Текст книги "Try: 1"

Автор книги: Ella Frank

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Taking her husband’s hand in hers, they both looked over at him, Rachel grinning and Cole looking as serious as ever.

“Okay, ask him.”

“Rachel,” Cole warned as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to right now.

“You told me you wanted to ask him as soon as we knew, but you both had a fight, and—”

“Rachel?” Cole interrupted.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

Logan stood there, looking back and forth between the pair, and when Rachel turned and placed her hands on her belly, Logan felt a genuine smile spread across his face.

“Will you please be one of our baby’s guardians? You know, in case—”

“Don’t say it,” Logan grumbled quickly, raising a hand. Then, he laughed out loud. “Congratulations, you two! But are you crazy? Me? Are you sure?”

“No, not really,” Cole replied dryly.

Rachel whacked him in the chest. “Yes. We wanted both of our brothers.”

Logan looked over at Cole, extremely moved by the gesture he never would have expected, and when his brother finally smiled, he felt their relationship shift back to where it belonged. The only thing that was missing was the one thing that he’d driven away.

“Then, I’d be honored.”

As Cole hugged his radiant wife to his side, he glanced over at Logan and mouthed, We good?

Logan tipped his chin in agreement as his mind began spinning—spinning, planning, and plotting his next move. It all revolved around one thing—getting Tate back into his life.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Three and a—fuck, something hours later, and I still can’t stop thinking about him, Tate thought as he stared at the fan rotating slowly above him. Nothing would have been odd about that, except that his fan was turned off. Yep, the alcohol was doing its job, and he was nice and buzzed.

Lying on his back, he picked up his cell phone from his bare chest and stared at the screen. Still nothing. No calls of outrage from the family and not one call or text from that asshole telling me how sorry he is.

Well, fuck him, Tate thought, dropping the phone back to where it had been, as he lifted the bottle of Cuervo to his lips. Actually, don’t fuck him. He’d like it too much, Tate told himself just as his phone vibrated.

Picking it up, he made out the name and text he’d been waiting for. Swiping open the message, he stared at the two words on his screen and felt his mouth fall open. Twisting around and sitting up way too fast for his head, Tate continued to stare at the screen.

That arrogant fuck. Instead of the two words he’d expected—I’m sorry—there, staring back at him, was, I’m coming.

Tate glared at the phone as if the man who had typed it would be able to see. Placing the bottle down on the floor beside him, he typed back.

You’re not coming here.

Logan was in for a rude surprise if he thought Tate was going to let him in, and an even ruder one if he thought he was going to come in any way, shape, or form near him until he apologized.

Logan: Be ready.

“Unbelievable,” Tate sputtered, reaching down for the tequila.

Fuck you.

Not ten seconds later, there was a loud pounding on the door that startled him as his phone lit up. Looking down at it, Tate read a reply that made his buzzed brain take notice and his traitorous cock stiffen.

Logan: No, Tate. I’m gonna fuck you.

“Open the door!” Logan called out.

Tate stood, making his way—one foot in front of the other—to the door. “Go away, Logan. I don’t wanna talk to you,” Tate called out, leaning against the wood as he raised the bottle back to his lips.

“That’s too damn bad because I have a lot to say to you.”

Bringing the bottle down by his leg, Tate closed his eyes. “Then, say it.”

There was a long pause, and then Logan’s voice, softer this time, vibrated through the door. “This morning at my office—”

“Yes, Lo-gan—” Tate half-sang through the door.

“Are you drinking?”

Again, Tate repeated, “Yes, Lo-gan.”

“Open the door, and say that to me,” Logan demanded, calmer this time around.

Tate rolled his shoulders along the door until he was resting his left side up against it. “And why would I do that?”

He heard a thump and wondered if Logan had used his fist or his head to hit the door. “Open the fucking door, Tate.”

“Apologize,” Tate countered, determined to hear the words.

“Open the door, and I will,” Logan argued back.

