Chapter 45

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, my eyes blindfolded, as the car coasts to a stop.

“We’re here. You’ll see.”

“It’s not skiing, right? Because I haven’t recovered from yesterday.”

He laughs. The rich sound is something I’ll never get sick of. “No, it’s definitely not skiing.”

Yesterday, after the delicious Singapore style inspired spaghetti Maxwell made me—which he credited Mora with for having the patience to teach him how to cook—he whisked me off to a ski resort nestled in the Alps.

It was my first time, because I’d somehow lived almost twenty-five years without having skied before.

My legs felt like jelly, my butt probably bruised, but it was fun watching such a tall, imposing man on the bunny slopes with me, holding my hand and not letting go as I screeched and fell a thousand times.

A few little kids giggled when they saw him flat on his back, absorbing my fall, and he laughed and pelted them with snowballs.

He would make such a wonderful dad.

Tears threaten again, and I shift my thoughts away. A dark voice inside me can’t help but wonder if I’m holding him back. Ugh! Stop it, Belle. You’re a great person and he’s lucky to have you.

But still…

He’d be a wonderful dad.

I touch my empty womb and sigh. It’s a bottomless hole nothing can fill and something completely out of my control .

A brisk gale blows into the car as the door opens, and I hear Maxwell murmuring a few words in German to whoever is standing outside.

My thighs clench—listening to him speak foreign languages is like an aphrodisiac to me. Too bad I’m on my period still.

“Careful, little muse, watch your head.” He gently leads me out of the car and I step on to a soft surface.

He takes off my blindfold and I open my eyes and see…

Large empty fields blanketed by snow, the skeletal remains of plants poking out randomly from the slush.

I narrow my eyes and turn to my husband. “This is where you’re going to tell me you’re secretly a vampire or a serial killer and you’ve taken me here to dispose of me, right?”

Maxwell barks out a laugh, his eyes shining. “The things that come out of your mouth. God, I love it.”

He wraps his arm around me and leads me toward a building to the side. “And no, I’m not—I can’t believe I have to say this—a vampire or a serial killer. I’m here because I thought you might like to see how hemp and linen fabrics are made.”

My eyes widen. So, I can call this a work trip!

He murmurs, “See? Mr. Bad Influence is helping you out even though you didn’t ask for it.”

I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his jaw, thinking how he has been helping me all along, with his scribbles on my drawings, his large donation to BSUA. The man has been watching over me, my silent, brooding sentinel, knowing what I need without me ever needing to tell him. So what if he doesn’t tell me he loves me? Actions speak much louder than words.

Swallowing the lump suddenly forming in my throat, I whisper, “Thank you, Maxwell.”

He smiles softly, his fingers tenderly grazing my cheek.

“Austria is famous for their textiles. In the peak season, these fields would be filled with hemp and flax, and they would harvest them to produce fabrics. These two farms here are famous for their high-quality, environmentally friendly, organic textiles, which I know you care about.”

I beam, butterflies swooping in my stomach. This man has thought of everything.

We spend the next few hours with the managers of the farms, who walk us through the production process and show us swatches of fabrics. I pelt them with questions, asking if I could have specially made textiles that blend lighter fabrics with heavier fibers such as cotton, or if they can make double weave or thicker fabrics. I end up placing an order for a few bolts of custom fabric to be expedited to McKenzie’s.

There are so many options for my collection now.

By the time we leave the farms, it’s already five in the evening, dusk having settled in, the skies darkening to deep blue. He takes me back to the cabin, where a chef and his team of two assistants are bustling around the small kitchen, talking in rapid fire German.

“What’s going on?” I ask Maxwell as I shrug out of my winter coat.

“It’s our last night here,” he rasps. “I want to make it special for you.” His voice is deeper and threaded with melancholy.

My chest pinches and unease simmers in my gut.

It’s like he’s saying everything will change when we get back home.

“It already is special, Maxwell.”

He gives me a sad smile, his hand cupping my face before he leads me into the bathroom, turns on the shower, and slowly takes off my clothes.

The steam fogs up the room quickly, and he opens the shower door and ushers me inside. The hot water feels so good against my sore muscles, I can’t help but moan.

