Grabbing Tate’s ass in both hands this time, Logan thrust his hips against him. “This doesn’t feel good to you?”
Tate closed his eyes and tipped his head back, exposing the Adam’s apple that Logan really wanted to lick.
“I think it’s obvious how good it feels, Logan.”
Sensing the moment was over, Logan removed his hands and took a step back, trying to resist the urge to manhandle Tate down onto the couch and say to hell with it all.
“What’s the biggest problem for you?”
Tate crossed his arms as though he didn’t trust himself. “You’re a guy, Logan. Pretty big problem.”
“Why?”
“Because I like women!”
Logan shook his head calmly. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? Especially when you have plenty of evidence to the contrary.”
“Thank you for pointing out the obvious, counselor.”
Logan shrugged, deciding now was the time to leave—before things turned to shit, before they got into an argument. Give him time to digest.
“Okay, okay. I’m going to go.” Logan walked back to the locked door, but before he left, he had one more thing that needed to be out in the air between them. “Tate?”
Tate’s stare met his own.
“This? This changes things. If you think I’m going to walk out of here and you’ll conveniently forget about what happened, you should think again. This wasn’t a fluke, no matter how much you try to pretend. You wanted it as much as I did, and you should remember that tonight when you jerk off, thinking about my tongue in your mouth,” Logan said, using a tone more serious than even he knew he was capable of.
Satisfied that he’d said everything he wanted to, Logan turned, unlocked the door, and left, wondering where this thing, whatever it was, would inevitably go.
Chapter Eight
The red glare of Tate’s digital readout shined brightly on him as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It might as well be a fucking spotlight. He placed an arm across his eyes. With a lone sheet across his waist, he tried to relax, but it was no use. He was agitated and restless.
Tonight had not gone according to plan, which was to ignore Logan at all costs.
No, instead, I kissed the bastard until I gave myself a major hard-on.
Gnashing his teeth together, he tried to ignore the fact that the stiff cock in question had reappeared at the memory of it, just like Logan had said it would. There was nothing more infuriating than knowing the cause of his sexual frustration was also the cause of a whole lot of self-doubt.
This was a time in his life when he was single. If he wanted to go and sleep with two-dozen women, he could. But no, his erection was fixated on a guy—an extremely hot guy but a man just the same. With his black hair, and eyes which were insanely blue, Logan was undeniably sexy.
Tate wasn’t sure why, but he also found it…exciting that Logan was taller than him. When they’d argued and he had Logan’s back up against the wall, Tate had felt alive for the first time in months. Not to mention, he’d been extremely aroused. It was as if arguing with Logan and gaining the upper hand had somehow put Tate in control to do whatever he wanted.
Which is what exactly? What do I want?
Tate knew it would be different if he had no reaction to Logan at all and could just brush him off, but ultimately, he kept coming back to his all-around curiosity with Logan Mitchell. He couldn’t deny it. It was there, and even more disquieting was his fascination with the man’s smart-tongued mouth.
Logan’s lips were—go on, admit it—bitable, and he had licked them at every opportunity he got, making Tate hyperaware of them. The bottom was much fuller than the top, and although Tate would have thought a man’s mouth should be hard, Logan’s was soft.
Soft, malleable, and yes, very fucking bitable. Damn!
Tate rolled over to look at the time—three fifteen in the morning. Great, just great. He noticed, sitting by his clock, his cell phone, and he reached out to pick it up.
Switching it on, he scrolled through to the call from Mitchell & Madison and wondered if the number was from the office. Placing the phone on his bare chest, he thought about it for a few minutes, and then—fuck it—he dialed the number.
He was all ready to leave a message on Logan’s office voice mail, preparing to tell him not to come by the bar anymore, when the phone connected.
* * *
Logan’s phone vibrated loudly on the wooden side table by his bed. It wasn’t like it had awoken him. He’d just been lying there, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Tate—
Jesus, this early in the morning?
He really hoped it wasn’t a client that needed him for some urgent matter.