Nights Of Fire

by Laura Leone

  "Are you warm enough?" She edged closer to him, pressing into his body until he could feel her heat through the threadbare blanket, which was now carelessly bunched between them.

  He was warm enough. Felt like summer.

  Felt like a warm, shapely woman rubbing up against him...

  "All right now?"

  "Wh... Wh..."

  "Oui?" she supplied, switching back to French as she misunderstood his feeble attempts at speech.

  Where am I?

  A barn. With a Frenchwoman who spoke weak German and good English.

  He tried to study her with his good eye. Moonlight streaked across the rough bed she now shared with him. Her skin looked like mother-of-pearl. Her hair poured pale gold over her shoulders. The patterned fabric of her simple dress looked speckled in the moonlight, almost as if she wore some exotic animal skin to entice him—or to elude him, in case she chose to disappear again into the dappled shadows, leaving him alone.

  "Don't... go," he choked out.

  Her palm on his face. So tender. "No, mon amour, I won't go."

  Relief weakened him, muddled his mind. He closed his eyes and inhaled, catching her scent. Oh, she smelled good. If moonlight had a fragrance, this would be it. The scent carried him somewhere vaguely familiar, someplace he wanted to be—always. Something rich and wonderful unfurled inside him as he inhaled her again while her hands—so warm and elegant and strong—moved over his face, his hair, his neck.

  "Wh... Wh..."

  "Shhh, I won't go. I'm right here. I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise."

  Who am I?

  "Who..."

  She kissed him suddenly, startling him. So quick and light, he wondered if he imagined it just because he wanted it.

  But then her breath was on his cheek, and her body shifted even closer, and he knew that no delirium could feel this real. Her lips were against his again, and she tasted him at her leisure. Slow, sweet, languid.

  He held perfectly still, dazed and delighted and mystified, while her lips continued to sip so delicately from his. Then her fingertips replaced her mouth, tracing his lips.

  "Does it hurt?" she asked.

  What? No.

  Then he winced when she did hurt him.

  Ah. That was what she meant, why she was being so delicate. His lower lip was stinging now.

  "I don't want to make it start bleeding again," she said.

  How had that happened?

  He had a sudden memory of biting down hard on it. Why? To keep from screaming. While they tortured him.

  Tortured me? Who? Who?

  "What's wrong?"

  He had gone tense all over and was breathing harder again.

  Who?

  "Did I hurt you?" she asked.

  "Nazis," he said suddenly.

  The Nazis did this to him.

  Why?

  "Shhh, you're safe now. You're safe."

  Her arms began to circle him, moving carefully.

  Nazis... Germans! He had heard her speaking to a German! He jerked away from her. The sudden movement hurt, and he groaned aloud.

  "Don't," she exhorted. "No one is here but me. You must be still. Please."

  She had rescued him. He fought for clarity. Yes, she had smuggled him past the German. She was trying to help him.

  "Sorry," he muttered, forcing himself to relax.

  "Oh, my love." She sounded broken-hearted again.

  He didn't resist her embrace this time. His trembling embarrassed him, but he let her pull his head down to the soft V of her neckline and press his face into the scented hollow of her breasts.

  He moaned softly, but not with pain. God, she was soft. So soft. Smelling of moonlight. Warm like safety. All flowing curves and silky skin, seductive strokes and comforting caresses. He rubbed his face against her throat and, when she sighed with what seemed like pleasure, opened his mouth to taste the creamy smoothness of her neck.

  She made a desperate little sound and dug her fingers into his hair, pressing his head closer. He licked his dry lips, then rubbed them along the swanlike grace of her throat, kissing... tasting... sucking, even though it made his lip hurt a little.

  She arched into him, lifting her breasts to his mouth like an offering. He nuzzled the thin, worn fabric of her dress. His hands, which had been exploring her shoulders and waist, crept up to fondle and feel all that round, ripe, womanly sweetness which trembled with her panting breaths.

