by Laura Leone
"Hmm?" She seemed very absorbed in straightening the sleeves of his jacket after hanging it up.
"I wouldn't want you to feel that I don't tend you as well as a Frenchman would. Or," he added innocently, "as often."
Now she rolled her eyes. "Any more often and I wouldn't be able to walk."
He grinned again. "Are you saying I was misinformed about Frenchwomen?"
"What were you told?"
He leaned forward and confided, "That they're voracious. Insatiable. Likely to hospitalize any man who isn't tremendously fit and vigorous."
She gave him a very French look, stepping deftly away when his arm shot out in a sudden attempt to capture her. "Surely that isn't what they really say about us?"
"Of course it is." He confided, "In fact, it's why the Allies are so eager to invade."
The moment the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Gabrielle's expression clouded, and the playful mood ripening between them suddenly withered and died. Paul's words were a reminder of everything which made their marriage so dangerous, their lives so fragile, and their world so cruel.
Gabrielle looked toward the window, where the moonless sky made the autumn evening outside thickly black. Then she sighed and slid onto Paul's lap, abandoning any pretense of making him coax or seduce her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and asked, "How soon must you leave?"
He glanced at the old clock on the mantle, noting how little time he had left with her, as he replied, "Before midnight."
Paul felt her tension increase, but she kept her voice even as she asked, "How long will you be gone this time?"
"A few days," he answered vaguely.
He was meeting two commandos who were coming ashore, in the dark, at the mouth of the Orne River. If the Allies were going to launch a massive invasion of occupied France in the coming year, then extensive and accurate intelligence-gathering was needed to ensure their victory and to support their assault on Hitler's forces.
The fate of Gabrielle's country was at stake, as was the life of her husband, but Paul's orders prohibited him from discussing most of his activities with her. He slid his arms around her now, shying away from the knowledge that one reason he couldn't tell her anything about this new mission was so that the Nazis couldn't learn anything from her if they arrested and interrogated her.
Paul longed to tell her everything; and he knew she longed to know where he was going, what he had to accomplish, and when he would return to her. She was his wife, the person he had chosen to share his life with, and it tormented them both that he had to keep so many secrets from her. Sometimes he even longed to tell her how afraid he was—afraid that he'd fail, that he'd finally get caught, that he'd break under torture, that he'd never see her again.
Those fears all seemed negligible, though, next to the monstrous fear for her which consumed him. He prayed that Didier's arrest was just routine, that the man wouldn't be seriously interrogated. Above all, he prayed that Didier wouldn't say anything that might endanger Gabrielle.
"Didier's arrest changes everything," Paul told her. He ran his hand slowly over the ripely sculpted curve of one bare calf, then up under her skirt to caress a smooth thigh.
She sighed, with pleasure rather than sorrow this time, and started unbuttoning his shirt. "No, it was a general round-up."
"You don't know that for sure." He sought and found her panties, the old material now thin and fragile from so many washings. He slid his fingers under the tickling tatters of frayed lace and stroked the warm nest of curly hair at the mysterious juncture of her thighs.
She drew in a sharp breath and closed her eyes, resting her forehead against his as she relaxed and sank into his caresses.
This exquisite magic had existed between them from the beginning, yet even this couldn't fully banish his fear. "One word from Didier," Paul whispered, "and you'd be—"
The soft touch of her fingers on his lips silenced him. "He was unlucky, that's all." She made a stifled sound and squirmed on his lap, stirring him with the gentle grinding of her bottom against his groin, as he continued to tease her with his fingers. "The Germans will probably release him in a day or two."
"But if—"
This time she pressed her mouth against his to silence him, her lips tender and full of promise. She finished unbuttoning his shirt, her hands a little unsteady now, and started tugging his undershirt out of the waistline of his trousers. His eyes drifted shut as she slid her hands underneath the fabric to stroke his belly and chest, skin to skin.
They kissed again, their tongues touching lightly. She tasted delicious to him, hot and familiar and a little sweet—maybe from the wild honey she had used to flavor the over-used tea leaves she had boiled after dinner.
