Blind Obsession (26 page)

However, I felt like a hypocrite because I told him to get out there to let the world see his vision, but this was his dream, not mine.

I’m happy in the shadows this time. I’m content to stand behind the man I love and watch him rise to the greatness I know he has in him.

I just hope he understands my decision and doesn’t end up resenting me.

***

Shutting the journal, I stand and make my way out of the music room. Heading up the stairs, I can’t help but think,
Why didn’t Phillipe just show people her journal? Or at least parts of it?
It would be more than obvious that she was the one who didn’t want to be on display. He really had nothing to do with her decision to remain unknown at all. As it stood though, Chantel, he, and I are the only ones who know that.

I reach the top of the stairs and turn to make my way down the hall. That’s when I spot him. Catching a quick glance out of the corner of my eye, I see him in his bedroom, the one he was in that morning several weeks ago. This time, he’s sitting on the bed with his legs spread apart, his elbows resting on his knees. His shoulders are slumped forward, and his head is resting in his hands. He is painfully gripping his hair.

Stopping at the entrance with the journal in my right hand, I clear my throat and watch as his tortured eyes come up to meet mine. Without saying a word, I make my way into his room.

I’m aware that this is not the room
they
slept in. As my eyes shift to the mattress he is sitting on, I wonder if it is the same one he so eagerly pulled up to his studio a lifetime ago.

Placing the journal on a chest of drawers against the wall, I’m aware of his eyes tracking my every move. I know he’s raw right now, thinking of her and the way people turned their relationship into something ugly. I find myself wanting to give him something back. I want to give
her
back to him.

Moving forward, I take a deep breath and stop when I’m standing before him. He releases his hair and drops his hands down as he looks up at me. Without a word, I reach out to replace his hands with mine, stroking them through his hair. I tip his head back gently and can see he’s about to talk.

“Shh,” I tell him. This time, I’m determined to be the one in control of the situation. “Let me?” I question the complicated man before me.

His eyes darken as he nods, leaning his head into my palms. Taking that as his consent, I release his hair and take a step back. I undo my pants and push them, along with my panties, off my hips. Kicking them to the side, I move to undo my shirt. I feel the heat of his eyes on me as I hear the same snick and clink of the metal from earlier when he releases his belt buckle.

When I’m completely nude and standing before him, his mouth opens, and he licks his full, sensual bottom lip. His eyes don’t stray when he stands slowly to push his pants down his hips. He removes his sweater, and I can’t get enough of him as he bares his body to me. Our eyes collide. Staring deeply, I witness the moment when his shattered soul comes into focus.

As he drops his final piece of clothing on the floor, he sits back on the edge of the mattress. Feeling my heart fluttering in my chest like a trapped butterfly, I step closer to him—the man whom I have now become one-hundred percent consumed by. He’s stolen a part of me, and I don’t even know which part it is.
My sanity?My passion? Or maybe my heart?
All I know is that I want him like I need my next breath.

When I reach him, I climb up as close as I can on his lap, straddling his waist. I wrap my arms around his neck as I press my lips gently against his.

I plead softly, “Let me see you.” Pushing his shoulders gently, I whisper, “Lay back and let me see you the way
she
did.”

His eyes cloud over at the mention of Chantel. As he remains silent, I reach out with my right hand and trace his cheekbone.

“Let me give her back to you.”

Heavy lust-filled eyes blink at me as he slowly lies back, his mouthwatering abdominal muscles rippling with the controlled move. He places his hands up behind his head while his sinful mouth parts open. I feel my pussy flood with moisture.

From his full, thick chestnut hair to his sexy eyes that are looking up at me, filled with desire and passion, he truly is a work of art. His sculptured jaw clenches tightly as I touch his stubble that feels prickly against my fingertips. As I continue brushing my fingers against his cheek, I watch those sexy eyes close while a sigh escapes his mouth.

How long has it been since someone touched him gently?
I wonder, stroking my fingers down his jaw to the dip in his chin. When I get there, I tug it a little with my thumb and index finger, and his eyes open while he further parts his mouth for me. I lean down over him and touch his bottom lip with mine in a gentle kiss.

