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Date Posted: 22:13:02 04/29/05 Fri
Subject: Okay - Chapter 14
In reply to:
's message, "Okay" on 11:00:56 04/04/05 Mon
Nikita felt his warm breath on her neck, and smelled the faint traces of coffee. He must have brewed himself a cup before climbing back into bed. She would tease him about being a junkie some other time, when she didn’t feel so completely and incredibly relaxed. Her legs were entangled with her, weighing her down, and his right arm was thrown carelessly over her waist, drawing lazy circles on her stomach. She stifled her smile, not wanting him to know she was awake. Wanting this moment to last forever.
He wasn’t fooled. He was poised over her right ear, doing incredible things with his tongue, when the shrill of her alarm clock brought her back to reality. He wasn’t here. He never was. He had never been in this room in the Tower, let alone in this bed. As if in confirmation, Nikita looked down at her pearl blue satin nightgown. She certainly wouldn’t have been wearing that if Michael were here. He had confessed once that his favorite color was blue, so all of her new nightwear was blue. Not that he would ever see any of it. She allowed herself a 10-second pity party before getting out of bed and preparing for work.
She wondered if Michael ever thought about her the in the ways she thought about him. She hoped not. She hoped he and Adam had been able to move on. Start new lives. Put the past behind them. She knew the thoughts she was having were not healthy, but she didn’t care. They were all she had left, and until they faded away of their own accord, she would continue to indulge in them.
* * *
Ken had been here four months, now, and had led his first mission. They’d had one more operative injured than had been profiled, but that was due to rookie op field error, something even Michael couldn’t have prevented. She buzzed Jason and asked where Ken was; she wanted to congratulate him. As she had expected, he was in one the private gyms, sparring with Snow. She switched her monitor to watch his progress, and she did not like what she saw.
Ken’s movements were controlled, but he was angry. Livid, she would say. The two men changed positions, and she could see Snow’s mouth moving a mile a minute. She turned on the audio.
“—and anyone who walked by could see Michael had swept all of his stuff from the desk to the floor, and they were both red-faced and straightening their clothes. Obvious Interruptus, if ya know what I mean.” He winked.
Ken’s fist came out of nowhere and laid Snow flat on the ground. He put his foot solidly on Snow’s chest to keep him from getting up. His voice wasn’t raised, but Nikita could hear every slowly measured word from her office.
“When I want to know the details of Operation’s sexual exploits, I’ll rent the DVD. In the meantime, for the last time, keep your big mouth shut, or I will hurt you. Is that clear?
“Ah, yes sir,” replied Snow from his prone position on the mat. Ken turned and stalked out of the gym without another word.
Nikita turned from her monitor, dazed. She had no idea the old gossip had resurfaced. Or perhaps it had never gone away in the first place. She needed some advice. She called Walter and asked him to meet her in the Perch in 10 minutes.
As she strode through Comm., she heard the tail-end of Jason’s statement.
“—and laid him out flat. Just like that!”
“Then it seems to me this is an issue between Ken and Snow, and you need to keep your nose out of it,” replied Quinn, her eyes never leaving her monitor.
“Thank you, Quinn,” said Nikita, and Quinn’s head jerked up in surprise. “I just wish more people in Section felt the way you do.” Nikita finished her stroll to the Perch, and Quinn went back to her keyboard, pleased.
* * *
“Walter,” she began, “do you remember that time, a few years ago, when I was trying to kill a moth on the ceiling of Michael’s office?” The old man grinned. He knew where this was going. “Michael got pissed because I accidentally knocked all his junk on the ground, and then I tripped in those stupid f**k-me shoes Madeline made me wear and he caught me and I almost pulled the arm off his favorite suit.”
Walter picked up the story. “Then Birkoff walked in and it looked like you two had just done the wild thing on Michael’s desk.” He laughed. “It seemed like everyone in Section happened to be standing outside Michael’s door at that moment.” He let out another belly-shaking chuckle.
“Well I’m glad to see you find the entire incident so amusing,” sniffed Nikita.
“Sugar, if I hadn’t known for a fact that you two weren’t speaking at the moment, I’d have almost believed it myself. I set the record straight everywhere I could, but a story like that one takes a long time to die.”
“Apparently, it’s not dead,” mumbled Nikita, sliding down her chair in a very non-executive-like manner. “I heard Snow repeating it to Ken in glorious living color just a few minutes ago. It seems he’s been bringing Ken up to date on all of our exploits, real or imagined, since I joined Section.”
“If it’s Snow, then he’s the only one, Sugar,” said Walter reassuringly. “If the gossip wheel was turning, I’d have heard it. Ken’s a nice kid. No wonder he decked Snow for talking trash.”
Nikita raised her eyebrow. Walter was in-the-know.
“Get Ken another sparring partner, don’t put Snow on any of his teams, and your problems are solved. I’m sure everyone else has learned to ignore Snow by now.” He stood, as did Nikita. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Whoa,” warned Walter. “I feel another rumor coming on!” Nikita grinned, and Walter left the Perch.
