Blind Obsession (14 page)

“Now, this is much more fun. Don’t you think, Gemma?”

I blink at him, my breathing accelerating. He starts to slowly pull the paintbrush from my body, the bristles tickling me on their way out.

“This is the way I think I should always paint you—with a size twenty-four round brush in my hand as you coat the bristles.”

Leaning down beside my ear, he asks me, “What do you think, Gemma? Do you like being
painted
this way?”

All I can think is that being painted by him feels a lot like being
fucked
by him, but he already knows that.

“Phillipe,” I beg.

He thrusts the brush back up inside of me, and my hips start to flex against his sinful hand. I turn my head, so our mouths are almost touching. I feel myself getting impossibly wetter, and he licks his lips as his hand shifts again.

“This is wrong,” I say, panting.

He grins demonically, nibbling my lip. “All the best things are,” he agrees. He drags the brush out from my confused and needy body, and then he pushes it back up inside of me again. “Now, close your eyes, Gemma, and go with it. Who cares if it’s wrong? How does it feel?”

I have no words for him as I stand there, grinding down on the brush that is now deep inside of me. All I can do is what he told me—
feel
.

He starts to thrust it in and out of me, quicker with each movement, and that’s when I hear him softly humming the strings of
Pachelbel’s Canon in D
in my ear. Everything about the situation is fucked up.

What he’s doing and how I’m responding is beyond fucked up, but there’s not one thing I can do when he bites my ear. I scream out my shockingly intense and inappropriate climax. Once again, I find myself unsure and ashamed of how I’m left feeling.

***

Phillipe took me back to the chateau after my performance and told me how moved he was when he watched me play. I could tell by the way he spoke to me that something was different.

He was touching and talking to me as though he had never seen me before. Maybe he hadn’t.

My mother always told me that I came alive when I was on stage. Maybe that’s what he saw.

“I knew you’d be amazing tonight, but, Chantel, I have no words.” He paused and sighed. “You were simply breathtaking.”

I kissed him softly. “Well, I don’t want you to stop breathing.”

His lips covered mine in an almost desperate kiss. When he pulled away, he stroked a hand down my cheek. “I don’t plan to, not for a very long time, and neither will you.”

He kissed me again, and almost as though he couldn’t stand to be still, he lifted me off the ground, twirling me around as I laughed. He slowly lowered me down his body. “Will you come and stay with me, Chantel?”

Automatically, I went to say
yes
, but he kissed me before I could even make a sound.

“Don’t say no, please. Tell me you’ll move in with me? Let me see you when you awake. Let me be inspired every time I turn a corner, and you’re there.”

Laughing at his eagerness, I stroked my fingers over his impossibly high cheekbone. “My parents and Beau wouldn’t understand why I would choose to stay here in France or why I would move in with you, a man I have just barely met.”

He kissed my mouth, and I felt myself sliding under the waves again.

I asked him, “Is this wrong? Are we crazy?”

This time, his lips pressed against my forehead. He whispered, “Probably. But who cares? How does it make you feel?”

My answer was simple. It made me feel complete.

The next day I moved into the chateau.

Chapter  Nine ~ Want

Day 8

I am ashamed to admit that I hid for two whole days. As I am lying here in bed, I continue to find myself reflecting on everything that happened that day up in his studio.
With a paintbrush, no less.
I’m still trying to understand all that took place, but what it ultimately comes down to is that I invited Phillipe Tibideau into my body.

Well, in actuality, there was no inviting. It was more of a hostile takeover. He took over my senses, including any common sense I possessed before arriving here.

Reaching up to my mouth, I touch my lips and remember his on mine as he played my body so expertly out in the vineyard only a couple of days before.

One thing is certain. My judgment becomes compromised when it comes to Phillipe, and I have no immediate idea on how to stop myself from wanting to be compromised over and over again.

Today though, I want some answers from him. I want to know why people thought their relationship was unhealthy.
Why did the world turn against a man that only months earlier they had revered?

The obvious answer seems too simple. There has to be more to it because the man I am coming to know doesn’t fit with all that I have read.

Why wouldn’t he defend himself publicly? Why wouldn’t he save his name?

Twice now, I sat in a dark room—a room that for all intents and purposes is cut off from the world—and he blindfolded me. He had every opportunity to do as he pleased, yet he didn’t touch me while in pose.

No, he waited until my sight was restored, and my attention was focused, focused solely on him before he…
what?
Seduces me? Tempts me?
Destroys me?

That is the word that my mind keeps returning to—
destroyed
. That is the word that has been thrown around and used in conjunction with his name, but I don’t feel destroyed. I feel alive.
I feel needy and hungry.

Lying here with just my thoughts for comfort, I’m shocked to discover that I feel no shame in what we did, even though I probably should. In the face of reflection, I’m craving what I am seeing instead of running from it.

Suddenly, I understand Chantel’s words because the wave has come, and I feel it pulling me under.

***

Want ~

This morning, I awoke to an empty bed, or to be more precise, an empty mattress.

Phillipe had decided that since we were spending so many hours in the studio, we should just bring a mattress up here. So, two days ago, he’d done just that and hauled his huge mattress up into the studio. It had all been very romantic when he’d placed it beneath the window. Kissing me, he had pulled me down onto it and told me that now he could touch me under the stars, just like he’d touched me under the sun.

That was not all that happened. This morning, I discovered what it means to truly want another. Want in every way that the word can be used. To need, crave, and desire another.

