CapturedbytheSS Read Free

we’re not touching
each other. But he murmurs disapprovingly. “Please slide closer to me.”
    I reluctantly shift about, but I manage to avoid touching
him.
    Again, he murmurs disapprovingly. “I’m sorry,” he declares.
“I need you to be a bit closer.”
    I don’t think he’s going to be happy until I’m in his
freakin’ lap. Trying to remain aloof, I shift about until our outer thighs are
pressed together. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his heavy stare as I
study the floor.
    Because of the way we’re sitting, I could easily place my
hand on his thigh or even his crotch. And I have a sneaking suspicion that’s
exactly why we’re sitting the way we are.
    He’s not making any sexual advances toward me, but I have
the impression he’s silently inviting me to make a move on him. He leans back a
bit in his chair. His body language seems to suggest, I know who you are,
but if you fuck me, I might let you go.
    I’ve always been told that sex is a valuable tool in my
arsenal, one of the few things I might be able to actually barter with. I even
have a teacher in the art of seduction. I can practically hear my sex
instructor whispering, “Put your hand on his thigh. He’s an SS officer, yes,
but he’s still a man. If you’re nice to him, he might be nice to you.”
    Even though it goes against my training, I fold my hands
together and rest them in my lap instead.
    To me, it makes more sense to remain aloof. Since I’m pretending
to be a citizen of the Third Reich, I think I should act confused and slightly
nervous, as if I have no idea why I’m being questioned by an SS officer. If I
grab his thigh, then that seems too obvious that I’m trying to hide something.
    His body language changes slightly. He seems frustrated and
annoyed, letting out a this-is-a-waste-of-time sigh. I may have just messed up.
Maybe I should act a little nicer.
    “I apologize for the closeness,” he states evenly. “It’s a
necessary step in questioning.” He sounds sincere. I think he really believes
I’m a citizen, albeit a non-native.
    Holy crap, there may be some hope here. I think I just
failed one of his tests for spotting an American spy.
    Now if he buys my accent, I might actually get out of this.
Of course, I guess I’m hitchhiking to Hannover, but I’ll figure out
transportation later.
    “This won’t take very long,” he states, obviously irritated.
    I only smile feebly and nod once. He turns his head briefly
away from me and mutters something about the Reich’s rewards.
    “What business did you have in Berlin?” he asks simply. He’s
barely paying me any attention.
    I steady my nerves before answering. “We had tickets for Madama
Butterfly at the Hoheit opera house.” Again, my German is slightly colored
with an Irish accent.
    “I see.” He sounds mildly interested. “The Hoheit is a
beautiful opera house.”
    His tone is conversational, relaxed. I think he really likes
the Hoheit.
    Without rushing at all, he peels off his black leather
gloves. He’s not even looking at me. Clutching the gloves in one hand, he slips
off his hat. Almost angrily, he places his upturned hat on his lap before
tossing his gloves inside.
    His blond hair is a little longer than I thought it would
be. He appears to be in his mid-thirties. If he weren’t wearing an SS uniform,
I suppose he could be considered attractive.
    Without the low-rim hat, I notice that his eyes are pale
blue. He also looks tired… really tired. I have the impression he’s been
waiting for quite a while, which might explain his sour mood. In all honesty,
we are late. A broken water main closed a major street, and we were stuck in
traffic for hours. I’m so behind schedule that my contact in Hannover is
probably worried.
    “Your hand, please.”
    He’s reaching for my left hand. I will myself to stare back
into his blue eyes as I offer him my left hand. His warm fingers press against
my wrist, obviously locating my pulse.
    “You seem