Blind Obsession

Chapter Seven ~ Firsts

Day 6

Today, when I awoke, a note was pushed under my door. Phillipe let me know that he had left for the morning and wouldn’t be available. He suggested that I go down onto the grounds and take the main path up through the vines until I see a small fork to the right. There, he had told me, I would find a shaded area, the perfect spot to relax and read the next entry in the journal.

Folding the small piece of paper, I place it on the dresser in my room before making my way into the bathroom. Turning on the water to the temperature I desire, I step into the shower and let the stream slide over my skin, washing away my restless night.

I didn’t sleep for more than an hour or so at max, and I know why. I was consumed with words. Words, thoughts, and memories—every single one of them was centered on Phillipe and Chantel.

Sighing, I lean my head back as the water sluices over my breasts before sliding down to my now constantly aching pussy. Sexual frustration seems to be plaguing me where Phillipe is concerned. I can’t solely blame him though. Reading Chantel’s journal entries is like witnessing each act in explicit detail.

Without sight, she brought the other senses to the experience. She depicted every sound, every touch, and every emotion. She made me want to experience that.

Picking up the bar of soap, I quickly and efficiently wash myself, wanting to get out of the chateau for a while. I want to see the grounds. It’s a beautiful day from what I’ve seen, and I want to make the most of it.

My plans for the morning are to go and find a quiet spot, lie down in it, and read the next entry of the journal.

After a fifteen-minute walk from the chateau, I find the secluded spot down through the vineyard and a little way off the path, exactly where Phillipe had indicated it would be. The sun is peeking through the branches above, and it is just enough to keep me warm.

Penelope suggested I take a blanket with me, and she also gave me a packed lunch.

So, here I am sitting down in the vineyard while I read Chantel’s journal.

Firsts ~

Today, Phillipe took me outside. He took me and made me his.

He had told me yesterday to dress in something I wouldn’t mind sitting on the ground in. Of course, with him, that could mean anything, including maybe posing again. So, I had put on an old sundress and turned up at the chateau at noon, just like he’d asked.

“Always so punctual, Chantel,” he told me as he met me at the front door.

He kissed me under my ear on the neck right where he knew it would send shivers through my body.

“I like that. You always come on time.”

I blushed, knowing his true meaning, sighing as he nipped at my lobe.

“Come on. I’m taking you down to the vineyard.”

He clasped my hand and tugged me along beside him. After looping my arm through the crook of his, I followed.

“The vineyard, huh?” I questioned. “You’re not going to make me pose out there, are you?”

“Hmm, now, there’s an idea.” He chuckled. “Chantel. Naked. The sun shining down. Woman is now one with nature.”

I pushed against his shoulder, smiling. “You’re an idiot.”

We walked a little while until he finally stopped.

“Here,” he told me.

The warmth of the sun was intermingled with the shadows as it hit the back of my neck, and I heard birds above me. We were obviously in among the trees.

“Where’s here?”

I heard rustling and a branch cracked right before I felt him in front of me again, his lips pressing against mine.

“Right here.”

I grinned against his mouth. “Where are we, Phillipe?”

“We’re in a little spot away from the vineyards,” he explained, pulling my hand gently.

I felt him move to sit down, and I followed carefully. His hands helped guide me, and I was shocked when I felt a soft blanket hit my knees.

“You brought a blanket?” I questioned.

I moved to touch the material under my knees. It was fuzzy but not scratchy. My fingers sank into the plushness as I stroked my hand across the fabric. His hand came down on mine, as he gently entwined our fingers to stroke the blanket’s softness together.

“I came down here this morning and set it up.”

“Tell me what’s here?” I demanded of him eagerly.

He brought up my hand and kissed my knuckles. “Well, there’s a blanket. Above us, I hung a piece of cheesecloth from a couple of branches to shade the area a little better.”

As I felt him shift, I guessed he was looking around.

“I also brought several pillows.”

“You brought pillows?” I smiled. “Why?”

The scent of his cologne became stronger, and I knew he was only inches from me. His hands slid through my hair, cupping the back of my head.

“Because I want to lie down with you.” He explained as his lips met mine in a kiss that was as hot and potent as the sun that was shining down on us.

I have to stop for a minute because I have a feeling I know where this entry is going to go.

Am I ready to read this?

This is going to be their moment. I can tell from the title and the first line in the entry. Today, Phillipe took me outside. He took me outside and made me his.

