“I think you’re sorry you got caught. Oh, and, Gemma? You should always doubt my intentions.”
With that, he moves away from me, leaving me to find my pose.
Gemma is resplendent in her nakedness, Phillipe thinks as he situates himself behind the easel. He watches her closely where she is seated and in pose. Her hair is the exact opposite shade of Chantel’s. As Gemma holds herself in the mirror image he once so lovingly captured, he is struck at the differences in their bodies.
Gemma is curvier than Chantel, her breasts are rounder, and her hips flare out more, creating a shadow of an hourglass on the wall opposite from where the spotlight is hitting her.
Her reaction to the blindfold is interesting. He knows that she immediately thought of everything atrocious she had heard, causing her to rebel against her initial reaction of curiosity. The moment he firmly told her about his sexual proclivities, she seemed apologetic for allowing herself to go where her thoughts had taken her. Funny really, considering the things I’m thinking about doing to her.
Blame can’t be placed upon her though. After all, one of the most horrid stories he read about himself described him as a man who had plucked the wings from a butterfly.
People are so fucking cruel.
“Why did you decide to paint Chantel in this series?” Gemma asked, breaking the silence.
Phillipe picks up a paintbrush and starts to outline her. He finds not having her look directly at him makes it easier to answer her questions.
“I was fascinated by her,” he explains. “Everything she did was always executed with so much grace and such poise.” He briefly pauses, reaching over to dip the tip of the brush into more paint before tracing it down the canvas to where her hip would be. “It seemed natural to paint her. Her ability to find beauty in everything was such an amazing quality. I wanted to try and capture that, so I could show the world beauty as I saw it.” He chuckled softly. “One of her favorite quotes was Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it. Nothing sums Chantel up better than that.”
“Wow,” Gemma mutters softly. “She sounds like an inspiring individual.”
Phillipe closes his eyes for a moment and sees Chantel as she was when she posed for him. Her black hair piled on top of her head and a few stray pieces escaping to flirt with her shoulders. He remembers the precise moment he fell, the moment his life changed. His whole reason for breathing was sitting in front of him, illuminated by a soft spotlight.
“Phillipe?” Gemma questions.
He focuses back on the woman now seated before him. Other than the glaringly obvious physical differences, two major things altered this image from the original. That’s exactly what Gemma is now questioning.
“Was the violin and the music always part of your vision? Or did that come later?”
For someone who is sitting naked and vulnerable with a blindfold over her eyes, Gemma’s voice only wavers slightly. That impresses him immensely.
His eyes are drawn to the dip and sway of her lower back. That smooth expanse of skin is perfect in its unblemished state. Just like with Chantel, he finds himself wanting to mark it. Mark it with paint.
“It came later,” he replies vaguely. He strokes his paintbrush on the canvas, creating the sweet curve of her ass. “Chantel use to sit with me while I painted, and one day, I asked her if she’d play when she visited. She inspired me, making me think of things I hadn’t yet imagined. That was when I decided to paint her. It wasn’t until after Solitary was complete when I thought to add Diva to the mix. Before that I only added the marks I thought belonged on her skin. Quite simply, she moved me when she played.” He then confesses, “She owned me.”
The silence is so thick and tense that he can almost see it stretched across the softly illuminated space.
Breaking through the quiet moment, Gemma whispers, “She was beautiful.”
Phillipe feels a sad painful smile touch his mouth. “She was perfection.”
Vulnerable ~
Today, Phillipe asked to paint me.
Today, I said yes.
When I reached the chateau, Penelope let me in and told me Phillipe was in his studio as she helped me up to the room. When I entered, I could smell the strong distinct smell of his paints.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
I let out a small giggle, and he must have turned to look at me because I heard him walk in my direction.
“Chantel. I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”
“You were painting?” I questioned him.
“Yes.” He replied and paused. “Well, I was trying to. I hate to admit that not much is happening.”
I felt him reach out and take my free hand. Diva was in my other. I brought her with me, just as he’d asked.
“Why do you think that is?”
He led me into the room.
“I don’t know, but I was hoping maybe you’d play for me today. Maybe if I hear something inspiring, I’ll paint something equally astounding.”
I grinned in his direction as we stopped at the chair I had been curling up in lately.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” I replied, assuring him. “You can ask me anything.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t what I got.
“Will you let me paint you today?”
At first, I didn’t quite understand, so I questioned him. “Like I painted you?”
His fingers reached out and stroked my cheek. “As much as I’d love to do that, I actually meant on canvas. I would love it if you would pose for me.”
I thought about that for a moment. “Like a model?”
“Exactly like a model.” His strong hand slid down my arm to entwine his fingers with mine. “You’re so undeniably captivating that I want to see if I can capture even a tenth of your magnetism with my brush.”
Embarrassment flushed over my skin at his words. I’d never been so revered by anyone. I was always that awkward girl or that amazing blind girl who could play the violin, which was almost just as insulting. To be the focus of such attention from this man was altogether intoxicating.
“How would you want me to pose?” I asked cautiously.
I wasn’t completely naive. I knew that a lot of paintings of models were done in the nude, and I also got the impression that Phillipe was the kind of man who’d want to paint his model in such a way.
He oozed sensuality with everything he did—from the way he talked to the way he touched to his chosen profession. It made perfect sense that he’d want to paint me—
“Nude. Naked and sitting on the floor, facing away from me, with your arms above your head. Hair pulled up, revealing all of this perfect pale skin,” he softly described directly into my ear.
He pressed a hot kiss on my neck, and my whole body shivered as I turned my face in his direction. I knew somehow we were looking into each other’s eyes.
“Yes,” I murmured.
I gasped as his mouth took mine in a sensual assault. His warm full lips opened against mine as his tongue slid deep into my mouth to rub and flirt against my own. Moaning, I raised my hands to grip his chest, and I felt his strong arms wrap around my waist. One of his large hands cupped my ass, pulling my body in tight to his own. He groaned loudly as I wriggled against the hard press of his cock that I could feel rubbing against the apex of my thighs.