Christ,he thinks as he stares at the ceiling. Just thinking about Chantel and the day she painted him has his cock hard enough to drill holes.
Sighing, he rolls over to stare out the window opposite his bed. His room is situated on the first floor of the chateau, and he always sleeps with the shutters open at this time of the year. This morning, the sun is shining down over his vineyard, spilling into his room.
Reaching under the covers, he smooths his palm against his erection. Groaning softly, he rolls to his back and closes his eyes. Bringing his hand up, he spits into his palm and curses himself as he shoves it back down between his thighs. Gripping his cock in his fist, he squeezes it tightly and tries to dampen the desire that’s bubbling up inside him.
Damn her.Chantel still has a way of crawling inside of him.
He isn’t sure if it’s the topics they are discussing or the lingering shadow he constantly sees out of the corner of his eye, but whenever Gemma gets too close to a shared intimacy of his and Chantel’s, Phillipe finds himself getting antsy, and his cock starts to twitch, just as it is doing now.
Flinging back the covers, he looks down his body that is now mottled with the light of the sun. He watches his own fist as he pulls on his now-straining, hard flesh. Closing his eyes, he reaches back over his head and clutches the bottom of his headboard.
He feels his whole body grow taut. His muscles strain as he strokes his hard-on with his fist once again, moving up anddown the angry flesh now throbbing with insistence between his thighs.
Squeezing his eyes tight, he pictures Chantel standing in his studio…
The sun streamed through the open window as she slowly unbuttoned the bright yellow dress she’d worn to see him the first time he painted her.
Her hair was down, spilling over her shoulders. She captured her bottom lip between her teeth and worried it as she concentrated.
“Just act as if you are alone,” he told her.
Her eyes rose to his. “Like a close-my-eyes-and-pretend-you-aren’t-here kind of thing?” she asked with a twitch to her lips…
Phillipe starts to stroke harder, recalling that first moment of revelation. She teased him with every button she undid. There were twelve—twelve black, round buttons. Every time she undid one, Phillipe’s heart hammered faster, just as it is doing now.
Raising his right leg, he places his foot on the mattress, lifting his hips into each stroke. Groaning softly, he holds on to the headboard again, tighter this time.
Why can’t I find release from this world we created?
It doesn’t matter how many months have passed. The minute he thinks about her, everything tumbles back—the desire, the pain, the soul-destroying love. It all ends the exact same way.She is gone, and I am alone.
Alone and desperate,he thinks angrily, now really squeezing and fisting the stupid cock that got him into this fucked-up situation in the first place. Now it wants to take him there again.Perhaps with the journalist?Fuck that.
Shutting his eyes tightly, he feels his knuckles start to ache while his fingers try to bore a hole into the wood of the bed. His right wrist is pumping so hard that he’s surprised he hasn’t hurt himself. Yet there he is—still hard, still pissed off, and nowhere near close to being satisfied.Fuck.
Agreeing to this whole ridiculous biography about his paintings and what took place that night was his own choice.Get to them before they get to you.No matter what happened, he knows that some prick would come up with a story about that night, and it would be full of shit.
So, in the end, he caved. He is the one who sought out a journalist. He is the one who wanted it to be a woman. He is the stupid fucking idiot who picked Gemma Harris because she in no way resembles Chantel Rosenberg.
Finally knowing he is getting nowhere close to a satisfying sexual release, he lets go of his cock with disgust. He whacks his palm against the headboard hard and sits up, letting his legs fall over the side of the bed.
Shaking his head in annoyance, he gets up and makes his way over to the window. Standing there with a raging erection, he’s naked, angry, and annoyed. He takes a deep breath and tries to push it all aside.
He is close to calming down when he hears some gravel crunching to his left. He turns his head in the direction of the noise. It takes him a moment, but then he sees her.
Gemma is standing just outside his window under one of the trees behind the chateau. Her eyes are focused on him, and she’s looking like a gazelle that has just been spotted by a hungry lion.
His anger and frustration quickly melt away. Instead, curiosity and intrigue surface as Phillipe tips his head to her, leaning forward into a mock bow.
Hope you enjoyed the show.
He watches unflinchingly as her flight instinct kicks in, forcing the gazelle to run away.
Four
CRAVINGS
TO SAY THAT I ran back to my room is stating it mildly.