He let his hands fall away from her body so she could push his shirt off his shoulders, then he raised his arms so she could pull his undershirt over his head. He buried his face in the soft hollow of her neck as he wrapped his arms around her. Her strong fingers, so talented at sculpting clay, caressed his bare shoulders.
She murmured, "You're tense," and started massaging him.
"Tense," he repeated. He leaned back to meet her gaze as her fingers gently kneaded his shoulders, trying to soothe him. "Do you suppose it's from having visions of my wife being raped and tortured by Nazis?"
She heard the fear in his voice, even his shame at feeling so helpless to protect her; but she wouldn't enter that nightmare with him. "Don't think about them," she insisted. "Not now."
"I can't help it," he admitted.
She slid her hands up his shoulders and over his neck until she cupped his face between her warm, smooth palms. Her eyes were dark with emotion as she said, "In another hour or two, you're leaving me again. I don't know where you're going, or what you're doing, or how much danger you'll be in. I don't know how long this mission might take, so I won't know exactly when to start fearing that you might be dead—"
"Chérie..."
"So I'll just fear it the whole time you're gone. Even after you've returned, I'll still dream that you're dead, or that you've been taken by the Nazis."
He tried to kiss her, finding her words unbearable, consumed by guilt at the pain he caused her. But she pulled away and continued her torrent.
"Even when you're lying right beside me, sometimes even when you're inside me, I'm still so afraid. I can't stand it, either! It's like being eaten alive every day."
"Gabrielle, I—"
"But do I keep urging you to run away?" Now tears sparkled in her eyes. "Do I beg you to leave me and go back to America? Do I make a fuss about you every time there's an arrest or a round-up? Do I ever make you feel like you're a burden to me?"
"You are not a burden to me." He sighed and hugged her fiercely, pressing her face against him. He felt the hot sting of her tears against his naked shoulder and murmured, "I'm sorry, chérie. I'm so sorry." He kissed her hair and whispered, "I love you so much, it makes me a fool sometimes."
"Well, you're only a man," she sniffed, "and my mother always told me they're not very bright."
His breath escaped him on a soft puff of laughter as he tightened his arms around her and buried his face in her hair, waiting for her tears to subside.
Finally, she disentangled herself enough to meet his gaze again. "Promise you won't ask me again."
"To leave?" he asked. She nodded, and he hesitated. Promising to love, honor, and cherish her the rest of his life had been easy, and vowing to worship her with his body had been his dearest wish. But this promise was hard; this one stuck in his throat. Still, he knew she was right. They were in this together, and it was no easier for her than it was for him. He finally considered what it would do to her to hide in some distant region where she'd have no way of knowing if he was alive or dead from week to week. And so he agreed, "I promise."
She smiled softly, satisfied. "And no more thoughts tonight of the Germans." When he didn't immediately respond, she said, "Between now and when you walk
out that door, I mean to make sure you can think of nothing but me."
Her kiss was rough and hungry, punishing him for hurting her, punishing him for leaving her again. Her nails dug into his shoulders, abusing him for the pain he caused her. When her teeth sank hard into his lower lip, he flinched, startled and aroused by the sudden sting of her ardor.
"No one and nothing but me," she said fiercely.
Using his shoulders for balance, she shifted on his lap so that she straddled him. Her red skirt rode up over her thighs, and then Paul pushed it higher, up over her hips, letting it bunch around her waist while she deliberately ground against him, taunting him through the layers of fabric still separating them.
"No Germans," she commanded. "No OSS or Underground or Gestapo. Just me."
She flexed the muscles of her buttocks and thighs to rub her mons insistently against his groin, her cheeks flushing at the sudden rush of renewed pleasure she experienced in the same luscious spot his fingers had been teasing only minutes ago. Her breath started coming faster, blowing sweetly onto his face.
"Only me," she whispered. "Only us."
