Blind Obsession

Chapter Twenty-Two ~ Marked

Phillipe wakes up an hour or so later to the melodic tune of Air running through his mind. In the darkness, he closes his eyes and feels her there. It’s almost as though he can smell her if he concentrates hard enough. Just close your eyes and think of her, he tells himself, but it isn’t as easy this time.

No, this time, a blonde with big guileless eyes, a perfect mouth, and a delicious ass keeps crashing into his thoughts. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to deny any kind of feelings he has for Gemma. There’s no room left in my heart for her. Is there?

Yes. I’m gone.

Phillipe’s eyes snap open, thinking he heard her. He swears he sees her when he calls her name. “Chantel?”

Hearing a shuffling sound over by the door, his eyes narrow as they try to adjust in the darkness afforded to him by the heavy drapes he pulled closed. There, on the floor by the locked door, is the figure of a woman.

She’s naked with her hair falling down over her shoulders. She has her arms wrapped around her raised legs that are crossed at the ankles as she holds her knees close to her chest.

She looks frightened. Chantel looks scared.

Pushing the covers aside, Phillipe moves his legs over the edge and gets out of the bed. Mindless of his nudity, he makes his way toward her.

Holding out his hand, he coos to her, “It’s okay, Beauty. I’m here.”

He hears a quick intake of air as goose bumps break out across his exposed flesh. His heart starts to pound as he moves closer to the motionless figure on the ground. She has her face turned up to him, and as he approaches, she doesn’t move. Air continues to float around him. It’s her favorite.

“Chantel?” he whispers again.

This time, there’s slight movement. She’s coming back to me. I haven’t lost her.

The woman before him shifts. She rises to her knees as he sinks to his.

She takes his hand in hers before she replies, “Gemma.”

Holding my breath, I kneel there before the man I just gave myself to completely. He is lost. He’s in some kind of hallucination where he can’t even see me. He is seeing, feeling, and remembering her. As I hold his hand in mine, I realize that he is shaking.

“Gemma?” he questions.

Squeezing his fingers tightly, I rise up on my knees, so I am now face to face with him. Placing my free palm to his cheek, he closes his eyes as he leans his face into my hand.

“Yes, it’s Gemma,” I softly reveal.

There’s silence all around us, except for our breathing.

“I thought…” His voice sounds miles away even though he is kneeling right before me. “I thought she was here. I heard her,” he confesses.

I swallow slowly. I try to decide if what I’m about to admit is better for him or just something that will make me feel less crazy. “She was.”

Haunted green eyes move to mine. The darkness still surrounds us, but he is close enough that I can make out the sadness and dejection in his eyes.

“That’s why I woke up,” I whisper. I run my fingers up through his hair. “She was here only minutes ago.”

Scooting forward on my knees, I release his hand and bring my hands up to cup his face in both my palms now.

“Give her to me, Phillipe,” I entreat softly.

His weary eyes search my features. He raises his hand to my chest where he places it over my heart. The warmth that radiates from him seems to seep through my skin, touching my soul.

“Will you look after her?”

Tears start to fill my eyes as I nod slowly. “Give her to me, and I will take care of her.”

He swallows deeply, his Adam’s apple moving, as he closes his eyes and removes his palm. “Where’s the journal?”

My breath catches as I look around the room. I spot it on the floor where he dropped it earlier. Moving away from him, I reach out to pick it up. As I touch the leather cover, I feel a shock hit my fingers. Deep down inside, as crazy as it seems, I know it is her. I know she’s just as frightened as the both of us. Refusing to be sidelined, I grab the journal and turn around, only to find he’s moved back to the bed.

He’s sitting on the edge of it. He’s naked, save for the sheet he has now pulled over to cover himself. I make my way over to him through the shadows. When I am standing before him, I stop as he looks up at me with eyes full of sorrow.

He admits, “I would have done anything to swap places with her. I begged him, you know.”

Gritting my teeth, I try not to let my tears get the better of me. My fingers tighten on the journal as he reaches out to take it from me.

“On the day she left, I made deal after deal with him to take me instead.”

I release the journal as I keep my eyes on his.

“He didn’t listen.”

Marked ~

“How could you have left me tonight, Phillipe?” I yelled as we made our way into the studio.

“Excuse me? I think if anyone left anyone, it would be you when you left me to have an all-night cozy chat with the ambassador.”

