Two men, both victims of a tragic loss one Christmas Eve, can't find peace. As each man suffers with his grief, neither seems able to move on or to find any hope in their lives. Ryan, the artist, paints bloody red canvases in order to cope with the pain of losing his one true love, Victor, while Paul, the violinist, uses music to heal his tortured soul at the lost of Evan, his beloved pianist. When one night Ryan hears piano music coming from a vacant unit next door to his apartment, he receives a visit from beyond the grave that changes his life forever.
Can two men who have suffered the anguish of losing their loved ones, find solace in each other? Or will the tragedy of their lives keep them from starting over.
Ryan threw up his hands in frustration. As if sensing he was about to storm out, Evan grabbed his arm, stopping him. Once again, the touch was magnetic. Needing the wall to steady himself, Ryan backed up, reaching for it. His back hit the plasterboard with a thud. Panting to catch his breath, Ryan stared at this man and tried to get his brain to react logically. "Who the hell are you?" he hissed.
"I am Evan Oliver."
"No. I don't mean your name."
"But, that is who I am."
His lips were getting closer. Close enough to lick. Ryan felt as if he was on a launch pad about to commence countdown. A warm male hand touched the top edge of his faded denim jeans. The sensation of arousal was so intense Ryan felt his knees give out, forcing him to press back against the wall harder for support.
The button of his jeans popped open easily. The hole was worn and loose fitting.
A dry swallow down his throat, Ryan was shaking. It was the first time anyone had touched him that way since...
With his thumb and index finger, Evan lowered Ryan's zipper.
"I...I dreamed about you last night..." Ryan panted, his hands still pressed flat against the wall behind him as if he would fall if he removed them. "We made love. Last night. In my dream."
Evan spread the top of the jeans wide, then tugged the tail of Ryan's denim shirt out of them, revealing his low abdomen.
"I came." Ryan was struggling to breathe, gasping for air. "I actually came in my sleep."
Evan poked his fingertips, palm flat against Ryan's abdomen, into Ryan's dark blue briefs.
Now he was hyperventilating. Staring from that incredible face with its focus on its task, to that large smooth hand making its way downward, Ryan thought he would pass out. When the tips of Evan's fingers touched his cock, Ryan closed his eyes and ground his jaw. It was humiliating. He was about to shoot cum when the man hadn't even wrapped his hand around him yet. Never had he been brought this quickly to a climax. Not even when he did it himself. He held it back with everything he had so as not to embarrass himself.
As Evan's face drew closer, and his hand delved deeper, Ryan leaned his head forward trying for a taste of his lips. He contacted them, brushing them with his own trying to lure them to his tongue. At the same time as Evan's hand made its way around the base of his cock, those soft male lips connected to his.
A nuclear bomb blew off in his brain. As if he were exploding into a million tiny particles of light, he came so hard he knew he must still be in bed dreaming, because reality wasn't this intense. While his head spun, the tongue in his mouth was swirling in dizzying patterns, wet and delicious. Pressure from this man's length pressed against him so hard he felt the wall behind him painfully. The climax...on and on, a never ending rush of pulsating light.