Logan groaned loudly behind him. “Jesus. You’re a dirty fucker,” he growled.
Tate started stroking himself again and saw Logan’s hand leave the wall before weaving through his hair to pull it aside.
“I fucking love it.” Logan’s strong teeth bit down into his neck while his hips rammed against Tate.
Tate cupped the head of his cock and turned to clamp his own teeth into the arm that Logan still had propped against the wall. As he grunted against the fabric of the suit, Tate felt Logan’s body slam him into the wood as he exploded into his own palm in a toe-curling climax.
He pulled his mouth from Logan’s sleeve, and as he let his breathing slow down, Tate heard against his skin, “I’m sorry.”
Making sure to keep his hand closed, Tate shut his eyes as he rested back against the man still pinning him to the wall.
“I’m sorry for not saying everything that I should have to Cole. Things like, this is serious, and he’s so much more than just some fun I’m having. It’s just been a while since I’ve had to think about someone else.”
Tate pressed his forehead to the wood as Logan’s mouth moved up his neck. He tried to remember what they’d been discussing. Apologies, wasn’t it? And having to think about others? That was something he was having great difficulty with at the moment, considering what had just happened.
But Tate managed to ask, “And now that you are?”
“Now that I am, you’re all that I think about,” Logan stressed.
Tate felt the hold on his arm finally release him from the wall as the body behind him relaxed for the first time since he’d been pulled into the room.
“You caught me mouthing off to Cole. We’d argued earlier, and obviously, it’s no excuse, but it carried over. I’m sorry I said those things, and I’m sorry you heard it.”
Regaining his composure, Tate turned his head to look over his shoulder. When their eyes met, he told Logan, “I don’t have any expectations of how you should act, you know. I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time. Just don’t play around with me, okay? If you want this, fine. But if you don’t, tell me, so I’m not wasting my fucking time. I just want the truth.”
Logan focused on him, and he looked slightly shocked. Then, in a tone that Tate had never heard, he explained, “You’re not the only one who has changed in the last two weeks.” He paused and brought a hand up to touch Tate’s mouth before taking a step back. “You make me want things that I’d forgotten I wanted.”
As Tate was freed to turn around, he felt his heart beating rapidly until it overshadowed the throb that had, for now, subsided between his thighs. “That’s probably the most sincere thing that I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”
Logan lowered his eyes to Tate’s hand. “Now, that’s not true. I was very sincere this morning when I told you that I loved sucking your—”
“Don’t ruin it,” Tate interrupted.
Logan stepped in close and took his closed hand with his own. Tate shook his head at the sensual look crossing Logan’s features as he raised it up to his mouth.
“But it’s true. I love sucking you almost as much as I love the taste of your cum.”
Logan’s tongue came out and licked Tate’s palm and fingers clean before raising his head and tracing it over Tate’s swollen lips.
“And you think I’m dirty.”
Logan let his hand go and reached down to adjust the obvious erection Tate could see in his pants.
“You are. But I’m much dirtier.”
“You really like the taste of it?” Tate asked, wanting to know.
“Well, I’m not lying just to get in your pants. Plus, didn’t you just say you wanted the truth?”
Logan stepped away quickly zipping his pants back up, before looking over to where Tate was standing. Tate watched him run a hand through his hair as a frown formed on his face, and the atmosphere in the small, dark room changed from sex to serious.
And with them both staring at one another, Tate asked, “So…what’s your truth, Logan?”
Logan stared at him so intently that Tate wondered what was going on inside his head before he replied, “I think you are,” leaving Tate speechless.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Logan had left the bar not long after he and Tate had each agreed that they needed a night off—a night to breathe and reflect. Or in Logan’s case, as he sat on the balcony with his feet propped up on the table and half a bottle of whiskey, he needed a night to get fully loaded. Resting his head back on the chair, he stared out at the scattered lights in the buildings surrounding him.