Desperate Enemies 3 (3 page)

“Keeping secrets, oh, just what we like. Do tell.”

The door had just opened, new visitors announcing themselves. He quickly pulled the blankets over his exposed cock, took a fast look at Christof, who was busy wiping his face with the sponge; thankfully, his faced was turned away from the new guests and it seemed none were the wiser as to what had happened just moments ago.

“Edgar, Jack, come to check on your wounded neighbor?”

“Sorry we haven't been by, it's just. . .”

“No need to explain, what with Aaron. . .” Rich said, his voice drifting off in the air. “In fact, I'd rather not delve into it all that happened. . . not now. Tell me, though, how's Paolo?”

The longtime lovers exchanged hapless looks before Jack said, “Not good. He's got the house all closed up, shades drawn. We've only seen him once, but that was yesterday so at least we know he hasn't done anything. . . you know.”

“Dumb,” Edgar said.

“When I get out of here. . .”

“Easy, Rich. There's time for retribution later. How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine,” he said, waving off the concern.

“So I see,” Edgar said, checking out Christof's tight ass as the nurse excused himself and left the room. “Cute in a surfer dude way.”

“He gives me my sponge bath.”

Jack's eyebrows rose. “Did you say ‘spooge’ bath?”

“Funny, Jack,” Rich said. “So, what can I do for you guys?”

“We hate to bother you with all this, but Converse, the Wonderland Palaces, they are still a threat. And Converse is like a wounded animal himself, bent on revenge for Russell's death.”

“Yeah, Converse hid behind his aide and the aide bought it. Fucking coward. The police came by a few days ago, someone told them I was awake and on the mend, so they wanted to ask some questions. But there was very little I could tell them; I barely remember what happened. Do you know the latest?”

“The police have closed the case. No charges filed. Everyone saw Aaron pull the gun.”

“Why? Why would he do that? Jeopardize his livelihood—his life—that way?”

“Converse had just fired him. Guess that was the last straw. Truthfully, I don't think even Paolo understands how it went this far.”

“What a fucking waste,” Rich said, heart heavy with emotion. “But after all these weeks of threats and terror and blackmail, Danvers Converse pushed too far, and it was Aaron who snapped—and paid the price. As far as I'm concerned, Danvers has blood on his hands.”

“Again.”

“Right,” Edgar said, “that's why we wanted to stop by. Jack and I are going to intensify our efforts to finally get to the heart of the secret of Number Two Eldon Court. If it's true that Saunders's wife was the one who died—was murdered—inside that house, where is her body? And Parker St. John, just what is motivating him? Or who? Just to prove that Saunders is his father? Won't mean anything if Troy Saunders can prove he's the legal, rightful heir. And he's disappeared from what I heard—Sawyer was working with him, being photographed down at Converse's estate in Carmel, but that house is all locked up and Troy has gone under.”

“Or Danvers has him hidden, covering his tracks.” Rich said.

Edgar shook his head. “I think the key is Parker.”

“So, then, what's the plan?” Rich asked.

“Forget Parker, forget the plan,” said a new voice. “Rich needs his rest.”

“Hey, Marc. . .”

“Sorry, we just wanted to. . .”

“Yeah, you can forget all this. Recovery first, then. . .”

“Revenge?” Rich asked.

“No. Look where that got us.”

Marc was clearly not on the same page as the rest of them. So Jack and Edgar said their good-byes, but not before Jack winked Rich's way and said, “Marc sure doesn't have the bedside manner of your cute nurse, does he?”

Both men laughed their way down the hospital corridor.

Rich found himself blushing, even in the presence of his lover.

“Hey, babe, where have you been?” Rich asked.

“Button up that gown, Rich, you look ridiculous,” Marc said.

Rich did feel exposed, more so with his lover inside the room. His chest bare, stubbly, he felt unfamiliar in his own skin. He could imagine how Marc felt. God, Rich thought, how do I tell him the truth? How do I tell him that I betrayed him, even after I promised him I wouldn't? A blow job from a cute nurse was one thing, a minor infraction compared to what Rich had done the night of the gallery show; and not just what he'd done, but who he'd done it with.

Parker St. John.

Damn him, Parker was the loose cannon in all this, a man with his own agenda.

