Just as that thought left my lust-addled mind, he was above me. I could feel one arm by the left side of my head, and I felt his right fingers pushing against my bottom lip.
“Taste, Chantel,” he instructed.
I opened my mouth to taste myself on his fingers.
Lowering down beside me, he rasped into my ear, “You’re so fucking wet that you drenched my fingers through your panties. Do you know how fucking sexy that is? Do you know how hard that makes me?”
I panted and moaned when his right hand slipped back down between my thighs. This time, he moved my panties to slide inside of them. With no hesitation, those two clever fingers found their way deep between my aching pussy lips.
“Hmm,” he groaned in my ear.
I curved up against his hand on a soft moan. “Oh god! Ahhh, Phillipe!” I cried out.
When his fingers finally penetrated my body, he pushed deeper and angled them.
“Fuck yes.” He growled in my ear.
I let out my own harsh breath of pleasure. I raised my arms and placed my palms on his shoulders as I started to really push up my hips against his astute hand. I could feel my juices running down my thighs now, so I knew his hand had to be coated as he continued to thrust two and then three fingers into me.
Parting my lips, I let out a harsh breath. “I never knew it could be like this.”
His head lowered, and his teeth sank into my bottom lip. He thrust his fingers in again, flicking my clit with his thumb. “Neither did I.”
As Phillipe returns from Beau’s, he runs into Penelope in the kitchen. She tells him that Gemma made her way down to the vineyard around an hour or so ago.
Looking up at the clock, he notices it has just turned 1 p.m., and he figures he should go down to find her.
Grabbing his black jacket from the coatrack, he makes his way outside to head in the direction Penelope told him she had gone. It’s beautiful outside today, he thinks as he turns down to the right of the vines in the direction of the fork.
Phillipe thinks about the part of the journal Gemma must be at. He pushes his hands into his pockets and looks around. He wonders about his own slightly masochistic tendencies. He sent her down here, knowing what she would read, but she told him that she wanted to tell their story accurately.
What better way to learn about it than to read one of the most pivotal moments at the actual scene?
He doesn’t think much after that though because that’s when he spots Gemma.
What a fucking sight she is.
She is lying out on the same exact blanket he brought down here with Chantel, but this woman isn’t wearing a dress. Oh no. She has on snug black pants and currently has one leg bent up at an angle. Her right hand is buried down between her thighs as she flexes her hips, pleasuring herself with sexy determination to find release.
Stepping toward her, he notices that she’s holding the journal in her left hand. That’s when everything falls into place. She’s reading the entry while she finger-fucks herself to Chantel’s words.
Phillipe feels his cock harden as he watches Gemma’s hand move beneath the fabric of her pants. Her eyes are closed while her mouth parts. With each sinfully forbidden thrust of her hips, he wants her more. Reaching down to the buckle of his belt, he unfastens it, and then he unbuttons and unzips his pants. He’s going to satisfy her need and his right now.
Moving to the end of the blanket, he kneels down quietly and marvels at the uninhibited way she’s moving her hips against her palm. Her hair is strewn out across the blanket, and the hand gripping the journal is white-knuckled while she seems to be seeking that elusive moment, her thundering climax.
“Gemma,” he calls to her softly.
He watches closely when her eyes snap open as her hand stops its frenetic movement. She makes a move to pull her hand from her pants, but he’s quicker. He leans forward, placing his palm against the fabric, effectively trapping her hand where it has been working so furiously.
“What...” she starts to ask.
When he continues to just stare at her, the question seems to vanish. He looks over to the journal she is now trying to close with one hand.
“No, don’t,” he tells her. “Read it to me.”
She’s still panting with arousal, but as his words seem to filter through to her brain, she blinks her lust-clouded eyes. “What?”
Licking his lips, he pushes his hand firmer against hers, which is still lying flat against her aroused skin. Narrowing his eyes on her flushed face and parted lips, he tells himself that what he’s about to do is, in some way, a gross defiling of Chantel. At the same time though, the sheer eroticism of the act is calling to him.
“I want you to read the journal entry to me.”
Gemma takes a deep breath that makes her fantastic breasts heave with their agitation. He notices her eyes travel down his coat to the pants that are parted at his hips.
“Where should I read from?” she finally asks hesitantly.
Phillipe now moves and brings up his other hand to grip both sides of her pants. He keeps his eyes on hers as he tugs them gently. She gets the hint and raises her hips, watching cautiously as he pulls her pants and panties down her legs without question.
When she’s left bare, she still hasn’t removed her hand from where it is laying, her open palm against her glistening wet sex. He knows a feral grin is now on his lips.
“Start where you left off,” he orders persuasively as he leans down to drag his tongue across the wet skin he just exposed.
Fucking hell, I think as Phillipe lowers his head, dragging his hot tongue across my throbbing clit.
How the hell does he expect me to keep reading? And read this, no less?
I couldn’t believe it when he said my name, and I opened my eyes to see him kneeling at my feet. I thought for certain I hallucinated him, dreamed him up like some kind of warped sexual fantasy which came to life.
No, he’s really here, and he is currently leaning over my swollen pussy, licking and sucking on it, demanding I read to him from his past lover’s journal.
This is insane, I think as it becomes increasingly hard for me to even breathe. That’s when I notice he has stopped, and he is now looking up at me from between my thighs.
“Just start where you left off. Start at the spot that made you put your hand in your pants and your fingers inside yourself,” he tells me as he blows a hot breath across my sensitive skin. “Hmm, yes. Start there, Gemma.”
Blinking slowly, I drag my eyes away from his wicked mouth, sexy eyes, and open rumpled pants. Holy fuck, I think.
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.