(no subject)
Here we go, Chapter Eight in the continuing saga of Hans Landa & Desiree Mendelsohn. This one features a special guest appearance by another IB character (guess who?) My thanks to everyone who reads this story, and my special thanks to those who leave comments and reviews. I make a point of responding to all comments and reviews because they do mean a great deal to all of us who share our fiction online. So enjoy reading this chapter-and please leave a comment or review!
What on earth? Hans was literally stunned speechless. What had just happened? He could count on the fingers of one hand exactly how many times he had actually made love with another person, and to his mind, this had clearly been one of them. His whole being still trembled with the aftereffects.
He had fucked women, and he had fucked men. He had even been fucked by men. Each had its unique physical and psychological gratifications, but it had been rare indeed when those gratifications were heightened by a tender response. That, to Hans, was making love. And he had felt that with Desiree.
Not that making love was the same as being in love. Hans had never considered himself a romantic man, although just about everyone who had ever slept with him would likely disagree with this self-assessment. Those who had experienced some tenderness from him would certainly feel that way, although to Hans, tenderness was a reflexive response, not an emotional one. It was not a feeling.
Hans didn’t have feelings like that. As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t a romantic bone in his body, much less a romantic thought in his head. What might appear romantic was simply charm and poise. It was knowing what a woman-or man, for that matter-wanted to hear. It was knowing exactly what words and what touches would part the most intransigent of thighs.
Hans smiled. Somehow, Desiree had beaten him at his own game. He had to admit he admired that. After all, no one else ever had. And mein Gott, it only made him want her even more. Of course she must have known this. What other reason could she have for leaving him so abruptly? But she would learn, as he had, that it wasn’t as easy as she thought.
After all, just as her taste still lingered on his tongue, she now had the taste of his seed on hers. The intimacy of it excited Hans immensely. To have the sexual taste of another person become such an indelible sense memory seemed somehow not only primal, but also right and good. Perhaps this was where the only morality in life existed, in the blind justice of sex. Who knew? All Hans was certain of was that it was like the awakening of a long-lost instinct, all part of the elemental human desire to mate.
Hans chuckled. How people misinterpreted this desire, wrapping it up in the trappings of “love” and marriage! Ignoring the hunger that was at its root. This was something he had never been able to ignore. It was what made him who he was, what give him strength and energy and talent. And it would, in the end, allow him to conquer Desiree.
* * * * *
At long last Desiree had her instructions. She was to take the American dollars to a distant town, roughly 64 km away, where she would pick up the weapons and ordnance. She would then embark on a journey that would take her through several small towns, where her cargo was to be distributed at designated drop points, spreading it in small amounts throughout the region. During this mission she would also pick up her regularly scheduled produce and other foodstuffs.
It wouldn’t be a mission without risks, but Desiree welcomed the distraction. She hadn’t been able to get that last image of Hans-stunned, eyes so hurt-from her mind. Was he really so vulnerable a person? Or had that also been an act? The way he had called to her when she left-the bewilderment and confusion in his voice. Every time Desiree thought of that moment, she again heard that voice in her head, and her heart ached.
She had to admit she still wanted this man, more than she had ever wanted another human being-male or female. There was a link, a connection between them that she could not ignore. But then, she had a job to do-a thought that suddenly struck Desiree as one that she surely shared with her lover/nemesis. They each had responsibilities they had to meet. She smiled as she recognized the very irony of the situation, that two such like-minded people would share responsibilities so clearly at odds with each other-while wanting each other so passionately.
Desiree pulled up to Rene’s restaurant to take his order. She had to be very careful around Rene. Somehow he had always been able to read her feelings, and he was sure to know something was up. She had to act as nonchalant as possible. She smiled as he approached her van, a broad grin on his face.
“I’m glad you’re here early,” Rene told her. “I have quite a large order for you this week.”
“Large orders are, of course, my favorite,” Desiree replied with a smile as she pulled out her order pad. The two worked together quickly, Rene counting off each item and the amount while Desiree quickly recorded all the information.
She noticed, however, that Rene kept looking at her, his expression both quizzical and concerned.
“What is it?” she finally asked with a nervous chuckle.
“You look different somehow,” he told her. “Your eyes are different.”
“They’re the same eyes they’ve always been.”
“No…they’re not.”
Desiree stopped writing and looked straight at Rene, whose grey eyes seemed unusually sharp.
“I’ve seen you like this before,” he went on, “your eyes bright, your breath quick, like you’re about to embark on some grand adventure.”
