Chapter 12
the twelfth chapter
AMOS
The rush of city traffic hums below us.
Friday morning sun spills along the blanket in stripes.
I lay on my side, one hand draped loosely across the pillow.
Rolling to the left, I hear the clatter of fingers on a keyboard.
“Morning,” I murmur.
“Morning, you. Give me just one second. Blah, blah, blah. Send... and... done.”
Marco closes his laptop, setting it aside.
He eases the covers up to his chin, eyes sparkling and mischievous.
“I know that look. What are you planning?”
I’m right to be suspicious.
“Ah, see you'd be proud of me. Because for once, I'm not planning.”
He waits for my reaction, but I’m still half asleep.
So he blurts it out.
“He was cheating on her!”
“Who?” I mumble.
My love seems a little too happy about this scandal, whoever it involves.
“You been watching Housewives again?”
“No, the couple who were meant to be getting married tomorrow afternoon. The wedding's off. She caught him fingering one of the bridesmaids. Apparently it's been going on for a while.”
I rub my eyes, processing this flurry of information.
His sigh is impatient.
“It's too late for them to get a refund. Roz is taking care of things. Calling the venue, the florist, the photographer. So… guess who has the entire weekend free?”
Now the puzzle pieces begin to click into place.
“Wait. You don't have to go anywhere?”
“Nope. And neither do you. I emailed Vonnie and told her you have some kind of stomach flu. She's rescheduling all your bookings for today and tomorrow.”
He’s very proud of himself.
It’s kind of adorable.
“You're a sneaky one, aren't ya?” I wrestle him into a hug. “Vonnie really fell for that?”
“A teeny tiny white lie,” he says. “But how often do we get four days off in a row?”
“Almost never.”
Our weekends are usually Monday and Tuesday.
Marco whispers in my ear.
“Then take me somewhere…”
I lift my head from the pillow.
“Where would you like to go?”
“I don’t know.” His pauses. He’s daring himself to say it. “Let's just... see what happens.”
This is a man who usually has every detail of his life scheduled down to the minute.
“We could drive down the coast,” he suggests. “Just you and me.”
I can’t decide whether I want to kiss him or check his temperature.
“You said I should be spontaneous. So say yes, before I change my mind.”
He gives me a playful shove.
I can’t find the words.
“Throw some clothes in a suitcase, gorgeous boy. We’ll figure out accommodation and food when we get there.”
And then he says the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.
He picks up his beloved planner from the bedside table.
His one true love.
“I'll even leave this at home. Just once.”
He’s actually serious.
Should I be concerned?
“What have you done with my Marco?” I tease. “He would never go anywhere without that thing. He even showers with it.”
“That was one time, and I left it on top of the laundry basket,” he huffs.
My smile softens.
“Okay, Mr Spontaneous. Why not?” I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. “Let’s see where the road takes us.”
“I'm raiding your closet, by the way.” He begins rifling through my shirts. “If we go back to mine, I might start overthinking this.”
“Take your pick. What's mine is yours.”
I’m still in disbelief that this is actually happening.
We wrangle clothes from hangers with increasing speed.
He holds up a silky button-down.
Definitely his colour.
“I could wear this.” He rolls it carefully and lays it inside the suitcase. “And these.”
Two pairs of pants. Another shirt.
“Promise you'll wear it without buttoning it all the way to the collar like a nun.”
I give his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Bohemian Marco? I could embrace that.”
This will be the first time we’ve ever left the city together overnight.
A rare opportunity to leave it all behind and just be us.
“I already have shoes,” he adds. “But I’m gonna need to steal a pair of your boxer shorts.”
I lean against the doorframe, willing to make a compromise.
“You can wear them. On the condition that I get to steal them back whenever I choose.”
He kisses me slowly, in a way that leaves me breathless.
“Deal.”
We zip the suitcase shut.
No lists. No planning.
This has never happened before.
And I need to make the most of it.
“Wallet. Phone. Keys.” I hook him by the waist. “You’re super cute, you know that?”
◆◆◆
Windows down, salty sea breeze flows.
Music serenades us from the car speakers.
A hand caresses my thigh while I drive.
“Still can’t believe you emailed Vonnie,” I laugh. “We better not see her while we’re down here.”
Marco's voice deepens slightly.
“I'm a bad influence. But you like it.”
“I like it more than I should.”
His hand slides under the hem of my shorts, teasing back and forth along the edge of my underwear.
Heat rises beneath his palm, close enough to make me swallow.
