| Subject: Chapter 211 - Part 2 (16 and above) - (end of chapter 211) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, October 31, 06:55:57am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (203 > )" on Monday, October 03, 07:35:40am
He had taken her then, dragging her to him forcefully--kissing her in some manner which was half wild abandon and half erotic punishment. When she tried to pull back, he took the opportunity to readjust her, slanting her mouth all the more submissively under his own. She objected for a moment from shock alone, but it soon melted away--all her previous fears and decisions returning, clinging to him, meeting him completely. Whatever the truth between them, he did need her. Maybe that alone would prove to be enough.
He waited until she was half-limp in his arms, her willfulness drained away, before he slowly let her go. He only took the time to guide her into a chair, before he walked away, propping himself against a table across the room; it was the closest he could be. He didn't trust himself right now--felt too much, feared too strongly. If he didn't keep himself together, he would just take her right here; his look flared. But that was the very instinct which had gotten them into this situation to begin with.
He remembered this now, forced himself to, his eyes never leaving hers, as he finally spoke the truth. "You think I don't love you." His gaze was accusing, as much as he tried to repress the look--her shock at his discovering the thought so obvious. "You think that because we make love like that . . ."
She didn't let him finish--his brutal honesty shocking her. "Michael, don't."
"Don't what--talk about it?" His gaze dug in, following her own, as it turned away. "Don't touch you?" Her shocked eyes returned, giving him his answer--showing how little either of them could survive without that; he took a deep breath, trying to draw comfort from the look, making himself soften. He hadn't realized before how angry he had been, how dangerous her silent denials were--but every morning had killed him. Although she slept soundly through every night, after the storm of their lovemaking--wrapped blissfully, desperately, around him--each morning, at some point, there was that look. It was the look of a woman who had just woken from a wonderful dream--one she was terribly ashamed to admit she had enjoyed--and it was a look which was killing him further every single day.
His hands were clenched against the edge of the table, his breathing still barely under control; he forced both reactions into submission, his arms crossing over himself more casually, before he let himself go on--the ferocity of his gaze dimming slightly, as the brutal truths continued. "Our nights together mean more to me than I have words for, Nikita." Some of the resentment returned to his eyes. "Are you really convinced that it's all just some meaningless sort of fuck?"
Lord. Part of her could see what he was doing, knew that he was shocking her out of her denials, out of the fears she had lived in for weeks--but it didn't feel that way right now. Her gaze was clouded with tears, the perfectly-applied mascara already in grave danger, as she gave into his approach, demanding the truth in return. "Is it?"
Christ. He looked away, closing his eyes in an effort to stay in control. "No."
"Mi-chael," she began, trying to reason with him. But all her arguments were too clear.
"*No*," he growled, gaze flaring back to her--intent on making her see. "I've fucked dozens of women, Nikita. I've had them in every age and race, taken them in every place you can imagine." His look grew almost dangerous in its desperation for an instant, before it faded into something far more pleading. "What I feel for you has never been lust."
His words were so heartfelt, but there was too much history--and far too much displaced fear--for her to accept them instantly; he cut her off, before she could begin, not ready to hear more of her denials of him. "I know the difference. It's the difference between a rich man's interest in dessert and a dying man's need for forgiveness." His eyes grew so much softer, begging her to understand, even if all their strength remained. "It's the difference between a passing whim and a necessity of the soul." His sigh was quiet, the look eternally truthful. "You've always been the latter."
Oh. She looked away then, losing the battle with her tears. Even more than his words, it was the truth of his eyes which had captured her--making it so very hard to deny; she bit her bottom lip, trying not to cry. Still . . .
She was about to speak, when his soft sigh cut her off--his words shocking her out of whatever argument she was about to form. "Is it the baby?"
There was, despite her intentions, no clear way to answer this. Her eyes were wide, mouth open. " How did you . . .?" She blinked, groping, without success, for the right words. "I don't . . ."
There was a calm nod from her partner. "But you suspect." She nodded again, eyes shifting away, and his sigh returned. "Do you think we love each other less, because we need each other so much?"
Lord, this was all she could take--utterly out of answers--her head dropping forward, elbows on her knees; her face held so much sorrow. "I don't know." Her gaze returned dimly to the floor. "I don't know anything anymore."
God, it was hard to take--his heart going out to her, to both of them. It was just so hard to watch her pain.
There was an eternal moment between them, one where neither spoke--both far too lost in their own thoughts. For Michael, it was a sadness that he hadn't addressed this with her long ago, that he had forgotten her youth. She was so mature most of the time--had been forced into adulthood long before he had met her. It was only times like this that he remembered that there was still much of the world that she had yet to understand.