Desiree shook her head, bent down to her notebook once more.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with…”
Desiree looked up sharply. “With what?”
“No, it’s not possible. It can’t be.”
“What?
“La Belle Fleur,” he said suddenly, looking right at her.
Desiree went pale.
“I thought so.”
“Don’t say any more, Rene.”
“I’d like to kill Guy.”
“No, Rene, it’s not his fault.”
“Involving a woman in something so dangerous…”
“Oh, you think a woman can’t handle it? You think I can’t handle it? If you knew how long…” she stopped suddenly, and looked away.
“Mon Dieu,” Rene said, his eyes wide. “It’s been you all along, hasn’t it? From the start. Risking your life…”
Desiree didn’t respond. Rene reached out, gathered a lock of her dark hair in his hand, and wrapped his fingers through it.
“Please,” Desiree begged, “don’t tell anyone, especially not Mathieu…”
Rene let go of her hair, took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him. The look on his face was very grave.
“Don’t worry, I won’t. You know we can’t speak about this. It would put both our lives at risk, and others as well,” he said quietly. “But you must be careful.”
Desiree shook her head. “Rene…”
“I’m quite serious, Desiree. I couldn’t be more serious. You have no idea the danger you’re in.”
She reached up and removed his hands from her shoulders, looked at him defiantly.
“You underestimate me,” she told him. “You always did.”
“Oh, no,” Rene told her. “I know very well what you’re capable of, and I always have. But I know something else, too. “
“And what’s that?”
“I know how very reckless you can be-and that’s what frightens me.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’ve been doing so for more than forty years now.”
“I know,” he responded. “And I know how very brave you are, too. Unfortunately, I also know that when your mind’s made up, there’s no talking you out of something, no matter how dangerous it might be.”
Desiree grinned at him. “That’s right.”
“But you must remember, my sweet, what I told you before,” he brought a hand up to her cheek, gently caressed it. “If you need me, I am here to help you in any way I can. Don’t forget this.”
Desiree covered his hand with hers and leaned into that tender caress.
“I won’t forget,” she whispered.
* * * * *
Hans tossed in the bed sheets, suddenly restless. Jürgen was reading, his spectacles low on his nose. He peered over them to look at his old friend, who reached out a hand to caress his bare belly.
“Hungry for it again, are you?” Jürgen chuckled. “So who is it this time?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, come now, Hans. Don’t put on that act with me. I’ve known you for nearly twenty years now.”
Hans was silent, gazing forward, keeping his eyes away from the penetrating gaze of his friend. Over the years Jürgen had learned to read every nuance in the man’s expressive face, and he knew, even if Hans himself didn’t know-or rather, refused to recognize it-that his dearest friend was in love again.
“So…who has besotted you this time?”
“Besotted is a good word for it,” Hans replied. “That’s how it…that’s what it’s like.” He lay back and closed his eyes. Such bliss, he thought. Such bliss and torment.
He opened his eyes again, caught Jürgen looking at him, blue eyes sly yet warm. Jürgen was his oldest friend-and in many respects, his only friend. And perhaps the only person in the world who truly knew and understood him.
“I knew it. When you’re that wild, that passionate, when you’re begging me to fuck you…”
Hans reached up abruptly, grabbed Jürgen by his hair, pulled his head down to him, swatting off his spectacles.
“Ja,” he said, “I’ve begged you to fuck me. And I’m begging you again. Do it. Fuck me.” And with that Hans pulled Jürgen into a fierce kiss.
Jürgen was on top of Hans in an instant, lifting his friend’s legs over his hips. A shudder ran through him as he gazed down at Hans’ wanton, hungry face, felt him arch his hips, so unbelievably eager to be penetrated, to be taken. Jürgen had seen that hungry look before, and it never failed to set him on fire.
The first thrust came sharp and hard, and Hans gasped, winced in pain, but he wrapped his legs around Jürgen’s back, and reached around him to cling to his shoulders, bracing himself. He needed this now, needed this invasion, that intense mixture of pain and pleasure, and he lifted his hips and arched up to meet each thrust.
“Don’t’ stop,” he gasped, “harder…bitte…”
“Ja-as hard as you want-” Jürgen breathed, as his thrusts increased in speed. He reached down between them and took hold of his friend, began pulling him in time with each deep thrust.
“Harder…bitte…” Jürgen leaned down and kissed Hans deeply, bit his lower lip, felt him shudder, felt the hot splashes of semen on his belly, the rhythmic clutching around his cock. He thrust in deep and held still, filling his friend with his seed, as he had so many times before, including earlier that very evening.