Sighing, Tate knew they were at an impasse. He unlatched the dead bolt, turned the lock, and opened the door. Logan was standing there, with his arms stretched out, bracing him against the door frame, with his jacket parted and his tie falling forward.

Guy’s all fucking sex, Tate thought as he stared at the eyes behind the glasses.

Being this close to Logan with only his jeans—oh shit, they’re Logan’s jeans—between them, was not going to help him resist the man in front of him. So, as soon as Logan dropped his hands off the frame, Tate raised the bottle to his lips and downed more of the smooth, warm alcohol, trying to keep some distance between them.

“You going to let me in?” Logan asked.

Tate had a feeling that statement meant a lot more than permission into his apartment.

“You going to apologize?”

Logan ran a hand along his jaw. “You want me to do this here?”

Taking another drink as he thought about it, Tate scratched a hand over his naked chest, and then he moved it down to the button on his jeans. “Yeah, I think I do,” he agreed, and then blamed the alcohol when he added, “Down on your knees. That’s where most people grovel.”

* * *

 Logan managed to keep his mouth from falling open—barely—as the words Tate had just spoken made it to his brain.

Glancing at the bottle of tequila in Tate’s hand, Logan questioned much more calmly than he felt, “How full was that?”

Tate lifted the quarter-empty bottle and shrugged. “Unopened. Why?”

“I’m just thinking about how brave you’re being,” Logan drawled out suggestively.

“Maybe I should always be drinking around you then.”

Logan reached up to loosen his tie. “No doubt. Now, what exactly is the criteria for me to get into your place? Me on my knees, apologizing, right?”

Tate dipped his head forward and gave Logan a confident leer. “That’s right.”

Looking up and down the narrow hall he was standing in, Logan lowered down to his knees in the doorway and had to admit that the game, which was most definitely on, was making him horny as hell.

Tate took a step back from the door and then another before he stopped, widened his legs, and unbuttoned the top of his jeans. Logan’s mouth practically watered as he remembered exactly what Tate did not have on under the denim he’d borrowed this morning.

“Tate…”

Tate focused his eyes on him and unzipped his jeans. The cocky shit is going to tease me to death. When I finally get my hands on him, he is in so much trouble.

“Yes, Logan?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For?” Tate urged as he slowly pushed his hand into his jeans.

Logan was finding it difficult to concentrate, as he remained kneeling in place. “For being an ass.”

Tate moved his hand around behind the material, and then he pulled his erection up straight with a relieved groan. It was visible through the open zipper, and Logan wanted it. He wanted it so bad that he was close to crawling across the floor and begging for it, but why crawl when—

“And…”

And? There’s supposed to be more? Logan thought and then decided, Enough is enough. Moving to his feet, he took a step inside, and he was satisfied when Tate did nothing to stop him.

Shutting the door with a loud slam, Logan loosened his tie further and pulled it over his head before throwing it to the floor. Game on. It was his turn to hunt.

This time, it was he who was stalking Tate, and if Tate knows what is good for him, he’ll run and hide. Or at least, he would run if he didn’t want to be caught and attacked because that was exactly what was about to happen.

Something must have triggered Tate’s flight response because he started to slowly back up, and that only made this all the more fun in Logan’s opinion.

“Where are you going? I thought you wanted me to elaborate.” Logan shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the ground.

“Not going anywhere,” Tate told him stubbornly, the alcohol making him slightly less aware of the calculation in Logan’s eyes.

“You sure look like you’re going somewhere,” he pointed out as he pulled his shirt from his pants and started to undo the buttons one by one.

Tate stopped by his kitchen table and placed the bottle on it. “I’m still angry at you. It’s going to take more than that half-assed apology before you’re forgiven.”

Logan yanked his shirt open after becoming impatient with the small buttons, and removed it as he stopped in front of Tate and threw it on the table, next to the bottle of tequila. Swiftly, he took Tate’s chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah, I figured as much since you’re pretty much buzzing and still drinking.”

