Chapter 9
the ninth chapter
AMOS
Water from the shower head flows down my back, one arm flat on the fogged glass.
Being inside Marco is a new kind of ecstasy, one that surpasses every naughty thought I’ve entertained since we met. I thrust into him, the wet slap of our bodies heightening my arousal. He leans back against the wall, one foot raised next to the door.
No more restraint.
“I need that cock,” he begs. “I've been aching for it all week.”
I let him have it.
“That's a lie,” he moans. “I’ve wanted you since the launch setup.”
“When you were being all stiff and tight?”
I emphasise that final word with my hips.
“I've been wanting you inside me since you undid that cuff.”
“So naughty,” I tease. “Lusting after an innocent client.”
“Innocent?”
He mouths the word silently, a devilish grin on his face.
Holding him close, I ease the rhythm.
Deep and primal, riding the wave together.
His eyes are closed.
“God, yes. Fuck me slow like that.”
The hunger in his voice will echo sweetly in my mind for days to come.
His naked body in the steam.
The way our hips writhe as I ravage him.
Pulling out before we reach the edge, I run a feather light thumb along the rim.
“Ohhh…”
A low throaty moan.
Marco tilts his head back as I let my mouth and hands work their magic, cum spilling over my fist.
The cream on my tongue makes me yearn with even more intensity.
The way his body tenses, breath suspended as he reaches climax.
That moment he lets himself tip, fingers clawing between my shoulder blades.
I cradle him as he quakes.
The muffled sound of his orgasm is sweet music to my ears.
An unquenchable addiction, a sound that I will thirst for from now on.
And knowing that I’ve been the cause of it?
That’s an incomparable high.
“I'm not done with you,” he says. “Just give me a second.”
I trace along his jaw with light kisses.
“You're sexy as fuck when you lose control,” I whisper.
“I can't help it,” he laughs. “When you're railing me under the water, my body just…”
“I swear, hearing you unravel like that will be the end of me.”
“Then I guess we should stay fully clothed at all times.”
“As if that would stop us.”
A cloud of heat coats the mirror.
His arms curl around my shoulders, lips soft and unhurried.
The tenderness between us weaves alongside raw unbridled passion from minutes ago.
But the fire soon reignites.
“I want you on the edge of the bed, just like before,” he commands.
“Insatiable, aren't ya?”
We scoop a handful of towels from the heated rack and throw them on the bed, then another on the floor.
My body is slick from the steam, hair dripping down the nape of my neck.
I rake a hand through it, then sit on the edge of the mattress to relieve my hunger a little.
I wanna come so desperately.
Not until I say.
His words echo in my mind.
Ignoring that request, my fist pumps up and down.
Rebellion feels impossibly good, especially with an audience.
Marco stands in the doorway, lips parting slightly as he watches me play.
“If you keep doing that, the neighbours aren’t getting any sleep tonight. You're already making me hard again.”
“Tell me to stop, then,” I dare. “Bet you won't.”
And for a while, he doesn’t.
He simply takes it in.
When he lays next to me, I can hear his breath deepen.
The anticipation of pleasure holds us both in a trance.
“Get on your stomach.”
His voice is barely a whisper.
But it still carries an air of authority that makes me simper.
“Bring your hips right over the side.”
I shift back until I feel a steady palm beneath my scrotum.
“That's it. Keep touching yourself while I have my way with you.”
Arms braced on the mattress, he eyes the claw marks he made in the shower.
“Looks like we got a little heated in there.”
He plants a soothing kiss to ease the sting.
“That was just a warm up,” I smile. “Now fuck me good.”
◆◆◆
Dawn crests from the other side of the river, a gentle veil of gold draping over the city.
I wake to an unfamiliar ceiling.
Someone else's pillow.
Luxury cotton sheets.
The man I’m undeniably smitten with lays nestled in my arms.
Our naked bodies are a reminder of all that has unfolded.
I close my eyes again, joy untamed.
I’ve never been more grateful that Monday's tattoo clients won’t start arriving until two this afternoon. I
t’s an unspoken thing between me and Vonnie.
Mondays are better when halved.
No morning madness.
An extension of the weekend.
We often schedule one or two evening sessions to make up for it.
Drifting back into dream land, I feel happier than I’ve been in a really long time.
Marco doesn’t believe in Mondays either.
For event planners and hospitality staff, this day is sacred.
A Sabbath of sorts.
His late morning yawn is followed by a twist and a stretch.
He turns to face me, eyes aglow as he recalls our wild, intimate night.
I press a kiss against his wrist, then another on his shoulder.
“So... that happened,” I say, rolling onto my stomach.
“It certainly did,” he smiles.
