Sweeter Than Wine (26 page)

His hands undid her chignon, tugging the pins out and letting them fall. As he
fanned the mass of her hair across her back, strands came down, curtain-like,
framing her face and his in a suddenly private world. Outside that barrier their
bodies touched in increasingly intimate communion, but within that compass, they
were alone together, soul to soul.

Alice closed her eyes as he urged her gently towards the bed. She did not
want to see the secrets behind Siegfried's dark blue eyes. She did not want him to
see hers. It was enough that she was here, with him, giving him what he wanted
for her own ends.

* * *

Siegfried had spent his youth in the country, and he was familiar with bulls and
stallions and the mechanics of sex. He had heard improbable-sounding stories
from his fellow soldiers, and he had applied his imagination freely, but these were
theories he had never put into practice. Until now.

He combed Alice's unbound hair with gentle fingers, his heart singing. She
was almost his, and she did not know the enormity of the gift she was giving him.
Lieber Gott
, let him not fumble too badly. He had waited all his life for this
moment.

He had never wanted to hurry more, but he knew, deep in his bones, that
patience was his only hope. When he was sixteen, plagued with a breaking voice
and the first sprouting of whiskers,
Opa
Roye had taught him the vintner's
secret: to make love the way that he made wine, slowly, and with careful attention
to detail.

He smoothed his hand lightly over Alice's right breast, rounded under the silk
of her slip, and felt an answering response in his loins as his thumb brushed the
firm berry of her nipple. He let his hand linger, cupped under the swell. She arched
slightly.

Opa
had been right. If he was patient, Alice would show him the way to
best please her. He need not be ashamed of his inexperience. He had done well
enough on the porch, although her squirming weight on his lap had been
torture.

All those weeks of watching her, remote and lovely even in her grubby men's
clothing amidst the filth of the winery, wondering what it would be like to kiss her
and hold her...now she was in the bed with him, nestled in the curve of his chest,
hip to hip through the thin barrier of their underclothes. The silky strands of her
hair tangled on the pillow and brushed against his wrist as he traced a slow spiral
around her breast with a dexterous finger. He heard the pattern of her breathing
change as he neared the crest, and break in a gasp as he flicked it lightly. Once
again, he felt an answering shock, now urgent.
I'll die if I cannot join her
soon.

Her skin was hot as he brushed it with kisses, and her scent surrounded him,
unmistakably her own, like a Riesling, spicy and sweet, apple and vanilla with a
backbone of flint. Her mouth against his was delicate, and her kiss was like freshly
pressed grape juice, sweet and full and hinting of the flavors in the wine to come.
He let his kiss trail downward, and closed his lips around the tip of her left breast.
A sound like a deep sob escaped her, and to his delight, she opened her thighs
and pressed upward against the burning length of his erection. He wanted to see
her naked in the moonlight. He wanted to cool his fires in her moist depths.

Siegfried raised himself up slightly, and tugged at the hem of her slip. Alice's
eyes opened, wide and shining in the faint silvery light. He froze. Had he done
something wrong? But no. Her fingers came against his, aiding him as she lifted
her hips. She sat up to pull the ivory silk over her head.

The garment disappeared as he rose to his knees and worshipped her, fantasy
made flesh. Her breasts were perfectly round and white, just as he had imagined
them. But he had not dared to imagine the tender dimple punctuating the smooth
curve of her belly, nor the dark triangle of curls at the joining of her thighs. They
were open for him, but shrouded in shadow, so that his ultimate destination was a
mystery.

Alice smiled self-consciously as he continued to look at her, at a loss on how
to proceed. He wanted to throw himself upon her, and mount her like a stallion--his
mare--but he dared not...Then she leaned forward and freed his undershirt from
his shorts with a sharp jerk upwards.

Siegfried raised his arms to aid her task as her hands skimmed upwards over
his torso and chest. He flung away the garment as Alice continued to touch him
with feather-light strokes. He was on fire all over and trembling as she kissed him.
Her hands began to wander lower, stopping momentarily at the buttoned
waistband of his shorts. He groaned as she placed her cool palm against the thin
cotton, afraid she would scorch her hand on his heat. The muscles in his thighs
bunched with the effort not to disgrace himself by spilling his seed explosively.

