Prologue

Jesse

O kay, so if I'm completely honest, coming to the grand opening party at The Open Door tonight would not have been my first choice. I'd much rather be at home, alone, drowning my sorrows and searching for answers at the bottom of a bottle.

Instead, I'm standing alone in the middle of this happy crowd, nursing my second—or is it my third?—drink of the night as joy and excitement radiate from every corner of the room. This shelter for LGBTQ youth in a town just north of Seattle is something my friends Penn and Hunter have been working on for several years, and I was lucky enough to get involved a couple of years ago. It's a huge accomplishment, and I'm thrilled for them.

Delighted, even.

Honestly.

The alcohol is helping. Or it was until Hunter gets down on one knee in front of Penn and pops the question. Yes. That question.

My stomach drops as the room erupts into cheers.

It's only been three days since I signed the final divorce papers, putting a sharp point on nearly two decades of my life. A couple of years of dating, fifteen years of marriage, plus two years of messy negotiations, heartache and shattered trust—all wrapped up in a neat little package of legalese.

But maybe their marriage will work out better than mine did. Of course, I thought mine would too, so what the hell do I know?

As grief claws at my chest like a ravenous beast, all I want to do is scream and shatter my almost empty— and how did that happen? —glass against the wall and storm off to lick my wounds in private.

But I can't. I won't.

Instead, I swallow the mountain-sized lump in my throat and raise my glass to toast the happy couple along with everyone else.

"Congratulations, you two," I tell them a few minutes later, hoping they don't notice my strained tone. I know I'm busted when Penn raises his eyebrow pointedly at me before crushing me in a huge hug.

A few minutes later, as I'm getting ready to slip away, hopefully unnoticed, Martin Benoit appears beside me. I'd wanted to chat with him earlier and run a few ideas past him about plans I have for a shelter similar to this at home in San Diego, but those good intentions are all buried under a big pile of grief and irritation at the moment.

"I recognize that look in your eye," he says, his soft Irish lilt curling around me. In another life, I'd find it attractive. I have found it attractive the few times we've chatted.

"Oh? What look is that?" I ask, signaling to the bartender for another round.

"The look of a man trying to decide how soon he can leave without being rude and then trying to decide whether he cares."

I snort. "That obvious?" I ask, nodding in appreciation when the bartender refills my sad little glass.

Martin shoots me a wink, his green eyes twinkling. "Come on, pal. Let me drive you back to your hotel. We've not had the chance to properly catch up tonight." He leans in with a conspiratorial whisper, "And I've been trying to make my own escape for the last twenty minutes."

Well, that sounds like an offer I can't refuse.

And that's how I find myself sitting across from Martin in the bar of my hotel, nursing a couple of fingers of Bushmills 21. At this point, I've lost count of how many I've had, but it doesn't seem to matter because the alcohol's done a shit job of dulling the pain in my chest.

"Thanks again for the ride," I say. "You really didn't have to. I know I'm terrible company right now."

He waves me off. "Not at all. Like I said, we didn't get a chance to catch up during the party. Plus, you looked like you could use a friend and maybe another wee dram," he says, holding up his own glass with a mischievous smile. "For medicinal purposes, naturally."

Martin is a consultant Penn worked with to plan and build The Open Door . I spent a lot of time in Seattle during the project, but most of it was during off-hours when I wasn't busy running the green energy company I own with my brother. As a result, I didn't spend much time with the handsome Irishman, although I've always thought he seemed like a good guy.

I don't know if it's the alcohol, the atmosphere, or my melancholy mood, but the smooth lilt of his voice is sending shivers down my spine, and the way the laugh lines crinkle around his green eyes when he smiles causes a pool of liquid heat to settle down low in my belly.

I let my eyes drift over him. He must be in his mid-fifties, shorter than me, with a solid, compact build. He has thick, wavy hair and just enough stubble to feel incredible against my skin. It's entirely possible the term "silver fox" was coined specifically for this man.

Martin blinks at me and cocks his head to the side, jolting me back into reality.

