Beginnings

"I don't want them! I DON'T WANT LESSONS!" Nikita shouted, flat on her back, her hair in a long, wild pale tangle across the floor!

She was still prone and disoriented from being quickly flipped head over heels, and slammed into the cold hard linoleum, by her tormentor's strong powerful frame. His broad chest had compressed her stunned slender form, forcing her to take shallow breaths while beneath him. Through her fear, she had still managed to look as ferocious as a lioness, he thought admirably.

He looked down at her from the partially open door, "Tomorrow morning, 5 am," he said. None too disaffected himself from their violent embrace, despite that cool elegant demeanor.

"And if I don't want to?" Nikita said with all the arrogance of a Princess, her chin raised in defiance even as she looked up at him from the cool tiles.

"Row 8, Plot 30," her enemy replied back, coldly - his pale green eyes hot. The door slammed shut.

Nikita felt fear slice through her once more, and writhed in psychic pain on the floor. She curled herself up into a fetal position and reaching for the sad and lonely photo of her own funeral, sobbed herself to sleep right where she lay.

Michael intently watched the slight figure on Madeline's monitor, her blonde hair in total disarray covering most of her fine features and trailing down her back. The delicate shoulders were now shaking with grief and perhaps delayed fear of him. Though she had given it a good effort in the White Room, her bravado was a sham, and he had felt the lie in the trembling form beneath him.

"She's not," Michael replied, remembering the she-cat that had literally climbed his back before he retaliated, taking great care not to hurt her.

Madeline watched Michael still regarding his new recruit with interest. She saw the tell-tale sign of his carefully guarded emotions, in his crossed arms and the slight back and forth movements of one hand across his mouth.

He knew better than to try and lie outright to Madeline. It was better to accede to her conclusions as she analyzed you, and yet not reveal true motivations.

Michael continued, "She's a very emotional young woman, and it will most likely prove challenging to remove that component."

Michael Sammuelle was her hardest toughest case yet, she knew he only revealed what he wanted her to know. He was smart enough to give her just enough, and so she admittedly had to guess the rest of the puzzle, and wonder what he was withholding. A challenge indeed, she thought.

Nikita let the warm spray wash over her as she hugged the equally warm, sand-colored marble wall, and closed her eyes, dreaming she was anywhere else than where she was.

The water turned her almost platinum hair a tawny gold, which seamlessly blended into flawless skin, as it trailed down her back. She didn't want to get out, and her mind had drifted far, far away.

Suddenly, she felt a broad strong hand grip around her upper arm and yank her out of the shower, almost lifting her off her feet. Nikita screamed, at the heart-stopping intrusion. Gasping loudly, as the cold air hit her, she was swung around to face the front of her tormentor from yesterday.

Grabbing wildly to balance herself, her wet hands flailed at equally bare shoulders. She found she was easily kept upright however, by the powerful grip she was held in.

"Be quiet," Michael said softly, his eardrums spasming painfully at her shouts. He shook her slightly, her glistening nakedness dripping water over his fitted black tank and jersey cargo pants.

"Let me go!" Nikita said wildly. Her eyes tearing in anger, she yanked and pulled at the hands that held her, "You have no right!" she sobbed.

"I told you 5am. You're over two hours late. One would think you deliberately disobeyed me." Michael almost whispered, his green eyes searchingly bore into her wide fearful blue ones, the long dark lashes spiky and wet, her full pink mouth trembling.

Michael's temper threatened to erupt, and he yanked her even closer, for good measure, he let his eyes rake over her.

Nikita could have sworn she almost felt his perusal like a hot calloused hand, as it swept up and down her body. She closed her eyes, and with another sob, turned her head from him.

"Get dressed! You've got 1 minute," he replied, lightly shoving her from him, and exiting the locker room, "Don't make me come back in here after you," he added for good measure.

