by Ella Frank
This moment of sexual perfection is about to end. I knew it was too fucking good to be true.
But instead of stopping, Tate’s fingers tightened around the material. Testing the truth in Logan’s words, he bit Logan’s lip hard enough to almost bring him to his knees before tugging on his bottom lip and pulling away.
“What the hell have you done to me?”
Logan pressed himself harder against the man driving him crazy. “I have no clue, but I’ll be the first to say, I’m glad for whatever it is.”
Tate shook his head. “I don’t know if I can go any further than this. It’s all so…so…”
Grabbing Tate’s ass in both hands this time, Logan thrust his hips against him. “This doesn’t feel good to you?”
Tate closed his eyes and tipped his head back, exposing the Adam’s apple that Logan really wanted to lick.
“I think it’s obvious how good it feels, Logan.”
Sensing the moment was over, Logan removed his hands and took a step back, trying to resist the urge to manhandle Tate down onto the couch and say to hell with it all.
“What’s the biggest problem for you?”
Tate crossed his arms as though he didn’t trust himself. “You’re a guy, Logan. Pretty big problem.”
“Why?”
“Because I like women!”
Logan shook his head calmly. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? Especially when you have plenty of evidence to the contrary.”
“Thank you for pointing out the obvious, counselor.”
Logan shrugged, deciding now was the time to leave—before things turned to shit, before they got into an argument. Give him time to digest.
“Okay, okay. I’m going to go.” Logan walked back to the locked door, but before he left, he had one more thing that needed to be out in the air between them. “Tate?”
Tate’s stare met his own.
“This? This changes things. If you think I’m going to walk out of here and you’ll conveniently forget about what happened, you should think again. This wasn’t a fluke, no matter how much you try to pretend. You wanted it as much as I did, and you should remember that tonight when you jerk off, thinking about my tongue in your mouth,” Logan said, using a tone more serious than even he knew he was capable of.
Satisfied that he’d said everything he wanted to, Logan turned, unlocked the door, and left, wondering where this thing, whatever it was, would inevitably go.
Chapter Eight
The red glare of Tate’s digital readout shined brightly on him as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It might as well be a fucking spotlight. He placed an arm across his eyes. With a lone sheet across his waist, he tried to relax, but it was no use. He was agitated and restless.
Tonight had not gone according to plan, which was to ignore Logan at all costs.
No, instead, I kissed the bastard until I gave myself a major hard-on.
Gnashing his teeth together, he tried to ignore the fact that the stiff cock in question had reappeared at the memory of it, just like Logan had said it would. There was nothing more infuriating than knowing the cause of his sexual frustration was also the cause of a whole lot of self-doubt.
This was a time in his life when he was single. If he wanted to go and sleep with two-dozen women, he could. But no, his erection was fixated on a guy—an extremely hot guy but a man just the same. With his black hair, and eyes which were insanely blue, Logan was undeniably sexy.
Tate wasn’t sure why, but he also found it…exciting that Logan was taller than him. When they’d argued and he had Logan’s back up against the wall, Tate had felt alive for the first time in months. Not to mention, he’d been extremely aroused. It was as if arguing with Logan and gaining the upper hand had somehow put Tate in control to do whatever he wanted.
Which is what exactly? What do I want?
Tate knew it would be different if he had no reaction to Logan at all and could just brush him off, but ultimately, he kept coming back to his all-around curiosity with Logan Mitchell. He couldn’t deny it. It was there, and even more disquieting was his fascination with the man’s smart-tongued mouth.
Logan’s lips were—go on, admit it—bitable, and he had licked them at every opportunity he got, making Tate hyperaware of them. The bottom was much fuller than the top, and although Tate would have thought a man’s mouth should be hard, Logan’s was soft.
Soft, malleable, and yes, very fucking bitable. Damn!
Tate rolled over to look at the time—three fifteen in the morning. Great, just great. He noticed, sitting by his clock, his cell phone, and he reached out to pick it up.
Switching it on, he scrolled through to the call from Mitchell & Madison and wondered if the number was from the office. Placing the phone on his bare chest, he thought about it for a few minutes, and then—fuck it—he dialed the number.
He was all ready to leave a message on Logan’s office voice mail, preparing to tell him not to come by the bar anymore, when the phone connected.
* * *
Logan’s phone vibrated loudly on the wooden side table by his bed. It wasn’t like it had awoken him. He’d just been lying there, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Tate—
Jesus, this early in the morning?
He really hoped it wasn’t a client that needed him for some urgent matter.
Rolling over to his side, he scooted up from beneath the covers and snagged the cell. Swiping the screen to accept the call, he lifted it to his ear and managed a sleepy, “Logan, here.”
Silence.
Pulling the phone away, he leaned to his side and glanced at the number on his screen seeing a name displayed across the top that he’d programmed in earlier yesterday. It was a name that immediately had him waking all the way up.
