Desperate Enemies 3 Read Online Free PDF

wondered if the empty feeling on the street was symbolic of something bigger. No one appeared to be home. Had they all abandoned their homes, bailed on their crumbling facades? Marc considered stopping at Paolo's house to check in on how his friend was doing, but he wasn't in the mood to be rejected by someone else; so far Paolo had refused any overture. So Marc just parked the car, and bounded his way up the steps. He wanted wine, yes, he liked that idea, him and a bottle and his porch and the hidden night, contemplating future successes while drowning his present-day sorrows.
    Five minutes later, the cork opened and the first glass poured, he retired to the porch and he watched the progression of the night's white moon. Still dressed in his shorts and T-shirt from earlier, the chill of the evening sunk deep beneath his skin, down to his soul. Or maybe that was just a reaction to the drama of the day. My God, had he really walked out on Rich? He pondered whether he really had the guts to follow through on his threat. If he didn't do it now, he'd never do it—his words would never again carry such weight. Much like Rich's, promising he'd never fuck around on Marc again, only to do it just hours later. With Parker.
    After the third glass of wine, Marc was feeling better, a bit woozy.
    That's when a sports car turned onto Eldon Court and made its way to Number Two. It was the aforementioned Parker, his frame easily made out in the strong glow of the moon. He carried a couple of bulky packages in his bulging arms as he made his way up the porch steps. A motion detector operated an overhead light and suddenly Parker was bathed in low, yellow rays. Marc took a sip of his wine as he watched the man fumble for his keys. He dropped them and had to bend down for them. An image of Rich thrusting into that ass flooded Marc's mind, and then he realized, no, that's not right, Rich was the one who had bent over and Parker had shoved his hard cock inside him, pounding him while sweat dripped down that magnificent chest. . .
    Marc's cock jerked inside his tight shorts, excited by the explicit images being projected in his mind. He knew what he had to do; no, what he needed to do. He wondered if he would have the courage. But then he remembered his earlier pledge to himself, stand up for yourself, no more letting Rich's double standards rule his life. So Marc drained the last of his glass, throwing it against the cement path as he made his way to the sidewalk. The shattering sound of broken crystal erupted in the silence of the night, causing Parker to swirl around.
    “Who's there. . . what's going on?”
    “Your neighbor, come to borrow some sugar.”
    “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,