Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I wince at half-brother, the lie stinging more now that I know it’s false, but I don’t correct her. That’s a secret that will stay only mine for a while more. “Yeah, him,” I say, my fingers tracing the quilt’s hem. “His wife, Sara, invited me to stay with them for a bit, to heal or whatever. I thought he’d hate the idea, but he just texted, saying he’s on board. Wants me to come, to be… part of his family.”
“Great. That’s so incredibly kind of them. You should definitely go. Why are you hesitating?”
My chest tightens.
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s complicated. Being around them… will be hard. I don’t know if I can handle it.”
“Hard how?” Ellie presses, her tone softening. “Talk to me.”
I hesitate, the truth too dangerous to spill. “He’s… important to me,” I say carefully, skirting the edge of confession. “Seeing him brings up a lot of old memories. Sara’s so kind, and Jason is so sweet—it’s like they’re this perfect family, and I’m just… me. Alone. It hurts, Ellie.”
Her sigh crackles through the line. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. You’ve got me, and you’re stronger than you think. But if Max is offering support, maybe it’s worth considering. You don’t have to decide now, right? Just… take it one step at a time.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, but my heart’s racing, her words not quite reaching the chaos inside me. We talk a bit longer, her voice a steady anchor, but when we hang up, and I set the phone down, the silence rushes back, louder than before. My hands are trembling as I slide under the covers. I can’t chase away the thoughts of Max—his touch in the kitchen, the way his eyes held mine like I was the only thing in the world.
A restless heat thrums through my body, pooling low in my belly. A slow burn ignites every nerve and refuses to be ignored. My skin feels too tight, too warm, as if it’s straining to contain the ache that’s been building since Max’s touch in the kitchen.
I can’t fight it anymore, can’t outrun the need that’s restlessly clawing at me. My hand moves, hesitant and trembling as it slips beneath the soft waistband of my underwear, the cotton brushing my fingertips like a whispered dare. I have allowed myself this pleasure ever since he left town. The touch is tentative, a graze that sends a shiver up my spine, but as my mind locks on him—Max, not the boy from that summer but the man he is now—it grows bolder, more certain.
He is not my half-brother.
I picture him, vivid and consuming, his broad shoulders filling the space of my memory, his hard jaw shadowed with stubble that I imagine scraping against my skin. Those sapphire eyes, deep and piercing, see too much, stripping me bare even in my fantasies. My breath catches, a soft gasp in the quiet room. I imagine his hands on me—not the gentle, brotherly touch from today, but something fiercer, hungrier… from the past.
His fingers trace the curve of my hips, slow and deliberate, mapping every inch with a possessiveness that makes my pulse race. I see his lips, full and warm, pressing against my throat, his breath hot, sending sparks skittering down my spine. My fingers move faster, circling with a rhythm that matches the pounding of my heart, each touch a delicious pulse of pleasure that builds, tightens, coils.
His body presses to mine, hard and unyielding, the weight of him grounding me even as it sets me ablaze. His voice murmurs my name as only he can. ‘Amelia.’ Low and rough. The sound vibrates through me and settles deep in my core. My hips tilt upwards, seeking more, and the sheets rustling beneath me as I lose myself in him. Guilt hovers at the edge, a dark shadow whispering that this is still wrong.
He is married.
I just buried my father today.
But nothing can stop the fire, the reckless flame that pushes me higher, past shame, past reason. My fingers move faster, and a soft moan escapes, muffled as I turn my face into the pillow, the linen cool against my flushed cheek.
Pleasure twists through me, a current that surges with every stroke, every imagined touch of Max’s hands, his lips, his skin. I see him above me, his eyes locked on mine, dark with want, and my body arches, chasing the edge, the tension almost unbearable. My breath comes in shallow gasps as my free hand fists the quilt. The wave builds, crests, threatens to break.
His name spills from my lips, desperate and full of longing.
“Max, oh God, Max.”
The release crashes over me, swift and shattering, a surge that pulses through every nerve, leaving me trembling, gasping, my limbs heavy and liquid. My heart pounds, a wild drumbeat echoing his name, and I cling to the pillow that my face is buried in, as the aftershocks ripple through me.