Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
MAX
The city’s lights rush past the car window, a kaleidoscope of neon and glass that does nothing to calm the restlessness in my chest. The drive home feels longer tonight, each mile stretching as my mind churns over Amelia—her presence in my house, her smile at lunch, the way her cautious eyes caught mine and held, like a hook I can’t shake off.
She’s under my skin, a fire impossible to douse.
The thought of seeing her again at dinner sends a thrill through me.
Gripping the steering wheel so hard, my knuckles go white, I focus on the road.
By the time I pull into the driveway, the house is glowing with lights under the dusk sky. I step inside, the air warm and scented with roasted garlic and thyme, but quiet. I loosen my tie, my shoulders tight from a day of meetings I barely participated in.
“I’m home,” I call, my voice echoing off the polished hardwood.
Sara’s head pokes out from the kitchen, her blonde hair swinging around her face.
“What perfect timing,” she says, her smile bright, wiping her hands on a dish towel, and coming forward. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
I nod, scanning the space, my pulse ticking up. “Where’s Amelia?” The question slips out, too quick, too eager, and I curse myself for it, hoping Sara doesn’t notice.
She shrugs. “She’s tired. She said she’d eat in her studio tonight. It’s been a big day for her.”
Disappointment stabs into me, sharp and unexpected, but I mask it with a smile.
“Sure, makes sense.” I move past her, toward the dining room, and the weight of Amelia’s absence settles like a stone in my gut.
The table is set for three. Jason is already seated, his small hands folded, his solemn eyes lighting up when he sees me.
“Hey, Dad!” he chirps, and I smile, ruffling his dark curls.
“How’s your day been, buddy?” I ask, taking my place at the head of the table.
He tells me about his school project, his words tumbling quickly over each other, and I nod solicitously, but I’m only half-listening, my mind drifting to the studio upstairs, to Amelia alone with her paints and her grief.
Sara joins us, and Jason falls silent. Maria serves the food.
Roasted lamb with mint sauce, creamed potatoes, and steamed asparagus glistening with butter.
When Maria leaves, Sara’s chatter fills the silence—something about Jason’s teacher, a neighbor’s new dog.
I eat mechanically, the lamb tender, the asparagus just right, but it’s tasteless, my thoughts locked on the woman who’s not here.
When dinner is over, I feel relieved, eager to escape the wall of inane gossip that I have never found interesting.
Jason and I play a video game, then I read to him and tuck him into bed before going down to the swimming pool. Twenty laps later, I feel sufficiently tired to go to bed.
After a quick shower, I enter our bedroom.
Sara’s in her nightgown, a soft blue silk that makes her skin glow.
She is sitting in front of her vanity, rubbing night cream into her skin.
Her movements are languorous and sensuous.
She watches me in the mirror, her expression serene and untroubled as she picks up her hairbrush and starts brushing her hair.
“I’m taking Amelia to my hairdresser tomorrow,” she says softly, “then we’re going shopping for clothes and shoes.
I think it’ll be good for her to feel pampered, and you know, to revamp her wardrobe, her clothes are a bit plain and old-fashioned. ”
Her words hit like a spark on dry tinder, and I can’t stop myself. Fury flares, hot and sudden, my hands freezing on the doorknob. “Leave her alone, Sara,” I snap, my voice low, venomous. “She’s fine just as she is.”
Sara turns, her brush pausing mid-stroke, her eyes wide with surprise.
Sara turns on her stool and stares at me, her confusion palpable.
I know my outburst is rare, a crack in the calm I’ve always shown her.
She’s used to my silence, my indifference, but I can’t explain the reason for my lack of self-control without betraying the truth I’m barely holding back, but I hate how she makes me feel like I’ve struck her.
“I wasn’t unsubtle or cruel to her,” she says softly. “She was happy about it.”
I turn away, my jaw clenched tight. My chest is a furnace. The idea of Sara reshaping Amelia—her hair, her clothes, her essence—igniting a possessiveness I can’t justify. Amelia is perfect, her raw beauty a light I don’t want touched, not by Sara, not by anyone.
Sara sets the brush down, her movements slow, and crosses over to me, her hand resting lightly on my arm.
“I won’t take her if you don’t want me to. I’ll tell—”
“No, take her if she wants to go,” I cut her off.
“Max, come to bed,” she says, her voice lower now, a hint of something I haven’t heard in years.
Her fingers slide up, grazing my chest, and I realize, startled, that she’s trying to initiate sex.
We haven’t touched each other like this in—God, years, our marriage is a quiet arrangement of roles, not passion.
I get peace and quiet to build my empire, and she gets to play house and shop till she drops.
We are both allowed to indulge in discreet affairs, and I believe she has strayed a few times in the past, but I never have.
No one has tempted me… until now. I step back, my body rigid, her touch foreign, utterly unwanted.
