Eden's Past

an excerpt



Prologue

He took a deep swig of the bottle, not his first of the night, and felt the warmth spread throughout his body and infiltrate his bloodstream. The world was fuzzy, flurry...yet somehow as a result sounds were heightened and what he could hear even from the outside could only have been one thing. The urgent cries of sex.

Stumbling forward into the carriage house, he tried to focus his eyes. He knew the lay of the land like he knew the back of his hand. This had been his home for all of his fifty-eight years. Well, not the carriage house, because that was for guests and he could hardly be considered a transient here. He had always lived up at the main house, a sprawling Colonial-style structure named Edenwood by some long-ago generation that came with more rooms than relatives. That was the case even more so today, with only himself and his aging mother calling it home. Each night, year after year, it was the same routine--dine, argue, annoy, drink away the problems--and tonight had been no different. Except for the argument. He'd rarely seen Eleanor so angry as she had been tonight when he'd informed her of the news. It was one of the reasons he'd sought an escape after she went to sleep, but not before he'd grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet in the library.

Now the long-necked bottle was half finished and he couldn't even focus on what the old battle-axe and he had argued about. Wait, his addled brain conjured, something having to do with the family business, or about the family itself...she'd even gone so far as to mention his ill-begotten son...bastard kid.

"That kid's dead," he remembered saying.

"You're a fool, Silas. You've ruined us all."

Even in this inebriated state, those words he recalled.

Silas Singleton took another hard pull of the whiskey, feeling it slide down his throat as if it were water. Then he stepped over the threshold, trying to be as stealthy in his movements as his drunken self would allow. But from what he heard, he could have blasted a trombone through the dark night and he wouldn't have disturbed the actions of whoever these horny interlopers were. It was probably the gardener and some sleazy woman he'd picked up at the Snake Pit using private property for their secret, sexual tryst. No doubt porking the whore something good. It had been too long since Silas had indulged in the pleasures of the flesh that weren't found on a computer screen, so he moved forward, hoping to get a peek at a live show. Maybe she had big jugs and they were jiggling something fierce.

The sounds emanating from the bedroom grew in intensity, or maybe it was just because he was getting closer. He began to hear voices, he could make out words. Dirty words.

"Oh, oh...fuck me, harder..."

Silas' eyes widened, knowing that wasn't a woman's voice. It was deep, gravelly, with a thriving hunger to it. A man, he surmised inside his boozy brain.

He heard a raw grunt, a cry. Both voices masculine.

One man...with another man.

Heat grew inside him and this time not from the booze.

"Why, you fucking fags..."

Silas threw open the bedroom door and there writhing on the bed were two men, naked, one on his knees, his white-knuckled hands gripping the headboard. The second man, his body broad and muscular, pushed at him from behind, thrusting his hard body with force at his prey, a hard cock embedded inside the recipient's ass. They'd paid no mind to his arrival and he had to wonder if he'd spoken those words only inside his head. The two men continued their fierce copulation, the man on the receiving end begging for more, more. A sliver of moonlight sliced through the lace curtains, illuminating their shadows on the white wall. Like the scene before Silas had erupted from one couple to two and all of them were men and they were grunting and crying and fucking, the sounds escalating in Silas' mind.

He tried to speak but he was transfixed by what he saw, disgusted too.

The aggressor was dark-haired, with a dense pelt of black hair covering his chest. His arms were similarly coiled with hair. With his eyes closed, the man concentrated on the driving beat of his engulfed body, of each hungry thrust of his hips. The bottom man was crying more, his pleasure filling the room.

"I'm close, man...so close...give it harder..."

The man on top rammed at him, his cries guttural.

Silas knew what was going to happen, it didn't take science to understand, just the sound of their heated breaths. Both men were near climax. But that wasn't going to happen, not if he could help it.

"Just what the hell is going on here? Who are you damned trespassers...you perverts?" he asked and this time he knew he'd spoken the words aloud, slurred as they were.

The creaking of the bed ceased and the aggressive, hairy-chested beast turned to him, his cock still buried deep in the other's man ass. Anger flared up in his enflamed eyes. No man liked to be disturbed seconds from climax. It was like poking a wounded animal.

