Desperate Lovers Read online

  Jack silently watched Edgar for a moment. They had been together for almost twenty years—seventeen, to be exact—and Jack could read

  Edgar like a book. He knew that Edgar was still stewing over the town meeting but there was something else going on, something that Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on…

  Jack knocked on the doorframe again.

  “Eddy?” he said, “Are you okay?”

  Edgar looked up, startled, and then smiled at his partner.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he said, approaching Jack. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough,” Jack replied, kissing Edgar on the lips. “You’re going to stare a hole in that laptop if you’re not careful.”

  Edgar had no choice but to laugh at himself.

  “Are you still upset over that meeting?” asked Jack. He tenderly brushed the hair from Edgar’s forehead.

  “Of course,” Edgar replied. “Our homes are at stake…and I don’t know what we can do about it.”

  “LeeAnn’s the board’s chair,” Jack said. “She won’t let us lose our homes. Besides, Wonderland has a wonderful history of keeping out corporations.”

  Jack was right, of course. But Edgar wasn’t worried about LeeAnn or anybody else on the city council. What he was worried about was the mystery that he himself had only begun to solve, a mystery that began almost all the way back to the creation of Wonderland. And Edgar was in deep, so deep that he was basically playing both sides, knowing nobody would look favorably on a turncoat. Not that his loyalties didn’t lie with Eldon Court and its residents—they most certainly did. But, as any good journalist knows, sometimes it’s necessary to dance with the devil in order to get what you need. If Danvers Converse believed Edgar was his spy on Eldon Court, so be it. Edgar was certain of his loyalties, and, if it came down to it, he would deal with the consequences of his actions later. So why hadn’t Converse called him out during the meeting? Edgar couldn’t be sure but had a sneaking suspicion that he would be called to pay dearly soon.

  “I know what will relax you,” said Jack, smiling knowingly.

  Edgar smiled at his partner. Jack Fish, whom Edgar had met seventeen years earlier when they’d both lived in San Francisco, was still a very attractive man. Thanks to the yoga he practiced—and taught at the King of Hearts Yoga Studio in Down Wonder—Jack had managed to keep his body in excellent shape, and as a result, his body resembled that of a much younger man. Edgar leaned over and kissed Jack.

  “In a minute,” said Edgar. “I’ve got something I need to finish up first.”

  Jack sighed, resignedly. Was there ever a time when Edgar didn’t have to “finish something?”

  “I’ll be the naked one downstairs,” he said with a wink. “Come and find me when you’re done. Then you can finish me.”

  Edgar knew from experience that Jack wasn’t joking. When he emerged from his study, he knew that he would find Jack, butt-naked, on the sofa. The thought gave him an erection, and he considered his work for a moment. His growing erection was a stronger magnet than anything in his study, however, and so Edgar descended the stairs, hot on Jack’s heels.

  Sure enough, Jack was pulling off his workout shorts as Edgar entered the living room.

  “I thought that you had more work to do,” he said, coyly. As his shorts fell to his ankles, his large, uncut erection pointed in Edgar’s direction.

  “Some things are more important than work,” replied Edgar. He approached Jack and kissed him deeply on the mouth.

  “What’s this?” asked Jack, as he pulled back, rubbing Edgar’s enormous boner through the fabric of his khaki pants. “Somebody likes what he sees.”

  Without replying, Edgar pulled off the tee shirt that Jack was wearing and rubbed his muscular chest. Jack had been working very hard to lose and extra few pounds that he had inexplicably put on, and his progress was evident. Edgar licked at Jack’s exposed nipples, something he knew would drive his partner crazy. As he sucked at Jack’s nipples, he grasped Jack’s stiff cock tightly in his hand. Jack, in turn, worked frantically at Edgar’s buttons, eventually managing to remove his white buttondown. He then turned his attention to Edgar’s pants, wrestling off the belt and unbuttoning and unzipping the offending slacks. Edgar stopped playing with Jack’s nipples and stepped out of his pants, leaving them in a heap on the living room floor. The head of his swollen cock was already moist with pre-come.

