Kelly shifted his weight and cupped her groin from the front with his right hand. The knit dress spilled down and both of them made simultaneous left-handed clutches for the garment. “Good,” Gisela muttered in German with her eyes still closed as Kelly inserted a finger. “Good. Good.”
The one-syllable approval was delivered in a technical tone, but the dancer’s muscles were in full operation, clamping with a rhythmic pulse which drew him more deeply within her.
Gisela’s eyes opened and the corners of her mouth spread widely in a smile of beatific happiness. Like Kelly himself, she expected her equipment to work when and as required, and that included the hardware she had been issued at birth.
She turned away, still gripping the shaft of his member with her own right hand. “What . . . ?” Kelly said as her hips brushed his groin and he was nestled momentarily between her buttocks while she pulled the hem of the dress up to her waist.
“Now,” Gisela said firmly as she planted her left palm and forearm on the wall and rested her forehead against them. She inserted the head of his member into her vulva where his thrust and her eagerness drew it home at once.
It also drew Kelly into a climax more sudden than anything he had experienced since being rotated to base after sixty-three days in an outpost with no female company save a ewe with a smile that had begun to look flirtatious.
Gisela’s simultaneous gasp passed unnoticed, but her cry a moment later as her hips pumped was loud enough to be heard in the next room with no need for bugging devices.
No partner of Kelly’s had ever come as quickly as that, and certainly the dancer was as well able to fake a climax as anyone he’d met. Still, the vaginal spasms as he continued to thrust seemed uncontrolled; and the Lord knew, they’d both been ready for this or it wouldn’t have had even the chance to happen. The whole business had taken approximately a minute and a half; and hell, he’d needed to undress anyway.
“Oh,” Gisela said in a fairly normal tone. She chuckled as she straightened up with a friendly twitch of her buttocks against the man. “Yes, a very good time. Very good.”
Kelly leaned over and scooped the tatters of his shirt from the floor. He held it to their paired groins before he withdrew from her and began to wipe himself dry with the tail. “Wonder if you can buy terry cloth shirts,” he murmured as Gisela mopped at herself with a sleeve. “Might lay in a stock before the next time you’n me get together.”
Gisela turned, dropping the damp shirt sleeve and letting her dress fall normally. She kissed him lightly on the tip of the nose, knelt, and, brushing away Kelly’s hand and the shirt, engulfed very nearly the full length of his still-erect member with a momentary pause for adjustment at the halfway mark.
She released Kelly, rising again and flashing him the smile which had already become his identification point for memories of Gisela Romer. “Another time, we will take more time, not so? When we come back tonight, I think. But now you must dress.”
Perfectly, Teutonically, correct, Kelly thought as he shuffled to the closet and chose another pair of slacks. He palmed the snubbie as he stepped out of his ankle-lapping trousers, uncertain as to whether the woman had already caught sight of the gun or not. The point of a real hideout gun is the surprise it offers the user, not primarily its function as a weapon. If people already know you’re armed, then you may as well go for something that’ll really do the job – like an automatic rifle.
Not that the P-38 he also stuck into the side pocket of the clean pants would be a surprise to anybody likely to be interested in the fact. You did what you could. . . .
“If it’s okay to ask where we’re going,” Kelly said as Gisela drove east on Ciragan Street, away from the hotel and beyond it the Old City, “then I’d kinda like to know.”