"What the fuck...oh shit...get out..."

Getting a look at the man's face, Silas' expression whitened and the bottle slipped from his hand, crashing to the floor. Shards of glass mixed with wasted whiskey on the carpeted floor.

He stumbled out of the bedroom, nearly losing his balance as he backtracked to the main entrance of the carriage house. Unable to find his footing, he crashed to the floor, taking with him a lamp that shattered against the hardwood floor, the pop of the broken light bulb eliciting a final burst of life before being doused. Silas turned, looked up to see one of the men coming at him. The man was still naked, his thick cock leading the way, rising up from a nest of black hair. Hair trailed upward over a six-pack stomach until it fanned out over his chest in a sprawling dark mat. Like a creature was coming for him, on the attack.

Before the man could reach him, Silas had scrambled to his feet and dashed out of the carriage house and into the warm, black night. The moonlight that moments ago had given light to their intense fucking had disappeared behind a thickening cloud. He thought he could feel a raindrop splash on his face. He tried to get control of himself but all of the booze floating inside his body wouldn't let him. He fell again, this time on concrete, and his face landed hard enough to jolt him. He felt blood trickle from a fresh wound on his forehead, all while he thought he detected the smell of chlorine.

He'd landed near the pool.

He wasn't sure how long the ground claimed him. Trying to get up, he ended up crawling on all fours to the very edge of the pool, where he stuck his head in the warm water, both to clean the fresh wound and refresh his mind. He felt the sting of chlorine in the cut. His mind reeled. What he'd seen...who he'd seen...it just wasn't possible. He'd known one damn faggot in his life and he'd tossed him out on his ear the moment he'd discovered the truth. But this...it was almost too much to absorb, a worse betrayal.

Warm water swirled around him and it felt so welcoming. He lifted his head, felt more water. He couldn't tell which came from the pool, which from the now-falling rain. That's when his eyes rolled up inside his head and he tried to open his mouth. All he did was inhale water. Wetness enveloped him, as though he were trapped by water all around him.

Like he was being held down deliberately.

A last, lucid moment hit him, a burst of adrenaline-fueled fear ripping through him, but it was too late. His thrashing failed to save him and Silas Singleton's body suddenly went slack.

The last drink he would take was not of whiskey.

As his body lay there, forever silent, the violent storm passed overheard. He never heard the thunder that was rumbling over Eden.









Part One



The Garden of Secrets





Chapter One



He knew he shouldn't complain. Both growing up and during most of his adult life money had never been an issue. Except he knew from personal experience that money caused problems.

That's one of the reasons he'd left that life behind--his family and all of their old money. All their old-world inhibitions.

Only to find himself immersed in a world of new money, with all the indulgent

excesses that came with such a lifestyle.

This time, though, it wasn't his money being spent. He was busy making it and he had to work hard for every dollar and work for it in a way that made him lose more of himself every day, taking his self-respect along the way. But when you were blessed with model-type good looks and a great body and men saw you as a sexual being, sacrifices had to be made.

Chad Singleton knew all about sacrifices. He'd been making them since he was seventeen and on his own. He'd come a long way since that day in small-town Pennsylvania. New worlds had opened up to him.

Take now. First came a two-day layover in Los Angeles, then a month-long trip to the Far East with stops in Tokyo, Singapore and Beijing. Thinking about all those frequent flier miles he'd racked up made Chad realize just how far from his old homestead he'd come. He wondered also if that was a good thing, as though the farther afield he traveled the more he put his old life and memories of his fractured family behind him. So why then was his mind busy thinking about them now? He supposed he could travel to the moon and still he'd hear his father's harsh, unforgiving tone as he threw him out of the house, disowning him.

One day Chad swore he'd show his father how wrong he'd been.

Now certainly wasn't the time, not with the way he was living his life. It would only make matters worse and perhaps prove the old bastard right. Chad Singleton, twenty-nine, handsome to the point people's eyes lingered, physically fit, generally good-humored, was a kept man. And the man who kept him never wasted a moment to remind him.