She pulled on jersey shorts, a clingy white t-shirt, and slid her feet into sneakers in record time. She rubbed her hair briskly with a towel, and as she quickly walked down the long corridor, heading towards the swing doors, she could hear him on the other side, counting down, "10...9...8...7...6...5...4..."

Breathlessly breaking through the door, her face flushed and distressed, she heard a laconic "1..." from behind her, and whipped around, her chest slightly heaving.

"Good. You're learning to listen," Michael said walking towards her, then around, apprising her form.

Michael trailed a long finger down her sternum, and following it, Nikita gasped. She got the message loud and clear - her shirt was clinging moistly to her body, and her small nipples hardened and poked saucily through the fine cotton.

"Un soutien gorge, ma...petite," Michael said low, his face inscrutable. "You've got another 30 seconds," he whispered, looking into her eyes, and watching her face turn beet red.

Nikita was a quick study, she had mastered the basic moves of Tai Kwon Do, in their morning session, and as Michael put her through her paces, he was able to see her intelligence and focus manifest into skilled fighting ability in no time.

He was sure her initial dislike of him sped up her progression in no small amount. Her reflexes were sublime, and her dexterity was incomparable. She had lean strength in those slender arms, that belied their appearance. As he took her to the mat for what was only the 10th time that morning, she managed to deflect his left hand with her right, and managed to strike his neck with a glancing left handed blow, her leg entangled with his, as they went down.

Close to her face on the mat, Michael instructed, "You need to use your left hand as a guard, and your right hand to strike."

"But...I'm right-handed," Nikita said inquiringly, out of breath and panting up at him. Happy to lie flat on her back, and take a breather.

Michael amused, noted this little trick of Nikita's. She'd ingeniously start a conversation or ask a question as soon as she went down, the better to catch her breath, and rest up.

He explained himself while lying entangled with her long limbs, "Exactly, you're more concerned with being hit than you are with striking to kill -- which is typical of a new recruit -- so you're guarding with your right hand -- your strongest arm, and hitting with your left. That's why your blow did not impact and glanced off me. You need to deliver blows with your strongest arm and guard with your left," Michael instructed carefully, "that is, until your skill level corrects the imbalance."

"That won't happen Nikita. I'm here to train you -- not beat you up. Don't ever be afraid to fight me," Michael said sincerely. "Again!" he instructed.

"Mi--chael enough!," she wailed plaintively underneath him, arching her long neck and back simultaneously. Michael felt a jolt of pure pleasure at her actions and her cry, that hit him like a thunderbolt.

The sensual scratchiness of her voice as she cried out, and the arching of her chest against his, immediately created another intimate visual of Nikita in his mind.

"Mon Dieu," perhaps it was time to call it a day he thought. He felt his groin tighten, and his skin flush with heat. This had never happened to him before in the middle of a training. But then again, he was finding out this young woman, was affecting him in a myriad of new ways.

He had known it as he stood there in Madeline's office, and felt something twinge inside of him while listening to her wounded sobbing.

He gracefully got up, and pulled her to her feet. All at once dismissive, "Tomorrow morning, 5am," he ordered.

"Ni-kita," Michael interrupted. "Let's not have a repeat performance. Lateness will not be tolerated here."

He swallowed deeply, it was the third time she had said his name. It sounded...different on her lips.

As Nikita smiled graciously and walked towards the showers, Michael realized he had caved for the first time ever with a recruit. What's more, he needed to see that beautiful smile cross her face.