He reminded himself of this truth now, his gaze sad but adoring--wishing he knew a way to give her everything. It was hard enough growing up, discovering the realities of the world--all the ones which coincided completely with what you had been told and all the many more which didn't--but to do so with the constant threat of ugly death hanging over you seemed unbearable, his heart aching. He wanted to distill life into a bottle for her, wanted to bring her the essence of all needed experience, so that the knowledge could be hers entirely without any of the pain. She was just so beautiful and perfect, deserved to never know any sort of torment again; his soul was sighing. If only life were half so simple as that.
It wasn't, of course, and Nikita was beginning to understand that truth again--reminding herself of the facts. Once the fears diminished, she knew--always knew--that she loved her partner, that he loved her, their intimate moments searing that knowledge into the depths of her soul far more completely than any words could hope to. Still, to know that their child might have been created out of such fiery need seemed selfish; the smile on her lips was rather wan. But maybe all beloved children weren't really conceived with thoughts of their creation alone.
She was starting to accept this fact now, tried to remember it--but it could be difficult, given her own background. When the parents of everyone you knew seemed, if anything, rather unpleasantly surprised with the conception of their children, it was easy to forget that anything like sexual need could be even remotely noble. Still, perhaps the real difference between her beautiful husband and herself and these other sort of parents lay in the desire for children, not the original act itself; her eyes trailed briefly over her abdomen, as she sat back up. In that trait, she and her own parents were very different indeed.
He had come to her by now, knew her thoughts, and was pleased that she had traveled so far. It was a triumph not just of a deeper knowledge about life but of their relationship as well. Whatever the beauty of the bonds between them, they were not always, unremittingly delicate with each other; he guided her to her feet. But no one with any sense said they should be.
He looked at her deeply a moment, his hand lightly caressing her cheek, before he pulled her close, their embrace total and warm. Only when he was certain that her whole soul shared it did he speak--his words a breath in her ear, reminding her of everything she should already know. "I love every moment with you, Nikita." His lips traced softly over its contours, his smile grazing over it. "I love talking with you, watching you laugh, holding you close." A kiss was placed on the pulse below it, to her much-cherished gasp. "But I also love touching your skin, tasting you," his lips caught at the lobe, before the whisper moved even closer in, "watching you come." When her deep moan shivered against him, he chuckled happily. "And I don't intend on leaving you alone for a single minute, ever again."
Lord. It was impossible to ignore this sort of adoring seduction--was going to make it almost unbearable to make it through the rest of the day without him. Her smile grew deeper, as his lips traced down the pulse along her neck. But she was definitely going to enjoy going home tonight.
Still, it was this last thought, and the inevitable fears which were brought with it, which made her pause. But her husband's eyes were strong and knowing, as they met her own once more. "We're going to be together, 'Kita." She was almost certain that her hand felt fragile in his, but he didn't seem to mind. "We're going to raise our children together." One hand cradled her face, as his look grew far more taunting. "And I'm going to leave their mother screaming in pleasure for *many* years to come."
Oh--"Mi-chael," she moaned, but his lips rubbed lightly over her own, silencing her--making her heart thump. He was very good at taking away her fears; her moan went deeper, as her hand ran over his hair. But the only way she knew to thank him for that was in enjoying every intimate moment of their lives.
He saw this now, knew she remembered the truth; his smile grew slightly wicked, his look penetrating her soul, as he reminded her of one more fact. "If I become unhinged, when I make love to you, it's only because you'd die, if I gave you any less." He laughed softly at her embarrassed look, his next words a whisper over her lips. "But I love you for that."
He was kissing her then, kissing away any hope she had of response--but she no longer minded, understanding completely. Whatever the approach they took with one another, nothing existed between them without love and a fierce determination to be together for life. Nothing had ever been real but that.
He pulled away from her finally, knowing that they needed to move on--knowing that taking her in his dressing room, however temporarily fulfilling, was not what either of them wanted or needed. Besides, there were appearances to be kept up. Even if they were married, they didn't need to goad their enemies any further.
He started to step back from her, then, his hand still holding hers--his gaze so deep, as he dismissed her lingering fears. "Every part of you is mine, Nikita." The look flared--its intensity almost burning her. "There will never be anyone else." Then, his touch running briefly over her abdomen in a conscious caress of their potential child, he moved away. "I'll be outside, when you're ready for lunch."
He left her, and Nikita found herself panting slightly--desperately aroused, deeply touched, and utterly in love. She went, a little shakily, about setting her makeup as right as she could, preparing to follow him, knowing he was right. They were both strong enough to fight for their future--would have one, whatever might come. And, if she could only remind herself of this unalterable truth strongly enough, she knew he would prove to be right yet again.
[End of Part 211]
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