by Ella Frank
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.
<
br /> 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.
Chapter Eight ~ Impulsive
Canon in D ~ Pachelbel
Link: http://blindobsessionbook.com/canon-in-d-major/
“Have you ever heard Pachelbel’s Canon in D played live with a full orchestra?” Phillipe asks me later that night as we walk into the studio.
“No, I haven’t heard any orchestral pieces live. Isn’t that one of the songs people play for the wedding march?”
Looking at me over his shoulder, he moves toward the stereo system on the shelves. He tells me with the barest hint of humor, “I don’t know, Gemma. I’ve never walked down an aisle.”
I shake my head at him with a smirk. “You know what I mean.”
Nodding, he concedes. “Well, when put that way, then yes, I suppose it is the song that a lot of brides walk down the aisle to.”
Pressing what I presume is play, he turns back to make his way toward me as the deep base starts. I keep my eyes locked with his as he crosses the space to stop before me, holding out his hand like a gentleman from a forgotten era. Curious about his mood, I go with it.
I slide my hand into the palm that so expertly touched me this afternoon, and I gasp when he tugs me in close to assume the waltz position. Looking up into his blazing green eyes, I have to admit that I can quite easily understand Chantel’s quick fall into love, although Chantel would never have seen those eyes.
Before I have too long to consider that, he slowly starts to waltz me around his studio. Holding on tight, I can’t help but smile. It feels wonderful to have a moment of such simplicity when things here have been so intense and so confusing. This feels simple.
Two people dancing. Two people enjoying a moment. Until that moment is gone.
“This piece was originally scored for three violins and a basso continuo. Listen…” He pauses in his explanation as he moves me effortlessly around his studio.
My mind spins with each expertly executed turn.
“All three instruments work together in breathtaking synchronicity, Gemma. The fourth is there just to keep them in order because three of anything is bound to get messy.”
I can feel my breath picking up as his meaning takes root, and I’m left wondering, What is he getting at? He’s always playing such head games with me.
Twirling me away from him, I stare at our joined hands, and I bring up my eyes to meet his, which are now focused on me with absolute intensity. He tugs me back to him, and I go because the music is still floating through the air. It seems this waltz isn’t over, not by a long shot.
“They feed off one another,” he tells me as his lips brush a kiss against my head. “They’re each so flawless in their transitions that you start to believe they’re all one and the same.”
He stops talking as the music swells, and I close my eyes as I’m pulled under. I’m swept away by the beauty of the piece and again by the seduction that is Phillipe. His arms, strong and solid, wrap around me as I allow myself to really let go. I feel as though he’s given me permission in some way, like he’s telling me that what I’m feeling is okay—even when I know that it’s not.
How can I be so fascinated with him and, at the same time, be so captivated by her?
These are questions I have no answers for as the music softens and his lips move to my ear.
“That’s right, Gemma. Close your eyes. To really feel the music, you have to listen…blindly.”
That’s when it hits me. The complete picture unfolds. The moment of joy he’s feeling plus the confusion I’m experiencing all mixes together to equal the total mindfuck I’m having.
“This is her playing, isn’t it?” I ask, stiffening in his arms.
“Yes, she recorded it for me after I saw her play it one night.”
He holds me tight, refusing to let me go. As the music rises once again, he spins me away.
“Why are you sharing this with me now?” I demand of him.
I’m more annoyed than I probably should be, but all I can think about is the fact that she’s here again. She’s always here.
“Because, Gemma, this is us,” he explains in a voice that’s now become somewhat detached. “We are three. Can’t you see that? Just like any moment of beauty, we’re all working in synchronicity to find that elusive moment, like that moment you and I found out in the vineyard…with her.”
Finally, the music stops, and I’m staring up into a face that seems oddly serene, almost as though he’s made some calming realization, just as I’m having a major fucked-up one.
“No, I can’t see that, Phillipe,” I snap as I step back.
I’m trying to disentangle myself from the web he’s once again drawn me into. I’m also silently berating myself. Although I’m outwardly telling him no, knowing he’s delusional, I realize deep down that he’s right. I’m just as entangled with Chantel as I am with him.
“Okay, Gemma.” His voice breaks through the tense silence, sounding defeated. “Have it your way.”
I’m standing only a couple of steps away from him, but as he moves forward, I cross my arms over my chest like a shield.
“Do you want to pose this afternoon and continue with your questions?” He reaches out, touching my cheek gently. “Or do you want to leave?”
Looking up at him, my eyes land on his full sensual lips. I’m reminded of this afternoon and the way his mouth moved over my skin. I find myself wanting to reach out and touch that mouth. He must sense a change in me because one corner of those incorrigible lips tilts up.
He demands quietly, “Undress for me.”
God help me, I do.
***
Impulsive ~
I asked Phillipe to come and watch me tonight.
When my mother had first mentioned I should go and stay with Uncle Beau, my first thought had been, Where would I get to play? I didn’t want to be anywhere I couldn’t play my music.
Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy losing myself when I’m on my own, but there’s simply no better feeling than playing at the front of a full-scale orchestra.
It’s hard to explain, but imagine you’re in a smooth body of water as you effortlessly swim along. You’re just rising up with each movement and then flowing back down. Now, add a stormy ocean, and as each loud and powerful wave hits you, it pushes you up, higher and higher toward t
he sky, before crashing you back down into the turbulent ocean.
You might be scared and terrified, but you love feeling the exhilaration and power of that ocean along with the sheer force and beauty of it.
Well, that’s how I like to think playing in front of a full orchestra feels, like one big powerful wave that crashes down over you.
I use to play as a guest performer with the local orchestra back home. I had told my mother that before I would even consider moving here, we would need to find one close by, and we did.
Tonight, Phillipe is coming to watch me.
***
Gemma surprises Phillipe when she silently walks to the drop cloth and removes her clothes.
After the way she pulled away from him, he was positive that she would have tucked tail and run. Instead, she is now sitting in pose, nude, with her back to him and the blindfold firmly in place. Probably cursing my name.
He doesn’t understand why every move forward they take feels as though it’s somehow enhanced by the memory of Chantel.
When he originally went into this bargain with Gemma, he did it with the expectation that she would understand Chantel better, and as their story unraveled, she would get to see a side of him he found so difficult to show. He did not count on the intense feeling of connection to Chantel through Gemma. Perhaps it is Gemma herself?
Maybe, if she didn’t seem so bewitched and curious about Chantel, he wouldn’t feel this way. Maybe if she just asked him questions in a perfunctory manner, he wouldn’t be feeling this aberrant entanglement of desire that he can’t seem to shake.
As he looks over to the woman seated on the floor, he remembers the way she came with such force. He can still feel the sweet tight squeeze of her pussy. He knows he isn’t the only one baffled by this strange connection that they seem to share.
“You’re very quiet,” he states, waiting patiently for her reply.
“I’m trying to decide what I want to ask you today.”
“Ahh, I see. I thought you might be sitting over there plotting out a way to leave my evil clutches.”
When she turns her head to face him over her shoulder, he glances at her over the top of the easel. Her eyes are covered, but he can almost guess that they are narrowed on him. Phillipe has to admit that he enjoys the slight annoyance he can sense in her posture. It’s almost a shame this isn’t a frontal pose.