“Tate?” Logan’s heart started to pound almost as hard as his now rapidly swelling erection. “I know it’s you. You might as well talk to me,” he pushed, not wanting Tate to hang up without saying what he’d called for.
“I thought you’d be asleep, and I could leave a message.”
Logan shifted back against the mattress and down in between his sheets, enjoying the sound of Tate’s voice when it finally came through the phone.
“Well, this is my office number. Calls get routed for clients.” He was trying to keep things neutral and easy, wanting to do anything to keep Tate talking.
“Oh,” was all he got in response.
Running a hand across his chest, Logan massaged his shoulder and waited, wondering what the hell he should say next. After all, the likelihood of why Tate was calling this early probably wasn’t good, but shit, someone had to say something.
“So, you were going to leave me a message?”
More silence.
“At three in the morning?”
Still, complete silence.
Well, almost—Logan was sure he could hear Tate breathing softly.
“You going to say something? Or do you want me to do all the talking? Because we both know the direction I’ll take this, especially since I’m lying here in—”
“I was calling to tell you not to come back to the bar anymore.”
Logan didn’t know why, but that comment actually—
Hurt?
“I see.”
The silence at the other end was starting to irritate him now, so Logan decided to stop playing neutral, decided to stop playing easy.
“And why’s that, Tate? Because I’ve made you think about things you don’t want to?”
Finally, that seemed to penetrate Tate’s silent self-intervention.
“No. Christ, you’re arrogant,” he announced in an annoyed rush of air. “Because you’re making my fucking head hurt. You never take no for an answer, and you don’t take a fucking hint.”
Logan laughed with disdain as he imagined a frustrated Tate running a hand through his hair. “I might have taken no for an answer—if you ever said it.”
“I did say it!” Tate’s voice boomed
through the phone. “And I also told you very clearly that I am straight.”
Anger was definitely riding the man, but it seemed mixed with something more, something that hadn’t made him hang up the phone yet.
“Yeah, I remember that, too. It must’ve been before you kissed me and changed your fucking mind!”
From the other end of the line, he heard a loud growl.
Then, Tate spat out, “You’re impossible, you know that? Do I need to quit my job? You’d really make me do that?”
“I’m not making you do anything. I’m not even making you talk to me right now,” he pointed out before adding, “but you’re still here.”
The muted seconds following that particular observation were almost tangible. Logan knew whatever happened next, whatever was to be said had to be from Tate.
“I don’t know what you expect from me.”
Logan didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath until that confession hit his ear, and he let it out in a rush.
“I don’t expect anything.” He thought that was a pretty basic response. He didn’t have any expectations. He never did since a certain person had crushed all of his.
Tate didn’t give him time to dwell on that though as he interrupted his thoughts.
“And that’s just another part of this whole mess, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Logan asked, even though he was positive he didn’t want to hear the answer.
“You can’t even decide what gender you want to screw this month, yet I’m supposed to pick you. What kind of joke is that, Logan? Let’s see. First, there was Jess, whoever the hell that is. Then, apparently, everyone I work with, not to mention Amelia’s invite. Is there anyone you don’t want?”
Okay, so the guy has a point, but—
“Then, why are we still talking?” Logan expected to hear a click and then nothing, but instead, he got—
“Because I can’t seem to get you out of my fucking head.”
And that is all I needed to hear.
* * *
Tate was breathing hard at this point, feeling extremely disconcerted about everything that had been said and the fact that he was also turned-on from listening to Logan’s voice.
“Tate?”
Tate clamped his eyes shut. “What?”
“Talk to me. Stop thinking for a minute about what you believe is right and wrong. Just talk to me, like you would anyone else.”
Laughing derisively, Tate shook his head at no one. “But that’s the problem, isn’t it, Logan? You’re not just anyone, and I have to consider everything that comes out of my mouth.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Tate repeated back, in disbelief.
“Yes. Why? Just say what you want to say, and if you want to be inappropriate at any time, I’m okay with that, too.”
Tate relaxed a little. “See?”
“What? Don’t act like you don’t want to flirt with me. You do it with all your customers. I’ve watched you.”
“You do too.” Tate realized too late what he’d just given away.
Logan, of course, didn’t miss it. “And you know that because you watch me, too. Don’t you?”
In the darkness of his room, Tate decided to do exactly what Logan had suggested, and say what he was thinking. It wasn’t like the guy was here in the bedroom with him. He couldn’t reach out and…touch him.
“Yes, I do,” he finally admitted to Logan and himself. After no response, he added, “Watch you.”
“What if I told you, you could ask me anything right now, and I would answer you. I’m open to all questions. Would you ask me what’s on your mind?”
The tone in Logan’s voice matched the serious tone Tate had heard earlier in the break room, and Tate discovered that he wanted to ask a million questions. He just had no clue where to start.
“Jesus, I don’t know. This whole conversation is so far from normal that I don’t even know where I’d begin.” Tate heard rustling at the other end and blurted out, “You’re in bed?”
Logan’s chuckle came through the phone and immediately Tate felt foolish.