	Beginnings By: Kyara Caledonii Copyright December 1, 2001 "I don't want them! I DON'T WANT LESSONS!" Nikita shouted, flat on her back, her hair in a long, wild pale tangle across the floor! She was still prone and disoriented from being quickly flipped head over heels, and slammed into the cold hard linoleum, by her tormentor's strong powerful frame. His broad chest had compressed her stunned slender form, forcing her to take shallow breaths while beneath him. Through her fear, she had still managed to look as ferocious as a lioness, he thought admirably. He looked down at her from the partially open door, "Tomorrow morning, 5 am," he said. None too disaffected himself from their violent embrace, despite that cool elegant demeanor. "And if I don't want to?" Nikita said with all the arrogance of a Princess, her chin raised in defiance even as she looked up at him from the cool tiles. "Row 8, Plot 30," her enemy replied back, coldly - his pale green eyes hot. The door slammed shut. Nikita felt fear slice through her once more, and writhed in psychic pain on the floor. She curled herself up into a fetal position and reaching for the sad and lonely photo of her own funeral, sobbed herself to sleep right where she lay. Michael intently watched the slight figure on Madeline's monitor, her blonde hair in total disarray covering most of her fine features and trailing down her back. The delicate shoulders were now shaking with grief and perhaps delayed fear of him. Though she had given it a good effort in the White Room, her bravado was a sham, and he had felt the lie in the trembling form beneath him. "She appears very fragile," Madeline said in her husky voice. "She's not," Michael replied, remembering the she-cat that had literally climbed his back before he retaliated, taking great care not to hurt her. Madeline watched Michael still regarding his new recruit with interest. She saw the tell-tale sign of his carefully guarded emotions, in his crossed arms and the slight back and forth movements of one hand across his mouth. "Still, you're worried, why?" she inquired. "Not worried, perhaps a little concerned," Michael breathed. He knew better than to try and lie outright to Madeline. It was better to accede to her conclusions as she analyzed you, and yet not reveal true motivations. Michael continued, "She's a very emotional young woman, and it will most likely prove challenging to remove that component." "Having second thoughts?" Madeline gave a small smile. "Not at all, I like a challenge," Michael replied. "Mmm-hmm...don't we all?" Madeline raised her eyebrows at this, and smiled more broadly. Her response held dual meaning. Michael Sammuelle was her hardest toughest case yet, she knew he only revealed what he wanted her to know. He was smart enough to give her just enough, and so she admittedly had to guess the rest of the puzzle, and wonder what he was withholding. A challenge indeed, she thought. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nikita let the warm spray wash over her as she hugged the equally warm, sand-colored marble wall, and closed her eyes, dreaming she was anywhere else than where she was. The water turned her almost platinum hair a tawny gold, which seamlessly blended into flawless skin, as it trailed down her back. She didn't want to get out, and her mind had drifted far, far away. Suddenly, she felt a broad strong hand grip around her upper arm and yank her out of the shower, almost lifting her off her feet. Nikita screamed, at the heart-stopping intrusion. Gasping loudly, as the cold air hit her, she was swung around to face the front of her tormentor from yesterday. Grabbing wildly to balance herself, her wet hands flailed at equally bare shoulders. She found she was easily kept upright however, by the powerful grip she was held in. Nikita screamed again, this time in rage and out of his sheer audacity. "Be quiet," Michael said softly, his eardrums spasming painfully at her shouts. He shook her slightly, her glistening nakedness dripping water over his fitted black tank and jersey cargo pants. "Let me go!" Nikita said wildly. Her eyes tearing in anger, she yanked and pulled at the hands that held her, "You have no right!" she sobbed. "I told you 5am. You're over two hours late. One would think you deliberately disobeyed me." Michael almost whispered, his green eyes searchingly bore into her wide fearful blue ones, the long dark lashes spiky and wet, her full pink mouth trembling. "You think?" Nikita sneered. Michael's temper threatened to erupt, and he yanked her even closer, for good measure, he let his eyes rake over her. Nikita could have sworn she almost felt his perusal like a hot calloused hand, as it swept up and down her body. She closed her eyes, and with another sob, turned her head from him. "Get dressed! You've got 1 minute," he replied, lightly shoving her from him, and exiting the locker room, "Don't make me come back in here after you," he added for good measure. Nikita instinctively knew when