He releases her hair as she takes the head of his cock into her warm mouth.
“Jesus. No.”
Looking down, he watches as her blonde head moves down over his shaft, and a shiver skates up his spine.I shouldn’t be doing this. I brought her here to tell her this is done. It is over.He didn’t intend to have her down on her knees, essentially bringing him to his.
Knowing this will break her but not seeing any other way to do it, he reaches down and grabs her arms, pulling her away from his hungry body.
“Stop,” he growls, pulling her close.
He takes her lips brutally. Spearing his tongue deep into her mouth, he pummels it over and over as if he will die without the taste of her. He knows he has to let her go, so after one last sweep of her warm mouth, he pushes her away. He fists his cock hard, tugging it as he stands there, staring at her. She’s panting, her mouth parted, as her eyes latch on to his angry, throbbing shaft and she tries to move back to him.
“You don’t want to do that,” he warns. He steps away, keeping his eyes on her.
“Why? Let me ease you,” she pleads, reaching out a gentle hand.
Knowing he needs to crush this right this second, he quickly grips her wrist and pulls her forward. Wrapping her fingers around his aching flesh, he curses.
In a voice so thick and full of gravel that he almost has a hard time getting it out, he tells her, “You came here, Gemma. You came here and listened. Now it’s time to go.”
“Stop.” She shakes her head. “We aren’t done yet. There’s still more I have to ask.” She pauses, pulling her hand away. “There’s more you need to tell me.”
Phillipe tilts his head while he stuffs his unsatisfied cock back into his pants. “What more do you need to know? I sent the last two pictures,SacredandDeceptive, to the gallery owner two weeks before.”
He leaves his explanation hanging there. Both of them know what he’s referring to when he mentionsbefore.
“Those paintings completed the six that then became theBlind Vision Collection. That’s the whole reason why you came here.”
Putting her hand on her mouth, she takes a step back, realizing the enormity of what he’s finally telling her. “No. No. I came here to learn aboutyou, not your damn paintings. I already knew about them,” she yells.
He steps forward and grasps her shoulders, drawing her in close to him. He crushes his mouth onto hers again. She gasps, allowing him to push inside. By stealing one more brutal kiss, he wants to ease the desperate, frantic realization of loss flooding her as she stands there, trembling in his arms. As he moves away, letting her go, he looks down into eyes filled with hurt and confusion.
“The story hasended, Gemma. There’s nothing left to say.”
Wrapping her arms around her waist, she looks like she’ll fall apart at any moment. “So, that’s it? After everything? After everysinglething I have read and sat through, you don’t even trust me to tell me what fucking happened?”
He leans down until they are nose to nose. “Yes. Isn’t that just too fucking bad?Thisis all you’re getting.”
With that, he storms past her, leaving her broken and bereft, just like he is.
I feel empty, like he’s ripped my heart from my chest and left with it clutched in his fist. As I stand in the center of the studio, I can’t comprehend everything that just happened. One minute, we were talking about the final two paintings. I was reassuring him. He thanked me, and then his mood completely shifted.
Breathing hard, I rub my forehead, still clutching my waist with my arm.Oh God, it hurts.I didn’t think it would hurt so much as he pulled further and further away from me, but it does.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I make myself take several breaths to calm down. My head is still ringing with his angry words. Instead of worrying about my stupid fucking article, all I’m doing is thinking about how he doesn’t trust me.
Finally, when I have my emotions somewhat in check, I open my eyes slowly and shake my hands by my sides. As I turn to leave the studio and go back to my room to start packing, my eyes fall to the large painting that’s been sitting covered in the studio corner the whole time I have been here. This time, it is facing me, andthistime, there is no cloth covering it. I cover my mouth as it falls open with a silent gasp.
There, before me, is a painting I have never seen. My skin breaks out in goose bumps as the image sinks into my brain, passing through all my anger and all my hurt.
Walking toward the large canvas, I am once again captivated and entranced by his work. I swallow, my heart pounding in my chest. It’s beating so fast that I’m surprised I can’t see it thumping against my shirt.
Sheis in the center of the canvas. Even in death—because death is what I see—she is beautiful. It’s immediately obviouswhat this image is depicting, and as I get closer, I feel like she’s behind me, urging me forward.
She’s in the water. Her beautiful white dress drifts toward the surface as her lifeless body seemingly floats in repose. Arms, legs, and hair point down to her final resting place.
With a trembling hand, I run my fingers down her arm and touch her hand gently. As I take in all that I am seeing, my eyes are drawn to the ray of light shining through the water from above, casting a glow over her as she finds peace. I’m spellbound by Diva. The very instrument that brought her to life is floating down with her as the sun hits the bout of the violin. It makes complete sense that it is there, lingering near her, even in death.
I bite my bottom lip to keep myself from sobbing but can feel the tears streaming down my face as my shoulders shake. I remove my hand from her palm and raise it to cover my mouth again as I let myself feel the pain of each agonizing brush stroke he made.
