by Ella Frank
Tate made a show of lifting his hips and putting it in his back pocket.
As Logan drove in under the boom gate, he said, “See? No one else would ever do. You totally get me.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Logan sat beside Tate in the conference room they’d been shown into and unbuttoned his jacket. He looked around at the décor, and while it was elegant and comfortable enough for clients, he was egotistical enough to note that their office was much more impressive. As he turned his head in Tate’s direction, he saw him watching his inspection.
“What?” he asked.
“Sizing up the competition, Mr. Mitchell?”
Logan rested an arm on the table in front of him as he angled his body toward Tate. “Always. Honestly, our relationship aside, would you want to do business in this conference room or ours?”
Tate let out a low chuckle. “You’re so competitive.”
“I am not.”
“Yes. You are.”
Logan arched an eyebrow and pointed a finger at him. “You didn’t answer the question.”
Tate rubbed his chin. “Putting our relationship aside and the fact that I have extremely vivid memories of the first time I was ever in your conference room?”
“Yes. Putting aside all of that.”
Tate scrunched his nose up in mock disgust. “Then the truth is I never would’ve kissed you in this room. I was much more impressed by the size of yours.”
Logan laughed and dropped his gaze to Tate’s lips. He was about to speak when the door to the room opened, and Tate’s new lawyer finally joined them.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen.”
Logan turned his head in the direction of the voice. When his eyes landed on the tall, good-looking blond who’d just entered the room, his mouth fell open. There, standing in front of them, was—
“I’m Daniel. Daniel Finley.”
Logan felt his eyes widen in shock at the man who was currently looking between the two of them, and as he pulled the chair out opposite them, Logan tried to work out what the fuck was going on.
This is Finley? The same fucking guy who was with Robbie that night at Whipped?
He pivoted in his seat to face Tate and saw that he had the same shocked-as-shit expression. When he looked back at the man who was now sitting with a crooked grin on his face, he wondered if this was some kind of joke.
“Now this is a happy coincidence. I had no idea that the Mr. Morrison and Mr. Mitchell I was meeting with today were the two of you.”
“The hell you didn’t,” Logan couldn’t stop himself from saying, and he felt Tate sit up a little straighter in the chair beside him when he let out the obscene curse he’d been holding in.
* * *
Daniel…Finley…or whoever the fuck he is, Tate thought, opened the file, and as he ran his eyes down the information inside, he pushed a piece of his shoulder-length hair behind his ear. Tate shifted to see Logan pin him with a “can you fucking believe this” look of his own.
“Funny thing is, I didn’t know that Cole had a brother,” Finley stated without looking up from what he was reading.
“Apparently, there were several things neither of us was aware of.”
Logan’s tone was so frosty that Tate was surprised that, when he reached over and took his hand, it was warm instead of ice cold. Then Finley lifted his head, and when he locked eyes with Logan, Tate was torn between running interference and wanting to watch them lock horns with one another.
“I’m sorry. Are you implying that I just lied to you, Mr. Mitchell?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m positive you knew exactly who Cole’s brother and business partner was before you walked through that door today.”
“And you? You didn’t do a little background checking before you came in? I find that hard to believe.”
Tate eyed the man who was holding Logan’s stare, and the air in the room thrummed with angry testosterone. He remembered the confident way this Daniel guy had practically invited them to his bed months ago, and so, apparently, did Logan.
“No. I didn’t. I trusted my brother’s judgment. Clearly, that was a mistake.”
“What’s the problem here?” Daniel asked. “That I’m one up on you? Because I’m not averse to you being up on me—either of you for that matter.”
“That’s it. Let’s go,” Logan said as he turned toward Tate.
Tate pushed back in his chair and got to his feet, knowing that the annoyance lighting those brilliant eyes had to be matching his own irritation.
Apparently, this guy isn’t deterred by the word no.
Daniel also stood, placing his fingertips on the table as he studied both of them carefully. Then, as if he hadn’t just blatantly hit on Logan, he dismissed him and addressed Tate.
“I read your case. Do you want to win or do you want to lose?”
Tate glared at him, trying to see past the urge to plant his fist in his smarmy face.
“If you do the smart thing here and hire wisely, you have a great chance of walking away with a substantial settlement. You were the victim in a horrendous motor vehicle accident—”
“Which is another reason we don’t want to be fucked around with by you,” Logan stated as he moved to stand behind his chair. “We’ve been through enough.”
Daniel eyed Logan. “I don’t believe I was asking you.”
“Why don’t you go fuck your—”
“I don’t like you,” Tate interrupted, finally speaking up. “I didn’t like you the first time we met, and I don’t like you now. But apparently, you’re the best.”
Straightening to his full height, Daniel slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I am.”
Tate looked over to Logan, whose jaw was ticking in frustration and annoyance. He knew he was raging mad, but Tate also knew that, if they wanted to win, they needed the smug prick standing in front of them.
“I want to win,” he announced and faced Daniel. “And if you can do that, then we’ll work with you.”
A victorious smile stretched across his face.
