Desperate Enemies 3 by Adam Carpenter (latest ebook reader .txt) 📕

like it was pulling him back from an abyss, and his eyes worked back and forth until he found the source of such a noisy intrusion. It was the turn of a car's engine down at Number Five. Paolo watched as Rich North, back home after his recovery from a gunshot at the gallery incident, pulled out of his driveway and zoomed down the street, not even noticing Paolo. Perhaps that was how it was supposed to be. Paolo, closed off for over a week, had been rendered invisible.

Which just gave his powers of observation more. . . power.

He'd seen the blowsy, glamorous red-headed lady at both Number Two with Parker, and visiting at Number Four, Edgar and Jack's, and he was no closer to understanding who she was or what her connection to Eldon Court was. But what most disturbed him was his friend, Marc, who had taken to jogging every morning, before and since Rich's return. His actions weren't fooling Paolo because he'd seen where Marc had jogged to, even if he was trying to be surreptitious about his destination—he's always ended up at Number Two, with Parker quickly letting him in, practically pulling him inside with hunger. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on. Now, with Rich having driven off Eldon Court this morning, Paolo had to wonder if Marc was going to head out on one of his jogs.

Or maybe he'd already left.

Paolo suddenly stood up on the porch and ventured forward, down his walkway. Feeling like every eye was cast upon his renewed presence, he began to walk toward the edge of the cul-de-sac, wanting it to appear he was just aimlessly going for a walk, a chance to clear his head of the cobwebs that had formed after days of being cooped up. What he did was circle back behind the yard of Number One, all quiet with Dane and Sawyer away. He crept along the connecting lawn to Number Two, discovering as he got closer several dug up holes in the ground, most notably around the side of the wraparound porch. He'd seen Parker at work, shirtless and showing off his muscular, furry frame, as he shoved the shovel into the ground, seeking, searching. . . but for what? The mysteries at Number Two continued to plague Eldon Court and now Paolo had to sidestep those holes so as not to get his foot caught and pitch forward.

“What the hell are looking for?” Paolo asked, liking the sound of his voice. “Parker St. John, what are you up to?”

He crouched down near the side porch, fingering the freshly turned dirt, peering into the latticed framework below the porch. He sniffed at the soil, smelled the pungent odor, his mind flooding with thoughts of what secrets the ground might hold, waiting to be uncovered. Number Two was of course the source of much speculation—none of them knew what had happened here all those years ago, just that violence had lived here, briefly, shockingly, and been covered-up. And then it had gone quiet, until the return of Parker and his claim to the land, to the Saunders name and. . .

A sudden, urgent series of grunts caught Paolo's attention and he looked up, eyebrows raised while trying to discern their source. What those sounds were, that much he could figure out. Someone was getting their brains screwed out, and very nearby. Indeed, the silence of the morning had been breached, with the fresh new sounds of love and lust, of the urgent cries of coupling, dominating the serenity of the street. Peering cautiously over the lip of the window, he caught the familiar sight of Parker, naked, hard, his body thrusting, and the man beneath him was none other than Marc Anderson, both of them oblivious to all but themselves and their needs. Paolo felt transfixed, like watching a porn movie being filmed. His own cock thickened inside his shorts; this was not like those dirty magazines up in his bathroom, sexy but staid images that had helped him climax back during a rough stretch with Aaron, when the sex between them was as non-existent as. . . Aaron was now. A willowy memory.

Paolo imagined he wouldn't soon forget what he saw before him, far from willowy; more violent, like a thunderstorm passing through.

Marc's muscular legs were positioned high in the air, Parker holding them at the ankles. His rock hard cock was pushing into Marc with fierce, potent thrusts, and Marc was crying out in pain, even while he was urging Parker on, “deeper, further, give me every inch,” and Parker just smiled and thrust more, telling Marc, “love that you can take this big cock of mine,” and Paolo had to agree on that front, he'd had that cock himself, not in the ass but in his mouth, and it sure as hell was a lot of man to suck on. Marc, lithe, tight, took each thick inch of Parker's cock with surprising agility; Paolo guessed all that jogging kept him athletic. . . and flexible.

Paolo knew he should move away, stop staring. . .

But the violent act of sex fascinated him, especially between these two.

He'd never have imagined Marc giving in to Parker's obvious but appealing seductions, but he supposed the night of the gallery opening had rewritten the rules. Rich had been late to the event, Marc had been pissed and drinking too much wine, and then when Rich and Parker arrived together just in time to stop Aaron from shooting Danvers Converse, something bad must have clicked inside Marc. And now here he was, at the receiving end of Parker's eager fucking.

“Yeah, give it to me, fuck me you hairy beast. . . oh, I love it, I love it. . .”

The words caught Paolo's attention and he refocused on the two men. Parker's chest was heaving with heat and energy, his hairy pelt dripping with beads of sweat. Marc reached up to run