"I'll have to get up very soon," the red-headed woman breathed into the ear of Napoleon Solo. "My first flight leaves at nine."

Napoleon turned his head and softly kissed Marjorie on the lips. Last night they had been vivid red, but what was left of the lipstick was now smeared across her cheek. Her mascara was also smudged, but she still looked perfect to Solo.

"It can't be morning already," he murmured, sleepily.

The previous evening, Napoleon had been the perfect gentleman by taking her for dinner and dancing. He had treated her like a queen, as he did with all women, and she had felt like she'd won the biggest prize at the fair. Marjorie had no qualms about inviting the suave, dark-haired man back to her apartment, fully intending to allow him his fun. Marjorie was a modern woman, who fully embraced the new ideas of sexual freedom. The permissive society certainly hadn't passed her by.

All told, the two of them had gotten about three hours sleep, having experimented their way through several positions and practices. For his part, Napoleon was overjoyed to find a woman who was as adventurous in bed as he was. He was truly grateful to be just the right age to experience the sexual revolution of women.

"I'm afraid time flies," Marjorie whispered softly to him. "And so must I soon. A plane can't fly without a full crew. There are fat businessmen who require me to serve them coffee."

Napoleon propped himself on his elbow, and lazily traced a finger over his lover's soft, silky skin.

"There's a man here who requires you to fly him to heaven and back."

Pushing him onto his back, Marjorie straddled across Napoleon's stomach. She placed her hands on the pillow on either side of his head and leaned down for another kiss. Solo reached up to keep her head close to his and returned the kiss with an animal passion. Without warning, he rolled her over so the he ended up straddling her.

"You can't go anywhere now," he said to her, with a lecherous grin.

"Help, help," she squeaked, as she playfully beat her fists on his chest and pretended to struggle against him. "A terribly handsome man is holding me almost against my will."

Before he could fully take his 'prisoner', Napoleon's attention was caught by a beeping from across the room.

"What's that?" Marjorie asked.

"That is either my boss or my partner," Napoleon answered, with a slight growl in his voice.

Marjorie admired the view of Solo's naked backside as he crossed the room to the source of the beeping. She would definitely make sure she secured another date with this man.

Napoleon pulled the communicator from his pocket.

"Solo," he snapped.

"Napoleon," came the voice of Illya Kuryakin. "Whatever you're doing, stop now and get to the office. There's been an uprising in Central America."

The American sighed irritably.

"I shall be there in thirty minutes."

He shut off the communicator and turned back to Marjorie, offering her his most disarming smile.

"It seems you are safe from my clutches, for now," he told her, with a sad edge to his voice. "Apparently I'm going on business trip."

"So I'm not the only one who has to fly?"

Getting up from the bed, Marjorie put arm arms around Napoleon's waist and pressed herself against his re-hardening penis. The groan which came from could only be described as primal.

"As soon as I get back," he gasped, desperately trying to control the urge to throw her back down on the bed. "You and I are doing this again."

"Oh definitely," Marjorie agreed.

The End.