Free Blind Obsession by Ella Frank

of the most attractive, and yes, one of the most enigmatic artists.
    He is such a difficult man to get a handle on. One minute, he appears sad and reflective, almost alone in the world he now chooses to inhabit, and then in the blink of an eye, his demeanor changes, and he becomes a frustrated rigid shell of a man. Both sides are now becoming familiar , I thought, tracing my hands over the leather cover. I can understand his sadness and anguish in the face of all he has gone through.
    But what about the seductive side of Phillipe? He seems to slip into that side, using it to get his way. That is a potent force. It’s as natural to him as breathing. When he turns that force on me, there is not a hope in the world that I will be able to resist.
    When he kissed me this morning, every single thought I had got lost somewhere between my beating heart and my wet, throbbing sex that had started an insistent pulse between my legs. His strong arms felt sublime when he wrapped one around me while he used the other to stroke me to a splintering hot orgasm, without even undoing my pants. The man is sex—pure, unadulterated sex.
    However, unlike the flawless and almost reverent way he touched and worshiped Chantel, with me, he seems so capricious. I never know how he’ll react, which only makes the idea of posing for him in such an intimate way all the more daunting.
    ***
    Phillipe moves quietly around the studio, setting up the area he wants to use for the afternoon’s session. Down in the arbor this morning, he let his emotions get the better of him, and once again, he now found himself rethinking his actions.
    Touching Gemma in the seclusion of the garden felt right. She was warm, she was present, and he wanted her with a hunger he never thought he would feel again.
    What is it about her? Maybe the way she looks at me? Her mixture of wonder and fascination is tinged with a hint of fear. She appeared as though she wanted to touch him, but she thought she might get burned.
    Perhaps she is right. Maybe I will end up ruining her, too.
    Sighing, he makes his way over to the shelves where he keeps his paint and brushes. Pulling them down, he heads back toward the easel, and that’s when he spots Gemma by the door. Her eyes are watching him closely as he walks across the well-lit area.
    “It’s okay. You can come in,” he acknowledges, feeling like the wolf inviting Red Riding Hood into his den. Once upon a time…ha —yeah, well, once upon a time, he would have never viewed himself that way at all. It’s funny how things have changed.
    “I know,” she replies bravely, stepping inside.
    She’s clutching the worn leather journal. It’s ironic how it now seems like a safety blanket for her, yet to him, it represents a tragic nightmare.
    “I was just making sure you were finished setting up. I didn’t want to distract you.”
    Phillipe moves behind the easel, placing the items on the small table he situated beside it. He tilts his head, looking over her slowly. “Ahh, but you’re such a lovely distraction, Gemma. Why would I mind?”
    She doesn’t seem to have an answer for him, so she remains silent as she moves farther into the room to where the drop cloth is now spread out on the floor. When she reaches it, she turns back to face him.
    “Which painting do you want to do first?”
    Now, there is the million-dollar question , he thinks. Phillipe walks over to the lovely Gemma. She is holding herself rigid. She no longer resembles the woman he held this morning when she came with such intense passion.
    “Well, first…” He pauses, reaching out to take the journal.
    She lets it go reluctantly before she clasps her hands again in front of herself.
    “First, you have to relax, Gemma.”
    “Was she relaxed your first time?”
    Phillipe stops on his way to the desk where he is going to put the journal down. He looks over his shoulder at the bold journalist. He can tell she is bracing for his answer, so he lets his eyes travel