Fuming, I turned away from him. He is being so unreasonable. “He told me things.”

“I know what he told you, Chantel!” he boomed.

I felt it rattle my very bones. Phillipe was furious. I had never seen him this way.

Tonight had gone completely wrong. We had arrived at the gala, went inside, and then we had been separated. People had wanted to speak to him. That was understandable. I had disappeared into a corner, a place where I felt the most comfortable, but I hadn’t remained alone for long. No, not five minutes after I had retreated to my own space, I had felt someone behind me.

Spinning back to where I knew Phillipe was, I asked him pointedly, “And what am I supposed to believe? You just left me standing there tonight! You didn’t introduce me to anyone—”

“You didn’t want me to! Jesus, Chantel, make up your fucking mind!”

“Was she there?” I asked him softly, feeling my jealousy clawing at me like a vicious animal.

“Who?”

“Don’t treat me like a fucking idiot!”

“No. No, she wasn’t even there.”

Swallowing back my irrational tears, tears of anger and unwarranted jealousy, I spun away from him. “Just go away. Leave me alone.”

I heard movement, and then his hands were on my shoulders, spinning me back to him. I knew he was up in my face because I could feel his breath, warm and intoxicating, as it floated over my lips.

“I wanted to kill him tonight,” he confessed dangerously.

I believed him.

“You almost did,” I pointed out. “Leave me alone, Phillipe.”

“No.” He growled out, gripping my shoulders tightly.

“Are you going to hurt me, too?” I asked him.

I knew it was a low blow. Automatically, his big hands released me.

“I’d never.”

Blinking at him, I lowered my head. “Yet you have.”

Looking down at Phillipe, I notice his left hand is clenched into a fist.

“You know you didn’t hurt her that night, right?” I try to reassure him.

Eyes full of remorse come up to meet mine. “I betrayed her trust that night.”

“But you told me you didn’t go with Susanna. I believe that. She would have, too.”

Shaking his head, he grimaces as he lowers his eyes to the page. “Not in that way, Gemma.”

He has finally left me alone for a moment. He’s given me time to think. He’s so all-consuming all the time. Everything about him binds me. Everything about him makes me love him.

Even as he was continually punching the ambassador, all I could think was, He is doing this for me, and I love him.

I don’t know what I feel. I think it is love. It steals every fiber of who I am and wraps around me like a tight fist. It makes me burn with jealous rage, and it also makes cry at the thought of loss.

I’ve realized that I don’t know how to be without him. I don’t want to know. I want him to take me and mark me. Does that sound absurd?

Maybe but that’s how I feel. I want it to be just him and me. I want him to own me.

Here with me—that’s where I want him to be. I want to be with him in this little room where we sleep and forget about the rest of the world. Forget about the fame. Forget about the stupid paintings! They are the reasons for everything that happened tonight.

Those stupid paintings! I wish he’d never painted them.

Now, the world wants him, and he wants the world.

I just want him.

“Phillipe, she was angry. We always say or write things when we’re angry.”

Closing his eyes, he places the journal by him on the bed.

I’m disappointed. I want to know more. I want to know what else she wrote.

Spreading his legs apart, he beckons me forward. Moving closer, I step between his naked thighs as he raises his hands to my hips. Leaning forward, he places his mouth against my stomach, just above my navel. I take a deep breath and bring my hands to his hair. Threading my fingers through it, I brush his hair softly and lean his head back, so his face is upturned with his eyes focused on mine.

“She loved you completely. Even when she was angry, she wrote that she loved you.”

Blinking slowly, he remains silent.

I confess softly, “She was intoxicated, just as I am.”

Nestling his head forward, he flicks his tongue against the small indentation in my tummy. Against my flesh, he reveals, “God help me, so am I, Gemma.”

He didn’t leave me alone for long. He came back, not even ten minutes later, and hugged me in his arms.

“Don’t be angry at me,” he begged.

There was no way I could stay annoyed.

Wrapping my arms around him, I admitted, “I’m scared.”

He pulled back from me to kiss my forehead. “What are you scared of?”

Taking a deep breath, I decided to be honest because he was always honest with me. “I’m scared of losing you. Sometimes, I wish I’d never told you to go to the gallery.”

I closed my eyes as he stroked my hair.

“Nothing, Chantel, nothing will ever take me away from you.”