  All his blood seemed to pool in his loins, now heavy and throbbing with sudden need. His penis, mercifully uninjured, stirred, growing pleasantly hard and twitching with the sheer joy of touching her like this. Of being alive and in her arms. Something hot and sweet and familiar rushed through him.

  Alive.

  He hadn't realized until now that he had thought he was going to die. If not now, then before. Before her. Before this.

  I'm alive.

  And suddenly his body was intent on proving it.

  He tugged with blind impatience at her neckline, wanting more. Wanting to bury himself in her warmth and softness, wanting to plunge into her body in hot, raw celebration of being alive. She sighed and rubbed her deliciously round breasts against him as he fumbled with the buttons of her dress, his cock straining eagerly as he realized she was welcoming his clear if clumsy attempt to strip her and claim her body as his prize. He made a frustrated sound, his knuckles brushing her turgid nipples as his disorientation and the darkness thwarted his efforts to undress her. He abandoned the buttons and moved his hands over her breasts, feeling their weight and fullness through the material of her dress. He massaged and squeezed, a little rough in his eagerness. His throat constricted with mounting passion as his fingers explored her hard nipples through layers of fabric, and her tortured breath and grasping hands assured him she enjoyed what he was doing.

  Then she slipped both her hands between them, first to stroke boldly between his legs, then to fiddle with her buttons until her dress finally spread open under his eager hands. She wore a slip underneath, its sheer fabric clinging lovingly to the curves of her body. He grunted with dissatisfaction, desperate to touch her skin, to worship her naked body with his. She laughed very softly, then disentangled herself and sat upright. He watched while, glowing like an opal in the moonlight, she pulled her dress off her shoulders so that the bodice hung around her waist, then pulled the thin straps of her slip over her arms.

  Silvery light dappled the rich globes of her breasts and kissed the delicate peaks with tender flecks of rippling shadow. He stared, feeling the thrum of his blood as his erection grew harder, his body yearning for the mysterious beauty she was offering him without question or explanation.

  She took one of his hands and brought it up to her breast, where her flesh was so warm and satiny soft. She pressed herself into his palm as she rubbed it against the tight bud of her nipple.

  "Ohhh." She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, the gold of her hair mixing with the silvery light. She moved erotically, rising up on her haunches and sinking again, a primal motion which captivated him. His mouth went dry with desire as she moved, lost in her own tranquil rhythm, rubbing herself against his palm in a luxuriant massage. Her waist undulated delicately, and her breath was deep and indulgent. Unable to resist, he squeezed and kneaded with his fingers. She moaned and then opened her eyes. Her lips curved in a lazy smile, and then she reached for his other hand, which she drew to her mouth. She planted a wet kiss on his palm, then licked it. He groaned as her agile tongue moved avidly over his fingers. Then she drew his hand down to her other breast, leaning towards him so that he could easily massage them both now.

  When just touching her wasn't enough, he pinched her nipples and tugged. She gasped and flinched, but readily sank towards his mouth, sliding her fingers into his hair to guide him to her nipple. He moved his mouth over the tip of her breast and explored the hard peak with his tongue, licking and sucking, his arms tightening around her as she moved in reflexive response to his
teasing. She even tasted like moonlight, like magic made flesh, as if the dappled night had given her form and substance.

  Then she was kissing him, harder now, satisfying his hunger. It hurt, but he didn't care. He nibbled on her lips, massaged her tongue with his, then suckled it, feeding on her, begging her silently for more, even more...

  She made a sharp noise and pulled away. He reached for her—and groaned when it caused him pain.

  "Your lip," she said. "It's bleeding again."

  He lay back, trying to control his breath. His head was throbbing again.

  He felt her tongue flick lightly against the corner of his mouth once, then twice. Licking away the blood, he realized.

  Suddenly embarrassed and confused, he turned his head and brushed at his mouth.

  "We shouldn't do this," she said. She sounded rueful rather than embarrassed or contrite. "You need rest. Not..." A touch of laughter, maybe a little shaky with emotion. "Not this."

  He nodded—and immediately felt piercing pain.

