collar on his black uniform, but the whip crackled at his side as he struck the ground with the well-used black leather.
Chuck reached down, took her by the shoulders and pulled her up off her knees. She wiggled her hips then put her foot between his legs and stepped on his pants. Without missing a beat, she pushed her knee between his legs and wrapped her arms around him.
“Let’s give him what he wants,” she whispered, her breath hot in his ear.
“I don’t take orders from a woman,” he began, holding her tighter, his fingers pushing apart her thighs then dipping his fingers into her and circling the throbbing hard bud slick with her moisture. He knew she’d be wet. “Even one as beautiful as you.”
“I don’t have time to massage your male ego,” she dared to tell him, making him squirm, then: “I have a job to do and whether you like me or my tactics doesn’t concern me.”
Her urgent voice was anything but that of a woman in search of an orgasm. Job? This society dame? What was her game? He thought about giving her a piece of his mind, then decided he’d rather continue stroking her clit.
She smiled, but not before taking in her breath along with a whiff of her desire. Her breasts lifted, making him groan. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
“I don’t like the setup, why you strip yourself naked and allow your body to be a gift for any male who’s got a stiff dick.” He slowed down his stroking. “Are you so hungry for a man, any man to light a dark glow in the pit of your belly, make you scream for him to fuck you? Do you care so little about yourself, your body, your soul?”
Why he went off like that, he didn’t know.
“My personal needs are no concern of yours.” He thought he saw her eyes soften, the veil of illusion she was determined to keep up, which made her game bearable, torn from her pale face, then it was gone. “If you hadn’t recognized me, I would have been on my way and out of Germany. Now we may not get out of here alive.”
So she also guessed the Nazi’s game.
“If I don’t make it—” she began, then paused as if debating whether or not to continue “—retrieve my diary hidden in the false bottom of my steamer trunk at the Adlon and deliver it personally to my secretary, Mrs. Wills, in London.” She whispered her hotel-suite number in his ear, her words hot and breathy. “Tell her she must give the diary to a certain gentleman in the Foreign Office, she’ll know who I mean, before the Nazis discover the purpose of my trip to Berlin. And take the perfume with you. You may need it.”
“Perfume?”
“Cleopatra’s perfume. Please, don’t ask me any more questions.”
He stared at her, not understanding but intrigued nonetheless. Probing, he asked, “What are you involved in? The truth or I’ll—”
“Your country is not yet at war, but people you don’t know, I don’t know, are innocents in this madman’s game that threatens us all with his Final Solution.” As if on cue, she pinched her nipples, sighing as she did so. Though she took full advantage of his stroking, he sensed she attempted trying to put off climaxing until she had her say. “This is my chance to prove my life was not in vain, lived without a trace or shred of anything decent to say I was here. Please, do as I ask.”
“What won’t you tell me?” He rubbed her clit harder, making her groan.
“Oh, don’t stop…” she sighed, closing her eyes, the hard lines on her face disappearing, as if the mask she wore melted like a virgin’s resistance, this disguise she took on to fight back against the blows she suffered from an indignant world.
He applied his fingers in a circular manner to her throbbing bud faster and faster until she couldn’t hold back. She cried out, a starkness to her beauty that shook him, a fierceness in her eyes that pulsated with fear then anger then pain. Then it was gone.
She took a moment to catch her breath then became once again the quintessential blond vixen wrapped in her hunger for a man. Sweating, she threw her head back and cupped her breasts, twisting her nipples, then moaning, her eyes closed, her lips whispering, “Fuck me, now.”
Using the excuse this was no pulp-fiction plot but his life and he had no intention of losing it, he picked her up in his arms and laid her down on the soft white blanket in the sand. His heartbeat quickened when he felt her shudder underneath him. Then, teasing her, he inserted his impatient finger again and, feeling her wet, he plunged deeper, drawing his digit back and forth across the hard ridge of her clit, increasing his rhythm. He sensed she was exaggerating her emotions to impress the SS officer, gritting her teeth to avoid allowing herself to enjoy it. He moved across her pleasure bud faster, stroking it, then bending down and drawing it between his lips and sucking at it, nibbling and torturing her with the tip of his tongue. He pressed her body to his lips and she shivered uncontrollably.
He had her where he wanted her.
He inserted two fingers and she trembled, her body arching upward, riding his hand, a rapturous expression on her face giving her away. He knew that expression well, whether it was the farm girls he’d fucked in the hay when he was barnstorming cross-country in his open-cockpit biplane or the sophisticated girls behind the perfume counter with their dark red lipstick and sheer black stockings. She was different. She was a member of the British aristocracy yet she possessed the same hunger for a man inside her, cock or tongue, she didn’t care. She wanted more, craved that glow in her belly that made wetness seep between her legs so she’d be slick and easy when he entered her.
Without missing a beat, he removed his fingers then pushed apart her thighs and entered her, moving in and out, slowly at first, making her moan and begging him to go faster. He picked up his speed as her body matched his rhythm, stroke for stroke. Yet never did he take his eyes off her face, her mouth as red as the ruby ring she wore, her lips glistening with the same sparkle.
Her eyes widened when he thrust deeper into her, her body closing around him, exciting him to the point where he couldn’t stop. The deeper he thrust, the more he swore she opened up to him, yes, but not in her eyes. Cool green eyes that made him shiver in spite of the heat of passion making their bodies sweat, eyes with enough dark green in them to shade her thoughts, her soul, something he wanted to see, had to, for only then could he satisfy her and himself.
Grunting, he locked his body tighter onto hers with each thrust, his tall frame threatening to overtake her with his power. He held her by the hips, not too hard so he wouldn’t mark her skin, knowing when she reached that point of madness when neither of them could hold back, all reason would be lost. Then came pleasure, with its price to pay, for then he would also lose control and be at his most vulnerable.
The crack of the whip echoed in his ears, closer now. The SS officer also enjoyed their excitement, relished it, but would he take advantage of them? He couldn’t take the chance.
He pulled out, damn his own agony, sliding from her in one quick movement. She gasped, shook her head in denial. She was so close to that moment of release, her body shivered, her lower lip quivering, as she yelled, “You bastard!”
Yes, he was a bastard and he hated himself for it. He could smell her juices mixing with her perfume, the scent so intoxicating he felt compelled to enter her again and finish her off. What was all this nonsense about Cleopatra’s perfume? A strange request she’d made, asking him to retrieve that and her diary. Was she nothing but a selfish hedonist after all? He held back, knowing