Tears formed in my eyes, and I tried to blink them away. I tried to hide them from him.

“Will you do something for me?” he asked.

Raising a hand, I swiped my eye and nodded. “Yes. What is it?”

“Come to town with me.”

“Phillipe, it’s nearly 1 a.m.”

“It doesn’t matter. This place stays open late.” He paused as he took my hand in his. “Trust me?”

I smiled tremulously at him. “I trust you.”

I can feel Phillipe’s teeth as he nibbles around my navel. He moves back, and the sheet falls away to reveal his interested cock.

“Come up here,” he instructs gruffly.

I wrap my arms around his neck and straddle his thighs, wedging his shaft between us. He strokes his hands up my back and down to my ass.

“Are you sore?”

I nod slightly with a smile. “A little.”

His fingers flirt with the crack of my ass, and finally, a small smile flirts with the corner of his mouth. “Was it worth it?”

Running my hands through his hair, I wriggle closer to him as he clenches his jaw.

“Yes, it was worth it.”

He leans forward, and I’m captivated as his avaricious mouth sucks my nipple between his moist lips. Arching toward him, I marvel at the gentleness that is pouring from him as his hands caress my back, pulling me closer. Something’s different. He seems calm, like he’s almost at peace for the first time. He seems content to be sitting here with me on his lap as he torments my aching hard tip.

I take joy in this moment of solace he’s finding with me in his arms. I feel like I’m finally touching the man I ache to own.

“Phillipe, will you tell me where we are going?” I asked.

He pulled the car to a stop, and I waited patiently as he came around to open my door.

“Come on,” he told me. He was almost as enthusiastic as a child.

My head was spinning with ideas as to where we were. This night was so crazy and so full of different emotions. He took my hand and guided me out of the car. I followed as we moved across the pavement, wanting to know what had him so excited when I heard an electric ding-dong, signaling that we had arrived.

“Phillipe?” I asked again in a hushed whisper, pulling on his hand. “Where are we?”

That was when I heard the insistent buzzing in the background. The noise was foreign. It was nothing I had ever heard before.

“Ahh, Phillipe,” a deep voice greeted us.

“Marcus, hi.”

“Is this she?” The smooth French accent floated across the air.

“Yes, this is Chantel.”

I remained still, knowing I was being inspected, and I hated it.

“Phillipe?” I questioned again.

I felt him turn toward me, and he took both my hands in his.

“I’m sorry. This is Marcus. I met him at the gallery a couple of days ago. He is a tattoo artist.”

Pulling my hands back, I raised an eyebrow. Phillipe saw the questions all over my face because he chuckled low and deep. He moved to me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

His breath brushing by my ear, he told me, “Trust me. He is going to tattoo me, not you.”

I thought about that for a moment, and before I knew what I was saying, I told him softly, “I want one.”

Phillipe laughed. He thought I was joking, but I wasn’t.

“I’m not kidding. I want one.”

“I didn’t bring you here to mark you. I want your mark on me.”

Rising up on my tiptoes, I kissed his mouth. “You’re already on my heart, and you’re already in my soul. Now, I want you on my body.”

His lips curved against mine. “Do you even know what you want?”

Surprisingly, I did. It was amazingly obvious.

So, I told him simply, “F-holes.”

Phillipe looks up at Gemma as she straddles his thighs, running her fingers through his hair. Her eyes are focused on him as she moves slowly. Rocking her hips gently against him, she presses her belly and mound against his impatient cock.

She is simply breathtaking. He hasn’t let himself see it before. He doesn’t want to admit it, but as she sits there open to him, vulnerable in her emotions, he sees her for the first time. Bringing his hands up from her waist, he traces her ribs to cup the sides of her breasts. She arches into his palms and pushes her hips forward.

Her eyes never leave his as he plays with her plump, aching flesh. When her mouth parts, he expects a sigh, but as he is coming to find with Gemma, nothing is ever what he expects.

“What about you?” she questions quietly.

Closing his eyes, he lowers his right hand down between her thighs and touches her wet pussy. He feels her thighs tighten around his as she rises up, allowing his fingers between her moist folds. She grips his hair as she moves gently against both of his hands.

“What about me?” he replies, continuing to watch her pleasure herself.

Licking her lips, she pants softly. “She got F-holes. Her parents made sure to tell the whole world what a disgrace that was.”

