Turning his head on the pillow, Phillipe looks into Gemma’s annoyed eyes. “Well, you knew that all along, didn’t you?”

Her jaw tightens, and her eyes narrow. Spinning on her heel, she marches to the dresser and picks up the journal she placed there. Without another word, she slams the door on her way out. Finally left alone, he confesses his sins to her.

* * *

Marching upstairs to my room, I’m more than annoyed. I’m pissed off at him, at myself, and at her. Damn it! Is all I can think as I throw her journal on the bed.

Moving straight into the bathroom, I turn the faucets on, feeling the need to wash the afternoon away. The man is so infuriating and complicated to the extreme.

One minute, he’s silent, involved, and right there in the moment with me. I’m sure of it. It’s, the minute we stop touching, the second that connection breaks, she’s there, filling his head, getting into his mind, and telling him what to feel.

“Well, fuck you!” I curse at her.

I realize how stupid I must seem. I’m standing in the tiny bathroom, taking my clothes off, and cursing at nothing. I’m going crazy.

Pulling the shower curtain back with much more force than necessary, I step into the tub and turn, closing my eyes. Tipping my head back under the spray, I feel the warm water stream down over my face. I bring my hands up to my hair and push my fingers back through the wet strands. Closing my eyes, I start to picture Phillipe as he was earlier, lying across the bed. I imagine him rigid, naked, and hard, his muscles rippling with every breath he took.

Lowering one hand, I slide it down to my breast and squeeze it tight. My other hand closes around my throat where I place a slight pressure on myself while the water now glides down my skin and across my lips. Music filters through my mind as the hand at my breast trails down my torso, stopping between my thighs. I squeeze my sensitive flesh and part my lips on a sigh as the haunting melody of Lux Aeterna repeats over in my mind. Pushing my fingers deep into my needy pussy, I can’t be sure why that song stays with me while I picture his tortured eyes and hear his angry words.

That’s when I start to imagine the melody getting louder, more forceful, like the way it was playing this afternoon in her music room when he was in my mouth and on my tongue. As the fantasy takes over, I thrust my fingers in and out of my body. The water pools around my hand before it slides down my inner thighs, mixing with my own juices.

Suddenly, it’s there, I feel it again—that second elusive presence. I’m not alone. I stop moving and open my eyes, sensing that I’m being watched. I feel like she’s here. As my eyes try to focus through the water, I notice a dark shadow pass before me. A shiver skates up my spine, and I hear the word mine.

* * *

Possession ~

We started a new painting today, and Phillipe named it Rhapsody. I liked this one. It was my favorite so far.

“So, you want me naked with Diva across my ass cheek?” I asked.

He laughed. “Yes. Perfect.”

I shook my head at him and raised a brow. “Kind of an odd place to put a violin, don’t you think?”

His fingers ran down my bare arm. “It’s an odd place to want to put a lot of things,” he replied sensually. His voice was so deep that it slid down my spine, creating a pool of moisture between my thighs.

Sexy, sexy man, I thought. “I know what you want to put there,” I told him.

Reaching out to touch his waist, I moved my fingers below. He was wearing loose cotton pants, and they did nothing to conceal the hard cock he now had pulsating between his thighs.

“Hmm,” he murmured. He stepped closer. “When you’re ready and not a moment sooner.”

Licking my lips, I blinked. “What if I’m ready now?”

His lips pressed hard against mine. “You’re not.”

“I’m not?” I questioned.

His arms wrapped around my waist as his nose brushed against mine. He shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

Closing my eyes, I asked, “How do you know?”

His fingertips touched my closed eyelids. “Because you won’t have to ask or tell me. It’ll just happen.” He assured me, his mouth was by my ear. “It will happen, Beauty, and then I’ll have all of you.”

I shivered as I turned my face toward his. “Do you want to start painting now or later?”

His arms unwound from around my waist as he moved away from me. “Let’s start now, and then I want to show you something.”

