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Prologue

Prologue

Oh, he was cute as hell. Twinky and beautiful, sweet and sexy. The way he danced with his friends gave me a boner in two seconds. I watched him through whiskey-dimmed eyes for a long time, until he finally noticed.

He said something to one of his friends then came over.

"Hi."

"Hi," I replied, my gaze traveling over his lithe body, covered with glitter, a crop top and very tiny shorts. He was wearing bubble-gum-pink Doc Martens boots. So different from…

I took another drink of my whiskey sour, finished it and put the class down on the bar.

"You're watching me," the twink said.

"You're beautiful," I said.

"Wow, thank you. You're kinda hot yourself," he said, looking me over. "Wanna go in the back?" he waggled his eyebrows. "My name's—"

"I don't care."

"Oh. Wow. Okay, then." He stood there, but moved the whole time, shifting back and forth on his feet, tossing his head, blinking. He was probably on something.

"I'd love to suck you off," I said, focusing on the words so they wouldn't blend. So I didn't sound as drunk as I was.

"Hmm, okay. Sure." He extended his hand. "You've had a bit to drink."

"I am…a bit." I cleared my throat. "Drunk."

Because it's the only way I can do this. And I need to do this…desperately. Anything to get out of my head. Anything to touch someone else. Anything to escape for an hour or two.

I'd come to this place once with…but we'd only stayed for twenty minutes. We'd decided it wasn't for us and gone home. But this time, I'd stayed—because there was nothing at home but a black hole right now, particularly because my only reason for not jumping off a bridge was with her grandparents. My kid. Our kid…

I'd come to this establishment—a combination dance bar and gay kink club, just across the river from Ottawa—where men came to dance their troubles away, or to dominate or be dominated. I'd hoped to attract the attention of an older man, someone who could put me in my place for an hour. But when that didn't happen, I'd turned my attention to the pretty twink. He would do. I only needed to distract myself, after all.

As he led me out of the dance area and through the main room, I noticed a man by the bar, talking to a friend or his sub, or something. He was dressed in leather pants and a burgundy button-down, wearing motorcycle boots and standing with the air of someone who told other men to kneel.

The lights were brighter here, and I could see his nutmeg-colored skin and appreciate the way his brown hair curled tightly around his skull. He was sleek and sexy and in control, everything that I loved.

I stopped dead and stared. He was gorgeous, and I wished I'd seen him earlier.

The twink tugged at my hand. "Come on. I'm so fucking horny."

I resisted for a handful of seconds, wondering if I should continue or if I had a chance with this guy. While I waited, he turned, fixed me with his dark eyes and smiled.

But his friend said something, and he turned away, taking the man's wrist and bending it behind his back, as my cock throbbed and the twink pulled at me.

"Come on!" the glittery twink said, laughing.

I went. I didn't think I had the ability to seduce anyone else at this point. I'd had too much whiskey.

"Wait! Wait," I said, aware that we were heading to the dirty hallways in the back. "My car."

"What?" the twink said, frowning. Gosh, he was cute.

"We can do it in my car…if you want. It's cleaner." I smiled, hoping I didn't look sketchy.

He thought about that.

"I promise I'm not a creep. I just want to blow you. You don't have to do anything. If you change your mind at any time, we can stop. Please." I squeezed his hand with a gentleness that came from somewhere beyond the booze, beyond the black abyss of my grieving heart.

"Okay, fine. I guess I'll risk it. I have good instincts," he said. "Hold on."

He let go of my hand and went up to the bartender, pointing at me. I waved and smiled, so they'd know I was a good guy—tired and lost, maybe, but a decent man deep down, despite what I was doing with the twink.

The bartender nodded, and the twink pranced back and took my hand again.

"Come on, old man," he said, "Where's your car?"

He straddled me in the passenger seat and took my cock out, even though I'd said I wanted to blow him.

"Oh, yes, I needed to see this," he murmured, wiggling with glee as he stroked my erection up and down like a kid playing with a new toy.

"I just… I wanted to…"

"I know, I know. I'll let you. Trust me. But first I want to play with yours. Is that okay?" He blinked baby blue eyes at me, and how could I resist?

I couldn't.

"Oh God," I groaned as he touched me. It had been so long. I stopped him from going so fast. "Wait. You're gonna make me—"

"Already?" the twink said, with a cheeky grin, but he slowed his hand as I gripped the locked door and the console.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my head starting to swim with alcohol and regret. "I'm so sorry."

"You want me to make you come? You can suck me if you want but…we'll have to move…"

I shook my head, feeling dizzy and old. "You don't have to…"

"It's okay. I can make you come, baby. I like giving handys."

I watched open-mouthed as the pretty twink lifted his palm and licked it like a cat preparing to groom itself, the blue polish on his nails glinting in the light from the streetlamps. He held my gaze as he took my cock again and began to stroke me in earnest.

My breaths stuttered in my chest as I gripped his bare knees, my gaze falling on the bulge in his little, cut-off shorts.

"Oh yeah, you are so hot, whoever you are. You are so fucking hard. You want me to get you off? You need that, baby?"

I moaned and nodded, desperate for it, blitzed by the whiskey and the need and the fucking desperation.

"Please," I said. "Please."

Whimpers. Begging. Almost sobs.

"Oh yeah, baby. You really want it, don't you?"

I hoped he didn't notice the tears spilling down my cheeks when my cock erupted in his hand, as I choked on a moan.

It was as if I were watching myself. I felt disconnected, even as my cock and body throbbed with the vaguely familiar sensation of being jerked off by another man.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you."

"S'okay. That was fun. You needed it."

I stared at the floor of the car. As the pleasure faded much too quickly, the whiskey took over and the guilt, and I couldn't look at him.

"Do you want to suck me? It's okay if you don't…"

He sounded unsure, wary all of a sudden.

"I—I—"

"Hey, it's okay. How about I just go?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"No, no. Don't worry about it."

He shoved open the door, and he was gone in a flurry of stomping boots and glitter, and a muttered curse, as I sat there in the passenger seat with the car door open and my wet dick out.

I blinked back tears as I opened the glove box for a pack of tissues, fumbling with the lip of the opening. With shaky fingers I mopped at the wetness, then zipped my jeans and exited the car, throwing the soiled tissue to the ground. I went around the car and got into the driver's side.

I stared at the steering wheel. I shouldn't drive. I couldn't. I was so drunk and so tired and so…fucking broken.

Instead of starting the car, I folded my arms on the steering wheel and sobbed, the sounds loud and unhinged in the closed space, and I felt bad for the twink and guilty for my behavior and angry at the whole fucking world.

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