A hint of fall was in the crisp cool air as she walked from the cottage to the lake. A light breeze blew across it from the pass between two mountains to the west. It was midmorning and she was aware of the juxtaposition of nature's gifts. On the one hand, the morning sun warmed her bare back and cheeks, whilst the cool air caressed her face, her breasts, stomach and her glistening lips peeking out from the soft downy patch of blonde pubic hair. She felt like invisible fingers were moving over her naked body and a shiver ran through her from deep inside.
As she lifted her hands to sweep her long blonde hair behind her ears, her fingers brushed across her now erect nipples and sent electric sparks coursing through her svelte body. She stopped for a second and looked up into a dazzling clear blue sky. Moving east to west, she saw twin vapor contrails etching sharp lines across the cobalt canvas disappearing into and emerging from the large white cloud racing across the sky. Her thoughts drifted to the night before his squadron departed for London. A night filled with a different type of disappearing and emerging. They had made love for hours. As the memories flooded back and washed over her, she felt a shudder surge through her body that ended in a soft moan escaping across her lips. As she remembered the promise of that night, a single tear formed in the corner of each eye.
Her attention drew across the lake to the tree line that ran down to the opposite shore. She stopped and waited, rewarded by the sight of a buck and his doe making their way to the clear water's edge to drink. He seemed to nudge his mate and motion towards her frozen form standing across the lake from them. It was as though they held her spellbound in their gaze and could feel her pain. A murder of crow rose into the air and startled the deer and they made a hasty retreat back into the woods. The birds rose into the air and circled low over the lake. The sound of their cawing sent cold shivers through Sam like some premonition of death.
She was released from their gaze and became aware of the hardness of her nipple as she absentmindedly rolled it between her fingers. Her other hand slid down her taut abdomen and she felt the wetness growing between her legs as her fingers parted the tingling lips. Once again, her fingers became his fingers, intent on a single purpose. She closed her eyes and became lost in the smell and touches of their last night together. Her fingers moved to her full lips and her tongue tasted the sweetness of her nectar glistening in the light of the morning on her fingertips. Her scent filled her senses as her tongue slowly curled around her fingers. She began to tremble as the memory of his lean body against hers began to take shape in her mind. His scent replaced hers on her fingertips. Her fingers traced the outline of his shoulders as they moved together. Her nipples pressed into his chest as their lips met in a deep slow kiss. As her arms enclosed around his neck, she felt his lips kiss a path from her shoulder to her ear and back again.
The morning he flew out from the aerodrome, they had embraced like this. She could still feel his warm breath make its way to her ear as she lingered in his arms. His scent mixed with the smell of leather from his flight jacket. He was a volunteer from America flying with the RAF against the Germans. She was a widow, her husband a casualty of the air battle that had been raging over Britain for almost a year. As fate would have it, he was assigned to her husband's squadron. The American's prowess in combat had gained him acceptance by his comrades, if not forgiveness by all for the developing relationship with Samantha.
He whispered in his southern drawl, "I love you, Darling, please don't worry. I promise, I'll return to you."
He had kissed Sam hard and without another word turned and walked to the idling Spitfire. The roar of the Rolls-Royce engines shattered the quiet morning. As they taxied to take off, their propellers directed a cloud of dust in her direction. One by one, the eight planes rose and circled the field until all were aloft. They formed up into a tight formation and turned to the east, silhouetted against the rising sun. She stood there until the drone of the engines faded and they disappeared into the glare of bright sunlight.
The days had turned into weeks, the weeks into months. Britain was hanging by a thread and her beloved was wound into that fiber. The news came daily from London. The RAF was engaged in an epic battle with the Luftwaffe, the outcome of which might decide the war. They flew three sorties a day against the waves of bombers that Hitler threw against them. The number of enemy planes increased each day until it seemed like they lived in the air. The intelligence received from the French underground pointed to a big push in the next day or two.
