Night of Wine and Steam

**September 1944, Paris.**

The small hotel Le Souvier on the Rue de Rivoli faced the Seine. The war still raged in the distance, but tonight, room 307 belonged to only two women.

**Sara** left the bathroom door ajar; warm steam billowed out from under the door like morning mist. The old cast-iron tub was filled with hot water, red rose petals floated on the surface, a bottle of Château Margaux 1937 stood on the rim, two crystal glasses half-full.

**Juliette** entered, a thin white towel wrapped around her; her black hair was wet with autumn rain, drops running down her shoulders. Her emerald eyes sparkled in the flickering candlelight.

“*Tu m’as manqué, ma grande...*”

Sarah, naked in the tub, reached out. “Come in, *mon étoile*. The water is hot, like my heart.”

Juliette dropped the towel; her body was like a Rodin spiral sculpture, soft and delicate, but full of lines of resistance. She stepped into the tub, the water rose, the petals swirled around her feet. Sarah pulled her back, Juliette sat between her long legs, her back pressed against Sarah’s chest. The water rose up to their necks, the steam caressed their faces.

Sarah raised the glass of wine to Juliette’s lips; the red wine poured onto her tongue like the blood of love. Juliette turned her head, pressed her lips to Sarah’s, the wine flowed between them. The taste of old grapes and the salt of the skin.

“You taste like victory…” Juliette whispered, her finger running along Sarah’s jawline.

Sarah's arms wrapped around Juliet's waist, her fingers sliding down her soft belly, lower, until the warm water became one with the heat inside Juliet. Juliet moaned, leaning her head against Sarah's shoulder. Sarah slowly inserted two fingers, her lips dancing on Juliet's neck.

"Slowly... *lente, s'il te plaît*..."

Sarah slowed down, as if she had stopped time. Every movement, every slip, was like a wave of age; the water in the tub rose and fell with the rhythm of their bodies.

Juliet turned, sat on her knees, facing Sarah. Water dripped from her breasts, the tips of her pink breasts hard with cold and excitement. She grabbed the glass of wine, poured it over Sarah's chest; the red wine slid down her white skin, down to her belly, down between her legs. Juliet bent, her tongue following the path of the wine; From the breasts, to Sarah's nipples, lower, until the wine mixed with Sarah's moisture.

Sarah moaned deeply, buried her hand in Juliet's wet hair. "Juliet... *mon Dieu*..."

Juliet placed her lips on Sarah's sensitive spot, her tongue swirled, her fingers dug inside. Sarah arched her back, the water in the tub rippled, the petals clung to the wall. The climax exploded in her body; her legs locked around Juliet's waist, a moan lost in the steam.

Then, she lifted Juliet, pulled her out of the tub. Water dripped from their bodies, onto the wooden floor of the room. Sarah threw her onto the silk bed, she stood over her; drops of water dripped from her blond hair onto Juliet's chest.

“Now it’s my turn to taste you…”

His lips started at Juliette’s neck, over her breasts, over her stomach, between her legs. Juliette spread her legs, her fingers digging into the sheets. Sarah inserted her tongue, slow, deep, as if she wanted to immortalize each moment. Juliette lifted her body, a moan that mingled in French and English: “Sarah… *yes… oui…*”

Second, third, fourth… until the candles melted and the moon set through the window.

Finally, they fell asleep, intertwined; Juliette rested her head on Sarah’s chest, her finger tracing the line of her heart.

“The war will start again tomorrow…”

Sarah placed her lips on Juliette’s forehead. “But tonight… tonight it was just wine, water, and you.”

The empty bottle of Chateau Margot lay on the floor, rose petals scattered on the sheets; Two women, two captains, one eternal night.