Do I want to read this? The answer to that is almost embarrassingly easy to come by. However, the real question bothering me—the one that I don’t have an immediate answer for—is, Am I ready for how this will ultimately make me feel?

Looking up at the branches overhead, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, open the leather-bound book, and continue on.

Phillipe lowered me down onto the blanket and moved one of the pillows to cushion my head. His breath, warm and sweet, whispered against my parted mouth as his tongue dipped inside to rub against my own.

I ran my hands up through his hair and moaned against his lips as he angled in a different direction to deepen the kiss. One of his hands stroked over my cheek as he lowered to the top of my dress. I gasped as his big warm palm continued down to cup my aching breast. Arching up into his caress, I felt him lift his head from mine.

His low voice rasped out a harsh prayer. “Christ.”

I almost echoed his sentiment.

His weight shifted as he moved to my right, stroking his palm over to the middle of my torso. I held my breath as his fingers flirted with my top button, and his hair flopped down to tickle my chin as he laid a hot open-mouth kiss at the base of my throat.

Bringing up my hands, I tunneled them into his hair. His tongue came out to lick a hot wet path up the side of my neck until he was at my ear where he bit the lobe gently.

“I want to sink inside of you, Chantel.”

“Yes.” I sighed.

“Yes?” he questioned.

His fingers started to undo the buttons at the center of my chest.

“Yes,” I repeated.

“You want me inside you?”

I was slowly losing my mind as he kissed and nipped my ear while he continued to undo the buttons of my dress. When he had them all free, he parted the material, and I could feel him move. I sensed he was now looking down at me, so I brought my hands up beside my head to give him a better view of what he wanted to see.

“Yes, Phillipe, I want you inside me.”

At that exact moment, I hated that I couldn’t see him because I had a feeling I would be looking at something spectacular just as that sexy voice skated over my skin. It was almost as good as seeing.

“Mmm, yes, so do I,” he said.

His hand flattened between my breasts, and I arched up my back toward him. He smoothed the heel of his palm all the way down the center of my body until he reached my aching mound.

That was where he stopped and pressed firmly, applying a delicious pressure where I needed it most.

My hips pushed up, imploring him to continue. I could feel him still kneeling by my side.

When he told me, “Open your legs,” there was nothing I could have done to disobey.

I should be ashamed of myself. That’s all I can think as I tunnel my hand down under my pants into my panties. My fingers are now perilously close to grazing the small strip of hair covering my aroused flesh.

Somewhere between reading about Phillipe undoing Chantel’s dress and imagining how he sounded as he told her to open her legs, my hand unfastened my pants and slid inside, seeking a way to ease my own sexual need.

The journal is still firmly gripped in my left hand, and my leg is angled up so the heel of my foot is planted firmly on the blanket.

I can’t believe that I’m going to touch myself as I read this, but I know there’s no way to stop myself. I’m so turned on, thinking that I might be lying right where Phillipe spread Chantel’s dress apart or that I might be on the same blanket he laid on the ground. Instantly, I can feel my juices start to slide between my thighs.

Quickly, I glance around the area I’m lying in. When I’m satisfied that I’m alone, I finally let my fingers delve down between my aching wet folds. My lips part as I shut my eyes for a moment. I imagine Phillipe’s face above me, him kneeling beside my body, while he pushes his finger deep inside of me and tells me to open my legs wider.

Moaning, I grip the journal tighter, flexing my hips up into my nimble hand. Opening my lust-heavy eyes, I focus on the words in front of me and continue reading the book that has now turned me into a voyeur through no fault of its own.

I opened my legs as I felt him remove his palm from my body, and two fingers pushed my now soaked panties up against my hot flesh. I arched my back, flexing my hips toward him, not quite believing how incredibly turned on I was. He didn’t do anything more than undo my dress and tell me to open my legs, yet I could feel myself becoming so wet that my moisture actually seeped through the fabric between my legs. I knew I had to be soaking his fingertips.

Just as that thought left my lust-addled mind, he was above me. I could feel one arm by the left side of my head, and I felt his right fingers pushing against my bottom lip.

“Taste, Chantel,” he instructed.

I opened my mouth to taste myself on his fingers.

Lowering down beside me, he rasped into my ear, “You’re so fucking wet that you drenched my fingers through your panties. Do you know how fucking sexy that is? Do you know how hard that makes me?”

I panted and moaned when his right hand slipped back down between my thighs. This time, he moved my panties to slide inside of them. With no hesitation, those two clever fingers found their way deep between my aching pussy lips.

