by Ella Frank
“Hell if I know. But if the Twister mat comes out, I’m getting the fuck out of there.”
“No shit,” Tate laughed. Then he indicated the paper bag sitting in front of him. “Not hungry?”
Logan made sure he had Tate’s full attention as he packed into his response all of the sexual innuendo he could manage. “Oh, I’m starving. You done?”
“Yeah. I got it though. You didn’t even eat.” Tate raised his hips and stuffed a hand into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet.
Logan could watch him do that over and over and not get sick of the action. Tate knew it too, because the fucker took his time when he saw him watching and winked playfully. Once he had the wallet, he pulled out several bills, put them on the table, and then slid out of the booth.
“You better eat whatever’s in there.”
Logan drew a cross over his heart and told him with a smirk, “Promise.”
He grabbed the bag and stood, following Tate out to the parking lot.
All of this serious talk had left him with one goal in mind—reminding Tate that he was with exactly the right person, and that just happened to be him.
8.
Tate was aware of Logan’s eyes on him as he made his way out to the dark lot. He could feel the sexual tension humming between them. He had from the moment he’d reached for his wallet and Logan’s eyes had dropped below his belt. Add to that Logan’s deviant smile and the promise to eat his meal and, yeah, Tate was certain he wasn’t the only one feeling the temperature on this cool Chicago night rise.
The subjects at dinner had been difficult. Topics that weren’t conducive to seduction. His family situation was a mess. One that needed to be sorted out as soon as possible, because the longer it was left, the longer it would fester.
Then there was Logan’s request. He wondered if Logan really was okay with the fact that he wasn’t quite ready to attend a work function as his date. He’d quickly brushed it aside, but Tate had a feeling that he’d unintentionally hurt Logan, even as he’d sworn that he didn’t care.
They were almost to the car when he felt Logan close on his heels.
“You know that hole in your jeans? The one at the back of your right thigh?”
Tate knew which one. His favorite jeans were well worn and had several holes but all in places he could still get away with. That one wasn’t quite big—
“It’s spread, and every time you take a step, I can see the curve of your ass cheek.”
Tate’s head snapped around as he tried to see his own ass, which was ridiculous, and then his eyes found Logan’s.
“You’re fucking naked under those, aren’t you?”
Stopping at Logan’s car, Tate turned to see that he was right there behind him. “I wanted to make your meal easier to access.”
Logan didn’t stop walking until their bodies met and their jeans were touching. Their faces were so close a breeze would’ve had a hard time getting between them, and when Logan’s hand cupped the denim concealing his excited cock, Tate brought both of his hands up to Logan’s arms to steady himself.
While Logan massaged him, Tate closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly. The second he did it, Logan’s lips were there, kissing up the side of his neck until he was at his ear.
“Get in the car and unzip your jeans. I’m fucking hungry.”
With a final squeeze, Logan released him and stepped away. He licked his full bottom lip, and the scorching heat in those eyes had Tate turning and reaching for the car door quicker than he’d thought possible.
When he lifted the handle and nothing happened, he felt Logan’s body press up against the back of his, trapping him between the car door and himself. Logan fit his hard erection against his ass, and Tate couldn’t help rubbing back against it.
Fuck, it feels good.
Logan felt good, and Tate didn’t give a shit if they were standing in a private bedroom or a public parking lot—he needed release and he needed it now.
“Logan,” he groaned, and then the car beeped and the doors unlocked.
“Sorry,” Logan told him, his voice gruff. “I couldn’t help myself.”
Tate tried the door again, and this time, it opened without issue. He climbed inside, shut himself in the cozy interior, and then quickly unfastened and unzipped the denim.
Before Logan even reached his side of the car, Tate was working his hard-as-hell cock in his hand. With his head back on the headrest and his eyes watching Logan’s approach, he couldn’t help but suck in an excited breath when the door opened and the interior light, once again, lit him up like a sex performer.
Logan slid inside and removed his glasses, placing them on the dash while he checked him out. Tate wasn’t sure why that was making his entire body tremble, but it was. He meant business. And his business right this second is going to be sucking me. Hell fucking yes…That was definitely it, because with no provocation on his behalf—just having Logan there watching him—Tate had to fight back an orgasm.
His hips arched up off the seat as the light inside the car dimmed, and he heard the bag Logan’s food was in crinkle as he placed it down somewhere.
Tate could just make out the sharp angles and lines of the man beside him.
“Jesus, Tate. You’re lucky I had my cock in you earlier, because I don’t think I’d be able to keep it out of you otherwise.”
The words, the image, and the deep, seductive timbre of Logan’s voice all pushed the right buttons for him, ramping up his need. Then Logan took his chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned his head so they were eye to eye.
“I want your jeans around your ankles.”
Tate could feel his chest rise and fall as if he were running a marathon. The explicit instruction left him speechless, but he didn’t need words, just actions. He raised his hips again and released his flesh to do as requested, and the second he was free, Logan’s hand wrapped around his rigid length.
“Ahh…”
Logan leaned across the console until their noses brushed and their lips barely touched. “Ankles, Tate. Now.”
