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 spent 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.”
He licks his thumb and sits up a little so he can reach down between us, and he starts to work at my clit again. The sensations pick up almost where he left off, and as the pleasure grows, the pain inside me eases. I keep my eyes open and my expression reproachful, wanting him to know what I think of him for hurting me even as the pace of my breathing picks up. My hands slide down his arms, clasping his strong wrists, needing to hold onto him.
A smile tugs the corner of his mouth as he watches my face, as if he knows that I’m trying not to show how good he’s making me feel. “Tell me you like it.”
My eyes narrow at him. “Fick dich, Reinhardt.” Fuck you. I never swear, but if ever somebody needed to be sworn at it’s him right now, pinning me to the bed with his cock and his heavy body, making me hate him even more because he knows I do want him.
He smiles wider. “You’ve never said my name before.” He pulls his hips back a few inches and then surges forward. I cry out and grip him tighter, and the pain is back, mixed with pleasure. But he’s right. The worst is over. He thrusts again, and again, his thumb still working on me, pleasure sparking through my body.
“I think you mean fick mich, don’t you?” he says. “Fuck me, please, Reinhardt, because I like your hands on me, and your tongue inside me, and even though it hurts I like your cock inside me.” His low, inexorable voice seems to be talking me closer to orgasm. “Don’t you, Evony. Don’t you.”
My voice is almost a sob. “Yes. Yes, all right.”
His hand catches me around my throat and turns my head toward him. “Look at me when you say that.”
I look up at him through my haze and his eyes are sharp, calculating. I’m the one who’s falling apart. “Yes, Reinhardt,” I manage, before my head tips back and my body clenches with my climax. As the sensations pound through me I hear his soft laugh, feel his hand tighten ever so slightly on my throat, the way a predator’s jaws tighten on its prey.
When I come back down again I watch him, eyes narrowed, hating him again. Hating that it feels good. Hating how good he looks, muscles moving in the semi-darkness, his lower lip full and soft. I put my hand up to touch his mouth and he kisses my palm. It’s so tender a gesture, but anger boils through me and I pull back my hand and slap him hard across the face.
For a second he looks shocked by my audacity. There are things I would never dare do or say to Oberstleutnant Volker that I find I can do and say to Reinhardt. Grabbing my wrists he pins them either side of my head, moving harder and deeper now. He looks oddly proud of me. Yes, he likes this very much, and unable to look away, unable to cover my face, he sees the truth laid bare in my eyes. He knows I want him.
He pulls out of me suddenly and takes himself in his hand, making a low, harsh sound at the back of his throat. Something hot spurts against my inner thigh and then he’s still. He breathes hard once, twice, his head bowed.
Then he looks up at me. “Are you all right? I didn’t want to draw it out.”
But I can’t say anything. I feel raw and confused, uncertain now how sleeping with him was meant to give me the upper hand.
“It will be better for you next time.” He eases himself off me and tries to draw me into his arms.
Next time. I curl into a ball and roll away from him, tugging the tangled sheets over my body. Suddenly I can’t bear for him to see me like this. I’ve given up everything to this hateful man and there’s no escape. He’ll take what he wants again and again, until—until what? What does he want from me? To screw me until he’s bored? This isn’t how I imagined my life would be. He should have chosen Lenore, or someone like her. She would have wanted this.
“Liebling? Would you like to come to my bed?” He puts an uncertain hand on my shoulder but I shrug him off angrily.
“Go away.”
I feel him watching me for several minutes and then he gets up with a sigh and collects his clothes. A moment later I hear the door close behind him.
With a soft groan I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I stare for a long time, searching for ways to escape, to end this. But nothing comes. No solution offers itself.
What have you done?
∞ ∞ ∞
The morning casts its cold, gray light on the evidence of Reinhardt’s visit to my bedroom. My sheets are smeared with blood and his semen. It’s a ghastly, embarrassing sight that I can’t leave for Frau Fischer to discover, so as soon as I’m washed and dressed I pull all the linen off the bed, making sure the most visible stains are buried deep in the bundle before I open my door.
