“Undress for me,” he said against my lips as he reluctantly let me go.
Although I couldn’t see him, I lowered my head, closing my eyes.
“No,” he said, putting his finger beneath my chin. “Don’t shut your eyes, Chantel. Don’t ever hide from me.”
Taking a deep breath, I kept my sightless eyes open, focused on the spot where I believed he would be standing. I reachedup to the top button of my dress. As I undid the buttons, I could hear his breathing accelerate, creating a small smile of pleasure on my face. I was affecting him. Chantel Rosenberg, the woman from the States who couldn’t see, was making Phillipe Tibideau—artist and beyond intriguing and sexy man—breathe a little harder.
This was such an amazing and powerful moment for me.
He stayed silent through my full disrobing, and then he muttered, “Perfect. Absolute fucking perfection.”
I bit my bottom lip, waiting for him to tell me what to do.
“Turn around.”
I found myself immediately obeying. That was when I felt his warm palm on my lower back and his lips on my shoulder.
“Can I do something?” he asked.
Laughing nervously, I turned my head toward the shoulder he was kissing. “Aren’t you already doing something?”
“Yes, I suppose I am.” He smiled against my skin before gently biting where he was kissing. “But can I do something else?”
I nodded slowly as he moved away from me. The next sensation I felt was cool and wet against my lower back. I gasped. “What are you doing?”
“I’m painting you.”
Giggling, I looked over my shoulder like I would actually see something. “Well, what are you painting?”
He blew against the paint he’d stroked onto my skin, and his breath fluttered against my lower back and ass. He didn’t answer me. Instead, he stayed silent as he repeated the same step on the other side. I remained still until he was done.
“What did you paint on me?” I asked.
His finger stroked a shape next to one of the spots he had painted, and I concentrated as he repeated the stroke.
I smiled. “An F-hole?”
His laugh rolled through me, and I held my breath as I felt his finger drift down to flirt with the top of my ass crack.
“I almost can’t believe my luck with the name of those little sound holes,” he said.
I couldn’t believe I was letting him touch me where he was. As he continued to talk and run his finger farther down between my cheeks, I found the sensation arousing, thrilling, and forbidden. I arched back against his touch as his wicked laugh tickled my ear.
“Do you like this?” he inquired darkly. “Do you like my finger here?”
I completely lost my ability to talk. Instead, I nodded my affirmation as he pressed in deeper. Now I could feel his fingertip rubbing against my dark little pucker.
“You’re so hot here.” He groaned.
I let out a soft moan of pleasure.
“Yes, that’s it, Beauty. Let go. Let me touch you where no one has before. Relax for me.”
His mouth was on the curve of my shoulder and neck as I pushed my hips back against him.
“I want to take you here, Chantel,” he told me, his voice husky and deep. “I want to crawl inside of you and never leave.”
Just as suddenly as it had begun, he stopped his petting and kisses. He stepped away, leaving me bereft and empty.
