by Ella Frank
“Yeah, yeah. But I hate doing this stuff.”
“I’m so sorry that putting together a function for our clients is taxing on you. Are you done whining?”
Logan pulled out the chair opposite Cole, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and planted his ass in the seat. “I suppose. It just seems like there has to be someone better qualified.”
“All you have to do is approve the list. It won’t take you more than a day.”
Cole slid three pages across the table toward him, and Logan reached out to pick it up. He scanned down the first page and names.
Boring, boring, and even more boring.
“We need to make a set list from the three we have so we can give it to Jane to type up and get the invites out. There are VIP, current clients, and new,” Cole told him as he picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Logan grabbed his fresh coffee, took a sip, and almost choked when his brother suggested, “You should invite Tate.”
It wasn’t as if he was ashamed of Tate. He wasn’t even worried about people knowing whom he was seeing. Hell, after the other day, everyone in their office now knew his personal business. It was the thought of really making that commitment, the announcement that, Yes, this is my partner, and introducing Tate to their biggest clients.
“You okay there?” Cole asked, wiping a cloth napkin across his mouth.
Pity it didn’t erase the self-satisfied look on his face.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Cole jeered.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Invite Tate. You know you want to.”
Logan glared at the immaculately dressed man across from him. “You don’t know shit.”
Cole laughed. “I know you. And you haven’t been monogamous since you were in college.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Except that I like sex and know I can’t commit.”
“It means you like him. A lot.”
Deciding there was no use in denying it, Logan shrugged, trying to play it cool. He did like Tate—more than a lot.
“So what if I do? I hardly think he’s ready to come to a work function as my date. He was just outed to his sister, which we still have to deal with. I’m thinking once this month is enough for him and me.”
Cole seemed to contemplate him for a moment and then asked, “What about me and Rach?”
Confused, Logan eloquently responded with, “Huh?”
“What if you come and spend some time with me and Rachel’s family as a couple. Get him used to the idea of being out in public with you.”
Logan mulled over the idea. “When you say family, exactly how many—”
“Six of us plus you two,” Cole finished for him.
Logan wasn’t sure. He’d heard about Rachel’s clan, but he didn’t know them enough to—
“Trust me when I say they won’t bat an eyelash at the two of you being together.”
“I thought you said her brother wanted to kill you when you first met. He sounds like a tight-ass.”
Cole leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “He did, but on the plus side, you haven’t just married his sister after a week.”
Logan sighed. “Would this be for dinner?”
“Nope.”
“Then what?”
With a shit-eating grin, Cole announced, “Game night.”
“Game night? Should we wear pajamas and braid each other’s hair too?”
Cole started chuckling and pointed out, “You could probably braid Tate’s.”
“I don’t do game night.”
“Oh, come on. How bad could it be?”
Logan leaned forward in his chair. “I don’t know since I’ve never had the desire to host one or go to one. Which begs the question, if you don’t think it will be that bad, why are you so insistent we come?”
Cole ran his palm down his tie. “I promised Rachel I would ask you both. I knew you wouldn’t be interested, but she asked, and she’s pregnant and…”
Cheap shot, bastard. “She really asked?”
Cole nodded. “She thought it would be good for Tate after everything that happened.”
Logan pushed back from the table and stood, hating that he now felt guilty and was giving in. “I’ll check these in my office. Call your wife and tell her I’ll ask him. What night?”
“Friday.”
Grumbling, Logan moved toward the door and opened it. “Okay. I’ll ask, but I promise nothing. Oh, by the way, what happened with Miss Cline?”
Cole shrugged. “She took her case elsewhere. Tate should find out in the mail sometime soon. Unless you feel like telling him.”
Fuck. As if their lives weren’t complicated enough…Let’s throw in an ex-fucking-wife, a real bitch of one at that.
“Yeah, I’ll let him know.”
“And don’t forget—”
“I know, I know. Game night.”
Cole shook his head. “No. Don’t forget to ask him about the function. He may just surprise you.”
Logan opened the door, thinking about the time Tate had pulled away from him in the coffee shop. That had been a mild rejection compared to the kind of sting he’d feel from a “No, I don’t want to be your date in public”—and he wasn’t quite sure he was ready for that.
4.
Logan was out of the office and on his way home the minute the clock hit five. He used to be the one who lingered and enjoyed the quiet that came with the after-hours. He’d since traded that in after stepping in to the actual After Hours and spotting Tate.
He wondered as he took the elevator up to his floor if Tate had stayed the day like he’d suggested. The thought of him in his condo when he wasn’t there was incredibly appealing to Logan. Whether it was because it showed he finally trusted someone other than himself or it was just the thought of having Tate in amongst his belongings, he couldn’t be sure.
Hell, it’s probably a mix of both.
He knew Tate would’ve left for work already since his shift had started at five, but he was betting he’d have some company around one a.m., and he was eagerly anticipating it.