Then Tate placed his palms on the table and lowered his voice to one he barely recognized. “But the next time you feel the urge to invite us to your bed, squash it or I’m going to put my fist in your face. Got it? We aren’t interested. Not then, not now, not fucking ever. Am I being clear enough for you?”
Daniel’s eyes shifted to behind him, where he knew Logan was standing, but he didn’t dare look away. When Daniel’s eyes came back to his, he gave a slow nod.
“Got it.”
“Good. Now that we know who you are, your pricing, and your…practices, we’ll be in touch,” Tate said as he stood and found Logan glaring at him.
This time, though, there was something other than anger mixed with the fire blazing behind those glasses of his. Arousal?
“Ready to go?”
Logan didn’t take his eyes off him as he silently nodded, completely ignoring the other man in the room. Tate took his hand, and as they made their way around the table and toward the door, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction settle inside him.
As long as Finley was clear on who belonged to whom, then he had no problem what-so-fucking-ever working with the guy—especially if he was going to win.
* * *
Logan remained silent in the elevator as he and Tate traveled down to the parking garage. He was trying to calm his blood pressure, but every time he thought about that arrogant jerk upstairs, he wanted to—
“Hey?”
Tate’s voice broke through his irritated musings, and when he looked over at him and saw the possessive way he was eyeing him, Logan felt the adrenaline that was riding him course through his veins. He wasn’t a fan of being made a fool of, and he was even less of a fan of being cut off and not speaking his mind.
But hell, it was hot watching Tate tell Finley to fuck off.
“You okay?”
He didn’t reply as the e
levator hit the ground floor. Instead, he pushed off the wall and pinned Tate with a no-nonsense look. And when the metal doors parted, he strode out into the cement underground.
He knew he needed to mellow, but when he remembered the way Finley had sauntered into the meeting today, it pissed him off even more.
Conceited fuck.
As he continued to walk through the rows of cars, he wondered how long Tate would let him simmer until—yes, there it is—a firm hand clamped around his arm and pulled him off the road, backing him up to a large pillar.
When his shoulders and ass met the cool surface, Logan angled his chin up and made sure to keep his eyes connected with Tate’s.
“I asked you a question,” Tate said, placing a hand on the cement block just over his shoulder.
“I’m aware,” Logan replied, and even though he knew that it wasn’t Tate’s fault, he couldn’t seem to help himself—he was spoiling for a fight. “Am I allowed to respond or are you going to cut me off and speak for me?”
Tate narrowed his eyes on him as he took a step forward and fit his foot between his own. “You’re pissed.”
Logan bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something along the lines of, “No shit.” It would be better for the both of them if he settled down before he spoke.
“Why are you mad?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Clearly,” Tate acknowledged, and then he lowered his mouth to his ear and whispered, “But that’s too bad.”
A shiver raced up Logan’s spine as Tate’s lips moved to his neck and pressed a kiss there.
“Why are you mad?”
He let his head rest against the concrete and balled his fists by his sides as Tate rubbed his leg against the inside of his own—immediately, his cock reacted.
“Tate…”
“Hmm,” Tate murmured as he brought his lips back to his ear. “Tell me, Logan. Why are you mad?”
Bringing a hand up to clutch at Tate’s arm, Logan turned his head, and when their mouths were only a whisper away, he admitted, “I don’t like the way he fucking looked at you.”
Tate dropped his eyes to his lips, full of possession, and Logan felt his breath catch.
“Good, because I hated watching him hit on you.”
Before Logan could respond, Tate crushed their mouths together under the flickering light overhead. He parted his lips, and when Tate’s tongue slid inside and his leg inched higher between his own, Logan groaned and arched his hips forward, rubbing his erection against Tate’s solid thigh. The hand that had been on the wall behind him speared into his hair, and as Tate lifted his head, Logan chased his mouth and recaptured his lips again.
Tate moaned and dived back in, this time pressing his entire body up against his own and grinding their hips together as the tongue-fuck continued to drive Logan wild. Grabbing a handful of Tate’s ass in each palm, he pulled him as close as he could possibly get with their clothes on, and when Tate lifted his lips so he could kiss and suck his way down his throat, Logan’s eyes fell shut and he continued to thrust his cock against the steely length pressing against him.
“Tate…” he said on a shaky breath as that determined mouth continued to destroy any coherent thought he had.
Tate’s warm lips found the spot beneath his ear, and he sucked the skin there until a sting of pain had a curse falling from Logan’s lips.
He knew exactly what Tate had just done, and when he lifted his head and stared him directly in the eye, Logan thought his knees might buckle from the possessive look on his face.
“I feel the need to make a point,” Tate said as his hands moved to Logan’s belt buckle and his fingers busily went to work undoing it. He then palmed Logan’s aching cock and mouthed, “Mine.”
* * *
Tate watched Logan’s chest rise and fall as he tried to catch his breath, but that wouldn’t do. He didn’t want Logan calm. He fisted the engorged shaft under his palm and felt Logan’s hips snap forward.
“I want you on my tongue.”