Afterwards, when they were once again lying side by side, Hans gazed up once more into his friend’s penetrating blue eyes. If it were possible for him to love a man, he would love this one. But then, he doubted he could love anyone.
“I think, mein freund,” Jürgen began, “that you need to take a good, long look at yourself. You think you can’t feel. You think you don’t feel. But you do. And you feel very deeply, much more than you’re willing to admit.”
“Shut up,” Hans growled, reaching up again to grab Jürgen, this time by the throat. Jürgen wasn’t having any of it, and he flung Hans’ hand away.
“Oh, stop it, Hans,” he said. “Don’t posture with me. I haven’t said anything that isn’t true, and you know it. You’ve always known it.”
“Ja,” Hans finally whispered. “You’ve always been truthful with me. I don’t think you’re capable of being untruthful. It’s not in your nature. But I…I’m not sure what the truth is any more.”
Jürgen leaned back, grabbed his cigarettes, and offered one to Hans, who took it gratefully. He took one himself, waited for Hans’ to grab his lighter and light both cigarettes. The two then lay together in silence for a few minutes, smoking.
“I think you do know the truth, mein freund,” Jürgen finally said. “You’re just not willing to recognize it.”
“Maybe so. All I know is that I want this woman-more fiercely than I’ve ever wanted anyone, even-” Hans stopped abruptly, afraid of saying too much, revealing too much.
Jürgen smiled. Even me, he thought. Even me. He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew that was what Hans had almost said. He had always known, and he knew that Hans knew it, too.
“What will you do?” He finally asked.
“I have a job to do.”
“That’s never stopped you from doing what you wanted before.”
“Gott in Himmel, I don’t even know this woman-“ he stopped abruptly. He did know Desiree. Not every detail of her life, not her full history, not what she was like when she first woke up in the morning or at last lay her head down to sleep at night-those times each day when he never failed to think about her.
And yet, somehow, he knew this woman, and she knew him. He felt as though he knew instinctively what made her angry, what made her sad, what brought her happiness. Call it fate, call it destiny-and Hans had never been one to dwell on either, which he had long considered romantic nonsense. But there was something in her that was so very like him. It was that hunger, that intense need that seemed to surround them both. It was like an immense cloak, one that, perhaps, might just save them both in this time of war.
* * * * *
In all her runs things had never gone so smoothly for Desiree. She’d brought the dollars to the drop-off point, picked up the weapons, driven from town to town, distributing them, all without a hitch. Now she was on her way home. Somehow the fact that it had gone so easily was unnerving to her. And when Desiree felt this unnerved, she became restless.
She hadn’t been able to get Hans out of her mind. His mouth. His hands. His scent, that wonderful mixture of fresh soap, leather and tobacco. How he felt inside her. How he felt in her mouth, her tongue pressed against him. And then there was the man himself, that curious mixture of razor-sharp intellect, supreme self-confidence and an almost hesitant tenderness. Desiree knew he was her enemy, that she was literally fighting against everything he stood for. But the man himself-somehow he existed apart from all that.
She could sense his disconnect from it all. He was not driven by ideology but by a fierce desire to win, to conquer, to triumph. And she knew he was driven to conquer her, not just because it was his job, but also because he wanted her as much as she wanted him. He had touched her, kissed her, stroked her hair, and held her with a tenderness she never would have suspected him capable of. Every time she thought of him she hungered for him even more.
Desiree hadn’t been with anyone since she’d last seen him. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her head. She had to do so, somehow, and at the same time, she needed to assuage the hunger that enflamed her. She spotted a tavern ahead, pulled up and parked.
She spotted the young officer the moment she walked in, struck by the all-black uniform. He was considerably younger than she, perhaps by as much as 15 years, but his frank appraisal of her made him seem unusually mature. His hair was slicked back, a look she had never particularly liked on a man, but somehow it went with the starched perfection of the uniform, the sharp, icy blue eyes and the almost impossibly pretty red mouth.
He smiled at her, a predatory smile, and Desiree found herself smiling back. She walked straight to the bar and ordered a beer, just what he was drinking.
“I’ll get that, Eric,” he told the bartender, in German.
She turned to look at him. “Merci, M’sieur.”
“Pas de quoi.” He came closer, until he was standing next to her. He leaned against the bar, and his eyes swept appreciatively over her once more.
“I do believe, Madame,” he began in perfect French, “that your outfit is quite the most fetching in this room. Those dungarees suit you.”
“Merci beaucoup. Your outfit’s rather impressive, too,” she told him. “Black suits you.”