“Yeah, well, you’re enough to make anyone drink,” Tate fired back, surly as hell.

“Is that right?” Logan asked with a curl to his lip.

He didn’t know what this said about him, but this was the attitude he loved on Tate, and he hadn’t seen it for a while. It was pissed-off, it was confident, and as his eyes remained locked with Logan’s, it was arrogant as fuck.

“Yeah, it is. I’m not going to give in until you really mean it.”

Logan couldn’t help the taunting laugh that escaped him as he took Tate’s bottom lip between his teeth. Pulling it out and then letting it go, he ran his tongue over it and tasted the tequila as he promised, “Well, we’ll just have to see who gives in first, won’t we?”

He covered Tate’s mouth in a furious mating of lips as he pushed his free hand down into Tate’s open jeans. As Logan’s fingers curled around Tate’s hard cock, Logan felt him shudder, and he smirked against his mouth.

“I’m going to make you tremble so fucking bad, your knees are gonna give way.”

Tate breathed heavily against his mouth and challenged, “Bet you can’t.”

Letting go of Tate’s chin, Logan cupped the back of his head and twisted strong fingers into his hair. Pulling Tate’s head back, Logan sucked on his neck and throat and then licked over Tate’s Adam’s apple where he promised, “I will, or I’ll die trying.”

A harsh moan left Tate as Logan worked the responsive flesh in his hand and then kissed Tate’s jaw. He bit it gently, and then with a tinge of desperation, he pleaded with the man, “Say you forgive me, say we’re fine.”

“No,” Tate refused.

Logan could see how this was going to play out. He just wondered who would win.

“Okay, if you won’t forgive me, then at least let me taste you.”

Logan released both hands from Tate’s body as he dropped down onto his knees and quickly pulled the jeans to Tate’s thighs. As soon as the denim revealed what he wanted, Logan went for it.

Wrapping his arms around Tate’s legs, Logan kneaded his ass cheeks and nuzzled into Tate’s groin, reveling in the scent that hit his nose. Exhaling slowly, Logan looked up to see Tate staring down at him.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

Oh, are you? Logan thought as he circled the base of Tate’s erection and dragged his tongue from the root of the shaft to the tip.

When he got to the head of the thick erection, Logan licked the slit, and Tate’s fingers found his hair and grabbed on as he tongued the sensitive glans.

“Come on, Logan. Suck it. You know you’re dying to,” Tate ordered.

Logan would be damned if that demand didn’t ramp up his urge to take Tate, that much more. But first—first, he was going to drive Tate fucking crazy.

Running his hand down Tate’s ass cheek, he brought it around the front of his thigh and up between to cup his full and heavy balls. As soon as he was cradling them, he squeezed and glanced up to see Tate fixated on him. Feeling a smirk cross his lips, Logan rose up on his knees and bent his head over him.

“Holy shit, Logan,” he heard reverberate through the silent apartment as he brought his lips back up Tate’s steely length.

“Your mouth was fucking made for this.”

Logan could feel his own cock pressing painfully against his zipper.

“Hmm…mouthy lawyer equals one sexy cocksucker.”

He’s going to kill me, Logan thought as he pulled his lips from Tate. He was about to tell him he was going to get it, and hard, if he didn’t stop running his mouth, but before Logan even had the chance, Tate’s hand was on the back of his head, increasing the pressure.

So, instead of talking, Logan locked eyes with the sexed-up ones looking down at him, and he silently parted his lips as Tate pushed his hips forward, and slid back into his mouth.

Logan could hear the soft huffs of air leaving Tate with every flex of his hips, and when Logan closed his palm around the firm sac he was fondling, Tate cursed loud enough that Logan was sure that everyone on Tate’s floor had heard. But this wasn’t where Logan wanted this to end. Oh no. He had so much more in mind for Tate.

