Chapter 1: The First Encounter

It was true, I was older than him—probably by about ten or twelve years based on his looks—but I’d often been confused for much younger than my thirty-nine years. Not because of any special skin care regime, makeup, or efforts to dress or act younger than my age; I’d just been lucky in the genetics pool, I guess. My looks had often earned me the attention of other men, though I was not the gym-fit, muscle-bound Adonis that featured in most gay men’s masturbation fantasies. I had an attractive, youthful-looking face, kept myself up well, and always ensured I dressed myself appropriately.

There was something disarming about my appearance. I had the kind of unthreatening handsomeness that made people linger without understanding why. My build was trim—lean more from consistency than effort—and my features were softened by a natural innocence I had never fully grown out of. Even the way I walked, with a certain reserve, invited curiosity and lingering interest. I’d been with men before—submissive, pliant, learning to be what they wanted—but I never felt particularly in control. Despite how often I was told I was good-looking, I lacked confidence when it mattered. I didn’t know how to pursue. I waited, watched, and hoped I’d be seen.

Sean saw me.

Sean, by contrast, was exactly the sort of man you’d expect to see walking down the streets of any gay village. He clearly spent a lot of time at the gym, and his body was evidence of the effort he’d put into creating a physique designed to entice. His luscious blond hair was meticulously styled and looked as though it was attended to and re-attended to throughout the day. His skin was perfect, unblemished and flush in all the right places, bestowing an impression of vigour and health. Each outfit Sean wore seemed as though it was torn from the pages of a modern fashion magazine, and he wore the clothes like a model on a runway. Even Sean’s hands were attractive—large and defined, with masculine fingers that he adorned with perfectly chosen rings—and there was always a tasteful watch to match on his wrist. Sean was the picture of perfection in my mind, and I still hadn’t seen what was under his clothes. He was 6’2”, had metallic blue eyes, and a commanding gaze that belied his young age. He wore the confidence of his profession everywhere he went; Sean was a lawyer in and out of the office.

The first time I saw him in the boardroom, standing as if he owned the space despite being the newest hire, I felt something low in my stomach shift. It wasn’t just desire. It was gravity. The way he glanced around the room, eyes sweeping over people like they were facts to be filed. When his gaze landed on me—briefly, precisely—I felt it. The recognition. He saw more than the surface. He saw the way I looked away too quickly. The way my jaw tensed.

And yet, for all his polish, Sean wasn’t just beautiful. He was dangerous. Not in the sense of threat—but in the way predators are dangerous to prey. There was something in his expression that calculated constantly, like he was always deciding how to use what he saw. That glint in his eye, the way he tilted his head as if measuring your worth. I caught him looking at me once or twice. Or maybe more than that. But he never lingered long enough for me to be sure.

He was new to the firm, a junior associate transferred in from a boutique litigation firm elsewhere downtown. I was a senior associate in the employment group, older, more seasoned. Our roles barely overlapped, but when they did—when we passed in the halls, or stood side by side at the espresso machine—something unspoken pressed at the edge of those moments.

He always smiled first. I never could.

Our first substantial conversation happened late one Thursday, well past six. The floor had mostly emptied. I was at the copier, organizing a stack of contracts for review, when Sean walked past, then doubled back.

“Burning the midnight oil?” he asked, smooth as anything.

I chuckled, trying to play it cool. “Not quite midnight. Just standard senior associate hours.”

He leaned against the filing cabinet beside me. “They’ve already got you pulling triple shifts, huh?”

I shrugged. “They always do.”

Sean looked me over—not with the blank professionalism most associates adopted, but with a subtle, assessing gaze. Like he was searching for something beneath the surface.

“You don’t look tired,” he said. “You look like you belong here.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. It wasn’t a compliment exactly, but it landed like one. I met his gaze for a second too long before looking away.

He reached past me to grab a stray file, and I caught the faint scent of cologne—something cool, expensive, and masculine. My throat went dry.

“You’re in employment, right?” he asked, casually.

“Yeah. You?”

“Litigation. They say I’m aggressive.”

I tried to smile. “Well, that makes sense.”

He smirked. “Why’s that?”

“You look like someone who doesn’t ask twice.”

His smile deepened, just enough to suggest something behind it.

We stood there a moment longer. Then he stepped back.

“Goodnight, Blake.”

He said my name like he’d practiced it.

“Goodnight, Sean.”

He turned and walked away, and I was left with the distinct impression that I’d just failed a test I hadn’t known I was taking.

But I also knew I’d passed something else—because when he looked back once, just briefly, it wasn’t curiosity I saw in his eyes.

It was interest.

And suddenly, I wasn’t so tired anymore.

The next morning, I found myself noticing Sean everywhere. In the blur of the morning elevator crowd, he stood out like a high-definition image in a sea of blur. His suit was charcoal, cut sharp across the shoulders and snug at the waist. The tie was a subtle navy herringbone, understated but purposeful—like everything he wore. And yet it wasn’t the clothes that drew the eye. It was the carriage. Sean walked like a man with nothing to prove and yet absolutely everything in control. I watched him greet the managing partner with a firm handshake and a smile just shy of respectful. He knew where the lines were—and how to walk right up to them.

I ducked into the kitchen for a coffee refill, half-hoping he wouldn’t follow. Half-hoping he would.

“Morning,” he said behind me. My hand jerked, nearly sloshing coffee over the edge of the cup.

“Hey,” I said. Smooth.

“You always this jumpy?”

“Only when I haven’t had caffeine.”

He laughed softly, stepping beside me at the espresso machine. The scent of him was warm and citrus-edged today, like bergamot and cedar.