‘You cheated.’
If it was an accusation then it was a playful one. Inga stood by the bed, her long slim body lit by a single nightlight on a small dressing table. The one piece suit had gone, was now draped over a cane-back chair. Her breasts were bigger than he’d expected, they must have been constrained by the stretch-material. The transition of her body line from waist, over hips to thigh was smooth and gradual, a flowing sculptured look that was interrupted only by the white cotton briefs she still wore.
‘Would you like me to help you?’
The trappings of war fell from him as she deftly worked at buckles, zippers and buttons. As she reached for the waistband of his pants he stopped her, and did that for himself. She put her hands to his shoulders and ran them down over his chest to his belly, where they parted to run separately to the top of each thigh. He wanted to grab her hands and drag them to his erection but he didn’t, and stayed still as her palms retraced the journey.
‘I do not need these.’ Inga took her hands from him and hooked her thumbs into the top of her briefs.
‘No.’ He saw that he had startled and surprised her, and softened and lowered his voice. ‘No, let me do that for you.’ He was trembling, like an excited high school kid on his first heavy date, but he couldn’t help it. Dropping to his knees in front of her, his hands reached for and gripped her remaining garment at either side. He began to ease them down, saw the first stray wisps of pubic hair. It was darker than the sun-bleached mane that reached to her shoulders and he was pleased, preferring that some of her secrets stayed hidden until he came to explore her body. ‘I want you to let me do things for you. I want to make you feel good. Just tell me what you want.’
He didn’t look up, continuing to follow the progress of the fragment of cotton as it eased slowly over her thighs. She moved her legs a fraction further apart as the gusset came away, and with that final resistance gone the briefs slid easily down her smooth skin.
As they settled on the floor he felt a fingernail, then two, then three, rest on the nape of his neck. Their pressure increased until they must have been half buried in his flesh, then they began to follow the line of his backbone and he felt the exquisite pain-pleasure sensation of their raking progress.
‘If you say such things I might be tempted to make you my love slave. You wouldn’t like that, would you?’
Still he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the face, then without hint or warning she and the pain and the pleasure were gone and he was contemplating only the discarded underwear.
‘Come here.’
Inga lay stretched full length, face down, on the bed. Her face, slightly turned towards him was half hidden by an enveloping down-filled pillow. He waited, trying at once to take in every curve and contour of her body.
‘There is some baby-oil on the dressing table. Rub it all over me, all over.’ Like a zombie he collected the small plastic bottle and returned to the bed. Flipping open the top he went to squeeze a little into his palm, then hesitated, and instead, holding it close to her leg, compressed it sharply. Inga jumped as the jet of cold fluid struck her, but he hardly noticed that, having eyes only for the oil that was beginning to trickle over the inside of her thigh. Very gently he started to work it in, using first the tip of his fingers, then his whole hand.
‘Do both at once, it feels lovely.’
Again Revell sent the thick fluid on to her flesh and as he knelt on the side of the bed, half over her, she opened her legs further and began to sigh as his hands ran up her calves to her thighs, then lingering only a second to cup her warm buttocks, over them to the small of her back where they turned to start the sensuous process again.
Her skin began to glisten as his hands roamed further seeking out every last inch of her flesh, and his own too was beginning to catch the light as perspiration coursed down him, not from the physical effort of what he was doing, but from the mental strain of resisting the urge to lie on her golden body and take her.
Gradually, deliberately, he edged nearer until by bending over her he could bring his erection to brush against the top of her leg. Inga sensed what he was doing immediately, and pushed herself up on to her elbows to half turn and look at him.
‘You are not allowed to do that, not yet. There are lots of other things you must do for me first, then perhaps, just perhaps, I might let you show me how you do things to yourself. But before that you must give me lots of pleasure, beautiful sexual pleasure. Give me your hands.’
Rolling on to her back she took his hands, her grip slipping on their oiled skin, now totally devoid of roughness. There was a wicked, inviting smile playing about her lips and making her eyes sparkle as she took the unquestioning offering and pushed them down between the tops of her legs.
‘Perhaps you have done this for a woman before, I do not care. I shall teach you to do it the way I like, and when you have learnt you will do it for me many times.’ The smile vanished and was replaced by an expression of concentration as she guided his fingers. ‘You learn fast, yes, like that, not too hard, yes, oh yes.’
Revell paused and pulled back as Inga writhed, grinding her legs tight together. She subsided, then sought his hands again. This time she lost control almost instantly and he found his own heart pounding as he watched her thrashing the rumpled covers to a new tangled configuration. He went back to her before she had finished, could feel the heat rising from her body, found his fingers competing with hers as she fought to prolong the massive orgasm, then as he reached her she climaxed, and lay still.
He sat back on his haunches to wait her next command. She sprawled on the bed, chest heaving but gradually subsiding, her breathing growing quieter. He’d done it well, he knew that; he wondered what would be next.
TWELVE
Ripper was very pleased with himself, he’d done a good job. The Soviet driver had flopped about on the grass beside his cab for a few moments, but the second stab, delivered to his chest, hadn’t really been necessary. The man had died, without making any sound, even as the blade was pushed into his heart with surgical precision. Now he waited for Hyde’s signal that it was all clear, and safe to drag the corpse back into cover.
They had heard the mortar being fired intermittently all through the night, and had been about to reluctantly return to the boat when the column of trucks had pulled into the square. Even then, as success, or the hope of it, had seemed within their grasp, blind chance had conspired to try and rob them of the opportunity.
A giant eight-wheeled truck had parked immediately in front of the building they occupied, and its driver had climbed down to undo his clothing in preparation to relieve himself. Only his preoccupation with that had prevented him seeing the squad, and Ripper had acted before the man could look about him and raise the alarm.
The killing, the driver’s absence, had gone unnoticed, so far, but Hyde knew they had to work fast if they were to retain the element of surprise in what it was they had to do.
With the body hurriedly concealed, they abandoned their carefully prepared position, forced by the truck’s obstructing bulk to shift to a fresh one.
It wasn’t as good; a bomb site where, because of the noise made by even the slightest disturbance of the debris, they had to take up whatever firing points they could find among the rubble, with no opportunity to do anything to improve them.
‘Hold your fire.’ Despite the danger of their exposed position, Hyde knew they had no choice but to bide their time and wait.