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
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
© All rights reserved