Secret Honor (Honor Bound 3)

“Absolutely,” Peter said. “I was the only man in my squadron with a perfect record for six months of never missing Sunday mass.”

Trudi laughed delightedly, and far more enthusiastically than the bad joke merited. And when she leaned back to look up at his face, she pressed her midsection against his. That she left it there proved it was not accidental.

It produced an immediate reaction, and Peter withdrew his midsection. Trudi’s groin followed his.

“Meine Damen und Herren,” an orderly announced, “dinner is served.”

“I’m hungry,” Trudi said, stopping the dancing movements but not withdrawing her groin from his. “But I hate to stop dancing.”

“We’d better go in,” Peter said.

She moved her hand from his back to the base of his neck and pulled his face to hers and kissed him.

Not really lewdly, Peter decided. Not wide-open-mouthed with a tongue hungrily seeking mine, accompanied by a grinding of her pelvis against my hard-on.

A slightly opened mouth, with the tip of her tongue daintily touching my lips, and a just barely perceptible increase of pelvic pressure.

A promise of more to come.

And you like it, you sonofabitch!

You get near any reasonably good-looking female and you’re instantly ready to play the bull.

Jesus Christ! You really should be ashamed of yourself!

You don’t deserve Alicia.

General Galland, standing at the head of the table, smiled knowingly at Peter and Trudi as they took their seats.

Two white-jacketed orderlies served the meal. It was roast loin of wild boar, oven-roasted potatoes, creamed onions, and a salad. There was Champagne and wine.

Trudi tapped her Champagne glass against his and smiled.

Peter smiled back.

You are probably a very nice girl, Trudi.

And you are probably very good in the sack.

But thank you, no thank you.

After dinner, I am simply going to disappear.

I am not, so help me God, going to take you to bed.

[THREE]

Guest Room #1

Quarters of the General Officer Commanding

Luftwaffe Flughafen No. 103B

Augsburg, Germany

0715 17 May 1943

Major Freiherr Hans-Peter von Wachtstein was naked and spread-eagled on his back. Trudi pushed him in the ribs. She had been trying to wake him for at least ninety seconds. He grunted.