Unlocking the door, he pushed it open and dumped his briefcase down on the floor. He dropped his keys in the glass bowl with loose change and reached up to unknot his tie.
As he made his way down the main hall and into the living room, he was brought to a halt when he saw Tate sitting on his couch, dressed exactly as he’d left him hours ago.
There was no light on, just the muted glow from surrounding buildings filtering in through the balcony window and door. Tate’s jeans were still unbuttoned, he hadn’t added a shirt, and he was just sitting there, staring off into space.
Logan spotted the empty pack of cigarettes by Tate’s leg and a glass clutched between tight fingers, and he knew whatever had happened in the last ten hours was nothing good.
Deciding it was time to break the ice, he spoke. “Hey there.”
Tate turned his head toward him, and Logan could tell from the glassy eyes trying to focus that he was three sheets to the wind. When no reply came, Logan shrugged out of his jacket and held it in one hand.
“Whatcha drinking?”
“Your scotch,” Tate finally replied, holding up his empty glass. “But I ran out.”
The only scotch he’d had in the place was the Black Label that had been a little over a third full, and when he looked at his kitchen island and saw it now sat empty, Logan wondered how Tate was still awake.
He walked into the kitchen and laid his jacket over the counter before slipping the tie from around his neck. “So, what’s up? I thought you had to work tonight?”
“Nothing.” Liar. “I called in.”
“Hmm,” Logan mused. “So you’ve been here all day?”
Tate turned on the couch and rested his chin on top of it. “You told me I could.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Want me to leave?”
Logan unbuttoned his left cuff and then moved to the right before answ
ering. “Not at all.”
“Wanna fuck me?”
Now he knew Tate was half gone.
There were many ways he’d imagined Tate saying those three words, but visibly upset was not one of them.
“I do want that,” Logan admitted, realizing that rejection wasn’t something that would help this situation.
He’d known after Tate’s first time he should exercise some patience, and he’d been waiting for him to get curious again, but not like this—not as a knee-jerk reaction to whatever the hell happened today.
When a drunkenly sensual smile stretched across Tate’s mouth, Logan cursed his own fucking morals. He would have sold his left nut right about now to go over to the couch and pound Tate into it.
“Then why don’t you come closer?” Tate suggested as he got to his knees and rested his hands on the back of the couch.
Ahh, Tate the tease—nothing was harder for him to resist.
Instead of answering, however, Logan pulled his shirt from his pants and began unbuttoning it. That was when he was struck with inspiration.
“Why don’t we play a game?”
Hell, why not get into the spirit of game night?
Tate raised a hand and swayed slightly as he placed his fingers over his lips, and Logan had to remind himself to stay right where he was. He would get to touch…eventually.
“A game?”
“Yes. I’ll ask a question, and when you give me an answer I’m happy with, I’ll take something off.”
Logan felt his cock react to the intense sexual inspection he was given.
“And then?” Tate asked without raising his eyes.
Damn. He was more than aware that Tate’s eyes were zeroed in on the taut material now trying its hardest to conceal his hardening flesh.
“Then I’ll fuck you.”
When Tate’s gaze returned to his own, the arousal there made Logan’s semi turn to full-on rock-hard status.
“Deal?”
Tate lifted a hand from the couch, and Logan could do nothing but watch as he reached down and cupped the denim that was cradling his erection.
“Deal.”
Satisfied he would now get some answers, but frustrated he had to wait, Logan removed his glasses and placed them on the counter.
“What time did you start drinking?”
Tate rolled his eyes before he tipped his head back toward the ceiling, exposing his throat.
“What time, Tate?”
He watched Tate’s chest rise on a deep inhale and waited until he blew it out.
“Ten.”
Okay, so he’d been drinking for approximately the last seven hours. Fuck.
“Why did you—”
“No.”
Logan frowned at the interruption. “Excuse me?”
“I answered. So take something off.”
It wasn’t anything new that when Tate was drinking he got bossy, but Logan’s reaction was. It turned him the fuck on.
“Do you have a preference?”
Tate’s eyes narrowed and Logan waited—not so patiently.
“The pants. No, wait…the shirt.”
Logan chuckled. “Are you sure?” Then he started to unbutton his shirt. As he got halfway, Tate’s eyes found his and Logan asked his next question. “Why did you start drinking at ten in the morning?”
He shrugged out of the material and placed it on top of his jacket. When Tate’s teeth bit into his top lip, Logan knew he was getting closer to the truth and Tate was buzzed enough—and clearly horny enough—to tell him more.
“I was pissed off.”
That vague answer wasn’t going to cut it, so Logan placed his hands low on his hips and waited. He was positive he already knew the answer, but he wanted it from Tate. Logan wanted his trust with everything that was going on, and if he had to go to bed with blue balls for the second time in two days…then he would be a miserable fucker and crawl into that cold bed.
* * *
Tate stared through hooded eyes at Logan in a combustible stalemate. He didn’t want to discuss what had happened today but knew he’d get no further with the look on Logan’s face.
And fuck, I want to go further.