Phillipe winces as Gemma leans forward, putting her mouth to his. “Stop thinking that they were right. She wanted it. She wanted all of this.”

Phillipe removes his hand from between her thighs. He twists them both around, so Gemma is now lying under him.

“Did she? Do you mean I didn’t brainwash her? I didn’t make her lose the ability to think for herself? Do you mean I haven’t made you lose the ability to think for yourself?”

Phillipe watches as Gemma’s blonde hair moves across his pillow as she shakes her head.

“No. Don’t you see? I can’t stay away, just as she couldn’t. Why do you continue to do this to yourself? Why won’t you look at what’s in front of you?”

Sliding over her, he drags his shaft through her wet slit. “And what’s that?”

Phillipe lets her pull him down.

She explains, “Chantel and me. We are what’s in front of you.”

Her lips part as he penetrates her with the tip of his cock.

“Open your eyes and see us.”

As she finishes that statement, he thrusts deep inside her tight, warm core, vowing that he will never leave.

I knew he was shocked. As he stood behind me speechless, I knew he was shocked with all that he saw.

“They’re flawless,” he finally stated, almost reverently.

“So, they look good?”

“They look perfect. It’s like you should have been born with them.”

I felt his fingers reach out to touch the surrounding skin.

“Oh no. No, Phillipe. Do not touch, not for a while,” Marcus told him seriously.

I smiled to myself as Phillipe came around in front of me.

“Your parents will kill me.”

“How will they ever know? And, Phillipe, I’m an adult.”

“They already hate me. This will just make them hate me more.”

Reaching out, I traced his mouth with my fingers as I reiterated, “I don’t care what they think, and neither should you. When are you going to understand that the only thing that is important is right here in front of you?” I paused and kissed his mouth. “Stop worrying about what everybody else thinks and open your eyes. See me.”

He gripped my fingers, and I felt him nod. “I do. I promise.”

Stroking a finger down his impossibly high cheekbone, I told him softly, “The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.”

As we stood there in the tattoo shop, I could have sworn that I felt a tear under my finger, but before I could comment, he pulled away.

“Marcus?” his voice rumbled over my skin.

“Yes, Phillipe?”

“I want that—what she just said—I want her words marked on my body.”

As I lie silently, face to face with Phillipe, I run my palm over his chest.

“So, you had a quote tattooed on you?”

I watch with a small burst of happiness as a smug little grin pulls at his mouth. It’s an expression that has been gone for so long that it takes me off-guard with its appearance.

“Yes.”

Biting my lip, I remove my hand, but he quickly reaches out and pulls it back. This is the first time that he has voluntarily let me touch every part of him—not only with my hands, but also with my mind and body. He’s letting me reach parts of him that I never have before. I feel we have crossed a line. He’s finally letting me in.

“Where? I haven’t seen it, and I’ve seen you...” I pause, feeling ridiculous in my shyness.

“You’ve seen me what, Gemma?”

“Naked. I’ve seen you naked.”

Looking down our bodies, he then brings his eyes back to me and raises his brows, wiggling them playfully. “So, it would seem.”

“Are you going to tell me?” I ask, wondering where on earth it can be. I let me eyes run down his arms and across his chest. They skate over his rigid abs and softening cock. Nope, there’s not a tattoo in sight.

“Always full of questions.” He muses as he reaches out to play with the ends of my hair.

“And you are always deflecting them.”

“I find that the less I say to journalists, the less I have to worry about.”

I narrow my eyes at him, hating that he has mentioned my profession.

“But when I look at you, I no longer see a journalist,” he informs thoughtfully.

I don’t know why, but this confession pleases me. I feel my heart start to flutter in my chest as I watch his eyes track over me.

“What do you see?” I ask. I’m curious as always.

His hand reaches out, and he brushes my nipple with his finger. “I see me, I see her, and I see you. When I look at you Gemma, I see us.”

Moving in close, I ask again, “Where is it, Phillipe?”

His beautiful green eyes slide close, and he rolls over onto his side to his stomach. Across the top of his back in script reads The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.

I trace my fingertip across the words before I lean down over him and place my lips to his skin. How have I not seen this before? Well, the answer is simple really. He never wanted to show me.

In the silence that now surrounds us, he lies face down on the mattress with me pressed close to his skin. I finally feel that he has let me in. He has shown me a truth, and now, I have vision.