“Hmm,” he groaned in my ear.

I curved up against his hand on a soft moan. “Oh god! Ahhh, Phillipe!” I cried out.

When his fingers finally penetrated my body, he pushed deeper and angled them.

“Fuck yes.” He growled in my ear.

I let out my own harsh breath of pleasure. I raised my arms and placed my palms on his shoulders as I started to really push up my hips against his astute hand. I could feel my juices running down my thighs now, so I knew his hand had to be coated as he continued to thrust two and then three fingers into me.

Parting my lips, I let out a harsh breath. “I never knew it could be like this.”

His head lowered, and his teeth sank into my bottom lip. He thrust his fingers in again, flicking my clit with his thumb. “Neither did I.”

As Phillipe returns from Beau’s, he runs into Penelope in the kitchen. She tells him that Gemma made her way down to the vineyard around an hour or so ago.

Looking up at the clock, he notices it has just turned 1 p.m., and he figures he should go down to find her.

Grabbing his black jacket from the coatrack, he makes his way outside to head in the direction Penelope told him she had gone. It’s beautiful outside today, he thinks as he turns down to the right of the vines in the direction of the fork.

Phillipe thinks about the part of the journal Gemma must be at. He pushes his hands into his pockets and looks around. He wonders about his own slightly masochistic tendencies. He sent her down here, knowing what she would read, but she told him that she wanted to tell their story accurately.

What better way to learn about it than to read one of the most pivotal moments at the actual scene?

He doesn’t think much after that though because that’s when he spots Gemma.

What a fucking sight she is.

She is lying out on the same exact blanket he brought down here with Chantel, but this woman isn’t wearing a dress. Oh no. She has on snug black pants and currently has one leg bent up at an angle. Her right hand is buried down between her thighs as she flexes her hips, pleasuring herself with sexy determination to find release.

Stepping toward her, he notices that she’s holding the journal in her left hand. That’s when everything falls into place. She’s reading the entry while she finger-fucks herself to Chantel’s words.

Phillipe feels his cock harden as he watches Gemma’s hand move beneath the fabric of her pants. Her eyes are closed while her mouth parts. With each sinfully forbidden thrust of her hips, he wants her more. Reaching down to the buckle of his belt, he unfastens it, and then he unbuttons and unzips his pants. He’s going to satisfy her need and his right now.

Moving to the end of the blanket, he kneels down quietly and marvels at the uninhibited way she’s moving her hips against her palm. Her hair is strewn out across the blanket, and the hand gripping the journal is white-knuckled while she seems to be seeking that elusive moment, her thundering climax.

“Gemma,” he calls to her softly.

He watches closely when her eyes snap open as her hand stops its frenetic movement. She makes a move to pull her hand from her pants, but he’s quicker. He leans forward, placing his palm against the fabric, effectively trapping her hand where it has been working so furiously.

“What...” she starts to ask.

When he continues to just stare at her, the question seems to vanish. He looks over to the journal she is now trying to close with one hand.

“No, don’t,” he tells her. “Read it to me.”

She’s still panting with arousal, but as his words seem to filter through to her brain, she blinks her lust-clouded eyes. “What?”

Licking his lips, he pushes his hand firmer against hers, which is still lying flat against her aroused skin. Narrowing his eyes on her flushed face and parted lips, he tells himself that what he’s about to do is, in some way, a gross defiling of Chantel. At the same time though, the sheer eroticism of the act is calling to him.

“I want you to read the journal entry to me.”

Gemma takes a deep breath that makes her fantastic breasts heave with their agitation. He notices her eyes travel down his coat to the pants that are parted at his hips.

“Where should I read from?” she finally asks hesitantly.

Phillipe now moves and brings up his other hand to grip both sides of her pants. He keeps his eyes on hers as he tugs them gently. She gets the hint and raises her hips, watching cautiously as he pulls her pants and panties down her legs without question.

When she’s left bare, she still hasn’t removed her hand from where it is laying, her open palm against her glistening wet sex. He knows a feral grin is now on his lips.

“Start where you left off,” he orders persuasively as he leans down to drag his tongue across the wet skin he just exposed.

Fucking hell, I think as Phillipe lowers his head, dragging his hot tongue across my throbbing clit.

How the hell does he expect me to keep reading? And read this, no less?

