by Kiera Zane
Julien looked a bit shocked at Caitlyn’s assertiveness, and in truth she was a bit shocked by it herself. But it felt right and sounded good; and ever since arriving in Paris, she’d become more comfortable in her own skin, discovering her own sense of personal power.
Julien nodded and smiled. “Quite right, Caitlyn. But I would not have you turn your back on your family, or your education. Nor will I keep you against your will or cast you aside at a whim. Should you want to go anytime, to your home in Los Angeles or to anywhere in the world, I will send you without any expense to you. If your father is no longer interested in subsidizing your education, I will do so.”
“You will -- ? You’re saying you’ll fly me anywhere in the world and, what’s more, pay for my education anywhere I can manage to get in? Assuming, that is, that things don’t work out between us.”
“Assuming nothing,” Julien said, posture straight, head back, chest expanding with pride and protectiveness. “Should you want to continue your education without us severing ties, so much the better. Whatever you want, whenever you want it, Caitlyn; that is my offer. It is all that I offer; I offer you all.”
Caitlyn’s mind began to reel. Who is this man? she had to wonder. He’s obviously making promises he can’t or won’t be able to keep. But he’s already taken me to bed, isn’t that the great goal of these elaborate lies, these suspicious seductions?
She said, “It certainly sounds like an offer I can’t refuse. I guess I have to ask this, not that I think of myself as that girl, but... how rich are you, exactly? I can’t imagine they pay business consultants all that much.”
Julien laughed, leaning back as his chest pushed out heaving slabs of mirth. He said, “My clients are world-class, I assure you. But you’re quite right. Let’s just say I have a... savings from previous dealings that ensures my leisurely enjoyment of this life and all that it has to offer.”
“Then why work at all?” Caitlyn said. “Why don’t we just go and spend your money traveling?”
“Because that’s not what you’re looking for, Caitlyn.” She wanted to be offended at his presumptuousness, but he was right.
Again.
And anyway, making love was a lot more fun than making war.
Julien took Caitlyn back to her rented condo, planning to pack her belongings and move them into his townhouse not far from the Louvre, where they first met. It struck Caitlyn as kind of fast, to be suddenly living under this man’s roof, but it did make a lot of sense from a practical standpoint. Apartments in Paris were expensive and hard to get, and his townhouse was centrally located, safe and would be rent-free for her. From there, Julien promised he’d rent Caitlyn apartment if that became what either of them felt was best. As loathe as she was just to trust him, she had to admit that he gave her no reason not to. And he did offer spectacular possibilities for her life and future, regardless of how things shook out between them.
And with things so tense and unresolved with her father, it was easier to follow that road with Julien and see where it would take her. She knew that if worse came to worse, she could make a call, get a flight and get home.
If I can get to a phone, she had to remind herself, instinctively reaching into her purse and glad to find the cell phone her father had given her.
Dad, she thought to herself, suddenly feeling isolated, alone, afraid.
“You’re worried,” Julien said, wrapping his arms around her from behind and giving her a gentle, loving squeeze. “I understand. But I will take care of you now, I promise. You have nothing to fear and everything to look forward to.”
Julien started kissing the back of Caitlyn’s neck, pulses of energy streaming down her body, making her loins quiver and her knees nearly buckle. Julien guided her to the free-standing bar in the living room, pushing one of the three bar stools aside.
Julien set his big, strong hands on her waste and lifted her onto the bar stool. He kissed her deep, long and slow. Their tongues pushed against one other.
Julien caressed Caitlyn’s firm breasts. She clutched the brass railing.
Julien spread Caitlyn’s legs, smooth and long, as he pulled her closer. Julien placed himself into Caitlyn’s quivering womanhood, her juices warm and thick to ease their union. Caitlyn’s shoulders arched, she bit her lower lip. Her head tilted to the side as Julien plunged deeper. Caitlyn felt Julien’s strength as it pressed into the most-hidden corners of her secret self, her private being.
Caitlyn’s chest heaved her firm, strong breasts. Julien began to stroke even faster, Caitlyn’s pink fist holding tight, wrapped firmly around him, pumping and squeezing.
