Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
MAX
The taste of Amelia’s mouth—warm, sweet—burns on my tongue as I stride away from the kitchen, my bare feet pounding the hardwood, each step a lash of self-disgust. I behaved like a ravenous animal.
I would have taken her right there in the kitchen, where my son could have come upon me. Unforgivable.
My half-sister.
Oh God!
I would have fucked her. If not for her stopping me, I would have dishonored her.
Her gasp, “Max, no,” echoes in my skull. A knife twists in my gut. I think of her tears as a testament to the horror I’ve inflicted on us. I clench my fists, the sting of my nails in my palms a feeble penance for the sin I nearly committed.
I reach my bedroom and shut the door behind me, sealing myself in a darkness pierced only by the faint glow of moonlight seeping through the blinds.
I lean against the door, my chest heaving.
The king-sized bed looms, its white sheets rumpled from my earlier tossing.
Sara’s side is empty, her absence in Nebraska a hollow reminder of my failure as a husband.
Our marriage is a sham. It was a mistake to marry her.
And yet I can’t regret marrying her. She gave me Jason.
And he is the only good and pure thing in my life.
I walk to the bed and sit on it. Fuck. What a mess.
I bury my face in my hands, my breath ragged, my skin slick with sweat despite the cool air.
I’ve tainted her, the one person I’ve loved beyond reason, and the disgust is a vise, crushing my chest, making every breath a struggle.
Amelia must be horrified by this new violation.
I’m supposed to be her half-brother, her protector, not a predator who can’t control himself.
The image of her—eyes wide, tears streaming, pushing me away—sears me, a wound that I caused.
I try to sleep, to escape the living nightmare I find myself in, but of course, sleep is impossible.
I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling until my eyes burn.
The clock’s green digits mock me—3:42 a.m., then 4:15 a.m. My mind replays the kiss over and over again, her lips soft and yielding, her body pressed to mine.
I hate myself for the hunger that drove me to kiss her, for the way I wanted more, even knowing it’s wrong, sick, and forbidden.
She’s my half-sister, I repeat, but that mantra has lost any power it once had.
I imagine her in her room, curled up, trembling with fear, hating me, and the thought is unbearable, an agony sharper than any pain I feel.
I can’t leave it like this, can’t let her carry this alone.
I need to apologize, to face her, to ask for the forgiveness I don’t deserve, to promise it’ll never happen again, even if I doubt I can keep that vow.
I sit up. She’s probably asleep by now. If she is, then I’ll just leave.
I rise and make my way toward Amelia’s room, my heart pounding, a wild drumbeat of dread and need.
Her door is closed. There is no sliver of light underneath it.
I pause, my hand hovering over the knob, when a sound makes me stop—a soft moan, low and breathy, her voice calling my name, “Max…” My breath catches, my body freezing, every nerve alight with shock.
I nudge the door open, the hinges whispering, and step inside, the room bathed in silver, the drapes fluttering faintly in the night breeze.
Amelia’s on her bed, the quilt tangled around her legs, her gray tank top has rucked up, revealing the soft curve of her waist. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted, her hand moving beneath her cotton shorts, and she’s moaning my name, a sound that’s both a prayer and a curse.
My cock hardens, a painful ache, and I’m rooted, unable to look away, my self-disgust warring with a desire so fierce it blinds me.
She doesn’t hear me, lost in her pleasure, her body arching slightly, her breath quickening, and I know I should leave, should run from this sin, but I can’t, not when she’s calling for me, not when I’ve wanted her for so long.
My mouth opens of its own accord, and her name drops out. “Amelia.”
Her eyes snap open, a gasp tearing from her throat as she sees me, her hand stilling, her face flushing with shock and shame. She scrambles up, horrified.
“Max, what are you doing here?”
“Amelia,” I say, my voice raw, trembling, my eyes locked on hers, wide and glistening with panic. “You were calling my name.”
She freezes, her cheeks flaming. I step closer, the door clicking shut behind us, sealing us in this fragile, dangerous space.
“I came here to say I’m sorry,” I tell her. “But … tell me. Do you want me to apologize? Because it doesn’t seem like you do….”
She remains frozen in place and unable to move.
“I’m going mad, Amelia. I know it’s sick and wrong, but I want you. I’ve tried to stay away—I swear I have—but I just can’t. There’s no one for me but you. There never has been.”
Her eyes search mine, a storm of fear, desire, and something deeper.
“How can something that feels so right be wrong?” I ask, anguish in my voice.
