Daughters of the Summer Storm by Frances Statham (good fiction books to read TXT) 📕

“Marc, is that you? What the hell. . . are you drunk?”

“Not nearly enough.”

Marc stumbled on the last step and Parker reached out to keep him from falling flat on his face. Meeting his eyes, those sparkling blue eyes that twinkled even in the sickly yellow of the porch light, Marc again felt his cock dance inside his shorts. He was horny, he was angry, he was tipsy, all ingredients that made for a tasty concoction known as crazy sex. And Parker St. John was just the right cook. . .cock. Hell, he'd been flirting with Marc for weeks, and once they'd almost done it, that night he'd gone to Number Two and found Parker tied up, having been threatened but not robbed, and seeing that sexy, furry body spread out on the bed, Marc had nearly given in to desire. But his commitment to Rich had stopped him, an inner voice of reason keeping him loyal all his life. But now, what did he have to lose when he'd already lost it all?

But to ask for sex, beg for it, even under the influence—he couldn't see himself doing that. He couldn't just walk up to Parker and say, “Fuck me now.” So, instead he went for a variation on a theme, and said, “You fucking bastard.”

“Got that right. I am a bastard, and hell, I'm human, I like to fuck. So, shoot me.”

With the power pulsing between them, neither saw the inappropriateness of the comment.

“You fucked Rich.”

“Hey, don't take it out on me. Takes two to tango.”

Marc felt deflated by the man's obvious admittance. “So you know why I'm here?”

“I'm not sure you even know why you're here, Marc. But I figured after what Rich has been through the past week, yeah, he had to confess what happened between us the night of your show. What if he'd gone to his grave without being able to tell you of his latest indiscretion? But he's fine, and no, don't worry; it's not going to happen again. I'm not sure either of us really wanted it, it erupted from something beyond attraction. It was all about power, to see just who could dominate whom.” Parker stopped, smiled. “I won, handily.”

“You actually sound proud of yourself.”

“Marc, do we have to do this in the doorway for all our neighbors to see? Come in, let me get you a beer—not that I think you need any more booze.” Then he touched Marc, his hand lingering on his shoulder. He squeezed once, gently, but with a noticeable undercurrent.

Marc knew this guy's seductive game, and he was playing it. He followed Parker inside, thinking about the secrets that lived in the walls of Eldon Court as well as the secrets that seemed hidden deep within Parker St. John's heart. Marc watched as Parker closed the door, the muscles of his arms flexing as he turned the lock. Dressed in blue jeans and a fresh white V-neck shirt, his body fit, his skin tan, a dark triangle of chest hair exposed, Marc felt attraction build within him; the guy was sex on a stick. His cock began to thicken inside his shorts.

“Have a seat; I'll get you that beer.”

Marc wandered into the living room, flicked on a lamp that emitted soft illumination on the freshly painted walls. The dark stains he'd noticed during his earlier visit had been covered up, but not forgotten, not by anyone who really knew what had transpired inside this house all those years ago. An event that had caused an endless ripple effect that continued to alter the currents of today, this very moment. A moment that seemed pre-destined, a heated exchange of fate.

“Here you go,” Parker said, holding out a bottle of beer.

“You know I didn't come for beer,” Marc said.

“What did you come for?”

“You.”

“Me? You mean a revenge fuck? You want to get back at Rich.”

It was said as a statement, not a question.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

Parker grinned as he set the beer down on the table, moving so close to Marc they could taste each other's breath. Another step closer still, Marc didn't back away as he normally would when faced with such temptation. He held his ground until Parker's body made contact with his, a quick sizzle between them sparking the night's electricity. Parker reached out, his hand cupping Marc's chin, turning it up toward him. He bent down to kiss him.

Marc quickly withdrew. “No kissing.”

“You still love him.”

“I'm not talking about him. I don't want to hear his name.”

“So, what, I'm just supposed to take my clothes off and fuck you right here?”

“Where did you fuck him?”

Parker didn't answer right away, yet the darting of his eyes gave him away. The couch, just nearby. Marc looked over there, imagined the two of them going at it and knew that wasn't the right place. “Upstairs, where we almost did it, when I found you. Lead me upstairs, Parker, take me there now and all night.”

Parker grabbed Marc's hand and led him up one step, then another and another until they had finally reached the top landing. Once in the master bedroom, Parker closed the door behind him. Marc allowed himself to be pushed up hard against that closed door, Parker's strong body thrust against him. His cock was already hard, big, and Marc salivated at the thought of that massive tool in his mouth, in his ass, pounding him and fucking him and pleasing him while he cried out so loud his voice would carry across the currents of the ocean and into the ether.

“That what you want?” Parker asked, pressing his groin against Marc.

“Yes, yes. I want it now.”

Marc reached up and tore at Parker's white shirt, ripping it open to expose his thickly covered chest, dark brown whorls coating his skin except for where hungry nipples jutted, waiting to be teased, licked, gorged upon. Marc ran his hands over that chest, losing his fingers in the coarse hair. Rich had been shaved