Velvet Waltz [An Inglourious Basterds fic]

The Honey Trap

Sprawled naked across his bed, Sylvia's brain seemed to be running a ticker: THIS IS A NAZI'S BED. I'M ABOUT TO SLEEP WITH A NAZI. She shivered. But stayed.

Sounds: a belt buckle. Trousers unzipping. Tearing of a condom wrapper. Plasticky sound of condom applied. Bare feet padding across the floor. Her heart kicked into another speed as Hans Landa sat on the edge of the bed, also naked.

He gingerly ran his hand along her shin, mottled green with deep bruises from the L'Etoile blast. Unusually toned for a man of fifty, she felt a bit schlubby in comparison.

Why didn't he ravage her?

"Hans," she whimpered. "I thought you wanted me."

He chuckled. "I've never wanted anything more."

Perhaps he needed a signal. "Come on, then." She posed her arms above her head, showing off her tits to best effect. Foolproof.

Hans pulled himself alongside her, leaning on his arm. "What's done cannot be undone, Sylvia. I don't want you to regret—"

"I won't." She sat up slightly. "Will you?"

"It's treason, Sylvia," he whispered, reaching to trace her cheekbone with his thumb. "We could both be shot for this."

"Let them shoot."

"You're young and foolish," he teased.

She looked him dead in the eye. "And you're a Nazi about to sleep with a Jewish girl."

"Guilty as charged." He kissed her, hard, forcing her onto her back again. Goddamn, he was a good kisser.

"You don't think I'm dirty, then?" She let her legs fall open to him. "Don't you Germans have a whole book of laws about this?"

"I'm afraid my mind is not on books at the moment." His erection swayed as he straddled her, and a tiny panic struck her. It had been awhile. This could hurt.

And then his hands were on her again, that hungry way he needed to touch all of her at once. Then he slipped two fingers between her legs, and brought her wetness to his mouth. Sylvia stared. This was going to be a very new experience for her.

"The prisoner shows indisputable signs of arousal," he growled, drowning her giggle in a kiss. His hips began to move, slowly, rubbing the length of his hardness along her sex, over and over. Finally, he aimed at her opening, and began to push. A twinge. She gasped.

He paused at once. "Am I hurting you?"

"A little," she admitted. "Go slow."

He withdrew, and re-entered, agonizingly slow as his lips and tongue sought the sensitive areas of her neck. Then he pulled out entirely, and thrust the entire length again, and again, watching her closely, working her desire to a fine point.

"Wow," she sputtered.

"Prisoner appears to enjoy the torture," Hans smirked, and flicked his tongue across one hardened nipple. Her cheeks burned, indignant at how quickly she came apart in his hands, and how very much he enjoyed his power.

"Oh, I know something you'll enjoy." He slid off of her, positioning himself at the foot of the bed, and pushing her knees up. He kissed and nipped along each thigh in turn, nearer and nearer. She had never believed any man actually did this. Was Hans really going to?

He did.

She moaned, arching her back as his tongue expertly parted her sex, teasing every fold and crease until she thought she would black out from arousal. How was he so damn good at this?