Stepping toward her, he notices that she’s holding the journal in her left hand. That’s when everything falls into place. She’s reading the entry while she finger-fucks herself to Chantel’s words.

Phillipe feels his cock harden as he watches Gemma’s hand move beneath the fabric of her pants. Her eyes are closed while her mouth parts. With each sinfully forbidden thrust of her hips, he wants her more. Reaching down to the buckle of his belt, he unfastens it, and then he unbuttons and unzips his pants. He’s going to satisfy her need and his right now.

Moving to the end of the blanket, he kneels down quietly and marvels at the uninhibited way she’s moving her hips against her palm. Her hair is strewn out across the blanket, and the hand gripping the journal is white-knuckled while she seems to be seeking that elusive moment, her thundering climax.

“Gemma,” he calls to her softly.

He watches closely when her eyes snap open as her hand stops its frenetic movement. She makes a move to pull her hand from her pants, but he’s quicker. He leans forward, placing his palm against the fabric, effectively trapping her hand where it has been working so furiously.

“What...” she starts to ask.

When he continues to just stare at her, the question seems to vanish. He looks over to the journal she is now trying to close with one hand.

“No, don’t,” he tells her. “Read it to me.”

She’s still panting with arousal, but as his words seem to filter through to her brain, she blinks her lust-clouded eyes. “What?”

Licking his lips, he pushes his hand firmer against hers, which is still lying flat against her aroused skin. Narrowing his eyes on her flushed face and parted lips, he tells himself that what he’s about to do is, in some way, a gross defiling of Chantel. At the same time though, the sheer eroticism of the act is calling to him.

“I want you to read the journal entry to me.”

Gemma takes a deep breath that makes her fantastic breasts heave with their agitation. He notices her eyes travel down his coat to the pants that are parted at his hips.

“Where should I read from?” she finally asks hesitantly.

Phillipe now moves and brings up his other hand to grip both sides of her pants. He keeps his eyes on hers as he tugs them gently. She gets the hint and raises her hips, watching cautiously as he pulls her pants and panties down her legs without question.

When she’s left bare, she still hasn’t removed her hand from where it is laying, her open palm against her glistening wet sex. He knows a feral grin is now on his lips.

“Start where you left off,” he orders persuasively as he leans down to drag his tongue across the wet skin he just exposed.

* * *

Fucking hell, I think as Phillipe lowers his head, dragging his hot tongue across my throbbing clit.

How the hell does he expect me to keep reading? And read this, no less?

I couldn’t believe it when he said my name, and I opened my eyes to see him kneeling at my feet. I thought for certain I hallucinated him, dreamed him up like some kind of warped sexual fantasy which came to life.

No, he’s really here, and he is currently leaning over my swollen pussy, licking and sucking on it, demanding I read to him from his past lover’s journal.

This is insane, I think as it becomes increasingly hard for me to even breathe. That’s when I notice he has stopped, and he is now looking up at me from between my thighs.

“Just start where you left off. Start at the spot that made you put your hand in your pants and your fingers inside yourself,” he tells me as he blows a hot breath across my sensitive skin. “Hmm, yes. Start there, Gemma.”

Blinking slowly, I drag my eyes away from his wicked mouth, sexy eyes, and open rumpled pants. Holy fuck, I think.

I try to focus on the words—her words—and then I start.

* * *

I could hear him breathing hard against my mouth every time he pushed his fingers deeper into my greedy body, and every time he pulled them out, he sighed.

He tasted delicious. His breath was intoxicating, and the way he moved his fingers inside of me felt like nothing I had ever known before.

“I need to taste you,” he told me in a voice that sounded desperate with need.

Was he desperate for me? I didn’t know.

He moved away from where his mouth had been pressed against mine, and I felt him trail his lips down my neck to my chest.

Raising my hands up, I threaded my fingers through his hair. It was soft and silky, and I heard him groan as I tugged it, lifting my hips.

“Jesus, Chantel,” he muttered against my skin.

