Behind The Mask

by Marianne Petit

  ***

  “Are you sure?” André eased himself away from her and she suddenly became very aware that she wore nothing but panties and a bra.

  “Very.” Yvette leaned into him, shielding her body from his eyes, and hoped being pressed up so close to him would bend him to her will.

  When she woke up lying beside him dressed in nothing but her undergarments, her mind filled with carnal images of the two of them. As disgust, at what they’d done without her knowledge, mixed with nightmarish images of death and the sound gunfire, she’d gone crazy. After listening to him, realizing her mistake, she felt embarrassed by her quick judgment. Her accusations hurt him dearly. Why had she been so quick to believe the worst?

  She could see his hesitation and tugged on his shirt collar. He grabbed her hand and stared at her, searching her eyes as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

  I am doing the right thing, she assured herself. She loved him. He loved her. René said he loved you, a little voice nagged. André’s declaration, said in the heat of anger, sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. And, he couldn’t even say those words again when she asked him. Yvette willed away her apprehensions and forced conviction to her voice. “André, please this is what I want.”

  How could she have been so wrong? This man, this dear, dear man, would never betray her. He protected her. He was loyal and honorable.

  Apprehension crossed his face and something else… He glanced to the ceiling. Shame? She didn’t understand. He raked his hair and she knew for certain something was bothering him. “There is something I have to tell you.” He sat down on the bed.

  He was going to take it back, tell her he’d made a mistake. He didn’t love her.

  She sat beside him, pressed a pillow to her chest and forced her thoughts to slow.

  A heavy breath escaped him. “The day of the accident… the day Amelia died.” Again, he ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  She placed her hand on his thigh. “Just tell me.” His unease so palpable, so painfully strong, it seemed to reach out and grab her.

  “I felt relieved,” he blurted out, his jaw tense. “After the shock wore off, I felt relieved.” His shoulders sagged with the shame of his confession.

  Realizing her fears were way off, the knot in her chest lessened. “André--”

  “No.” Abruptly he moved off the bed. “Let me finish. Did you hear what I said? I was happy the chains of marriage shackling me were finally broken.” His fingers pressed into her shoulder. “Do you see the true man to whom you are about to sacrifice your virginity.”

  Yvette blushed, but forced her gaze to remain on his. Nothing he could say would make her change her mind. She wanted to make love to him. Nothing could be as bad as thinking he betrayed her. Before she could open her mouth, he continued.

  “What kind of man feels liberated by his wife’s death? A man of despicable character. A man whose soul is condemned to hell. A man who has no right to want to make love to you.” He shook his head and she could feel him mentally pulling away from her.

  Yvette eased off the bed and ran her fingers against his cheek. “I see an honorable man who made a mistake.” Before he could object, she continued. “I have a confession as well.”

  Surprised widened his eyes.

  “I read your poetry. In every line, your soul, the soul of a good man, spoke to me. I understand the rush of feelings that come with death, the guilt and in your case feeling like the world once again had possibilities. I read what your heart dreamed of and never found in your marriage and I find no fault.”

  He pulled her against him as though the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. “You’ve stolen my heart,” he whispered, his voice full of heart-felt emotion. “I thought it dead, but you’ve breathed life into this shamed man who can offer you little right now, but to tell you I love you.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes as André eased her onto the bed. He did love her. Joy filled her being with warmth and possibilities. His erratic breathing, the anticipation in his eyes sped her heart.

  His kisses urgent, she matched the hard fervor of his tongue thrust for thrust. Hard muscled arms wrapped tighter around her, drawing her into the hard planes of his taut body. He planted kisses along her neck and nibbled her ear as they lay back against the pillows. She ran her fingers through his hair, a yearning she’d had many times as she’d watched him do the same.

  “You are so beautiful,” he said with adoration in his eyes.

  The heartfelt words strangled the breath from her lungs. No one had ever made her feel so special, so loved. She closed her eyes and kissed him with all the passion she could muster, telling him without words what she felt in her heart.