“Fuck, Tate, what are you doing?” Logan asked as he looked from left to right in the quiet parking garage.
“If you don’t know, then I’m doing it wrong.”
He didn’t give Logan a chance to answer as he quickly unbuttoned his pants and lowered to his knees on the concrete. He ran his palms up Logan’s thighs, over the expensive material of his pants, and when he reached the zipper and drew it down, one of Logan’s hands whipped out to grasp the back of his head.
Tate raised his eyes to the man above whose long, black, woolen coat was hanging from the broad shoulders he had pressed back against the concrete pillar. His tie was falling to the side of his body in a haphazard way that made Tate’s temperature spike, and when Logan used his other hand to reach into his open pants and pull his thick erection free, Tate thought he might come in his jeans.
You’re all mine, he thought as he dragged his tongue over the underside of Logan’s cock. As a guttural curse left him, Tate didn’t play around. He circled the base and then sucked the tip of him between his lips.
“You’re so fucking dirty,” Logan rasped and fucked his hips forward.
Tate swallowed him into his mouth and raised his eyes to see him staring down at him.
“On your knees. On the ground. Jesus, you look so fucking depraved right now.”
He felt depraved kneeling there at Logan’s feet. But he also felt full of adrenaline. This amazing man he had his mouth around, the same one using him in a deliciously carnal way, was his. Mine, damn it.
As that thought flashed through his mind, he closed his eyes and tongued the slit of Logan’s cock, and when the sound of a car roared to life, Logan’s fingers twisted in his hair—the chance of discovery ramping up the sexual high. This was not going to take long at all.
“Tate...fuck, fuck,” Logan panted as he really started to go at him, shoving his cock in and out of his mouth over and over, making his jaw ache in the most satisfying way. “Yeah, that’s it… So good. You’re so fucking good,” he praised, and as he drove his hips forward, causing Tate to cough, Logan growled.
Tate greedily took him back between his lips and tasted the salty explosion of Logan’s desire as his name echoed off the concrete walls surrounding them, and Logan came all over his tongue and down his throat.
* * *
When Logan managed to find the strength to open his eyes, he saw Tate getting to his feet with a wicked-as-fuck smile on his gorgeous face. Then he reached down to put himself back inside his pants.
“Still mad?” Tate had the audacity to ask.
He zipped his pants and pushed off the pillar behind him. “I was mad?”
Tate reached for his hand. “You were.”
As they started to walk through the parking garage to his car, he said, “Funny, I don’t remember that.”
“No?”
He unlocked the car and opened Tate’s door, shaking his head. Tate stepped forward, about to get inside when Logan said his name.
“Yeah?”
He took the back of his neck and pulled him forward to attack that dirty fucking mouth. After he tasted himself on Tate’s tongue, Logan lifted his lips away and whispered, “You’re mine too. Now, get in the car so I can take you home and make my point.”
Chapter Thirty
Three weeks after their initial visit with Daniel Finley, they were finally making headway on the case. With Tate’s physical therapy sessions having wrapped up, they were now able to file for the full amount they were seeking for damages, and Logan hoped like hell they could settle out of court.
As much as he hated to admit it, Finley was damn good at his job. He was a shark—a relentless one. But then again, in his business, he needed to be. After several meetings with him and Tate, Logan had decided to let the guy do his thing. He’d respected their boundaries since the day Tate had set them, and if he could get Tate what he deserved, then who was he to stand in the way?
He’d
just grabbed a cup of coffee and was sitting down with the newspaper when Tate strolled out of their bedroom in his loose, grey sweats, scratching a hand across his lower abdomen. When he passed by behind him, he put his hands on his shoulders, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“Good morning.”
As he continued into the kitchen, Logan turned his head to watch him. “Morning.”
Tate poured himself a cup of coffee and then moved to grab the hazelnut creamer that now sat in the door of Logan’s fridge. Logan felt a smile cross his face, and Tate must’ve caught it, because he asked, “What’s that about?”
“What?”
“The grin.”
Logan closed the paper and put it down as he eyed the bottle. “I was just thinking how nice it is that things have changed around here.”
Tate put the creamer back in the fridge. Then, after picking his cup up to take a sip, he took the seat opposite his. “Were you?”
“Yep. I sure was.” Logan ran his eyes over the smooth skin of Tate’s chest and down his ribs until they landed on the scar on his right side. “I’m glad I had a chance to see them change.”
When he raised his eyes, Tate lowered his mug to the table and winked at him. “So am I.”
Logan opened the paper back up and glanced down at what he’d been reading. The real estate section had caught his attention just before Tate had wandered out, and when he looked back to the listing, he saw the address and folded it over.
“Hey? This address… Isn’t it the same street where the accident happened?” He slid the paper across the table to Tate, and as he reached for it, Logan took a sip of his coffee, watching him carefully.
Tate picked up the paper and read over the article. “Yeah. That’s the place Rachel and I looked at that day.”
Logan said nothing as a reflective kind of silence settled around them, and when Tate sat forward and put his arms on the table, he waited for whatever he would say.