Page 53 of The Boy from Half Moon

“To be clear. You don’t share your boyfriend, normally,” he stated, hesitating before continuing with his explanation. “Well, most of the time, you don’t. Mine said he wanted someone different,” he explained.

“That’s not allowed at the ranch.”

He clapped his hands and pointed at me. “Now, see? There we go!” he exclaimed. “I like that ranch rule.”

There was a nice flow when Tate and I spoke to each other. He appeared interested in what I spoke about. I noticed that he never once said an unkind word about my community, like most folks around these parts did. There was no judgment about what I could and couldn’t do, no shocked reactions if I mentioned something different from what outsiders did. He was respectful, and that was another quality I admired.

“Try that burger now,” he said, motioning to the sandwich. “Tell me what you think.”

I picked it up and took a bite. Sauce dripped down the corners of my mouth as I chewed what was possibly the best thing I’d ever tasted. My mouth watered, and a burst of tangy, yet salty flavors overwhelmed my taste buds.

“Mmgooodmm,” I moaned, licking my lips, my fingers, and anything else that had sauce on it.

“What was that you just said?” he teased. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that word before.”

We exchanged smiles many times as we ate in silence. Me with my first Big Mac and fries. Feeling like a kid with his first piece of candy. I washed all that down with a cool and crisp Coke—another first.

Tate put fries in his burger and held it up to me. “Try that.”

I leaned forward, and he fed me a bite of his burger.

I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Tate

After a fretful night of sleep, I was fifteen minutes late to my office. My alarm came far too early. My lack of desire to face Alec added to my need to stay in bed and avoid an upcoming heart-to-heart talk I had to have with him.

I tossed and turned most of the night, thinking about Luke and how I couldn’t remember having a better date in my life. Other than referring to my dropping by the furniture store as a date only once that evening, I felt confident Luke considered it one as well. He understood that dating and courting were basically the same things.

For the first time when around him, we seemed to reach a level of comfort with each other that hadn’t existed the first few times. It was easy to see that he was still unsure of himself, but his insecurities didn’t hamper his curiosity and pure joy when we were together.

My physical attraction to Luke was completely off the charts. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d seen a man and felt like I physically desired him so much. Even though I was the older of the two of us, Luke possessed a raw power that belied his youth, muting the age gap in my mind.

At first, I assumed my observation was purely based on his physical structure. The boy was stacked. I struggled to imagine what he’d looked like as a child because he was so much of a man at such a young age. But his size wasn’t the only indicator of his raw power. The way he carried himself, and the effortless way he maneuvered his muscle-bound body, was incredible to watch.

Luke had definitely grown into his physical body, and even with a shyness that could easily be confused with softness, I could see a man who had confidence in his strength. And to be honest, I desired to witness that power as his sexual partner.

My libido had been desperately missing for so long that I was unsure what Luke possessed that I so wanted. Was it his buzz-cut hair, the square jaw, the steely stare he deployed, or simply his manly stature? Luke had to be four or five inches over six feet, and I’d bet he was two hundred pounds or better, even though his waist was trim and flat. All of it drove me crazy with longing.

Because of his height, and the ridiculous way he was muscled, he was an intimidating person to be near. With that said, I felt zero threat from him. In fact, I saw a man/boy whom I hoped desired taking the next step in his sexual evolution with me.

And that was when my misperception about someone with his size and strength, actually being a victim of sexual abuse, hit me. How could someone built like him be a victim to anyone? He either was in fear because of someone’s status or power over him, or that person had to be even bigger than Luke himself, and that seemed unlikely.

My mother had encouraged treating him as an equal and taking great care when introducing him to intimacy. I’d taken her advice seriously and decided to meet him in his world. I hoped that if he had familiar surroundings while embarking on something new, he’d have a better chance of gaining confidence in me and discovering who we were to one another.

After scanning into the building for work, I put the prior evening at the back of my mind. The building’s foyer was bright with sunshine, yet cool from an air conditioning system every building had to have in Central Oregon in the warming spring and scorching summers. The ride up in the elevator was spent with me keeping my wandering mind off Luke and on the day’s work.

“Mr. Browning is in your office, sir,” my latest assistant, Rory, another young, gay, and cute young man, said.

I glanced back at the elevator door, hoping it hadn’t closed yet. I could still leave, couldn’t I? “Thank you, Rory,” I replied, inhaling deeply as I set my mind to having the dreaded discussion I knew needed to happen with Alec.

I stepped through the open door and found Alec sitting on my side of the desk in my chair. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted, showing no intent to vacate my seat.

I placed my briefcase on my desk, remaining standing, thinking he’d take the hint. He didn’t. Maybe today wouldn’t be a good time to speak with him about not crossing the boss/employee fuck line. He’d already managed to irritate me.

I was agitated that he’d been in my office so early in the day. Especially when I had my mind so pleasantly fixated on Luke. Seeing Alec so disrespectfully sitting in my office before I was there bothered me. He was intrusive and abrasive—my two least favorite of people’s traits.

“Gucci,” he stated, eyeing my briefcase. “And… how much am I paying you?”

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