Chapter 13 #2
She moves automatically, trying to cover herself, but he drops the towel’s edge and shifts his arm back to hold her in place.
“Don’t hide. There’s no one here.”
“You’re here,” she points out.
Phillipe chuckles sinfully before he gently bites her naked shoulder. “Yes, but I’ve been looking at your beautiful breasts for the past few hours, Gemma. So, what’s the problem? Is it her?”
Breathing a little harder, she asks, “Who?”
Phillipe lifts his head and licks her earlobe. “Her.”
I close my eyes, trying to remind myself that she is not really in the room with us.
“No, that’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” he asks.
He nips my lobe. I can feel my pussy clench every time he licks and flicks the soft skin of my ear.
“Yes. Why would I care that the paintings are here?” I ask, trying to convince myself as well as him.
He slides a hand down to my bare thigh then slowly between my legs, and I watch, mesmerized, as he gently tugs on one of my thighs. Like I’m a puppet on a string, my legs part until they are splayed wide on both sides of his.
As I lean my back against his front, resting my head against his shoulder, he slides his hand up my thigh until his fingers finally graze my soaked core.
“Oh, Gemma, you are very, very wet. Look.”
He inhales deeply and raises his fingers so I can see them glistening from just one touch between my thighs.
“So, what is it that has you so excited, Miss Harris?”
I moan at the formality he adds to my name, reminding me how inappropriate this relationship is. Returning his strong fingers to the warmth between my legs, he rubs against my swollen clit.
“Is it me?” he murmurs.
I push my hips up to him. I know he isn’t going to stop there.
When he pushes the tips of his fingers inside of me, he asks, “Is it her?”
I clamp my bottom lip between my teeth and moan loudly.
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.”
His other hand comes around me, and I watch as he cups my right breast. He squeezes and caresses it while slowly pushing his other fingers deeper into my aching body.
I lean back against him, spreading my legs wider, completely aroused by the sight of the most erotic scene I have ever been a part of.
“Look at her, Gemma,” he instructs me.
I’m having a hard time tearing my eyes away from his hands on my needy body.
“Now, tell me what you feel. What do you feel when you look at her?”
I close my eyes, trying to find some sort of anchor to hold me steady.
“Wake up, Gemma. Open your eyes.”
My heavy eyelids open, and I find myself staring at the image of Chantel in Armor.
“How do you feel?”
“Hot,” I answer softly.
“I can’t hear you. Louder,” he tells me while rubbing my hard nipple.
“Hot. It makes me feel hot,” I say louder. I stick out my chest, chasing his fingers as they move over my skin.
“What else?”
I confess, “Needy. She makes me feel needy.”
He groans in my ear as he once again pushes his fingers deep between my thighs. “You’re so fucking turned on. I think she makes you wet. Doesn’t she?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I wait for his firm fingers to retreat, so they’ll give me that delicious high when they slide back into my demanding body.
His hand stills as he asks quietly, “What happened yesterday?”
Stiffening in his arms, I feel my thighs tighten. I try to get a grip to pull myself away, but there’s nothing I can do. His fingers are sliding between my swollen lips while his other hand is pulling and twisting my nipple.
“Stop,” I say, panting.
“No.”
God help me, my slick cunt clenches in response to his refusal.
“Tell me,” he demands.
Between gritted teeth, I answer, “No.”
His long fingers brush my clit gently. “Are you ashamed?”
Shaking my head, I arch my hips, my entire body begging for release.
“Did it have something to do with her?” he asks. I cry out when he pinches my nipple. “Did it?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Instead, I bring a hand up to my neglected breast and start to pull and twist the straining peak.
“Yes, Gemma,” he urges with a deep groan. “Touch yourself. Feel me touch you, and look at us while your body sings. And it is singing. It’s weeping and crying all over my fingers.”
I finally feel his long fingers push deep into my tight core, and I cry out, pinching my nipple hard.
“Oh yes, Gemma, fuck my fingers. God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he whispers.
This time, he seems far away. As I turn my head against his shoulder, I see his eyes on the painting in front of us.
I know I should be upset that he is looking at her while thrusting his fingers inside me, but it turns me on even more.
Knowing that he is touching me while fantasizing about her makes me quiver and clench uncontrollably.
I finally give him what he wants. “Her,” I confess.
I feel his hand flex between my thighs while he slides his fingers out, only to push back in hard. “What about her?” he asks.
I can feel his cock pushing insistently against my ass, and I grind against it as I move my hips to meet each thrust of his fingers. Almost cruelly, he pinches my nipple, and I still my hips, biting my bottom lip to control the scream I feel building.
“What about her, Gemma?” he demands.
I decide now is as good a time as any to confess my sins and have them washed away. “I had a fantasy.”
He slowly pulls his long fingers from me. Forcefully, he pushes them back inside, making me groan, but I stay focused on him.
“What kind of fantasy?” he asks, his voice gruff.
I close my eyes, remembering the thought of her while I tweak my nipple. “She was touching me.”
Before anything else can leave my mouth, he removes his hands, gently pushing me away, and I stumble to move.
I’m terrified I’ve gone too far, but before I know it, he’s pulling me down to the rug on the floor.
I feel the plush material against my back as he throws the towel, which has been our only impediment, behind us.
I cautiously study him while he sits back on his knees.
As he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, he looks above me to the paintings hanging all around us on the wall.
I raise my legs and slowly spread them in invitation.
When his eyes finally come back to me, he can see everything that I’m offering.
Pushing down the denim, I notice he’s naked beneath, and I feel my pussy clench at the sight of his thick, veiny cock when it’s finally freed.
He crawls up my body and places his hands on both sides of my head. “I’m all fucking wrong for you,” he rasps in my ear.
The smooth, hard tip of his shaft pushes against my soaked slit, seeking entry.
I turn my head so my lips are against his ear. I tell him the only truth I feel right at this moment: “I don’t care.”
He rears back and thrusts his strong hips forward, pushing his cock deep inside of me.
As he moves his large body over me, I open my eyes and tilt my head back to look up at the paintings on the wall. As my eyes come back to the tortured man moving inside of me, I notice that he, too, has his eyes on the woman above us, and I can’t help but think he is right.
Phillipe, Chantel, and I—we are three.