| Subject: À la Vie! - Chapter 45 (rated R) |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Sunday, November 07, 03:20:22pm
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie! - Chapter 41+" on Friday, November 05, 11:09:31pm
Michael had planned for them to stay at in Corpus Christi for six months. They moved to five other modest motels in the interim, always as Peter and Sage Philo and their son, Evan. Michael figured this would give Vacek enough time to check the cities where Samuelle’s had galleries and come up blank.
Christmas had been an odd affair, as the day dawned sunny and warm. Adam was afraid that Santa Claus wouldn’t be able to find him since he had moved so many times. The toys he had received allayed his fears, and he spent many happy hours playing with his new hand-held computer game, books, and new Teddy bear. Michael had allowed Adam’s hair to grow to his shoulders, thus making him look less like the Adam that Vacek’s men would be seeking.
It was almost March, now, and even Nikita was feeling the need to put down roots somewhere. Anywhere. Michael decided to let her in on Phase III of his operation.
* * *
Marco O’Brien thought Michael was being a complete idiot, but he decided that saying that to his bosses face would not be a good career move. He called the Howard Johnson in San Francisco and booked a suite for David and Lisa Fanning. He then wired $15,000 from Michael’s personal account into Nikita and Roberta’s joint account, and mailed Roberta a copy of the deposit slip. “Hide in plain sight,” Michael had told him. Marco sighed. He hoped Michael knew what he was doing.
* * *
Adam and Julie were asleep in the next room, and Michael and Nikita were engaged in some heavy petting in the master bedroom. Nikita had finally confessed to Michael what her “problem” was (it had happened several more times), and Michael explained that it was just Nikita’s body getting ready for him—it was a good thing, not a bad thing, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Michael had now gotten to “second base,” and Nikita’s bra was draped over the back of the couch. He was using only his hands to pleasure her, though he was aching to take the pink bud in his mouth and show her what pleasure really was. Instead, he rolled over on his back so that Nikita lay upon him and he held her close, stroking her bare back. He knew she could feel his arousal, though she had learned to ignore it. For Nikita, it was conquering a fear. It was a whole other ballgame for Michael. She had no idea how much willpower he was forced to express, and how draining it was for him.
While they lay on the couch, Michael told Nikita that they would be moving tomorrow into the Howard Johnson in San Francisco. Nikita’s head jerked back in surprise. “But, Michael, my mother works there,” she reminded him.
“I know,” he said, flashing her a grin. “That’s the beauty of it. We supply her with all the money she needs, and she lets us stay in empty suites. We’re already booked for the weekend as David and Lisa Fanning. They will check out Sunday afternoon, but we will stay.”
“What makes you so sure Mum will help us? She’s not exactly dependable.”
“The money,” Michael answered flatly. “She’s been playing the ponies again, and I just put enough money in her account to settle her debts with enough left over to buy her own racehorse.” He waited while Nikita processed this information. “Come on, he said, lightly slapping her derriere. “Let’s go to bed.”
Nikita reached for her bra, but Michael stopped her. “No,” he said. “Just wear your panties. See if you can do it. If you can’t, you can get up and put your gown on.” Nikita hesitated, then nodded. Michael turned his back politely while she removed her jeans and slipped under the covers. He went into the bathroom and came out wearing a pair of fleece boxers he had bought to sleep in. He lay down beside her, his arms crossed behind his head, and soon his breathing was deep and even.
Nikita was uncomfortable. She was not used to the feel of the sheet on her bare breasts, and it bothered her. She turned on her right side, facing Michael. She had figured out from doing their laundry that he didn’t wear underwear, and that he had bought a few pair of boxers to sleep in to appease her. She watched him sleep for a few minutes more, then rolled on her stomach. Better, but not good enough. She waited as long as she could then, with a sigh, padded into the bathroom to get her nightshirt. Michael opened his right eye and turned toward the clock on his bedside table. Twenty-four minutes. Oh, well—it was a start.
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