My therapist assures me that my current lack of focus is just my depression, and I'm not actually losing my damn mind. Sometimes, I'm not so sure.

I clear my throat. "Um, I'm sorry, what was that?"

He chuckles, and there are those damn laugh lines again.

"I was just asking about your plans now that The Open Door is officially off the ground, but it looks as though you might've been in another dimension for the last few minutes."

I huff out an embarrassed laugh.

He pauses before speaking, his tone warm. "No pressure at all, but if you need an ear, I'm a decent listener."

I swirl the amber liquid in my glass. "I'll be okay." Will I? Yes. Probably. Maybe.

He doesn't respond, just looks at me over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. For some reason—it could be the company or maybe it's my slow progression into a stupor—I keep talking.

"I'm happy for Penn and Hunter. Honestly, I am. It's just that… Well, I guess today wasn't the best day for me to be a witness to a romantic, public proposal. Not after I just signed the death certificate on my own happily ever after." I toss back the remainder of my drink and catch the bartender's eye, signaling for another. One more won't hurt. At least not until tomorrow.

Martin nods. "I understand. Of course you're happy for them. But that doesn't mean their lovey-doveyness doesn't sting like salt in your wounds. You're allowed to be angry."

He gets it . It's like he's just thrown me a life preserver. Like I've finally found someone who isn't uncomfortable with all the baggage I'm lugging around.

I don't know all the details of his past, but I know he's a widower who lost his partner to AIDS back in the nineties. So I guess he understands something about carting around buckets full of pain and rage.

He takes another sip of his drink and then darts his tongue out, licking off the last remnants of the whiskey.

I wonder what he tastes like.

Suddenly, my own drink isn't nearly as interesting as it was a moment ago.

Out of nowhere, my pulse speeds up, a shock of heat running through my veins. It's like someone flipped a switch inside me, and all I can think about is how much I want him. Want to taste those lips. That skin. Want my mouth on his neck, his jawline, that spot behind his ear. I want to suck marks onto his collarbone and trace the colorful tattoos on his forearm with my tongue.

Want isn't a strong enough word.

Need fits better.

I've always been the laid-back type, letting life lead the way and following along. It's easy and comfortable, but it's not always satisfying. I'm not usually the guy who takes charge— who takes something for himself —but this moment is already ticking down, already turning into one more damn thing in my rearview mirror, and I can't let that happen. Not while my heart is hammering in my ribcage, not while Martin is only an arm's length away. Not while this one person who might make me feel better, or at least feel something , is finishing his second drink and looking like he's about to call it a night.

I shove my chair back, grab my wallet from my pocket, and toss a handful of bills onto the table. My cheeks are hot, and the fire in my belly is pushing me to just goddamn well take what I want. What I need. Maybe for the first time in my life.

I run my hand nervously through my hair, ignoring the surprised look on Martin's face. Do I look a little crazy? Probably, but at this point I don't give a tiny rat's ass.

I take a deep breath. "Look, I don't know what the hell I'm doing here, but I'm going to say this anyway." Say what, exactly, I don't even really know until the words fall from my lips.

"I want you to come upstairs with me, Martin. I want you to come to my room and take me apart the way I've been dying for. I know you can do it. And before you protest that you're taking advantage of me, the fact is, yes, I'm a little drunk, but I'm nowhere near so drunk that I don't know what I'm doing. I want this. I want you . I need to feel something other than rage and fucking bitterness. I just want to feel good. One night, no strings. That's it."

His mouth drops open in shock.

No turning back now.

Martin blinks once. And again.

Well, fuck. I guess it was worth a shot. I'm about to apologize and attempt to blame the alcohol, even though I've just assured him that I'm not too drunk, when Martin nods. He swallows the last of his drink and gets to his feet, his eyes never leaving mine. "After you, then."

My heart races like a Formula One car as I lead Martin back to my room. I'm both terrified and thrilled after making such a bold move for the first time in my almost forty-five years. I'm shaking with adrenaline, but the rush of wanting someone again is overwhelming. I finally feel alive instead of feeling hollow and empty inside.