The picture Logan made with only his dress pants on and his hands on his hips had Tate’s cock pulsating inside his jeans.
After his mother had hung up on him, Tate had spent the next couple of hours inhaling his entire pack of cigarettes, and when those had run out, he’d hunted around until he found one of Logan’s men, Johnnie Walker, who’d left him feeling relaxed and very fucking horny.
“I spoke to my mom this morning after you left. Happy? Now take off your pants.”
Without a single word, Logan unbuckled his belt and pulled it through the loops. Tate watched avidly as he unzipped his own jeans and pushed them down his hips so he could finally grab his cock.
Yeah, fuck, it feels amazing to touch myself.
Logan removed his shoes, socks, and pants then pinned him with a molten stare as he added them to the pile. In that instant, Tate was reminded that all it took was one look from Logan and he was ready to go.
“And your mom, she pissed you off?”
“Yes. The boxers, Logan.”
Tate saw the arrogant rise of Logan’s left brow as he slipped his thumbs into the only thing left covering him—his tight, black shorts.
“You want something, Tate?”
“I told you what I wanted.”
Logan shook his head and pushed the snug material down his hip, allowing a hint of pubic hair to come into view. “No, you didn’t. You just commented on my clothing.”
Asshole is having a great time trying to make me talk.
But before he could say anything, Logan bent down and took off the shorts, causing all of Tate’s brainpower to focus on remaining upright—a problem his dick did not seem to have.
“That’s right, yes? You wanted them off?”
Why is he still talking?
The man was fucking spectacular, and Tate wanted to be touched by him—now.
When his mother asked him earlier how his relationship with Logan had happened, he’d had no answer. But as he kneeled on the couch, stroking his hard-on for this man, he knew.
How could it not happen? Look at him.
When Logan walked toward the couch and stopped directly in front of him, Tate tilted his head back to meet his eyes. Logan grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close, leaning down until their lips were only inches apart.
“What did she say that was so bad it made you smoke a full pack of cigarettes and consume enough liquor that you smell like a cheap bar?”
Tate closed his eyes as Logan’s warm breath entered his mouth. He gripped his cock harder and got up on his knees, trying to get his mouth closer to Logan’s, but he pulled his lips out of reach, prompting Tate to speak.
“It doesn’t matter.”
When a tongue touched his bottom lip, his eyes flickered open and connected with the intense blue ones searching his face.
“It does matter. What did she say to upset you?”
Tate released his erection and swayed slightly as he moved his hand to Logan’s shoulder, steadying himself. “I don’t want to talk about my mom right now.”
Logan wasn’t having that.
Instead, he lowered his hand, and Tate felt him wrap it around his erection. As a hiss of pleasure left his lips, that persistent mouth moved across his cheek to his ear.
“Tell me so I can take you to my bedroom and have you.”
Tate’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into the mouth and hand tempting him. “Yes.”
“Talk to me,” Logan coaxed. “What did she say?”
Tate didn’t want to say it. He was afraid to, he realized.
What if he said the words and Logan believed them? Worse, what if he said the words and he believed them?
But with Logan’s strong hand palming his cock and his warm lips now sucking his earlobe, Tate decided if he was going to
find any release he needed to give Logan what he wanted, and right now, that was his final answer.
He pulled his head away and brought both hands up to Logan’s face. Touching his stubble-lined cheeks, he held him still. He wanted to witness any thought that flickered over the face looking back at him.
The hand around his hard flesh stopped moving and just held him until, finally, he spoke.
“She said you were a pervert who corrupted me.
5.
It shouldn’t have surprised him, and it certainly shouldn’t have come as a shock to hear, but as those words left Tate’s mouth and floated between them, Logan’s got caught somewhere inside his throat.
Did I corrupt him? No…we joked about it, but…no.
He blinked Tate back into focus and realized he was waiting for an answer, but for once, he didn’t have one. He was stunned into silence—stunned and hurt.
A pervert? What the fuck—
“Logan?”
He blinked again several times as Tate pressed their lips together.
Shit, the guy tastes like scotch and tobacco.
It shouldn’t have been a combination that was appealing, but as Tate’s lips parted, Logan couldn’t resist pushing his tongue inside. He threaded his hands into the hair surrounding a face he was becoming addicted to and held on as if Tate might vanish.
The kiss started out as merely a contact point, a way to reassure the other that they were there, but as their tongues tangled, Logan kicked it up a notch. He loosened the fingers of one hand and ran it down the back of Tate’s head to grip his neck and bring him even closer.
Tate went with it until his front was pressed flush against the back of the couch. When he groaned as if he were in agony and wrenched his lips away, Logan figured the friction from the leather against his cock felt pretty fucking amazing.
“Don’t you come all over my couch.”
The smirk that touched the corner of Tate’s mouth helped in easing the tension that had seeped into the room.
“Then take me to the bedroom, where I can come all over you.”
Logan was about to tell him, “You know the way,” but at the last minute stopped himself.