  He moaned deep in his throat; a moan of passion and contentment. Quivers of desire spiraled and delighted, filled her being with a warmth that clouded her mind and made her hunger for more. Her body grew impatient with a need to feel the heat of his body. She wrenched her mouth from his. “I should thank you for getting me out of my wet clothes.”

  “Mmm…” his lips breezed hers, “anytime.”

  She pushed herself away and sat up. “I think it’s only reasonable I return the favor.” She reached for his belt and yanked the leather free from his pants.

  He smiled and leaned back against the headboard. “Seems only fair.”

  Her fingers shook as she pulled out his shirt. His gaze beheld hers and in their blue depths, she saw his desire. She helped him slip his arms free, then lay her palms against his bare chest. Her heart kicked her ribs. Blood rushed and pulsated in places much lower than the throb in her neck. The small patch of blond hair, nestled in the valley of his chest, felt rough against her skin. She could feel his heart beating; could see the anticipation in his eyes.

  Slowly, she slid her hand lower over the taut contoured muscles of his abdomen, down along the line of hair that traveled beneath his pants. He remained silent, watching, waiting, hardly breathing. She knew how he felt, the impossibility to breathe. Anticipation seemed to grasp her lungs as well.

  She dipped her fingers under his waistband. He sucked in a breath, leaned forward and her bra was off before she could change her mind, which would not happen; which was impossible now that the cool air and his heated gaze caressed her bare flesh. Brazenly she leaned forward and rubbed her breasts against his chest. A strangled groan escaped him.

  Gently he eased her back against the bed. He reached out and cupped her breasts in his warm palms, then rubbed his thumbs across her now taut buds. Pleasurable sensations shot to her very core. When he brought his mouth down upon the sensitive nub, then lazily danced his tongue across one needy nipple, she dropped back her head and gave in to the dizzying current running along her nerves.

  He looked up at her and unspoken love shone in his eyes. “I thought I’d lost you--” His voice cracked and he leaned his forehead against her. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Before she could respond, he cupped his hands at the side of her cheeks and looked into her eyes. “I love you Mademoiselle Matikunas. I love you.”

  Though he’d said the words before, she couldn’t contain her emotions and tears sprang to her eyes.

  “I never knew a woman who cried as much as you.”

  “Oh.” Her jaw dropped.

  “No.” He put a finger against her lip. “Let me explain. I swore you’d be a terrible candidate for the resistance since you wore your heart on your sleeve. I was wrong. And these tears…” He tenderly brushed one away. “Amelia never cried, never cared. She had no heart. You care. Your heart is so big it can’t hold back the love that pours forth and I welcome every single…” he leaned in and kissed her lid, “adorable...” he nibbled her wet cheek, “délicieux drop.”

  She wanted to cry then, let the love burning so strongly in her heart flow, instead she kissed him and he responded with a fervor as great as her own.

  Powerful arms wrapped her in a cocoon of euphoria.
Solid muscle met the soft mounds of her breasts, and his heart pounded against hers, beat for beat. His touch gentle, his fingers leisurely trailed a delicious path across her waist, down over her hip, then across her inner thigh. He eased her panties down her legs, following the slow sensual movement with warm kisses. The heavenly pleasure sent a frenzied need to have him press his warm hard body against hers.

  Completely naked, before a sense of embarrassment could take full root, he gently parted her legs and blew warmly against the junction of her thighs. Sensations of pure rapture filled her with his every breath.

  “Embrasse moi,” he whispered as he then kissed her neck and nibbled her ear.

  She followed his command and kissed him.

  His fingers still caressed the apex of her thighs and then crept closer to that part of her now wet and filled with wanting. He inserted a finger through the bristly thatch of hair, stimulating a response inside her and liquid warmth filled her being. She squirmed and groaned, savoring the delightful sensations, but needing, wanting more of him fully inside her. She tugged on his pants and he helped her push them down until she felt him naked and hard, his erection cradled between her thighs.

  “I want to see you,” she said.

  He eased off her and she sat up.

