“What about me?” he replies, continuing to watch her pleasure herself.
Licking her lips, she pants softly. “She got F-holes. Her parents made sure to tell the whole world what a disgrace that was.”
Phillipe winces as Gemma leans forward, putting her mouth to his. “Stop thinking that they were right. She wanted it. She wanted all of this.”
Phillipe removes his hand from between her thighs. He twists them both around, so Gemma is now lying under him.
“Did she? Do you mean I didn’t brainwash her? I didn’t make her lose the ability to think for herself? Do you mean I haven’t made you lose the ability to think for yourself?”
Phillipe watches as Gemma’s blonde hair moves across his pillow as she shakes her head.
“No. Don’t you see? I can’t stay away, just as she couldn’t. Why do you continue to do this to yourself? Why won’t you look at what’s in front of you?”
Sliding over her, he drags his shaft through her wet slit. “And what’s that?”
Phillipe lets her pull him down.
She explains, “Chantel and me. We are what’s in front of you.”
Her lips part as he penetrates her with the tip of his cock.
“Open your eyes and see us.”
As she finishes that statement, he thrusts deep inside her tight, warm core, vowing that he will never leave.
I knew he was shocked. As he stood behind me speechless, I knew he was shocked with all that he saw.
“They’re flawless,” he finally stated, almost reverently.
“So, they look good?”
“They look perfect. It’s like you should have been born with them.”
I felt his fingers reach out to touch the surrounding skin.
“Oh no. No, Phillipe. Do not touch, not for a while,” Marcus told him seriously.
I smiled to myself as Phillipe came around in front of me.
“Your parents will kill me.”
“How will they ever know? And, Phillipe, I’m an adult.”
“They already hate me. This will just make them hate me more.”
Reaching out, I traced his mouth with my fingers as I reiterated, “I don’t care what they think, and neither should you. When are you going to understand that the only thing that is important is right here in front of you?” I paused and kissed his mouth. “Stop worrying about what everybody else thinks and open your eyes. See me.”
He gripped my fingers, and I felt him nod. “I do. I promise.”
Stroking a finger down his impossibly high cheekbone, I told him softly, “The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.”
As we stood there in the tattoo shop, I could have sworn that I felt a tear under my finger, but before I could comment, he pulled away.
“Marcus?” his voice rumbled over my skin.
“Yes, Phillipe?”
“I want that—what she just said—I want her words marked on my body.”
As I lie silently, face to face with Phillipe, I run my palm over his chest.
“So, you had a quote tattooed on you?”
I watch with a small burst of happiness as a smug little grin pulls at his mouth. It’s an expression that has been gone for so long that it takes me off-guard with its appearance.
“Yes.”
Biting my lip, I remove my hand, but he quickly reaches out and pulls it back. This is the first time that he has voluntarily let me touch every part of him—not only with my hands, but also with my mind and body. He’s letting me reach parts of him that I never have before. I feel we have crossed a line. He’s finally letting me in.
“Where? I haven’t seen it, and I’ve seen you...” I pause, feeling ridiculous in my shyness.
“You’ve seen me what, Gemma?”
“Naked. I’ve seen you naked.”
Looking down our bodies, he then brings his eyes back to me and raises his brows, wiggling them playfully. “So, it would seem.”
“Are you going to tell me?” I ask, wondering where on earth it can be. I let me eyes run down his arms and across his chest. They skate over his rigid abs and softening cock. Nope, there’s not a tattoo in sight.
“Always full of questions.” He muses as he reaches out to play with the ends of my hair.
“And you are always deflecting them.”
“I find that the less I say to journalists, the less I have to worry about.”
I narrow my eyes at him, hating that he has mentioned my profession.
“But when I look at you, I no longer see a journalist,” he informs thoughtfully.
I don’t know why, but this confession pleases me. I feel my heart start to flutter in my chest as I watch his eyes track over me.
“What do you see?” I ask. I’m curious as always.
His hand reaches out, and he brushes my nipple with his finger. “I see me, I see her, and I see you. When I look at you Gemma, I see us.”
Moving in close, I ask again, “Where is it, Phillipe?”
His beautiful green eyes slide close, and he rolls over onto his side to his stomach. Across the top of his back in script reads The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.
I trace my fingertip across the words before I lean down over him and place my lips to his skin. How have I not seen this before? Well, the answer is simple really. He never wanted to show me.
In the silence that now surrounds us, he lies face down on the mattress with me pressed close to his skin. I finally feel that he has let me in. He has shown me a truth, and now, I have vision.
Chapter Twenty-Three ~ Confession
Day 18
As I stand in the shower with my eyes shut the next morning, I think back to the night before. Phillipe let me stay all night. He pulled me in close and held me steady as I listened to his heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump.
The steady rhythm lulled me to sleep while my mind was playing trick after trick on me. One moment we were alone, and the next I swore I could see haunted gray eyes staring at me. As I laid there, I squeezed him tight and vowed nothing could make me leave.
Running my hands through my hair, I try to understand where my head is. The only problem is that it’s becoming more difficult with every passing hour and every disappearing day.
I have an article to write first and foremost, but my want and need to touch and be touched by this man is pushing that aside. I’m starting to discover a part of myself that I didn’t know existed.
Drive, desire, passion—these are all things I know I possess. They are what got me to the chateau in the first place. I have pushed myself to succeed and be recognized in this competitive field. But now? Now, as I’m standing here with the water washing over my aching body from an intense night, I don’t know where I begin and he ends. I have no idea which side of me—journalist or woman—will win.
Either way, I need to get up to that studio. I have questions—from the journalist and the woman—that I want answered.
Phillipe wakes up as soon as Gemma slips from his bed. The sheets automatically cool as she dresses in silence. She picks up the journal right before leaving his room during the early hours of dawn.