Blind Obsession

Chapter Twenty-Three ~ Confession

Day 18

As I stand in the shower with my eyes shut the next morning, I think back to the night before. Phillipe let me stay all night. He pulled me in close and held me steady as I listened to his heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump.

The steady rhythm lulled me to sleep while my mind was playing trick after trick on me. One moment we were alone, and the next I swore I could see haunted gray eyes staring at me. As I laid there, I squeezed him tight and vowed nothing could make me leave.

Running my hands through my hair, I try to understand where my head is. The only problem is that it’s becoming more difficult with every passing hour and every disappearing day.

I have an article to write first and foremost, but my want and need to touch and be touched by this man is pushing that aside. I’m starting to discover a part of myself that I didn’t know existed.

Drive, desire, passion—these are all things I know I possess. They are what got me to the chateau in the first place. I have pushed myself to succeed and be recognized in this competitive field. But now? Now, as I’m standing here with the water washing over my aching body from an intense night, I don’t know where I begin and he ends. I have no idea which side of me—journalist or woman—will win.

Either way, I need to get up to that studio. I have questions—from the journalist and the woman—that I want answered.

Phillipe wakes up as soon as Gemma slips from his bed. The sheets automatically cool as she dresses in silence. She picks up the journal right before leaving his room during the early hours of dawn.

As he is lying there alone and in complete silence, he tries to hear her. He waits for a sign to prove that she is there with him, but nothing comes.

Realizing that sleep eludes him, he heads to the studio to work on the half-finished piece waiting for him. What the hell do I think I am doing? He asked himself that same question last night when he stroked a hand down warm naked flesh.

He isn’t being fair to Gemma. He knows that, but he also knows that he doesn’t have the desire or strength to continue saying no. So, why should I? She knows who he is. Gemma knows what happened, yet she still trusts him to hold her all night while she sleeps entwined with him. When was the last time I had the complete trust of a woman? Well, he knows the answer to that question.

Pulling the cover from the canvas in the far corner, Phillipe looks at the floating figure. Midway down the piece, a beautiful white gown extends up toward the surface beyond the sinking body. With her arms falling away and legs pointed to her watery grave, the picture mocks him while the absolute silence is killing him.

Stepping into the studio, I immediately spot Phillipe over by the window.

His arms are behind his back. He’s wearing a blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and black wool pants that cling to the muscles of his legs and ass. Even from behind, he’s magnificent.

“Good morning,” I say, announcing my arrival.

He looks over his shoulder at me, and his mouth tips up at the corner. “Morning, Gemma. You look well rested.”

Smiling, I move farther into the room, walking toward the small desk. “I am. Thank you.”

Without a word, he nods before looking back out the window. I try to gauge his mood, but once again, I find that I’m having trouble pinpointing it. Pulling the chair away from the desk, I sit and wait for him to turn. It doesn’t take long, but before he does, I notice when he takes a deep breath.

Finally, when he is facing me, I look him over in the way a woman who spent the night with him would. Up until this moment, I haven’t allowed myself that privilege. Yes, I have been with him many times, but this is the first morning I feel as though I have permission to enjoy the afterglow, basking in the memories of our shared intimacy. So, that’s exactly what I do.

“You showered,” he comments, turning away from where he is standing.

Keeping my eyes on him, I follow his sinuous stride as he prowls toward me. His eyes are on mine, and his sensual mouth is pulled tight.

“Yes,” I finally answer.

I lick my lips in anticipation. The full force of this man is potent. From the way his eyes are focused with his full attention on me, I feel like a hand has reached out and stroked me between my thighs.

When he stops before me, he instructs seductively, “Stand up, Gemma.”

Without hesitation, I do as requested, noticing a slight twitch to his mouth. My heart is hammering in my chest as his eyes move to where my blouse parts at my neck. I wonder if he can see my thumping pulse.

He places his large palm at the base of my throat, so his fingers are caressing my neck, and his thumb is at the hollow of my throat.

Should I be scared? Probably. Am I? Not in the least.

“You smell fresh and…” He pauses as his eyes run over my face. “Moist.”

Swallowing, I can feel his thumb as he presses it a little firmer against my throat.

“Frightened?” he questions.

His deep voice slides down to join the imaginary fingers in my panties.

“No.” I smile, hoping he feels as aroused as I do by his seduction. “Turned on.”

His free hand comes out to wrap around my waist, and he tugs me close to him. “Yes, so am I, Gemma. I keep thinking about how hot and tight your ass was last night.”

