Blind Obsession

  “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.

  ***

  Possession ~

  We started a new painting today, and Phillipe named it Rhapsody. I liked this one. It was my favorite so far.

  “So, you want me naked with Diva across my ass cheek?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Yes. Perfect.”

  I shook my head at him and raised a brow. “Kind of an odd place to put a violin, don’t you think?”

  His fingers ran down my bare arm. “It’s an odd place to want to put a lot of things,” he replied sensually. His voice was so deep that it slid down my spine, creating a pool of moisture between my thighs.

  Sexy, sexy man, I thought. “I know what you want to put there,” I told him.

  Reaching out to touch his waist, I moved my fingers below. He was wearing loose cotton pants, and they did nothing to conceal the hard cock he now had pulsating between his thighs.

  “Hmm,” he murmured. He stepped closer. “When you’re ready and not a moment sooner.”

  Licking my lips, I blinked. “What if I’m ready now?”

  His lips pressed hard against mine. “You’re not.”

  “I’m not?” I questioned.

  His arms wrapped around my waist as his nose brushed against mine. He shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

  Closing my eyes, I asked, “How do you know?”

  His fingertips touched my closed eyelids. “Because you won’t have to ask or tell me. It’ll just happen.” He assured me, his mouth was by my ear. “It will happen, Beauty, and then I’ll have all of you.”

  I shivered as I turned my face toward his. “Do you want to start painting now or later?”

  His arms unwound from around my waist as he moved away from me. “Let’s start now, and then I want to show you something.”

  Smiling in his direction, I started to remove my top.

  He sighed. “This is the best part.”

  “It is?” I teased as I undid my pants and pushed them off.

  “Yes. When you take off your clothes for me, it shows so much trust and faith. You’re so warm and naked. It makes me so fucking hard that I want to sink deep inside of you and never leave.”

  As I stood completely bared to him, I turned and looked over my shoulder in his direction. “Maybe it’s not me who isn’t ready.”

  There was a long silent pause and before I knew it his large palms were on my shoulders, and his hot mouth was by my ear. “What on earth do you mean by that, Chantel?”

  Shivering, I pushed my hips back toward him, so his cotton-covered cock was pressing insistently against my ass crack. “Maybe you’re worried if you take me there, you’ll never be able to leave,” I suggested, pushing his desperation and fueling his obsession. I wanted him dark. I enjoyed having him want me as much as his next breath.

  “Is that what you think? That I’m scared?”

  His sinuo
us voice slid inside of me. I felt goose bumps rise along my skin.

  “I think you’re worried that you won’t ever escape me,” I confirmed.

  He chuckled darkly, wrapping one large arm around my waist. He pressed a big palm against my naked mound before pulling my ass tight against his thick shaft.

  “When I get inside of you, you will be mine,” he told me and bit my earlobe.

  I reached my hand behind my head to grip the back of his and turned to meet his mouth with my own as I whispered against his lips, “Or maybe you’ll be mine.”

  ***

  Dropping the journal as though it physically burned me, I look around the silent room I’m sitting in. The bedroom is empty, except for me, the bed, and the small desk, but right at this moment, I feel like it’s occupied by more.

  Taking a deep breath, I stand, moving to the window. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Is it coincidental that I heard the word mine while I was in the shower? Did I accidentally flip to that page and subconsciously see it there in her typed print?

  I have no clue, but as I stand by the window, I spot Phillipe walking down the gravel path toward the lit arbor. That’s when it hits me that I need to get away from here. However, if I do that, I will lose the story of a lifetime, but if I stay, I might end up losing something much more valuable, like my sanity.

  Watching him closely, I notice he’s carrying something in his hand. He’s wearing a long dark coat, and his hair looks wet. Maybe he washed me from him as well. He stops in front of the bench, and he does something I never would have expected. He moves down to one knee and places a single red rose on it.

  I can’t help but hold my breath as he reaches forward and traces his fingers over the inscription there. Love looks not with the eyes. Oh, how very appropriate that statement is, I think as I turn away from the heartbreaking moment.

  Watching him down there, in what I can only guess is an apology of some sort, I realize I’m not only in danger of losing my sanity but my heart as well. That’s when it occurs to me that I want him, and I want him to be mine.

  ***

  As Phillipe kneels before the bench and traces his fingers over the inscription, he closes his eyes and thinks of her. How very true these words—Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind—seem today, and so be it. He can’t see her anymore, but she’s the one constant on his mind, especially tonight. Tonight, he let her go for just a few moments, and she completely disappeared. She left him, and he let her slip away.

  Now, he has to get her back though. He can hear her humming in his mind, and he can feel her all around him as he kneels there. In the place where she once found such peace, he offers up his apology.

  How could I have abandoned us? Even in a moment of selfish pleasure, he always keeps her there, involving her somehow, but this time, he let her go. He failed her. Right on the heels of that self-deprecating thought, he reminds himself that she, too, failed him.

  Placing the rose on the stone bench, he closes his eyes and utters a soft accusation. “You lied.”

  He doesn’t expect an answer. He doesn’t understand his need to lash out, but it’s bubbling inside of him. He’s angry at himself, which in turn fills him with an undesirable urge to scream or hit something.

  “You lied to me!” He loudly curses out again. “You told me never…” he criticizes.

  He closes his eyes as pure anguish threatens to overwhelm him. He pictures her face the first day he took her down to the music room. He’s reminded of that moment of complete joy, an expression he’ll never see again, and it calms him, easing his anxious heart.

  Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath. “You told me that you’d never leave, and you lied,” he admonishes her gently.

  ***

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked.

