Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
AMELIA
About an hour later, the breakfast plates and dishes have been cleared, and the kitchen returned to its gleaming state.
The sweet tang of berries and cinnamon lingers on my tongue as I steal a glance at Max across the breakfast table.
His sparkling eyes catch mine, a spark of mischief beneath the warmth, and my heart skips, a reckless beat that hasn’t slowed since he kissed me awake.
Jason’s chatter fills the air, his small voice bright as he describes something he learned about dinosaurs and how they hunted.
His gray eyes are wide with wonder. I smile and nod at how animated he is, but Max’s presence is a current, pulling me under, making every nerve tingle with anticipation.
We were at it all night long, but already I’m greedy for more, my body craving his touch like air.
Max yawns and stretches, his black T-shirt pulling across his chest. He ruffles Jason’s curls. “Buddy, why don’t you go play games for a little while? You’d like that, right?”
“Heck yeah!” Jason yells.
I can’t help my laughter.
“Go on, and I’ll come up and check on you in a bit,” Max tells him. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge, a hunger I recognize, and my pulse quickens.
Jason nods happily and hops off his chair, his footsteps pattering toward the den. And just like that, we’re left alone in the sunlit dining room, the chandelier casting soft prisms across the walnut table.
Max’s eyes lock onto mine, a smoldering intensity that makes my pulse stutter, my skin prickling under his scrutiny. I’m hyper-aware of him—his black T-shirt clinging to his chest, the faint stubble shadowing his jaw, the memory of his body pressed tight against mine last night.
The fire hasn’t cooled even slightly since the day I laid eyes on him.
Reckless. I feel wildly reckless.
My toes curl as Max leans back in his chair, his movements deliberate, a predator’s grace. The mood in the room has already shifted, like the air before a storm.
“As for you, young lady. You have some unfinished business to attend to,” he says, his voice low, rough, a caress that sends a shiver down my spine. “Come upstairs with me.” It’s not a question, or a plea for my consent, but a shimmering promise.
My heart races, a wild drumbeat I can’t silence.
I nod, my throat tight, and stand, between my thighs, I’m soaking wet. My old tank top is suddenly too thin, too revealing under his stare. He rises, his hand grazing the small of my back as he guides me through the dining room, the touch light but possessive, sparking electricity across my skin.
We move quietly through the house and soon reach my room.
He locks the door and turns to me, his eyes dark, hungry, and steps closer. His strong hands frame my face, and his thumbs brush my cheeks. “We’ve been together all night,” he murmurs, his voice raw, trembling with need, “yet I still want you so bad it’s driving me fucking crazy.”
His words ignite me, a fire that consumes every thought, and I gasp, my hands gripping his wrists, anchoring myself to him.
His lips crash into mine, a ravenous kiss that steals my breath, his tongue sweeping deep, claiming me with a desperation that mirrors my own.
I melt into him, my body alive, electric, my fingers digging into his shirt, pulling him closer.
He tugs my tank top over my head, the fabric whispering to the floor, and his hands are everywhere—my waist, my breasts, his thumbs brushing my nipples, hard and aching, drawing a moan from my lips.
My shorts follow, pooling at my ankles, and I’m naked, my skin flushed under his gaze, his eyes tracing every curve like I’m the only thing that exists.
“Let’s take a shower together,” he says quietly.
I laugh. “You’ve already showered.”
“You haven’t,” he says. “Plus, I’m counting on the water to drown out all the screaming that’s about to ensue.”
He doesn’t need to say any more to convince me. I follow him willingly as he pulls me toward the en-suite bathroom.
“Strip,” he orders, as he discards his T-shirt and jeans, and with his cock rigid and pulsing, he moves towards the shower stall.
I undress and watch as he cranks the shower, and steam curls thick around us, fogging the glass. As my panties drop, he pulls me under the spray. The hot water stings my skin in sharp contrast to the cool tile he presses me against.
Max’s lips press against my neck, warm and firm, sucking gently at the pulse racing beneath my skin. His stubble grazes me, a rough, tingling scrape that makes my breath catch, my head tilting back to give him more.
“I just can’t get enough of you,” he groans, his voice raw, low, vibrating through me.
It’s like a match to kindling, my body ignites under his words, his need. His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in, strong and sure, and he lifts me.
“Push your pussy into me. I want to feel your heat.”
My legs wrap around his waist, and my thighs squeeze tight as I arch into him.