My hand shakes as I use the key card to let us in. As the door swings open I catch a glimpse of the mirror and barely recognize myself—hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, eyes wild. My whole body is burning with lust.

Martin looks nearly as wrecked as I feel. His face is flushed, and his hair is mussed from running his hands through it. His hungry expression, his green eyes burning with his own lust just fuels my determination.

I need this— I need him.

"Oh, god," I mutter, grabbing a two handfuls of his shirt and crashing my mouth onto his. The sound of the door slamming shut behind us only adds to the intense heat consuming me from the inside out.

I grab the sides of his face and push him up against the door while I delve my tongue into his mouth, tasting the spicy hint of whiskey as I explore every part of him I can reach.

He wraps his arms around me, gripping the back of my neck before sliding his hands into my hair and pulling hard enough to sting.

I love it.

I grab his hips, holding on to him tightly. Our kisses are long and deep, and I never want it to stop. I want to live in this moment forever, feeling only the sensations of his hard cock against mine, the hot skin of his back under my hands, and his spicy, woodsy scent filling my nose.

I wrench my mouth off his, panting as I stare into his eyes, which have darkened with desire.

Swallowing hard, I toss all my inhibitions to the wind and blurt out what I need from him. "I want to fuck you. But it won't be sweet or tender. I want to fuck you hard. Tell me now if that's not okay."

His expression turns wicked, his mouth turning up in a feral smile. "Do your worst. Take what you need from me. I've got you."

I swallow again at his words, my chest tightening. Oh God.

"Do you know the traffic light system?" he asks. "Safe words?"

I'm not overly familiar with the BDSM lifestyle, but I've read enough to know what he's talking about. "Yeah, I think so," I answer breathlessly. "If you say 'red', everything stops, no questions asked, 'yellow' means we need to stop or slow down and 'green' means everything is fine, keep going."

He nods, looking at me, his eyes piercing. "That's right. Remember either one of us can safe-word anytime for any reason. Are you alright with that?"

I nod again, licking my lips. "Yeah. What color are you right now?" I ask, and he cocks an eyebrow at me.

"Very, very green."

"Thank fuck," I mutter, crushing my mouth back down onto his as I pull his shirt free from his dress pants, tearing it open roughly. Buttons fly everywhere, but I don't give a shit, desperate to get to what's underneath.

I moan into his mouth as I explore the lean, hard planes of his chest. His skin is hot under my hands as I slide them over the taut muscles of his abdomen, loving the rough texture of his happy trail.

I pull him off the door and turn us, not breaking our kiss as I guide us deeper into the suite.

Once we're next to the bed, I tear my mouth off his, panting as I work open his pants. He sucks in a sharp breath when I shove my hand into his briefs, grasping his cock firmly and stroking it before letting go to push his pants down.

I lick my lips as he steps out of the crumpled trousers and stands naked before. I bite down on my lip, stifling a groan as I admire him. He's compact but lean, all hard muscle and chest hair. His heavy cock juts out proudly from a thatch of dark curls, straining toward me. God, he's like a wet dream.

I frantically tear off my own clothes and push him roughly onto the bed, following him down and covering his body with mine. I slam my mouth back down on his, tangling our tongues together.

I roll my hips against his, sliding my cock against his as I groan, loving how his hard length feels against mine. He grips my ass and lifts his hips off the bed to meet my thrusts.

"Jesus," I mutter between feverish kisses. "You feel so good."

Our mouths battle for control, tongues dueling and teeth nipping. His cock swells and a growl of need escapes me.

I finally force myself to pull away, tearing my mouth away from his, panting heavily. His eyes are heavy-lidded and full of lust.

I press hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, nipping at his pulse point before trailing lower, down his chest and across his pecs. I flick my tongue over a flat nipple before taking it into my mouth and biting down.

He sucks in a breath and grips my hair, tugging hard. I moan at the sharp pain mixed with pleasure before continuing lower, intent on tasting every inch of him.

