Chapter 8

“It’s okay,” Mark assures him. His hand slips from Peter’s sleeve, smoothes down the bunched fabric, then trails across Peter’s chest. He strokes one nipple erect, then places his hand flat against Peter’s shirt. He moves lower, rubbing Peter’s stomach in slow, comforting circles. “It’s okay.”

Peter moans softly, a small sound like something a cat might make. His eyes are still closed and his lips parted, and Mark can see the tiny pink dot of his tongue inside his mouth. Mark wants to taste it so bad. This isn’t Seth, no, but Peter’s slowly opening to him like a tender bud, inhibition gradually dropping away like petals stretching toward the sun…

Things are moving too slow. Mark doesn’t have all damn night.