* * *
Nikita met Ken in his office. “We have a few things to discuss,” she began. Ken offered nothing in return. “The first, and most important, is your Section living quarters.”
“My living quarters?” echoed Ken.
“Oh, come on,” she said in amusement. “The only thing missing right now is a sign showing hourly rates!” A corner of Ken’s mouth turned up. Nikita was not far off the mark.
“”I’m going to have someone from Housekeeping come up in the next half hour. Be thinking about what you want: what colors, what styles, what fabrics. If you want a bigger or smaller bed, or you don’t like the color of the wood, get rid of it. Same for the dining room table. As I recall the kitchen was rather nice; I don’t think Madeline ever stepped foot in there. But you do what you want.
“Yeah,” grinned Nikita. “Doesn’t give you as much time to be as wishy-washy as I was.” Her looked sobered. “One more thing. I’m cancelling your sparring sessions with Snow.”
She waited for Ken’s response, but there was none.
“I believe you’ve learned all that he can teach you as a coach. You need to actually spar with an opponent to fine-tune your technique. There are matches and scorings posted daily—yours included. I would suggest you select someone slightly better than you but similar in height and weight to begin with. I look forward to seeing your progress.”
“Is that all?” asked Ken.
“That’s it,” said Nikita. “Thirty minutes,” she reminded him as she walked out the door.
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Okay - Chapter 15 -- Diane, 22:19:57 04/29/05 Fri
Michael’s head lay between her breasts. He nipped and sucked first one, than the other. He couldn’t get enough of her. His erection lay hot and heavy between them, her hands fisted in his long, silken curls, holding him close to her body. He slid down her torso, licking and kissing every inch—their bodies slick with sweat. She directed his mouth where she needed it to be, and he did not disappoint her. He lapped and suckled her honey sweetness, until neither of them could stand it anymore. He rose on his knees to where her body begged him enter. Nikita called out to him.
Michael’s eyes flew open. He was alone, damp with perspiration, his breathing ragged.
“Daddy?” Adam tried again, this time knocking on the bedroom door. Michael answered in a voice he hoped sounded like his.
“What do you need, Adam?”
“Can I watch cartoons this morning?”
Michael rolled over onto his back, trying to relieve this pressure of what still throbbed between his legs.
“You know the rules, Adam. Public Television or Animal Planet.”
He listened to Adam’s retreating footsteps, and contemplated what to do about his own problem. He hadn’t jerked-off since he was fourteen, and wasn’t about to revive that old habit now. He made his was out of the tangled sheets and into the shower stall, where the icy pellets hit him like fragments of an AK-47. He had dreamed about Nikita all night—his sheets must be a mess. Or not, considering the pain he still in.
After nearly twenty minutes of torture, he was finally able to slip into a pair of sweatpants and a Montreal Canadiennes t-shirt. He fixed himself a mug of coffee, and went to sit beside Adam, who was totally engrossed in a program about the mating habit of reptiles. Terrific.
“What are Bert and Ernie up to?” he asked, hoping Adam would change the channel.
“I already know about the number 3 and the letters K and W,” Adam reported. He turned to look at his father. “Don’t you think ‘Sesame Street’ is a little lame for someone going into Grade 3 next autumn?”
Lame. He would have to file that one away under Adam’s growing slang vocabulary.
“Let’s turn off the TV and practice your penmanship.”
“Now?” whined Adam. “It’s summer break.”
“And I still can’t read a word you write,” prodded Michael.
“I can’t read a word you write,” returned Adam, “and you’re doing okay.”
Michael ignored him and brought out a pad of penmanship paper. “Write your name in your best cursive writing,” he commanded. Adam took the pencil in a death grip, and with tongue nearly bursting through his cheek, did as his father asked.
Michael inspected his finished work. “That’s ‘Adan,’ not ‘Adam,’” he pointed out. Adam shrugged. Michael pointed to the spirally drawing where the ‘S’ should be. “What’s that?”
“It’s an ‘S,’” Adam said defensively.
“We’ll have to work on that one. And here’s ‘n’ instead of ‘m,’ again. I recognize an ‘l,’ but I can’t read anything else on this paper.”
“Cursive is hard,” Adam muttered.
Michael gave Adam a one-armed hug. “I know it is—especially when everyone else learned it at school and you missed that part. But you’re so bright, Adam. I know that you can catch up and even pass those Grade 3’s by the time school starts.”
“Pass them?” Adam asked skeptically.
“If you want to,” Michael replied nonchalantly. He knew Adam’s IQ had tested in the 170 range, but he had no intention of pushing him further than Adam wanted to go. Michael just wanted him to be aware of all of his options.
“Here.” Michael took Adam’s notepad and letter guide and wrote ‘Adam Samuelson in his very best cursive writing, which wasn’t bad when he put some effort into it. On the second page, he wrote ‘Mirabela.’ “See if you can get these two pages done, and then we’ll go do something special. Don’t hurry and make sloppy mistakes. Every word has to be right. Deal?”
“Deal,” confirmed Adam. Dairy Queen was no longer considered ‘special,’ so he couldn’t wait to see what his father had in mind. Oops. Three humps on the ‘m’.
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