by Ella Frank
Logan lowered his head and sank his teeth into Tate’s shoulder, muffling his own raw groan. He felt a streak so fucking possessive rip through him and wondered where it’d come from. He knew he loved Tate, that he wanted to be with and take care of him. But as he stood there with him like this—so open, so trusting in their connection—Logan had an intense need to make it known that he was his—and vice versa.
He could see a bead of sweat trickle down his own temple as he stared at their reflections. Then he smoothed a hand around to the one Tate had working his cock and instructed, “Brace yourself.”
* * *
Tate didn’t think it was possible to dig his fingers any harder into the surface under them, but when Logan grabbed his hips and withdrew out of his ass only to slam back home—his fingers almost broke trying to keep himself upright. The unholy curse that ripped from Logan had Tate finding his eyes in the mirror, and the sight he saw just about made his knees buckle.
Logan’s hair was plastered to his forehead, and the sweat running down his cheek made Tate want to taste it with his tongue. He soon shoved that thought aside though, as Logan’s fingers flexed into the sides of his hips and he started to roll them.
The pace was intense as Logan drilled into him, and every time he bottomed out, Tate would hear a sound full of sublime ecstasy tear from him that made his cock pound. The man behind him—and what a man he is—owned him in that moment. He was not leaving any doubt about that.
Logan’s eyes were locked on his, and his powerful jaw was clenched as the hand at the back of Tate’s neck squeezed and pulled him up straight, aligning their bodies—head to toe.
As he rested back against him, Logan stilled his cock inside him, biting the curve of his neck and shoulder. Tate’s hips arched, and he felt Logan jut his hips forward to get deeper.
“I don’t think you know,” Logan whispered in his ear, “just how hard I want to take you…”
“Do it,” he urged, wanting Logan to lose control with him—wanting to see that.
“God, I want to.”
“Yes,” Tate hissed, his ass pulsating in a hot throb around the wide intrusion. “I want you to.”
In a voice he barely recognized, he heard Logan say, “The bed, Tate. Go and lie across it.”
Tate could feel his breathing coming hard as Logan pulled out of him and stepped aside to let him pass.
That was when he heard him say, “I can’t wait to come inside you and watch you take it all.”
Tate was so fucking aroused. Between Logan kissing him, biting him, and promising the hottest fuck of his life, he wasn’t sure he could remember his own damn name.
He walked around to the side of the bed and lay down across the king-sized mattress so he could see himself in the mirror along the vanity.
Logan came around to where his legs were hanging over the edge and moved in between, nudging his thighs apart. Fully erect, he looked like some kind of sexual god come to tempt mere mortals, and Tate sure as hell was tempted. He’d been tempted ever since he’d dared him to try, and now, as Logan stood there, he was fucking thankful he’d given in.
“You’re looking really fucking good, Tate,” Logan said as he trailed his eyes over him.
Tate reached down to rub himself, trying to ease the ache that was now a constant throb between his legs.
“Put your feet up on the edge of the bed.”
Breathing was becoming more of a challenge with every word out of Logan’s mouth, but it was when he lowered down to his knees beside the bed that Tate thought he would stop breathing altogether. Quickly, he reached to the side for one of the small pillows at the head of the mattress. He shoved it behind his head, trying to see, but then he realized he didn’t need that—he had the mirror.
Throwing the pillow out of his way, he laid his head flat on the mattress and turned just in time to see Logan’s muscled thighs bunch as he knelt by the bedside. The hard cock that had been inside him only minutes ago was fully engorged and visible, and as Tate’s eyes shifted farther up his body, he found his own bent leg in the way of his view and lowered it.
He wanted to see everything, and as he watched, Logan turned his head to the vanity and caught him spying. One of his dark eyebrows rose as if to say, Caught ya, and he reached forward, grabbed his thighs, and hauled him to the edge of the bed. The smile that stretched across Logan’s mouth then was filthy as fuck, and when Tate arched his hips in response, his foot slipped off the mattress.
“That’s right. Watch me,” Logan invited, and then he turned, lowered his head, and dragged his tongue over the base of his cock.
The strangled sound that escaped his throat was loud, and he tried to put his foot back on the mattress so he could push up into Logan’s face. But after a couple of failed attempts, Logan took his ankle and placed it over his muscled shoulder.
With his other leg lying flat and his hips angled up, the picture Tate was seeing was so fucking indecent that he couldn’t believe he was in it. But as Logan’s tongue drew a direct path to the tip of his cock and he saw his own hands reach down and grip all of that black hair to keep him in place, he remembered that the picture was his reality.
“Logan,” he cried out when Logan swallowed him back down his throat. He kept his eyes glued to the man who was bent over him, making a meal out of him.
“You taste so fucking good,” Logan told him as he lifted his head and caught his stare. His eyes were so dark that Tate thought they were close to black, and Logan bit his swollen lip like he was trying to taste him again. “You love watching me suck your dick, don’t you, Tate?”
Tate thrust his hips up, and Logan ran his eyes over him in the reflection. Then his fingers were moving, trailing down to—
“What about this?” Logan asked, their eyes still locked as he slowly pushed his finger inside him. “You like watching me do this?”
