Page 3 of Equalizer (Sharps & Springfield #2)

Chapter 3

Calvin

B arone’s Restaurant was a tidy family-run establishment tucked into a quiet side street. Neat lettering on the windows advertised homemade sauces and pasta, pastries, and veal on Sundays. The aroma of onions, garlic, and fresh tomatoes made Calvin’s stomach rumble when they walked inside.

Wooden wainscoting, a pressed tin ceiling, and a checkerboard tile floor suggested that the restaurant had been around for a long time. In the back, Calvin caught a glimpse of brass fixtures and the mirrored backsplash of a bar.

“We have a private room. We’re friends with the owner,” the man said.

An older woman with gray hair and a matronly dark blue dress nodded to them and returned to wiping off tables. The other workers paid them no mind. Whoever the toughs were who brought them here, the restaurant staff didn’t seem to be afraid.

Maybe the gangsters are part of the family too.

Calvin and Owen walked shoulder to shoulder down the hallway toward the bar, and he finally caught a glimpse of their hosts in the large backbar mirror. Four dark-haired men followed them, all muscular and rough. Calvin felt certain they had guns, and even though no one had tried to take his weapon, the odds weren’t good for a fight in close quarters, especially with civilians nearby.

They want to talk? We’ll talk.

A young busboy ushered them into a private dining room. No food or drink on the table suggested this would be a short meeting. At least, Calvin hoped that was the meaning.

Calvin sized up their hosts with the seasoned eye from his wild days. These men seemed a little too old and a bit too organized to be mere gang members, which lent credence to the mobster theory. Oddly, that made him feel a little better about their situation.

One of the bodyguards gestured for Calvin and Owen to sit. A man about Calvin’s height with Macassared hair and an aura of authority sat across from them. Two guards stood on either side.

“What brings the feds to Chicago this time?” he asked.

Word travels fast. Did he hear from the cops, or did someone track our Pullman car?

“Official business,” Calvin replied pleasantly, not wanting to make it too easy. The look he and Owen traded confirmed they were both of the same mind, to see what information they could get from the mobster while giving up as little themselves as they could.

“You can do better than that.” Their host’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Here. A gesture of goodwill. My name is Luca Conti. I am head of security for the Conti and Bianchi families. I take my job very seriously. We like things to stay very quiet, and we take care of our own problems. So…Agents Sharps and Springfield—what brings you to Chicago?”

When they got out of here— if they got out—Calvin was going to talk to Winston about how Conti could have found out what he knew. But first, Calvin weighed stonewalling versus laying his cards on the table. A glance from Owen told him his partner would follow his lead, whatever he chose.

“We’re here because of all the missing bodies. Too many have been stolen to just be supplying medical schools,” Calvin said. “We want to find out who’s taking them and what’s being done with the corpses.”

Of all the answers Calvin could have given, the truth seemed to set Conti back on his heels. Calvin imagined Conti knew of other illegal goings-on that might have drawn attention, and the surprise showed in his face.

“I am involved in many business ventures throughout this side of the city. That usually keeps me well informed. I did not realize we had an epidemic of dead people walking away,” Conti replied, likely using humor to cover being surprised.

“We doubt they’re walking,” Owen spoke up. “Most are taken before they’re even buried. They’ve been vanishing from hospitals, settlement houses, and the county morgue. People no one would usually miss. But someone has a reason for taking them, and our bosses want to know what that is.”

Conti remained quiet for a moment, with a look that suggested he was taking them seriously. “So what? They’re dead, and they don’t have families, or their families aren’t involved. If no one cares—why do you? I understand the disrespect, but where’s the harm?”

“He’s worried about the magic.”

They turned to see an old woman in a black dress framed in the doorway. Dark hair piled atop her head framed a thin face with high cheekbones and alert brown eyes. Owen nudged his leg under the table, and Calvin guessed his thoughts.

Strega . Witch. “Mrs. Bianchi,” Conti acknowledged the newcomer for their sake.

“Yes, ma’am,” Calvin replied as Owen nodded. “We just can’t figure out why someone with magic wants the bodies—and that’s a worry.”

“Fi.” She pretended to spit to one side. Calvin had to listen closely to catch her words in her thick accent. “Nothing good. I lay spells to protect the dead in our neighborhood for that reason. Someone is doing death magic—very dark but powerful. It is an abomination.”

“Have you heard anything? Rumors spread fast,” Calvin asked. If the Conti-Bianchi mafia family could be an asset, Calvin had struck worse deals.

