| Subject: Relishing the Burn (2/6) |
Author:
delle
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Date Posted: 12:54:21 08/03/01 Fri
In reply to:
delle
's message, "Embarressingly delayed, but it's done. Thanks to my kind and gentle betas for suggestions and hand-holding. I'm putting my disclaimers in the open, because - believe me - I mean every word of them." on 12:50:28 08/03/01 Fri
Sex.
Desire.
Want.
Need.
Where is the line drawn?
He watched as Michael bent her backward, pressed her down to the mattress. Whatever difficulties he encountered with Nikita – and they were legion: she was the most stubborn, troublesome, undisciplined, headstrong and unreliable operative not currently in abeyance status – she was also the most beautiful and intensely sexual female operative he had ever had under his command.
With one exception, one great exception.
Operations slid his eyes sideways to regard Madeline. Elegant in her rose-colored suit, her face and eyes were cool and composed. But he knew the volcano of heat hidden beneath the unruffled exterior. She had burned in his embrace once and, by God, she would burn again.
A quiet cry from the other room drew his attention back to the one-way glass. Nikita lay spread-eagle beneath Michael. Their fingers were interlocked and he had drawn her arms out from her body while his mouth feasted on one breast, then the other. Red chaffing marks were obvious on her fair skin. Operations lifted a corner of his mouth sardonically. Apparently Michael had not bothered to shave once again.
As he watched, Michael suckled hard, drawing most of her small breast into his mouth. Nikita arched, crying out softly again. Her eyes snapped open and fixed on the glass, glaring at the unseen observers behind the shielding mirror. The hatred evident in her blue eyes hit Operations like the heat from a blast furnace.
“Nikita.” Michael’s voice was thick with lust. He shifted position and his erection, hard and heavy, came into view, pressed against the sweat-sheened skin of Nikita’s belly. Releasing her left hand, Michael turned her face from the mirror.
Their eyes met, held. The desire in the locked glances struck Operations like a blow in the stomach; then traveled lower. With a quick glance at the other observers, he quickly adjusted his jacket and trousers to disguise the instinctive reaction.
Inhaling was difficult; the air was thick with the pheromones of sex. The temptation to loosen his tie and unbutton his collar was nearly overwhelming; instead, he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
She had looked that way at him, once. With such desire and need and – yes, it was true - clawing hunger. She had craved his touch, driven him beyond all decorum and restraint. Then it had changed, had dissipated into thin air. She had found Charles: safe, steady, undemanding Charles, while he… he had found the path to power.
And when they had met again, when he had brought her over to Section One, had carefully pushed Sand aside into oblivion: it was gone. That atavistic, primitive need had left her. No, not left her, he thought stubbornly. Just sublimated. He had to believe that.
A soft gasp came over the intercom, half-smothered, as if the utterance was struggling to break free of someone’s faltering control. She had done that, too, he recalled suddenly.
The Ukraine: the missiles screaming overhead as they crouched in some grimy god-forsaken hellhole, waiting for rescue that never seemed to arrive. She was filthy, sweat streaked with her hair tumbling down. He thought she had never looked so beautiful.
She had trembled in his arms. It was the only time he could ever recall the formidable Madeline showing a weakness. Her mouth had met his halfway, her hands frantic on his buttons, nails scraping his flesh in her hurry.
How he had wanted her. Smooth pale skin under his lips, her slender body beneath his, her warmth enveloping him.
He suddenly focused on the entwined couple before him, seeing for the first time how desperately he clung to her, as well as her to him.
His eyes flickered again to Madeline. She hadn’t moved a muscle, and yet… and yet there was an indefinable difference.
Did she remember what it was to need so intensely?
He did. Oh God, he did and he felt it again.
***
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