Page 46

William

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

"I want to leave. I won’t be able to eat now."

"You need to eat." Her lips press into a thin line, tension evident in every muscle.

"Don’t worry, William. Pregnant or not, I’ll take care of myself. If there is a baby inside me, it won’t be at risk."

"I’m worried about you, not the baby."

She doesn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the plate.

"Taylor, your conversation with my father just now . . .”

"I don’t want to talk about it."

"But I do."

"What for? Would you even believe me? I have more gaps than answers, and even though I know I never let him touch me, we will never have certainty. And even if I did, I doubt you would believe me. Now, please, take me home, or I will call a cab myself."

"You don’t need a cab. There’s a driver at your disposal. But tonight, I’m the one taking you home."

She remains silent for the entire drive, her eyes locked on the view outside. I stay lost in my own thoughts, trying to process what I just witnessed.

Did he keep her isolated?

It sounds insane. But if it isn’t true, why would she have confronted him like that—right in front of me?

The driver stops in front of her building, but before I can even open the door, she’s already stepping out, slipping away like sand through my fingers.

Maybe I should let her go, give her the space she clearly needs. But the sight of her walking away—even if it’s just to go home—unnerves me.

She could leave again.

Even if my father kept her trapped, he wasn’t the one who took her from here.

So why did she leave?

Maybe after some time with him, she changed her mind. Maybe she couldn’t stand being with a man so much older and that’s why he refused to let her go.

If she really lost her memory, maybe she buried what she did—running away with my father—somewhere deep in her subconscious, ashamed of her own actions.

The driver is about to pull away when I notice a man approaching her at the entrance.

I can’t see his face. His hoodie is pulled low, obscuring his features.

I’m out of the car in an instant, my pulse spiking, half-driven by concern, half by jealousy.

They both turn as I approach, but I still can’t make out the man’s face. With a brief nod, he says goodbye to Taylor and disappears into the night.

"Who is he?"

She exhales heavily, her frustration palpable. "I’m tired, William. If you want to start doubting me again, can you at least wait until tomorrow? Just let me go."

I step forward and cup her face in my hands.

We’re both shaking, and I know part of what I feel is anger—but not most of it.

"I will never be able to let you go."

Her eyes widen. "You don’t know what you’re saying."

"Maybe not. But I know this—you are mine, Taylor. You always have been."

I don’t give her time to protest. My mouth claims hers, taking everything I need, because holding her grounds me in a way nothing else ever has.

At first, she pushes me away. I know she’s furious. But soon enough, her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me in for more.

"Let me come up," I say.

"If you do, we’re going to?—"

“Yes. I’m going to fuck you all night long.”

She doesn’t say another word.

She steps away, turns her back to me—but just when I think she’s going to walk inside and leave me there, she glances over her shoulder and holds the door open.

"What floor?" I ask the instant we step inside.

"Second." She heads toward the elevator, but I spot the stairwell and make my decision. In one swift move, I lift her into my arms. As I climb the steps, I devour her mouth, each kiss hotter, more desperate than the last.

"Jackie?" I ask when we reach her door.

"She’s not coming home tonight. She texted me—she’s staying with L, the man you saw me with."

I set her down just long enough for her to unlock the door. The second we step inside, I shrug off my blazer, letting it fall to the floor.

Taylor starts undressing too, her eyes never leaving mine, and within moments, she’s standing before me—completely bare.

I’m still in my pants, my shirt and shoes discarded.

She takes a step forward, then lowers herself onto her knees. "I want to taste you," she whispers.

"That might not be a good idea, Taylor. You don’t know how hungry I am for you."

Her small hands reach for my belt. She fumbles with the buckle—maybe from nerves—but manages to undo it, then unfastens my pants and lowers the zipper. "I don’t know if I remember how to do this."

My control is hanging by a thread, and I realize then—this is a battle I will never win.

My desire for her will always overpower my reason.

"Trust your instincts," I murmur, caressing her cheek as I kick off the last of my clothes. "I have no doubt that once you wrap that pretty mouth around my cock, you’ll remember exactly how I filled you with my cum."

My words are rough—born of sheer need—but she doesn’t seem shocked.

She brings her lips close to the swollen head of my cock and runs her tongue over it, tasting my flesh, making me groan with desire. However, when she tries to take my thick shaft into her mouth, she pulls back, startled. "It won’t fit."

"It will. Suck slowly. Start with the tip and let me in."

She looks up at me and, like the witch she is, flicks her tongue, gathering the precum. "You taste good, salty. I want more," she says before licking me again and then sucking.

"Fuck! Open your mouth wider. Take as much as you can, baby."

She obeys, and soon enough, I’m sliding more than half of it between her soft lips.

I watch her tremble as she takes me in with hunger and desperation.

I push my hips forward, nearly burying myself entirely inside her, sliding deep, close to her throat.

She startles and pulls away. I grip her hair and thrust again, making her moan around my shaft.

"Just like that. Suck me good. Milk your man, Taylor. Use your tongue too."

My grip on her hair tightens, and I know that if I let her continue, I’ll come.