Tate touched his tongue to Logan’s mouth, and as if he couldn’t help himself, Logan let his own tongue slip out to taste before retreating.
“Stop teasing, and hurry the fuck up. I want you in my mouth.”
“God.”
Logan pressed the lever on Tate’s seat, lowering it. He then sat back up, making Tate almost reach for him, but he quickly decided to shove his jeans down instead. He heard the rustling of paper but thought nothing of it, and when the denim was finally around his ankles, he stretched out. Before his back was even against the leather seat, Logan was there.
When their mouths connected, Tate opened to let the impatient man in.
Logan didn’t waste a second as he slid his tongue inside to rub against his own, causing Tate to grunt and reach up to grab the guy for something to ground himself. But Logan wasn’t done with obliterating his brain cells, because he reached down between them to where Tate was at full mast and wrapped—What the fuck?—warm, slick fingers around him.
Tate yanked his mouth free. “What’s on your fucking hand?”
Logan’s lips found his. His mouth curved as if he had a secret, and clearly, he did. Again, he glided that smooth, slippery fist up Tate’s throbbing flesh.
“Tell me,” Tate demanded as Logan continued to manipulate him.
Logan pressed his lips to the corner of his mouth and stroked him again before answering. “Olive oil and spices, one of my favorite dipping sauces. My soon-to-be absolute favorite.”
Tate almost stopped breathing for a second as the words fell into place with Logan’s to-go order. Bruschetta was always served with—
“So you didn’t really want the bruschetta?”
Logan’s tongue drew a path along his jaw to his ear. “No, I wanted the oil. But I thought it may be conspicuous to ask for it on its own.”
He gave another torturous pull of his flesh, and Tate’s eyes almost
rolled to the back of his head.
“Holy shit.”
A deep, throaty rumble echoed through the interior of the car as Logan’s grip loosened and he ordered roughly, “Spread your legs, Tate.”
Tate’s entire body tensed at the demand, but he did as he’d been told and kicked one side of his jeans off his ankle and spread his thighs apart.
“Fucking perfect.”
Christ, Tate thought as those two words were rasped in his ear and that damn rustling sound was made again.
Is that more oil? Sleek, playful fingers then dipped down and smoothed over his balls. It sure fucking is.
Tate wasn’t sure how to stop himself from hyperventilating as he watched Logan bend down over the center console and then felt a wet tongue circle the head of his cock.
He quickly glanced out the tinted windows and wondered for a millisecond what would happen if someone saw them, but then Logan’s lips opened and he swallowed him inside, and Tate forgot to think at all.
* * *
Logan exhaled through his nose and lowered his lips over Tate’s thick length.
Jesus, the guy is fucking hard.
The sound that ripped from Tate’s throat as Logan took him between his lips made his own cock throb. It was clear to him that Tate had let go and was enjoying this to its fullest. When strong fingers tangled in the strands of his hair, Logan closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling.
The oily slick on his fingers was doing exactly what Logan wanted it to, allowing his fingers to slip and slide over Tate’s balls with the greatest of ease. When he drew his lips up to the wide, bulbous head, he circled the base of Tate’s erection and squeezed, causing a loud expletive to leave Tate’s mouth.
Logan couldn’t wait to taste him when he exploded on his tongue, and he knew Tate was gonna fucking explode. From the low, guttural sounds he was pulling from him to the way Tate was flexing his fingers, Logan knew Tate was as pent up as he was.
Add in the excitement of getting blown in public and the finger he was going to…Ahh yes, Logan thought as he drew a finger down past Tate’s balls to his ass. Let me in. He was going to suck Tate’s fucking brains out his cock.
Lifting his head, Logan moved up until he was at Tate’s mouth, where he sucked his bottom lip between his own and then crushed their mouths together. When Tate gripped his jacket, pulling him closer, Logan pushed his fingertip firmer against his tight, little hole. Then his tongue glided into Tate’s mouth, and Logan finally pushed his finger inside Tate.
Tate’s hips snapped upward, and Logan drove his finger deeper as he lifted his mouth.
“You like that? I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to know you love having me in your ass, Tate.”
The eyes focused on him in the dim light were heavy with arousal, and the swollen lips that were shiny and parted looked as if they had been wrapped around his cock, sucking him off.
“You only have to do one thing,” Logan told him as he continued moving the hand he had burrowed between Tate’s legs. “I’m going to suck you and fuck you until you come. Your only job? Don’t make a mess in my car. Keep it right here, in my mouth. Got it?”
Logan reached down to his own pants and unzipped them so his painful erection had some kind of freedom. He knew the second he had Tate on his tongue and down his throat, he was going to need his own fucking release. When Tate widened his legs and angled his body, Logan heard him finally speak—and the words almost killed him.
“I can’t wait to give your mouth a reason to be so fucking dirty.”
At the last second, Logan’s eyes found Tate’s as he gripped the sides of his head and pushed him down so he was forced to shut the hell up and take his cock between his lips.
* * *
Tate didn’t dare close his eyes as he watched Logan the best he could in the dark car. He lowered his lips over him and continued to thrust his finger in and out of his ass, and the raw eroticism from the act coupled with the risk of being caught was building in him an orgasm that felt fucking epic.