Thankfully, there's a travel-sized bottle of lube I tossed into the drawer beside the bed last night after jerking off in an unsuccessful attempt to get a decent night's sleep. Martin watches me as I reach over and fumble in the drawer, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"That's convenient," he quips with a little smile when I triumphantly produce the lube.

I grin at him. "Yeah, well I was a Boy Scout, after all. Always believe in being prepared."

He chuckles as I slick up my fingers, adding a generous amount to my aching cock before returning my attention to him.

I gently push his legs apart, my eyes locking with his as I slowly drag my fingers through his crease and then push one inside him. He sucks in a sharp breath, his body tensing for a moment before he relaxes as I work my finger in and out of his body. I add another, and he rocks down onto my hand, seeking more.

"Color?" I check in.

"Green," he rasps, his eyes finding mine. "So green."

I suck in a breath, my body burning up with lust. Taking his cock in my other hand, I stroke him as I add a third finger, twisting them inside him and aiming for his prostate. He whimpers, and his cock jumps when I hit the spot. He arches off the bed, his mouth falling open as he pants and moans, his legs falling open.

"Keep going, don't stop," he begs, his voice hoarse.

Hearing him so wrecked and desperate sends a spike of pure lust straight to my cock, and I groan again, my hips instinctively jerking forward. "Soon," I whisper, watching in rapture as his body seems to suck my fingers inside over and over again, desperate and hungry for everything I'm giving him.

"So good," I mutter.

"Fuck, Jesse, I need you. Now," his voice is desperate, and the sound of it nearly pushes me over the edge.

"Okay, baby. I've got you," I whisper before realizing something. "Shit, we need a condom," I mutter.

"In my wallet. My pants pocket," he rasps.

"Thank god," I breathe in relief before I slowly pull my fingers from him. I hustle to where his pants are lying on the floor, and hurriedly find what I'm seeking, tearing open the condom package with my teeth as I hurry back to the bed and knee walk into position back between his legs.

Martin's eyes flash, and he pushes himself up on his elbows, watching intently as I roll the condom on. My hands shake with anticipation as I add more lube to my cock.

"You're gorgeous like this," Martin whispers, his eyes trailing over me. "Rough and wild. I love it."

I lean down, taking his mouth in a searing kiss as I push my way inside him. His body opens for me immediately, his heat nearly making me come before I'm even all the way inside him. He moans into my mouth, wrapping his arms around me.

I still for a moment, seeking to let him adjust. I know I told him I wasn't going to go easy, but I don't want to hurt him. Even in my desperation I want this to be good for him as well. But then he surprises me, punching his hips up and forcing me deeper.

"You promised you'd go hard," he growls.

I groan, my cock twitching inside the tight sheath of his body. "Fuck," I gasp, pulling almost all the way out before slamming into him, hard.

He groans. "Yessss," he hisses, shoving his hips up against mine.

I set a brutal pace, pounding into his body as he moans, his fingers digging into my back.

I move one hand to his cock, pumping it roughly in time with my hips. "God, you're so fucking tight," I breathe, nipping at his neck as I keep thrusting, loving the way his body claws at mine, urging me on.

"Please," he moans, and my eyes snap to his. "Harder."

I bite back another groan as I increase the force of my thrusts, loving the desperate, wanton way he begs for more.

"Please," he nearly sobs, writhing under me, and I'm done for.

I slam into him hard. His head falls back as he cries out, his body tensing as his ass clenches around me.

"So. Fucking. Hot," I pant, watching his eyes roll back in his head while I pound into him, my hips a blur. "Take it," I snarl. "Yes. Take all of me. Fuck yes. It's all yours."

He arches off the bed, crying out, his body shuddering. The feel of his inner muscles contracting around my cock while his orgasm rips through him pulls me over the edge.

With one last brutal thrust, I come, my head falling forward. I swear to god, I see stars as I grip him tightly, shuddering as I unload into the condom deep inside his body.

I hold him against me, as our sweat-slick bodies slowly calm, our harsh breaths mingling as we each try to get our bearings.

"Jesus," I finally whisper, lifting my head to find his eyes.

Martin grins at me. "Was that what you needed?"

"Oh, fuck yes."