  With a boldness, she never knew she possessed, she let her gaze wander over the magnificent planes of his broad shoulders and chest, across his chiseled stomach that reminded of a sculpted Greek God. She let her brazen eyes lower to that length of him that jutted strong and full with need. Her face grew hot and she was thankful he had closed his eyes before witnessing her embarrassment.

  “Me touchez,” he groaned. “Touchez-moi maintenant.”

  Touch him? She smiled at his command, most certainly… She marveled at the muscle that strained and lengthened beneath the movement of her hand. Who would have thought months ago, a stranger on a train, the enemy, would now share her bed and that she would hold such power in her hands.

  “That feels so good…” He put his hand over hers. “Plus lentement, yes, slower,” he repeated, “perfect. You’re perfect.” A deep growl resonated up from his chest and he rolled her onto her back.

  Their mouths crashed as he kissed her possessively with all-consuming need. Tenderness was gone. Feverish possession took control. Burning desire based on the fear of loss, a need to cling to each other, a determination to overcome what tomorrow would bring, and his declaration of love, pushed her over the edge of control. She gave in to the sizzling passion, losing herself in the overwhelming sense of power and dominance he exuded. He slipped his aroused body into her, then withdrew, then dipped in and out, teasing, torturous. The release of building pleasure brought a cry to her lips.

  Before she could marvel in the spiraled sensations and catch her breath, he showered her with kisses, slowly caressed and ran his fingers and hot body against hers; and once again, she lost herself in his whispered, heartfelt, words of love and moans of passion. The stimulating friction of flesh against flesh as his masterful, skillful touch danced upon her skin, once again, soared her to heights never imagined, but within reach of grasping that proverbial edge of completeness a second time, he withdrew leaving her heavy with need.

  Yvette tugged on his arm trying to bring him closer, wanting to touch him, to feel him deep inside her.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” He smiled. “Believe me.” He leaned over and reached for his wallet.

  Heat sealed her face when he pulled out a condom. She didn’t know why she felt embarrassed, Lord, they were way beyond decorum. The thought that he came prepared for moments such as this, nicked open a green spot of jealousy and insecurity in her heart. Were the other women he’d bedded more experienced? Did he compare them to her and find her lacking?

  “I haven’t slept with a woman since my wife,” he said as if he’d read her thoughts.

  “I wasn’t…” His all-knowing smirk challenged her words. “Ok, so I was.” She shrugged. “Thank you for telling me that.”

  He held the wrapper in his hand and she watched him deliberating his next move, loving him even more for his concern over the consequences of their actions.

  “Let me help you.” Yvette sat up, grabbed the package from his fingers and tore it open. She glanced to that part of him that until today she had never seen up close and personal. Lord, he was so big. It seemed impossible that the small rubber would fit. Her heated gaze darted to his face and she couldn’t understand why she suddenly felt shy.

  “You are amazing.” André kissed the tip of her nose and took the condom from her clenched grip. “Both tigress and kitten,” he slipped the rubber on. “You are a delight that never ceases to surprise me.” He gathered her into his arms, “je t'aime mon amour,” he said, then nuzzled her neck. “I love you, my love,” he repeated.

  Emotion swelled, bursting her heart with happiness and she reached down, coaxing him to make them one. Lying on top of her, he entered her this time swift and deep. She felt a sharp pain as he pressed his body deeply into her. His actions fierce, she sensed he’d been holding back his desire for so long that his need overwhelmed him

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, kissing her throat, “for the pain.”

  Lost in the feel of him powerful and full inside her, she pushed aside her discomfort and concentrated on the building need that, once again, rocked her body.

  As control, once again took over and his only thought was to please her, his movements slowed to an agonizing, teasing torment, awakening insatiable desires she knew, after this, she couldn’t live without. Finally, when he realized she had no strength left, he let his body rule his mind. His body convulsed with pleasure, then he collapsed on top of her.

  As they lay, limbs intertwined, among the disheveled sheets, as their breathing slowed and her flushed skin cooled, Yvette smiled and closed her eyes.