Gabrielle smiled triumphantly when she felt his body make the breath-stealing transition from tender passion to hot arousal, his previously pleasant erection now straining uncomfortably against his fly. A painful need to thrust inside of her, a rough and reckless passion, suddenly swept through him. His skin felt hot and itchy as a gnawing restlessness consumed him. He gripped her hips hard and responded to her movements, pushing against her in delighted frustration. The wooden chair groaned warningly beneath them, but they ignored it.
She kissed him again, keeping her mouth closed, denying entry to his tongue the way trousers and undergarments refused him entry to her body. Then she bit his cheek, his chin, his jaw. She pressed her face into his neck and sank her teeth into the tender flesh there, then licked to soothe it. The comfort was brief, though, before she bit him again and sucked hard, branding him, leaving a mark that would ensure she'd be on his flesh, as well as in his thoughts, long after he left her.
"Think only of this," she told him. "Only this."
He pulled gently at her hair, then tugged hard when she resisted. He forced her mouth up to his, seeking the kiss he wanted from her, demanding that she give it to him. She still refused, tormenting him because his departure tonight was tormenting her. He clamped his hand around her chin and forced her jaw open, then kissed her as he longed to.
Defeated, she let him do what he wanted, giving him whatever he demanded, and making enthusiastic demands of her own. His tongue fought and mated with hers as he invaded and explored the hot wet pleasure of her mouth, which had been made just for him. Further down, where his blood pooled like volcanic lava ready for an earth-shattering eruption, his erection twitched impatiently, crying out to explore the hot wet pleasure of her vagina which, he knew, was even more perfectly made for him than her luscious mouth.
She shifted to wrap her legs around him, around the spindly old chair they were using so recklessly. He heard a soft thud behind him, then another, and smiled when he realized she was kicking off her shoes.
Getting rid of her clothes suddenly struck him as a wonderful idea, something he should have thought of before, so he started fumbling with the buttons of her blouse, working his way down as they continued to kiss. The skin of her stomach was like warm satin against his fingers as he unfastened her buttons, and he lost track of his task as he stopped what he was doing to touch and stroke and enjoy her body. Then he was grasping her around the waist and arching her backwards, startling them both, so he could kiss and lick and taste the smooth, pale flesh which so enthralled his hands. He felt a tremor in the chair when Gabrielle's heels caught on the back of it to help her balance as she let her head fall back, sighing loudly while Paul nibbled at her midriff.
Her hands stroked his hair, her breath getting harsher when he started nuzzling the smooth cups of the silk brassiere she wore—an extravagance from her meager wartime wedding trousseau. Responding to the urging of her hands, he opened his mouth over one silken-tipped breast and sucked deeply, pleased with the frantic gasps this produced in his wife. Eyes closed, he let his questing tongue explore the burgeoning nipple beneath the delicate fabric, loving the way Gabrielle arched into him, so eager to be devoured. Equally eager to devour, he bit down gently, letting his teeth sink into soft silk and tender flesh. She groaned and gave a startled quiver, her legs jerking involuntarily—and causing the back of the chair to making a loud cracking sound.
"Oops," she said breathlessly, and they laughed.
Paul sat upright as Gabrielle let her legs go slack and drop to the floor, rebalancing so as to put less strain on the furniture. With their faces close together and their breath mingling, Paul slid his hands around Gabrielle's back, moving under the worn fabric of her white blouse, to unhook her bra. He trailed his fingers lightly around the bottom edge of the now-loose garment, brushed his knuckles against the silken cups, then slid his palms underneath to massage her bare breasts. She closed her eyes and leaned heavily into him, moving in response to his questing fingers.
He knew she loved this, knew she could spend long minutes just lost in the pleasure of him touching her this way, rubbing and kneading her breasts, pinching her nipples, stroking, squeezing, caressing. Sometimes he was rough enough to make her gasp and quiver in the startled arousal of almost-pain. Sometimes he was so gentle that she sobbed with impatience and used her own hands to show him what she wanted.