“I’ve got work to finish up,” I say, my voice flat. “I’ll be in the study.”
I don’t look at her as I turn away and leave, closing the bedroom door behind me with a firm click.
The hallway is dim, the air heavy with the scent of wood polish.
I take the long route and end up outside Amelia’s studio.
I didn’t mean to disturb, but the door is slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling out.
My heart pounds, a reckless pull urging me closer.
My hand moves of its own volition. In a hypnotic daze, I nudge the door open, just enough to see her.
She’s at the easel, her back to me, her blonde hair loose, catching the lamplight like spun gold.
Her hand moves, the brush stroking the canvas.
I’m transfixed, watching the curve of her shoulder, the way her body gently sways with each stroke.
She’s totally unaware of me, lost in her world.
The sight is a knife to my chest—beautiful, untouchable.
She can never ever be mine.
I tear my eyes away. My hand trembles with the force of restraint I’m applying to myself.
I move my head back. My breath is uneven as I quickly walk to my study.
There is a lot to be done, given my distraction from today, so I will drown myself in work.
The hours pass unnoticed, and I work with determination until I’m too drowsy to continue.
With a sigh, I shut my laptop and return to the bedroom.
This time I don’t take the long route. I can see from my window that Amelia’s studio lights are switched off.
She’s probably long gone to bed. Sara is fast asleep.
Gently closing the bedroom door, I head to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
The shower is my sanctuary, a place where I can let the world dissolve and be true to myself.
I crank the faucet to scalding, steam curling thick and heavy, fogging the glass door as I strip off my clothes, and I step under the spray.
The water hammers my skin, hot and stinging on my shoulders and chest, but it doesn’t sear away the thoughts consuming me.
Nothing can do that.
Amelia strolls into my head. Sure, it’s wrong, but only in the outside world.
This is my world. And Amelia and I are not wrong.
We were born to be with each other. I love her.
I loved her when I didn’t know she was my half-sister, and I loved her after I knew.
Nothing can change the way I feel about her.
There’s never been anybody else for me but her.
Her lovely green eyes lock onto mine, cutting through every wall I’ve ever built.
Her full lips, soft and pink, part into that shy smile from when we first met.
But her body is all grown up now. A delicious woman’s body.
The curve of her hips in those jeans she wore at lunch, a sway that’s haunted me all day.
My cock stirs instantly, hardening with an ache that’s all too familiar, a need I’ve fought and lost too many times.
I can’t actually, I won’t resist it tonight, not after watching her paint.
Lost to me, her body a quiet dance of grace that set me ablaze.
My hand moves, wraps around my cock, and a low groan rumbles unguarded from my throat.
The veins along my shaft pulse under my grip, hot and rigid, each one a map of the frustration living inside me.
I stroke slowly at first, my thumb grazing the sensitive tip, sending a jolt of pleasure up my spine.
My other hand braces against the tile as the heat builds, a fire stoked by her memory.
She undresses as she walks toward me. This is Amelia, the woman I want, the one I’ve always wanted.
She goes to lie on a silk bed. I see her vividly, her blonde hair spilling across a pillow, her green eyes dark with want.
Slowly, she opens her long legs and offers her sweet pussy to me.
Then her body is under me, her skin warm and soft, her moans filling the air, low and desperate. My strokes quicken, my grip tightening, the rhythm urgent now, matching the pounding of my heart.
I kiss her, tasting her lips, sweet and yielding, a hunger that mirrors mine.
My mouth moves, sucking her breasts, her nipples hard against my tongue, her gasps sharp and needy.
My hands grab her ass, pulling her close, my lips trailing down, down, until I’m between her thighs, eating her sex, her taste flooding me, driving me wild.
I want to make her cream, make her scream my name, her nails digging into my back as she arches, lost in the pleasure I give her.
The fantasy is so vivid that heat coils tight in my core.
I’m nearly there. My hand moves faster, the veins in my cock throbbing.
This is all I’ll ever have—imagery, shadows, a forbidden desire I can’t have.
My groans grow hoarse, and I bite my lip to muffle them, the water drowning out the sound as I chase the climax.
The release hits hard, a white-hot wave that crashes through me, the pleasure so intense it buckles my knees.
I brace against the tile, my legs unsteady, a guttural moan tearing from my throat, muffled by the pounding spray, but her name is a silent scream in my chest—Amelia, Oh Amelia, Oh my love.
My heart is a wild drumbeat echoing her name.
I switch off the shower and the sudden silence is deafening.
I lean my forehead against the cool tile and listen to the sound of my labored breathing.
My body is spent, but guilt is seeping into me, heavy and cold, like the water now trickling down my back.
Slowly, stiffly, like an old man, I move away and towel off. I catch my reflection in the fogged mirror; my eyes are dark, haunted by the harsh truth.
I’m in love with a woman I can never have.