Chapter 8 – Chapter 8
December 15, 1943
Paul had come down from the Imperial Suite as quickly as he could get away. Garren, naked, drew the young man into his body, stripped away his clothes, and covered his face and nipples with kisses, pushing Paul's shoulder blades on to the floor by the bed, with Paul's back rising up the side of the bed. Garren grabbed Paul's legs, split them wide from his body, placed his feet beside Paul's torso, and pile-drive fucked, in reverse down into Paul's hole.
Cleansing. Fucking Göring out of Paul; fucking Göring out of Paul. Neither could verbalize this. Both knew what this wild fucking was about, though. Before he came, Garren pulled Paul's body up his chest, set his legs in a crouch, and brought the young man's passage back down on his cock. Throwing his arms behind him and arching his back to counterbalance Garren's crouch, Paul opened his mouth and murmured, "Yes, yes, fuck him out of me," as, arms under the small of Paul's back, Garren slammed him up and down on the cock to a mutual ejaculation.
There, at last, it had been said. But neither of them would admit it.
Holding him close on the bed afterward, Garren whispered, "The end is coming. I can't speak of it louder, but we won't be able to hold Paris. This is his last trip to Paris. He's said as much. You must use the safe passage documents and come to me in Berlin. I won't be able to come back. I'll leave you what money I can, but you must come. Promise me you'll come."
"I promise," Paul answered, having no idea how he could honor that promise—not being able to tell Garren what danger he himself could be in if Paul came to him and was discovered to be an American. "But there is something you need to know," he said, swallowing hard.
"All I need to know is that the two of us need to be together at the end."
"Will it come to that? In Berlin?" Paul asked. "Will it be the end?"
"When and if it is the end, I can promise you that you won't suffer." Instinctively Garren was holding Paul by the throat with both hands. He was a strong man, trained in such arts. One snap and it would be over.
Paul halfway wished he would do it now, with Garren's cock still hard, inside him. While they were still where they'd been happy—at the Ritz Paris.
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