| Subject: Relishing the Burn (3/6) |
Author:
delle
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Date Posted: 19:59:32 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
Her skin is translucent. Even in the poor light I can see the flush as the blood rushes to fill the capillaries so close below the surface.
Her breathing deepens, hitches in passion.
God, how I want her.
She hated this, hated him. Despised Perry Bauer – that slug - for his perversions, for his undisguised glee in forcing them back into this humiliating situation.
And Michael.
It was unfair, she knew, to blame him for knowing her too well. To hate him for using his knowledge to wrest her control away, for turning her own weaknesses against her. A touch, a caress, a mere kiss and she was helpless beneath the whiplash of her lust. He knew just how to conquer her reluctance, to weaken her reserves, to drive all thoughts from her mind and make her a slave to physical sensation. She kept her eyes fixed on the glass across the room, concentrated on transmitting every iota of loathing and resentment in a steely glare.
Michael’s hand stroked her jaw, gently but inexorably turning her face toward him. His eyes were heavy lidded with lust; the pupils enlarged, making his irises appear nearly black.
“Close your eyes, Nikita.” His voice was both soothing and seductive, enticing her away from the cold knowledge of their predicament and back into the warmth of their own private world. She could resist, she could fight him, but in the end he would win. And Bauer would enjoy her struggle more than her surrender.
Yielding, she shut her eyes and blindly reached one-handed. “Michael.”
He released her other hand, enabling her to embrace him, to stroke his back. His hands found her breasts and his lips worked down her chest to her stomach. He hadn’t shaved in several days and the beard stubble was abrasive on her tender skin, sending waves of sensations cascading over her. His tongue was sandpaper rough on the sensitive flesh of her belly; pleasure edged with the slightest of discomfort.
The room echoed with her soft sighs and she was suddenly scalded with rage again. Bauer was getting off on this, perversely enjoying both the erotic show before him and the humiliation he demanded as payment for his latest intel.
Which was worse, she wondered, to resist or to submit? Either way it felt somewhat akin to rape. To be forced into sharing something that was so intensely private. We have so little, they do not have the right to take this from us.
Michael sensed her tension; he shifted still lower and caressed her hips and belly with his talented fingers, seeking, demanding her undivided attention. And he got it, she thought, tendrils of resentment still clinging even as she spiraled into the abyss of sensation. It wasn’t his fault he was so innately sensual, or that experience that taught him exactly where and how to touch her.
“There’s no one here but us,” he reminded her, his accent thickening as it always did when they made love. She closed her mind to all thoughts and succumbed to the rush of pleasure that surged over her.
Roughened cheeks caressed her inner thighs and she arched, silently pleading for him to move higher. Eyes shut tight to enhance her concentration; each touch of his lips sent a tremor through her body. Inch by minuscule tormenting inch he brought his mouth closer.
A cry was torn from her when the target was acquired.
His breath was searingly hot against her, a blast furnace of heat and desire that coursed up from his mouth and engulfed her in his inferno.
She melted.
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