not to play around. She pulled on jersey shorts, a clingy white t-shirt, and slid her feet into sneakers in record time. She rubbed her hair briskly with a towel, and as she quickly walked down the long corridor, heading towards the swing doors, she could hear him on the other side, counting down, "10...9...8...7...6...5...4..." Nikita broke into a jog, so as not to get in trouble a second time, "...3...2.... Breathlessly breaking through the door, her face flushed and distressed, she heard a laconic "1..." from behind her, and whipped around, her chest slightly heaving. "Good. You're learning to listen," Michael said walking towards her, then around, apprising her form. "You're missing something," he said softly, skimming her slender figure. Nikita worriedly looked down at herself, "What? I don't know what --" Michael trailed a long finger down her sternum, and following it, Nikita gasped. She got the message loud and clear - her shirt was clinging moistly to her body, and her small nipples hardened and poked saucily through the fine cotton. "Un soutien gorge, ma...petite," Michael said low, his face inscrutable. "You've got another 30 seconds," he whispered, looking into her eyes, and watching her face turn beet red. "Petite, my ass," Nikita grumbled as she whipped around. "That too," said Michael as he watched her flounce off, giving no quarter. He heard the strangled outrage in her throat, and his lips quirked ever so slightly. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nikita was a quick study, she had mastered the basic moves of Tai Kwon Do, in their morning session, and as Michael put her through her paces, he was able to see her intelligence and focus manifest into skilled fighting ability in no time. He was sure her initial dislike of him sped up her progression in no small amount. Her reflexes were sublime, and her dexterity was incomparable. She had lean strength in those slender arms, that belied their appearance. As he took her to the mat for what was only the 10th time that morning, she managed to deflect his left hand with her right, and managed to strike his neck with a glancing left handed blow, her leg entangled with his, as they went down. Michael easily cushioned her fall. Close to her face on the mat, Michael instructed, "You need to use your left hand as a guard, and your right hand to strike." "But...I'm right-handed," Nikita said inquiringly, out of breath and panting up at him. Happy to lie flat on her back, and take a breather. Michael amused, noted this little trick of Nikita's. She'd ingeniously start a conversation or ask a question as soon as she went down, the better to catch her breath, and rest up. He found he didn't mind humoring her in this way. He explained himself while lying entangled with her long limbs, "Exactly, you're more concerned with being hit than you are with striking to kill -- which is typical of a new recruit -- so you're guarding with your right hand -- your strongest arm, and hitting with your left. That's why your blow did not impact and glanced off me. You need to deliver blows with your strongest arm and guard with your left," Michael instructed carefully, "that is, until your skill level corrects the imbalance." "Yeah, and in the meantime, you get to beat me to a bloody pulp." Nikita said sarcastically. "That won't happen Nikita. I'm here to train you -- not beat you up. Don't ever be afraid to fight me," Michael said sincerely. "Again!" he instructed. "Mi--chael enough!," she wailed plaintively underneath him, arching her long neck and back simultaneously. Michael felt a jolt of pure pleasure at her actions and her cry, that hit him like a thunderbolt. The sensual scratchiness of her voice as she cried out, and the arching of her chest against his, immediately created another intimate visual of Nikita in his mind. "Mon Dieu," perhaps it was time to call it a day he thought. He felt his groin tighten, and his skin flush with heat. This had never happened to him before in the middle of a training. But then again, he was finding out this young woman, was affecting him in a myriad of new ways. He had known it as he stood there in Madeline's office, and felt something twinge inside of him while listening to her wounded sobbing. He gracefully got up, and pulled her to her feet. All at once dismissive, "Tomorrow morning, 5am," he ordered. "But--," Nikita started to protest. "Ni-kita," Michael interrupted. "Let's not have a repeat performance. Lateness will not be tolerated here." "I understand Michael," she said softly, nodding. He swallowed deeply, it was the third time she had said his name. It sounded...different on her lips. "I was just wondering if we could make it 6 please?" she asked, then shrugged. "Fine, you can sleep in, but you'll be here an hour later too," he advised sternly. As Nikita smiled graciously and walked towards the showers, Michael realized he had caved for the first time ever with a recruit. What's more, he needed to see that beautiful smile cross her face.