  “Yummy,” said Jack, who dropped to his knees and began licking up the clear fluid.

  “Oh, fuck,” moaned Edgar. “Yeah, lick the head baby.”

  Jack continued licking and sucking, concentrating solely on the head of his lover’s cock. The sensation left Edgar nearly breathless, and he felt that if Jack did that any longer, he would blow his load right there.

  Edgar placed his hand on the back of Jack’s head and forced the entire length of his cock down his throat.

  “Yeah, suck it, baby,” Edgar hissed through his teeth. “Suck that fat cock.”

  Jack expertly worked on the large tool in his mouth, using his throat and tongue to milk Edgar’s erection. On his knees, he hesitantly stroked his own boner, not wanting to get off too fast. What he wanted, what he needed, was to feel that fat dick in his ass.

  Suddenly, as if reading Jack’s mind, Edgar stopped the blowjob and silently guided Jack to the nearby sofa. Jack dutifully lay back on it.

  He knew what was coming. Edgar slipped a towel under Jack’s ass to spare the sofa any stains and retrieved a bottle of lubricant, stowed in the top drawer of the end table. He squirted a coat of the slippery material onto his already wet cock and then slipped a lubricated finger into Jack’s asshole.

  “Fuck me, Eddy,” whispered Jack.

  “You think you can handle all of this?” teased Edgar. “You want all of this in your ass?”

  He needn’t have asked, he knew the answer, it was just part of their dirty foreplay, and so he lifted Jack’s legs and knelt beneath him, his stiff cock pressed against Jack’s willing hole. Slowly, he pushed his stiff meat against the pliant opening, and it slid inside.

  “Oh, fuck,” gasped Jack, lifting his hips to accommodate the probe in his ass. “Give it all to me.”

  Edgar complied, pushing the entire length into Jack until his hips rested against Jack’s ass. He carefully pulled his dick out by an inch and then plunged it back in, all the while tugging at Jack’s sensitive nipples.

  As he fucked, Jack’s tight hole enveloping his cock, Edgar began to increase the frequency of his urgent strokes, pounding Jack’s ass so that the sounds of naked flesh smacking against naked flesh filled the house.

  Edgar went at Jack’s ass like a jackhammer; as if this was his only outlet for the uncertainty he was feeling over their situation. Jack, on the other hand, was willing to be used and relished the sensation of having his ass used by a monster dick.

  “Yeah, fuck me, Eddy,” he said.

  Suddenly, unable to control himself any longer, Jack shot a hot geyser of come, which covered his hairy chest. Coaxed by Jack’s tightening sphincter, Edgar’s own cock convulsed and blew a hot load in Jack’s ass. Spent and sweaty, Edgar collapsed on top of Jack. After a moment, he looked into Jack’s eyes.

  “Thank you,” he said, kissing his partner. “I needed that.”

  “Everything will be okay,” said Jack. “I promise.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Edgar, arising from the sofa. He began to gather the clothing he’d strewn about the floor.

  Relaxed by the sex and unwilling to continue keeping his secret,

  Edgar decided that it was time to come clean with Jack. He poured them each a glass of wine and recounted the whole story for Jack—from the mysterious history of Number Two Eldon Court to meeting Parker St. John at the Mad Hatter.

  “So, that was the phone number I found?” asked Jack, slowly letting this new information sink in.

  “Yes,” confessed Edgar. “I was hoping that he could help me locate the man he claims is his father.”

  “And they think you’re on their side?” asked Jack.

  “They at least think that I’m friendly…open to possibilities, let’s say. Although,” added Edgar with a chuckle, “I’m not sure they think that after today.”

  “Edgar,” asked Jack, carefully considering the wine glass that he held in his palm, “what does all of this have to do with your book?”

  “Nothing,” replied Edgar, “maybe everything. The Saunders family goes way back in San Francisco politics…dirty politics. For some reason there was a cover up at Number Two Eldon Court, something the family doesn’t want made public, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

  The image of the boulder nearly crushing them on the beach suddenly flashed in Jack’s mind.