Julien said, “C’est bien, oui? C’est bien très bien.”
“Yes,” Caitlyn whispered, “so good...” Caitlyn’s head bobbed on her shoulders, blonde hair dancing around and over her shoulders in a sexy cascade, a silken waterfall. Caitlyn’s lips pouted and puckered, eyebrows arched as Julien delved her furthest and untouched depths. Julien was so forceful and engorged that Caitlyn feared her poor pelvic cradle might collapse from the sheer force and power of her Frenchman’s strident churning.
Julien kicked out the bar stool from under Caitlyn, catching her as she fell onto him, riding him, her body jostling with his upward thrusts. Caitlyn sank all the way down. With each upward thrust Caitlyn rose and then fell back again. Julien changed his rhythm; as Caitlyn was coming down onto him, Julien was pushing upward, their two bodies literally smashing against one other, gravity lending humble assistance.
Julien said, “Come on, Caitlyn, you can do it. You want to, you need to, and mon Dieu you are going to.”
Caitlyn nodded, her body was convulsing with that power that raged within.
Julien hissed into her ear, “Say that you’re going to... say it!” But words continued to elude Caitlyn’s frantic mind, her tongue numb in her dry mouth, lips sticking even as sweat poured down from her temples. Caitlyn nodded, which was as much as she physically could manage. But Julien insisted, “Say it!”
Caitlyn whimpered, “Yes, yes, right now, I’m gonna... I’m gonna...”
“Don’t you do it, not yet.”
“But... but...”
Julien pressed his face to her ear. “Hold back, Caitlyn, until I tell you.” Julien thrust with even greater force, bouncing Caitlyn on his strong and stalwart self. “Not yet, Caitlyn.” Caitlyn’s fingers clenched around that brass bar rail, her strained knuckles white.
Caitlyn screamed, her teeth clenched tight to hold back her writhing demand for satisfaction. It had been so long; too long. Too many years of the same boys, slow to mature; the same people, same places, same everything.
Now, finally, nothing was the same. Nothing would ever be the same.
Caitlyn’s reddened face was beaming, a twisted and glistening mask of heated pleasure and the gleeful eruption of prolonged suspense. Not their first time together, it still felt like it. Every time she looked at this man, every word she heard him speak, made her want to feel this way for the first time again; the first time every time.
Time collapsing upon itself.
Caitlyn felt like she was going to start sobbing, her twisted frown a lusty smile in disguise, clenched and waiting with all the rest of her taught, braced body for sweet, relaxing relief.
Even beyond her own numbing sensation, system flooded with liquid glee, Caitlyn felt Julien’s wave cresting along with her own, welling up inside him.
“Okay, Caitlyn, now,” Julien shouted, an undeniable command, “do it for me now!”
Caitlyn opened her eyes, and so did her mouth as she released a full-throated, earth-shattering howl. They both quivered, their bodies pinned together, inseparable.
The crest of their mutual release seemed to go on beyond the physical limitations of their own bodies as merely human vessels and not otherworldly chariots for the pleasures of the gods themselves. Nearly blinded, ears drowning in a muffled hum, Caitlyn was most aware of her own heartbeat pounding in her throat, her tongue’s new and frighteni
ng paralysis, the garbled grunts in a voice she barely recognized as her own.
Their hot breath slowed, hearts calming. Caitlyn’s skin shivered from the rush of the cool spring air over her body. Caitlyn collapsed into Julien’s arms. He kissed her forehead.
They decided to get some rest before packing her things and vacating the condo, which they finally got around to doing the next morning; eighteen hours and three orgasms later.
* * *
Caitlyn and Julien strolled through the Place de la Concorde, its statues and fountains bowing in grandeur to the Obelisk of Luxor, a foreign wonder to humble even the most spectacular domestic creations. The trickling of the water danced in the faint background, Caitlyn’s ear turned specifically away from it and the traffic and other distractions.
She wanted to hear what Julien had to say about this.