His teeth gently grazed my nipple, as his hands pulled the lace cup away from my breast. When his clever lips surrounded my sensitive tip, he sucked it hard enough that there was a slight sting of pain to accompany the pleasure.

* * *

Stopping, I look down my body to the man who now has his hands burrowed up under my sweater.

“Take this off,” he instructs gruffly.

Putting aside the journal, I keep my eyes on him as I sit up and pull the sweater over my head.

“Bra, too,” he adds.

At this point, I can’t find one single reason to not do as he requests.

I’m so consumed with my own hot desire that I’m surprised when I can actually see the moisture on my thighs. Undoing my bra, I slide it off, throwing it to the side.

“Lie back down, Gemma.” His voice floats across the small space between us.

I slowly move back to the position I was originally in. He picks up the journal and hands it back to me with lowered lids. As I take it from him, I suck in a deep breath when he lowers his head and flicks his tongue across my nipple.

“I believe we were right here.”

Moaning, I shut my eyes. I’m almost unable to continue, but I know if I keep reading he’ll continue reliving the words on the page. I know I’m not the woman he so obviously hungers for and even though I’m not who he wants, I find myself stupidly willing to be her substitute.

* * *

He cupped my breasts in his hands and tongued my nipple—first the right, and then the left.

It felt strange to me, his tongue was hot and wet. While it was unbelievably exciting, it also tickled a little bit. I could feel his breath against my sensitive skin as he breathed out every time he suckled on me.

Then, he was on the move again. Those lips I was now coming to love made their way down the center of my body to my navel where he dipped his tongue in and bit lovingly around the edges. At this stage, I dropped my hands from his hair. They were up by my head because, honestly, I couldn’t even think enough to hang on to him.

“Chantel?” he asked.

I tipped my head in his direction. I knew he was looking up at me. “Yes?”

“Touch yourself for me while I undress.”

I reached for my breasts and cupped them. “Like this?”

“Exactly like that,” he rasped.

He was not gone for long. I felt his hand slip under my panties as he dragged them down my legs. His whole body weight shifted as he pushed himself between my thighs, wedging his now naked hips between my legs.

His hot skin singed into mine, and I could feel his arms by my head as his fingers played with my hair. He kissed my mouth gently.

“You are the most flawless thing I have ever seen.”

I didn’t know how to answer him. I could have told him that he made me feel cherished, desired, or even wanted. Did any of that really compare to what he was telling me?

Instead, I leaned up and kissed his mouth. I traced my hands over his face, memorizing every dip, each subtle change in texture. As his lips parted above mine, I was struck with a soul-altering moment of truth.

I was his.

He could do whatever he wanted, and I’d still be his.

I was in love with Phillipe Tibideau.

* * *

I shut the journal and reach down to grip the hair that is tickling against my breasts.

“Stop,” I tell him as I put the journal to the side.

Immediately, he lifts his head, and as he focuses on my face, I see dark desire smoldering in his deep green eyes.

“Do you even know who you’re with right now?” I ask him.

I’m desperate to know he isn’t thinking of her as he brushes his mouth across my nipples.

He gives me a blistering look that tries to make all my doubt instantly disappear, but this time, I hold firm. This time, I need to know.

“Of course, Gemma,” he assures seductively. He lowers his mouth down onto the curve of my breast. “Your breasts—they’re fuller and rounder than what hers were.”

I know I should feel disgusted or at least disturbed that he’s kissing me and talking about her. But, as he sucks my nipple between his lips, his cheeks hollow out, and I’m reminded of all the beautiful angles of his face Chantel was talking about. Instantly, I’m struck by his sheer attractiveness.

He moves up my body, and he’s suddenly right where he was in the journal—between my thighs. The only difference is that I’m naked, and he’s clothed—well, except for his open pants. His eyes are looking down into mine, and I’m finding it hard to make any words come out of my mouth. That’s when I feel his right hand move down to trace the curve my hip.