“What are you doing, Gemma?”

Nipping his lip, I look into his eyes and ask him a question I’m not sure he’ll answer. “Will you tell me how she was when she was with you like this?”

His mouth tips up in a sad smile as he lowers his arms from behind his head. Warm hands cup my naked waist, pulling me to him, and he arches his hips toward mine.

“She was sensual,” he describes, his voice strained.

I sit up on his thighs, reaching down between us, and I grip his throbbing cock in my palm. His eyes look down at my busy hands.

I can’t believe some of the thoughts that are coming into my mind, eventually making their way past my lips. “Did she like to touch you?” I ask.

“Yes, she used her hands to teach me, to know me, and to learn what I liked.” He moans as he flexes his hips, pushing himself into my palm.

I can feel my breasts sway as he shifts, and I move with him. Stroking my fist along his tight, hot flesh, I watch as he sucks in a deep breath.

Reaching my other hand forward, I stroke my fingers up one side of the V-shape from his lower abdomen. With every touch of my hand, flirting and tracing along his body, his rippling muscles bunch and tighten with each movement of his hips.

“She was a very lucky woman,” I murmur as I rock my wet, aching pussy against him. “She had a true work of art to touch.”

I watch him bite his lip hard while his hips push and pull his shaft into and then out of my palm.

“
She
was the work of art,” he corrects me, eyes locked with mine.

Before I know what I’m saying, it comes out of my mouth. “I bet when you two fucked, it was sexy as hell.” Without thinking, I add, “I would have liked to watch that.”

“Fuck.” He groans, shifting his hips. He begins fucking my palm violently, as he reaches down to the hand I have wrapped around his thick length. He wraps his fingers around mine, forming a tight fist. “Put me inside of you, Gemma. I want to watch your face as you slide down onto my cock.”

I can’t do anything at this moment but obey him.

Lifting myself up onto my knees on both sides of his hips, my grip moves with his to the base of his shaft, holding it firmly, as I lower my soaked core down onto his wide, thick tip.

Raising my eyes, I keep them locked to his green ones as he sinks deep inside me, inch after delicious hard inch.

When I’m fully seated with my ass on his thighs, he removes his hand and gently touches my clit.

“When I was inside of her, nothing else existed,” he confesses.

He surprises me when he sits up and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling my hips and pelvis harder to him. As he slides in deeper, he nuzzles my neck. “And when I’m inside of you,
she’s
starting not to exist.” He groans as he turns, laying me on the bed.

Bracing his arms on both sides of me, his devastated eyes meet mine, and I can’t help but think he is punishing us with every furious stroke.

Touching the hollow of his neck, I part my lips on a moan, arching my back.

“I can’t fucking resist you. I keep trying.” He curses. “God help me, but I can’t stop myself.”

Closing my eyes, I grip his bulging biceps as he thrusts into me time and time again, searching for that elusive edge while chasing a fading ghost. I’m left wondering just how far away from his heart he would let her go.

Chapter  Seventeen ~ Mine

“I dreamed about you last night,” Chantel whispered across his cheek.

He could feel those talented fingers of hers stroking through his hair. “Was it a good dream?”

“Hmm,” she murmured absently and started to hum a melody.

“What is that?” he asked as he rolled her over to lay on top of him, watching as her soft raven hair fell down to conceal them from the outside world.

“
Air
by Johann Sebastian Bach.”

He closed his eyes and listened blindly. When she finished humming, she kissed his mouth gently. He opened his eyes while running his hand up her naked spine.

“It’s beautiful. What made you think of it this morning?”

“It was playing in my dream. You were there, and we were lying in the sun, letting it warm our skin.”

He traced his hands down to her ass and cupped it gently. “Strange dream.”

“But peaceful.”

