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Date Posted: 09:49:33 06/18/09 Thu
Author: Odelle
Author Host/IP: CPE0013f7f24246-CM0013f7f24242.cpe.net.cable.rogers.com / 99.234.121.213
Subject: When A Time Comes (Chapter 37)
In reply to: Odelle 's message, "When A Time Comes" on 11:23:04 04/14/09 Tue


Nikita found herself thinking about the future – an activity that she had not engaged in for a very long time. But she simply could not help the hope that welled within her; although she had tried to subdue it. Nikita had valiantly tried to think of all that stood in her way – their way; all the obstacles, complications, and details. But for all her denials, there was an answering call from her soul and his – a blossoming sense of infinite possibility.

Even awakening to find herself in Michael’s arms again was very different this time. She didn’t feel helpless, anymore. Didn’t feel like he was a passing life-raft in the storm of her existence to which she clung. She finally felt in control. Still. Aware.

Initially when Nikita had awoken and thought about what had transpired between them; how Michael had easily scaled every barrier she threw down in his path, she had felt immediately foolish. The way Michael had been utterly unphased by the beginnings of her story made her feel ridiculous for waiting to tell him. Of course, she hadn’t thought to scare him away by it – and in retrospect she hadn’t told him anything totally damning yet. But she hadn’t expected his easy acceptance; his complete concern for her well-being, untainted by any repulsion or embarrassment for her – or worse, pity.

But then, when she thought about it, there was a woman inside of her that knew Michael deeply; knew the Michael that she had lived and fought beside a lifetime ago. And that man would have reacted precisely in the way in which Michael was himself reacting now. Steadily. With deep concern and comfort. Warily – unsure of himself, of his own ability to care for her. But foundationally supportive, encouraging her by his very presence to take control of her own healing, herself.

Why did she ever believe his reaction would be different?

Of course this was how Michael was – this was who he was before, and if Michael was anything he was unwavering, unchanging.

He lay before her now, looking warm, soft, sleep-roughened, and just a little dangerous. His golden auburn hair was tousled on the starchy pillowcase, his head cradled deeply in the thick whiteness. His warm eyes were trained fixedly on hers, evidently trying to read her thoughts. When she had wakened, Nikita had turned to sit cross-legged, facing him. He was awake, too, though he stayed deliberately passive and drowsy. His hand was gently tangled with hers, playing slowly where they held them above the duvet that was stretched across her knees. The tactile presence of his modest touch was a reminder of the absence of contact she had had for so long.

Nikita searched him deeply, as she stared into his eyes. And he held himself open to her. They had spent the last several weeks getting to know one another again – spending time talking, sharing stories. Michael had told her bits about his life with Adam, and Nikita had shared about her family and work. But she realized, now, in the newness of having him know the beginnings of her darkest secrets, that there had be an invisible wall between them. It had stopped them from knowing one another – had effectively kept him from seeing the core of her being, and in return kept her from venturing into his. For Michael, it had clearly been their separation which stood between him and their joining again. And for her, Nikita realized, she needed to share with him the thing that she was most terrified would send him away. But he hadn’t run. In fact, he looked rather comfortable.

“What are you thinking?” she asked to their hands – curious to know what she didn’t feel she remembered how to read.

Michael waited in warm silence until she looked up to meet his eyes. They glowed with a fire that shot right into her – prodding and awaking something very dormant in her core.

His hand gently grazed up over the back of hers in a tactile caress. “That you’re beautiful,” he replied in his own time – his voice coarse and thickly accented.

As she stared into him, she felt the foreign pull of her soul blossoming open under the glow of his acceptance. And she found herself wanting more. The pull was so strong, it was tangible; physical. In this warm tangle of sheets and skin, she felt deliciously vulnerable, and totally safe. She felt like she was seeing him for the first time – as though she had just stepped through those curtains to him at Marios this very evening.

It was an indescribable feeling: to be staring into the eyes of a stranger, and to find that not only is he the man you know better than yourself, but that he has always had residence deep within you. That he is no stranger at all – except that you have forgotten how to know him.

With this new awareness, she watched him carefully. Her lack of response to his compliment sent a flash of fear briefly across his gaze, chased away by his own sense of control, and then replaced with that steady determined warmth he had maintained since they awoke. None of which she would have seen, before. His face was totally blank. But his eyes read like an open book, if she was willing to see.

A small smile visited her lips as she decided to let him in, in turn. Slowly, deliberately, she opened her gaze to him. She let him see inside to the fire he had sparked inside her – and he had done it from within, for he was there too.

She knew when he saw the change in her barriers. The realization dawned slowly across his features, his mask changing to awe. He rolled to sit up. His control over his movements was blatantly alluring, and a blush rose high on her cheekbones in response. She carefully prevented herself from withdrawing from him as his upright torso came within a several inches of her own. Bracing himself back on his hand, Michael searched her face – but still she held open for him, and he smiled softly.

“Hi,” she offered timidly in greeting, as if they hadn’t been staring at one another for the last hour or more.

“Hi,” he replied in a whisper, awe and appreciated warmth filling his gaze.

It was just a moment, but in that space of time, they were one once more – in thought, in mind, in spirit. One. The truth of them thundered around them, immediately drowning out the sensory. It came in like a windstorm, and swept them up into the surreal. They stopped breathing as two; their heartbeats thudding in rhythm, keeping tempo with their desires.

Neither moved. Brief flashes – not memories; but physical, tactile remembrances, chased across her consciousness. They were deeply intimate moments between them, blending with the current, making her nerves hum with awareness. In reality only their hands were touching, but she immediately felt him in every pore, filling every part of her with himself, even as she flowed into him.

Her eyes fell to his lips, and her mouth went dry and readied at the same moment.

Some part of her mind – an unwanted, ignorant part – stood up and told her she could not do this. And, curse it all, she listened.

She took a deep breath, and looked back into his eyes – and immediately knew that she had erected her barriers back in place. He didn’t seem surprised, or diverted. His eyes simply promised that this wasn’t over; that she would succumb to him – to herself, soon.

She secretly hoped he was right.

************

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