Page 79 of Conception
We let our bodies do the talking.
Unfortunately, his body language doesn’t convey what I desperately long to hear. What I’m too terrified to say myself.
Morning comes far too quickly. If I thought I’d poured my entire soul into making love to Amelia the night before, she gets all my desperation this morning. In return, I get hers. We’re frantic, tearing at each other with intense need, knowing that this is our last time. Our last moments.
After this, our connection’s severed and there’s no going back.
I’m at home between her thighs. There’s unrelenting torment at the thought that I may never come here again. Experience this, her, again. Yet I can’t voice it. I don’t know how. And Amelia? She’s been silent since our bodies joined for the last time.
We linger in bed far longer than I should. I need to get to back to Nashville. Back to reality. A reality I’m not so sure I want anymore. At least, not alone.
Amelia’s the first to rise. The profound loss of her cuts me to the core. Acid burns low in my belly, and I struggle with what to say. I watch as she dresses in a pair of cotton shorts and a matching tank top, piling her thoroughly fucked hair up on the top of her head.
“Gonna miss waking up to this,” I admit.
She doesn’t look at me. Hell, her eyes roam around the room, glancing at everything except for me. She captures her lower lip, biting on it. Finally, her gaze lifts to mine and she gifts me with a smile and a wink. Seemingly unaffected.
That cuts deeper.
“Pretty sure you’ll forget all about me once you’re taking the reins in the boardroom,” she teases.
I’ve spent a summer basking in Amelia’s playful taunts.
Now, I despise it.
“Dad may be laid up, but it’ll be a cold day in hell when he actually hands over said reins.”
I instantly regret my words, feeling like a jackass because I still have my dad while she’s working through the trauma of losing hers.
Amelia’s face softens. She toys with the hem of her shirt then sets a knee on the bed. “You should probably get going. They’ll be waiting for you.”
It’s not even a cut anymore. A knife’s twisted in my gut. And my heart.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll put on some coffee for you to take on the road.”
“Right. Thanks.”
She’s out the door without another word. I’m disappointed when she doesn’t join me in the shower. I linger, hoping she’ll get the hint, but she never comes.
Guess she’s ready to bite the bullet and get this over with. Might as well give her what she wants.
By the time I’m dressed and have thrown my stuff into my duffel bag, Amelia has a travel coffee mug ready for me.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “How exactly am I s’posed to get this back to you?”
Her answering smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’ll figure it out,” she says with a wink.
Is she really as unaffected as she seems?
I can’t stick around to find out.
I grab my keys off the counter and head towards the front door. She’s on my heels, and we say nothing until we’re beside my car. I set the coffee inside and turn back to her.
Things feel awkward. Like we’re back in the beginning, unsure of what to say to each other. Fuck this.
I open my arms, and Amelia hesitates for a moment before she rushes into them. I press my face against her hair, breathing in her scent, committing it to memory. Sunshine and peaches and vanilla. Three more things to add to the list of items that’ll forever make me think of this woman.