One of the bodyguards leaned down to whisper something to Conti, who nodded.

“Apparently, there has been talk, but since it didn’t affect our territory or our people, I hadn’t heard it. I will ask my people to keep their ears open after this,” Conti said with a note of reproof that clearly landed on his subordinates.

“I know the covens,” Mrs. Bianchi said. “The Family witches and the ones who are not part of our business. This does not sound like their doing, but I will inquire.” She gave Calvin a pointed look.

“If someone is taking corpses to use them and not just sell them like the body snatchers did, then this is something we should watch closely.” She directed her comments to Conti, and it had the feel of an order. Conti didn’t flinch, but his acceptance was clear.

Interesting. Conti is clearly top dog with his Mob family, but he listens to the strega .

“It appears we have a common interest,” Conti said. “We will keep the people under our protection safe, and I will make sure I’m kept aware.”

“If your research turns up anything that might help our investigation, we would appreciate an update,” Calvin said.

Conti seemed to find that amusing. “Of course. And I trust you gentlemen will do the same.”

Calvin took it as the polite throwdown that it was.

“Of course.” His tone and frozen smile matched Conti’s.

Conti leaned forward. “I am quite serious. If one of my family is involved, it is up to me to mete out a punishment. I don’t recognize the government’s authority in such areas.”

“And see, the government feels the same way about you,” Owen said. “So here we are. Let’s agree that stopping the thefts and whatever scheme is behind them is a common interest and leave the punishing to whoever gets to the criminals first.”

Conti’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “As you wish.”

If the body snatching involved some of Conti’s people working a side angle gone bad, Calvin didn’t doubt that the Mob boss would deal with the perpetrators more harshly than the law allowed. If it was an operation rooted in strife between mafia families, Calvin preferred to stay out of the line of fire so long as the problem was handled.

And if the Mob boss changed his mind about benefiting from the thefts, Calvin and Owen would deal with the situation.

“I’d offer you dinner, but I suspect it would run afoul of your tiresome rules and regulations,” Conti said with a slight smile that made it clear he enjoyed needling them. “If you’re ever looking for a good meal on your own dime, there’s nowhere better than Barone’s.”

“We will keep that in mind,” Owen said.

Knowing how much his partner loved good Italian food, Calvin suspected they would be sampling the fare at some point during their visit to Chicago.

“You’re free to go.” Conti gave a magnanimous sweep of his hand. “I wish you good hunting.”

Calvin and Owen stood, and Calvin paused. “While we always appreciate tips and assistance, the surest way to flood Chicago with feds is to get in our way. Just so we’re clear.”

Conti’s smile flattened. “Crystal.”

Calvin and Owen walked out like they weren’t turning their backs on a half dozen armed mobsters. No one tried to stop them, and Calvin’s stomach growled traitorously as they walked back through the restaurant to the door.

They waited to talk until they were out of sight of Barone’s and nearly to the Pullman. Calvin looked around to ensure that none of Conti’s toughs had followed them, although that didn’t rule out unknown informants. Owen swept the area for ghosts and magic now that they knew a witch was involved.

“Well, that was interesting,” Calvin observed.

“Are you surprised? This is Chicago,” Owen replied.

“Not really. But I’d prefer it not to turn into a Mafia war between families—or covens.”

“That could get…messy.”

Calvin felt a sense of relief that he interpreted as meaning he had crossed their protective wards as they stepped into the Pullman car.

“I trust everything is all right?” Winston asked, which was as close as he would ever admit to being alarmed at their sudden absence.

“We had a little heart-to-heart with the local Mob boss.” Owen hung up his coat as Calvin went to do the same. The air smelled of fresh coffee and roasting meat for dinner. “He claims they’re not involved, but he’ll look into it—without us. Oh, and there are witches.”

“Because, of course, there are,” Calvin muttered. Good witches were one thing. Dark witches who abused their power made him angry on general principle.

He figured the verdict was out on what camp Nonna Bianchi fell into, depending on her involvement. He would prefer her to be an ally, but they had other friends and resources if circumstances proved otherwise.

“Come in, have a hot coffee, and get warmed up,” Winston told them. “Dinner is in the oven. I have some news as well. Go sit in the parlor—I’ll bring the drinks to you.”

Several new newspapers awaited them as they settled on the tufted velvet couch. Despite the chill outside, the train car was comfortably warm.

“Here you go.” Winston bustled in with a tray. “This should take the chill off.”