Rising to his feet, Logan took Tate’s lips in a hard kiss, before lifting his lips.

“Not yet, Tate. Your mouth is very dirty tonight. I think you need to cool down and wash it out. Time for a shower.”

Tate pulled back from him. “I’m not fucking you in the shower.”

Logan reached down between them and took Tate’s erection in his palm. “Good. Because in case you’ve forgotten, that’s not on the agenda today.”

Tate lowered his hands and stilled Logan’s. “You’re not fucking me either.”

Logan stared at Tate as he removed his hand and stroked the back of his fingers along his cheek. “Even if that was an option, I’m of the opinion that I want you to have a clear head. So, let’s get rid of this buzz you have going because, Tate?”

Tate’s dilated eyes blinked at him as Logan assured him, “You will sober up, you will forgive me, and then I’m going to take what you promised me.”

* * *

 Tate concentrated on Logan as he thought back on the morning. “You hurt me today. I knew she would, but I didn’t expect you to.”

Tate knew it was the alcohol that had him relaxed enough to say things he never normally would, but when Logan was being gentle, when he was touching him like he cared, it was so easy to slip into the stronger emotions.

“I know,” Logan admitted. “I know I did.”

Tate let out a shaky breath, and for the first time in four excruciatingly long hours, he relaxed under Logan’s admission. “Okay, as long as you know.”

That was when Logan stepped back, removed his glasses, and tossed them on the table. Tate tugged his open jeans back up his body, and as Logan ran a hand through his own hair, he let out a breath and muttered, “I know, believe me. Watching you leave, with no plan to return, isn’t something I want to witness again any time soon. Now, let’s shower.”

* * *

Logan followed Tate down the hall toward the bathroom and for once, he really wanted this to be special. For the first time in his entire adult life, he cared about what happened to the man in front of him.

Just as Tate turned to his left and was about to disappear through the door, Logan reached out and took his arm. Pulling him back, so he was in the dimly lit hall, Logan stepped in to him until Tate’s back was against the wall, and he was against his chest.

Cupping Tate’s face, Logan pressed his lips to the parted ones in front of him. He was relentless in his quest to hear the answer he craved. “Do you forgive me?”

Tate reached down between them and began unbuckling Logan’s belt as he denied him once again, “No.”

Logan rested his forehead against Tate’s, as fast fingers unfastened his button and zipper.

“Tell me why I should. Give me a reason,” Tate suggested.

 “Because,” was all Logan could come up with as Tate’s hand pushed down into his pants, taking him in his palm.

“Because?” Tate repeated back to him.

“Yeah, because.”

“But you told me that because is never a good reason,” Tate reminded him as he let go of Logan’s aching skin. He slipped away, making his way into the bathroom.

Frustrated with himself for this entire situation, Logan squeezed his eyes shut and counted to thirty. He was close to finally being in control of himself when he heard the water turn on in the next room.

Oh hell. He had no chance of winning this game, and he knew it. He would do anything to hear Tate say he was forgiven, even if that meant sitting outside the bathroom while he showered, but hopefully that wouldn’t be the case.

Making his way into the tiled room, the first thing Logan saw over in the corner was the pair of jeans Tate had been wearing. He then focused on the man who was standing under the spray of water, and he felt his cock weep as he watched him run a soapy sponge all over his tanned body. When Tate then turned toward him, he dropped the sponge and lifted his hands to smooth them back through his hair, and Logan was rendered useless.

How did I ever think that I’d be the one to win this battle of wills? The man is gorgeous and stubborn, and he has the ability to bring me to my knees.

Kicking off his shoes and pushing his pants and boxers down, Logan was happy to see that even though Tate was still mad, his body was responding to him, regardless. Tate’s erection, both veiny and thick, pointed right at Logan before Tate reached down with a wet hand and stroked it while his eyes stayed on him.