A low moan rips from my throat as his large palm strokes over the ass in discussion. Before I can think or stop myself, I’m confessing all the longing and all the emotions that have built up inside of me.

“It’s yours—all of it.” Panting now, my desire and need for him override my common sense, making me say things I know he is not ready to hear. “Take me, Phillipe. Love me. I am yours.”

Slowly, I feel the arm around me loosen, so I reach down to grab it, trying to keep it around me.

“No! No, don’t let go,” I beg him, not even embarrassed at how needy I sound. “I didn’t mean it that way,” I say in a rush.

His eyes, only seconds ago full of desire, now slide close, and his mouth grimaces as he releases me completely.

“Let go, Gemma,” he instructs firmly.

Feeling my heartbeats skip and falter from the ache of him pulling away, I blink rapidly and turn my head away from him. I’m humiliated. He’s still so close, and I can smell his skin. He hasn’t made a move to shift away from me, but he’s placed an emotional barrier between us like a ten-foot brick wall. Biting my bottom lip to keep myself from either crying or screaming, I steel my resolve against him.

He demands firmly, “Look at me.”

I hear him, but I refuse to comply. Instantly, his hand and thumb are at my chin, and he turns my head back to face him. I know I have tears in my eyes because his face is blurry. Still abusing my lip, I’m furious with myself for pushing and angry with him for leading me on.

“What is it you really think you are feeling, Gemma?”

Clenching my teeth, I try to pull my face from his grasp, but he doesn’t let go.

“Love? I don’t think so. Lust? Infatuation?” he asks.

I remain mute.

Instead, I feel a tear finally spill forth, sliding down my cheek. Moving my hand, I swipe it away. When he reaches out to grip my wrist, I become infuriated.

“Let me go!” I demand, attempting to twist my arm away from him.

Releasing my chin, he pulls my arm back behind me and gathers me up close to him. My breasts press against his chest as I feel a second tear slip free down my cheek.

“I can’t let you go, Gemma,” he rasps fiercely, leaning forward. “That’s the whole fucking problem.”

Suddenly, I can’t stand the thought of his mouth on mine. I have my pride, and he just walked all over it. As I turn my head to the side, I’m shocked when I feel his tongue against my skin. He licks the tears from my cheek, and then his mouth is at my ear.

“Trust me, I’m not what you want, Gemma. I’m not what you need,” he whispers, stressing his last word. “Don’t waste your time loving me.”

Moving back to face him, I find myself staring into intense green eyes that are pleading with me to understand.

“But you’re who I have come to love,” I confess, finally allowing my head to catch up to my heart.

His eyes search my face, like he’s trying to find something, before he releases me abruptly. Walking away, he mutters, “Then, you are a fool.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch him stop at the easel in the corner. I have to agree with him. I am the biggest fool of all.

Phillipe knows he’s being purposefully cruel, but Gemma—sweet Gemma with the wide innocent eyes—thinks of him as Chantel once did. They believe he is a man worthy of being placed high up on a pedestal. He already toppled from that lofty pedestal months ago, and he still has the broken bones to prove it. The last thing he needs is to be placed back up there only for him to fall again.

When he reaches the other side of the room, he turns back to face the woman who is watching him with a mixture of love and hate etched across her face. He wonders about his self-destructive behavior.

He knew last night how Gemma felt about him. There was no other reason for her to let him touch her and possess her in such a way. But love? Where does she get the absurd notion that I’m capable of loving anything anymore? I’m not even capable of loving myself, let alone someone else.

Bracing himself for whatever she’s about to do, he asks cautiously, “Do you wish to continue?”

Raising her hand to her face, she wipes the remaining tears from her cheeks and squares her shoulders. She glances toward the window and takes several deep breaths. Every time her chest rises, Phillipe curses himself for wanting to touch her. He wants to place his ear on her chest to hear the proof that she is alive, but he won’t do that to her. He can’t do that to her because he’s barely breathing himself. To drag her down with him would be the cruelest twist of all.

“Continue what?” Her voice floats across the space to him.

“The paintings, Gemma. What else would I mean?”

She shifts, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Defensively?Maybe. Protectively seemed more likely though. She is back to protecting herself against him.

“There are only two left,” Phillipe explains.

She continues staring out the window, looking anywhere but at him.

“Sacred and Deceptive.”

All of a sudden, she turns back to face him, focusing her eyes on his. Cool and devoid of emotion, she tells him calmly, “I’ll be back here tonight at 6:00 p.m. We will do Sacred since that’s the ground I just apparently walked all over.”