He grinned at that. “What’s your name?”
“Aimienne.” Desiree might have enjoyed taking risks, but she wasn’t foolish enough to use her real name.
“A very pretty name. And so romantic! Might one hope that, with such a name, there is a certain purpose to your visit here tonight?”
“What a clever way to put it. And the answer is yes.”
He leaned in closer, so close she could hear his breath quicken.
“That’s good to know,” he said in a low, husky voice, “because I find you very exciting.” He brought a hand up and caressed her cheek before leaning in even closer to her.
“Would you like to get out of here,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear.
Desiree shivered, felt the sharp pang of desire run through her. “Oui,” she whispered in his ear in return, before darting out her tongue to lightly touch his earlobe, Feeling him shiver in response.
Without taking his eyes off her, the young officer pulled out his wallet, tossed a few francs on the bar. He gestured in a toast to her, and she did the same to him. Then they both downed their drinks. Their empty glasses hit the bar in unison, as though they were throwing down the gauntlet between them. They stared at each other for a moment, letting the raw, animal attraction grow even stronger between them.
“You haven’t told me your name,” Desiree finally said.
“Sturmbannführer Dieter Hellstrom, Geheime Staatspolitzei, at your service, Madame.” He clicked his heels, took hold of Desiree’s wrist and planted a lingering kiss on the back of her hand, his eyes never leaving hers.
He let go of her hand, rose up, took hold of her elbow and swiftly steered Desiree out of the tavern and into the street.
“I have a room near here,” he told her, pulling her briskly alongside him.
Desiree hurried to keep up with him. Her heart was pounding in her chest, prompted by the heady mixture of fear and arousal at the risk she was taking.
Suddenly the Sturmbannführer pulled her into an alleyway and into his arms, kissing her so passionately he took her breath away. An image of Hans flashed into her mind then, and she was taken back to that day in her cottage, when he had first kissed her just like this.
With that thought Desiree returned the young officer’s kiss with equal fervor, pressing up against his arousal, so hungry and eager to relive those moments with Hans. Whatever the risk, she would have this man. She had to. At that moment, she needed him.
He let her go, pulled her the rest of the distance, taking her through a separate entrance into a small boarding house. He led her down a long hallway, took out the key to open the door to his room, pulled her in after him.
He immediately began to undress, removing his waist belt, undoing the buttons on his jacket and then his shirt. Desiree followed suit, unbuttoning her sweater, pulling it off, removing her oxfords and dungarees. They never took their eyes off each other as they quickly undressed.
Without his uniform he looked frail and vulnerable, his body slender, the skin as pallid as porcelain, except for his cock, which was very, very erect, the foreskin drawn all the way back, the head ruddy. He looked strangely beautiful as he stood before her, this pale, thin creature with a hard cock, his blue eyes wild with passion, his breath a series of heavy pants.
He grabbed Desiree’s arm, pulled her into another kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth. She felt herself being thrown back against a small bed, and he was on top of her immediately, pulling her legs over his shoulders and thrusting deep inside her, making her cry out from the sudden yet exquisite invasion. He fucked her hard and fast, slowing only when he felt her come.
“Ja,” he breathed. “You’re so hot, so tight. Do I feel good inside you?”
“Oui,” she gasped, arching up against him, so hungry, so desperate for him.
He shoved deep inside her, then held still. “More? You want more?”
“Oui!” she cried, and again he fucked her hard and fast, his hips slapping against hers, until she came again. Then he began to shake and shudder, his thrusts becoming more irregular until, with a sharp cry and a final thrust deep inside, he came at the mouth of her womb.
* * * * *
Desiree woke up a while later, gazed at the young man who lay fast asleep beside her, naked and so very vulnerable-looking. He had given her what she needed, and she couldn’t help but feel some affection for him. She got out of bed quietly, hoping not to disturb him, and dressed quickly. He stirred in his sleep, opened his eyes, and smiled at her.
“I enjoyed that,” he said. “Did you?”
“Very much.”
“It won’t happen again though, will it?”
She shook her head. “No.”
He smiled again, reached for his cigarettes and lit one.
“Never mind,” he said without a trace of bitterness in his voice. “I’m used to it. Merci.”
“Merci,” she replied. She finished dressing as he watched and smoked. When she was done she went to the door to let herself out, but turned back to look at him once more.
The smile remained on his face as he took another puff from his cigarette. “Au revoir,” he finally said.
“Au revoir.” Desiree blew him a quick kiss, then slipped out the door.
