Try (Temptation Series)(63)
“Nope. You want me too bad.”
As the last word slipped past his lips, Tate’s mouth was crushed in a fierce kiss that had his eyes sliding closed and his breath coming fast. Groaning into the parted mouth above his, Tate dug his fingers into Logan’s ass and moved up onto his toes to get closer to the man currently obliterating every thought he had.
Logan wasn’t standing idle either. The leg between Tate’s thighs moved higher, and as he felt the added pressure to his aching balls, Tate brought his free hand up to Logan’s face. When the hair scratched under his palm, Tate’s craving for the man tripled as he was reminded of exactly whom he was kissing.
Taking his hand from Logan’s ass, Tate quickly slipped it between them and pressed his palm against the front of Logan’s jeans. Curling his fingers around the erection he could feel, Tate began to massage the rigid length.
“Yes,” Logan sighed against his lips. “That left hand is such a turn-on, who knew.”
Tate chuckled and then took a moment to bite Logan’s lip as he dared to ask, “Want to come home with me?”
Logan chased his mouth with his tongue as Tate teased and pulled his head back, all the while continuing to squeeze and stroke him.
“You fucking flirt,” Logan accused.
“You love it.”
Tate felt and heard the struggle in Logan as his breath caught, and his hips continued to move against Tate’s hand.
“So, we’re really going to try this, huh?” he asked.
Tate focused and confirmed, “I think so. That means you don’t give this”—for emphasis, he stroked the bulge in Logan’s jeans—“to anyone else.”
Abruptly, Tate found his hand brought up and trapped by his head against the bricks with Logan pressed flush against him. Tate always forgot how strong the guy was until he pulled shit like this.
“So, that means I get to give it to you?”
Tate’s heart thundered as he thought of the implications behind that one question and what it meant to him.
“For the most part,” he agreed, hoping that was enough for the moment.
As Logan watched him closely, Tate felt his nerves trickling back in. “I want you in my bed, the same bed I lie in at night, thinking about you, but I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.”
“Then, what are you ready for?”
“I’m ready to admit that I’m extremely attracted to you and that I can’t stop thinking about the way you looked lying in your bed, naked and hard—so damn hard.”
“Fuck me, Tate,” Logan cursed.
Tate picked up the words and answered on a raspy promise, “That, too. I want to do that, too.”
Tate carefully observed Logan as his brow furrowed and he released him. Thinking he’d said something wrong, Tate remained silent and waited.
“What’s your address?”
“Huh?” was Tate’s brilliant response.
“Your address? I need it to find your place.”
“No, you don’t,” Tate told him. “You’re gonna come with me.”
“And how am I going to do that?”
“I’ll drive us home.”
“On your bike?”
Tate rolled his eyes. “No, on my magic carpet.”
“I’m not getting on the back of your bike, like some chick.”
Tate shrugged and pushed Logan away as he turned and started to walk down the alley toward the parking lot.
“So, you’d give up the chance to be pressed up against my ass the whole way home?” he called out and started to laugh when he heard footsteps behind him.
Logan muttered, “Ah, hell.”
* * *
Logan stood in front of the shiny, black motorcycle Tate stopped beside.
He shook his head. “No way.”
He watched cautiously as Tate moved to the back of the bike and removed his red helmet and then—yeah, just fucking perfect—a black one.
“What?” he asked Logan as if he didn’t see the problem.
“The seat on that thing is tiny. I’ll just take a taxi.”
Tate walked back to him and thrust the black helmet against his stomach.
“Suck it up, Logan, and put the damn helmet on.”
Logan glared at Tate as he put his jacket on and then pulled the red helmet down over his head. As he flipped the visor up, Logan arched a brow and looked at the black one in his hand.
“How far is your place?”
“About ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes is long enough for me to fall off and lose an arm or leg.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
Grumbling to himself, his eyes followed Tate as he moved back to the bike, swung his jean-clad leg over the seat, and straddled the wicked-looking piece of machinery.