Smiling in his direction, I started to remove my top.

He sighed. “This is the best part.”

“It is?” I teased as I undid my pants and pushed them off.

“Yes. When you take off your clothes for me, it shows so much trust and faith. You’re so warm and naked. It makes me so fucking hard that I want to sink deep inside of you and never leave.”

As I stood completely bared to him, I turned and looked over my shoulder in his direction. “Maybe it’s not me who isn’t ready.”

There was a long silent pause and before I knew it his large palms were on my shoulders, and his hot mouth was by my ear. “What on earth do you mean by that, Chantel?”

Shivering, I pushed my hips back toward him, so his cotton-covered cock was pressing insistently against my ass crack. “Maybe you’re worried if you take me there, you’ll never be able to leave,” I suggested, pushing his desperation and fueling his obsession. I wanted him dark. I enjoyed having him want me as much as his next breath.

“Is that what you think? That I’m scared?”

His sinuous voice slid inside of me. I felt goose bumps rise along my skin.

“I think you’re worried that you won’t ever escape me,” I confirmed.

He chuckled darkly, wrapping one large arm around my waist. He pressed a big palm against my naked mound before pulling my ass tight against his thick shaft.

“When I get inside of you, you will be mine,” he told me and bit my earlobe.

I reached my hand behind my head to grip the back of his and turned to meet his mouth with my own as I whispered against his lips, “Or maybe you’ll be mine.”

* * *

Dropping the journal as though it physically burned me, I look around the silent room I’m sitting in. The bedroom is empty, except for me, the bed, and the small desk, but right at this moment, I feel like it’s occupied by more.

Taking a deep breath, I stand, moving to the window. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Is it coincidental that I heard the word mine while I was in the shower? Did I accidentally flip to that page and subconsciously see it there in her typed print?

I have no clue, but as I stand by the window, I spot Phillipe walking down the gravel path toward the lit arbor. That’s when it hits me that I need to get away from here. However, if I do that, I will lose the story of a lifetime, but if I stay, I might end up losing something much more valuable, like my sanity.

Watching him closely, I notice he’s carrying something in his hand. He’s wearing a long dark coat, and his hair looks wet. Maybe he washed me from him as well. He stops in front of the bench, and he does something I never would have expected. He moves down to one knee and places a single red rose on it.

I can’t help but hold my breath as he reaches forward and traces his fingers over the inscription there. Love looks not with the eyes. Oh, how very appropriate that statement is, I think as I turn away from the heartbreaking moment.

Watching him down there, in what I can only guess is an apology of some sort, I realize I’m not only in danger of losing my sanity but my heart as well. That’s when it occurs to me that I want him, and I want him to be mine.

* * *

As Phillipe kneels before the bench and traces his fingers over the inscription, he closes his eyes and thinks of her. How very true these words—Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind—seem today, and so be it. He can’t see her anymore, but she’s the one constant on his mind, especially tonight. Tonight, he let her go for just a few moments, and she completely disappeared. She left him, and he let her slip away.

Now, he has to get her back though. He can hear her humming in his mind, and he can feel her all around him as he kneels there. In the place where she once found such peace, he offers up his apology.

How could I have abandoned us? Even in a moment of selfish pleasure, he always keeps her there, involving her somehow, but this time, he let her go. He failed her. Right on the heels of that self-deprecating thought, he reminds himself that she, too, failed him.

Placing the rose on the stone bench, he closes his eyes and utters a soft accusation. “You lied.”

He doesn’t expect an answer. He doesn’t understand his need to lash out, but it’s bubbling inside of him. He’s angry at himself, which in turn fills him with an undesirable urge to scream or hit something.

“You lied to me!” He loudly curses out again. “You told me never…” he criticizes.

He closes his eyes as pure anguish threatens to overwhelm him. He pictures her face the first day he took her down to the music room. He’s reminded of that moment of complete joy, an expression he’ll never see again, and it calms him, easing his anxious heart.