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

York trying to work some angle for his plan to take your home. Not sure what New York has to do with Wonderland, but these days life ain’t the same here, you know? He won’t be back till next Monday. All I know is, it makes for a happy work atmosphere here at the Bayside, all of us out from under that bald tyrant’s thumb.”

“You know, he probably has video and audio devices planted everywhere,” Aaron said.

Maxie spoke into the bottle of tequila in her hands. “Bald tyrant, are you listening? I’m giving Aaron Walters free booze. Bye-bye profits.”

She laughed as she poured Aaron his fourth shot. He didn’t hesitate to knock it back with the ease of man intent on a night of self-destruction.

It was another half hour and a couple more shots later before Aaron finally gave up and said he was going to crash in the employee-reserved room, and Maxie made doubly sure of that by taking hold of his car keys.

“Not on my watch,” she said, and then told him to go sleep it off, but not before giving him one for the so-called road.

Aaron made his way back into the lobby, a bit unsteady on his feet, and slipped behind the reservations desk to get the room key. He just grabbed a couple of them, out of view of the desk clerk. As he walked down the corridor, he made a sudden detour, making sure no one was watching him, and with the second key he had confiscated, he made his way toward his boss’s office. He let himself in quickly, looking both ways to ensure no one had seen him.

Once inside he had no idea what he was doing. Perhaps it was the tequila driving his actions, but fuck it, he was here, he might as well see what he could find. So, first thing he did was fire up the computer, waiting impatiently for the Windows program to load. But at last it did, and the desktop background was a picture of Rich North and Paolo, the two of them in the throes of sweaty, hungry sex.

“Sick bastard,” Aaron said, fascinated by the photograph. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen on video, most recently this morning. My God, had it only been hours ago that he’d been watching that video and feeling as though his life was spiraling out of control, his lover more satisfied by other men? And it was all Danvers Converse’s fault, the damn pervert; the guy had a thing for watching other guys fuck each other, but he wouldn’t admit to his own gayness.

Aaron thought about the number of times his boss had lured him to his private suite, blackmailing him into sex, videotaping every physical thrust, but somehow escaping film’s true gift, seeing into the soul of the people up on that screen. Christ, how often had Danvers sent Aaron down to see Edna at the waxing salon, ripping his body of its natural hair. Not that he was overly hairy, not like Rich or Parker, but his chest had a decent coating of hair. The sick bald freak hated the bristling feel of it, and so he wouldn’t allow himself to be fucked by anyone hirsute.

Just then, the booze settling in his soul, Aaron ripped off his shirt, his fingers toying with the stubble of fresh grown chest hair, glad he’d been letting it grow back the last week or so. By end of summer he’d be back to his normal self, and then he and Paolo could resume their hot and heavy sexual Olympics they so used to love. For now, tweaking his nipples, feeling his cock grow, Aaron suddenly unzipped his pants and reached inside, withdrawing his cock. He stroked it hard, grunting loudly as it grew to its maximum size, more long than thick, and he pumped it, pumped it, all the while staring at the photograph on screen of Paolo and Rich. It didn’t take him long, and soon his cock jerked, once, twice, a third time, and he let his come just shoot into the air, caring not a bit where it landed. But each drop splattered on the keyboard, and he laughed as they did, imagining Converse trying to type away next week, finding dried come all over.

But then he’d know someone had been in here.

Shit, he had to clean all this up.

Aaron reached into the desk drawer, found a box of tissues. He wiped his come up, and stuffed the used tissue into his back pocket. About to close the drawer, something else caught his attention. It gleamed, even in the dim light, almost like it was calling to him. He reached in, cradled it into his grip while he removed it from its protective hold.

Aaron Walters stared at the gun in his hand.

And then he smiled.

He left the office not a minute later and the truth of the matter was this: he hadn’t put the gun back where he’d found it.

Sunday was Aaron’s lone day off each week from the hotel, and with Paolo on summer hiatus from teaching, the plan every week was to hop in their sporty car and make a day trip. Maybe they’d go up to San Francisco to troll around the bars that lined the Castro, or drive down to Monterey to listen to the barking seals on the piers and dine on some fresh seafood; in either place they’d stay the night and indulge their physical fantasies, returning the next morning for Aaron’s noon report time at the Bayside. They had to do something to get back to where they wanted to be together. So the decision for this Sunday was for the two of them to venture further down the coast.

“Carmel,” Aaron announced.

“Why so far?”

“Because we’re not just stealing a day for us, we’re on a mission.”

“Care to explain?” Paolo had asked.

“Sure. But not till we hit the road.”

They forewent their usual Sunday morning screw, ate a fast breakfast, and by eight o’clock they were pulling out of their driveway, all of Eldon Court