroked up at her more firmly. His heart was pounding wildly. She closed her eyes again, riding him faster. "You make me insane," he whispered.

All of their strokes were deep now. She was groaning, her breathing incredibly erratic, as she rode him hard. "And you love it," she smiled, beginning to lose herself.

"Yes." He pulled her down deep onto him. She gave a little strangled groan, trembling a bit, as she held still above him. "I do." He gave her two more hard strokes, holding her on him.

She gave a screaming groan, trembling above him. He held her deeper on him and felt her depths spasming strongly around him.

She leaned her head back and gave a gasping moan, shaking with her release. "Mi . . . chael," she managed, still moaning.

He moaned as well with the feeling of it. He watched her for a minute-- taking in her joy--and then pulled her down to his chest, holding her to him. He kissed her temple, as she got her breath back somewhat; his hands ran over her back to calm her slightly. . . . God, she felt so good like this. A few minutes later, she looked up at him. "Michael."

He smiled and kissed her deeply. She moaned and held him to her. He pulled back to look at her. "You're so beautiful." He kissed her again, as she moaned. He stroked into her lightly.

"Yes . . . Michael," she moaned. She put her hands behind his head and kissed him soundly.

He sat them both up, to their mutual groan. He was throbbing in her more insistently. He broke the kiss for an instant. "Wrap your legs around me, `Kita."

When she complied, he stood them up slowly. "Oh, yes," she groaned.

He walked them over to an armless chair from his desk and perched on the edge long enough for her to temporarily unwrap her legs from him. He sat back on it, and she braced her legs around those of the chair. He took her hips and guided her back from him a little before bringing her back to rest firmly on him again. Her eyes were closed with the sensation; she was moaning.

"Good?" he asked.

"Mmmm . . . yes." She opened her eyes to look at him, a smile on her face.

"Good," he smiled. He ran one hand up into her hair to pull her into a deep kiss.

They began a wonderful, smooth, warm rhythm then. Michael's hand stayed on her hip, continuing to guide her in the pattern he needed.

She felt so perfect. This was the woman every fantasy for the rest of his life was built around. He might be forced to be with others, but they would only get the results of his training; only Nikita would receive him--his passion.

"Mmmm," she moaned, as she lengthened the strokes just a bit.

He groaned. He could feel her nipples scrape against him. "My God, you're wonderful," he moaned, before kissing her again.

She broke the kiss and sighed. "So are you."

He moaned again and kissed over her cheek to suckle at the sensitive spots on her neck, holding her close. She groaned and rode him a bit harder.

He scraped his teeth over her--to her loud groan--and then moved to suckle devotedly at the point between her shoulder and neck; God, he loved the taste of her.

"Oh, Michael . . . yes, please." She groaned. He helped her increase the rhythm.

He stopped suckling there finally and ran little licks over her collarbone to her throat. "Mmmm," he groaned, as he moved further down.

"Yes," she moaned. Then, she whimpered, as Michael increased the pace again.

He kissed down her breastbone, meanwhile, working his way to her breast. She moaned once more, their rhythm intensifying. He held her close, as he suckled at her, a little roughly.

"Oh Michael . . . Michael, yes!" She was breathing very erratically. God, he loved hearing her say that. He leaned her back a bit, his head still at her breast, and used her shoulders to help propel her down onto him.

"Ahhhh," she groaned, using the legs of the chair to help pull her onto him in their rhythm. "Yes, God." He ran his teeth over her and pulled her down hard one last time. "Ahhhh! Michael!"

She gave a screaming groan, as she held him to her, panting. She was trembling around him, eyes closed, as he held her upright once more, returning to kiss her face.

She held him to her, her forehead on his shoulder; she was shaking, as she came down. He kissed her temple, holding her head close.

He was shaking a little himself, his eyes closed. He knew he wouldn't survive another of her orgasms, but he was determined to hold on until then. This was one of the only times he was ever truly glad for this part of his valentine training. Otherwise, just entering her might be too much for him.

He lifted her head and began kissing her. He couldn't hold on much longer; this next time wouldn't be so slow. She moaned and held him in the kiss.

He broke it after a minute and began to move them. "Wrap your legs around me again, my sweet one." He began to stand, and she did. He moved them back over to the fire and lay them down on the floor, her head back on her makeshift pillow, as he came to rest on top of her. He kissed her again.

He loved being on top of her like this. Nothing in Section gave him any sense of power--only of the struggle for survival. Only she could give him this feeling--could gift him with any sense of self.

He kissed down to her breast again and suckled her, as he began to stroke her. She moaned and held him to her.

He had little real ego in any part of his life but this one; he loved that he could give Nikita pleasure. Anyone else was meaningless, but `Kita . . . `Kita gave him life, made him human . . . whole.

He stroked her a bit faster, as he suckled at her. She gave little "Mmmm"s, groaning, and held him to her.

He loved her most when she was happy, even more when *he* had made her happy. It made him childish and petulant to see her with other men. He stroked into her a bit harder, as she groaned. He wanted a life where he could give her joy all the time--where he could make new foods and treats to satiate her healthy appetite, where he could find new ways--new positions to bring her greater pleasure, . . . where they could watch their children born and grow.

He groaned. He wanted a *life* with her--something normal, something real. He returned to her lips to kiss her deeply, his hands framing her face, as he rode her further in; she moaned loudly through the kiss. She was everything he would ever desire. . . . God, he needed her.

He began to give her short, staccato strokes, impacting heavily within her depths each time. She broke the kiss to groan loudly again, her hands clinging to his shoulders.

He kissed along the side of her face. "God, I love you." He positioned himself so that he rode her even more deeply; his arms were around her, as he lay fully on top of her.

She groaned. "Oh . . . oh God . . . Michael." Her head was thrown back; she had surrendered completely to his rhythm.

"Yes," he moaned. He rode her even harder, to her screaming groan.

"Yes, my sweet . . . sweet wife." He kissed her temple. "God, yes. . . . Please . . . come." He gave a hard, incredibly deep stroke straight into her core.

She shook under him and screamed loudly. Her head was back, her hands clamped almost painfully on his shoulders. He stroked into her once more-- hard, and she whimpered. "God . . . God."

He held her close to him--desperately, as she trembled. He was shaking slightly as well, eyes closed. The intimate, intense caress of her body around his was almost unbearable; he was throbbing almost painfully in her with his need for release. He knew it was only a matter of seconds.

He felt her tears run down his cheek, as she held his head close to hers. She was still shaking. "Mi-chael," she struggled to whisper, "I love you." She kissed his cheek. "My beautiful husband."

That one word destroyed his every attempt at self-control. He groaned out a little "Ohhhh" and gave one last, deep stroke into her. Then, he trembled violently, as he held himself incredibly close to her--buried deep within her.

This was the only thing that was real. His mouth was open in a sigh, as her body milked all of the warmth from him, his hips rocking unconsciously against her with the sensation.

When it was over, he couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He had never felt so complete before, so bound to another--far more beautiful--soul.

She held his head to her, stroking her hand tenderly over his hair.

Her breathing was still shaky; her cheek rubbed against his. "Michael," she sighed, feeling the connection between them as well.

He sighed, feeling whole for one of the first times. Nothing else had ever felt so right before. . . . Nothing else had ever existed.

The vivid fantasy Michael's mind was weaving was broken when he opened his eyes to see Nikita stand up and walk over to the window; she looked out and spotted him. It was like she was reading his thoughts.

This hadn't been the first of his fantasies about her; it wouldn't be the last. He sighed, at the same time she seemed to. . . . Maybe someday he could make at least some part of them real.