Day 17

Adagio for Strings ~ Samuel Barber

Link: http://blindobsessionbook.com/adagio-for-strings/

Adagio for Strings is a piece I am familiar with. I remember watching it once on a tribute to 9/11, and ever since, it has moved me. Today, it once again moves me for different reasons.

During that evening by the river, we agreed to a few days of respite before making our way back to the chateau in complete silence. Consequently, I lie in my bed, unable to sleep for the rest of the night.

 Time doesn’t stand still though, and it is slowly creeping by. No matter how painful it might be, we need to move forward.

I make my way into the studio this morning to see Phillipe over by the window. That’s when I hear the weeping sounds of the violin. Stepping into the space I now ironically feel the most comfortable in, he turns, and as our eyes meet, the expression I receive is pained and tired. It’s almost the exact replica of mine.

“I want you to paint me,” I tell him as I step closer.

I’ve thought about this for the last few days. Running it through my mind, I have tried to figure out the best way to connect with him. Obviously, it isn’t by talking things out face to face, and it occurs to me that the most I have ever gotten out of him is when he’s painting me.

“Why?” he asks, shaking me from my thoughts.

As he moves closer, I notice that he’s dressed today in the usual black pants with my favorite hunter green sweater, and he looks devastating.

I find myself talking, just for something to do. “I think it gives me a better idea of who she was. This isn’t a question of me trusting you anymore. It’s to help me understand how you saw her.”

When he stops directly in front of me, I look up into his troubled eyes and beseech him, “I need to understand, Phillipe.”

Tilting his head to the side as though he’s studying me, his eyes narrow as he nods once.

“Okay, Gemma. Then, we start Rhapsody today.”

Immediately, I picture the image in my mind. I have been captivated by it since my first day here in the chateau, and it isn’t one that I am likely to ever forget. Then again, none of them are ones that I would ever lose sight of.

“This music is beautiful. Did she have a favorite?” I murmur.

He brushes by me and makes his way to the stereo, abruptly ending the melancholy piece.

“Yes, she did,” he explains, crouching down to remove the violin case. Looking over his shoulder, he reminds me softly, “You have to be naked, Gemma, so please take off your clothes.”

Swallowing my next question, I nod and start to unbutton my long-sleeved ivory blouse. Tugging it out of my pants, I keep my eyes on him as he moves to place the case on the desk.

The silence is starting to become suffocating, so I ask, “What piece was her favorite?”

His eyes rise to meet mine as he unlocks the latches of the case. I already know he isn’t going to tell me. When he looks away to pick up Diva from her resting place, I try to remind myself that he’ll tell me when he’s ready.

Removing my pants, I’m now left in my bra and panties. I reach back and unsnap my bra hooks as he walks toward me with the violin in his hand. Keeping my eyes on him, I remove the lacy fabric from my aching breasts, and as the cool air hits my skin, I feel my nipples harden. Raising my arm to the side, I drop it on the floor.

“Turn around,” he instructs.

His voice is so somber that I swear I can feel it stealing a part of me, saddening my heart. Silently, I turn away from him.

He orders quietly, “Remove your panties.”

I reach into the sides of the thin material and bend to push them down, realizing he has a perfect view of my naked ass—an ass he commented on only yesterday.

“Reach behind yourself with your left arm, Gemma.”

Slowly, I do as requested. Knowing he is going to place the violin in my hands, I’m nervous because I know how much this violin is worth, not only in the monetary sense but in the emotional one as well.

When I feel the wood, cool against my palm, I clutch it gently with one hand around the neck.

All of a sudden, his mouth is by my ear. “Very good. There’s just one more thing.”

As he walks away from me, my eyes are trained on the easel and covered piece of artwork still sitting on the opposite side of the room.

“What is that?” I ask, nodding in the direction of the easel. I wonder if he’ll tell me what he’s working on.

Instead of answering my question, he replies, “This.”

I feel the cool slide of paint on the left side of my lower back. I’m not sure if he’s intentionally avoiding my question or if he really does misunderstand me, but right now, I know he is adding F-holes to my skin. After the first one is complete, he switches to the right side, and I can feel the cool bristles of the brush as he paints the matching symbol.

“There.”

I look over my shoulder. “But there are no F-holes in this painting.”

Disturbed, clouded eyes rise to mine. “No, but there were on the model that posed for me. Now, you’re perfect.”

“But not her.”

 “No, you are definitely not her.” He pauses and licks his lower lip. Nodding slightly, he instructs, “Eyes forward, Gemma.”

Silently, I do as I’m told.

* * *

Phillipe stands behind his easel and looks over to the woman once again standing in the middle of his studio, gently holding Diva across her lovely left ass cheek.

The night down by the river was painful. There is no other way to describe it. In fact, he was ready to tell Gemma that the deal is off, so she should just go home. Taking her down there and telling her only parts of the story was so emotionally crippling that he can’t imagine how he’ll ever tell her the whole sordid tale.

When she arrived in his studio this morning and he turned to see her stepping through the door, something about her pulled at him. Maybe it is the expression on her face.

