From the direction of his voice, the man was kneeling at my feet. He reached out and cupped my bare ankle. I was wearing a sundress because it was still warm right now, even with the clouds my uncle had told me were scattered across the sky today.
I swallowed and answered, “Yes.”
“Hmm, yes what?” he asked, running his hand up behind my calf.
“Yes, you can touch me.”
He groaned as he moved, and both of his warm palms were on the backs of my calves. He leaned in, pushing his mouth against my dress into the apex of my thighs.
I swallowed a sigh when his hot breath seeped through the fabric and his hands slid up under my dress to my ass. Reaching down, I gripped his hair and tugged on it gently.
I could tell he was looking up at me when he asked, “What do you want, Chantel? I’ll do anything.”
I didn’t know what to tell him. So I said all I could manage at that moment. “You.”
Those big hands slid over my lace panties and his long fingers gripped the edges as he dragged them down. I braced myself as he tugged them to my feet. He paused, waiting for me to patiently step out of them. He removed his hands for a moment, and suddenly, I felt alone and naked, even though I was still wearing my dress.
“Lift your dress for me,” he said.
I’d thought not being able to see him would make this easier, but in fact, I really believe it made it more difficult. I couldn’t gauge his reaction to anything I did. I just had to trust him to be honest and tell me what he was thinking.
I bent down slowly to grip the edge of my dress then pulled it up to my waist and waited. I didn’t have to wait long, because he was there immediately, cupping my ass cheeks. He pressed a hot, wet kiss just above my pelvic bone as I sucked in a deep breath.
“You are so fucking beautiful you hurt my eyes.”
He smoothed one of his palms over my ass, moving down my left thigh. He bit the skin gently above the small patch of hair covering my sensitive mound.
When his palm reached the back of my knee, he gently tugged it, so I let him raise my leg, placing it over his shoulder. Gripping his head, I made sure I was steady on my other foot and moaned as he dragged his tongue across my lower stomach.
“Oh God,” I sighed, pushing myself against his mouth.
He nuzzled his nose against my throbbing pussy, inhaling deeply before he let out a loud groan, raising a hand to push a long, thick finger up between my wet lips.
“I want to worship you,” he confided as he pushed that finger deeper into my needy body.
“Phillipe,” I moaned as I bore down on his hand.
His wet lips traced a sensuous path across my quivering flesh. Holding on tight, I just about flew out of the room when his tongue finally reached my swollen clit. He manipulated it, flicking his tongue back and forth over my wet nub. I couldn’t help the way my hips started to thrust against him, almost as though I was fucking his mouth.
That was when I started to beg.
I felt him shift and move lower, farther beneath me, so his wicked, hot tongue could slide through my folds. His hands held me in place as he flattened his tongue against my aching pussy. He licked at it like it was his favorite dessert before he moved his mouth back to my clit and sucked it between his lips. That was all I needed. I screamed and pulled his hair, climaxing all over his tongue.
Against my abused flesh, he admitted, “I’m yours.”
Six
SOLITARY
MIDAFTERNOON FINALLY ARIVES as I sit in my bedroom with Chantel’s journal on my lap. Still, I am trying to understand exactly all that happened out in the arbor this morning.
Was I seduced? Is that what happened? Was I seduced into agreeing to pose for Phillipe?Oh, and it’s not just for any paintings. I’m posing for Chantel’s collection.
There are millions of women who would clamor for the opportunity to sit for Phillipe Tibideau. That’s what happens when you are one of the most attractive and, yes, enigmatic artists.
He is such a difficult man to get a handle on. One minute, he appears sad and reflective, almost alone in the world he now chooses to inhabit—and then, in the blink of an eye, his demeanor changes, and he becomes a frustrated, rigid shell of a man.Both sides are now becoming familiar,I thought, running my hands over the leather cover. I can understand his sadness and anguish in the face of all he has gone through.
But what about the seductive side of Phillipe?He seems to slip into that side, using it to get his way. That is a potent force. It’s as natural to him as breathing. When he turns that force on me, there is not a hope in the world that I will be able to resist.