  She loved him and he returned her love.

  This was her home, her man and no war was going to tear them apart.

  ***

  Though he hated leaving her, André slipped from the tangled sheets and got dressed. He promised her breakfast. Last night she laughed when he had suggested le petit déjeuner and told him about their first encounter and how she swore she wouldn’t eat with him.

  Well...

  He glanced at her swollen lips, the silken tousled locks spread across her pillow and the slender bare thigh peeking out from under the coverlets.

  They had feasted all right, a satisfied meal worthy of a king.

  After he told her the guilt that had weighed on his conscience, he feared she would see him for the selfish man he’d always felt he was. But what he saw in her eyes was a woman who loved him, a woman who didn’t judge him. Yvette loved him despite the mistruths he told for the sake of the uniform he had to wear, she saw the man he used to be, before his marriage, before the war. The past he felt ashamed of suddenly didn’t feel so heavy.

  The sun had yet to rise, allowing him the time he needed to accomplish his goal and as he walked down the corridor, he anticipated his return. Hopefully, Yvette would still be in bed, if not he planned on carrying her back and keeping her there for the better part of the day.

  Whistling, he strode through the lobby and stepped outside. The crisp air cooled parts of his anatomy heated with thoughts of making love to every inch of her magnificent body and he pushed all thoughts away—except one…

  With purposeful strides, he crossed the boulevard.

  ... Retribution.

  By the time he made it to the church, he had worked up enough fury to choke a bull.

  Father Francois looked up as the doors slammed against the walls, echoing through the sanctuary.

  “Where is he?” André shouted, his footsteps pounding the stone floor. “Tell me where Géry is.”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  “He’s not downstairs?”

  Father Francois placed the chalice on the altar and met him in the aisle. “I can see you are upset. Please,” h
e gestured to a pew, “sit.”

  “There will be plenty enough time to confess my sins after I kill that bastard.”

  “I see.” Father Francois sat. “But just so I understand and can convey the appropriate absolution, I would prefer we talk now.”

  His jaw clenched, André sat.

  “I was just about to set up a mass for our fallen comrades. I can only assume you believe Géry responsible.”

  “You’re damn right I do.”

  His curse earned him a sharp glare. “Care to explain?”

  André relayed all the facts that led him to the conclusion Géry was the mole, and how his treason not only cost the lives of his fellow men, but nearly cost Yvette’s life as well.

  “I see.” Father Francois stroked his chin and nodded. “Killing Géry will not bring back their lives, nor will it bring satisfaction, so tread carefully my son. It’s been said revenge is sweet. It is far from being so.”

  “Taking a man’s life, as I can attest, is never pleasant. I have killed in the name of the war, now I will kill for the sake of my woman and friends,” André said.

  “Knowing Eva, the way I do, I can say with utmost confidence, she will not feel honored by your chivalry.”

  “I am bound by my own code of ethics to do what I feel is right.” André insisted.

  “Even if it means killing someone she calls a friend?”

  André leaned his elbow on the wooden ledge, his fist digging into his jaw. He hadn’t thought of that. They hadn’t discussed who betrayed them. She may not believe Géry capable of such deceit. Damn. That bastard needed to confess his sins to her in person. “I still need to find him.”

  Father Francois stood. “It seems my lack of convincing, in the name of the Good lord, had little effect. I believe it may be time for me to hang up my robes.”

  André placed a steady hand on the father’s shoulder. “Don’t retire just yet. My knife will not find its way into that yellow-bellies heart.”

  ***

  Yvette awoke and stretched like a content cat reaching for the sun’s rays.

  Her body felt sore, a small price to pay for the hours of pleasure spent in André’s arms. Never in her wildest imagination could she have pictured how amazing, how liberating and fulfilling sex could be. It was like wondering what lie hidden inside a Christmas box and trying, for days, to guess the box’s hidden mystery. You knew, from whispered hints, it could be something wonderful, but unless you opened that box, dug your hands inside and discovered the contents for yourself there were no words to describe the magic.