* * * *

Parker St. John stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his dripping body, and then padded into his air-conditioned bedroom. On the bed stand was an Anchor Steam beer he'd uncapped after his morning of digging on the property, and now he took a healthy pull. Between the shower and the cool brew, he felt refreshed. He drank down the rest of the beer, set the bottle down and returned to the bathroom. The large mirror over the sink had cleared from the steam of his hot shower, revealing his handsome visage.

He knew he was good-looking, his body in great shape.

It was what was inside that worried him.

His return to Wonderland had not gone as planned, not with Danvers Converse and not with the residents of Eldon Court. He was caught in the middle and didn't like it one bit; but he'd been told that was the way it had to be, he had to keep his distance to uncover who he could ultimately trust. Weeks later and after two men had died—one of them he'd slept with—he still didn't know anything. Along the way he'd set everyone else on edge, keeping them guessing as to his motives, being sucked into his world on a sexual level but none other. And it's not that Parker St. John didn't enjoy sex, he loved the power, the heat, loved the touch of another man's body, the way their eyes widened when he entered them with his long cock, how they reveled in the thick hair which coated his body. But that physical release was satisfying only on a surface level. He'd come to Wonderland and screwed around whenever he could, mostly with Paolo, a few times with Russell, and now with Rich—how unexpected that had been, and how fulfilling—but the one he wanted most was Marc. Marc Anderson, a man with brains and talent as well as a hot body. But of course taken, and not just taken but by the man he'd first shared his body with.

Parker stared at his face, wondering if he should shave. He hadn't in days, and the thick bristles of his beard were growing on his cheeks and down his neck, practically connecting with the coarse hair that jutted above his neckline. He'd come a long way from the wimpy high school boy, so slight of frame, almost girl-like in his soft features. A strong workout regime combined with his hormones finally kicking into gear and here he stood, a masculine, muscular, hirsute and nicely hung example of pure manhood, and right now it was all staring back at him. He felt his cock lengthen suddenly, thicken, not a surprise as he was often horny after a good workout, and the back-breaking digging he'd done beside the house certainly qualified.

He moved back to the bed, where he let the towel slip to the floor. Lying on his back, he opened his legs and reached down to his hard, long cock. Wrapping his fist around the shaft, he jerked at it while running a hand over his chest, brushing at the thick, dark carpet, wishing it was Marc's hand getting lost in the thicket. Pinching his nipples and stroking his cock harder, Parker began to pant in anticipation of his orgasm. Yes, that's it, Marc, take me, take it all, take my huge cock, he thought as he ran his hand along his engorged cock. He spit into his fist for lubrication and then jerked harder, harder, Marc's face clear in his mind, his cries imagined but so real. With his other finger he reached his ass and poked at his furry hole. Then he thrust one finger in, a second, a third went deep into his hole, and he cried out at how fiercely he'd entered his own ass. He finger fucked himself, hard, harder, all while his eyes traveled down the hairy swath on his belly, seeing Marc licking the darker, middle trail down to the jutting, throbbing cock. Yes, he was close, close. . .

Just then the phone rang.

He ignored it, stroking more, more.

A second ring, then a third.

He pushed his fingers deeper into his pliant ass, crying out, demanding, pleading that he shoot his load high into the air, splatter his chest. . .

Beep.

“Parker,” a disembodied voice said, “Parker, I'm know you're there. Parker, it's Rose. . . I haven't heard from you in awhile. . . I'm not hanging up, I'll wait until you're done with whatever you're doing. . . Parker, are you in the shower? God, I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing, you're not that little teenage boy anymore, are you? Parker, Parker?”

Christ, why did she have to do that to him? Why in one message could she reduce him to a simpering boy? He felt the blood drain from his cock, his orgasm go into hiding, which was just what he wanted to do. But he knew it would do no good. He reached over, his hand sticky from his spit, and reached for the receiver.

“Hello, Rose.”

“You sound out of breath.”

“I was in the yard, had to come running when I heard the phone ring. I knew it was you.”

“Hmm,” was Rose's reply. “So, in the yard. Digging?”

“And I found nothing.”

“Keep digging.”

“Rose, I think we're tilting at windmills here.”

“Parker, do I have to come out there myself. . .”

“No,” he quickly said, too quickly.