Tonight he gave her everything she wanted, rough and tender, gentle and hard, as her shifting body and expressive face told him she wanted it. And when she pulled his head down to her breasts, wanting even more, he was shaking with impatience and the need to give it to her. He licked and laved her swollen nipples, sucking gently at first, then hard when she arched into him, drawing deeply and reveling in how sweet the delicate buds tasted in his ravenous mouth.
She was grinding wildly against him now, making him crazy. Her incoherent moans and murmurings were the most erotic music he'd ever heard. Knowing she'd probably scold him later when she came to her senses, he ripped her blouse away from her shoulders, enjoying the sound of tearing fabric, then yanked off her bra. He hugged her tightly, drowning in the feel of their naked torsos straining together as they stroked and kissed each other's arms, shoulders, necks, faces. While her soft breasts rubbed against his chest, he rummaged through her passion-tousled hair to get rid of her few remaining hairpins, then ran his fingers through those thick, sun-gold waves again and again, knowing he wouldn't have a chance to touch her for days after this.
Gabrielle leaned back enough to run her hands down his chest. Then, after another hungry kiss, she smiled wickedly and unbuckled his belt. He sighed with relief—then quivered when, instead of unbuttoning his trousers, she suddenly started stroking him vigorously through his pants. He tried to tell her that wasn't such a good idea, but all that actually came out of his mouth were the words, "Don't stop."
Naturally, she immediately stopped, proving that she really was determined to torture him for leaving her tonight. Then her fingers suddenly closed so tightly around his aching penis that he winced.
"Keep this in good condition while you're away," she instructed.
"I promise," he said faintly, squirming a little.
She released him, then slid her hand lower. He eyed her with alarm when she grabbed his balls, but she was gentle despite the mischievous look on her face. "And I wouldn't want anything to happen to these."
"I'll take good care of them," he assured her in a strained voice.
"Because I think it's fair to say that I use them as much as you do."
"Yes, indeed," he agreed, holding his breath
She released him, then made a fist and rubbed her knuckles over the throbbing bulge of his crotch. He moved his hips in response, tightening his hold on her. She kissed him again, and now he finally felt her fingers working on the buttons of his fly. When she slipped her hand
under the waistband of his underwear to stroke his penis with gentle fingers, flesh against flesh, she unleashed something wild inside him. He shifted in the noisily creaking chair so that he could shove aside his clothes as much as he needed to, inadvertently shoving away Gabrielle's teasing hand, too.
"Now," he said, his voice gruff and breathless.
She fumbled through the tattered remnants of her blouse, feeling for the fastening of her skirt. "Let me—"
"Now," he repeated. He tightened one arm around her waist and used his free hand to reach for the crotch of her frail panties, which he ripped away with a sharp twist.
She gasped in surprise, then grunted when he thrust into her without warning or ceremony. Her head fell back as she grasped his shoulders, her feet moving to find better purchase as he thrust again, yanking her down onto his shaft with all the force of a man who'd been very successfully tormented indeed.
He sank deep inside of her, mindless with delight at the way her body welcomed him. Hot, slick, tight, soft, thirsty for him, drinking him, milking him. She moved in greedy response to his rough demand, moaning with heedless pleasure as she heaved and rocked against him. Her thigh muscles flexed deliciously beneath his hands as she bounced hard, the glorious friction making them both delirious with ecstasy.
They heard the sharp crack of the chair even above their noisy moans and grunts.
The two of them froze and looked at each other. Gabrielle snorted with sudden laughter. Paul rolled his eyes and leaned over cautiously to study the chair legs, wondering how serious the damage was.
"I don't see anything," he said optimistically, already starting to pump his hips again.
But, still laughing, she wouldn't cooperate. "I don't think this chair is safe, Paul."
"We'll be fine," he assured her blithely, pulling at her hips in encouragement.
"We can't afford to replace it," she pointed out.
He gave up and looked at the ceiling. "I just had to fall for a practical Frenchwoman." When he felt her starting to pull away from him, he held on more tightly. "Where are you going?"