Chapter 4
the fourth chapter
AMOS
Cameras weave effortlessly between conversations.
Servers glide through the crowd with trays of food and drink that never seem to run dry.
A parade of Brisbane’s elite move through the studio, admiring framed photos of my work.
That was Marco’s idea. I must thank him later.
Guests congratulate me on the launch, raving about how impossible it will be to book an appointment now that my art has been recognised by certain names.
The truth is, I find that part embarrassing.
Sure, I’m proud of myself for everything that has unfolded.
And it’s interesting to meet people from all walks of life.
But the name-dropping makes me want to hide under a table.
I’m not that sort of guy, really.
I couldn’t care less about fame.
I just love the freedom and autonomy of being my own boss.
Creating meaningful art and having the resources to do so.
So I’ll do my best to charm and woo, even though I’m an introvert at heart.
Marco has carried the weight of it.
Every detail tonight has been flawless.
Every guest made to feel welcome.
Every tiny crisis averted.
Someone spilled a drink near the front display? Already handled.
The lighting needed adjusting near the photography wall?
Marco was there before the photographer even set up the next frame.
Most people crack under that kind of pressure.
I’ve seen it so many times.
But this man is the calm in my storm.
I’ve been unable to take my eyes off him all night.
No matter who I’m talking to, there’s only one person on my mind.
It’s been that way ever since he put me in my place yesterday.
Telling me off for being late, as I deserved.
I should try to keep it subtle.
I’m not good at hiding how I feel.
Wearing my heart on my sleeve is my default setting.
Every time he vanishes to the kitchen or takes a breath of fresh air outside, I feel his absence.
You're being pathetic, I whisper to my reflection in the window.
Quit simping over a stranger.
There’s just something so mesmerising about him.
The confidence in the way he carries himself.
That merging of care and authority when he speaks to his staff.
The way people naturally step aside when he moves past them.
I’ve noticed.
And that’s not the only thing that piques my interest.
I notice every time Marco’s breath hitches whenever I step close.
The way his neck flushed faintly when I ran a hand along his arm earlier.
Naughty? Perhaps.
Forward? Yes.
But I only push the seduction as far as he allows.
◆◆◆
Just moments ago, I held his hand and led him into the back room.
It took every shred of willpower not to kiss him right there.
Who am I kidding? Kissing him is one of many things I want to do.
If, and only if, he wants me to.
Wear the tie, I implore silently.
Midnight has come and gone.
Still no sign of it.
Guests are drifting outside in pairs now, voices fading down the street.
Within an hour the studio will be empty.
The entire room seems to narrow until it feels as though we’re the only two people here.
Soon enough, we will be.
But I can’t wait for soon.
And here he comes.
Oh God… he’s wearing it.
Green silk around his neck.
Green light for mutual desire.
Green light for pleasure.
I walk toward him slowly.
Fuck, he smells good.
Marco follows behind me.
We leave the door open just an inch or two, letting a thin ribbon of light spill in from the hallway.
Nobody comes down this way without a key.
Loosening the shirt from Marco's waist, my fingers tease lightly across his skin.
A soft inhale.
A warm forehead pressed against my cheek.
He loops his fingers through my belt, hand hovering over the buckle as though willing himself to resist.
“No need to be good,” I smile. “When the lights go out and the doors close, I won't be your client anymore. Which means... whatever you’d like it to mean.”
“Amos,” he pleads.
But the resistance is over, despite our best efforts.
Our bodies are magnetic, a wave of heat surging between us.
“You were incredible out there, Marco. You blew me away.”
My lips brush along the side of his neck.
“Surprised I got anything done at all… with you in the room looking hot as fuck.”
I laugh softly.
“Speak for yourself, Mr Adams. I've barely heard a word anyone said since yesterday.”
A clatter of pans echoes in the corridor.
Marco’s voice lowers to a hush.
“We shouldn't cross this line,” he frets.
But his hand suggests otherwise.
“When you think about it, there’s no line,” I assure him. “You’re the boss. I’m the boss. We make the rules.”
Hearing these words unbinds us both.
Two mouths collide, tender and beautiful.
Hands begin to wander.
“And as for tonight,” I continue, “I will, without a doubt, be leaving a five star review.”
I reach for Marco’s collar, unbuttoning it slowly.
“One…”
Leaning down, I place a feather light kiss on his collarbone.
“…two…”
Another kiss. Just beneath his ear.
“…three…”
I ease his shirt away from his shoulder and add one more.
“…four…”
He moans gently, as I make a path along his jawline.
“…five.”
This one lands directly on his mouth.
His fingers curl through my hair as the last of his restraint falls away.
Our kiss deepens, hungry and urgent.
A reservoir that has been filling to the brim since that first hour.
Every stolen glance.
Every charged pause.
Every time we spoke.
I’ve wanted him all day and all night.
And now I’m falling for him far harder than I expected.
We part reluctantly.
Marco looks slightly dazed.
“I usually email clients a post event feedback form.”
His words come out a little flustered, as though his mind has only half caught up with him.
He nestles his face in my chest, affection weaving alongside desire.
The tenderness surprises me.
“Forms are boring,” I smile.
Darkness amplifies every sensation.
The rustle of fabric as our bodies shift.
The texture of the towel stack behind us.
A door closes in another part of the building.
But it sounds far away.
Right now there’s only this room, and the two of us inside it.
He cranes his neck to check the hallway.
“I really should supervise the cleanup.”
His hair is ruffled, his clothing half skewed.
He’s the kind of guy who never ever lets time slip through his fingers.
I lift him against the wall, pinning him in place with my hips.
