Chapter Twenty-One
Spencer
I’m torn.
My heart wants Marama. My body wants her, desperately, and it doesn’t seem to matter how often it has her; five minutes later, it wants her again.
But I know the relationship is doomed. There are a hundred reasons why it would never work. I desperately need to exercise some self-restraint and tell her it’s over. But it’s impossible when I crave her so badly.
It’s a while before we both drift off. I know she can sense my unease, and the urge to tell her she needs to get up and go home is so strong it feels like a river straining against a dam.
But I can’t bring myself to say the words.
I’ve slept on my own for twenty years, and it’s so amazing to have her here, warm and soft in my arms. Just before I drift off I feel her kiss my hand where it’s tucked under her chin, and that tender gesture is like a candle in the dark that makes all my fears recede into the shadows.
Momentarily content, I let the sound of the ocean and Marama’s breathing lull me to sleep.
I wake sometime in the night from a dream of being lost in the city. I was constantly turning down different streets and going around corners to discover I wasn’t where I thought I’d be, and when I jerk awake, my heart is racing and for a moment I don’t know where I am.
“Shhh.” Marama strokes my face. “It was just a dream.” She leans over me and presses her lips to mine.
Guilt and regret mix in my stomach, and I know I should push her away, but instead I pull her toward me, and she tumbles onto my chest with a laugh. Sliding a hand into her hair, I bring her head down to kiss her, and she gives a muffled exclamation, then sighs and returns it.
“I want you,” I tell her hoarsely in between kisses, needing her presence to help me battle the demons that want to claim me.
“I’m all yours,” she whispers back, opening her mouth to my searching tongue.
I kiss her while I stroke my hands down her back, wanting to commit her curves to memory, because I know this has an end date and soon she won’t be mine to touch anymore.
The thought makes me mad. Why can’t I have her? It’s not like I wouldn’t be good to her. I’d make sure she didn’t want for anything, whether it was money or attention. I’d treat her like a queen. But the rest of the world would mock me and condemn me for it.
I wish I was like her, and I didn’t care what people thought. But I do care. My status and my place in the business community matters to me. I’m not a free spirit. I envy her so deeply it’s as if I truly have a wolf inside me, trying to claw its way out. I am a lone wolf. I was meant to be alone.
These thoughts whirl around in my head and my chest, but gradually they dissipate as desire takes over.
Holding her tightly, I lift up and twist so she’s beneath me, then take her hands and pin them above her head with one of mine.
With the other I lift her breast to my mouth and suck her nipple hard, and she inhales sharply and arches her back with a moan.
I enjoyed her taking charge; I can’t deny it.
It was erotic and it turned me on. But this is better.
Driving the action, having her at my mercy; it fires me up, sends heat searing through me.
I let it consume both of us, and by the time I roll on a condom, we’re both hot and sweaty and panting, clawing at each other’s skin, desperate and hungry for one another.
“Ahhh…” She moans as I slide inside her, all the way in with one smooth thrust because she’s so wet. “That feels so good…”
“Hold on baby, this is going to be fast,” I tell her, and I begin to move, plunging down into her soft body with long, hard thrusts.
“Yeah,” she says enthusiastically, wrapping her legs around me. “Fuck me, Spencer. Hard as you like.”
Her encouragement, and the fact that she doesn’t mind it a little rough, fires me up even more, and I let my body take over and do what it wants to, and pound her into next week. She cries out with every thrust, digging her nails into my back.
“Ah yes, ah yes,” she exclaims, tightening around me, but there’s no time for me to enjoy her orgasm because I’m coming too. My climax slams into me, and I roar as I come, thrusting us both to the edge of pleasure, so we tumble over together, clutching hold of each other all the way down.
Afterward, I ease out of her and dispose of the condom, then hold her tightly as she presses up close to me, our legs entwined.
“I didn’t hurt you?” I murmur, stroking her hair.
“Mmm… no, you were magnificent.”
I chuckle and kiss her hair. “You’re amazing.”
She presses her lips to my chest. “No, I’m just normal.” She rests her lips there, then says, “I need to say something.”
“Uh-oh,” I joke.
She doesn’t laugh. Instead she says, “I know you’re frightened of falling for me because you’ve been starved for affection, but you have to know that Eleanor was unusual, and most women enjoy sex. There will be someone else out there who is more suitable for you who enjoys it.”
