I watch him bite his lip hard while his hips push and pull his shaft into and then out of my palm.
“She was the work of art,” he corrects me, eyes locked with mine.
Before I know what I’m saying, it comes out of my mouth. “I bet when you two fucked, it was sexy as hell.” Without thinking, I add, “I would have liked to watch that.”
“Fuck.” He groans, shifting his hips. He begins fucking my palm violently, as he reaches down to the hand I have wrapped around his thick length. He wraps his fingers around mine, forming a tight fist. “Put me inside of you, Gemma. I want to watch your face as you slide down onto my cock.”
I can’t do anything at this moment but obey him.
Lifting myself up onto my knees on both sides of his hips, my grip moves with his to the base of his shaft, holding it firmly, as I lower my soaked core down onto his wide, thick tip.
Raising my eyes, I keep them locked to his green ones as he sinks deep inside me, inch after delicious hard inch.
When I’m fully seated with my ass on his thighs, he removes his hand and gently touches my clit.
“When I was inside of her, nothing else existed,” he confesses.
He surprises me when he sits up and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling my hips and pelvis harder to him. As he slides in deeper, he nuzzles my neck. “And when I’m inside of you, she’s starting not to exist.” He groans as he turns, laying me on the bed.
Bracing his arms on both sides of me, his devastated eyes meet mine, and I can’t help but think he is punishing us with every furious stroke.
Touching the hollow of his neck, I part my lips on a moan, arching my back.
“I can’t fucking resist you. I keep trying.” He curses. “God help me, but I can’t stop myself.”
Closing my eyes, I grip his bulging biceps as he thrusts into me time and time again, searching for that elusive edge while chasing a fading ghost. I’m left wondering just how far away from his heart he would let her go.
Chapter Seventeen ~ Mine
“I dreamed about you last night,” Chantel whispered across his cheek.
He could feel those talented fingers of hers stroking through his hair. “Was it a good dream?”
“Hmm,” she murmured absently and started to hum a melody.
“What is that?” he asked as he rolled her over to lay on top of him, watching as her soft raven hair fell down to conceal them from the outside world.
“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.