I couldn’t believe it when he said my name, and I opened my eyes to see him kneeling at my feet. I thought for certain I hallucinated him, dreamed him up like some kind of warped sexual fantasy which came to life.

No, he’s really here, and he is currently leaning over my swollen pussy, licking and sucking on it, demanding I read to him from his past lover’s journal.

This is insane, I think as it becomes increasingly hard for me to even breathe. That’s when I notice he has stopped, and he is now looking up at me from between my thighs.

“Just start where you left off. Start at the spot that made you put your hand in your pants and your fingers inside yourself,” he tells me as he blows a hot breath across my sensitive skin. “Hmm, yes. Start there, Gemma.”

Blinking slowly, I drag my eyes away from his wicked mouth, sexy eyes, and open rumpled pants. Holy fuck, I think.

I try to focus on the words—her words—and then I start.

I could hear him breathing hard against my mouth every time he pushed his fingers deeper into my greedy body, and every time he pulled them out, he sighed.

He tasted delicious. His breath was intoxicating, and the way he moved his fingers inside of me felt like nothing I had ever known before.

“I need to taste you,” he told me in a voice that sounded desperate with need.

Was he desperate for me? I didn’t know.

He moved away from where his mouth had been pressed against mine, and I felt him trail his lips down my neck to my chest.

Raising my hands up, I threaded my fingers through his hair. It was soft and silky, and I heard him groan as I tugged it, lifting my hips.

“Jesus, Chantel,” he muttered against my skin.

His teeth gently grazed my nipple, as his hands pulled the lace cup away from my breast. When his clever lips surrounded my sensitive tip, he sucked it hard enough that there was a slight sting of pain to accompany the pleasure.

Stopping, I look down my body to the man who now has his hands burrowed up under my sweater.

“Take this off,” he instructs gruffly.

Putting aside the journal, I keep my eyes on him as I sit up and pull the sweater over my head.

“Bra, too,” he adds.

At this point, I can’t find one single reason to not do as he requests.

I’m so consumed with my own hot desire that I’m surprised when I can actually see the moisture on my thighs. Undoing my bra, I slide it off, throwing it to the side.

“Lie back down, Gemma.” His voice floats across the small space between us.

I slowly move back to the position I was originally in. He picks up the journal and hands it back to me with lowered lids. As I take it from him, I suck in a deep breath when he lowers his head and flicks his tongue across my nipple.

“I believe we were right here.”

Moaning, I shut my eyes. I’m almost unable to continue, but I know if I keep reading he’ll continue reliving the words on the page. I know I’m not the woman he so obviously hungers for and even though I’m not who he wants, I find myself stupidly willing to be her substitute.

He cupped my breasts in his hands and tongued my nipple—first the right, and then the left.

It felt strange to me, his tongue was hot and wet. While it was unbelievably exciting, it also tickled a little bit. I could feel his breath against my sensitive skin as he breathed out every time he suckled on me.

Then, he was on the move again. Those lips I was now coming to love made their way down the center of my body to my navel where he dipped his tongue in and bit lovingly around the edges. At this stage, I dropped my hands from his hair. They were up by my head because, honestly, I couldn’t even think enough to hang on to him.

“Chantel?” he asked.

I tipped my head in his direction. I knew he was looking up at me. “Yes?”

“Touch yourself for me while I undress.”

I reached for my breasts and cupped them. “Like this?”

“Exactly like that,” he rasped.

He was not gone for long. I felt his hand slip under my panties as he dragged them down my legs. His whole body weight shifted as he pushed himself between my thighs, wedging his now naked hips between my legs.

His hot skin singed into mine, and I could feel his arms by my head as his fingers played with my hair. He kissed my mouth gently.

“You are the most flawless thing I have ever seen.”

I didn’t know how to answer him. I could have told him that he made me feel cherished, desired, or even wanted. Did any of that really compare to what he was telling me?

Instead, I leaned up and kissed his mouth. I traced my hands over his face, memorizing every dip, each subtle change in texture. As his lips parted above mine, I was struck with a soul-altering moment of truth.

I was his.

He could do whatever he wanted, and I’d still be his.

I was in love with Phillipe Tibideau.

I shut the journal and reach down to grip the hair that is tickling against my breasts.

“Stop,” I tell him as I put the journal to the side.

Immediately, he lifts his head, and as he focuses on my face, I see dark desire smoldering in his deep green eyes.

“Do you even know who you’re with right now?” I ask him.

I’m desperate to know he isn’t thinking of her as he brushes his mouth across my nipples.

