Blind Obsession (30 page)

“Fucking hell.” He cursed as he shifted.

Putting his fists down onto the mattress to brace himself, he raised his hips. He lifted himself up on shaky arms as he slowly brought his hips back down to push farther into her mouth. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine how she was feeling.

With his cock plunging between her lips, he could hear her breathing in and out through her nose. Her talented fingers were on his hips and ass as she pulled him closer, taking him deeper down her throat until her nose was against his skin. He could feel her breath tickling around him with each inhale and exhale.

“That’s it, Chantel. Suck me deep.” He growled as he slowly pulled away from her deep-throated squeeze. “That’s a fucking pretty sight.” He grunted while he looked down his body, watching when the tip of his cock slid out of her mouth as she leaned her head back.

Through aroused, unseeing eyes, she pulled his hips back toward her. She pleaded, “More.”

When she took him in once again, her left hand moved to the crack of his ass. He closed his eyes as he tried to control himself. As she sucked vigorously on his engorged flesh, erotic noises started to fill the room and his head. There was nothing he could do to stop his hips from picking up pace. As her finger now skirted along the sensitive skin of his ass, his hands white-knuckled the sheets, and his knees sank into the mattress.

Shaking his head and trying to hang on to some semblance of control, he groaned loudly as her finger dragged down his ass to his tight balls where she tickled over the sensitive skin.

Biting his bottom lip, he started to fuck her mouth in earnest now.

As much as he wanted this to be gentle and sweet, she was tapping into a part of him that he couldn’t control. Closing his eyes, he could feel the climax skating along his spine, knocking for release.

“Fuck! Yes! Harder!” he roared, not really having a clue what he wanted harder.
Her mouth? Her fingers? Or to get even farther down her amazing fucking throat?

Somehow, she knew. Right as the climax was about to slam into him, she slid a finger past his tight ring into his ass while she clamped her lips around his cock. He shouted her name as he came so hard that he thought he would pass out from the sheer force of ecstasy.

“Jesus Christ, Chantel.” He sent up a prayer and slowly slipped out of her mouth as he slid his body down hers. When he was in line with her mouth, he took it in a kiss so erotic and decadent that he thought he might come a second time just from tasting himself on her mouth, lips, and tongue.

She smelled and tasted like him. Now, as she arched her hips toward him, he knew he wanted to return the favor.

Pulling back, he whispered, “That was the most religious fucking experience I have ever had and I will never listen to this piece, what’s it called again?”

“
Adagio for Strings.”
She informed on a sigh.

“I will never be able to listen to this piece without thinking of you, right at this very moment.”

She smiled and laughed softly before curving her back. She was aching, and he needed to tend to her.

“Do you need me, Chantel? Do you want to see heaven?”

Closing her eyes, she nodded and widened her legs. Phillipe scooted off the edge of the mattress to kneel on the floor between her spread thighs.
Damn, she’s soaked
. Her thighs were glistening from her excitement. He reached out and ran his finger through it, bringing it to his mouth for a taste.

“You’re aching. Aren’t you, Chantel? Did having me in your mouth turn you on?”

Leaning forward, he took a deep breath, inhaling her sweet and spicy arousal. “I think it did because your pussy is so wet that it’s dripping all over your thighs.”

Turning his head, he placed a kiss on her knee. He heard her whimper as he flattened his tongue to lick and kiss his way up her left thigh. When he reached her lush, wet center, he leaned in so close that his nose bumped her clit. Taking one of her pouty lips between his own, he sucked on it, savoring her delicious juices. When her taste hit his tongue, it went straight to his cock, which was making it rise and harden again.

“Put your legs over my shoulders, Chantel.”

Although languid in movement, she obeyed immediately. With her heels brushing against his back, he gripped her ass and tugged her right to the edge of the pillow-top mattress.

“I want to taste you now while you slide over my tongue and come for me.”

He lapped at her sopping wet cunt. She raised her hips and reached down, gripping his hair in her hands, as he licked and sucked on her sensitive flesh.

“Phillipe.” She moaned.

He stiffened his agile tongue and held her in place as he started to tongue fuck her toward her orgasm. He knew it wouldn’t take long. He brought his finger to where his mouth was busy devouring her sweet pussy, lubricating it with her own sweet juices. Mimicking her movements that took him to the edge, he moved the wet digit down to the tight little virgin hole that was currently spread apart in this position.

“Hmm.Yes, Chantel.” He hummed against her aching sex. “You’re a naughty little tease, pushing your finger into my ass earlier. Was that a hint, Chantel?”

Shaking her head back and forth, she lifted her hips, trying to get his mouth back into action.

“No?” he questioned. He pressed the tip of his finger on her hot little rosette.

“No, I just wanted to—” She panted.

“You wanted to get up my ass?” he asked as he licked her hot center again.

“Phillipe!” she screamed.

“Ahh, there’s the ecstatic enthusiasm. Hmm, pure rhapsody.”

Suddenly, her knees tightened around his ears, and her hips bucked up as he sucked her clit hard between his lips while pushing his finger deep into her tight, hot ass. She screamed his name so loudly as she came that his ears were actually ringing.

As the somber violins continued to play well after the ringing had subsided, Philippe knew exactly what he was going to call this painting of her—
Rhapsody
.

***

“Are we done then?” I ask, looking at Phillipe over my shoulder.

It has been at least an hour since I have been standing here naked and somewhat cold. It has been dead silent for at least half of it. I decided to leave it that way because it seemed he just needed some space today.

“Yes, we can be done, Gemma. Is your shoulder bothering you?”

He seems far away and distant. I know he’s thinking of
her
.

“No, it isn’t. I’m just a little cold.”