“You will be employed, of course, gainfully as well. And you’ll learn so much about the ways of the business world -- ”
“Julien, I know it’s a great opportunity, I’m just... concerned. I can’t just be your servant, it has to be a real job, and I’m glad that it is. But... our relationship is going to stay on its... current course?”
“Oui, but of course. Caitlyn, do you not wish to continue our relationship as lovers?”
No no, don’t get me wrong! Caitlyn wanted to say.
“No no, don’t get me wrong,” Caitlyn said. “I do, I... I really do. And this all sounds great. But, I mean... you’re paying me... we’re sleeping together... you’re paying me...”
Julien shrugged, nearing exasperation. “What is this American fixation with prostitution?”
“I am not a prostitute!”
“No, of course not! It is you who makes this connection. Here in France, all over Europe, and the rest of the free world, who else shares this definition of prostitution as anybody who either has sex or earns money? In America you can make money, not have sex and still be considered a prostitute in some circles.”
“People whore themselves out in all kinds of ways,” Caitlyn said.
“So you’re in a position where you cannot win. Caitlyn, you came here to discover a new way, a life you couldn’t have at home. But aren’t you letting the same things that limited you there limit you here in the very same ways?”
Could he be right? Caitlyn had to wonder. Maybe our way of looking at things isn’t the right way. Everybody’s a lot freer and more progressive in the European Union, everyone in America knows that. Who am I to say what’s right, who’s wrong, what’s what for everyone everywhere all the time? Isn’t that just what Patrick tried to do with me at the end of our time together? I swore I’d never do that myself, and yet, here I am...
“Puits bien, regard qui il est! Le vieil homme et sa enfant-jeune mariée!”
Caitlyn and Julien turned to see the familiar figures of the two rude French boys from the Mona Lisa line in the Louvre. They stalked up to them, each on one side, their postures stooped as the poked and gawked like a pair of rabid roosters.
One of the two pulled out a switchblade, a flick of his wrist and a click of the metal mechanism launching the eight-inch metal blade into position, ready to cut and slice and stab and kill. “Aucun gardes de sécurité à sortir à votre aide ici, grand-père ! Faites tourner la fille et vous laisserons-nous vivre, hein?”
“Julien?” Caitlyn managed to say, forgoing the rest: What’s going on? What are they saying? What do they want?
She knew what was going on. She knew what they were saying. She knew what they wanted.
Chapter Five: A Dangerous Turn
The taller of the two young Frenchmen waved the knife in front of Caitlyn and Julien, who stood calmly, aware of the presence of the man’s friend behind them.
Julien said, “Je te donnerai des garçons au compte de trois.”
Caitlyn recognized a few of the words: garçons means boys, she silently translated, compte de trois means something like count of three.
One of the young French punks asked Julien with a snarling chuckle, “Et après trois, puis ce qui?”
Caitlyn again did some rudimentary translating for herself. Et après trois means after three ... and after three...
Julien said to him, “Après trois, vous mourez.”
That one was easy: After three, you die.
The punk was already lunging at Julien as Caitlyn gasped and lurched backward. She fell right into the other punk’s grip, his fingers craning around her arms from behind, pulling her close.
Too close.
But she didn’t have any more time to be repulsed than her attacker did to be titillated by their struggle. The fight between Julien and the knife-wielding punk was passing in a hideous flash. The attacker’s lunge missed the mark, Julien deftly stepping out of the way. Julien grabbed the young man’s head and, with a quick and violent motion, twisted it early 180 degrees. With a hideous crack and the gurgle of his collapsing windpipe, the young man dropped the knife and went limp, hitting the ground almost before his weapon did.
Julien turned to look upon Caitlyn and her attacker, both of whom stood in shock.
“Merde! Merde sainte!” The remaining young man released Caitlyn and turned, running across the square. A Gendarme ran up to Julien, spitting some hurried questions in French, which Julien calmly answered. The Gendarme offered him a quick, “Merci, M. Cherierre,” before blowing into his whistle and running off after the other young Frenchman.