“Um, yeah. At almost three thirty in the morning, I’m generally in bed. Aren’t you?”
“Of course,” Tate mumbled and then had a horrible thought. “Alone?”
“Yes.” Logan laughed louder this time. “In a cold bed all alone after someone got me all hot and horny this afternoon. It was a sad night, crawling between my sheets.”
Tate moved down his own bed until he was flat on his back and staring at the ceiling again.
“I really got you hot and—”
“Horny?” Logan filled in the word.
“Yes.”
“Tate? You got me so hard this afternoon, I could have pounded a nail through a two-by-four.”
“And that’s not normal—for you?” Tate couldn’t believe what he’d asked.
I sound ridiculous.
“Well, I’m a guy. It’s not like an erection is difficult to get. I just need to think about your hair, and I get hard as a rock.”
“My hair?” That was last thing Tate had expected.
“Yes, your sexy fucking hair. Are you kidding me? The curls…” Logan groaned out loud. “Tate, they’re—just trust me.”
“Okay.”
“Smart move.”
Tate’s breathing became more labored as his heart continued to beat rapidly in his chest. He thought about everything he wanted to ask and then decided to just dive in.
It’s not like anyone is here to hear me.
Hesitantly, he pushed forward. “What else do you…like about me?”
“Like? That’s not the right word.”
“Then, what word would you use?”
“What else turns me on about you?” Logan suggested.
Nodding absently, Tate held his breath for whatever was about to be said.
Then, Logan answered with, “Everything.”
Huh? That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear, and Tate was—
Disappointed? “That’s it?”
“What do you mean? That’s…everything,” Logan told him in a tone dripping with devilry. “Oh! You want details?”
Tate remained silent as Logan made fun of him, and clear as a picture, he had an image of the man in his head with his sly smirking mouth.
“You already knew that, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Logan confessed unapologetically. “But I wanted you to ask.”
“To torment me?”
“No, to torment myself. Don’t underestimate the power of a good tease. Aren’t you lying there right now, dying to know what it is about you that turns me on?”
“I don’t know about dying, but I’m curious.”
“Your throat.” Logan surprised him again.
“My throat?”
“Yes. It’s thick, tanned, and strong. Your Adam’s apple protrudes, and it moves when you swallow, especially when you’re nervous. I want to lick it.”
Tate’s cock responded immediately to the way Logan’s tongue delivered the word lick, and he swore he could feel it against his throat as if the man had done what he’d suggested.
“Your hair, which I already told you. I like that it’s a little long and that I could really tug on it when you were wrestling me up against the wall.” Lowering his voice until it sounded like he was whispering directly into Tate’s ear, Logan finished with, “And let’s not forget, all your lean muscles pushing me against that wall. I would kill to see them naked. Fuck, Tate, everything about you turns me on. Just thinking about it right now—I might actually pass out from the lack of blood flow to my head.”
A smug-ass grin stretched across Tate’s mouth at the frustration in Logan’s voice, and before he knew it, Tate was asking, “So, are you turned-on now?”
* * *
Fuck yes, I am, Logan wanted to say, but just to be sure, he clarified, “Are you asking me if I’m hard right now?” Logan wasn’t sure he’d get a response, but he did.
“Yes.”
“Then yes, I am very turned-on right now.” He paused. “Are you?”
“Turned-on?”
Logan smiled into the darkness. “That was the question.” He wondered if he would get anger or truth.
“Yes, I’m turned-on. I’ve been hard since you picked up the phone.”
Logan closed his eyes, and this time, he let an unmistakable full groan escape his mouth as he pressed his head back into the pillow. He barely managed to keep his free hand above the covers as he imagined Tate lying in bed, talking to him, with an erection.
“I was thinking about your mouth before I called you,” Tate continued just to further torment him.
“And you think I fight dirty.”
Tate immediately backtracked. “I shouldn’t have said that?”
“You can say whatever the fuck you want to, but be prepared for what comes after comments like that. Pun intended.”
“Such as?”
“Such as me wanting to know more. And by more, I mean details, Tate. Tell me what you were thinking about my mouth.”
Deciding there was no harm in it, Logan pressed his palm to the sheet currently draped across his arousal, and waited to hear what words would come from the inquisitive man at the other end of the phone.
“I was thinking about how soft it is even though I expected it to be—”
“Hard?” Logan added. Like that’s a word I can forget right now.
“Yes. I expected your lips to be hard, but they’re soft and big. Your bottom lip is bigger than your top.”
Logan licked the lip under discussion, remembering the way Tate had bit it yesterday, as he palmed the steel rod under his sheet. “Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“Does it turn you on?”
Logan waited for and got Tate’s ragged confession. “Yes.”
“Are you touching yourself, Tate?”
Silence—and then, truth.
“Yes.”
* * *
Tate cupped his throbbing shaft and arched up into his hand as he gave the admission over to Logan.
“Above the sheet?” he barely heard Logan ask.