She felt renewed and invigorated as she drove her van out of the small town and headed for home. She wasn’t afraid or nervous any longer. Desiree knew what she wanted, and she would take it-regardless of the consequences. She hummed to herself as she drove back to Angouleme-and to Hans.
What on earth? Hans was literally stunned speechless. What had just happened? He could count on the fingers of one hand exactly how many times he had actually made love with another person, and to his mind, this had clearly been one of them. His whole being still trembled with the aftereffects.
He had fucked women, and he had fucked men. He had even been fucked by men. Each had its unique physical and psychological gratifications, but it had been rare indeed when those gratifications were heightened by a tender response. That, to Hans, was making love. And he had felt that with Desiree.
Not that making love was the same as being in love. Hans had never considered himself a romantic man, although just about everyone who had ever slept with him would likely disagree with this self-assessment. Those who had experienced some tenderness from him would certainly feel that way, although to Hans, tenderness was a reflexive response, not an emotional one. It was not a feeling.
Hans didn’t have feelings like that. As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t a romantic bone in his body, much less a romantic thought in his head. What might appear romantic was simply charm and poise. It was knowing what a woman-or man, for that matter-wanted to hear. It was knowing exactly what words and what touches would part the most intransigent of thighs.
Hans smiled. Somehow, Desiree had beaten him at his own game. He had to admit he admired that. After all, no one else ever had. And mein Gott, it only made him want her even more. Of course she must have known this. What other reason could she have for leaving him so abruptly? But she would learn, as he had, that it wasn’t as easy as she thought.
After all, just as her taste still lingered on his tongue, she now had the taste of his seed on hers. The intimacy of it excited Hans immensely. To have the sexual taste of another person become such an indelible sense memory seemed somehow not only primal, but also right and good. Perhaps this was where the only morality in life existed, in the blind justice of sex. Who knew? All Hans was certain of was that it was like the awakening of a long-lost instinct, all part of the elemental human desire to mate.
Hans chuckled. How people misinterpreted this desire, wrapping it up in the trappings of “love” and marriage! Ignoring the hunger that was at its root. This was something he had never been able to ignore. It was what made him who he was, what give him strength and energy and talent. And it would, in the end, allow him to conquer Desiree.
* * * * *
At long last Desiree had her instructions. She was to take the American dollars to a distant town, roughly 64 km away, where she would pick up the weapons and ordnance. She would then embark on a journey that would take her through several small towns, where her cargo was to be distributed at designated drop points, spreading it in small amounts throughout the region. During this mission she would also pick up her regularly scheduled produce and other foodstuffs.
It wouldn’t be a mission without risks, but Desiree welcomed the distraction. She hadn’t been able to get that last image of Hans-stunned, eyes so hurt-from her mind. Was he really so vulnerable a person? Or had that also been an act? The way he had called to her when she left-the bewilderment and confusion in his voice. Every time Desiree thought of that moment, she again heard that voice in her head, and her heart ached.
She had to admit she still wanted this man, more than she had ever wanted another human being-male or female. There was a link, a connection between them that she could not ignore. But then, she had a job to do-a thought that suddenly struck Desiree as one that she surely shared with her lover/nemesis. They each had responsibilities they had to meet. She smiled as she recognized the very irony of the situation, that two such like-minded people would share responsibilities so clearly at odds with each other-while wanting each other so passionately.
Desiree pulled up to Rene’s restaurant to take his order. She had to be very careful around Rene. Somehow he had always been able to read her feelings, and he was sure to know something was up. She had to act as nonchalant as possible. She smiled as he approached her van, a broad grin on his face.
“I’m glad you’re here early,” Rene told her. “I have quite a large order for you this week.”
“Large orders are, of course, my favorite,” Desiree replied with a smile as she pulled out her order pad. The two worked together quickly, Rene counting off each item and the amount while Desiree quickly recorded all the information.
She noticed, however, that Rene kept looking at her, his expression both quizzical and concerned.
“What is it?” she finally asked with a nervous chuckle.
“You look different somehow,” he told her. “Your eyes are different.”
“They’re the same eyes they’ve always been.”
“No…they’re not.”
Desiree stopped writing and looked straight at Rene, whose grey eyes seemed unusually sharp.
“I’ve seen you like this before,” he went on, “your eyes bright, your breath quick, like you’re about to embark on some grand adventure.”
Desiree shook her head, bent down to her notebook once more.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with…”
Desiree looked up sharply. “With what?”
“No, it’s not possible. It can’t be.”
“What?
“La Belle Fleur,” he said suddenly, looking right at her.
Desiree went pale.
