Desperate Lovers by Adam Carpenter (good beach reads TXT) 📕

Slowly and deliberately, he began to unbutton Edgar’s shirt. Jack ran his hand over the mass of hairs that covered his partner’s chest and began working on his belt buckle with the other hand. Edgar stood motionless, enjoying Jack’s tender caresses, and he could feel his cock stiffening.

Finally naked, Edgar climbed onto the bed and looked at Jack.

“Take your clothes off,” he said, his erection pointing at the ceiling.

Jack dutifully complied, slowly shedding his clothing in a sexy striptease. When he was finally disrobed, his own cock swollen from the excitement, he looked at Edgar.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Get on top,” said Edgar, “ride my cock.”

Jack unzipped his overnight bag and extracted a bottle of lubricant. He squirted some of the cool gel onto Edgar’s throbbing hard on, and then smeared more onto his own ass before climbing onto the bed.

Facing Edgar, he grasped his cock in his hand and guided it toward his asshole, slowly easing onto the monster.

“Shit, yeah, take it baby,” whispered Edgar, relishing the feeling of Jack’s tight ass on his dick.

Slowly, Jack eased onto Edgar’s cock and stopped when he was filled up with it.

“God,” he gasped, “you fill me up so perfectly.”

Jack ran his hands over Edgar’s chest and leaned down, careful not to uncouple, and kissed Edgar on the lips.

“Ride it,” said Edgar.

Jack began to rock back and forth, his asshole working on the fleshy monster inside of it. He lifted his body up onto his feet, which were on either side of Edgar, for better leverage. Squatting on Edgar’s fat cock Jack began to move his body up and down, slowly at first, then working up to a faster pace, working on the stiff cock. As he rode Edgar’s dick his own cock bobbed up and down, occasionally smacking on Edgar’s taut stomach and dripping drops of the clear pre come that oozed from the head.

Suddenly, Edgar could feel himself nearing climax. He had reached the point of no return, and his nuts drew up as he began to shoot his load in his lover’s ass.

“Fuck,” he gasped, sweat standing on his forehead, “I’m coming, baby!”

Jack didn’t miss a beat and continued riding Edgar’s dick while he stroked his own meat and eventually doused Edgar’s chest and stomach with a healthy load.

Jack and Edgar arose early the next morning, checked out of their room and drove the short distance to North Beach for breakfast. As they dined on pastries and coffees at a sidewalk café, the streets filled with tourists from all over the world, Edgar truly missed the city for the first time in a very long time.

“You know, Jack,” he said offhandedly, “if Converse wins in the end, I guess I wouldn’t mind moving back to the city.”

Jack, too, was caught under the spell of the city and took Edgar’s hand from across the small bistro table.

“He’s not going to win,” he said. “But we really should come up to the city more often.”

Edgar laughed and nodded. When they first moved to Wonderland ten years earlier, he had promised Jack that they would visit San Francisco regularly. But, with a new house and two jobs in Wonderland, their visits to the city had ceased altogether.

“I promise,” said Edgar. “No excuses.”

From North Beach, Edgar and Jack headed north in the direction of Lombard Street. Coit Tower, perched atop Telegraph Hill, stood like a giant sentinel to their right. Because Lombard Street was one way heading east, they were forced to go around the block. Edgar glanced up at the crooked street with its eight hairpin curves, and a cable car trudging up the hill behind it. At Chestnut Street, Edgar turned left, slowly climbing the hill. At Hyde, he turned left again and, at the top of the hill, turned right.

There, set back from the street up on a hill and surrounded by wild trees and overgrown shrubbery, sat George Saunders’ mansion. From the street, the stone edifice looked dark and deserted. To Edgar it was no small irony that one of the most corrupt families in America owned a mansion on a street that was also America’s most crooked.

“Looks haunted,” commented Jack.

Edgar merely nodded and drove past the house in search of a parking spot.

“So this is the guy’s third house?” asked Jack. “He must be loaded.”

“He is,” replied Edgar, as he maneuvered the car into a spot recently vacated by a Volvo.

“Most of the original ‘money’ families deserted their city mansions for homes in Marin and Hillsborough, but Saunders has both.”

“As well as the ancestral home in Wonderland,” Jack said.

“Exactly,” Edgar replied.

They got out of the car and walked to the house.

“Eddy,” Jack said, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “How do you plan on getting Saunders to talk to you?”

Edgar smiled.

“Fortunately, I kept my press pass from the Chronicle,” he said, producing the card from a pocket. “I’m hoping I can bluff my way in.”

Edgar hoped that he didn’t have to use the gun that was concealed in his jacket, especially with Jack here. At the top of the stone staircase they climbed a few more steps, which led onto a front porch. Without hesitation, Edgar rapped sharply on the door.

Everything was silent, save for the ringing bell on a cable car making its way up nearby Hyde Street. Edgar took a deep breath and knocked again, this time harder and with more authority.

Suddenly, the dusty drape in the oval window on the oak door fluttered, followed by the sounds of moving chains. The door was opened from the inside about an inch, and half of a man’s face appeared, his eyes suspicious.

“Mr. Saunders?” asked Edgar.

“Mr. Saunders doesn’t receive visitors,” was the reply.

“My name is Edgar Newcastle,” replied Edgar, “and this is my associate, Jack Fish. We’re with the Chronicle.”

Edgar flashed his press credentials, but the man looked unimpressed.

The man, dressed in a nurse’s uniform, opened the door a bit more and took a step back.

“Yes?” he asked.

“We’re here about Parker St. John,” blurted Edgar, who stuffed his foot into the gap between the door and doorframe.

“Never heard of him,” snapped the nurse.

“Maybe Mr. Saunders has,” pressed Edgar,