Calvin’s first sip assured him that whiskey had been added to the coffee, no doubt for medicinal purposes.

“Hits the spot. Thank you, Winston,” Owen said.

Winston set the tray on a side table and sat across from them. “You weren’t gone very long, but it was enough time for me to discover a few interesting things.”

“More interesting than getting thrown out of a cemetery and cornered by the Mob?” Owen teased.

“You can be the judge. There was a telegram waiting from Miss Tarbell when I came back to the car. She is sending one of her contacts to us tonight, a Miss Abby Edwards, reporter for The Chicago Tribune ,” Winston replied with a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. “Whom Miss Tarbell said is very well-connected with people we should meet.”

Ida Tarbell was a firebrand journalist and reformer who wasn’t afraid to take on targets like Standard Oil. That made her a hero in some circles and a dangerous nuisance in others. Given her extensive network of contacts and penchant for research, she had been a big help to Calvin and Owen in previous cases they had worked on before teaming up.

“How is she? It’s been a while since I’ve heard from her. I hope she’s causing the right kind of trouble,” Calvin said.

“I will look up mentions of her in the newspapers the next time I visit a library,” Winston promised. “She is, indeed, an extraordinary woman.”

“Did the telegram say what was so interesting about Abby Edwards?” Owen savored his spiked coffee.

“No, but judging from her column in today’s Tribune , she has strong opinions on the desecration of graves and society’s utter lack of concern for the mortal remains of the less fortunate,” Winston replied in a wry tone.

“Do we have a way to set an appointment with Miss Edwards?” Calvin asked.

Winston checked his watch. “She should be here in half an hour. I’ve invited her to dine with us.”

In exactly thirty minutes, a knock came at the Pullman’s door. Winston went to answer and welcomed their visitor, standing aside for her to enter.

“Mr. Calvin Springfield, Mr. Owen Sharps, may I present Miss Abby Edwards.”

Abby Edwards looked to be in her late thirties, a handsome woman with a knot of brown hair and a strong chin. Intelligence glittered in her blue eyes, and her gaze seemed to take in the men and their surroundings with the thoroughness Calvin expected of a seasoned reporter.

“Pleased to meet you.” She turned to thank Winston, then moved to shake hands with Calvin and Owen. “Happy to make your acquaintance.”

“Please, come in,” Calvin invited.

“May I bring you tea or coffee?” Winston asked.

“Tea, please,” she replied with a smile. “That would be wonderful. It’s gotten quite cool outside.”

Winston led them into the parlor and Abby took a seat in the wing chair, sitting primly with perfect posture.

“Please pass along our best wishes and thanks to Miss Tarbell,” Calvin said. “We have enjoyed working with her and hope she is doing well.”

Abby smiled, which softened her features and brought an unexpected glint of merriment to her eyes. “I will. She’s a good friend—and a wonderful colleague. We write to each other often.”

“How can we be of help?” Owen and Calvin sat on the sofa facing Abby. With company, they maintained a respectable distance between them. Winston slipped out to bring tea for them, returning quickly with three steaming cups.

“I’ve been at the Tribune for three years now,” Abby said. “I started on the society page and fought my way out to write for the opinion section as well as cover news stories. A friend of mine, Molly Dawson, runs a settlement house. Are you familiar with the concept?”

Both Calvin and Owen nodded, which seemed to surprise Abby. “Good. Less explaining. Molly confided to me that she has heard about the bodies of people who died during the night vanishing.

“That made her keep her ears open to what some of their residents and visitors were talking about. More than once, people commented on the bodies of street people who died disappearing before the police could come to take them away,” Abby added.

She paused to sip her tea, and the momentary look of bliss at the good flavor softened the intensity of her expression. Calvin got the impression Abby was highly intelligent, relentless in pursuit of a story, and unafraid to ruffle feathers for a good cause.

He liked her already.

“Molly started making inquiries. She can be fearless when something sets her off,” Abby said in a fond tone, making it clear she approved. “Then I heard about the explosion—and the missing body. A tragedy, and I suspect, not an accident.”

“Oh?” Calvin was intrigued to see how she had arrived at the same conclusion he and Owen held.

“I knew Marvin Cobb, the man who disappeared,” she said.

“We were told he was a reporter—and was also looking into the missing bodies,” Owen said.

Abby nodded. “We were working on the story from different angles for different papers, but it was a friendly competition. Marvin was a good man, and he didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

Calvin frowned. “We don’t believe the gas leak was an accident. If you’re investigating the missing bodies, then you’re in danger too.”