“See you soon,” was her reply, and before he could answer she had hung up.

Parker St. John—so vibrant, vital, voracious, so hot, hairy, and hunky, so sexy, steamy, and strong—had just been reduced to simply so wimpy, wanting, and wanton. Rose had a commanding, imperious way about her, and he pitied the unsuspecting residents of Eldon Court. They had no idea what—or who—Parker had just unleashed on them. But maybe it wasn't so bad, the arrival of Rose Emerson St. John would no doubt shake things up, and maybe that was a good thing.

Parker, still naked, his cock shriveled, more frustrated, leaned back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Marc was gone from his thoughts.

There was no way he'd be able to climax now.

Besides, when it came to Rose, anything less was anti-climatic.

“Shit,” he said to the empty room.

* * * *

“I've been waiting all morning for you to visit.”

“Sorry I'm late. I was cleaning up the house, I guess anticipating your homecoming.”

Marc was gazing out the fifth-floor window of Rich's hospital room at a great view of the ocean. He could see the Bayside Hotel from here and for a moment Marc was reminded of their first nights back in Wonderland when they had lived in the penthouse suite while they'd sought a suitable home to buy. How innocent those days had seemed, drinks by the pool, strolls along the beach, wild sex all night. Then it had just been the two of them, their relationship renewed after the scandal back east which had tested their bond and sent them fleeing to Rich's hometown. Compared to the drama that was playing out now on Eldon Court, New York seemed like Walton's mountain.

“Marc, you okay?”

Marc turned back to face Rich. “Lot on my mind.”

“I know this week has been hard on you.”

“On you, too. I'm not the one who got shot and endured surgery to repair his lung.”

“Anything for you.”

“Really?”

Marc's tone was harsh, accusatory, and he saw Rich blanch, like he'd been slapped.

“Okay, you want to tell me what's bothering you?”

“Why don't we wait until you get home and, you know, are fully recovered.”

“You think I cheated on you again,” Rich said quietly. “I know the look.”

“And am I wrong?”

“No.”

Marc's mouth fused shut, a safety feature to keep him from regretting any further words.

“It was just a simple blow job. . . from the male nurse. A sponge bath and. . . I don't know, it turned me on. Next thing I know he's going down on me and I'm doing nothing to stop him. Maybe I just wanted to make sure everything was. . . working, before you and I tried. . . God, that sounds lame even to me.”

“Your excuses have always been lame,” Marc said hotly, “I just chose to turn a blind eye, every time. But no more. Not when you realize how short and precious life is. It took Aaron dying for me to realize that maybe I don't want to settle for not being enough for you.”

“Marc, I told you, after a week in this hospital bed, I was just frustrated. . .”

“I'm not talking about the fucking nurse. . . pardon, the blowing nurse,” Marc said. “Rich, the night of the gallery opening, you showed up with Parker, the two of you out of breath. What, were you fucking him in the back parking lot when you realized how late you were, you rushed in even before you'd recovered from your orgasm? And stupid me, waiting around on the most important night of my life, waiting for the man who just that morning had professed his singular love to me.” Marc let out a sharp laugh. “You know, you talk of excuses, with all that happened that night I didn't get to hear yours. ‘Oh, sorry, Marc, got my foot caught in the bathtub, Parker came along and helped me get it out and we fell, and before I realized it my cock had slipped up his ass. And hell, it was already there, so why not keep going, fuck him hard, it's just sex, it's not love.’ Is that it?”

“You think I had sex with Parker?”

“Oh, I know it. You've been fighting it since he showed up in Wonderland.”

“It wasn't even sex,” Rich said, “It was a power play.”

“Oh, right. You mean, whoever got to be on top, possessed all the power? So what was the agreement, you fuck him and he goes away, leaves Eldon Court and Wonderland, never to return to our shores. . . well guess what, Rich, you must not have been your usual self in bed or wherever the hell you fucked him, because Parker is still here, and he's got some new agenda, of that I'm sure. So. . .” Marc's face suddenly went ghost white as a sudden realization hit him. “Holy shit, Parker's still here in Wonderland because he has all the power—over us, over you. Well, as I live and breathe, the unthinkable has actually happened. Richard North, aggressive top, dominant lover, has finally bottomed. And bottomed out, too.”