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Authors: Jina Bacarr

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BOOK: Cleopatra�s Perfume
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Not this time. She could make a man
stay
hard. With her long wavy hair curling over the curve of her shoulder, the blonde had a seductive way of carrying herself, her gestures light and graceful, like the girls he’d seen strutting across the stage. Saucy, nude, except for the fan-blown feathers covering their breasts and buttocks, they ignited a man’s desire for the forbidden, though the woman they desired existed only in front of stage lights and soft halos.

This girl wiggled her shoulders toward him in a similar manner, and he swore a luminous essence sparkled off her pale skin, making him squint, as if an invisible spotlight popped on and made her center stage.

He prepared himself for a leisurely pursuit of his female prey. So what if they were standing next to a lake under the watchful eye of the SS? Dark woods surrounded them, no one to disturb their elaborate game of sex and deceit. The secluded area had once served as a naturist camp in the days of the Weimar Republic, before the Brownshirts and swastikas put an end to all the fun.

“Now it’s
your
turn,” she said, putting her hands on his shoulders. Again the huge ring on her forefinger caught his eye, reminding him of that night in Cairo, making him wonder about the poor bastard who gave it to her. He never did find out. Acting on hot-blooded impulse, indulging his hunger, had he succumbed to her challenge, only to fail? Then putting the blame for his failure on her? Did she drive all men to ruin?

Or just him?

A chance meeting had led him here. Slouched in a chair, trying to evade capture, he’d recognized her coming down the elegant stairway at the main entrance at the Hotel Adlon in Berlin. When he confronted her about their liaison, she claimed to be American.
Mistaken identity,
she insisted and left. She had no idea he was in danger of being picked up by the Gestapo, tortured, killed. Would it have mattered to her? He doubted it. Later, he found her drinking in the bar with the SS officer. When he confronted her again, she covered herself by convincing the German he was her American lover and she must get him out of Berlin before her fiancé arrived from Stockholm and discovered her indiscretion.

Why not go to the American embassy on Pariser Platz? the SS officer wanted to know.

He can’t return to the States,
she insisted, pushing out her breasts straining against the buttons on her formfitting blue silk dress. She bent over to straighten her seams, exposing a tight derriere, and explained to the Nazi it was a matter of a murder rap on his head. The SS officer turned and looked him up and down, a curious smile curving over full, pale lips. He almost believed the Nazi seemed more interested in
him,
but it must have been his imagination. What mattered to the German was that from what she told him her fiancé had ties to the iron-ore industry and his reputation must be protected for the sake of the Reich. Yes, he could be persuaded to use his influence as an officer from the Foreign Office to secure an exit visa for him from the Argentinean embassy
if
the American woman was willing to play his game.

American?
She was a British subject.
Why the masquerade?

Chuck Dawn knew her to be an Englishwoman with a title, a cold, calculating creature who took as many lovers as her sexual appetite could handle. All she knew about him was that he was an American flier who hated her guts. It hadn’t always been that way. She couldn’t wait to fall into his arms, naked and wanting, when he saw her in that club of supplicants hidden on a backstreet in Cairo. But all that changed when he’d been accused of the heinous crime of murder. He did it to save her, but the police didn’t see it that way. Now his own life was in jeopardy. Though his better judgment warned him to put aside his personal vendetta and get the hell out of Berlin before the Gestapo found him, he didn’t. He wanted to know more about her, and if he dared admit it, he wanted her. Again.

So he had agreed to her game. An exit visa for an afternoon of sex. The perfect way out and right under the nose of the Abwehr, German intelligence. Before he knew it, he was on his way to a secret nudist retreat nestled among the many lakes outside Berlin. Surrounded by forests, the idyllic lakeside beach with grass growing out of the water was difficult to find. Earlier they’d driven down the dirt road behind the post office of a nameless village, all the windows open, dust blowing in their faces, then they turned right at an outdoor fruit stand before the official black Mercedes with the Gestapo license plate passed under a bridge then through a barbwire fence. The SS officer ordered them out of the car
and
their clothes. The Nazi insisted Chuck was lucky he was so agreeable to such a diversion. Many people trying to get out of Berlin ended up in Gestapo headquarters. Not a pleasant place if one had something to hide.

Chuck examined his own motives. He must have been insane to allow his emotions to get in the way and now the charade had gone too far. Convincing the SS officer they were lovers in need of an exit visa was a daring plan and put
both
their lives in jeopardy. Yet his instincts told him this would turn into a suicide mission if he
didn’t
make love to her. His own personal philosophy had been shaken by her willingness to make them vulnerable by initiating the sex act, but he had little choice. Give up now and they’d both be shot.