A few seconds later, Maxwell steps in and surrounds me with his masculine heat. My mouth waters as I stare at his hard muscles rippling with his movements, the water running down those indents like a scene from the movies. My gaze trails lower to the dark trimmed curls flanking his hard cock .

Biting my lip, I drag my gaze up and trace his scars with my fingers. I love every single one of them, just like how much I love this man in front of me. He hisses in pleasure before thrusting his cock toward me.

My pussy clenches and I wrap my hand around his hard shaft, relishing the guttural groan ripping from his mouth. My thumb swirls over the slit at the tip, finding it already wet with his pre-cum.

Looking up, I find his eyes intense and dark, his nostrils flaring.

“Maxwell, I’m on my period. It’s not a lot of blood when we’re in the shower, but…”

“I don’t care.” The words are rough, almost a growl. “Do you?”

My clit pulses at the possessive glint in his eyes, and I shake my head.

Without saying another word, he hauls me to him and wraps my legs around his waist as he steps under the shower. The hot water washes over us as his lips tangle with mine, his kiss tender, then rough, then smoldering, as if he can’t get enough.

Our tongues duel with each other as our moans reverberate in the small space. He slams me against the marble tiles, his hand trailing down my body and cupping between my legs. He trails kisses down my neck and over my collarbone before he captures my nipple and I moan.

My eyes flutter open at the pleasure that coils sharply inside me as his fingers swirl around my clit, flicking it, pinching it, and he’s doing the same with his mouth on my hard nipple, moving from one breast to the other, until the sensations become too unbearable and I shake against him.

He reaches for my neck and plays with my pulse, the slight pressure making me delirious with want as I throw my head back.

“You’re my everything ,” he rasps before biting my pulse point.

I scream as he punctuates the sentence with a thrust of his hips and enters me in one stroke.

The pleasure builds at a rapid speed, the sounds of him slamming against me mixing with my moans and his grunts.

“Oh God, I’m going to come, Maxwell. I’m going to come so hard,” I mewl, my legs tightening, clenching around his backside.

“Come for me, little muse,” he pants in my ear. His hips snap in a punishing rhythm, his labored breaths loud. “I’m so addicted to you. You’re my other half, the one I never knew I was searching for.”

His words burn through me, adding to the fire racing down my spine and gathered deep in my abdomen. I’m standing on the precipice, the pleasure so intense I feel like I’ll die if I don’t get relief.

He presses his lips against my ear, his voice dipping down to a low whisper, as if he’s afraid someone else might hear, even though it’s only the two of us.

“I-I love you, Belle, so damn much.”

My eyes snap open as I hear the words I’ve been craving.

He loves me. He loves me. He loves me.

Tears run down my cheeks, washed away by the water as my heart swells and multiplies in size, the joy and relief pushing me toward euphoria.

He loves me.

“I never knew love until I met you,” he whispers urgently, like we’re running out of time. He thrusts harder against me, but at this second, it feels like we are moving as one.

Those words. I feel like I’ve waited my entire life to hear them. We’re two halves finally reunited.

He crushes his lips to mine again, his finger traveling between us to flick my clit and I explode into a thousand pieces.

“Maxwell,” I cry, the blinding pleasure bathing my body as I melt in his arms, every inch of me belonging to this man who has stolen my heart, my soul…my everything.

He roars his release, his dick throbbing inside me as I feel the heat of his cum coating my insides, prolonging my high.

We move our bodies in unison, our lips tangling, our hands touching, molding, grabbing each other like we don’t want this connection to end.

As we slowly come down from our high, he tips my head back, his stormy eyes staring intently at mine .

“I love you, Belle. Always, now, and forever,” he whispers. “Please remember that. Everything I do is for you, and I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”

My heart swoops and falls, and a shiver travels up my spine. The words are an ancient melody I’ve heard of but can’t place, haunting and achingly beautiful and true.

“Please remember that,” he repeats, his voice hitching.

He holds me tightly to him, our hearts thudding in unison, and suddenly I’m gripped with fear.

Why does this feel like a goodbye?