  Now his head throbbed with every lust-fueled breath, every heavy beat of his passion-pumped heart. In the sudden shift of mood and focus, his straining erection quickly became the least of his body's grievances.

  He said nothing, already as exhausted as he was aching.

  It was a hell of a tribute to her charms, he thought, that he'd gotten even that far, given the condition he was in.

  "Sleep now," she said. "I'll be nearby."

  His eyes were already closed.

  "I'm going to finish putting away the supplies I was bringing in when you shouted for me."

  Was she speaking English or French? He wasn't even sure now. His weary mind passed over the words and just absorbed the meaning.

  "A little food. Water. Bandages. I didn't want to carry much, in case I was seen," she continued. "And I've got to get rid of your clothes. But I won't be long, and I'll be able to hear you if you need me."

  When he didn't reply, she prodded, "Paul?"

  Paul.

  That must be me.

  Was it familiar? Paul... He just didn't know.

  Who am I?

  He was too tired to ask.

  Who are you?

  It didn't seem important right now.

  One thing he did remember: Morning always came. Presumably it would come again.

  All his questions could wait until then. They would have to.

  Reaching the end of his strength, he let the night close over him.

  Chapter Two

  June 4, 1944

  A rooster crowed. The shrill noise crashed through his skull and into his aching brain like a bayonet.

  Someone please kill that damn bird.

  It crowed again.

  He opened his good eye. With a little concentration, the bad eye, he was relieved to discover, also opened slightly this morning. He couldn't see anything with it yet, but it was already a little better.

  He looked around. Pale gray light gave the loft a dreamlike quality.

  Someone snuffled delicately within inches of his ear. He turned his head, which immediately pounded.

  She was there. The woman. Sleeping right beside him.

  Beautiful, as he had thought. Light flattered her even more than darkness did. Now she looked almost like something the dawn had conjured. Not a girl, but still young. At a guess, somewhere in her late twenties.

  Who was she? Someone close to him, he supposed, since...

  He stopped breathing the moment he realized she was under the blanket with him. He suddenly remembered her as she was last night, passionate and uninhibited under his hands. Now she was wearing only her slip. One thin strap slid down her smooth arm. He glanced around and saw her dress laid neatly upon a baleil of hay.

  The rooster crowed one more time, positively begging for a shallow grave. The woman stirred, snuggled closer to him, then roused and opened her eyes. They were big, very blue, long-lashed. She had high cheekbones, a pointed chin, a lush and sensual mouth.

  He became hotly, awkwardly aware of his erection.

  "Good morning," she whispered sleepily. She closed her eyes and rolled towards him, gliding her leg across his body as she did so.

  He made a rough noise as the soft luxury of her thigh rubbed across his throbbing cock and aching balls.

  He felt the puff of her breath against his neck. "I guess you're feeling a little better." She sounded amused.

  "Um..."

  His mind, at least, was clearer. He was still bewildered and confused, but a night's rest and the borning light of day ensured he was no longer irrational with panic. On the other hand, if she kept rubbing her thigh against him that way, he'd become irrational with lust in just a few seconds. He reached up to take her shoulders, intending to set her away from him.

  She surprised him by pulling away, "No."

  She sat up. Her golden hair tumbled gloriously around her shoulders. There was some straw in it.

  He wanted her. Even if he wasn't going to act on it, he couldn't keep it off his face. What man alive wouldn't want her, golden and cream-colored, smiling at him in the glowing dawn with sleepy seduction?

  "No," she repeated. "Your head... You should try to remain still, I think."

  I need to know what's going on.

  "I... need..." His dry voice cracked.

  Her lips curved in a broad smile. A woman's smile. "I know what you need."

  She took hold of the blanket, tugged it off of him, and tossed it aside. Naked under her bold gaze, with his groin hot and hard for her, he fumbled for a coherent thought.

  We have to talk.

  "We... We—"

  She put her fingers over his lips to silence him.

  Their eyes locked for a moment. His world reeled, and he forgot what he wanted to say. What he needed to know.

