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On the other side of the planet, Bond opens eyes, swearing in his head across several disparate languages. The uplink died nearly fifteen minutes ago but he doesn’t want to move, can’t as the memory of the kevlar corset consumes all rational thought. It is the only thing Ronni has worn in his dreams since Venice, accentuation of curve from rib-cage through waist to hip: hands at first trace smoothness, silken fabric under sensitised fingertips, warmth of body as he controls, manipulates. Heels set her just at the height required to penetrate, fucking without pressure, focusing purely on friction. For a man who loves definition, this stopped being animal a long time ago. It’s not sex either, and the word he’d willingly utter suddenly alters an entire landscape.

Accepting love for this woman makes the whole world a very different place.

Body remains unsatisfied, groin still primed and aching despite two orgasms in under an hour: the last time he did this for real was with the woman who’s insane half brother has now murdered to the top job in the western world’s most notorious criminal organisation. It’s a memory he’s well on the way to erasing, but will need work, and not simply by the redefinition of this relationship. Veronica had become arbiter not simply for his ashes, but their future, multiple points of connection to begin a mission combined. His life had been returned by her: after penance for a decade of sins it seemed only appropriate to offer himself to another’s care, once and for all.

004 was determined, brilliant, funny and utterly dedicated, without equal since Vesper. No, she was better, because Lynd had deceived: Flemming’s honesty was both refreshing and beautiful. He doesn’t care that for a third time hand grasps engorged flesh and that he’s allowing imagination to blossom, wondering if she’s still doing the same, in the abandoned farmhouse on the western Italian border. He imagines her still naked, lying alone, fingers insider her own body, thumb stroking in a slow, firm rhythm outside, and his whole body shudders with the thought of someone else’s arousal.

Then he detaches from the Hotel, focusing solely on imagination merged with history: wearing just his dress shirt, hips pinning to the bed, rocking backwards and forwards, audible gasp as he recalls the skill at her internal control. He tries to postpone the orgasm but it’s arrival is instant, panting for air as he comes, hard and long, feeling body ache with a memory he’d forgotten. That first night together, in the dark, making him talk when he’d normally just fuck. Pushing him as she had every day since: always questions; thoughts and queries, assessment meshed with consideration.

She made him laugh in a way he couldn’t remember with anyone else, reflecting back his outlook, questioning attitude at every opportunity. It isn’t just her body he craves but the mind that it carries, because when both exist in his grasp there is nothing else he needs to be happy. Once upon a time he’d not grasp that significance, but now the truth is inescapable. This is the only person he never compromised to prove a point, or succumbed to under pressure. This woman was unique, had made him something better; rediscovery of soul thought ruptured forever.

Bond’s not sure how he exists when they take the designation away, but understands that if he is to survive after all of this is done, someone is needed to help maintain an equilibrium. In forty-eight years on the planet, only one person had ever fitted that bill so completely, and now he grasps that should he tell that woman that he loved her, this would effectively destroy the life worked so hard to create. There has to be a better way, and he needs to find it when all this is done.

For now, her future is what keeps him moving forward.

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Everything related to James Bond (007) belongs to Eon Productions and Danjaq LLC, except the bits in here that are mine and I made up. I get how this works.

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