“I realize that. Which is why I hired my brother to be my driver and bodyguard until this all settles down. But I refuse to be scared off the story. The fact that someone is willing to kill for it tells me there’s more here than hard-luck men selling corpses to medical schools.”

Calvin had to admire her pluck. She’d have made a good agent.

Victorian social conventions restricted the role of women, but clever—and stubborn—individuals found ways around the rules or crashed through them by dint of sheer force of personality.

Calvin and Owen had a number of female friends whose aid proved essential in their cases. If they suspected what Calvin and Owen were to each other or even their leanings, it didn’t seem to bother them.

“I’ve spoken to his family, offering condolences, and they are bereft,” she went on. “I don’t believe it was an accident either. My suspicion is that whoever killed him thought it would be a final indignity to take his corpse, and they counted on the fire to hide the evidence.”

Calvin and Owen nodded in agreement.

“That’s what we suspect as well,” Owen said. “Have you turned up any ideas about what’s being done with the bodies since they aren’t being stolen in the usual way?”

Abby paused. “Do you believe in the unseen?”

“You mean ghosts? Magic? The paranormal?” Owen asked. He and Calvin didn’t admit to their abilities to outsiders, but they often tapped the skills of other psychics and witches in their cases.

“Yes,” she replied and looked braced for reproof or even laughter.

“We do,” Calvin replied cautiously. “Some people are charlatans, but real abilities exist.”

She let out a breath and relaxed a bit more. “Good. Because I’m compiling evidence that what’s going on is a combination of witchcraft—and science.”

Calvin cocked his head, curious. “We’ve been wondering whether the science part involves galvanism. Not something as outlandish as in that British author’s book?—”

“ Frankenstein , by Mary Shelley,” Abby said, and Calvin nodded.

“Yes. Not bringing a corpse back to life or stitching a whole person together from pieces of other bodies,” he clarified. “But robbing the dead for parts. Transplants have been done on living people. What if someone wanted to go looking for replacements to heal wealthy patients—hearts, spleens, livers? A missing hand or foot? Or maybe, for someone desperate to avoid detection, faces?”

The ghoulish topic wasn’t proper pre-dinner conversation, but Abby didn’t seem to mind.

“I like the way you think,” she said with a conspiratorial smile. “I don’t know that Mr. Cobb’s imagination went in that direction, but it’s something that occurred to me as well. I quite liked that book, although the premise was terrifying.”

“I’m something of a fan of horror novels,” Owen confessed. “I thought the book was well done.”

“I shouldn’t admit such things, but so am I.” She dropped her voice. “It’s not considered ladylike.” Her smile suggested how little she cared about convention.

“Dinner is ready,” Winston said from the parlor doorway.

By unspoken agreement, they left aside the ghastly topics of missing bodies and cadaver pieces. The topics ranged from the war with Spain to the Antarctic expedition to local events. Abby recounted her memories of the World’s Fair just a few years prior, proving to be a lively conversationalist.

After dinner, over more coffee, they made plans.

“I’ll see if my friend has heard more from her settlement house contacts,” Abby said. “I’ve made a few friends who are psychics and mediums. I’ll ask them as well. I don’t know any witches, but my friends do—reputable ones. This should be very interesting.”

“The Mob may be paying close attention.” Owen gave an abbreviated recap of their meeting with Conti without mentioning names. “Watch your step.”

“I always do,” she said with a laugh that countered her serious manner.

“We have contacts with the Pinkertons and other agents in the area,” Calvin said. “We’ll see what they’ve heard on the grapevine and share what we learn. I suspect some of our friends also know people in the local covens—I’m hoping we can get some insights.”

Calvin felt sure Winston had already put out feelers to others in the witch community. He was especially curious to see what role the Mob witches played.

By the time Abby’s brother knocked at the door to escort her to their carriage, they had made plans to meet again in two days and exchange leads. Calvin closed the door behind her and turned back to Owen.

“Good to know someone else came to similar conclusions, right?”

Owen ran a hand back through his hair. “Right—in an ominous sort of way. I’d feel better if she had solid evidence that dismissed the whole thing as a misunderstanding. I have a feeling this is going to be messy.”

They had a nightcap in the parlor and finished reading the newspapers, remarking to each other over sports scores and humorous stories of people doing odd things.

Most items didn’t trigger Calvin’s magic unless they had a strong emotional connection to a person or to something that happened. That saved him from needing his gloves all the time and being bombarded by images. Over time, Calvin had gained control as well, making it possible to heighten a faint link or tamp down one that was too strong.