Logan made his way to the glass shower door, pulled it open, and stepped inside, facing the soaked man in front of him. As the water sluiced down over Tate’s body, making his hair stick to his head, Logan couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his own hand around the blushing thick erection Tate was fisting.

Stepping forward, Logan met Tate halfway, and the second their mouths collided, every thought Logan may of had about slow and sweet went straight out the door. God, this is pure heaven. Tate’s mouth was hot and wet as it moved under his, and the noise that rolled out of him was like music to Logan’s ears.

Raising a hand to Tate’s shoulder, Logan pulled his mouth away as he ran his palm down along the smooth, wet skin and ordered, “Turn around, and face the wall.”

Tate blinked at him, and the water that was caught on his eyelashes sparkled under the bathroom lights as he sucked his bottom lip and slowly moved forward. Then, without question, he turned around.

Before Tate was even in place, Logan encroached on that perfectly bronzed back and wedged himself between Tate’s rounded ass cheeks. Loving the feeling of finally having his cock where he’d been dying to put it, he sank his teeth into Tate’s shoulder, sucking up the beads of water as he felt the spray hit his side.

Tate bucked into him, and Logan asked again, “Do you forgive me?” as he bent his knees and slid his erection up through the most toned ass cheeks he’d ever seen.

Tate’s palms flattened against the tile wall as he used it to drive back on him, telling Logan once again, “No.”

Cursing out his frustration, Logan licked his way up Tate’s neck to his ear and threatened, “Don’t you fucking move, you hear me?”

“Or else?” Tate dared to ask.

“Or else, when you want to move, I won’t let you.”

Tate turned his head and looked back at him, “Is this how you ask for forgiveness by being a bossy, mean—ohhh…”

Tate’s words stopped on a groan as Logan dipped his knees again, sliding his rod against him.

“No. This is me showing you with my body that you’re the most spectacular thing I have ever had against me. I’ll beg for forgiveness later. For now, don’t move.” He instructed.

Speechless, Tate nodded as Logan lowered down onto his knees and looked at the perfect ass in front of him. He reached out and cupped Tate’s cheeks, pushing them up and together, kneading the firm, wet flesh under his palms as the water hit his side and swirled down around his knees.

Tate pushed back into him, and when Logan ran his thumbs down his shadowed cleft, he looked back over his shoulder and Logan gave him his most devious smile.

“You’re not surprised, are you?”

As Logan kneeled up, sipping the water from one of Tate’s rounded cheeks, he dropped a hand down to squeeze his solid erection, and Logan bared his teeth, biting the same spot before he murmured, “I’ll take that as a no. In fact, I think you’re dying for this.”

With strong thumbs, Logan spread Tate’s flesh apart.

“Aren’t you, Tate? You want it, and you know I’ll give it to you. Let me guess. You want my mouth here”—Logan nibbled along the dark crevice of fresh wet skin—“and you want my tongue here,” he told him, and swiped his tongue across the top of his crack. “Or maybe…maybe, you want it all, just a little bit lower.”

As he teased the tip of his tongue farther between Tate’s cheeks, Tate automatically widened his legs, a gruff sound pulling from his throat. Logan chuckled against him before he sat back on his heels, releasing Tate, as he looked at the picture spread out before him, almost forgetting they were in the shower.

“God, from the minute we met, you’ve been nothing but pure fucking temptation for me.”

Tate glared back at him over his shoulder, and his eyes were as dark as Logan had ever seen them. Oh yeah. Tate was on edge, and he was frustrated that Logan had stopped.

As he knelt back up behind Tate, Logan appealed to him once more. “Do you forgive me?”

The question now became something of a quest.

This time, instead of an immediate denial, Tate’s eyebrow rose, and his lips twitched. “No.”

Logan smoothed a palm over Tate’s ass, and promised, “You will.”

* * *

Tate knew what was coming. Logan had very briefly—

Holy shit.