“I thought so.”
“Don’t say any more, Rene.”
“I’d like to kill Guy.”
“No, Rene, it’s not his fault.”
“Involving a woman in something so dangerous…”
“Oh, you think a woman can’t handle it? You think I can’t handle it? If you knew how long…” she stopped suddenly, and looked away.
“Mon Dieu,” Rene said, his eyes wide. “It’s been you all along, hasn’t it? From the start. Risking your life…”
Desiree didn’t respond. Rene reached out, gathered a lock of her dark hair in his hand, and wrapped his fingers through it.
“Please,” Desiree begged, “don’t tell anyone, especially not Mathieu…”
Rene let go of her hair, took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him. The look on his face was very grave.
“Don’t worry, I won’t. You know we can’t speak about this. It would put both our lives at risk, and others as well,” he said quietly. “But you must be careful.”
Desiree shook her head. “Rene…”
“I’m quite serious, Desiree. I couldn’t be more serious. You have no idea the danger you’re in.”
She reached up and removed his hands from her shoulders, looked at him defiantly.
“You underestimate me,” she told him. “You always did.”
“Oh, no,” Rene told her. “I know very well what you’re capable of, and I always have. But I know something else, too. “
“And what’s that?”
“I know how very reckless you can be-and that’s what frightens me.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’ve been doing so for more than forty years now.”
“I know,” he responded. “And I know how very brave you are, too. Unfortunately, I also know that when your mind’s made up, there’s no talking you out of something, no matter how dangerous it might be.”
Desiree grinned at him. “That’s right.”
“But you must remember, my sweet, what I told you before,” he brought a hand up to her cheek, gently caressed it. “If you need me, I am here to help you in any way I can. Don’t forget this.”
Desiree covered his hand with hers and leaned into that tender caress.
“I won’t forget,” she whispered.
* * * * *
Hans tossed in the bed sheets, suddenly restless. Jürgen was reading, his spectacles low on his nose. He peered over them to look at his old friend, who reached out a hand to caress his bare belly.
“Hungry for it again, are you?” Jürgen chuckled. “So who is it this time?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, come now, Hans. Don’t put on that act with me. I’ve known you for nearly twenty years now.”
Hans was silent, gazing forward, keeping his eyes away from the penetrating gaze of his friend. Over the years Jürgen had learned to read every nuance in the man’s expressive face, and he knew, even if Hans himself didn’t know-or rather, refused to recognize it-that his dearest friend was in love again.
“So…who has besotted you this time?”
“Besotted is a good word for it,” Hans replied. “That’s how it…that’s what it’s like.” He lay back and closed his eyes. Such bliss, he thought. Such bliss and torment.
He opened his eyes again, caught Jürgen looking at him, blue eyes sly yet warm. Jürgen was his oldest friend-and in many respects, his only friend. And perhaps the only person in the world who truly knew and understood him.
“I knew it. When you’re that wild, that passionate, when you’re begging me to fuck you…”
Hans reached up abruptly, grabbed Jürgen by his hair, pulled his head down to him, swatting off his spectacles.
“Ja,” he said, “I’ve begged you to fuck me. And I’m begging you again. Do it. Fuck me.” And with that Hans pulled Jürgen into a fierce kiss.
Jürgen was on top of Hans in an instant, lifting his friend’s legs over his hips. A shudder ran through him as he gazed down at Hans’ wanton, hungry face, felt him arch his hips, so unbelievably eager to be penetrated, to be taken. Jürgen had seen that hungry look before, and it never failed to set him on fire.
The first thrust came sharp and hard, and Hans gasped, winced in pain, but he wrapped his legs around Jürgen’s back, and reached around him to cling to his shoulders, bracing himself. He needed this now, needed this invasion, that intense mixture of pain and pleasure, and he lifted his hips and arched up to meet each thrust.
“Don’t’ stop,” he gasped, “harder…bitte…”
“Ja-as hard as you want-” Jürgen breathed, as his thrusts increased in speed. He reached down between them and took hold of his friend, began pulling him in time with each deep thrust.
“Harder…bitte…” Jürgen leaned down and kissed Hans deeply, bit his lower lip, felt him shudder, felt the hot splashes of semen on his belly, the rhythmic clutching around his cock. He thrust in deep and held still, filling his friend with his seed, as he had so many times before, including earlier that very evening.
Afterwards, when they were once again lying side by side, Hans gazed up once more into his friend’s penetrating blue eyes. If it were possible for him to love a man, he would love this one. But then, he doubted he could love anyone.