“Unless you have need of something, I’m going to make an early night of it,” Winston said, leaning into the compartment. “I sent messages to some friends of mine in the supernatural community in town, but it may take a day or two for me to hear back. If we’re lucky, they might give us some clarity about where the local covens stand and who is aligned with whom.”

“Thank you,” Calvin said. “For everything.”

“You are most welcome. Have a good evening.”

Since it seemed early to turn in just yet, Calvin and Owen settled on the sofa once more, sitting hip to knee now that there was no one to interrupt.

“Did you see there’s a Wild West show coming to Chicago this week?” Calvin turned his paper so Owen could see the illustrated, full-page advertisement.

“Huh. I heard that the Western show during the World’s Fair was one of the biggest ever,” Owen remarked.

“How do you think it compares to what you saw when you were out there?” Calvin asked. He and Owen had talked about the years before they met, but rarely in great detail since it seemed as if they had been in constant danger. Seeing the ad for the show, Calvin tried to picture Owen as a cowboy and found the image surprisingly sexy.

“I suspect it’s highly sensationalized, much less dangerous, and the performers bathe more regularly,” Owen replied in a droll tone. “I was with the Army, not a cowboy, although we ran into them from time to time, especially on leave in town.”

“With all the riding, sharpshooting, rodeo, and historical recreations, it sounds like a very manly man’s sort of show,” Calvin remarked. He had little patience for men who needed to prove their masculinity by trying to outdo everyone around them with dangerous stunts.

Owen snickered. “If only they knew. No one talked about it, but it wasn’t unusual for men on long cattle drives to pair up for the duration since they could go months without sight of a woman. Some didn’t mind that part at all—I think they signed on because of it, to tell the truth.”

Calvin raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Owen nodded. “It’s not the kind of thing they reported in the newspapers back East, where stories about the tough-as-nails cowboy sold copies, but it’s true. For some men, they paired up for one drive and went their separate ways like it never happened when they finished the job. For others, the ones who were lifers, they were true mates, good as married but without the paperwork. A few even got rings.”

“And they didn’t get lynched?” Calvin had never heard this side of the story.

Owen shrugged. “They were careful. Certainly didn’t parade around town. Knew who to trust and who to avoid. But it was a pretty open secret, from what I saw.”

“Was it like that in the Army too?” Calvin wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he had to ask.

Owen hesitated before answering. “Not exactly. Being with a man wasn’t technically against military law. People who got caught could still end up discharged—but not thrown in jail. From what I saw, it varied.

“Some of it was whether the commanding officer chose to look the other way. Relatively small, close-knit groups on extended missions often formed pairs because the open range is a lonely place,” Owen replied. “Although the brass would never have admitted it, I think they preferred fucking to drinking and shooting up the local outpost.”

“Did you—” Calvin didn’t finish his question.

Owen was quiet again. “I knew my interests from the time I hit puberty, and I knew not to say anything or act on them in the polite, Christian, Southern society where I was raised.”

He looked off into the distance, pointedly not making eye contact with Calvin. “I picked up the basics of how it was for men with women from hearing people talk and growing up on a farm, but didn’t have much to go on when it came to two men together.

“I could guess it involved touching. I’d figured that part out early for myself and there were a few hurried fumbles in the back of the barn or a bathroom, but I didn’t have any idea there were other ways to satisfy each other until I went West. I was young, and there were older men happy to contribute to my education,” Owen said.

He turned to meet Calvin’s gaze. “There was never anyone serious, anyone who wasn’t just a good time for an evening. No one who mattered. Nothing like what we are to each other.”

Calvin believed him, although the idea that such things had been tacitly ignored, if not exactly accepted, surprised him. The jealousy that flared when he thought about Owen with anyone else caught him off guard with its heat, even though he trusted Owen completely and knew how much he valued their bond.

Calvin pushed those thoughts aside and managed his sexiest smile. “Want to give me a private demonstration of ridin’ and ropin’, cowboy?”

“I think that sounds like a fine way to end the evening,” Owen agreed with a grin that made his hunger clear. “Let’s head to bed.”

Once the door closed, Calvin pushed Owen against the wall, pressing their bodies together and grinding their cocks against each other through their trousers. Calvin could feel Owen’s stiff prick and loved his soft groan as their kisses turned hungry.