He gives me a blistering look that tries to make all my doubt instantly disappear, but this time, I hold firm. This time, I need to know.

“Of course, Gemma,” he assures seductively. He lowers his mouth down onto the curve of my breast. “Your breasts—they’re fuller and rounder than what hers were.”

I know I should feel disgusted or at least disturbed that he’s kissing me and talking about her. But, as he sucks my nipple between his lips, his cheeks hollow out, and I’m reminded of all the beautiful angles of his face Chantel was talking about. Instantly, I’m struck by his sheer attractiveness.

He moves up my body, and he’s suddenly right where he was in the journal—between my thighs. The only difference is that I’m naked, and he’s clothed—well, except for his open pants. His eyes are looking down into mine, and I’m finding it hard to make any words come out of my mouth. That’s when I feel his right hand move down to trace the curve my hip.

“And your hips are curvier. They flare out more, giving you that sexy hourglass figure that men everywhere would beg to touch.”

I can’t help but arch my hips up against the hard cock I can feel straining inside his pants.

“But the question isn’t really if I know who I’m with right now,” he points out as he flexes his hips against mine, letting me feel the full force and impact of his desire. “The question is…do you?”

I think about that for a moment and lift my hands to his hips. I know who I’m with, and I want him in me now. Pushing down his pants, I grip his hard cock in my right hand, lining him up with my greedy pussy.

“I know exactly who I’m with,” I tell him.

I watch as he lowers his head to the side of mine.

“So, tell me, Gemma. Is it me you’re with, or are you here with me and Chantel?” he asks seductively.

Before I can answer him, he thrusts his cock up inside of me.

I can’t help the scream that comes from my mouth as he pushes his hips forward, and suddenly, he’s back at my ear telling me wicked and depraved things I shouldn’t know.

“This is the same blanket, Gemma. I’m fucking you on the exact same blanket I took her on. How does that make you feel?” he asks me as he drags his thick cock in and out of my dripping sex.

I can’t seem to formulate an answer, and he doesn’t seem to care because he keeps up his seductively warped monologue.

“Do you know that every time I sank my cock into her, she arched her back, just like you’re doing? Her eyes—fuck, those beautiful and useless eyes—would stare up at me like I owned the whole fucking world.”

I pant as his moves become faster and harder, almost brutal. He shifts and puts his left hand under my ass, pulling my pelvis up, so he can burrow deeper inside of me. I feel like he’s close to penetrating my very soul as he leans down to bite my bottom lip.

“Does it turn you on—reading and knowing how she felt every time my cock pushed into her? It must, Gemma, because you aren’t even using this smart head of yours anymore. Your arousal is making you careless.”

“What?” I question. I’m caught up in my own lust as I feel my core flutter around the thickness wedged deep inside of me.

“Your brain—it’s not working, or you’d be wondering or concerned if I am safe, if you are safe.”

My eyes snap open to focus on him as he stops moving those wicked hips.

He informs me, “I’m safe. Now, Gemma…” His voice floats through the tiny amount of space left between us. “Are you? Because I’m not moving until I hear—”

“I’m safe.” I moan, bowing up to him.

He grips my ass, hauling me impossibly closer.

“I’m so glad to hear it because your pussy is a fucking wet dream,” he tells me and with a hard thrust, he adds, “And every time I mention her name, it squeezes my cock like a fucking vise.”

I close my eyes, ashamed that what he’s saying is right. It’s true. What the fuck is the matter with me? I have no answer I can give him or myself, so instead, I focus on his face. That serious and focused expression looks so fierce as he moves above me and inside of me, stealing something integral from my being with every delicious stroke of his hips.

“I think you’re the one getting confused who’s here,” he explains. “Because I know exactly who I’m inside of.”

Reaching up, he pinches my nipple, and I scream out so loudly that I know my voice will be hoarse the next morning.

“Oh, yes, Gemma, scream for me.” he mutters as he leans down, biting the curve of my shoulder and neck as he fucks into me like he’s never going to stop.

I grip his ass in my hands and push myself up to meet each of his tortuous thrusts. Right when I think it’s impossible for my body to hit a second climax, his orgasm slams into me, bathing me in a warmth that is so intoxicating I feel myself fly with him to a second splintering climax.

Several minutes later, I find myself lying in silence on a blanket, the sun shining through the trees. I’m struck with the realization that I’m holding onto a man who, for now, is holding onto me but he has still not let go of her.