Yes, she looks tired. She probably didn’t get much more sleep than he had, but the sheer determination and look of understanding in her eyes now makes him realize that if anyone can tell this story the way it needs to be told then it’s going to be Gemma Harris.

* * *

“You look lovely like this,” he told Chantel.

From the middle of her spine, he traced a finger up her back to just below her hairline. As she dropped her head forward, he smiled slowly to himself as she let out a long sigh.

“You’ve been standing here for a little over an hour.” Reaching out, he squeezed her shoulders, massaging away some of the tension from them. “Maybe we should break.”

Chantel turned, and he connected with gray eyes that saw nothing, but that didn’t stop a sensuous smile from touching her lips.

“Maybe we should.”

Reaching for her left hand, he took the violin that had been covering her round bottom.

“Let me have this.”

He leaned to the side, placing it in the case lying open on the small empty desk, and then he was back. She still had her back to him, and her head was now tipped forward, leaving her elegant neck bare. Moving in close behind her naked body, he wrapped his arms around her waist and laid his lips at the top of her spine.

“Let me relax you.”

In response, Chantel let out a deep breath. “Yes.”

* * *

As he stands there now, looking at Gemma waiting before him nude and in pose, he wonders what she is thinking about while he focuses on someone else.

“What made you decide to paint her this way? Why did you name it Rhapsody?”

Well, there’s his answer. Ever the professional, Gemma’s always thinking of new things to ask him.

“Rhapsody,” he repeats, taking a minute to mull over the word. “Well, the definition I always liked for it is an ecstatic expression of feeling or enthusiasm.”

There’s complete silence while he runs the brush over the canvas.

“But the picture seems so still,” she mutters, more to herself than as a response to Phillipe.

“Yes, it does. Doesn’t it? It was what came after the painting was captured that inspired the name.”

* * *

Biting the gentle curve of her neck, he cupped her breasts and squeezed while she pushed her back against his chest. A piece she had recorded for him just the other day, Adagio for Strings, was playing. It was his favorite.

“Hmm, your breasts are the perfect size for my palms.”

She raised her hands to place them over his.

“Show me,” she moaned, entwining their fingers.

He nipped her neck and kissed her just below her ear before he started to move his right hand. Slowly, he slid their palms down her body.

“You have perfect breasts with smooth skin like satin. I could touch you all day and never grow tired of it.”

Their fingers traced her ribs and moved down over the gentle curve of her abdomen where he dipped his finger, flirting with the small indentation. Her breathing became more rapid as he gently squeezed her left breast.

“Show me where you want my hand,” he demanded, his voice dipping low. He was finding it difficult to even think. All the blood left in his brain was now making a speedy descent to his rapidly rising cock.

God, all she had to do was be in the room with him, and he became insane with lust. It was rare that they could be anywhere for less than thirty minutes before he’d have her stripped, naked, and beneath him. He’d decided that was exactly the way he liked her—screaming his name.

“Down here,” she sighed, directing his hand to her warm mound where she pulled his fingers between her thighs.

At the first feeling of moisture on his fingertips, he groaned in her ear and pressed his steel-hard erection against her naked ass.

“Take your clothes off, Phillipe,” she requested. “I want to feel your skin on mine.”

Releasing her hands, he stepped back, making quick work of removing his clothes, before he moved back. Standing so close to her, his cock immediately wedged itself into her enticing ass crack. Grinding against her, he wrapped his arms around her waist. With his left hand cupping her breast again, his right hand took hers and pulled it back down between her deliciously juicy thighs.

“Now, where were we? Here?” he asked.

He ran their index fingers through her soaked folds. Her head fell back on his shoulder as she widened her stance for him.

“Yes.” She sighed.

“Feel good?”

She moaned a little louder while he moved their fingers to play with her hard little clit. “Yes.”

“It’s so ripe and swollen, like a plump little berry.” He exhaled, letting out a deep breath. “I want to devour it before I push my tongue deep inside of you.”

Her eyes opened as she turned her head in his direction. As her mouth parted, a ragged breath escaping, he locked his eyes with hers even though he knew she saw nothing.

During moments just like this, he almost believed she saw everything, and that was when she told him something that almost brought him to his knees.

“I want your mouth wherever you want to put it.”

Taking her lips in a fierce kiss, Phillipe turned her in his arms and lifted her up against his hard thick shaft. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he walked over to the mattress under the window. Mouths still fused together, he stopped when his toes touched the base of their makeshift bed. Her tongue was twisting and flirting with his. Every time she pushed it deeper, she gripped his shoulders and pulled herself closer, rubbing her wet core against his cock.

His hands cupped her ass and tugged her closer. First putting a knee on the mattress, he slowly lowered them to the bed. Following her down, he never released her mouth from the hot tempestuous kiss she had him engaged in. When he was firmly pressed against her, he couldn’t help the drive to thrust into her. He flexed his hips, using the force to push into her hard, and then he pulled out of her, dragging his cock against her mound.

Finally, she leaned back from the kiss, licking her top lip. “Come up here.”