| Subject: Relishing the Burn (NC-17) - 4 |
Author:
delle
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Date Posted: 09:56:09 05/21/01 Mon
In reply to:
delle
's message, "Relishing the Burn (NC-17)" on 09:40:03 05/18/01 Fri
***
It was interesting dilemma, she decided, to burn so intensely for two such diverse reasons. Nikita’s cry of surrender echoed around her and Madeline felt herself go damp in empathy. Need tore at her. She glanced over at Operations, caught his rising desire in the intense brightness of his blue eyes.
And on the other side …
Perry Bauer was revolting. In a life filled with disreputable and even despicable characters, only Bauer left Madeline with the impulse to wash her hands. For all her serene speeches about ‘shades of gray’ and the need to use men such as Bauer in the relentless pursuit of evil, he repelled her.
His eyes never wavered from the scene before them; his tongue flickered out – snakelike – to lick thick lips moist with anticipation.
If only the promised intell wasn’t so critical...
Before her, Michael rolled a limp Nikita onto her stomach. Her legs were off the bed and her feet touched the floor. He stood over her, legs on either side of hers. Braced on his elbows, he bent over her and their fingers interlocked tightly. Both sets of knuckles – his and hers - showed white. She turned her head toward the one-way glass and Madeline felt the scorch of her hatred through the viewing screen. A low murmur from Michael and the luminous blue eyes closed once more as she tossed her head to expose one pale-skinned shoulder and the tempting length of neck.
Pressing tightly down on her, his erection cushioned on the soft contours of Nikita’s ass, Michael bared his teeth and began to bite the ridged muscles along her clavical.
A move she herself had carefully taught him. Michael had not required instruction in sexual matters. Whatever had transpired in his pre-Section life – and Madeline harbored explicit suspicions about his past – Michael had proved himself an adroit and practiced lover. Lessons were unnecessary, only fine-tuning to build on a well-constructed foundation.
Until the advent of Nikita.
Beside her, Bauer grunted in appreciation. Nikita arched her upper body, pressing her hips tightly to the mattress. One of Michael’s hands crept around her torso, cupping a breast as he continued scraping his teeth against her shoulder blades, leaving faint crimson welts in his wake. His other hand ran down her smooth back, over the curve of her buttocks to lift her hips and gently nudge her legs apart. There was a brief glimpse of moist pink skin before Michael shifted his position and slowly entered her.
Nikita exhaled a long shuddering breath, one echoed by the man beside Madeline.
“Oh, yeah,” he muttered.
Madeline kept her eyes on the couple with an effort. Michael held still, his hands now planted on Nikita’s hips. For one brief moment his face was naked; she could easily read his fury and his struggle for control in the fisted hands, the tense jaw, the nearly closed eyes.
Then he trembled.
That was a surprise. Madeline had never coaxed anything more than the suave experienced lover from Michael. The man before her was completely removed from her experience. Sweat ran in rivulets down the muscular back, shimmered in the bald fluorescent lighting.
Buttocks flexed as he began the ancient rhythm of lovemaking. His control was still wavering, Madeline noted dispassionately; his usual smooth effortless movements were jerky, his ragged breathing easily overheard by the room’s microphones.
His mouth fastened on the base of Nikita’s neck as his thrusts gained force and speed. A small cry of pleasure burst from Nikita.
He had never touched her so. She never permitted him.
Madeline permitted her gaze to drift to the tall man to her left. Operations stood perfectly still, at formal military attention. Too still, too-perfectly composed. Only his hands gave him away; even as she watched, he balled them into fists and shoved them into his pockets. There was only one man on the planet that she trusted to take her control from her.
Nikita uttered a low half moan/half cry, stroking the burn of desire that was growing in Madeline. Her lips were dry, her breasts throbbing, craving Paul’s rough touch.
From this vantage point, she could observe all the details of the lovemaking in front of her with startling clarity. Her body pulsed with craving, ached in time with the rhythm being performed before her. She longed for the taste of his sweat, the smell of their mixed sex.
Her skin crawled with need. And she ached; oh, god she ached.
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