Caitlyn looked at him, in shock and in awe, and in horror. She looked down at the dead man at their feet, just moments ago threatening to take their lives. It could have been her corpse lying there, Caitlyn knew well.
Dad was right, Caitlyn said to herself, I am in way over my head here.
Julien took her arm and gently pulled her away. “Where are we going?” Caitlyn spat out, “where are you taking me?”
“No reason for us to remain, it’s over now.”
“Over?” Caitlyn pulled her arm free, but kept walking, Julien alongside her hurried pace. “You killed a man.”
“In self-defense.”
“With a single blow.”
“It’s an old technique. I spent time in the armed forces, it’s part of the training.”
Caitlyn stopped and turned, starring Julien down. “You’re lying.”
Julien held his arms out slightly, empty palms up. “What makes you say such a thing? I just saved your life!”
“That cop knew your last name. You’re going to tell me you served in Iraq together?”
Julien turned and kept walking, leaving Caitlyn to keep up with his own rugged pace. “You got us to the top of the Eiffel Tower way past the closing time. You just walked away from a murder scene -- ”
“Self-defense.”
“Tell me, Julien, be honest with me; who are you, really?”
Julien stopped walking, the two of them still in the fog of doubt as it was cleared away by the breeze of revelation. Julien’s voice was low, his accent thick around his deliberate English.
“I never lied to you. Everything I have told you is the truth. My name is Julien Cherierre. I raised myself on the streets of Paris and became a business consultant. All of it true.”
Caitlyn nodded, her mind quickly shuffling through the images to find the glaring holes in his story. Suddenly, she felt like her father, peeling back the layers of misdirection to finally get at the truth.
“What about the rest of it? The armed forces?”
“True, but I was not there long. I’m afraid my discharge was not considered honorable. You can hardly blame me for not bragging about it.”
“What happened?”
“I was caught steeling.” Julien thought about it, then had to correct himself. “Well, I was set up, truth be told, but the end result was much the same.”
“Stealing?”
“Oui, Caitlyn. It was a crate of penicillin, which had been looted from a children’s hospital, to be sold on the armed forces black market. My friend, so I thought, aske
d me in on the deal. Instead, I double-crossed him, stole the medicine, and gave it back to the hospital. My so-called friends turned me in as the original thief.”
Caitlyn began to imagine the scenes; an unjust dishonorable discharge, a modern-day Robin Hood being drummed out of the service by scoundrels.
Yeah, right, Caitlyn had to say to herself. Let’s see how this really adds up:
“So that’s how you raised yourself on the streets of Paris, as a thief.”
“Oui.”
“And you’re still a thief.”
“Non, Caitlyn, not for many years now. But I was, an art thief to be precise. And I was one of the best in the world. I stole ... well, I’m not at liberty to say. But when I say that I have a savings built up, I don’t strictly mean that I have it in stocks and bonds.”
Caitlyn twitched, not sure what to make of this. She knew it wasn’t good. “You’re sitting on stolen artwork, living off it, and you tell me you’re not a thief.”
“Some of what you say is true,” Julien said, raising his hands to Caitlyn’s arms. She eased them away and stepped back. “I am not a thief. I hold no illegal artwork. But I have had much of it in my possession in the past. It has all been returned.”
“Then where does all your money come from, this business consulting bull crap?”
“But this is true as well! My clients are museums, like the Louvre, where I am currently employed. Museums hire me to make sure their security systems are in good order, that they cannot be violated. Using my unique expertise in this field, I offer my consultations on how measures can be improved.”
Caitlyn had heard of this kind of thing before; computer hackers where usually offered top-dollar jobs by the biggest companies to make them hack-proof.
Still, one or two things more to check out...
Caitlyn asked Julien, “And how is it that you know all the cops in town, and in the Tower...?”
Julien couldn’t help but drop a little chuckle. “I don’t know every cop in Paris, obviously. But I am known to them. Of course, a high-profile former thief will be known to the local police, no? And I am known by others because I frequent those places, and I tip well; because I am paid well and I remember what it’s like to have to scramble just to survive, to go to bed hungry, without blankets or medication.”