“I think, mein freund,” Jürgen began, “that you need to take a good, long look at yourself. You think you can’t feel. You think you don’t feel. But you do. And you feel very deeply, much more than you’re willing to admit.”
“Shut up,” Hans growled, reaching up again to grab Jürgen, this time by the throat. Jürgen wasn’t having any of it, and he flung Hans’ hand away.
“Oh, stop it, Hans,” he said. “Don’t posture with me. I haven’t said anything that isn’t true, and you know it. You’ve always known it.”
“Ja,” Hans finally whispered. “You’ve always been truthful with me. I don’t think you’re capable of being untruthful. It’s not in your nature. But I…I’m not sure what the truth is any more.”
Jürgen leaned back, grabbed his cigarettes, and offered one to Hans, who took it gratefully. He took one himself, waited for Hans’ to grab his lighter and light both cigarettes. The two then lay together in silence for a few minutes, smoking.
“I think you do know the truth, mein freund,” Jürgen finally said. “You’re just not willing to recognize it.”
“Maybe so. All I know is that I want this woman-more fiercely than I’ve ever wanted anyone, even-” Hans stopped abruptly, afraid of saying too much, revealing too much.
Jürgen smiled. Even me, he thought. Even me. He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew that was what Hans had almost said. He had always known, and he knew that Hans knew it, too.
“What will you do?” He finally asked.
“I have a job to do.”
“That’s never stopped you from doing what you wanted before.”
“Gott in Himmel, I don’t even know this woman-“ he stopped abruptly. He did know Desiree. Not every detail of her life, not her full history, not what she was like when she first woke up in the morning or at last lay her head down to sleep at night-those times each day when he never failed to think about her.
And yet, somehow, he knew this woman, and she knew him. He felt as though he knew instinctively what made her angry, what made her sad, what brought her happiness. Call it fate, call it destiny-and Hans had never been one to dwell on either, which he had long considered romantic nonsense. But there was something in her that was so very like him. It was that hunger, that intense need that seemed to surround them both. It was like an immense cloak, one that, perhaps, might just save them both in this time of war.
* * * * *
In all her runs things had never gone so smoothly for Desiree. She’d brought the dollars to the drop-off point, picked up the weapons, driven from town to town, distributing them, all without a hitch. Now she was on her way home. Somehow the fact that it had gone so easily was unnerving to her. And when Desiree felt this unnerved, she became restless.
She hadn’t been able to get Hans out of her mind. His mouth. His hands. His scent, that wonderful mixture of fresh soap, leather and tobacco. How he felt inside her. How he felt in her mouth, her tongue pressed against him. And then there was the man himself, that curious mixture of razor-sharp intellect, supreme self-confidence and an almost hesitant tenderness. Desiree knew he was her enemy, that she was literally fighting against everything he stood for. But the man himself-somehow he existed apart from all that.
She could sense his disconnect from it all. He was not driven by ideology but by a fierce desire to win, to conquer, to triumph. And she knew he was driven to conquer her, not just because it was his job, but also because he wanted her as much as she wanted him. He had touched her, kissed her, stroked her hair, and held her with a tenderness she never would have suspected him capable of. Every time she thought of him she hungered for him even more.
Desiree hadn’t been with anyone since she’d last seen him. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her head. She had to do so, somehow, and at the same time, she needed to assuage the hunger that enflamed her. She spotted a tavern ahead, pulled up and parked.
She spotted the young officer the moment she walked in, struck by the all-black uniform. He was considerably younger than she, perhaps by as much as 15 years, but his frank appraisal of her made him seem unusually mature. His hair was slicked back, a look she had never particularly liked on a man, but somehow it went with the starched perfection of the uniform, the sharp, icy blue eyes and the almost impossibly pretty red mouth.
He smiled at her, a predatory smile, and Desiree found herself smiling back. She walked straight to the bar and ordered a beer, just what he was drinking.
“I’ll get that, Eric,” he told the bartender, in German.
She turned to look at him. “Merci, M’sieur.”
“Pas de quoi.” He came closer, until he was standing next to her. He leaned against the bar, and his eyes swept appreciatively over her once more.
“I do believe, Madame,” he began in perfect French, “that your outfit is quite the most fetching in this room. Those dungarees suit you.”
“Merci beaucoup. Your outfit’s rather impressive, too,” she told him. “Black suits you.”
He grinned at that. “What’s your name?”
“Aimienne.” Desiree might have enjoyed taking risks, but she wasn’t foolish enough to use her real name.