* * *
As Logan turned his attention back to the feast splayed out in front of him, he eagerly watched his finger disappear inside Tate, who looked as if he were about to pass out from what he was experiencing.
The sounds he was pulling from him were making Tate’s voice hoarse, and they had him pressing his own cock against the side of the bed, needing to ease the ache in some way, as the man lying before him splintered apart under his hands and his mouth.
He tongued the strip of skin just above where his finger was penetrating, and as Tate shoved his hips up toward him for more, Logan trailed his tongue down and delivered. He removed his finger and licked over the tight pucker he was two seconds away from fucking, and when Tate’s heel dug into his shoulder and his second leg came up to plant itself on the mattress, Logan knew he was close to losing it. He slipped his hands under Tate’s ass and pulled him up to taste every part of him he could reach. When he slid two fingers inside him, a loud curse flooded his ears.
Pushed way beyond the limits of his control, Logan scissored his fingers apart a few times and then pulled them free of Tate’s body before he stood. Tate’s eyes had been fixated on the mirror until that moment, but he turned his head and locked gazes directly with him.
Logan grabbed the lube on the counter and poured some into his hand while Tate feverishly worked his palm up and down. He then walked back to the mattress, and when Tate scooted back, Logan placed a palm on his thigh.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Tate’s eyelids lowered to half-mast as he touched the tip of his tongue to his top lip and widened his legs in invitation. “Nowhere. Was just making room for you.”
Logan moved up his body so he could plant a hand by the side of Tate’s head and then lowered himself over him. He ran his slick palm over Tate’s cock before rubbing their erections together, and when Tate turned his head to the side to face the mirror, Logan did the same—and the picture they made was one he would never fucking forget.
Tate’s beautiful skin was such a rich contrast against the cream of the covers, and with their long legs entwined a
nd their brawny frames connected, Logan couldn’t help but roll his hips at the erotic image he was seeing.
“Un-fucking-real,” he said, never having realized how perfect they were with one another.
“I know. I can’t stop looking,” Tate confessed. “More. I want to see more,” he said, sounding desperate as he moved his hips under Logan’s while they continued to eye-fuck one another. “I want to watch you take me.”
Logan’s entire body reacted to Tate’s words, but when Tate added, “I want to watch us fuck,” Logan thought he would explode.
He took his hand closest to the mirror and hooked Tate’s leg under the knee, pushing it back and opening him wide. He kept his eyes on Tate’s the entire time while he moved his hips up and the head of his bare cock brushed his hole.
“Feel me?” he asked, gently nudging against him.
Tate’s lips parted as his gaze lowered to where their hips were connected and he nodded. Logan pushed forward then, and once the head of his shaft had slipped inside the tight ring of muscle, he squeezed his eyes shut and rested his cheek against Tate’s.
His forearms were on either side of Tate’s head, and when he said, “Open your eyes,” Logan’s stare met with his in the reflective glass.
He watched Tate’s hands smooth down his back and cup his ass, and when he whispered, “Fuck me,” Logan saw Tate’s eyes dilate and his mouth part on a cry as he pulled out and did as requested.
* * *
He wasn’t sure when he’d passed the point of rational thought, but when Logan slid back inside him, Tate’s mind seemed to have lost the ability to focus on anything other than watching the man on top of him make him his.
Their bodies were so intimately fused together that it was hard to tell where Logan ended and where he began. But as Logan pulled his hips back and withdrew his delicious cock from his body, he watched like a voyeur at one of the filthiest sex shows.
His leg was hooked over Logan’s elbow, and as he tunneled inside him, the dimples and muscles on his ass, hip, and thigh flexed. Tate couldn’t help getting high off the visual he was witnessing.
If he weren’t being so superbly taken, he might have thought he’d blacked out and was dreaming this. But the forceful way Logan was thrusting inside him left no doubt that he was most certainly the man on the bottom of that hot-as-fuck image. He couldn’t even make out the words that were flying out of Logan’s mouth as he continued to watch himself get pounded into the mattress. And somewhere in those euphoric seconds, he lost himself in the feeling of surrender. He’d never known such trust, such devotion in another—and he knew he never would again.
Tearing his eyes from the mirror, he looked up at Logan, and when he found him looking down at him, he wrapped his legs around his waist to pull him closer.
Logan buried his face in his neck as his hips sped up and pistoned back and forth—his breathing coming in harsh pants. He sounded like a man about to fucking explode.
“Do it, Logan. I want to feel you come inside me. Make me yours,” Tate demanded.
He bit his ear, and that did it. Logan stiffened inside him and came on a shout so loud that it reverberated off the walls. Tate turned his head as the warmth of Logan’s release flooded through him, and the visual and mental snapshot of the entire act had his own orgasm right there, teetering on the edge.
Logan looked at him in the mirror and slowly pulled out. Then he reached down to take him in his hand. He held his eyes as he moved his fist up and down, and then he lowered his head to the crook of his shoulder and whispered, “You’re so sexy, Tate. Fucking beautiful. Come for me.”
