Cleopatra's Perfume. Jina Bacarr

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СКАЧАТЬ the hell are you doing?” she asked.

      “I made you hot…for him.”

      With a sly glance at her beautiful face, sweating, glowing, her eyes alight with excitement, begging him for more, he peeled open her lower lips, her juices nestled in her pink folds, and exposed her without shame to the man walking toward him, cracking his whip. The impact of black leather hitting the brown sandy dirt blew a small dust wind around them like smoke. He held his breath, refusing to inhale, then:

      “The woman is very beautiful and worthy of fucking an officer of the Reich,” the SS officer said in accented English, winding the whip around his hand. “If I were so inclined.”

      The flier turned toward the elitist officer, his senses alert. What the hell did he mean by that?

      “She would be honored to receive the cock of a member of the SS,” Chuck said, keeping his emotions in check.

      “I prefer to watch you fuck her,” said the Nazi, “while I amuse myself with a different game.”

      A large smooth hand slipped over his thigh, rubbing it with caution. The strong smell of Aryan maleness tinged with the spice of perversity invaded his nostrils. The game had changed and he didn’t like the smell of it.

      Why he didn’t make his move during the naked silence that followed, he didn’t know. Surprise, shock, fear? Not for his own life, but hers. Something about the fervent way she looked into his eyes and begged him to understand something else was at play here made him realize this was no ordinary tryst. But what?

      He looked around and caught the SS officer staring at him as he removed his black tunic jacket with its single shoulder strap and thin aluminum collar piping. It took all his strength not to rip off the cotton hand-embroidered SS armband or kick him in the balls when he dropped his black breeches. Not a smart move when he had a service weapon trained on him. He recognized the sleek Walther P-38 pistol. An excellent design. Fit the hand as smoothly as a black glove. He knew he was in deep trouble when he saw the Nazi release the safety and cock the hammer in one motion as he pulled it from his side holster under his black jacket. Unlike most Prussians he’d seen since he arrived in the land of boot clickers, this one didn’t need time to unwind. His firm, muscular body reeked of desire, sweat glistening off the twin lightning bolts tattooed on his forearm like a glaring spotlight.

      He made his interest in him clear, striding around in nothing but his high boots and his hat bearing the Death’s Head badge, the Totenkopf, swinging a whip and crackling it at his side as he struck the ground with the well-used black leather.

      Chuck tried not to show it but he couldn’t control his fast breathing, one hand behind his back to hide what he knew was his hand shaking. What bothered him was how he’d reacted to the warmth of the man’s hands on his skin. Damn, he was hot, ready to climax, and his touch, any touch, he told himself, would have made him explode. He wouldn’t accept any other explanation. He had no doubt if the Nazi tried to brush his skin again with that hand, he’d deck him. He’d heard rumors about the proclivity of certain members of the SS for sex with other men. They shunned the effeminate side of the equation, preferring raucous, beer-drinking sexual antics where a man’s cock found penetration of a different kind to his liking. Dark, secret places that made his skin fester as if purulent sores covered it.

      He scratched at his thigh, more from the crawling dread seeping over him than from the clouds of mosquitoes hiding in the thickets of dense shrubbery surrounding the lake.

      “I have a game,” said the Nazi,“one I’m certain you’ll both enjoy.”

      “And what if I don’t like your game?” Chuck dared to venture.

      “I’m sure we can accommodate the captain,” cried out the Englishwoman, her soft hair wisps clouding the nervous expression he’d seen in her eyes. “I’ll fuck you both!”

      “No,” said the SS guard. “I will fuck you both.” He grabbed the American’s buttocks with his large, smooth hand, making his stiffen. Chuck dug his fingers into his palm so hard he swore he pierced the skin.

      “I swear, if you touch me again—”

      The SS officer laughed. “You will fuck her, mein herr, and I will, as you Americans say, bring up the rear.” He laughed.

      “And if I refuse?”

      “There will be no exit visa.” He ran his hand along Chuck’s inner thigh then he snapped the whip against his flank when he tried to grab the gun away from the Nazi. The American grunted, pulling in his gut and swallowing the pain, rather than cry out.

      “I demand you take us back to Berlin,” Chuck said. “Your game has gone far enough.”

      “I’ll take you back—” the Nazi shoved the gun into his ribs “—straight to Gestapo headquarters to explain your presence in Berlin.”

      “I have no intention of explaining anything to you or your Nazi friends. America isn’t at war with Germany—”

      “Aren’t you forgetting our agreement?” the Englishwoman interrupted, her tone cold and formal, her coquettish mannerisms gone. She glared at Chuck, silently telling him to let her take over. Her look told him she wasn’t playing games now that she knew the SS officer wasn’t interested in her.

      “It’s too late for that, Fräulein.” He pointed the gun at her. Chuck clenched his fists, ignoring the cascade of frenzy invading his brain. Whatever his personal feelings were in this game, he couldn’t allow the Nazi to strike her down in a stabbing flash of gunfire, bullets slicing along her belly, her breasts, jerking her straight up, spinning in a macabre dance of death.

      “No!” she cried out, the late-afternoon sun sparking off her ring and striking the Nazi in the eye, causing him to look away. Chuck gathered up a handful of gravel mixed among the sandy dirt and gripped it in his palm, waiting for the right moment to strike.

      “I regret having to destroy such a lovely female body,” the SS officer said, straining to perfect his aim in the harsh glare, “a perfect example of curve and line, but in the name of the Reich—”

      “Run!” Chuck cried out, then spun around and threw the handful of gravel into the Nazi’s face. The man jerked backward, his hat falling off and onto the sand. Chuck stomped on it, smashing the skull-and-crossbones SS insignia under his bare foot and ignoring the sharp pain digging into his flesh. Then, before the German could react, he kicked him in the groin so hard he screamed out, but not before his pistol fired and the bullet hit the ground, kicking up a cloud of sand.

      The Englishwoman didn’t wait. He watched in horror as she raced toward the lake, her white-blond hair shimmering around her shoulders like the crests of a wave. Then for an instant she pirouetted and stood on the large boulder, her arms folded across her breasts, her ruby-and-pearl ring catching the eye of the sun and making it flutter. Her last look was at him, her eyes begging him not to forget her. Then, another shot. The Nazi. Before he could get to her, she screamed then dived into the lake. Seconds, only seconds, yet he’d never forget that look.

       Had the second bullet found its mark?

      Before he could go after her, the Nazi was on him like a lizard crawling up a mud bank. He struggled with the German, kicking him again and, using the sparring techniques he’d learned on his numerous trips ashore to Hong Kong ferrying the mail, forced СКАЧАТЬ