“What do you think? You going to love it here?” He found the check-in area and tugged on Tate’s hand.
Tate pretended to think it over as they got in line and waited. “That all depends. You’re going to be here, right?”
“Mhmm.”
“Staying in my room? In my bed?”
“Well, they only comped me the one room with a king, but if you want to sleep on the pull-out sofa…”
“Yes?”
“Then I’ll sleep on top of you.”
Tate’s eyes locked with his own as the woman behind the check-in desk called out that she could help them. Then he promised in a low voice, “I don’t think a sofa will be necessary.”
“No?”
“No. And I’m going to love it,” Tate said as they approached the counter. “Because you’re here.”
They both greeted the woman, who welcomed them, and when Tate placed a hand on the middle of his back, Logan thought, Perfect fucking answer.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It took less than fifteen minutes for them to get checked in and travel up to the floor of their suite. When they entered their room, Tate wandered inside before him and gaped at their luxurious surroundings.
The space was large. On the far side, a wide window overlooked Fifth Avenue and the sprawling city outside, and in the center of the room was a huge king-sized bed made up with rich, cream covers. Black accent pillows were neatly displayed across the top of it.
Logan walked over to the vanity table that divided the bedroom from the bathroom and placed his bag on the small, rectangular stool as Tate dropped his on the end of the bed. It wasn’t too late yet, just a little past nine thirty, and he figured they could settle in and get a bite to eat if Tate felt like it.
“This place is unreal,” Tate said as he made his way over to the windows.
Logan took a quick glimpse through the only other door in the room and saw a massive whirlpool tub and a shower stall beside it. “It sure is. And if you want to go for a swim, I’m pretty sure our tub has the capacity for laps.”
Tate laughed as he turned around to look at him, and any thought Logan had about leaving the room disappeared. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a more spectacular sight than Tate in that moment. He was dressed in black slacks, a red, lightweight sweater, and his black coat—and as he stood there with the backdrop of New York City behind him, he took his breath away.
“It’s big, huh?”
Logan rested against the vanity, opposite the foot of the bed, continuing to check Tate out as he remarked, “Yes. Or so I’ve been told.”
Tate laughed as he strolled over and stopped directly in front of him to graze his fingers down the zipper of his pants. “Whoever told you that wasn’t lying.”
Logan straightened off the table and pressed his palm over Tate’s hand, flattening it against his erection—massaging himself. “Just wait. It gets bigger.”
Tate’s lips morphed into a grin that was full of mischief and sex as his fingers curled the best they could around the hard-on inside his boxers.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, and Logan decided that the time for waiting was over.
They’d been given the go-ahead from the doctor, and ever since then, he’d wanted nothing more than to get back inside his man.
He took ahold of Tate’s jacket and tugged him forward for a kiss before stepping around him. When Tate turned, his legs hit the small stool near the table, and he moved to the side of it. Logan then backed him up until his ass bumped the edge of the vanity and he could box him in and get between his legs.
“Maybe I need to prove it,” Logan said, removing his glasses and placing them on the counter. Then he slid his hands into Tate’s hair and tilted his face up. Since Tate was half seated, Logan found himself hovering over him, and he loved the position.
“Maybe you do,” Tate dared him.
Logan lowered his head, and when their lips were only a whisper apart, he suggested, “Maybe you should take off my pants and see for yourself.”
Needing no further invitation, Tate undid his belt buckle, and his eyes darkened as he then unbuttoned his pants. Tate’s mouth curved at the edges, enjoying the tease, because this time was different. This time, they both knew—I’m going to end up inside him.
He looked behind Tate to the mirror and groaned at the visual he got. He flexed his fingers in all of those windblown curls, and it reminded him of that night months ago at Whipped. The night where Tate had danced up against him.
He also remembered the explicit fantasy he’d had of taking him that way—naked, in front of a mirror. A fantasy he was about to make a reality.