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Subject: Chapter 13: By Dawn’s Early Light (Ahhh, Mikey--pure poetry. :-D)

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Date Posted: 23:38:46 12/10/01 Mon
In reply to: Sanlin 's message, "Welcome everyone :-D and a repost of "It's Absurd"" on 18:05:34 12/01/01 Sat

Diffuse rays of light streamed in through the bedroom window, stroking the foot of Nikita’s bed with golden fingers.

Nikita was already awake and acutely, almost painfully, aware of her surroundings. Warily, she regarded her newest adversary; sunlight. Her intense blue eyes narrowed in silent suspicion and they glittered icily, revealing her increasing annoyance. With the irresistible arrival of dawn, sleep had fled from her, slipping back into the shadows like a subtle thief.

She’d been watching Michael for… not long enough. Eternity itself would be too short a time for that study. He was perfect and for one night, he had been her fantasy made flesh. But the night had passed, taking her dreams and fond memories with it. Now things looked like they always did, colder and harsher by dawn’s early light.

Silently, Nikita cursed the arrival of morning. In a few minutes, the light would reach Michael’s face and restore memory and animation to his presently smooth features. All his deeply buried pain, usually concealed beneath an unreadable, emotionless mask, and his carefully maintained self-control would return, she knew. The moment he opened his warmly seductive, and hauntingly beautiful, green eyes, reality would crash, like relentless waves against the rocky shore of his personal honor and the impassable cliffs of his overwhelming duty to Section.

He was even more beautiful asleep than when he was conscious and alert. If that was possible, Nikita thought, smiling quietly to herself. His auburn curls and Cupid’s bow lips made him look like a child, or a cherub. At moments like these, he wasn’t Section One’s dark, avenging angel. He was her Guardian Angel: a gentle, loving, protective presence. She sighed. He could only be the man of her dreams in her dreams. Or, while he, himself, slept; temporarily oblivious of his past trials and present dilemmas.

Instinctively, she reached out a hand, intending to stroke his angelic face. She paused, her fingers poised, inches from his cheek. Her entire body trembled with desire. She was filled with a sudden, unbearable longing to feel his rose-petal soft skin, the inviting, strong curve of his neck and his silken-smooth thighs, beneath her fingertips. His sensual lips invited her caress. His eyelids begged to be kissed open so she could once more lose herself in the eternal, emerald depths of his gaze. She fought an accompanying desire to touch every part of his intriguing masculinity: his slightly rough, unshaven face; his hard, muscular chest; and, most tempting of all, his potent, magnificent manhood. But he looked so… peaceful. Her breath caught in the back of her throat and she barely suppressed a small whimper, like a child forbidden to touch her favorite plaything. Feeling every moment’s separation from him as if it were an untreated, life threatening wound, she nevertheless reluctantly pulled back her hand and decided not to wake him… yet.

The beginnings of a secret smile curved the sweet corners of his sleeping lips. She wondered what he was dreaming about. She blushed; finding herself hoping it was thoughts of her that brought such a guileless, gentle look to his normally carefully controlled and intentionally blank features.

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Chapter 14: Playing PossumSanlin23:41:06 12/10/01 Mon

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