I swallow hard at her mention of being unsuitable. “Marama…”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears in the moonlight. “I’m not saying I want you to meet someone else.” She rubs her nose. “I hate her already.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” I tell her gently.
“Of course you do.” She curls up beside me. “You can’t go through the rest of your life alone. You’re too passionate and loving for that.”
Passionate and loving. Two words I can’t imagine anyone else ever saying about me.
She’s right, of course. She’s not alone; there are plenty of other women out there closer to my age who enjoy sex. And plenty of other guys who will be more than thrilled to have her as a partner, as a wife. We’ll both be happy with other people, eventually.
I lie there in the darkness, passing my hands across her soft skin, and tell myself more lies as I watch the moon rising in the night sky.
*
The next morning, we breakfast out on the deck together, keeping the conversation light, and not discussing our future. Marama then announces it’s time for her to go, and I see her to the door.
“Are you going to the party at Midnight tonight?” she asks. Mack has formally announced that his wife, Sidnie, is pregnant with their first child, and everyone’s gathering to celebrate.
I nod. “I guess I’ll see you there.”
We hesitate, facing each other across the doorstep. I think we both know this could be the last time we see each other privately.
Then she smiles. She reaches up to kiss me on the lips, and I quickly slide an arm around her and hold her there for a longer embrace.
When I finally release her, she sighs and flicks me another quick smile, then heads off to her Alfa Romeo. I wave and go back inside, although I stand just behind the closed door, waiting until I hear the car purring down the street.
*
I’m restless for the rest of the day. I try to work, and fail, and end up making a sandwich for lunch, taking it into my workshop, and starting a new project—a four-poster bed, complete with hand-turned bedposts and a carved headboard.
I listen to some true-crime podcasts while I work, and gradually relax as I lose myself in the creative pursuit.
It’s a pleasant afternoon, but it’s brought to an end when a message arrives on the Midnight Circle’s Slack chat.
I bring it up and groan. Huxley has asked us to get to the club thirty minutes early for a brief meeting before the party starts.
I check the time; I need to start getting ready.
Wondering what he wants to see us about, and irritated because I can’t shake the feeling it’s going to be something to do with me, I check the Kōrero website, but there are no new headlines and no photos of me.
Scowling, I go off to have a shower and a shave, then change into a pair of light-brown chinos, a white shirt, and don a navy jacket before heading off in my Aston for Waiheke Island.
I arrive at the club, slot the Aston into the space out the front with my name on it, and head inside.
It’s six-thirty, and the Midnight Club is open and already half full, mostly with business people who are staying on site, meeting up with colleagues for deals over drinks, as visitors tend to arrive later.
“Hey,” Mack says as he crosses the lobby, coffee in hand.
“Evening. Where’s Sidnie?”
“Just getting ready for the party.”
“When’s she due?”
“Early October. I’m already terrified.”
I chuckle as we head along the corridor to the main board room. “Yeah, it’s a big change. But you’ll make a great dad.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
As he opens the door to the boardroom and we go in, it occurs to me that he and the other younger members of the Midnight Circle see me and Rangi as father figures.
With some shock I realize that if Marama was to have children, they’d be younger than my first grandchild.
Shit. That makes me feel old. And it’s yet another reason I have to stay away from her.
I glance at my phone as I sit at the table. We’ve messaged each other on and off all day, and there’s one sitting there now, sent ten minutes ago, short and sweet: See you soon! X
I frown and pocket the phone without replying.
The others are here, and Huxley says, “Hey guys, thanks for coming. Sorry to get you here early but something has come to my attention that I wanted to discuss.”
I glance across the table at Rangi. He’s looking at me, and he doesn’t smile. Does he know what’s coming?
“It’s about Genevieve Beaumont,” Huxley says. “Apparently she’s planning to open a rival retreat on Waiheke Island, with celebrity investors and a ‘feminist focus’.” He puts air quotes around the term.
“For fuck’s sake,” Joanna says, exasperated.
“Yeah,” Huxley replies with feeling.
“I don’t understand,” Kingi says, “what’s she hoping to achieve with this? Midnight is established here and incredibly popular. She’s going to struggle to get another Lumen up and running.”
“I don’t think its success is her main concern,” Huxley comments. For the first time, he looks at me.