"Chad, do you have the bags?"

Running a hand through the shoulder-length, dark brown locks that enhanced his already cut features, Chad allowed himself a heavy sigh. When you were a paid companion and in the company of the boss, were you ever really off-duty? Besides, didn't the hotel staff handle shit like luggage? Couldn't he for once be the pampered one?

"It's okay, Mr. Gregory. The bellhop will brings the bags up," the reservation clerk from behind the sleek counter said with a flush to his cheeks.

Chad offered up the clerk a grateful smile, even though his employer was not a man who ever liked being contradicted. "Regardless. I have very valuable items in my bags and as such, I don't like to be separated from them for even a minute. Chad is a capable young man."

And so it was that Chad was put to work, grabbing the two heavy suitcases, one in each of his hands, the tanned muscles of his arms bulging from the weight. Another suitcase was strung across his shoulder, the leather strap cutting across his chest. The tight white V-neck shirt already highlighted his nipples, the cotton material adhering to his hard pectorals and flat stomach. Danny Gregory smiled at the sight, then flashed a look back at the clerk.

"Very capable."

Danny Gregory, a powerful music executive who created and managed a boy band called The Teen Boys and who had more money than he knew what to do with, followed Chad through the busy lobby of the trendy Sunset Strip hotel. Soon the two of them were off the elevator and padding down the soft carpet to their room. It was at the end of the hall, of course, more private. Chad felt every step with the heavy bags. At last they arrived. Danny removed the card key and swung the door wide. He let Chad enter first. Chad felt as if he could see the man's eyes zeroing in on his ass as he bent over to drop the bags in the corner. Chad could read Danny's mind in other ways too, knowing what was going to happen next.

"You can get ready, Chad, like a good pretty boy."

"Sure, Danny," he said, his voice noncommittal.

They'd just flown across the country, Danny having spent the entire flight from New York either on his laptop or, just before take-off and after landing, talking on his iPhone. His pattern suggested that once they arrived at the hotel he could take a break from his wheeling and dealing, allowing himself the chance to indulge his perpetual desires. For the past six months, Chad Singleton's body had been his primary indulgence.

First things first, Chad went over to the sliding door that opened out onto the terrace. As he slid it across the track, a light breeze blew into the airy room, freshening their surroundings. He stared down at the pool area, where men and women lounged in as little clothing as they could get away with for a public place. Fit, tanned bodies were de rigueur here in sunny Southern California and none on better display than those taking in the scene at the Standard. Chad stole a pensive look in the distance at the western hills of LA, where he could detect planes arriving and departing in a steady rotation. Just an hour ago, he'd been up in that sky and in another two days' time he'd be back up in the clouds. Life was a series of flights and hotel rooms, a transient existence that made him feel as if he was always packing, always floating.

The popping of a cork broke him from his thoughts and he returned to the room.

"Finally, a chance to breathe," Danny said, handing Chad a glass of champagne.

The bottle had been chilling and awaiting them upon arrival, as requested.

Chad and Danny clinked glasses and as they drank, Chad noticed that Danny's cell phone had been placed on the table beside the bed. That phone was never out of his hands unless he had other, more private matters on his mind. A quick check of his pants and Chad could see the distraction. It was pressing hard against the zipper of his slacks. For a guy who stood only five eight, Danny Gregory had a nice length on him, which of course looked even bigger because of his wiry frame. Chad drank the bubbly again, feeling refreshed by the expensive little bubbles that shimmered inside the glass and just slightly woozy. He'd barely touched the airline food. He downed the rest of the contents of the glass in one big gulp, smiling at Danny as he set it down on the bureau.

"Very sexy indeed," Danny said. "I love watching you drink."

He wasn't talking about the champagne. The powerful, demanding Danny came toward Chad and took him in his arms, staring up at Chad's six-foot-one broad-shouldered frame.

"I'm so glad you could accompany me on this trip, it's a long journey."

"I wasn't doing much of anything," Chad said. "New York was strangling me anyway. A change of pace is good."

"Let's hope not everything has changed. I need it just how I like it. I need what you've got."