I head for the laundry, noticing a slight ache low in my belly and a vague feeling of self-loathing clinging to my skin, but other than that I feel no different. Even the self-loathing is not unfamiliar these days.
I’m as silent as I can possibly be but luck is not on my side. Frau Fischer comes bustling out of the lounge and exclaims loudly, “Let me take those for you, my dear. I was going to change them today, anyway. You must tell me if you require clean sheets more regularly.”
At the other end of the hall I can see Reinhardt standing in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee, dressed in his uniform. When he hears the word sheets he smirks down at his newspaper.
I go red and keep a tight hold of the linen, stammering that I want to wash them myself, it’s no bother, but she’s a determined woman and wrestles them out of my arms. Please, please just think that the blood is my period, and don’t notice the other stains, I beg silently.
Reinhardt is still smiling to himself when I enter the kitchen and he greets me with a conspiratorial look. “Guten Morgen, Evony. Did you sleep well?”
Volker, I tell myself. Think of him as Volker, not Reinhardt. But I have the feeling that after last night it’s going to be difficult to think of him in that distant way again.
I don’t like his cozy attitude, as if we share a cherished secret. “Frau Fischer has asked me to tell her if I require clean sheets more regularly, but that’s not really for to me say, is it?”
He catches my unsaid meaning. Are you going to be making these visits nightly? Putting the paper down, he walks slowly around the table and looms over me. I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eye.
“I don’t appreciate your tone, Evony. Kindly moderate it.”
I swallow. All right, so it seems I can get away with saying fick dich and slapping him across the face while he’s in my bed, but a little sarcasm over breakfast is going too far. Lowering my eyes I mutter, “Yes, Herr Oberstleutnant.” I turn away to pour some myself coffee but he pulls me back. His lips are very close to mine.
“I prefer it if you call me Reinhardt in this house.”
I don’t want to call him Reinhardt out loud unless it’s accompanied by fick dich. He already rules my body and is getting inside my head. Calling him Reinhardt as well is too much.
I’m saved from answering by Frau Fischer entering the kitchen. Her gaze drops to Reinhardt’s—Volker’s—hand on my arm and she frowns in disapproval. I’m stubbornly mute, so he either has to make a scene in front of her or let go.
He lets go. I sit at the table and Frau Fischer fusses about me, putting rolls, marmalade, ham and boiled eggs on the table. I notice she’s still frowning, and shooting looks at Reinhardt. I remember what she said about it not being proper me living with him even though—as she presumes—he’s my fiancé, and I realize she’s seen what was on the sheets and has guessed what it means. She makes sure I have plenty of the cheese I like and ignores his empty coffee cup, so it seems I’m above reproach. It was my bed, not his. He came to me.
All the while Reinhardt stands behind my chair, reading his newspaper and breathing down my neck.
I can’t concentrate at the office, images from last night flashing through my mind. The things he said. The things I said. They way he felt beneath my fingers, smooth and delicious and vital. It will be better for you next time.
No pain at all, only the good parts.
Lenore watches me seal and address an empty envelope and asks what’s got into me.
“Nothing. Just—”
And then I hear it. Whistling.
There’s a stack of files on my desk and I grab them and walk quickly, muttering something to Lenore about needing to get this done. As I duck into the filing room I see Peter at the far end of the corridor, talking and laughing with another secretary. He’ll be heading this way any moment. I yank open a cabinet draw and begin flicking through files with unseeing eyes.
I hear the squeaky wheels of his mail cart and my pulse goes through the roof. Then he’s passing the door and I call in a soft voice, “Peter.”
His face doesn’t change and he pushes the cart into the room. “Yes, there’s mail for you today. Here you go.”
As I take the proffered bundle of letters I look into his green eyes and say, “I’ll do it. I’ll spy on Volker.”
Peter smiles, and it’s such a warm, genuine smile that all my doubts fall away. “Thank you, Evony. Welcome to the group.”