Page 47 of Passion's Wicked Torment

André dismissed the toast with a wave of his hand. “She always says that. Every single time I have proposed to her, she has accepted. But she never goes through with it.”

“You’re never quick enough,” Kristin said. “You always wait until I sober up. What you should do is get me while I’m still drunk.”

“A wonderful idea! I accept!” He got to his feet and pulled her up with him. “Come, we go to the minister! Craig, you come with us. You are to be my best man.” “An honor I’ll treasure for the rest of my . . . weekend. Which, by George, is almost gone, do you realize?” Brady was glancing at his pocket watch. “It’s Monday already. Several minutes past.”

“I have to get up early to go to another party,” said Kristin with false alarm at the lateness of the hour. She pulled away from André.

“I’ll never let you go, chérie! I’m mad for you! You hear?”

He started coming for her again, but she began running up the steps once more. He began following, as did Brady. They climbed as she climbed, and when they took a minute or two to rest and catch their breaths, she did also, always staying above them. When they started after her again, she would begin climbing. Finally she reached the very top and let them catch up with her.

She was looking out over the parapet when they reached her. The wind was blowing her hair wildly about, and the balmy air was pressing against the skin of her face, making her feel good. She had let her blond hair grow longer, and she now wore it in a style that was becoming quite the vogue in Paris. It was cut in many layers. Kristin was one of the first to have her hair styled this way, which contributed to her reputation as an avant garde woman who was in the fashion forefront. She was known to the gay, reckless and wild, and willing to try anything for a laugh or a good time. No one detected the hurt and desperation that was driving her, never giving her a moment’s respite.

“She is beautiful, is she not?” said André to Kristin, referring to the city of Paris beneath them. The broad avenues extended in all directions, brightly lit even at this post midnight hour. There was no need for the streets to be lit now, for there was very little action this late at night. But since the end of the war, Paris had become the most glamorous, most scandalous city in the world, and it had a reputation to protect. Even the Eiffel Tower would soon be open at night, Kristin knew, having read about it in Le Figaro only this morning.

“Do you realize,” she asked the two men, “that this is the last chance we’ll have to make love up here?”

Both men looked stunned, and then intrigued. Neither had been permitted to indulge their lascivious natures with Kristin, other than a bit of flirtatious kissing on her part before she pushed them away.

Brady, seeing the hopeful, delighted look on his friend’s face, was quick to put a damper on his mood. “She’s teasing us, old sport. Don’t let’s fall for it and be made fools of again.”

André was entranced by the notion though. "Chérie, do you really mean it? I would love to ... to. . .

He got down on his knees and hugged her against him, burying his head in her skirt, his arms around her. His voice was filled with hopeful enthusiasm. “If you would do this thing for me, chérie, I would ... I would marry you! Oui, I would! Come, I show you. We go down right now, we go to the preacher!”

“You’re afraid I mean it,” she said slyly, showing more perceptiveness than either of the men expected her to have.

“Of course, you don’t mean it,” said Brady, scowling. “You’re just leading us on, as usual. Oh, but don’t feel guilty about it, for God’s sake. I, for one, don’t mind being toyed with, having my feelings raked over the coals as if I’m some insensitive brute.” His sarcasm was not real, but only playful. He sighed as if with monumental weariness. “Well, I should be used to it by now. You’ve broken my heart enough times with your teasing ways.” He turned to André, who was still kneeling before Kristin. “Will you kindly get up off the floor, old sport. Or at least have the decency to give my wing tips a good polish while you’re down there.”

The Frenchman stood up and leaned back against the railing, looking dejected. Neither of them believed Kristin was doing anything more than taunting them for the pleasure of seeing them squirm with frustration. They were astounded when she nonchalantly reached down to the hem of her dress and raised it up and then off over her head. She threw the dress into the wind, and it was almost carried right off of the Eiffel Tower, except for André’s quick response in snatching it out of the air.

She wore a short pink chemise and nylon hose that were held up by a garter belt. She felt the breeze on her body much more sharply now. It was a pleasant sensation. The breeze was much stronger this high up, having no obstacles to block it. The Eiffel Tower was the tallest structure in France.

“I say,” said Brady, becoming serious. He realized for the first time that the woman he had wanted to possess from the first moment he saw her might really be within his grasp. “André, why don’t you. be a good sport and go down a few flights and . . . um . . . look for low flying aircraft or something.”

“Mon ami, I was about to suggest you do the same. You Américains are so much better at things like that. And we French are so much better at things like this.” He put his arms around Kristin. He started to kiss her, but she drew her head back. He thought she was just being playful, and he tried again, but she drew her head away a second time.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” she said.

“Ah!” he said, truly angry now. He pushed her away. “You play games with me once more!”

In answer, Kristin undid her nylons and slithered them down her thighs. Then she stood straight, braced slightly back against the wind, her shapely body clearly outlined by the thin silk of her chemise. Her eyes held his unwaveringly. André’s expression became intense now, and he gave a heavy sigh of lustfulness. He went to her and put his hands to her breasts. He touched her through the fabric of her chemise, his fingertips encircling her breasts, slowly traveling inward to converge on her excited nipples.

“See here, old chap,” said Brady, flustered. “It’s about time we flipped a coin or drew lots, or however you Frenchies prefer to do it. But one of us really must go downstairs a few flights.”

“Oui,” said André. “You go.”

“No, you go.”

André smiled. “I agree, then. We must flip a coin. The loser goes down. Agreed?”

“Yes,” said Brady.

“No,” said Kristin.

They both looked at her. Brady was frowning. He seemed unable to believe that Kristin could really be as debauched as she seemed to pretend.

“Take off your jacket, André,” she said to him. And

when he did so, she took it from him and spread it on the metal floor of the stair landing. Then she lay down on her back upon the jacket. She shut her eyes. “It’s both of you, or neither of you.” Her voice was strangely weak and flat.

“You really like it that way?” asked Brady, disbelievingly.

No, thought Kristin, I’ll hate it. But it’s what I deserve.

She heard the two men undressing. She could tell they were uncomfortable. Neither of them had made love to a woman in the presence of another, she was sure, and they certainly had not made love to the same woman at the same time. But she had insisted, and both wanted her badly enough to put up with the perversity. If that was the only way they could have her, they would accept it. Neither of them understood that she was doing this out of helpless self-loathing. Kristin felt the need to punish herself.

Hands began moving up her smooth thighs. Other hands caressed her breasts. André’s mouth was on her throat. She felt his thin mustache. Brady’s mouth was on the inside of one of her thighs, moving slowlý upward. She felt her heart racing. She felt thrilled, but she wanted something other than a thrilling feeling. She wanted ... no, she couldn’t name it. But instinctively she knew what it was.

When a hand began gently sliding one strap of her chemise down over her shoulder, she slapped it away. “Marshmallow,” she said hatefully. “You’re so tender, so gentle. You’re not a man.”

There was a stunned silence. She heard heated, angry breathing. The hand returned now and grasped the top of her chemise and ripped it down. It ripped the garment completely off her.

Hands were all over her now, squeezing, fondling, rubbing. She opened her eyes and saw the naked bodies of the two young men, unquestionably impassioned. Brady’s mouth was at her bosom and began licking and sucking at her nipples. Her body jerked with a small shock of pleasure. André parted her thighs, and his head moved down between them. She found her back arching sharply in reaction to the wild sensation.

But the sensation was not enough of what she wanted. “You’re both pussy cats,” she said scornfully. “I thought there were real men here in Europe.”

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