I force myself to keep my eyes on the road.
We reach the Gold Coast before noon and grab a quick bite to eat.
Mirrored high rise buildings reflect ocean waves, streets buzzing with energy.
We’ve found a last minute luxury apartment overlooking the beach.
Panoramic views of an endless horizon stretch as far as we can see.
“If we squint, we can see New Zealand,” he says, peering over the rail.
“I still have that balcony pic you sent me.” My lips graze below his ear. “I barely recognise you out here, wearing pants.”
“Take them off me,” he whispers.
“Oh I will,” I reply. “But not yet. I want to see you barefoot on that sand, Bohemian Marco.”
◆◆◆
Down on the beach, I hide our phones and apartment swipe card in a thick bundle of towels.
“I set mine to airplane mode,” he beams.
“That's one of the hottest things you've ever said,” I swoon. “I mean it.”
Our toes sink into the sand, pale powder giving way with each step.
He leads me into the water.
We only intend to dip our feet for a quick paddle.
But the further we wander, the more enticing it feels.
Cold water foams around our legs.
A rogue wave surprises us, drenching us from the hips down.
“May as well go out further now that we’re wet,” he concedes, tugging me by the hand.
Before long, the waterline is above his belly button.
I’ve never seen him like this.
Free and joyful.
“Dive under the waves with me!”
His voice carries above the roar and tumble of the tide.
The water muffles all sound, shutting out the world above.
We emerge on the other side of the swell, arms linked before the next peak breaks.
Now his hair forms ringlets, damp and slick.
Wet shirt riding up on one side of his body, I can’t resist.
Any excuse to touch him.
I ran a hand over his abs.
And then I see it.
Yeah, that’s gonna be a problem.
Not just for me, but for everyone within our periphery.
“White shorts with nothing underneath was a bold choice for the beach,” I muse. “I'm gonna have to hold my hand over your dick when we exit the waves. To protect the innocent minds of the public.”
“Let them look,” he says, pressing himself against my hip. “Especially you.”
“As if I could stop myself.”
My lips meet his.
A salty kiss. A soft tongue.
Water froths against our bodies, soaked fabric clinging to every contour.
We plant our feet in the sand, mouths paired in tender unison.
Every kiss makes it harder to step away from him.
The ebb and flow of the sea covers all sinful deeds beneath the surface.
Hands venture inside shorts, hungry for bare skin.
I feel something harden beneath my touch.
Marco's breath shallows.
“Put your finger inside me,” he says.
A devilish look passes between us.
I flip him around, sliding his pants down over his hips.
The ocean rises to our chests, a perfect clandestine cover.
With one arm wrapped tight around him, I circle the edge before easing my finger inside.
His moan is drowned out by the noise of the surf.
No need to censor ourselves.
“Mmm,” I grit my teeth.
So warm. And so damn tight.
With a slow beckoning motion inside him, the curl of my finger piques his arousal.
Wave after wave, I hold him.
“You’re very good at that,” he says, grinding himself into my hand.
“You give me plenty of practice,” I grin.
“Ahhh…” The arch of his hips sends me deeper. “Fucking heaven.”
I tease the rim, but Marco is relentless.
“More,” he pleads.
So I cave, adding a second finger.
“Ohhh…”
A pleasurable gasp as he grabs my thigh.
“Naughty boy,” he scolds. “Don't be shy.”
My mind is anything but innocent.
“When have I ever been shy about what I put in your ass?”
Fingers curve in a heated, deliberate rhythm, sending him into orbit.
It’s sending me too, those shorts pulled down below his hips in public.
Good thing we came here at high tide.
Our breath is heavy and urgent.
I steal a kiss.
Another wave pelts my shoulder.
Then I notice a shadow to our left.
Someone moves behind us.
A surfer carries a board above her head just a few metres away.
She doesn’t notice a thing.
“Is it wrong that I love doing this in broad daylight with you?”
There’s a sparkle in his eye.
I have to confess, I’m getting off on it too.
“I’d break a thousand laws for you. But we better stop. You know what that moan does to me. I wanna fill you with more than just my…”
“Hold that thought,” he says. “Towels, phones. Upstairs, now.”
◆◆◆
Damp shorts lay abandoned on the entryway floor.
They’ve been there for hours.
I toss them into the bath tub, then straighten my collar in the mirror.
“Does this shirt say restaurant or beach?” I ask.
“Restaurant near the beach.”
He nods his approval.
