The longer I sat in Lieutenant Burton Kahn's office, the worse I felt about how I'd let myself go—knowing full well I'd just keep on doing it. I wasn't even sure I could withstand the pressure from Danny.
"Come to the layover room with me," he'd breathed in my ear when I'd entered the squad room, summoned by Burton to find out why I'd packed my duffel bag for traveling.
That wasn't where the conversation had started, of course.
"Hey, man, I'm sorry ab
The very first thing I did when I was able to struggle, bowlegged and fully satisfied, out of the bed in the morning was to thumb through the Wallace case folder until I found the number I wanted and called the Loudon County medical examiner. He gave me an appointment for 10:00 that morning and told me the procedure would take an hour or so. He assured me that the tests I’d suggested be taken on the body of Wallace could be completed by then and that everything would be expedited. Then, although
Folsom awoke to Ralf's sex-satiated, very satisfied snoring. They were both on their sides in one of the beds in Folsom's cabin on the MS River God, the American's well-worked butt nestled into the Australian's well-exercised groin and his strong arms encircling Folsom. The palm of one of Ralf's hands was spread on Folsom's lower belly, and the American detective had not been this content and well-fucked since he was living with Brad Roberts, his partner at the NYPD—and his lover—whose murder ha
The Ranchero was a bull-riding bar, complete with sawdust and peanut shells on the floor and a twangy country and western voice singing a "girl done gone up and left me" song assaulted a raucous crowd of men from the rafters. The basement club was set smack dab in the middle of Manhattan, but you'd never know it was there—unless you were a gay male, cruised, and liked both riding and talking the bull.
It was a place where guys could project themselves out of the canyons of skyscra
After his narrow escape from the pounding questions by the German police about Bruno Meister's death by way of accepting a pounding of his ass by Roman the Magnificent on stage at Hephaestion, Folsom meekly followed Roman into his cabin through the door under the stairs in the sex club. The cabin was the same size as Folsom's was and had the same two pull-down beds over benches with a table in between. But it wasn't nearly as well-appointed as Folsom's was. It also had the prolonged lived-in loo
Folsom was stunned and immobilized. He shook Tiho and looked into his eyes, willing him to be alive. But Tiho was already gone. His eyes, full of amazement and hurt, just stared back at Folsom in glassy emptiness.
There was no room to maneuver out from under what was now dead weight in the confessional booth. Folsom twisted around and eased Tiho's body down on bench built into the back wall. He could see now that there was blood on the lattice of window in the confessional booth d
I got rousted out myself not long after dawn the next morning. I was pretty sore and afraid I wouldn't be able to walk a straight line and would be wearing a sloppy grin all day, but I needed to get the lay of the place before Jason Jenks, the novelist I was supposed to keep alive, arrived. And I also needed to get my expected routine down, now that I had been vetted by ranch management.
I'd been ridden hard the previous night as part of an indoctrination into my "expected" routi
Clint woke up—in his own bed—with the feeling of pressure in his head and across his chest. And then he realized he was awake because there was pressure down further too. His cock was being fisted and slowly worked. The pressure on his chest went away when he realized it was a chocolate-brown, brawny arm that was weighing him down. He pushed it off him with a mutter of "Oh fuck." The pressure in his head, he knew, wasn't going to start going away until he got to the medicine cabinet in his bathr
What, again? Clint thought as he rolled over in the bed and encountered warm, hard flesh. His head was pounding. His ass was tingling too. Felt like a Mac truck had rammed itself up in there. He liked that feeling; seemed he spent half his life trying to open himself wide—with help, of course. He liked it better when the truck was still parked, though. And when it did a little rocking and forward and reversing in there. He rolled back toward the edge of the bed, ready to continue out onto the fl
Clint arrived at work the next morning as the lieutenant was gathering the squad around the case board, which had the photos of three similar-looking blond-headed men—the three victims of the case they were working on—pinned to the center of the board. Another photo of a similar-looking man was pinned off to one side. Clint recognized this one as the dead witness in the mobster trial case. And two more photos of blond-headed men were grouped off to another side of the board. Burton Kahn was stil
© All rights reserved