  Phillipe took my hand and tugged it. We seemed to be going in the direction of the hallway near the stairs.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he explained.

  I could hear the joy in his voice.

  “Ooh, I like surprises.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He promised, making me think of all things sexual.

  “What kind of surprise?”

  He stopped abruptly, forcing me to run into his side. “Well, if I tell you, it won’t be a surprise. Will it?”

  Reaching around his body, I moved my hand to touch him.

  He moved quickly. “That won’t work, Miss Rosenberg.”

  I pursed my lips. “Okay, fine. I only wanted to touch you. Take me and surprise me.”

  Before I knew it, his mouth was on mine. He pushed me backward until I felt a wall behind me.

  “Stop, Phillipe!” I shrieked and giggled. “Penelope might—”

  “By now, Penelope knows to just turn around and walk away.” He growled playfully, nipping my chin.

  “What?” I asked after a breathy sigh. “How many times has Penelope walked in?”

  Phillipe laughed now, and the deep timbre of it made his chest vibrate against mine. “Oh, too many to count.”

  “Like when?” I demanded, slightly horrified by the thought.

  “Hmm, the other day down in the kitchen.”

  “What?” I shouted, remembering how he’d lifted me up onto the counter.

  He grinned against my mouth while one of his large palms stroked my thigh.

  “Lift your leg, Chantel. Put it around my waist.”

  I complied because I didn’t have the will to say no to him, but I was otherwise not deterred. “She walked in on us in the kitchen?”

  He unbuttoned and parted my pants before his hand slipped inside. As he found his way into my panties, his fingers slid down between my wet lips.

  He groaned against my mouth. “Yes, but you still had your top on.”

  Blinking, I let my head fall back against the wall. I pushed my hips out to him, and I thought of what he just told me. “Just my top? I had my top on the whole time.”

  He laughed mischievously, as his teeth bit my bottom lip while his thumb brushed over my clit.

  “Oh god!” I moaned, arching against his hand.

  “Well, you had your panties on,” he stated softly.

  His index finger flirted with my soaked core. I sighed and closed my eyes, ready to really let go.

  That’s when he smirked against my mouth and added, “They were just around your ankles.”

  Mortified, I moved my head away from him, but he chased me and had the advantage of sight. His hungry lips captured mine. His tongue pushed deep inside my mouth while two of his long fingers thrust inside my pussy.

  Hearing his groan deep in his throat, I wrapped my arms around his neck as he hoisted me up. His free hand moved under my ass, pulling me toward him tightly, so I was wedged between the wall and his fingers pushing deep inside of me. He dragged his mouth away from mine.

  In a voice that sounded strained and stretched beyond its limits, he said, “God, Chantel, your hungry little cunt is always so eager.”

  Closing my eyes, I listened as his words washed over me. He started to rhythmically move his fingers in and out of me.

  “Yes, Beauty, surrender. That’s right,” he murmured with his lips on my ear. “Give yourself to me.”

  I opened my eyes while he continued to finger me.

  “Your eyes are so fucking beautiful. Keep them on me. Keep them where my voice is, and I’ll tell you everything you would see.”

  Parting my lips, I focused on his voice and let him take me over.

  “You’d see a man who can’t keep his eyes away from you and can’t keep his hands off of you. You’d see someone who wants to be your lover…” He punctuated his last word with a deep thrust of his fingers. “Your friend…” With another thrust, the sounds of his fingers pushing through my slick soaked folds filled the space. “Your confidant…” His mouth was at my ear, and he bit the lobe before his fingers started fucking me fast and hard. “Your everything, Chantel. I’ll be everything you need.”

&n
bsp; His lips were on mine and his hips were moving as if he were inside of me, and in a sense, he was. He crawled deep into my soul and staked his claim.

  “You would see I am yours, and you are mine.”

  With that, I felt my body clasp around his fingers, and I screamed his name, the intensity of it echoing down the hall for anyone to hear.

  I never did get my surprise, but what I did get, I planned to hang on to forever.

  Chapter Eighteen ~ Fleuve Sauvage de Fleurs

  Day 13

  I did everything I could to avoid seeing Phillipe today. In all honesty, I’m not ready to face him after the way he so coolly dismissed me last night. My pride is still wounded, and I know the best thing for me is avoidance. Instead of sitting for him, I have spent the day organizing my notes and typing up some key pointers on my laptop.

  Having just awoken from a nap, I stare at the ceiling in silence as I lie in bed. As the sun disappears and the night begins to engulf the chateau, I get up and start to wrap up for the day. Yesterday evening took a lot out of me, not only physically but mentally. I’m actually starting to believe that I’m seeing and hearing things. I’m tired, and it’s becoming more and more obvious that I’m far too close to the man at the center of this story.

  A loud knock startles me from my troubling thoughts, so I temporarily shelve them. Making my way to the door, I straighten the red blouse, and I open the door to a sober-looking Phillipe. He changed from yesterday’s jeans, and he is now back in all black. He’s wearing black slacks and a black button-up shirt with long sleeves. The coat I saw him in earlier is hanging over his arm, and he has one palm on the doorjamb.

  He looks down at me with piercing green eyes. “Evening, Gemma.”

  Raising my eyes to his, I somehow find my voice. “Good evening.”

  Taking his palm off the jamb, he steps forward. I automatically step aside to let him into the small space that I have been occupying since I arrived nearly two weeks earlier.

  I watch his broad shoulders as he advances toward the window. When he reaches it and looks out, I know the view he will see. I instantly feel guilty, as though he’ll know that I watched him down in the arbor earlier this afternoon.