Page 59 of Taboo
“Max,” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep, with love.
Hearing her say my name breaks me, it’s like I’m her everything. Her hand reaches back, tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, and I kiss her deeply, my tongue tracing hers, tasting the sweetness of her.
“I need you,” I rasp against her lips, my voice cracking. And it’s no lie. I need to be one with her again. Perhaps for the last time.
She nods, her eyes glistening, tears already pooling, mirroring the ache in my chest.
I slide into her, slow and deliberate, the stretch of her around me a sweet, perfect torture. She exhales, a soft, breathy sound, and her body arches back and presses into me. I thrust deeper, gentle, savoring every inch, every pulse. Her warmth envelops me, tight, wet, and I groan, low, my lips on her neck, sucking softly, tasting her pulse.
“I love you,” I growl, my hand sliding up her stomach, cupping her breast, thumb brushing her hard nipple.
She doesn’t say I love you back, but she makes a choking sound, her hand gripping mine, nails digging in, pulling us together.
We move slowly. It’s sweet, but each thrust feels like a goodbye. Her hips rock back, meeting me, her breaths shallow, ragged, and I feel her tightening, her body trembling with every slide of my cock.
“You feel so good,” I whisper, lips grazing her ear, my voice thick with love, with grief. “So fucking perfect.”
She turns her head, her lips finding mine, kissing me deep, swallowing my groans, our breaths mingling, hot and uneven. Tears slip down her cheeks, wet against my skin, and I taste them, salty, raw.
“Don’t cry, my love,” I rasp, even as my own eyes burn. Tears spill down my face and splash onto her skin as I thrust deeper.
“Please, Max… don’t cry. Everything will be fine,” she sobs, voice breaking, her hand clutching my arm.
My hand slides down, fingers finding her clit, stroking, matching our rhythm, and she shudders, her cry rising, sweet, desperate, a melody that fills the room. I’m lost in her, in the way she suffers, the way she loves me, and I want to stay here, in this bed, in this moment, forever.
“I’ll always love you,” I murmur, voice cracked, my forehead pressed to hers, our breaths shared, ragged. “Till the day I die.”
Her eyes meet mine. They are brimming over with tears, with love. She nods, unable to speak, her body trembling as a surprised look comes into her face. Her mouth opens in an astonished gasp as she forgets her pain and gives over to pleasure.
She climaxes.
Her tightness pulses around me, a wave that pulls me under. I follow, a low groan tearing from my throat, my release flooding her, warm, binding us in this final, shattering moment. We hold each other, panting, tears streaming, her face buried in my neck, my arms fierce around her, unwilling to let go.
But the light brightens, cruel and relentless, and I know I have to move. The staff will be back soon, and I can’t be here, caught in her bed. Her arms fall away. She looks at me with dead eyes. I kiss her cheeks, her forehead, her mouth, soft and lingering, and then I slide out of her. The loss of her warmth is a physical ache.
“I have to go,” I whisper, voice rough.
“I know,” she murmurs, dry-eyed. Her body is limp and without energy.
I dress quickly, pulling on my jeans and a T-shirt. I glance back at her, her eyes glistening, watching me. “Max,” she says, voice trembling, “be safe today.”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak. I want to lean down and kiss her one last time, but I don’t.
“You too,” I call softly, forcing myself to the door. The door clicks shut behind me, and I’m alone, the hallway dim, the air filled with loss and emptiness.
In my own bedroom, the bed is cold and untouched. Sara’s side is a stark reminder that she’s coming. I collapse on the bed, and stare at the ceiling. My chest feels hollow. The loss of Amelia is unimaginable, worse than anything I’ve felt, worse than that night fourteen years ago when her father tore us apart.
My hands rake through my hair, tugging hard, as if pain could drown my grief.
I can’t go to work today, that’s for sure. There is no way that I can face the glass walls and droning voices. Activity. Activity is what I need. I jump into the shower and get ready for the day. Grabbing my laptop, I head over to my office downstairs. I try my best to focus, but despite how hard I try, the emails on the screen blur, and the numbers seem meaningless. Without her everything is meaningless.
I’m fucking unraveling, thread by thread.
Sara should be back this afternoon. I told the driver to pick her up from the airport. My mind returns to Amelia. I wonder what she is doing now that her painting is complete. Perhaps I shouldn’t have left her alone, but I don’t want to make it more difficult than it needs to be when she meets Sara. A knock shatters the silence. It’s sharp and jarring, and my heart flares with hope. It’s Amelia. It can only be Amelia at this time of the morning.
“Come in,” I call. My voice is rough as I try to steady myself, but when the door opens, it’s Sara. She’s early. Her hair is sweptback as usual, and her eyes are friendly but guarded. The sight of her is like a punch, reality crashing in.
“Hey,” she says with a smile. Her voice is light and practiced, but there’s a strain in it, a distance we’ve perfected over the years. She steps inside, her heels clicking on the hardwood, and sets her purse on the desk.
