“I was weak.”
His eyes flash with anger and frustration but he lets go of my wrist. I’m coming to understand something about Volker. He wants me to go to him willingly despite everything he’s done. He wants absolution. And it’s not even for what he’s done to me, it’s for what happened to her. He can’t forgive himself for her death so I’m to offer some sort of twisted, surrogate forgiveness.
“It’s not even me you want, it’s her. Do you think she’d be happy to see what you’re doing to me? Is this what she’d have wanted you to become?”
But it’s as if he hasn’t heard me, and his voice is low and sinister. “You shouldn’t have clung so sweetly to me, Liebling. You shouldn’t have told me not to let you go.”
He doesn’t follow me into the refuge of my room. I ask myself, my back pressed against the door, why my skin should crawl more at the thought of spying on Volker than the feel of his hands on me.
A few moments later I hear heavy footsteps in the living room, and then the front door bangs shut. Der Mitternachtsjäger is going hunting. I send up a prayer to whomever might be listening that they protect anyone who crosses Volker’s path tonight.
Chapter Fourteen
Evony
He goes out hunting every night that week, slamming out of the apartment just before midnight and not coming back until the small hours. I lie awake waiting for him to return, unable to sleep while he’s abroad, worrying over what he’s doing. In the morning I have gritty eyes and a fuzzy head and come yawning to the breakfast table.
Volker seems much the same as ever, and is even energized by his nocturnal activities. There’s a self-satisfied air about him as he drinks his coffee and reads Neues Deutschland, and his smiles for me are sharp and unfriendly. I had hoped to shame him into better behavior by reminding him of the woman he once—I have to presume—sincerely loved, but he delights in proving that he won’t be shamed. Though I wonder, if late nights don’t exhaust him what was it that gave his eyes their haunted, weary cast the day of the car accident?
During the restless nocturnal hours I spend waiting for him to return to the apartment I worry over the things Peter told me. I’m still not sure that I can trust Peter, and even if I can, what he imagines I can discover about Volker. How will I spy on the Oberstleutnant without him discovering what I’m up to? And, most important of all, can I leave East Berlin without knowing what happened to my father? It’s crossed my mind that Peter could use his network to find out where Dad is. He said that the group had people all over the city.
On the sixth night in a row that Volker has gone hunting I doze off before he returns. I’m awakened in the darkness to the feel of a mouth at my breast. A low moan escapes me as I emerge from sleep, and then I gasp as he moves to suck my other nipple through the fabric of my nightclothes. Volker is sitting on the edge of my bed fully clothed with a bright gleam in his eye.
I glare up at him. “You’ve had a good hunt, have you? You’ve sp
ent an enjoyable night terrorizing my fellow citizens?”
The room begins to lighten as my eyes clear, and I see him smile. “I think you mean my fellow citizens, little traitor.”
“Men like you are despicable.”
He laughs softly. “Then I’m sorry to tell you that you like despicable men.” He palms my breast, rolling the nipple with his thumb and I try not to whimper. The sensation shoots straight down through me to pool between my legs. Desperately I try to summon the words to tell him to get out, but then I remember that I am Volker’s weakness, and I could also be his undoing if I am clever.
He kisses me, and my hands rest on his shoulders, neither pulling him closer nor pushing him away while I think rapidly. This is how I will do it, by making him believe that I’m giving in. He’ll be a difficult man to fool but he might just be arrogant enough to believe it. I’ve tried to think of another way. There isn’t another way.
I allow my body to unclench beneath his hands and I tilt my mouth up to meet his. It’s not difficult to shift from angry and rebuffing to tentative surrender as that’s how it’s been between us every time. It’s not hard, either, for me to draw him down so that he’s lying against me.
And he believes it. He slips his hands beneath my hips and holds me against him. His eyes close as he kisses me and his breath deepens. I find myself pressed against his chest, my nipples rubbing against his shirt and an ache growing between my legs. When his knee pushes between mine, pressing them open, I feel a thud of thankfulness.
Then I realize with alarm that this isn’t like those other times. We’re in bed together and I can feel the hard length of him against my thigh. I pull away, my breathing uneven, my expression uncertain.
“Liebling?”
“I haven’t—I’ve never—” Oh, Christus, am I really doing this?
He kisses me. “I know. It’s all right.” He gets up off the bed and undresses, laying his clothes over the stool. His underwear comes off last and I see the length of him spring free, thicker and longer than I expected when I felt it through his trousers. I can’t look at him, it’s too strange, seeing a man naked and in this state, and I turn my face away.
I feel the bed sink as he approaches me and he lays out beside me. His hand runs up the length of my body, from hip to shoulder. Turning my chin toward him he kisses me once more, and gathers me into his arms. The heat coming off his body is almost scorching and despite myself I press myself into his warmth as his tongue slides against mine. The skin across his shoulders and back is very soft, far softer than I thought a man could be. He’s hard and muscled beneath that skin and my hands follow the ridges and planes of his body, mapping him beneath my fingers. His hands are doing the same to me except his touch feels more calculated than exploratory, and makes me gasp against his mouth.
When he moves to take off my nightgown I allow him to tug it over my head. I watch his face, lip caught between my teeth and wondering what he’s thinking. Though there’s little light I can see the softness in his eyes, the small smile at the corner of his mouth as his gaze runs over me. He’s beautiful in the half-light, all warm, smooth skin and long limbs, and in admiring him I forget to be shy about my own body.
Then he pulls me close once more and our legs tangle together. I’m hungry for him now, my hands smoothing up his chest, reveling in the breadth of him, the hardness of him. His fingers find the slick folds between my thighs, dip into me just a little, and then move to the hard nub at the top of my slit and start to rub it in firm circles. I almost come apart in his arms, arching against him, sounds coming from my throat that I didn’t know I could make. His mouth hovers inches from mine and he watches me as I respond helplessly to his touch.
I rake my nails along his shoulders as the sensation builds—and then he takes his hand away. With a dismayed cry, I watch him reposition me beneath him and take the length of himself into one hand. There’s an unfocused look in his dark eyes as he gazes down at me, and I feel something silky yet hard slide down along my slippery sex, searching for entrance. He’s got me trapped beneath him, though, his body pressing heavily on mine. He pushes deeper, sinking into me, and it hurts. With a final push he’s all the way to the hilt, the dark hair above his pubic bone pressing against my own. I feel stretched, overfull. He keeps still, not moving beyond kissing my face softly.
“That was the worst of it, Liebling. I promise.”
I’m gripping his shoulders, both to hold him close to me and to prevent him from moving. Liar. The worst is yet to come now that we’ve crossed this line. “I don’t believe you.”