***

Phillipe runs his palm through his hair as Gemma lies with her ear to his chest. He slipped out of her body only minutes earlier, and now, he felt himself slipping from the reality of the moment. As he lie on his back, staring at the ceiling, he can hear
Air
being hummed in his ear, and in his arms, he is imagining a woman he can no longer touch.

“Do you always think about her?” Gemma asks, tearing him from his illusion.

“Yes,” he replies stoically.

Gemma falls silent as her fingers stroke along his ribs and chest. “Do you ever stop?”

Phillipe squeezes his eyes shut, feeling his own deception mocking him. “I stopped when I was inside of you.”

He feels her push up against his chest, but he can’t bring himself to look into her eyes.

“You won’t even look at me?” she asks.

Grimacing, Phillipe is disgusted with himself and the delusions he’s clinging to.

It’s bad enough he has given in, letting Gemma touch him in a way he never would have allowed weeks earlier when she arrived. With each stroke of her hand and each question she asks, he feels himself losing
her
, and he refuses to let go.

Moving his eyes from the ceiling, he brings them down to meet green eyes still clouded with lust. She’s still feeling that glow from the euphoria you get from having someone touch you so deep inside that you don’t know where the other person ends and you begin. For him, that euphoria is forever out of reach. It died a long time ago.

“You need to leave, Gemma.”

Keeping a cool tone his face remains impassive. “This doesn’t change anything, and I want to be alone.”

Gemma scrambles off of him and scoots away. He watches her climb over the bed to pick up her clothes, and she silently puts them on one piece at a time.

“You don’t want to be alone,” she accuses from across the room. “You want to be with
her
.”

Turning his head on the pillow, Phillipe looks into Gemma’s annoyed eyes. “Well, you knew that all along, didn’t you?”

Her jaw tightens, and her eyes narrow. Spinning on her heel, she marches to the dresser and picks up the journal she placed there. Without another word, she slams the door on her way out. Finally left alone, he confesses his sins to
her
.

***

Marching upstairs to my room, I’m more than annoyed. I’m pissed off at him, at myself, and at
her
.
Damn it!
Is all I can think as I throw her journal on the bed.

Moving straight into the bathroom, I turn the faucets on, feeling the need to wash the afternoon away. The man is so infuriating and complicated to the extreme.

One minute, he’s silent, involved, and right there in the moment with
me.
I’m sure of it. It’s, the minute we stop touching, the second that connection breaks,
she’s
there, filling his head, getting into his mind, and telling him what to feel.

“Well, fuck you!” I curse at her.

I realize how stupid I must seem. I’m standing in the tiny bathroom, taking my clothes off, and cursing at nothing.
I’m going crazy.

Pulling the shower curtain back with much more force than necessary, I step into the tub and turn, closing my eyes. Tipping my head back under the spray, I feel the warm water stream down over my face. I bring my hands up to my hair and push my fingers back through the wet strands. Closing my eyes, I start to picture Phillipe as he was earlier, lying across the bed. I imagine him rigid, naked, and hard, his muscles rippling with every breath he took.

Lowering one hand, I slide it down to my breast and squeeze it tight. My other hand closes around my throat where I place a slight pressure on myself while the water now glides down my skin and across my lips. Music filters through my mind as the hand at my breast trails down my torso, stopping between my thighs. I squeeze my sensitive flesh and part my lips on a sigh as the haunting melody of
Lux Aeterna
repeats over in my mind. Pushing my fingers deep into my needy pussy, I can’t be sure why that song stays with me while I picture his tortured eyes and hear his angry words.

That’s when I start to imagine the melody getting louder, more forceful, like the way it was playing this afternoon in
her
music room when he was in my mouth and on my tongue. As the fantasy takes over, I thrust my fingers in and out of my body. The water pools around my hand before it slides down my inner thighs, mixing with my own juices.

Suddenly, it’s there, I feel it again—that second elusive presence. I’m not alone. I stop moving and open my eyes, sensing that I’m being watched. I feel like she’s here. As my eyes try to focus through the water, I notice a dark shadow pass before me. A shiver skates up my spine, and I hear the word
mine.