"Marco, I saw those meticulous checklists. Your team is very, very well trained. In fact, you're so efficient that they’ve started without you. Let them do their job. It's what I'm paying them for."
My hands curve beneath his ass, and soon I feel his cock harden against my belly.
“I guess they can call me if they need to,” he says.
“Good boy,” I whisper. “Now… as your client for one last hour, I request your undivided attention.”
Punctuating my demands with a gentle kiss, I set him on his feet.
Raising his hands above his head, I lay them flat against the wall.
“Let go of the night, let go of the event, and all the lists. Just be mine…”
And with that, Marco surrenders.
◆◆◆
Our bodies merge again.
Slower now.
Exploring, melting into something deeper.
Buttons come undone, one after another.
Hands caress skin as our shirts fall to the ground.
“Not all the way, not tonight,” he says, but his words are heavy with longing. “Just take me to the edge.”
That, I can do.
In one smooth motion, I unravel his belt and cast it aside.
“I love it when you boss me around,” I confess.
“Noted,” he says. “I should do it more often.”
“Please do. It drives me wild.”
His appetite sparks.
“You really wanna cross this line?”
Too late.
“Fuck client boundaries,” I whisper.
Leaning back, he grinds himself against my leg.
I can feel it through my pants.
Hard as concrete. Quite a big boy.
“Ohhh…” he moans.
He’s getting off on that friction as much as I am.
And I need more.
I want to be inside him.
But the deeper I crave it, the slower I go.
Savour it, I tell myself.
The longer he stays, the longer I can drink him in.
Soaking in every minute.
Marco’s lips track a path from my chest to my stomach.
His finger ventures along the inside of my waistband, mouth merely inches from the tip of my erection.
He teases back and forth beneath my belly button.
Damn it feels good.
I could let him do this for hours.
Perhaps it has been hours.
At some point we hear the distant rumble of the cleaning crew departing.
Even when we knock over a small metal shelf, nobody comes to investigate.
No footsteps.
No interruption.
No witnesses.
The night is ours at last.
Our bodies move together instinctively now, writhing against one another.
Heat builds when he rubs his hip between my thighs.
I can feel every movement of his body.
Every brush of skin.
I’m so gone for this man.
Completely undone.
Warm hands skim along the surface of our underwear.
A soft moan. A sensual kiss.
“Don’t be shy,” I whisper, guiding his hand between my thighs.
He cups me and gives a playful squeeze.
I push him against the door.
My dick is begging to be sucked.
The urge pulses hot and insistent through my body.
But I follow his lead. Always.
It’s as though neither of us want to cross the line too soon, but both of us want it so bad.
A tightrope between desire and patient intrigue.
Then Marco pulls back, just enough to take a breath.
His voice is rough, almost apologetic.
“You know I won't be able to stop if we keep going. But we shouldn't, Amos. Not here.”
The question slips from my mouth before I can stop myself.
“Not here, and never?” His eyes are wild and dark. I can tell he’s battling with desire. “Or just not tonight... but yes, fuck me Amos?”
We hover close. An almost kiss.
But he takes another step back, doing all he can to fight it.
He’s stronger than I am.
“Yes. Fuck me, Amos,” he says. “But not here. Not tonight. Only if you're mine.”
I want this in a way that I’m scared to admit.
I know it will require patience.
Giving it time. Building trust.
And I’m down for that. Wholeheartedly.
Something shifts.
Something heavier than simple desire.
Oh. I’m definitely in trouble.
This is more than just a quick release.
And somehow it makes him even more desirable.
Someone whose attention has to be earned.
Someone who demands respect.
The intensity between us doesn’t fade.
If anything, it burns hotter.
But I respect the boundary Marco has drawn.
And I hold it.
God, I hold it, even though it sears into me.
Who knew that restraint could be so devastatingly seductive?
He stands in the doorway, gathering his thoughts.
“Sex is… personal. Intimate. More intense than just making out in a back room.”
Stepping closer, I offer my hand and he takes it.
Holding him gently, I vow to be good.
“It’s very intimate,” I whisper. “And worth the wait.”
◆◆◆
Reaching toward a nearby shelf, I find a marker.
Pulling off the cap, I hold his arm in the palm of my hand.
The tip of my pen moves across bare skin.
Marco looks down at his wrist.
“I thought I had your number already?”
“You have my work number,” I shrug. “But this is how to find me if you'd like to get to know me… as just Amos.”
His smile is shy.
Neither of us seem ready to let the night end.
We walk hand in hand down the hallway toward the front of the studio.
I try to take the smallest steps possible so the moment can last a little longer.
What if I never see him again?
I guess I’ll just have to take that risk.
Marco fastens his shirt, glass doors reflecting the glow of the street outside.
The kiss we share this time is nothing like the others.
It feels like an unspoken promise rather than a flash in the pan.
Our lips linger for a moment before he finally steps back.
I hold the door for him, walking him toward the curb, reluctant to let go of his hand.
He unpockets his keys.
A chirp of the fob unlocks the door.
Climbing into the driver's seat, he pauses.
“Your tie…”
“Keep it,” I insist.
The engine purrs as he pulls away and disappears into the night.
I stand on the footpath half dressed, long after the tail lights have vanished.
My body is humming with pleasure, craving him so much, but willing to hold out.
I’m still in disbelief that tonight has unfolded the way it has.
But one simple thought settles in my mind.
This isn’t over.
Not even close.
I memorise the curve of Marco's smile.
The way his hand brushed over my skin as though it were sacred.
I memorise the sound of his voice.
The words that crest and rise inside me for days to come.
Only if you're mine.