“Clothing. Off,” Owen said when he broke away for a gasp of air. They made short work of buttons and collars, leaving a trail of shirts, pants, socks, and silk drawers as they wrestled to the bed. They took their time exploring with fingertips and lips, gliding palms across skin, taking in the taste and scent.

Calvin ran his hands through Owen’s hair, cupped his cheek, and kissed him slow and deep. Owen shifted to wrap his body around Calvin, rubbing their cocks together.

Owen kissed Calvin again with passion.

“I love you,” he murmured. “Only, ever, you. Don’t worry about my past. No one holds a candle to you.”

Calvin returned the kiss, tender and lingering. “Love you too. Always.”

No matter how many times they made love, Calvin was always hungry for more. Before Owen, most of Calvin’s experience lay in anonymous fumbling in dark corners or city bathhouses. He rarely had the safety or the luxury of time to explore and savor, and those random partners hadn’t been worth the risk. His one serious boyfriend ended up murdered, which had driven Calvin back into the closet until he met Owen.

Maybe it was Owen’s time out West, where men who spent long stretches of time riding the range held to different behaviors than back East. Owen was comfortable with his desire while still being cautious.

“How do you want it?” Owen breathed next to Calvin’s ear. His hand went to Calvin’s already-hard cock, giving it a stroke or two that earned a moan from Calvin.

“Want to feel you in me,” Calvin murmured. “Take our time.”

Once their new case started, leisurely evenings were few and far between. Calvin hungered for release, but also for a memory to carry him through until time was once more on their side.

“Sounds good to me.” Owen kissed him, sliding his tongue between Calvin’s lips and plundering his mouth.

They fell together and lingered in a tangled pile to explore with hands and mouths and tongues. A quick fuck took the edge off, but Calvin had learned to appreciate how satisfying making love could be with time and safety, reaching their peak over and over again, increasing in intensity until the pleasure was nearly too much to bear.

They usually took turns being top and bottom, depending on mood. Tonight, Calvin wanted to feel Owen’s weight above him, hard cock driving into Calvin’s ass and leaving him pleasantly sore in the morning, a reminder of who he belonged to.

Dangerous work left few illusions. Calvin knew that a stray bullet could tear them apart forever, and that knowledge made him even hungrier, desperate to show Owen how much he cared and to sate himself with Owen’s body.

“Ride me, cowboy,” Calvin murmured.

“Gotta get you ready first.” Owen slicked his fingers with a generous portion of Vaseline from the container in the bedside stand, teasing at Calvin’s taint and tight hole. “Then I’m going to give you a fucking you won’t forget.”

Calvin drew his ankles up to his hips and spread his legs wide, offering himself completely to Owen.

“God, the way you look when you do that,” Owen whispered. “All for me, so ready.”

“Always for you,” Calvin breathed. “Only you.”

Owen leaned forward, licking Calvin’s cock as he worked first one finger and then two more into his pucker. The intrusion made Calvin’s hard-on flag, but he began to plump up once more as Owen took him into his mouth, licking and sucking as his fingers gradually opened Calvin up.

When Owen twisted just so and hit that magic spot, Calvin arched and had to bite at the pillow to stay quiet as he came, jetting his release into Owen’s willing mouth.

When Calvin dropped back to the mattress, Owen sat on his heels, licking his lips like the Cheshire Cat. He didn’t wait to move forward, bringing Calvin’s legs onto his shoulders and pressing his rock-hard cock into Calvin’s ass until he was fully seated inside.

“So good,” Calvin whispered. “Love to feel you.”

“Feels pretty damn good to me, too,” Owen assured him. He kissed Calvin, letting him taste himself on his lips, then slid back and forward again.

Calvin loved to feel the slide of Owen’s sweat-soaked skin against his own, the heat of his breath on Calvin’s neck, the intimacy of Owen’s tongue on sensitive spots. He felt his second climax rise and overtake him, making him shake at every touch. Owen came seconds later, claiming Calvin with his muscular body.

When they finally toppled to the side, and Owen slipped out, Calvin gave his lover a sleepy, sated kiss. “That was…perfect.”

“Don’t say things like that. They’ll go to my head,” Owen deflected, but Calvin could see he glowed at the praise.

Owen reached for a discarded undershirt to clean them and the wet spot on the sheet and tossed it back on the floor. Calvin rearranged the bedding, and they slipped beneath the covers, facing each other and still close enough to touch.

Later, when they lay tangled up together, and Calvin listened to Owen’s breath, he did his best to push all concerns about cowboys and soldiers from his mind, but his dreams were restless.