Chapter 22 #2
He leans forward, and I’m captivated as he sucks my nipple between his lips.
Arching toward him, I marvel at the gentleness that is pouring from him as he caresses my back, pulling me closer.
Something’s different. He seems calm, like he’s almost at peace for the first time.
He seems content to be sitting here with me on his lap as he torments my aching tip.
I take joy in this moment of solace he’s finding with me in his arms. I feel like I’m finally touching the man I ache to own.
“Phillipe, will you tell me where we are going?” I asked.
He pulled the car to a stop, and I waited patiently as he came around to open my door.
“Come on,” he told me. He was almost as enthusiastic as a child.
My head was spinning with ideas. This night was so crazy and so full of different emotions. He took my hand and guided me out of the car. I followed across the pavement, wanting to know what had him so excited, then heard an electric ding-dong, signaling that we had arrived.
“Phillipe?” I said in a hushed whisper, pulling on his hand. “Where are we?”
That was when I heard the insistent buzzing in the background. The noise was foreign. It was nothing I had ever heard before.
“Ah, Phillipe,” a deep voice greeted us.
“Marcus, hi.”
“Is this she?” The smooth French accent floated across the air.
“Yes, this is Chantel.”
I remained still, knowing I was being inspected, and I hated it.
“Phillipe?” I asked again.
He took both my hands in his. “I’m sorry. This is Marcus. I met him at the gallery a couple of days ago. He is a tattoo artist.”
Pulling my hands back, I raised an eyebrow. Phillipe clearly saw the questions all over my face, because he chuckled. He wrapped his arms around my waist. “Trust me. He is going to tattoo me, not you.”
I thought about that for a moment, and before I knew what I was saying, I told him softly, “I want one.”
Phillipe laughed. He thought I was joking.
“I’m not kidding. I want one.”
“I didn’t bring you here to mark you. I want your mark on me.”
Rising on my tiptoes, I kissed his mouth. “You’re already on my heart, and you’re already in my soul. Now, I want you on my body.”
His lips curved against mine. “Do you even know what you want?”
Surprisingly, I did. It was amazingly obvious.
“F-holes.”
Phillipe looks up at Gemma as she straddles his thighs, running her fingers through his hair. Her eyes are focused on him as she moves slowly. Rocking her hips gently against him, she presses her belly and mound against his impatient cock.
She is simply breathtaking. He hasn’t let himself see it before.
He doesn’t want to admit it, but as she sits there open to him, vulnerable in her emotions, he truly sees her for the first time.
Bringing his hands up from her waist, he cups the sides of her breasts.
She arches into his palms and pushes her hips forward.
Her eyes never leave his as he plays with her plump, aching flesh. When her mouth parts, he expects a sigh, but as he is coming to find with Gemma, nothing is ever what he expects.
“What about you?” she asks quietly.
Closing his eyes, he lowers his right hand between her thighs and touches her wet pussy. He feels her thighs tighten around his as she rises, allowing his fingers between her folds. She grips his hair as she moves gently against both of his hands.
“What about me?” he replies, continuing to watch her pleasure herself.
Licking her lips, she pants softly. “She got F-holes. Her parents made sure to tell the whole world what a disgrace that was.” Phillipe winces as Gemma leans forward, putting her mouth to his. “Stop thinking that they were right. She wanted it. She wanted all of this.”
Phillipe removes his hand from between her thighs. He twists them both around so Gemma is lying under him.
“Did she? Do you mean I didn’t brainwash her? I didn’t make her lose the ability to think for herself? Do you mean I haven’t made you lose the ability to think for yourself?”
Phillipe watches Gemma’s blonde hair move across his pillow as she shakes her head.
“No. Don’t you see? I can’t stay away, just as she couldn’t. Why do you continue to do this to yourself? Why won’t you look at what’s in front of you?”
Sliding over her, he drags his shaft through her wet slit. “And what’s that?”
“Chantel and me. We are what’s in front of you.”
Her lips part as he penetrates her with the tip of his cock.
“Open your eyes and see us,” she says.
He thrusts deep inside her tight, warm core, vowing that he will never leave.
I knew he was shocked. As he stood behind me speechless, I knew he was shocked with all that he saw.
“They’re flawless,” he finally stated, almost reverently.
“So, they look good?”
“They look perfect. It’s like you should have been born with them.” He touched the surrounding skin.
“Oh no. No, Phillipe. Do not touch, not for a while,” Marcus told him seriously.
I smiled to myself as Phillipe came around in front of me. “Your parents will kill me.”
“How will they ever know? And Phillipe, I’m an adult.”
“They already hate me. This will just make them hate me more.”
Reaching out, I traced his mouth with my fingers.
“I don’t care what they think, and neither should you.
When are you going to understand that the only thing that is important is right here in front of you?
” I kissed his mouth. “Stop worrying about what everybody else thinks and open your eyes. See me.”
He gripped my fingers, and I felt him nod. “I do. I promise.”
I told him softly, “The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.”
As we stood there in the tattoo shop, I could have sworn that I felt a tear under my finger, but before I could comment, he pulled away.
“Marcus?” His voice rumbled over my skin.
“Yes, Phillipe?”
“I want that—what she just said. I want her words marked on my body.”
As I lie silently, face to face with Phillipe, I run my palm over his chest.
“So, you had a quote tattooed on you?”
I watch with a small burst of happiness as a smug little grin pulls at his mouth. It’s an expression that has been gone for so long that it takes me off guard.
“Yes.”
Biting my lip, I remove my hand, but he quickly pulls it back.
This is the first time that he has voluntarily let me touch every part of him—not only with my hands, but also with my mind and body.
He’s letting me reach parts of him that I never have before.
I feel we have crossed a line. He’s finally letting me in.
“Where? I haven’t seen it, and I’ve seen you…” I pause, feeling ridiculous in my shyness.
“You’ve seen me what, Gemma?”
“Naked. I’ve seen you naked.”
He waggles his brows. “So it would seem.”
“Are you going to tell me?” I ask, wondering where on earth it can be. I look over his arms and across his chest. They skate over his rigid abs and softening cock. Nope, there’s not a tattoo in sight.
“Always full of questions,” he muses as he plays with the ends of my hair.
“And you are always deflecting them.”
“I find that the less I say to journalists, the less I have to worry about.”
I narrow my eyes at him, hating that he has mentioned my profession.
“But when I look at you, I no longer see a journalist,” he adds thoughtfully.
I don’t know why, but this confession pleases me. I feel my heart start to flutter in my chest.
“What do you see?” I ask. I’m curious, as always.
He reaches out and brushes my nipple with his finger. “I see me, I see her, and I see you. When I look at you, Gemma, I see us.”
Moving in close, I ask again, “Where is it, Phillipe?”
His beautiful green eyes slide closed, and he rolls onto his stomach. Across the top of his back in script is: The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.
I trace the words with my fingertip before I place my lips to his skin. How have I not seen this before?
Well, the answer is simple, really. He never wanted to show me.
In the silence that surrounds us, he lies facedown on the mattress with me pressed close to his skin. I finally feel that he has let me in. He has shown me a truth, and now, I have vision.