Marco gives a flirty wink as he returns to the dance floor.
Twenty nine minutes to go.
“Worth it,” I mouth quietly. “You're worth it.”
As the hour begins to wane, my memory takes a detour to another darkly lit room.
The launch party.
That same handsome face in the crowd.
Marco's bossy disposition on full display, desire running high.
Our push and pull dynamic, both of us willing the other to surrender.
Both of us equally aroused when the power shifts.
As much as I love to rail that man against a wall, to make him beg for it, I can never resist him for long.
And tonight is proof of that.
Yet still, I behave.
Standing here like a fool with both hands visible at all times.
Eleven more minutes.
Marco is now shirtless.
He's almost given up trying to get me to break.
“I should've known that a man like you could edge me for a whole hour,” he sighs. “It's fucking hot to see you try and fight it though. Damn, I really thought I had you for a moment.”
“And youwillhave me,” I promise. “When I say.”
He holds up his hands in defeat.
“You win, okay?” The nonchalance in his eyes melts into hunger. “We can finish now. Let’s go.”
“Nope.”
He tries using his manners.
“Please, Amos. Let me have you.”
“Oh, trust me, I will.” My body sways to the rhythm. “But not until the hour is done. I'm a man of my word.”
“I need your hands on me,” he pleads.
“Then wait,” I persist. “Because I want you undone. That's why I'm being so... so... fucking good.”
As the crowd surges and writhes around us, we stare each other down for the longest eight and a half minutes.
When the timer vibrates on my wrist, he reaches for me.
The simple act of holding hands feels overwhelmingly intimate.
Our lips brush with caution.