Phillipe had gotten up early. I could tell because there was no sun warming my skin, like it had every other morning. Rolling over, I reached my hand across the pillow beside me. I noticed that it had already cooled, so he’d been up for a while.

That was a shame because I had wanted him to make love to me this morning. I was restless.

Sitting up in the makeshift bed, I held the sheet to my breasts and called out to him. “Phillipe?”
When I got no answer, I lay back down and shut my eyes, waiting a few minutes before calling out for him again. “Phillipe?” This time, he responded from the foot of the mattress, surprising me with his sudden nearness.

“Yes?”

“Oh, there you are.” I responded as, I felt the sheet being tugged on at my feet.

“Let go, Chantel,” he instructed, his voice darkly persuasive.

Releasing my grip, I almost moaned as he pulled it away from my body. It slid down in a silky caress until I was left lying there naked, save for the beginning of the morning sun that was warming my body as it finally started to rise.

“Where were you?” I asked.

I waited for him to climb up my body, for his lips to find mine, but this time, it didn’t come. He wasn’t there.

“Phillipe?”

“I’m still here,” he assured me. He offered up no other words.

When the intensity of the silence started to unnerve me a little, I questioned, “What are you doing? And, if you aren’t coming over here, can I have the sheet back?”

He chuckled low and deep. “No.”

“No?” I queried.

I gasped when his warm hands circled my ankles and pulled me down the bed. My legs were now hanging over the end of the mattress, and they were spread wide enough that I could feel him kneeling between them.

I moved to sit up and touch him, but he told me, “No.”

He placed a palm between my breasts, pushing me back onto the mattress. His hand slowly slid up to the base of my neck.

“No?” I asked again, like this was some kind of new erotic game we were playing. It was like a push and pull of want.

His big palm slid back down the center of my body, as his fingertips circled my navel before tracing a direct line down to my spread thighs.

“I want to slide my tongue between your legs and taste you. Can I do that?” he murmured as he dipped his finger down to flirt with my swollen folds.

“Yes.”

I moaned as the tip of his finger pushed into my greedy pussy. I had woken up wanting him, and now, there he was, touching me the way he always did. He touched me in a way that made me think I was losing my mind.

“Will you let me paint you like this today?”

I swallowed and squeezed my eyes shut. Trying to gain purchase, I raised my right foot to the edge of the mattress, lifting my pelvis closer to his hand. I needed him deeper inside of me. I needed more.

He stopped touching me between my thighs and moved to grip my ankle.

“What’s this?” he asked. He raised my leg and nipped at my anklebone. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I need—” I panted and moved my hands to my breasts.

As I started to rub my palms over my nipples, he groaned.

“So do I,” he whispered.

Before I could even think about what was happening, he tugged me down, pulling me fully off the mattress, so I was straddling and kneeling over his naked lap. I could feel his steely hard cock now pressed between our bodies as I gripped his shoulders. I arched my hips closer to him, imploring him to come inside of me.

“I was going to take it slow this morning, Beauty.” He growled in my ear as his hands stroked up my back.

One of them found its way into my hair, gripping it and tugging it, so my neck was bared to him. His lips found the spot right at the base of my throat, and he sucked on it hard, the sting of pain making my pelvis flex and buck, seeking what was throbbing between us.

“I was going to take it slow and easy, but I can’t,” he explained.

He shifted me, raising me up a little. I felt him reach down between us, and then the tip of his cock was there, pressing up against my drenched gate.

“I just fucking can’t.” He moaned into my chest as he pulled my body down.

His cock delved deep inside of me.

“Fuck.” He groaned, holding me still on top of him.

My arms were wrapped around his neck, and my breasts had to be close to his mouth. When he told me to open my eyes, I felt his breath tickle across my nipples.

“What do you see?” he asked.

At first, I wasn’t sure what he meant.

As he held me tight against his body, my breathing accelerated. My arms and thighs were now firmly wrapped around him, securing my pussy’s grip on his frustrated hard cock.

“What do you mean?” I moaned. I was desperate now to move and satisfy this hunger.

“I mean, tell me what you see, the way you see it, in here.” He emphasized his meaning by kissing my temple.

That was when it hit me. I knew exactly what he wanted me to do, and I wanted to do it. Smiling, I released my hold around his neck, bringing my hands up to his face where I started at his hairline. I smoothed my fingertips along his forehead and spoke to him as I went along.

“I see you frowning, maybe from concentration because your cock is in me, and you want to move…” I stopped when I heard his breath leave on a low groan. Then, I added, “Hard.”

“Jesus.” He cursed.

I felt my wet tight heat contract, fisting him as he throbbed inside of me. Bringing my hands down to trace lightly over his nose, I told him how sexy and strong I knew his face would be. As my fingers reached his lips, I stopped and leaned down, my tongue following the path of my finger.

In a low breath of air, I told him, “Your lips are sexy. The top one is thinner than the bottom, and it has a dip here in the center, like a bow. But it’s this bottom lip that I dream about. This is what I imagine biting as you thrust into me over and over again. Your lips are perfect, and they drive me out of my mind every time you put them on me.”

The anguished sound that rumbled from his throat thrilled me. I felt his hands slide down my back where he began tracing those imaginary marks on my skin again.
F-holes, hmm.
Suddenly, I thought about his fingers and where they had flirted before, but he nipped on my fingertips, bringing my attention back to my task.

“Where was I?” I questioned softly. I felt those same lips smirk against my fingers.

“I’m not sure, you naughty woman. You disappeared for a moment.”

Feeling seductive and playful, I leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Yes. I was thinking about F-holes.”