Okay, so Logan had never quite done this to him before. He could feel Logan’s fingers holding him apart, and unbelievably, the scratch of Logan’s stubble against his ass was incredibly stimulating. Tate reveled in all of those feelings until the warm, wet tip of Logan’s tongue grazed his rim.

Tate shut his eyes and ordered himself to relax and enjoy the—ah, fucking hell—experience. But every sure flick of that tongue made his cock painfully aware that it wanted to come.

Arching his back, Tate shoved away from the cool tiles and onto the hot mouth that was savoring him from behind as he heard and felt a groan vibrate out of Logan. This was probably the most depraved thing he’d ever done in his life, and as Logan’s tongue returned time and time again to his sensitive hole, Tate realized he loved every second of it.

Moving his legs even farther apart, he grunted when a fingertip poked against him, and as the tip slipped inside, Tate started to pump his shaft. Letting his imagination fly, he pictured the way they would look right now if anyone were to walk in on them.

Him standing, facing his shower wall, legs parted, and Logan—raw and uninhibited Logan—down on his knees, holding my ass wide apart while his wicked tongue dips inside of me.

Christ, the mental snapshot Tate had given to himself was unbelievably erotic. The intense stimulation Logan was providing was turning him on so much that when the fingertip turned into a full thick digit, Tate shouted and jammed his hips back onto it.

He could feel Logan’s tongue swirling around the spot where the finger was wedged, and as it dragged out of his body, it hit his prostate, and Tate saw fucking stars. His hips snapped forward as he started to masturbate as if this were the last time he would ever hope to come in his life.

Tate could feel Logan’s mouth against his ass cheek, and his finger working back inside him as he started to glide it in and out, hitting all the right spots. It didn’t take longer than probably three more thrusts of that finger, and Tate was shouting out Logan’s name, as he came with such force that he thought he might rip his cock clear from his body.

With his erratic breathing subsiding, he become aware of the lips on his ass cheek, and the tongue that was drawing circles against his flesh. Releasing his hold of his overly sensitive skin, Tate looked down to Logan, who gave him a wicked grin and bit his ass gently.

“Dirty, dirty, Tate. Good thing we’re in a shower.”

Tate turned as Logan got to his feet, and he leaned back against the shower wall, noticing that Logan’s own erection had subsided. Logan winked at him and then stepped under the spray, turning back to face him where he remained against the tiles.

“Come and get clean, would you?” Logan suggested and frowned as if just remembering. “Am I forgiven?”

Tate stared over at the man looking back at him, and he realized that even though this had turned into some kind of game, he still wanted something…more. So, with the effects of the alcohol having somewhat dissipated, Tate stepped forward with his eyes locked on Logan, and he replied, “No.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“So, tell me something,” Logan said an hour later as they lay in Tate’s bed.

They’d ordered and eaten a pepperoni pizza between them, and then Tate had called in to work after some not too subtle urging.

“Something,” Tate replied into the shadows of the room.

“Comedian.”

“Hmm, not really.”

When they’d made their way in here, Tate had closed the blinds, but as they lay naked in the center of the bed, the rays had somehow slipped through and made it seem as though Tate’s skin was burnished by the sun.

Logan rolled over onto his side and looked down at Tate’s face. His left arm was up behind his pillow, and as Logan stared into his eyes, he knew that this was the moment they’d been building up to. This was what he’d been looking for—the one thing that would make him stop trying—and he was here, lying beside him.

“Are you still mad at me?” Logan questioned as he reached out and traced a finger down Tate’s ribs.

Tate turned his head on the pillow and stared up at him. “No…”

Logan narrowed his eyes at him. “But?”

“But…you still aren’t forgiven.”

Flopping onto his back, Logan started to laugh.

“What?” Tate queried, turning over to lean up on his elbow.

Logan stared at the serious face that he knew he wanted to see every day. “You really are pig-headed. You never let me get away with anything. That’s why you’re perfect for me.”