On the verge of sunset, we step onto the balcony.
Beach goers scatter like marbles on the street below.
Our dinner reservation is for seven.
We’ve still got an hour or so.
Marco surprises me by whipping up mocktails.
He's never been too keen on alcohol, despite being surrounded by it at work.
And I’m not much of a drinker either, aside from the occasional client schmoozing.
“Found this can of pears in your pantry back home,” he says. “And the elderflower syrup. I smuggled them into the suitcase before you zipped it.”
“First you steal my boxer shorts. Then my food.” I nudge him with my knee. “Not to mention, my virtue.”
“You were complicit in at least two of those crimes,” he insists. “But on account of the fruit, you can cuff me.”
“Don't think I won't.”
“Fine. I'm paying for dinner, then,” he shrugs. “And this view.”
“Careful, I might start telling people that I have a sugar daddy,” I laugh.
“You pay for dinner all the time, baby. You spoil me.”
He’s so sexy when he tries to be in charge.
“As I should,” I reply, hovering in front of that handsome face.
Our kiss tastes of mini bar lemonade and stolen pears.
The perfect combination.
◆◆◆
The clock turns its hands.
A crisp cloth napkin rests in my lap.
If I’d known the restaurant was going to be this swanky, I might have packed a different outfit.
“Porter has excellent taste,” I admit.
“In ex-lovers?” Marco winks.
A pang of jealousy twists below my ribs.
I look away.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said…” he falters. “You mean the restaurant he picked?”
I nod softly.
“He does know his way around a menu, that’s for sure.”
As with most top notch kitchens, each large plate only holds a tiny morsel of food.
Edible art, delectable but petite.
My belly is far from satisfied by the time we walk out the door.
And when I see his ass in those pants, I’m ravenous in more ways than one.
But the night is still young.
◆◆◆
Wandering along the esplanade, we turn down a side street off Cavill.
“Where are you taking me, Mr Adams?”
“Following the music, my love.”
He leads me up a brightly lit staircase.
Wide silver doors open to reveal a vibrant room.
High ceilings and velvet draped along the far wall.
To one side, a curved bar glows from beneath, strips of light running along the edge.
Rows of back lit bottles, glasses lined up in twos or threes.
A rainbow of beverages.
Turquoise, magenta, mint green.
Ice cubes rattle in a shaker, wedges of lime perch on sugary rims.
A lively group of women brush past us.
One wears a veil and a bride-to-be sash.
The bartender turns to greet us.
God, he reminds me so much of Jake.
Same curls. Same cheeky smile.
But that’s ancient history.
Leaning closer, I read the tag on his lapel.
His name is Spencer.
“I’ll take a Virgin Mojito, thanks.”
Placing his order, he swivels to face me.
“Two please.”
I swipe my card before he can pay.
“Nothing about you says virgin,” Marco teases, looping an arm around my waist.
“Ah, but that's how you want me.”
I serve those fuck me eyes, as though I’m about to kiss him.
And I almost do, but not quite.
Instead I face the other way, reaching along the bar for our drinks.
Flashing a devious smile, I step back when he tries to claim his kiss.
He unravels, returning the flirt.
“Oh that's your plan, is it? Seduce me, then leave a boy wanting?”
“I just don't think it would be right,” I tease. “To encourage such impure thoughts while we sip these saintly beverages.”
Pinning me gently against the bar, he holds my collar as though I’m in trouble.
“You and your pure saintly lips will be begging for mercy within an hour.”
“I silently beg for mercy every time you step close to me,” I sigh.
We sit on high suede stools at the end of the counter.
A cosy corner for two.
One mocktail leads to another.
The couple next to us are just as insatiable.
Fingers trailing along wrists, legs entwined.
Low bass ripples through the floor, a subtle vibration under our seats.
“You really think I could last an hour without touching you?”
I will regret these words more than I know.
“Bet you can't,” he laughs. “But I dare you to try.”
“And if I succeed?”
I already have my doubts.
He pauses for a moment, then sets his decree.
“If, and only if you last an hour… I'll fuck you senseless on the balcony of our apartment. Both of us, completely naked in the moonlight. Until you come all over the glass.”
The bartender almost drops his shaker, unable to hide a smile.
The way he looks at us makes it evident that he’s heard every word.
He raises an eyebrow, as if nudging me to accept Marco’s offer.
I blush like a beetroot.
But I’m determined to win this bet, even if it drives me wild.
“Start the clock,” I announce.