As she stroked his hair with her left hand, Strasser started slowly kissing her through the silk of her robe. His kisses soon became a little more urgent, more passionate. Leni took another swig of champagne, enjoying the decadence of the moment. She felt his hands work their way through the opening of the robe and clasp her buttocks, squeezing them, drawing her toward his face. He then lowered his head, and she opened her legs slightly, enough for him to be able to kiss her between them. She looked at herself in the mirror, watching the movement of the back of Strasser’s head, now buried under the silk. She smiled at herself, satisfied with the pleasure she knew she was giving someone she actually cared about.

What was it that she liked about him? Perhaps it was his calculation, his self-control. She knew she should have hated him, despised everything he and his uniform represented, yet she got the feeling that Carl was different, more simpatico. And even though he was drunk, he still knew what he was doing as he worked away under her robe. She ground herself into his face, feeling herself becoming genuinely aroused. The last time that had happened was when he was last here.

She opened up her robe and looked at him.

“How are you doing down there?”

He didn’t so much as reply as let out a grunt.

“Fancy a drink?”

Another grunt. She poured some of the champagne over his mouth and her vagina. It felt cool and slightly sticky.

“More?”

Just as Strasser let out a further grunt, the air-raid sirens started. Leni’s shoulders slumped.

“Shit.”

Strasser looked up.

“What?” he asked.

“Can’t you hear them?”

He paused and then tutted.

“Just my luck,” he sighed.

“I’m sure they won’t be here straight away,” she said, accompanying her words with a slight grin.

Strasser read her mind. He stood up, snatched Leni’s robe down from her shoulders and started kissing her hard, his hands on her breasts. They made love quickly, crudely, Strasser bending Leni over the bed and thrusting into her eagerly. Just as they had finished, they heard the first of the bombs, landing perhaps only a couple of kilometers away. As they dressed, they giggled like a couple of teenagers who had just heard a parent knock on the door. Strasser was struggling to get his boots on.

“Hurry up, Carl!”

“I’m nearly there,” he said as he heaved.

“Just leave them here.”

“You’re joking. These are my best friends.”

A bomb blast rattled the window.

“Christ, Carl! Get a move on.”

“Yes, yes.”

But still he couldn’t get even the first boot on, drunkenness, tiredness and a hint of postcoital stupor rendering him uncharacteristically clumsy. Leni snatched the boot from him, then picked up the other one from the floor.

“You can put them on in the shelter. Come on!”