"I want your pussy. You can suck me again later if you want more. You’ll drink my cum, but right now, I need that tight pussy strangling me."

I lift her and lean her back against the nearest armchair. Using my legs, I spread her thighs, leaving her open for me in the most obscene way.

"Touch your clit. The first time won’t be gentle, and I want you to come with me."

She moans, and I see one of her hands slip between her legs, touching the soft curls of her pubic hair.

I slide one, then two fingers into her dripping channel.

She looks sinful and shameless.

I lower myself and taste her with my open mouth. "You taste incredible, Taylor."

She pushes herself against my face. I rise again, positioning myself between her thighs.

Gripping my cock, I rub it against her entrance. "Tell me you want me inside you."

"Only you, William. It will always be you."

"It’s always been you, Red."

The confession, unplanned, strips away the last of my control, and I thrust deep into her, sliding in until the head of my cock presses against the end of her tight channel.

She gasps, her nails digging into the back of the couch.

"Does it hurt?"

"You’re huge."

"I’ll fuck you slowly until you adjust to the position."

I lower myself without pulling out and kiss her spine. I tease her nipple until I feel her body relaxing around me. Only then do I start a slow, deep rhythm.

I’m dying to pound into her, but I won’t hurt her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. I want more."

I pull out and thrust back in, sinking deeper.

"Oh!"

She’s so tight that I fight the urge to take her hard, to give in to what my body craves.

Slowly, she starts moving with me, rolling her hips back against me.

I grip her waist with both hands and pick up the pace.

I alternate between deep and fast strokes, grinding my hips against her, and soon she’s screaming my name, begging to come.

We find our rhythm, and I feel the loss of control taking over both of us.

Each time I thrust into her, I take her harder, demanding her surrender.

We’re lost in desire, trapped in our own lust.

She starts to tremble, her body signaling that she’s about to climax.

I tease her clit while fucking her without pause, and within seconds, she’s coming undone.

I howl like an animal—triumphant, primal, and consumed by passion.

I keep fucking her for several more minutes until I finally give in, coming so hard it rips me from reality.

* * *

"Who was that man?" I ask when dawn is breaking.

Neither of us has slept, and we haven’t talked much either. Every time we woke from brief naps, I took her again.

Her expression darkens, and she tries to get out of bed.

"It was a simple question, Taylor."

"You think I have lovers, that’s why you asked."

"I’m insanely jealous of you, but that’s not why I’m asking. I want to know."

She sighs. "I don’t know his name. He’s a friend of Jackie’s. He was the one who rescued me from your father’s yacht."

Rescued.

She didn’t come back before because she couldn’t? Or did her mind create a defense mechanism, blocking the memories?

"I believe in your amnesia," I say, pulling her back onto my chest.

She rests her head against me, her fingers tracing slow patterns on my neck. "I won’t thank you for that. I told you from the start I didn’t remember anything."

Despite the tension between us, I manage a smile. "I’ve always liked the way you stand up to me," I admit.

"Always?"

"Yes. You never put up with my bullshit, my need for control."

"And yet, that never stopped you from trying to control me."

"It’s part of who I am."

"I don’t mind you being controlling, but I can’t handle your distrust, William. Nothing—not even a baby—would force me to stay by your side. If I’m here, it’s because I want to be with you. If you can’t trust me, not even a marriage of convenience, if it happens, will work."

She looks at me, waiting for a response. But instead of making a promise I’m not sure I can keep, I kiss her forehead and give her the only thing I can—my worship of her body.

* * *

Three weeks later

There are no deep conversations. In a silent agreement, we’ve left the past locked away in a dark room and focused on the present.

Taylor sleeps at my house almost every night. The intimacy we couldn’t share years ago is finally happening.

Every time she’s in my bed, I learn more about her body. But each morning she wakes in my arms, I glimpse more of her soul, too.

Not having all the answers still drives me crazy, but for now, I have enough to keep her with me because I know she was telling the truth—my father lied about them being together. He never touched her. Every time his name came up, she reacted with disgust, revulsion.

"I was thinking about playing for your patients too," she says, stepping out of the bathroom, gorgeous in a silk robe.

Though she agrees to spend nights with me—because I think, like me, she can’t resist—Taylor keeps her world separate from mine.

She never wears my robe, never acts at ease in my home.

At night, she’s my woman, moaning my name, coming on my cock. But when the sun rises, she withdraws again, refusing even to open the fridge on her own.

I don’t know how to change that. And the longer this goes on, the more anxious I get because soon, she’ll take the blood test to confirm whether she’s carrying my child.

It could have been done weeks ago, but we’ve both avoided it, knowing that the answer could mean our separation.

"What do you have in mind?" I ask, forcing myself to focus on something other than how the silk clings to her hard nipples like a second skin.

"I was thinking of splitting my week—two days with the kids, one with your patients."

"Or you could make it four—one with my patients, three with the kids." I stand up and lower my head to kiss her neck. "Or five," I add, biting her skin. "Three with the kids, one with my patients, and one naked, in my office."

She laughs, but then, as if remembering something, she steps back. "What we have might be temporary. I won’t shape my whole life around you, because if we end this one more time, I’ll be lost all over again."