The words that had come out of Logan’s mouth about sucking him and fucking him had pretty much used up what little self-control he’d had left, and then Logan had unzipped and Tate knew he didn’t have long.
He could hear the sucking sounds echoing in the car, and when Logan drew his lips to the tip of his cock and tongued the glans, Tate gripped his head between his hands harder than he knew he should and shoved his cock as far as he could into the greedy mouth. He felt Logan cough slightly, and the vibration around his cock was all it took.
The finger in his ass hit the right spot, and Tate felt his balls tighten as he shouted out Logan’s name and came hard on his tongue.
Logan swallowed every fucking drop he’d given and was now lightly sucking his sensitive skin as he withdrew his hand from between his legs.
“Fuck,” he sighed as Logan raised his head and wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb.
“Well at least let me drive us home first.”
“Jesus. I can’t even think,” Tate admitted as Logan straightened, sat back in his seat, and grabbed his own erection.
Tate sat up and adjusted his seat before his eyes fell to Logan’s hand, watching him wrap it around his hard-on and stroke.
“Yes,” he groaned. “Watch me.”
Tate’s eyes flew up to meet his, and Logan gave him a shameless fucking smile.
“It’ll only take a minute, with you sitting there all sexed out.”
Tate felt a smirk of his own cross his mouth as his eyes trailed back down to Logan’s hips, which were pumping and thrusting his thick cock through his fingers.
“Sexed out?”
“Yeah. All satisfied from being worked over. From having my mouth and fingers all over you…in you. You look so damn hot as hell and it makes me want to fuck you so bad.”
How in the hell is it possible that my cock is twitching? Tate thought as Logan continued talking and fucking his own hand.
“Your tight ass gripping my finger, the sounds you make as your delicious cock explodes down my throat. Yeah, Tate. You’re all kinds of sexed out. By me.”
Tate turned toward the bag he knew the oil was in. Not even a cop knocking on the window would’ve stopped him as he grabbed it, stuck his hand inside, and yep, found the plastic container with warm fucking oil.
He dipped his fingers inside and then placed the bag down on the floor before he leaned, ass bare, across the car to wrap his fingers around Logan’s. He let their mouths connect, figuring that he must be as dirty as Logan, because he wanted to taste himself on Logan’s lips.
He shoved his tongue into Logan’s mouth and felt the fingers under his leave to grab his face.
As Tate tightened his slippery fingers, Logan began to devour his mouth.
He barely did a thing as Logan fucked his cock through his fist, his hips finding a rapid pace before he ripped his mouth away, and rested his head back against the seat. The profanity coming from Logan’s mouth aroused Tate to a point where he wanted to hear his name shouted when Logan came—and he was close. Tate could tell by the way his breathing had quickened.
He watched, as Logan’s hips snapped up and his head strained back against the seat. When their eyes connected and one of Logan’s hands reached down to enclose his fingers tightly around him, Tate heard his name fall from those crude lips as thick jets of come shot from Logan and coated their hands.
Everything about the exchange had been raw and emotional, and as he stared across at Logan, all he could think was how fucking sexy it’d been.
Am I gay? He wasn’t sure.
It was Logan he was attracted to, not other men, but what did that mean? Maybe he was bi. Who the hell cares in the end? Do we have to label it?
He wanted Logan, and that was good enough for him.
9.
It just turned eight on Friday night when Logan made his way down to the lobby of his building. He buttoned up the black leather jacket he’d invested in when Tate and his mo
torcycle had ridden into his life.
He really didn’t like the idea of getting on that deathtrap again, but he’d grudgingly agreed since Tate had made it a nonnegotiable clause in tonight’s activities. It was cool this evening, and the thought of zooming through the busy streets of Chicago with the wind whipping around him did nothing to excite Logan. It just made him wish that Cole lived in the same damn building he did.
Tate had called yesterday to let him know that Amelia had taken his shift and he’d be able to make it to—yep, game night. When the elevator stopped, Logan stepped out and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked toward the front entrance. He pushed open the glass doors to the main street, where they’d agreed to meet, and then moved aside to lean against the brick wall of his building and wait.
It had been a couple of days since he’d gone to dinner with Tate. Each of them seemed to understand that they needed a bit of distance after that explosive evening in his car, which was another reason Tate had suggested his bike. His explanation: He didn’t want to cause an accident by reminding Logan of the last time they’d been together in his vehicle—as if he’d ever fucking forget.
That was okay with Logan though. He understood that Tate might need some time. He’d even accepted that he might be thinking over the choices he was about to make.
He didn’t like it, but he’d accepted it.
His train of thought was soon interrupted by the purr of Tate’s supercharged Suzuki as he watched Tate zip through several cars and pull to a stop at the pick-up location of his building.
Logan remained where he was and waited as Tate removed the red helmet from his head. He then shook those sexy-as-fuck curls from his face, and Logan momentarily forgot his aversion to motorcycles.
Christ. He might die on the back of that thing, but Logan had to believe it would be worth it to get close to that man. He was pure sex when straddling that machine—kind of like when he was naked and straddling him.