His eyes come up from the canvas, and as he looks over at me, he nods. I see a look in his eyes that, under any other circumstances, I would think is arousal, but I know that look is not for me. That realization makes me feel more than naked.
I feel vulnerable.

Slowly, I bring the violin to my front, and I move to the case, placing the instrument gently on the red silk. He says nothing as I go through the motions of putting on my clothes, item by item. Although he’s here, I know he has left the room somehow. He’s not with me.

Moving toward the door, I stop before I leave. “Do you mind if I go downstairs tonight to look at the paintings?”

I don’t really know what to expect, but he nods once.

Looking over to me, he quietly says, “While you’re here, Gemma, you can go wherever you like.”

I give him my thanks and turn to leave the studio. Making my way down the main curved staircase, I stop to look at the painting hanging on the wall.
Rhapsody
depicts
the very replica of the pose I was in only moments earlier.

This time, I don’t hesitate to reach out and stroke the curve of her right cheek. I trace my fingers over the F-holes in the violin, the same pattern that is now dry paint on my skin. She really was beautiful with her otherworldly flawless skin. It is easy for me to see the appeal.

Shaking my head, I make my way down into the kitchen. As I stand at the window, staring out on the vineyards, I can hear Phillipe’s voice playing over in my mind.

While you are here, Gemma, you can go wherever you like.

Yes, I can go anywhere, just not into his heart.

Chapter  Twenty ~ Alone

Alone ~

Throughout my whole life, I had been comfortable being alone. It had never really bothered me until he left me standing on my own tonight. It was then that I realized I had never really known what it was like to be truly by myself. Ironically, this occurred when I was surrounded by a room full of people.

Phillipe’s paintings took off. Saying a few people purchased them was putting it too lightly.

In the past two months, prints of his paintings had been replicated and sold around the world. From the exposure afforded by that little art gallery and first newspaper article, the media had courted and hounded Phillipe, trying to get a piece of him ever since. In fact, just the other night on the radio, I heard an announcer jokingly discuss the talent that had propelled him into the spotlight. She’d laughed and went on to say that the ladies of the world thanked him for his skills because now they could admire his smoldering good looks.

For once in my life, I truly hated the fact that I could not see what the world sees.

Tonight, as I stood in a room full of beautiful women—of that, I had no doubt—I let my insecurities slip between us.

His success was both amazing and completely unreal. If I was being honest, the level of success he’d reached in such a short amount of time—not to mention the fact that thousands of people now had pictures of me in their homes—was slightly mind-blowing. I had known all along that he would succeed. He had been so passionate about everything he did that it had made sense that his paintings also evoked such a strong reaction.

But, tonight, he wanted me to go to a gala with him. So far, I had declined every invitation, realizing that people wanted to know all about the woman behind the paintings. After all, in a recent interview, one reporter had asked if I was, in fact, real or a figment of his imagination. He had assured the man that I was very real.

Now, he was asking me to confirm it. How could I refuse?

***

I tightly clutch the journal to my breasts as I make my way downstairs. I cling to it as if loosening my grip on it might lose my place or, even worse
,
the words might vanish. It amazes me that Chantel was so reluctant to be in the spotlight only because she seemed so comfortable there when playing Diva and posing for Phillipe.

I know it had to do with the content of the paintings, but really, there is nothing to be ashamed of. Like she wrote, Phillipe Tibideau’s work propelled him into the spotlight, and his brooding dark looks made him a solid favorite when it came to magazine sales. One minute, no one heard of him, and suddenly, he was everywhere, not only with his paintings but as the man himself.

He is the enigmatic, mysterious artist, who is undeniably attractive, and he is the man who every woman wants to pose for, but he wants none of that. He only wants
her
.

It all begins and consequently ends with Chantel Rosenberg.

***

The gala was at 7:30 p.m.

I was sitting up in the studio, waiting on him. He’d left around twenty minutes ago to get ready while I had done the same.

I was dressed in red silk. Phillipe had picked an evening gown the color of Diva’s velvet violin case. He’d told me that my complexion and my dark hair reminded him of Snow White.

It was ironic because we would be tested tonight. Our foundation would be shaken, and for a minute, I would forgot who we were.

Someone would offer up temptation, a whisper of doubt, but it wouldn’t come in the form of an apple. No, it would come in the form of something much worse. For the first time ever, I would doubt Phillipe, and with doubt trickling through my veins, I would feel like I had nothing else in the world.

For that moment in time, I would feel completely alone.

***

I finally reach the bottom of the stairs and step into the music room. I move over to the light switch I saw him turn on the other day. The bright lights illuminate the stark white space with the odd-shaped boards on the walls. This is the first time I have been in here alone, and I am almost positive that I can sense her presence here, feeling it stronger than before.

Making my way over to the sound system, I look at the rows of CDs. Each label is different:
CR-Canon in D, CR-Requiem for a Dream (Lux Aeterna), CR-Vivaldi, Four Seasons (Winter).
This is her collection
. This
is her.

I look through all of them until one in the back under a stack of books catches my eye. Pulling it out, I read the label,
CR-Air.
I haven’t heard this one yet, and I’m curious. That’s one of my favorite classical pieces, and Chantel was a musical genius. The fact that she learned to play each of these pieces by ear just makes her even more incredible to me.

Putting the CD in the player, I hit play and wait for the music to begin. Instead of the sweeping strains of the violin, I hear a hell of a lot more than I anticipate.

Suddenly, the room is full of happy laughter. From every corner of the room, a female voice now surrounds me. I stiffen automatically, knowing it is
her
.

“Really, Phillipe? Give me Diva. Let me play.” Her voice filters through the speakers.