"Kim, I said we're going to talk," Tate insisted from the breakfast nook in the hotel's common room where Luke had left him.
Luke had to run back to his hotel to change clothes, and Tate suspected to cover up some of the marks Tate had left on his body. Such was the life of a model. Tate salivated at the thought of kissing every single one of those marks until they healed, but he'd played it cool and kept his hands off. Luke needed time to process.
He remembered his own awakening to his attraction to men. He had been thirteen, and the kid was a neighbor's grandson. The attraction had been sudden and overwhelming. Even so, it had taken him most of the summer to process those turbulent emotions that had him sprouting a boner one minute and hanging his head in shame the next. By the time he'd grown a set of balls, the kid was gone. Even so, he'd always been thankful for his part in establishing Tate into the person he had become.