Then she pulled down his shorts and her hands were at his waist as her mouth
devoured his. Siegfried shook as he pressed against her, and felt the folds of her
secret flesh against the tip of his penis. Alice whimpered as he butted against her.
He tried to pull back, sure he had hurt her, but she reached down and guided him
smoothly inside.

Ach, Gott
. Why had he waited so long?

They were one flesh now, arms wrapped around one another, as he rocked in
her embrace. Blind instinct overcame him, and he thrust repeatedly. She lifted her
hips to receive his strokes, her heels curled around the back of his knees.

The heat and the pressure mingled. He was made all of molten metal, red-hot,
glowing yellow, intent on reaching his goal before the fire consumed him. One
more stroke, the low sound of Alice's murmurs, the pressure of her fingertips
digging into his back, and a white-hot fountain beginning to spout from the base of
his spine. He poured himself into her, blind, confounded, shouting with the ecstasy
of it, so near pain. A pattern of platinum and gold burned behind his eyelids. Then
the last of it was gone in a glorious blast of sparks, and only dark alloy was left
behind, their intermingled metal cooling in the slight draft from the open
window.

He collapsed limply on top of her, and kissed the molded curve of her cheek.
Alice, dearer to him now than his life...

"
Ich liebe Dich
," he mumbled.

His eyelids drooped. Dimly, he felt her touch on his hair, and then he fell
asleep in cozy intimacy with that beautiful, scented flesh.

* * *

Siegfried woke when Alice shifted beneath him. He could not have been
asleep very long. He was lying on top of her--he must be crushing her.

He rolled to one side, and propped himself up on his elbow to study her in the
diffuse moonlight. She sighed deeply, her eyelids fluttering, and he wondered if he
had been too selfish with her.
Opa
Roye's untested instructions had been
clear: always make sure the lady had her pleasure first. He had been too keyed up
for that, but now...

She had seemed to like his touch on her breasts, so Siegfried reached out and
felt her nipple change from yielding resiliency to stiff pushing against his palm. He
stroked teasingly, trailing his fingers across slopes of smooth, warm skin. Alice's
heartbeat fluttered against his fingertip caresses, but her eyes stayed closed.

He touched the tip of her breast, pebble-hard now, and was rewarded with the
gasp he sought. He leaned closer, and kissed her sweet mouth. Passive at first,
the next brush of his hand over her nipple woke her mouth to hungry life.

Siegfried kissed her thoroughly, enjoying this game of leisurely arousal, then
moved his mouth lower, kissing her shoulders, the hollow of her throat, the shallow
valley between her breasts. He rested his head there for a moment, listening to the
precious sound of her heartbeat, then kissed the tender underside of one
breast.

His own desire sated, he enjoyed touching her in this unhurried fashion, each
caress a new and subtle revelation as he studied her reactions. It
was
similar to the vintner's art of courting and coaxing the grape to develop all its
potential.

He needed to taste this vintage again. He drew her nipple into his mouth,
suckling it, and smiled as Alice arched under him. He repeated his caresses on
her other breast, then he inched down the bed, daring to kiss the soft expanse of
her stomach, his hands shaping the indentation of her waist and coming to rest on
her hips. A muted giggle told him that she was ticklish. Siegfried raised his head
and grinned at her, wordlessly announcing that he had filed away the spot for
future reference. He was charmed to hear her giggle emerge full-force.

He kissed the slight swell of her belly, amazed at its smoothness. When he
reached the patch of curls, the fine hair and musky scent reminded him of a tale of
pleasure he had thought improbable at the time. His comrade Jürgen had freely
shared all the details of his recent conquests during the silent watches of many a
starlit night, but Siegfried had never quite believed his bragging. Now, he thought
this particular attack was perhaps worth a try. Alice would surely let him know if
she was repulsed. She was so honest, so good...