Chuck needed more than luck to get him out of the situation. Though he knew her curvy fish-fin silhouette was only a shiny illusion in the hot afternoon sun, he stood imprisoned by his own fantasy, unable to move. Though she had professed to the
Nazi to be indifferent to her physical needs, she was as hungry for sex as he was and just as obsessed by a driving fever to dissolve the gnawing ache that resided within her.

Edging closer toward her, he could
smell
her. Profound and unusual, musky, her familiar perfume affected his senses, making his head spin, as if he was impelled by a need to get lost in her sensual net from which no man escaped. Her scent was spicy and sweet and threatened to draw him deeper into her mysterious game. Was she but a mirage, an elusive creature who would escape before he could fuse both his desire and fantasy into one hell of a fuck?

An impossible illusion to hold on to, woman, elusive and at the same time wanton, moist, wet, hungry.

He anticipated the warmth of her body pressing against his, nuzzling his nose and lips into her soft platinum hair as he breathed her scent. Kissing her ear, then down to her neck, whispering explicit descriptions of what he was going to do to her, his fingers inside her increasing her wetness, her body hot and fragrant, then withdrawing his fingers and showing her the glistening juices coating them. Then he’d twist his fingers so they sparkled in the peach-golden sun before he placed them between her dry red lips then his own so they could both taste her essence.

Then, before she could lick the juices off her lips, he’d be inside her, satisfying her every desire with each thrust, pleasuring her until she burned for him, begged for him, her jaws locked, her sweat coating her nakedness with an icy crawl. When she cried out for him to stop, he wouldn’t. He’d make her pay for
what she did to him. A tightness formed in his chest. Why did that bother him? Tear at his insides and drag from him a fragile part of his manhood he showed to no woman, swore he never would, yet she had exposed him for what he was?

A desperate man.

She’d ripped the peace and security from his life with one word, not knowing he was ready to sacrifice his personal needs and wants to go to war, to die if he had to, and it was that unsettling way she had of understanding him without knowing him, how since he was a kid his courage came from risking death, not living life, that made him want to grab her and fuck her so hard she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t take from any other man what she’d taken from him.

One word, that’s all she said, but it sent him into a spiraling hell. He’d escaped once. He’d do it again. For now, he ignored the ranting of his poet’s soul, concentrating instead on the brilliant ruby nestled between two large iridescent pearls. He couldn’t stop thinking about how it resembled a woman’s wet pinkness hugged by throbbing pussy lips.

She must have sensed his prurient thoughts because she pushed her lower body into his groin, making him uncomfortable. His erection strained against his pants, eliciting a moan from his lips. He didn’t protest when she stood on her tiptoes, making her breasts jut out and brush against him. He removed his jacket then unbuttoned his shirt, though he spent so much time staring at her naked body, he missed the last two buttons. Coming to his rescue, she pushed her breasts against his chest, then reached over and pulled down his zipper.

“Returning the favor,” she murmured, then she unsnapped his boxers and slid a hand along each hip, making him harder, if that was possible. He couldn’t believe this female had his pants down, then his shorts, her hands exploring him like he was a prime bull. Isn’t that what the Nazi had ordered? Play the game of seduction or they’d find themselves answering questions down at Gestapo headquarters?

Before he could stop her, she bent down and ran her slender fingers along his legs and untied his shoes. Her lips brushed his erection, and was that her tongue stinging his cock with a fleeting kiss of fire?

Pulverized into action, he shed his shirt and tie, though his eyes didn’t leave her magnificent body. Not young, over thirty, but well cared for and pampered, befitting her noble station in life, though she professed to be American. Yet he had no doubt their lives depended on his sexual performance. Not more than fifteen feet from where they stripped off each other’s clothes, the SS officer awaited his turn.

He
couldn’t wait, his pants pushed down around his ankles with the beautiful woman trying to take his shoes off.

“Our audience is getting restless,” he said, nodding toward the Nazi sitting atop a large boulder and cracking his whip against the granite. Massive chest, striking blond hair cut military short, bulging arms, massive thighs, the sometime personal bodyguard to Hitler observed their sexual antics with a loud, sadistic growl. Striding around in his high boots, the black-and-silver honor ring on his left hand sparking off the naked sun behind him, swinging his whip, he made it clear what
he wanted them to do. Fuck. Hard and loud, while he watched. He loosened the 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.

BOOK: Cleopatra�s Perfume
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