“A very pretty name. And so romantic! Might one hope that, with such a name, there is a certain purpose to your visit here tonight?”
“What a clever way to put it. And the answer is yes.”
He leaned in closer, so close she could hear his breath quicken.
“That’s good to know,” he said in a low, husky voice, “because I find you very exciting.” He brought a hand up and caressed her cheek before leaning in even closer to her.
“Would you like to get out of here,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear.
Desiree shivered, felt the sharp pang of desire run through her. “Oui,” she whispered in his ear in return, before darting out her tongue to lightly touch his earlobe, Feeling him shiver in response.
Without taking his eyes off her, the young officer pulled out his wallet, tossed a few francs on the bar. He gestured in a toast to her, and she did the same to him. Then they both downed their drinks. Their empty glasses hit the bar in unison, as though they were throwing down the gauntlet between them. They stared at each other for a moment, letting the raw, animal attraction grow even stronger between them.
“You haven’t told me your name,” Desiree finally said.
“Sturmbannführer Dieter Hellstrom, Geheime Staatspolitzei, at your service, Madame.” He clicked his heels, took hold of Desiree’s wrist and planted a lingering kiss on the back of her hand, his eyes never leaving hers.
He let go of her hand, rose up, took hold of her elbow and swiftly steered Desiree out of the tavern and into the street.
“I have a room near here,” he told her, pulling her briskly alongside him.
Desiree hurried to keep up with him. Her heart was pounding in her chest, prompted by the heady mixture of fear and arousal at the risk she was taking.
Suddenly the Sturmbannführer pulled her into an alleyway and into his arms, kissing her so passionately he took her breath away. An image of Hans flashed into her mind then, and she was taken back to that day in her cottage, when he had first kissed her just like this.
With that thought Desiree returned the young officer’s kiss with equal fervor, pressing up against his arousal, so hungry and eager to relive those moments with Hans. Whatever the risk, she would have this man. She had to. At that moment, she needed him.
He let her go, pulled her the rest of the distance, taking her through a separate entrance into a small boarding house. He led her down a long hallway, took out the key to open the door to his room, pulled her in after him.
He immediately began to undress, removing his waist belt, undoing the buttons on his jacket and then his shirt. Desiree followed suit, unbuttoning her sweater, pulling it off, removing her oxfords and dungarees. They never took their eyes off each other as they quickly undressed.
Without his uniform he looked frail and vulnerable, his body slender, the skin as pallid as porcelain, except for his cock, which was very, very erect, the foreskin drawn all the way back, the head ruddy. He looked strangely beautiful as he stood before her, this pale, thin creature with a hard cock, his blue eyes wild with passion, his breath a series of heavy pants.
He grabbed Desiree’s arm, pulled her into another kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth. She felt herself being thrown back against a small bed, and he was on top of her immediately, pulling her legs over his shoulders and thrusting deep inside her, making her cry out from the sudden yet exquisite invasion. He fucked her hard and fast, slowing only when he felt her come.
“Ja,” he breathed. “You’re so hot, so tight. Do I feel good inside you?”
“Oui,” she gasped, arching up against him, so hungry, so desperate for him.
He shoved deep inside her, then held still. “More? You want more?”
“Oui!” she cried, and again he fucked her hard and fast, his hips slapping against hers, until she came again. Then he began to shake and shudder, his thrusts becoming more irregular until, with a sharp cry and a final thrust deep inside, he came at the mouth of her womb.
* * * * *
Desiree woke up a while later, gazed at the young man who lay fast asleep beside her, naked and so very vulnerable-looking. He had given her what she needed, and she couldn’t help but feel some affection for him. She got out of bed quietly, hoping not to disturb him, and dressed quickly. He stirred in his sleep, opened his eyes, and smiled at her.
“I enjoyed that,” he said. “Did you?”
“Very much.”
“It won’t happen again though, will it?”
She shook her head. “No.”
He smiled again, reached for his cigarettes and lit one.
“Never mind,” he said without a trace of bitterness in his voice. “I’m used to it. Merci.”
“Merci,” she replied. She finished dressing as he watched and smoked. When she was done she went to the door to let herself out, but turned back to look at him once more.
The smile remained on his face as he took another puff from his cigarette. “Au revoir,” he finally said.
“Au revoir.” Desiree blew him a quick kiss, then slipped out the door.
She felt renewed and invigorated as she drove her van out of the small town and headed for home. She wasn’t afraid or nervous any longer. Desiree knew what she wanted, and she would take it-regardless of the consequences. She hummed to herself as she drove back to Angouleme-and to Hans.