Then, without another word, he watches her leave the studio.

Sacred ~

There are moments in your life when you know you are in exactly the right place at the right time.

This morning, as I was lying beside Phillipe on my stomach, I knew that I had one of those moments.

As the sun warmed my skin, his fingers traced my tattoo for what felt like hours, and his mouth was against mine, kissing and nibbling.

I finally opened my eyes.

“Good morning,” he murmured.

I smiled at him and arched my back into his touch.

“You like this?” he asked.

His fingers once again moved over the F-holes that had been permanently marked on my skin. Nodding, I scooted in closer to him turning my head. His mouth found mine in a sweet morning kiss that made my heart speed up and pound against my rib cage.

“In the sunlight, your skin is almost iridescent. Did you know that?”

Feeling a full smile appear on my mouth, I was thrilled when he joined in the joyous moment as he kissed me again.

“I can’t stop touching you,” he told me, his fingers dipping down to flirt with the curve of my ass.

Nipping his bottom lip, I pushed my tummy and pelvis on the mattress as I felt his cock start to stir against the side of my leg.

“Who’s asking you to?”

I felt him sigh, and his breath floated across my lips. He let his index finger slide deeper between my dark crack.

“No one?” he asked as though it were a question.

“That’s right. No one. Certainly, not me.”

His lips moved, and I felt them on my shoulder. He bit it gently as he shifted, rolling me to my side.

In this position, I could feel the sun hitting my naked breasts and belly while his warm strong chest pressed against my back and his throbbing shaft nestled into the cleft of my ass. One of his hands wrapped around my waist, and his large palm brushed along my exposed mound before he slid his hand down to my thigh.

“Lift this back here,” he instructed.

Moving my leg back, he propped it up on his thigh, exposing myself to him. His fingers traced down my inner thigh to where my pussy was now spread open for his playful fingers. They dipped and slid through my wetness, and all the while, I could feel his hips shifting and pushing that strong cock to my crack.

“I don’t want to leave today,” he confessed, nibbling my ear.

“You need to go to the States. It’s only going to be for three days,” I replied through ragged breaths.

He brushed my clit with his fingers. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Pushing my hips back, I looked over my shoulder to where I knew he was. “Take me?”

Flexing his pelvis forward, he thrust his fingers up into me. “I’m going to. Have patience, Chantel.”

Shaking my head, I pushed back again with my ass. “Take me here.”

His whole body stilled as I wriggled against the fingers that were deep inside of me.

That’s when he seemed to find his voice again. “You sure?”

Reaching for my sun-warmed breasts, I smiled at his hesitation. He was usually so confident. To catch him off-guard showed me just how much he treasured this gift.

Pinching my nipples, I replied, “Yes, Phillipe. I want to feel you everywhere before I feel you nowhere.”

I heard a pained groan rumble into my ear as his chest vibrated against my back, and his hand moved as he slowly dragged his wet fingers out of my clingy body.

Shifting behind me, he brought up his fingers and pressed down on my bottom lip. “Taste how excited you are, Chantel. Taste how excited you are to be mine.”

Groaning, I took his fingers into my mouth, sucking on them, while rubbing my ass against him.

He pulled me in tight. “Goddamn it.” He growled. “What you’re giving me is sacred.”

I felt a tear fall from my eye at the beauty of the moment and at the thought of not touching him for days.

“I love you,” he told me over and over. “You are perfection.”

As I rocked against him, I knew this was our moment, the exact right place I was supposed to be in.

We were sacred.

Who am I kidding? I think, throwing the offending journal on the bed. I can’t write this piece anymore. I’m too involved. All of my professional detachment is gone, and all I’m left with is this emotional mess, who is currently curled up on a bed, hating a ghost.

When I first arrived, he was a stranger, and she was a figment of my imagination that I put together from pictures and articles. But now? Now, she is just as real as he is, and with every word she typed, I feel her touching a part of me that I don’t understand.

I don’t want to love either one of them, yet I know that is exactly what has happened. Somewhere between Chantel telling me why she loved him and learning for myself that he was too hard not to love, I have fallen deeply for a man who I barely know and who doesn’t want me. He touches me with every look he gives me, and she touches me with every word she tells me.

I feel as though my heart is being pulled in two separate directions, yet neither direction is the right path for me to choose. She is no longer here, but he won’t let her go. So, where does that leave me? Well, that’s easy. I’m left alone.