Just then the phone rang.
He ignored it, stroking more, more.
A second ring, then a third.
He pushed his fingers deeper into his pliant ass, crying out, demanding, pleading that he shoot his load high into the air, splatter his chest. . .
Beep.
“Parker,” a disembodied voice said, “Parker, I'm know you're there. Parker, it's Rose. . . I haven't heard from you in awhile. . . I'm not hanging up, I'll wait until you're done with whatever you're doing. . . Parker, are you in the shower? God, I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing, you're not that little teenage boy anymore, are you? Parker, Parker?”
Christ, why did she have to do that to him? Why in one message could she reduce him to a simpering boy? He felt the blood drain from his cock, his orgasm go into hiding, which was just what he wanted to do. But he knew it would do no good. He reached over, his hand sticky from his spit, and reached for the receiver.
“Hello, Rose.”
“You sound out of breath.”
“I was in the yard, had to come running when I heard the phone ring. I knew it was you.”
“Hmm,” was Rose's reply. “So, in the yard. Digging?”
“And I found nothing.”
“Keep digging.”
“Rose, I think we're tilting at windmills here.”
“Parker, do I have to come out there myself. . .”
“No,” he quickly said, too quickly.
“See you soon,” was her reply, and before he could answer she had hung up.
Parker St. John—so vibrant, vital, voracious, so hot, hairy, and hunky, so sexy, steamy, and strong—had just been reduced to simply so wimpy, wanting, and wanton. Rose had a commanding, imperious way about her, and he pitied the unsuspecting residents of Eldon Court. They had no idea what—or who—Parker had just unleashed on them. But maybe it wasn't so bad, the arrival of Rose Emerson St. John would no doubt shake things up, and maybe that was a good thing.
Parker, still naked, his cock shriveled, more frustrated, leaned back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Marc was gone from his thoughts.
There was no way he'd be able to climax now.
Besides, when it came to Rose, anything less was anti-climatic.
“Shit,” he said to the empty room.
* * * *
“I've been waiting all morning for you to visit.”
“Sorry I'm late. I was cleaning up the house, I guess anticipating your homecoming.”
Marc was gazing out the fifth-floor window of Rich's hospital room at a great view of the ocean. He could see the Bayside Hotel from here and for a moment Marc was reminded of their first nights back in Wonderland when they had lived in the penthouse suite while they'd sought a suitable home to buy. How innocent those days had seemed, drinks by the pool, strolls along the beach, wild sex all night. Then it had just been the two of them, their relationship renewed after the scandal back east which had tested their bond and sent them fleeing to Rich's hometown. Compared to the drama that was playing out now on Eldon Court, New York seemed like Walton's mountain.
“Marc, you okay?”
Marc turned back to face Rich. “Lot on my mind.”
“I know this week has been hard on you.”
“On you, too. I'm not the one who got shot and endured surgery to repair his lung.”
“Anything for you.”
“Really?”
Marc's tone was harsh, accusatory, and he saw Rich blanch, like he'd been slapped.
“Okay, you want to tell me what's bothering you?”
“Why don't we wait until you get home and, you know, are fully recovered.”
“You think I cheated on you again,” Rich said quietly. “I know the look.”
“And am I wrong?”
“No.”
Marc's mouth fused shut, a safety feature to keep him from regretting any further words.
“It was just a simple blow job. . . from the male nurse. A sponge bath and. . . I don't know, it turned me on. Next thing I know he's going down on me and I'm doing nothing to stop him. Maybe I just wanted to make sure everything was. . . working, before you and I tried. . . God, that sounds lame even to me.”
“Your excuses have always been lame,” Marc said hotly, “I just chose to turn a blind eye, every time. But no more. Not when you realize how short and precious life is. It took Aaron dying for me to realize that maybe I don't want to settle for not being enough for you.”
“Marc, I told you, after a week in this hospital bed, I was just frustrated. . .”
“I'm not talking about the fucking nurse. . . pardon, the blowing nurse,” Marc said. “Rich, the night of the gallery opening, you showed up with Parker, the two of you out of breath. What, were you fucking him in the back parking lot when you realized how late you were, you rushed in even before you'd recovered from your orgasm? And stupid me, waiting around on the most important night of my life, waiting for the man who just that morning had professed his singular love to me.” Marc let out a sharp laugh. “You know, you talk of excuses, with all that happened that night I didn't get to hear yours. ‘Oh, sorry, Marc, got my