Siegfried felt her surprise as he gently nudged her legs apart. His lips slid
across the velvet-soft skin of her inner thighs. Gently he kissed the warm,
mysterious place that had delighted him earlier, letting his lips and his tongue learn
the secrets concealed from his eyes.

Alice let out a low sound as he discovered a small hidden berry. He stopped,
unsure whether he had mortally offended her. He was reassured when her fingers
tangled themselves in his hair and she whispered, "Please."

He bent his head once more to his work, like tasting a young, firm grape.
Alice's fingers flexed as if she might pull a hank of his hair out by the roots. Her
tender folds swelled and became slickly moist. She squirmed, and he remembered
how it felt to be inside her. The renewed force of his desire made him thrust his
tongue into her sweet depths, to taste her fiercely in response to the cries she
made. He was drowning in the scents of musk, Riesling and vanilla, the complex
flavors of Alice.

He could not drink deeply enough.

* * *

I didn't expect this--oh!
Alice thought, on fire and ashamed of the noises
escaping her throat. But Bill had never done this to her when he claimed his
marital rights. If she had only known how different it would be with Siegfried, she
would have--

--
dragged him to bed the night he got here
, her mother's voice
whispered to her, cynical and amused. But, for once, Alice agreed.

Dear God, she did not want him to stop. She wanted Siegfried to continue
forever with his slow, gentle devotion of her carnal self, to strip the pretense from
her and let her wallow in lust. She wanted...she wanted...

This
. The pressure, clenched tight within her like a fist, building, building
as Siegfried lay between her thighs and tormented her sweetly with his scandalous
kisses. She gave a muffled scream at the pulsing waves of joy.

Her heart pounded as the last ripple died away. She became aware that
Siegfried's head shared her pillow again, his arm held her shoulder, his arousal,
renewed, pressed against her hip in an unspoken question.

She answered unreservedly, welcoming him inside again.

* * *

Afterwards, Alice lay nestled in the curve of Siegfried's elbow, her arm draped
over his waist. She felt safe, protected, and, for the first time in this horrible day,
relaxed and calm. She drowsed, her cheek against his skin, his breath soft against
her hair. He would not leave her now. Montclair was safe, and she was, too. Even
if Wartime Prohibition came, they would have the land--

Oh, God.

The land! Alice withdrew her arm from Siegfried's skin, and tried to cover her
nakedness.
Oh God, I didn't need to sleep with him
! She could have sold a
portion of the land, and used the proceeds to plant a cash crop. Instead she had
just sold herself for material security. And enjoyed it.

All her education, all her efforts to escape the influence of her background, all
her prayers for strength of character had been useless. When put to the test, she
acted not like a lady, but a whore.

She had always been afraid she would discover this truth. Now she knew.

She was no better than her mother.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Siegfried half-woke. Something was not right. He
reached out, expecting warmth, only to find a cool spot beside him in the bed.
Alice was gone.

He came fully awake as he heard the faint sound of weeping. He was well
acquainted with its irregular rhythms from the long nights of the war, when too-
young draftees stopped pretending they were men, and called for their
mothers.

Siegfried rose, groping with his toes for his undershorts. He pulled them on,
clumsy with haste, and followed the sound of sobbing to the bathroom.

The light was on, and the door stood partially open. He peeked around the
corner. Alice, clad in her crumpled slip, holding the long tail of her hair in one
hand, wept over the commode. The sour smell of vomit hung in the air.

"Alice?" Siegfried took a cautious step inside. "What is wrong?"

She didn't answer him, nor did she look up. A cold chill crawled down
Siegfried's spine, and the last of the golden haze lingering from his sexual initiation
dissipated. He awkwardly put a hand against her back. "Alice? Please, tell me! Are
you ill--or, or--hurt?"

"Go away." Her shoulders shook, displacing his hand.

Her eyes met his in the mirror, and her gaze was filled with despair, her
cheeks red and blotched with tears. She was still beautiful to him. But he
remembered her adamant statement, "There
will
be an annulment!" Had he
taken unfair advantage of her precarious emotional state last night? Had he
pressured her into consummating their relationship when she did not actually wish
it?