And that is the moment she breaks, her resolve crumbling like ash. She spreads her legs then… only slightly, but never was an invitation clearer, or more compelling.
“Lock the door,” she says, her voice breathy.
I don’t think. Like a robot, I obey and turn back to her.
“I didn’t come,” she says, standing up. “Make me come. You’ve never ever failed to make me come.
Her words hang in the moonlit room, a soft, trembling confession that shatters the last strand of my restraint. My heart races, wild and primal, echoing in the silence.
I move toward her, my bare feet silent on the plush rug, each step a surrender to the pull that has always bound us.
Then… I’m before her. Close enough to feel the heat of her body.
I am like a hypnotized man. My hands tremble as I reach for her, hesitating, my fingers hovering over the hem of her tank top, the fabric soft and worn.
“Amelia,” I whisper, my voice raw, breaking on her name, a plea for permission, for absolution. Her eyes hold mine, a storm of trust and desire, and she nods, a small, almost imperceptible movement that unleashes me.
I lift her top slowly, my fingers grazing her skin, the fabric sliding up, revealing the soft curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts, her nipples hardening in the cool air.
I pull the material over her head, her blonde hair spilling free.
I watch it cascading in waves in the bluish light, and I memorize her, every inch.
A vision I’ve dreamed of for years. This is a dream.
Only a dream.
My lips find her collarbone in a soft, lingering kiss, tasting the salt of her skin, the faint pulse beneath, and she shudders.
A quiet gasp escapes her lips as I move lower, kissing the delicate skin between her breasts, my tongue tracing the curve, savoring her warmth, her softness, the sweetness that’s haunted me since our first kiss.
Her hands rest on my shoulders, her fingers digging in, a silent urging as I kiss every inch—her ribs, the dip of her navel, the tender inside of her elbow—each touch a worship, a reclamation of what was once mine. And only mine.
My fingers hook into her shorts, sliding them down with aching slowness, the cotton whispering against her thighs, pooling at her ankles.
She steps out, naked before me, her body a masterpiece of curves and shadows, the moonlight silvering her skin, highlighting the faint beauty spot on her left hip, the gentle swell of her belly.
Dear Lord, let not this dream end…
I kneel, my hands on her hips, steadying her, and kiss the soft skin above her sex, my lips lingering, my breath warm against her.
Her sweet smell fills my nostrils. It’s intoxicating.
The old memories rush back like an unstoppable torrent of water.
It drowns out the world. I forget everything but the taste of her.
She is everything—familiar, sweet, a fantasy made real. My heart races. I’m out of control. And there’s no going back.
"I’ve missed you,” I murmur, my voice rough, my lips brushing her skin, and she trembles, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.
“You left me,” she mutters.
It is like a red rag to a bull. I left? What else was I to do?
I stand and push her onto the bed. She bounces and gasps with surprise.
In a flash, I’m on top of her, my hands and knees on either side of her.
The mattress yields beneath us. She stares up at me ,her eyes dark with need, her hair fanning across the pillow.
I swoop down and cover her sex with my mouth.
My tongue finds her, tastes her sweetness, and the torrent consumes me.
She’s wet, slick, and familiar, a taste I’ve craved for years, and I moan against her, the vibration drawing a soft cry from her lips.
I lick her greedily, deeply, savoring every shudder, every hitch of her breath, my hands spreading her thighs wider, feeling the tension in her muscles, the way she arches into me.
Her sweetness is heady, a nectar I can’t get enough of.
Drunk with her taste, I tease her mercilessly, my tongue circling, dipping, drawing out her pleasure until she’s trembling, her moans growing louder, sharper.
Her cries intensify, a desperate edge to them, and I clap a hand over her mouth, gentle but firm, muffling her scream. Her eyes widen, meeting mine, and I see the trust, the surrender, as she bucks against my mouth, her body taut, her breath ragged against my palm.
I don’t stop, my tongue relentless, driving her higher, tasting every pulse, every wave, until she shatters, her body convulsing, her muffled cries vibrating against my hand.
I hold her through it, my lips soft, soothing, drinking her in.
Her sweetness is a memory I’ll carry forever.
She is a love I can’t deny, even as the guilt waits, a shadow at the edge.
I pull back, my breath heaving, and look at her—flushed, spent, her chest rising and falling, her eyes heavy with a mix of awe and shame. My heart aches, a love so fierce it hurts, and I know this moment, this sin, is ours, a secret we’ll carry to our grave.
Because this is a fire we can’t extinguish.