As Tate’s lips twisted into an ironic smile, Logan frowned. “What? Come on, don’t tell me, that’s it?”

Tate said nothing. He just grinned and lay down onto his back. Quick as a flash, Logan moved over him, placing a palm on either side of Tate’s head.

“That’s it? That’s what you’ve been waiting for?” Lowering his head, Logan pressed his mouth against the corner of Tate’s. “What? I haven’t told you how much I need you in my life? How much I want you here in it, everyday?” Logan raised his hand to touch the hair by Tate’s face. “How can you not already know?”

Tate raised an eyebrow at him, and Logan couldn’t help but run his finger over it as he mumbled, “So damn stubborn.”

“It’s your own fault. You never told me. What am I, a mind reader?”

“I don’t know, but I’m a fool,” Logan stated.

“Why?”

“This morning, you accused me of risking nothing, and you’re right.”

Tate went silent as though knowing if he spoke, Logan would never get out what he wanted to say.

“You’ve changed me, and you don’t even realize it. Just being with you, near you? It makes me want to be a better person. You make me want to take a risk.”

Tate touched one of his fingertips to his lower lip.

“What do you want to risk?”

Logan let go of all the emotions he’d held so carefully at arm’s length. Finally, with those feelings surrounding and engulfing him, he answered simply, “Everything.”

* * *

Tate couldn’t believe all that he was feeling as he stared at Logan hovering over him. In the last couple of weeks, Logan had ignited in him things that he’d never thought possible. He’d challenged him to try things Tate had never ever considered, and as he looked up into Logan’s face, he wondered if he was in love with him.

He knew that he was close. He could feel himself sliding, falling over that edge into madness—a madness that, for him, had already ended badly once before.

Am I really ready to risk it all again on someone who has never done this before? My family is going to—

“Hey, what are you thinking about?”

Tate pushed thoughts of family out of his head. Right now and right here was all that was important for the moment. They had plenty of time for the rest of the world—later.

“Nothing important.”

“That usually means the exact opposite.”

Tate lifted both of his hands and ran them through Logan’s hair. As he pulled his head down, Tate kissed his lips lightly.

“It can wait.”

Logan’s mouth curved against his own as he lowered his body down on top of his. “Can it?”

“Yeah. But you know what?”

“No. What?”

Moving his mouth to Logan’s ear, Tate kissed the lobe as he told him, “I can’t wait anymore.”

Logan lifted up over him. “What can’t you wait for?”

Tate lowered his head back to the pillow and bent his legs, pressing his hips up into Logan, as he sighed, “You.”

* * *

Logan closed his eyes at the pleasure he got from the slow drag of Tate’s hips against his own as Tate’s voice filtered in past all of his anxiety.

Right now, all Logan could focus on was the man underneath him.

“Will you take me?”

As Tate’s voice filled the silent room, every muscle in Logan’s body tensed at the enormity of the request. Opening his eyes, Tate’s serious expression focused on him, and Logan discovered that once again, with this man, he had no words.

“You don’t have to if—”

“Oh, I want to,” Logan assured him as he moved back to kneel between Tate’s bent legs.

Tate moved up on his forearms. “But?”

“But I want this to be”—he rubbed his chin—“right for you.”

Tate smiled at him then, and Logan was reminded of the very first time they had ever met. That moment when he’d turned around to stare across the bar at the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen, and Tate had been wearing that same exact smile.

“Logan?”

Logan shook himself out of his daydream, and then refocused. “Yeah?”

“What you just said?”

“Yeah?”

Tate reached down his body to palm his hardening length. “Just made it right.”

Logan looked at the hand Tate was slowly stroking over himself.

“Are you sure? I mean, if we do this, you can’t go back. You can’t change it. This makes it real.”

Logan watched as Tate lay back down, pushing his hips up to him in invitation, and when he raised his eyes, Tate’s expression answered before his words did.

“It’s been real since the moment I realized that I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”