  “It’s dangerous,” he said, almost to himself. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine,” replied Edgar. He still didn’t mention the gun. Jack, he knew, would never approve. Not that Edgar approved of guns anymore than his partner did—to Edgar guns represented everything bad in society—greed, hatred and war. But he viewed his pistol as a necessary evil; a tool that he could, hopefully, be rid of once the expected furor over his exposé had subsided. For now, he kept it close, just in case.

  What Edgar really needed to know was the location of George Saunders. Was he at the Hillsborough mansion or somewhere else?

  Hillsborough was only thirteen miles north of Wonderland, a short drive up the peninsula, but without knowing the old man’s whereabouts for certain, Edgar was at a loss to plan his nest move.

  Two nights later, as he smoked a cigarette on his front porch his one remaining vice an idea occurred to him when he spied lights in the neighboring Number Two Eldon Court. If Parker St. John insisted on playing his twisted little game, then Edgar was going to up the ante. He might have been older but, as the adage goes, he was also wiser; and Edgar was going to use his experience to get what he wanted. Edgar donned a sweat suit that he had stored away long ago and shoved gloves, a ski mask, and his pistol into the pockets of the jacket.

  “I’m going for a walk,” he announced to Jack, who was cleaning up the kitchen.

  “What are you wearing?” asked Jack, a grimace on his face. “I thought you threw that old thing out years ago.”

  “Waste not, want not,” replied Edgar. He kissed Jack lightly and slipped out the back door into the darkness. From the tool shed in the back yard, Edgar retrieved a length of rope and exited the yard by way of the side gate. Except for the distant sound of the ocean colliding with the rocks below Eldon Court, the street was quiet. Edgar walked briskly toward Number Two. To his surprise, the door was slightly ajar and Edgar took a deep breath before donning the ski mask and entering the house. Inside, disorder reigned—the same disorder, Edgar assumed, that had brought about the disrepair of the once proud Victorian. Thick dust coated everything in sight, lending a strong odor of mustiness that assaulted Edgar’s senses. Dirty sheets covered displaced furniture, and a ladder stood abandoned, near a far wall. Dark, rust colored stains covered the wall and, with a shudder, Edgar wondered if Troy Saunders hadn’t left those sinister marks.

  Yes, there were definitely ghosts here. If only Edgar could get them to speak to him.

  Edgar did his best to mask his footsteps as he mounted the staircase, but as it was an old house, this was nearly impossible. Edgar was startled by a voice, the voice of Parker St. John, when it called out to him.

  “I’m in the bedroom,” he called. “You actually came.”

  Shit, thought Edgar, he’s expecting someone.

  Realizing that he had to work quickly in order to avoid detection, Edgar burst in the room and stopped in his tracks, startled by what he saw.

  Stretched out on the bed, totally naked—as beautiful naked as Edgar had imagined—was Parker St. John with a large erection.

  “Ooh, kinky,” he said, smiling an adorably dimpled smile. “I never imagined you were into that sort of thing.”

  Realizing that Parker hadn’t seen through his disguise, Edgar quickly approached the bed and began to truss Parker like a prize winning hog, tying his arms and his legs to the bedposts. God, how Edgar wanted to taste that beautiful cock, to run his fingers through the beautiful hair on the man’s chest and finger his cute ass, but he stayed his hand. He hoped that Parker wouldn’t notice the erection growing in his sweat pants.

  Get a grip, he told himself. You’re married to Jack. But Edgar forgave himself for his thoughts. After all, he was forty-three, not dead; and married, but not blind.

  “That’s a little tight, babe,” said Parker, blissfully unaware that he was not involved in sex play.

  His smile faded, however, when Edgar pulled the pistol from his pocket and aimed it at him.

  “What the hell?” he asked, struggling against the ropes. “Who are you?”

  “Where is old man Saunders?” demanded Edgar.

  He had lowered his voice an octave and affected a pseudo southern accent. Years of drama study had finally paid off.

  “They’ll kill me if I tell you,” whimpered Parker.

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t,” countered Edgar, placing the barrel of the gun against Parker’s muscular torso.