Tate’s eyes closed, and as he remembered the way they’d looked only a second ago, his climax slammed into him and had him arching up to come in a sticky, hot mess all over his stomach and Logan’s hand.
He’d never felt so satisfied in all his life. His mind even felt foggy. And as Logan lowered down beside him and rolled to his back, Tate smiled up at the ceiling and let his eyes fall shut. Nothing that they hadn’t already said with their bodies needed to be spoken.
They had already given to each other everything.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was a beautiful Saturday morning in New York City. The sun was shining, the air was crisp with the promise of winter, and Fifth Avenue was bustling with pedestrians. Hand in hand, they walked toward Central Park, and when they came to a stop on the corner of the street, Logan looked over at Tate. He was back in his usual jeans, shirt, and coat, and as the sun filtered through the buildings, it warmed them where they stood.
“Is there any place in particular you want to see once we get there?” Logan asked, waiting for Tate to look at him.
He thought about it for a few seconds before he smiled over at him. “Strawberry Fields.”
As the light changed and they were able to cross, he tugged on Tate’s hand and they started up again. “Really? Big Beatles fan, are we?”
“A little. Courtesy of my father. He used to listen to them a lot when we were kids, and I learned most of their songs on my guitar at school.”
“I love learning these little things about you,” Logan said. “Strawberry Fields it is.”
“What about you?” Tate asked.
“Hmm?”
“What did you listen to when you were younger?”
Logan chuckled. “I didn’t really listen to music.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. I told you I was a nerd. Books were my thing, not music. Plus, you’ve met my mother. You can imagine her tastes weren’t exactly what a young boy likes. Actually, that may explain a few things…” he mused.
Tate pulled him against his side, and when their shoulders bumped, he laughed. “That’s kind of hot.”
“What is? That I was a nerd?” he asked in disbelief. “Trust me. I was not hot. I was skinny and awkward.”
Tate waggled his eyebrows at him. “Keep going. I’m getting a good visual here. The glasses, the books, that smart brain of yours, all wrapped up in…”
Deciding to play along, Logan answered. “I favored pressed polo shirts with my very proper pants.”
Tate gave him a thorough once-over, and Logan rolled his eyes.
“Stop it. You never would’ve looked twice at me. I’m a guy, remember?”
“Perhaps not at first,” Tate agreed. “But I bet if we’d spent time together…”
Logan scoffed at Tate’s insinuation. “Oh, don’t stop there. You’re saying—if we spent time together in college, you think you would’ve tested the waters with me, huh?”
As they came to the entry of the park and wandered inside, Tate glanced over at him and really seemed to be contemplating him before he said, “I think there’s something about you that just…”
Logan pulled him to a stop. “That just?”
Tate touched his cheek and simply said, “Calls to a part of me. And I don’t think it would’ve mattered what age we were.”
Logan blinked at him, trying to think of something to say, but he had nothing. No one had ever said something so honest to him in all his life. As always, Tate continued to be the one person who could surprise him—just when he thought he’d heard everything.
“There’s something about you,” Tate tried to explain as he traced his fingers along his jaw. “In the way you are. It pulls me in, Logan. I can’t imagine knowing you and not feeling it.” He stepped toward him, right there in the middle of the park on a busy Saturday morning, and took his lips in a kiss so fucking sweet that Logan had to clutch his arms to keep from falling over. Then Tate raised his head and whispered, “It just took me a few days to see it.”
Logan touched a curl by Tate’s ear. “You were pretty stubborn. And angry.”
“Do you blame me? You hit on me the first night we met. I was in shock.”
Logan turned, and they started walking again, oblivious to anyone in the park but themselves. “I did not. I waited until the second day to do that.”
“Sure. Your
eyes were practically daring me to—”
“To?”
Tate’s lips quirked into an ironic smirk. “To go home and think about you long after my shift was over.”
“I like that. You going home to your apartment and thinking about me, curious. But you know what I love?”
Tate studied him and waited silently.
“You coming home with me—and being absolutely sure.”
Tate winked at him. “I love that too.”
And Logan felt his heart just about melt.
* * *
As they strolled through the winding paths of Central Park, Tate couldn’t imagine any place he’d rather be. The temperature was perfect for walking around town, and as he watched the couples stretched out on blankets and the children throwing Frisbees and chasing one another around the grassy fields, he felt the stress of the last few months lift from his shoulders.
This was exactly what he’d needed, and it shouldn’t have surprised him that Logan had known that. He was extremely intuitive when it came to things like this.
They passed several people sitting under trees reading, and when they walked around the lake in the direction of Strawberry Fields, he said quietly, “I’ve been thinking a lot about my family this past week.”
He didn’t say anything else as they continued, and Logan seemed content to wait for him to decide what came next.
“I know I haven’t said much,” he started, trying to work out how to say what he wanted to.
“It’s okay to want to see them, Tate,” Logan told him gently, saving him from actually voicing the words.
When his feet faltered under him, Logan tilted his face in his direction.
“Did you think I’d think less of you for wanting to?”
“No…I… Well, I didn’t know if I wanted to see them.”
“I can understand that,” Logan said. Simple enough.