  Then her gaze followed her fingers as they traveled down his body. She watched her fingertips slide over his chin and down his throat to his chest. She traced his collarbone, then circled one nipple once, twice, and again, before brushing lightly across it. Her eyes grew dewy and heavy-lidded as she spread her palm across his flat stomach to massage it with firm, circular strokes.

  He felt like he would dissolve or explode by the time she finally slid her fingers into the springy dark hair of his groin, toying with it briefly before she grasped the hot shaft eagerly straining towards her touch.

  He sighed and trembled a little. Her lips, pink and slightly swollen now, parted. She licked them slowly, then gave him a long, deliberate, teasing look. His hips moved in response. She smiled, enjoying her power.

  It didn't matter that he didn't know her name, didn't even know his own. Right now, nothing in the world mattered except this. He covered her hand with his own and lifted his hips, massaging himself against her. The slow, hot friction of her palm, the rhythmic flexing of her strong fingers...

  His eyes closed in ecstasy. Then her cotton-covered breasts were pressed against his chest, the tight buds of her nipples hard through the thin material. He gave up guiding her hand, because she so obviously knew exactly what she was doing, and he wrapped his arms around her as she kissed him. Her tongue was silky and full in his mouth. Her gentleness made him impatient, even though he realized it was because she didn't want to hurt him again. He tried to deepen the kiss, to drink more greedily from her mouth, but she pulled away, frustrating him.

  Her hand was vigorous now, rubbing his cock hard enough to make his hips pump in response, then moving to squeeze and tease his balls. Her mouth was hot and damp on his chest, and he quivered when she sucked hard on his nipples, being greedy with his body after being so cautious with his mouth.

  He stroked her beautiful hair as she licked his stomach, his navel, his hip. Her tongue traced the crease of his thigh while her hand kept rubbing his cock. Then her fingers tightened so hard around his erection that he gasped... and shivered with mingled hunger and relief when she let go.

  She gently nuzzled his groin, as if to make up for her momentary r
oughness. And then her lips, so incredibly tender and gentle, closed over the tip of his penis.

  He held his breath. It seemed like the whole world held its breath. Then her tongue flicked him as delicately as the touch of a butterfly's wing. Again and again, a rapid flutter of mind-shattering torment. He panted hard, trembling and helpless under this brutally exquisite assault.

  She made it worse, though, even worse, traveling down the length of his shaft with those butterfly licks, pausing at her leisure to kiss, suck, nibble—even jolt him into shuddering excitement with a hard nip here and there.

  He wished he knew her name, because he wanted to say it over and over, a plea, a prayer, a paean of infinite pleasure.

  He wanted to make love to her, wanted it so much he'd give up the right to ever know his own name again if he could just sink into her, become part of her, feel her wet heat welcoming and embracing him deep inside of her. He moved towards her, reaching for her. She gently but insistently pushed him back down. He tugged at her arm, unwilling to be denied.

  She lifted her head, sighing as her hand tangled with his. Her swollen lips glistened wetly, taunting him ruthlessly now with their lush likeness to the part of her he most wanted to know, to touch and feel and explore, to plunge into with reckless abandon.

  His hand was on her thigh, stroking her urgently, telling her without words what he wanted. With her eyes half closed, she suddenly shifted so that her back was to him as she knelt beside him. He was frustrated that she wouldn't give him what he wanted, but he was still too weak to do more than follow where she led. He stroked the curve of her hip, briefly kneaded her firm buttocks, then pushed up her slip to slide his hand under her body and between her thighs. She wore French underwear, loose panties which gave him easy access to the hidden delights of her body.

  She stiffened and went very still as he cupped his palm over her fur-thatched mound, feeling the intense heat radiating from it. He combed his fingers through the damp, silky hair there, watching the way her whole body quivered. She moaned and dropped her head forward as his fingers began exploring the wet, delicate folds of her labia. Her hand tightened convulsively on his cock, and both of them froze for a moment, their harsh breath rasping as the pale light of dawn shimmered on their bodies.