We spend the next few hours no more than arm's width away from each other.
Coffee and warm pastries from James Street.
A leisurely stroll through the park.
“I wish you didn't have to go to work.”
His sigh embodies how we both felt about being apart.
“I'll be done before you know it. Just a few hours today.”
I pull him close for one last goodbye before I leave.
◆◆◆
Monday follows Monday.
Then another Monday after that.
Weeks begin to blur from one to the next, a blissful carousel of date nights, late nights and every spare moment spent together.
Work refuses to pause for either of us.
The constant hum of the tattoo machine threads through my days.
Sleeves rolled up, inspiration flows across skin.
The steady pressure of needle and ink.
Time seems to disappear when I’m immersed in this process.
Since the launch, I’ve barely had an hour where someone isn’t walking through the door.
But there’s only one face I want to see.
◆◆◆
“Astra Luna Events, Marco speaking.”
That sexy fool carries a thick chunky planner with him everywhere he goes.
“It's almost the size of a phone book,” I tease, prying it carefully from his hands and setting it down.
“My whole life is in there,” he sighs. “I know I should go back to using a digital planner, but I've done things a certain way since I started this company. And I'm a creature of habit. I like order and routine.”
“You don't say,” I nudge him against the wall for a kiss. “And what would happen if we threw that planner over the balcony and did something spontaneous?”
“Hey, I am spontaneous,” he lies.
“A quickie in the laundry doesn't count,” I laugh. “When's the last time you woke up without plans?”
I steal a peek at the colour coded grid as he takes another call.
Product launches. Private dinners.
Corporate bookings. Gallery openings.
The kind of life that sounds glamorous on the outside, but is mostly a blur of logistics and deadlines.
I know he loves it, but I really miss him.
We carve small pockets of time together whenever we can.
Marco finishes most events after midnight.
We stroll along Brisbane’s streets with takeaway ramen.
I nap half of Sunday to save my stamina for another night of sleepless passion.
But by sunrise, one of us is always dozing off or heading out the door.
Between mouthfuls of breakfast, he thumbs through his agenda.
“Weekends are out for the next few months. It's wedding season. Can you do Tuesday morning?”
“Really wish I could,” I kiss the back of his neck. “But I'm back to back until three thirty.”
Our schedules never seem to overlap.
I spend my days off surrounded by friends and family, but pining for my boy.
“It's almost like you're dating somebody long distance,” my sister Talia empathises.
I nod glumly.
Love via text message.
Sweet notes or sketches left on the fridge.
Hearts drawn on a foggy bathroom mirror by a ghost who has started leaving his toothbrush behind.
◆◆◆
The only silver lining to all this is the constant flood of steamy, dirty photos.
One could be forgiven for assuming that Marco Adams never wears clothes when left unsupervised.
And I’ve accepted my fate.
I’m now well practiced at keeping a poker face whenever I open my messages around anyone else.
I’ve learned the hard way to keep my volume on mute.
More than once, I’ve had to slip out the back of the studio to hand-fuck my feral mind into submission.
Marco, naked on the bed.
Marco topless, licking chocolate from a whisk.
Bare ass on the balcony.
Swollen cock in the shower.
And now without warning, he sends a video.
Full body shot on the couch.
Heavy breathing, back arching.
A slippery hand rouses him into delirium, stroke after stroke.
That deep guttural moan.
An orgasm that I will never ever erase from my mind as long as I live.
One that I plan to replicate as soon as we’re behind closed doors.
Thankfully Vonnie’s on her lunch break.
For a little while, I’ll have the studio all to myself.
Stomping to the kitchen I hit speed dial, gripping the phone intently.
“Quit. Torturing. Me. You know I can't take it.”
“Where's the fun in that?” he purrs.
“I've spent the whole morning with concrete in my pants,” I scold.
“Want me to come take care of that? Just say the word.”
So tempting. I almost cave.
Marco is beside himself.
“I’m so bored of my own hand. Give me yours.”
“Do not show up here. Not like last time. I mean it, I’ll lose customers. Do you have any idea how much I want to bend you over this chair right now?”
“I might.”
He knows exactly how to play.
But I only have a few minutes before my next arrival.
I unzip my pants.
“I swear, when I get my hands on you…”
“You’re gonna what?”
“I’m gonna… mmm…”
One hand south, I surrender.
“Get that dick out for me,” he orders. “It’s so pretty when it’s wet.”
A swell of pleasure consumes me.
I let the tide take me.
Until the front door chimes.
“Marco…”
“Do it. Come on.”
“Marco…”
“Fuck. Keep whispering my name like that.”
“Baby…”
“Ohhh...”