My open sex sticks to his stomach. He bounces me up and down, rubbing my sex against his stomach.
I moan softly with the delicious sensation.
Then he lowers me and I feel him—hard, ready, his cock throbbing against me, sending a jolt of fierce need straight through my core.
His eyes lock on mine. For a second, time hangs suspended.
Water sluices over our bodies. He enters me with a sudden, brutal thrust that stretches me and completely fills me.
The sensation is so intense, my gasp of shock fills the fogged glass enclosure.
He pauses, buried deep, his breath hot and uneven against my ear, letting me feel his thickness, the urgent pulse of him inside me.
His eyes never leave mine. It’s raw, overwhelming, the swift wet slide of him into me, his eyes watching me intently like a hawk watching its prey, and his large cock boldly claiming every inch of me.
It’s intimate, unguarded, like we’re the only two people left in the world.
All I want is to be his with every fiber of my being.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks.
My nails dig into his shoulders. “No, it felt good.”
With that, he pushes himself so deeply into me that my eyes roll to the back of my head.
His hand moves to my breast, cupping it, his thumb brushing my sensitive nipple, sending a spark straight to my core.
I whimper, my body arching, pressing into his touch, greedy for more.
He thrusts again, violently. My mouth opens.
This is new. This is the grown-up Max. And I like it.
“Never let me go,” I beg. I’m trembling with anticipation.
He growls. “Never.”
It’s a lie. It can never be anything but a lie, but I feel a lump in my throat. I love him. He is my warrior, my mate.
He fucks me then, hard and merciless, and my hips rock up to meet his, chasing the pleasure he’s pulling from me.
The raw primal intimacy of it—his body in mine, his hands knowing every curve—undoing me.
I understand what is going on. We’re not like other lovers.
We haven’t got the time to say no rush, no fear of being caught.
These stolen moments are all we’ve got, and he’s taking them, every gasp, every shudder, fucking me like there’s no tomorrow, because this, sadly, is all we’ll ever have.
My moans rise, muffled against his neck, my teeth grazing his skin to keep from screaming. The water pounds us, and I cling to him, my heart beating like a caged bird with a joy so fierce it scares me.
The pleasure coils, tight and burning. My body becomes as taut as a pulled bow, my breath shallow. “Max,” I gasp, my voice breaking, and he thrusts harder, deeper, pushing me over the edge.
I shatter, my orgasm crashing through me, my body convulsing wildly, my cries muffled against his shoulder.
He follows, a low groan vibrating against me, his cock pulsing inside me, his release a flood that binds us.
The moment of madness and love leaves me trembling, sated, my heart singing with a contentment I haven’t felt in years.
Neither of us moves. We stay in place, panting, the water beating onto us. He presses his forehead to mine, our breath mingling, and then he kisses me. It is soft and lingering, a tenderness that cracks my heart open.
“I love you, Amelia,” he whispers, his voice raw. “I always will. There never has been and never will be anyone else for me.”
I nod, tears pricking my eyes, unable to say it back. I love him too. More than he will ever know, but I need to leave myself a way out of this, whole and without it breaking me into pieces.
He shuts off the water. The silence is sudden, almost deafening.
He grasps a towel from the rail and wraps it around me, his hands gentle and reverent.
He towels my hair, his fingers combing through the wet strands, and it is a care that feels like a vow.
I watch him mutely, my chest aching with love, with fear.
Afterwards, he moves onto his own body, and I can’t help but watch him dry his powerful body.
Unable to help myself, I go over to help him recall several memories just like this when we were younger and sneaking around.
The tension remains because years later this is still heartbreakingly the case.
We still have to sneak around like sinners to share our hearts.
As we return to the bedroom, his phone begins to ring. I jump with dread. What if it is Sara calling him? I watch him through the mirror nervously.
He answers and listens. I watch as his expression darkens and then in the end he responds in a resigned voice. “Alright, I’ll be in soon, but I’m not staying long.”
The call comes to an end, and he gets up from the bed.
"I'm sorry, baby.” He comes over, and there is a flicker of regret in his eyes. “Something important has come up and I have to go into the office, but I’ll be back before you know it.”
I nod, forcing a smile, my throat tight. “It’s okay,” I say, my voice soft, though my heart clenches, already missing him. “Go. I’ll be here…painting.”
He kisses me again, quick but deep, his lips lingering. And then he heads out the door. My whole body hums, and I relish the emotions that are so intense they leave me feeling like I am floating.