  “Okay, okay!” wailed Parker, his eyes clamped shut. “Don’t shoot me. He’s in San Francisco…at his Russian Hill mansion.”

  “What’s the address?” pressed Edgar.

  “Lombard Street,” replied Parker. “It’s just above the crooked part of the street—across from the park!”

  Without another word, Edgar retrieved a pair of underwear from the floor—Parker’s he assumed. It was an assumption that was almost titillating—but he stuffed them into Parker’s mouth to serve as a gag. No need for Parker to start yelling for help before he had a chance to slip back to his own house, undetected. Well aware that Parker was expecting other company, Edgar let himself out the back door and avoided the sidewalk, instead following a route hidden by trees and bushes.

  Safely back inside his own house, Edgar took off his sweat suit and stashed it in its original box in the basement, along with the ski mask.

  He was careful to place the box under larger, heavier boxes. He would burn the contents, later, if need be. As he climbed the stairs to the main floor, Edgar wondered what his next move should be. He could call Stokes, his informant in San Francisco, to have him stake out the house, but that would take too long. By the time Stokes was able to get any information, Converse might tip off George Saunders, allowing him to disappear one more time. The only course of action that seemed to make sense to Edgar was to go to San Francisco, right away.

  Back at home, Edgar found Jack out. a note on the refrigerator simply said that he had gone for a walk. Funny, he hadn’t passed his lover on the street. Edgar threw the note away and went to change clothes. Half an hour later, Jack returned, obviously distressed.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Edgar.

  “I just ran into Parker,” said Jack, lowering himself into a chair.

  “Somebody broke into his house and held him at gun point.”

  “Good lord,” replied Edgar, doing his best to look shocked. “Is he alright?”

  “As well as can be expected,” said Jack. “What’s happening to our neighborhood?”

  Edgar sat down on the sofa, his face grave.

  “Do you want to go to San Francisco?” he asked, suddenly.

  “What?” asked Jack, “When?”

  “First thing tomorrow,” replied Edgar, his face serious.

  “Edgar,” replied Jack, rubbing his hands on his pants, “I have the

  yoga studio to think of and, besides, what about the dog?”

  “We’ll come back day after tomorrow,” said Edgar. “He’ll be fine.”

  Jack regarded his partner, confused by his sudden urge to drive to San Francisco.

  “Eddy,” he pressed, “what’s going on?”

  “I think I found George Saunders,” he replied, somberly. “I figured we could spend a casual day in the city and stop by the address I found before driving home.”

  Jack was silent for a moment. He knew there was no need to argue with Edgar. Once he made his mind up there was no talking him out of it.

  Slowly, Jack nodded his head and arose from his seat. “I’ll go call someone to run the studio for me tomorrow.”

  The next morning, Edgar arose from bed and stumbled, naked, into the bathroom. Jack was just emerging from the shower when he entered.

  “Good morning, bright eyes,” said Jack, grinning.

  Edgar furrowed his brow and looked at the haggard reflection in the mirror above the sink.

  “What time did you get up?” he grumbled.

  Jack ignored his partner’s tone. He had lived with Edgar

  Newcastle for enough years to know that Edgar was always a bit of a grouch in the morning—at least before his first cup of coffee. Any grouchiness, Jack knew, was not intended for anyone personally.

  “I got up at six and did yoga,” Jack said. “And I made coffee.

  There’s a full pot waiting for you in the kitchen.”

  Jack’s response and the mention of coffee calmed Edgar a bit. Be nice to Jack, you old grouch, he reminded himself. He turned and grabbed Jack’s arm as he was leaving the bathroom and pulled him back into the bathroom.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, a playful look in his tired eyes.

  “I’m going to get dressed,” replied Jack, feigning disinterest. “I thought you’d want to get an early start.”

  “Not this early” said Edgar, pulling Jack into his arms. He lavished kisses on Jack’s neck, and the erection that he had awakened with pressed against Jack’s naked thigh.

  “You need to shave,” teased Jack. “Your whiskers are rough.”

  Edgar knew that this statement was mere subterfuge; since when