Элла Франк - Blind Obsession

His fingers reached out and stroked my cheek. “As much as I’d love to do that, I actually meant on canvas. I would love it if you would pose for me.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Like a model?”

“Exactly like a model.” His strong hand slid down my arm to entwine his fingers with mine. “You’re so undeniably captivating that I want to see if I can capture even a tenth of your magnetism with my brush.”

Embarrassment flushed over my skin at his words. I’d never been so revered by anyone. I was always that awkward girl or that amazing blind girl who could play the violin, which was almost just as insulting. To be the focus of such attention from this man was altogether intoxicating.

“How would you want me to pose?” I asked cautiously.

I wasn’t completely naive. I knew that a lot of paintings of models were done in the nude, and I also got the impression that Phillipe was the kind of man who’d want to paint his model in such a way.

He oozed sensuality with everything he did—from the way he talked to the way he touched to his chosen profession. It made perfect sense that he’d want to paint me—

“Nude. Naked and sitting on the floor, facing away from me, with your arms above your head. Hair pulled up, revealing all of this perfect pale skin,” he softly described directly into my ear.

He pressed a hot kiss on my neck, and my whole body shivered as I turned my face in his direction. I knew somehow we were looking into each other’s eyes.

“Yes,” I murmured.

I gasped as his mouth took mine in a sensual assault. His warm full lips opened against mine as his tongue slid deep into my mouth to rub and flirt against my own. Moaning, I raised my hands to grip his chest, and I felt his strong arms wrap around my waist. One of his large hands cupped my ass, pulling my body in tight to his own. He groaned loudly as I wriggled against the hard press of his cock that I could feel rubbing against the apex of my thighs.

“Undress for me,” he ordered 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. With firm determination, he told me, “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 reached up 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.” He instructed.

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 a cool wet one 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?”

As he blew against the paint he’d stroked onto my skin, 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 again.

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 stroke 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.

“But first I want to paint you. Sit down, Chantel. Let me see you.”

Day 6

Today, when I awoke, a note was pushed under my door. Phillipe let me know that he had left for the morning and wouldn’t be available. He suggested that I go down onto the grounds and take the main path up through the vines until I see a small fork to the right. There, he had told me, I would find a shaded area, the perfect spot to relax and read the next entry in the journal.

Folding the small piece of paper, I place it on the dresser in my room before making my way into the bathroom. Turning on the water to the temperature I desire, I step into the shower and let the stream slide over my skin, washing away my restless night.

I didn’t sleep for more than an hour or so at max, and I know why. I was consumed with words. Words, thoughts, and memories—every single one of them was centered on Phillipe and Chantel.

Sighing, I lean my head back as the water sluices over my breasts before sliding down to my now constantly aching pussy. Sexual frustration seems to be plaguing me where Phillipe is concerned. I can’t solely blame him though. Reading Chantel’s journal entries is like witnessing each act in explicit detail.

Without sight, she brought the other senses to the experience. She depicted every sound, every touch, and every emotion. She made me want to experience that.

Picking up the bar of soap, I quickly and efficiently wash myself, wanting to get out of the chateau for a while. I want to see the grounds. It’s a beautiful day from what I’ve seen, and I want to make the most of it.

My plans for the morning are to go and find a quiet spot, lie down in it, and read the next entry of the journal.

* * *

After a fifteen-minute walk from the chateau, I find the secluded spot down through the vineyard and a little way off the path, exactly where Phillipe had indicated it would be. The sun is peeking through the branches above, and it is just enough to keep me warm.

Penelope suggested I take a blanket with me, and she also gave me a packed lunch.

So, here I am sitting down in the vineyard while I read Chantel’s journal.

* * *

Firsts ~

Today, Phillipe took me outside. He took me and made me his.

He had told me yesterday to dress in something I wouldn’t mind sitting on the ground in. Of course, with him, that could mean anything, including maybe posing again. So, I had put on an old sundress and turned up at the chateau at noon, just like he’d asked.

“Always so punctual, Chantel,” he told me as he met me at the front door.

He kissed me under my ear on the neck right where he knew it would send shivers through my body.

“I like that. You always come on time.”

I blushed, knowing his true meaning, sighing as he nipped at my lobe.

“Come on. I’m taking you down to the vineyard.”

He clasped my hand and tugged me along beside him. After looping my arm through the crook of his, I followed.

“The vineyard, huh?” I questioned. “You’re not going to make me pose out there, are you?”

“Hmm, now, there’s an idea.” He chuckled. “Chantel. Naked. The sun shining down. Woman is now one with nature.”

I pushed against his shoulder, smiling. “You’re an idiot.”

We walked a little while until he finally stopped.

“Here,” he told me.

The warmth of the sun was intermingled with the shadows as it hit the back of my neck, and I heard birds above me. We were obviously in among the trees.

“Where’s here?”

I heard rustling and a branch cracked right before I felt him in front of me again, his lips pressing against mine.