Chad felt his cock thicken at the idea of sex, especially if he was able to knock back a bit more of the expensive champagne. Sex with Danny was always better when he had a good buzz going. He felt Danny grab at his ass and pull him in closer. He leaned up, thick lips puckered. Chad accepted the kiss, felt a wet tongue slip inside his mouth before curling back out. It lapped against a stubbled chin.

"You didn't shave this morning," Danny said.

"I did but it grows fast," Chad said.

"Yes, I suppose it does. Well, no time for such details now."

Danny often complained about the roughness of Chad's beard. It seemed a heavy shadow perpetually graced his cheeks. With another slap at his tight butt, Danny told him to get his ass in gear, laughing at his own lame attempt at wordplay. While Danny poured himself another glass of champagne, Chad went into the bathroom to prepare. He stripped down to nothing and then was under the hot spray of the shower seconds later.

He lathered up, letting the steam rise all around him. At last, he felt he'd cleansed enough for Danny's approval and emerged from the shower to a mirror coated with steam. He flipped on the bathroom fan, then wiped away at the condensation. A streaky image stared back and he had to wonder at the distorted sight in front of him. Chad Singleton was a shell of the man he once thought he'd become, having struggled for years in New York to find himself and to make something of himself. He had a lot to prove to his family. What he'd done was concentrate on his body, not his mind, so he was physically fit, his body hard, solid. It had gotten him places but all at the cost of his ambitions.

As the steam dissipated, he got a clearer picture of his trim body. His dark-brown hair was even darker when wet and he pushed it back with his hands. He would let it dry naturally, unlike the rest of him, which he ran a towel over. His bare hand scraped against his chest, where he felt a good amount of stubble. Naturally hairy, Chad kept his chest waxed at Danny's request and only now did he realize he should have gone for a treatment before they left. Like his unshaven face, it was something Danny would have to deal with today.

So Chad emerged from the steamy bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. He found the room darkened, the curtains closed. He also found Danny spread out on the bed, naked, his legs open and his cock springing into action.

"Someone's ready," Chad said.

"I could say both of us are," came the reply.

Chad's cock had grown beneath the towel, tenting it. He pulled it off and his cock thrust forward--it was a stunning length, more long than thick. It was what one wealthy, horny potential client had called his "meal ticket" before making a meal of it himself, going down on the throbbing cock. He'd been requesting Chad's capable services for an exclusive period before wiping the come off his face. He'd sucked Chad off every chance he'd gotten for the one-month business trip.

Now it was a different man but the transaction was the same. "Look at that huge thing," Danny said, wiping at his mouth. "Bring it to me, now."

He barked that last order and Chad did as asked, though not before grabbing hold of his refilled glass. He drank down some bubbly, let some of it spill down his chin and onto his chest. Danny reacted by stroking his own cock. Chad climbed onto the bed, knees sinking slightly into the firm mattress. He straddled Danny, pointing his pulsing cock at the powerful man's eager mouth. He saw that mouth open wide and that's when Chad let his cock slide in.

"Hmmm," Danny said, his voice muffled.

Chad pulled out and heard, "Fuck me, Chad. Fuck my face."

He readied himself for a harder entry and then slammed hard. He felt fingers dig into the hard flesh of his smooth ass. He pounded and he thrust again, a relentless assault that had Danny gagging. His lips kept a tight lock on him though. With loud grunts, he shoved his cock in as deep as he could, felt the warm rush of the man's spittle against his shaft. He knew it wouldn't take him long to blow, not with the frantic action of his bucking hips, not with the darkened room allowing him to fantasize in his mind about a different man taking his cock. That's how it went sometimes when you found the man you were with repulsive.

He soon heard a muffled cry and opened his eyes to see that Danny's cock was letting loose a load of come onto his fingers. Chad thrust one last time and he too felt the rush of orgasm. He let it rip and his cock exploded with spurts of hot come, all of it sliding down Danny's throat. As he pulled out and fell back against the bed, Danny let out a sigh.

"Not sure which tasted better," he said, "you or the champagne."

"Hot is always better than cold," Chad said.