by Ella Frank
“Okay,” Tate agreed as he walked backward, still focused on where Logan was sitting in his chair.
Tate bent down, picked up his helmet, and then tilted his head to the side before shaking it.
The expression made Logan curious, so he had to ask, “What?”
“You look sexy, sitting there all professional, in your suit and glasses behind that desk.”
Well, I fucking asked for it. Tate’s lack of subterfuge will eventually get me into a shit-ton of trouble, Logan thought as Commando turned and left his office.
Chapter Fourteen
Logan got there first, which he hadn’t expected, although he probably should have based off his previous meetings with Tate. The guy was always running around five minutes late. Making his way into the pub, Logan was happy to see that not too many people were about. Monday night wasn’t exactly the busiest night of the week.
Logan had opted to go casual, wearing some comfortable jeans and a white button-down shirt. He’d brought a jacket with him, but really, it wasn’t even cool tonight. Taking a booth against the wall, he made sure to slide into the side facing the door, and he sat, waiting.
He was waiting on a date. Hell, when did that happen? When I met Tate, he thought with an ironic shake of his head.
Usually, by now, Logan would have chased, caught, and released. But with Tate, he was still chasing, and who knew if he’d ever catch him. The guy was constantly dodging him, like a startled animal. One minute, Tate was paralyzed, and the next, he was running for his life. But there were those couple of occasions when Logan had caught him, and—damn, if the man wasn’t worth the time—he was delicious.
Just as the thought entered his mind, the pub door opened, and Tate stepped through the entryway. Logan’s body went on high alert as he watched the object of his attention scan the dim space. He supposed he could stand and wave him over, but—well, he didn’t. Logan was too busy enjoying his unfettered view.
Tate was wearing jeans, just like himself, but with a short-sleeved black shirt that came into view as he shrugged out of the leather he wore everywhere.
I need to see him on that bike.
Tate scanned the pub and when he found him, started to make his way toward their booth. As his long legs ate up the space between them, Logan felt his cock twitch in anticipation of what was going to happen later—well, hopefully.
Tate stopped by the empty seat and threw his jacket into the corner. Sliding in, opposite him, Logan felt their knees bump as Tate seemed to relax into the wide straddle he favored.
“Sorry, I’m late. Got held up.”
“What do I care if you’re a little late? This way, I get to watch you walk in.”
Tate chuckled as he snagged the small menu on the table. “Well, that’s a first. Usually, I get my ass handed to me for being late.”
Logan knew exactly who he was referring to after the exchange he’d witnessed between Tate and his ex, and not being one to beat around the bush, he decided to just lay it out on the table. “I’m not your ex, Tate. I’m not going to wonder where you are or bitch you out if you’re five minutes late. Now, if you’re an hour late, you better have a damn good excuse or at least offer to make it up to me on your knees.”
Tate placed a hand on top of the table and tapped his fingers in a quiet tattoo against the wood.
“As in…” Tate joked but stopped on the follow-through.
“As in? Go on, ask.”
Tate’s mouth kicked up at the edges. “You mean, as in, me giving you a blow job?”
Logan raised his brows. “Shocking, isn’t it? That I’m so easily appeased.”
Tate regarded him in a way that made Logan’s cock extremely excited.
“What are you thinking?”
Raising a hand, Tate ran it through his hair and shrugged. “I was wondering if I’d be any good at it or if I’d even like it.”
Logan couldn’t help the rumble of laughter before he told Tate quite adamantly, “You could be the worst in the world at giving head, but the fact that you would be the one with your lips around me…” he savored the thought for a second, and then winked at Tate, “Mmm, I’d go out of my fucking mind.”
Now knowing Tate, for the tease that he was, Logan wasn’t shocked when Tate licked his lips, the idea obviously growing on him.
“Really?”
“Really,” Logan assured as he lowered his hand under the table to adjust his agreeable cock.
He was so busy ogling Tate that Logan didn’t even notice the pretty brunette who stopped beside him and greeted them both.
“Hey, guys. How are you doing tonight?”
Tate’s focus moved from him and shifted to the waitress, and then the wide smile, the one Logan hadn’t seen since that first night they’d met, spread across his mouth. It was flirtatious, open, and so fucking sexy.
“Good, thanks. You?” Tate asked conversationally.
The waitress turned her body toward him, and Logan could tell she was giving him her best I’m-interested look, and for one quick moment, Logan could have sworn he felt—
Shit…jealous.
“I’m very good.”
Logan rolled his eyes and smiled when he felt Tate’s knee brush against his own, remaining and connecting them beneath the table.
“What can I get you to drink?” she continued, talking only to Tate.
Logan sat patiently, and watched the man opposite him.
Tate focused on the woman and told her, relaxed as he pleased, “I’ll have a Corona, and he’ll have a blow job, thanks.”
The knee under the table pressed firmly against his own as Tate’s eyes met his, and the woman beside Logan turned to finally look down at him, giving a small laugh.
“We don’t get too many guys asking for that. You got a sweet tooth?”
Not one to easily embarrass, Logan felt a wicked grin curve his lips. “Nah, not particularly, but this guy owes me one.”
Quickly, she looked to Tate, whose attention was now solely on him. Logan was hard-pressed not to laugh when he felt a heel jab down onto his foot.
“I made him try one the other night, you know, as a joke?” Logan informed the woman, as he heard Tate cough from across the table. “You okay?”
“Yes,” Tate managed.
Logan was pleased to note that Tate now looked flushed and a lot less cocky about his little joke that had been turned back on him.
“Oh, I see. So, this is payback for buying a girlie drink, huh? Well, don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s a good one.”
Logan touched the tip of his tongue to his top lip and lowered his voice as he agreed suggestively, “Oh, I’m sure you will.”
With a light, airy giggle, she turned and walked away from the booth, leaving Logan staring across at the man currently shaking his head.
“What?” he asked.
Tate leaned back in the booth, and his knee pressed back against Logan’s again. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”
Placing his arm along the back of the seat, Logan angled himself, so he was comfortable. “Can’t help, what?”
“The sex. It just comes out of your mouth—with everyone.”
“You started it. A blow job? You need to try better than that to embarrass me.”
“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”
“Yes, you were, but it didn’t work. All it did was make me think about putting my cock into your mouth.”
Tate shook his head again with a chuckle. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Oh?” Logan wanted to know more but shelved his curiosity as he saw the waitress coming back toward them with a tall bottle stuffed with lime and a short shot glass with—
Jesus, whipped cream. Ugh.
She placed them down, the bottle first, and as Tate reached out to take it, she made sure their fingers connected. Logan knew because—
Hell, I’m watching her with him like a jealous boyfriend.
“Thanks.” Tate smiled as he took the
beer.
She then turned to Logan and placed his shot glass down. “And here’s yours. You do know the traditional way to…drink this, don’t you?”
Logan could think of around one-hundred different, inappropriate responses to that, but instead of saying them, he played it dumb. “No. How am I supposed to drink it?”
The waitress started to explain, but Logan got caught up in Tate pushing his lime into the beer with his long index finger. All of a sudden, he had a very clear recollection of that finger elsewhere, and Logan found it difficult to even comprehend what the woman beside him was rattling on about until she said, “So, no hands, just a wide open mouth. Most put their hands behind their back.”
Logan nodded his head as if pondering her suggestion, then asked. “But what’s a good blow job without hands?”
He watched her face go from a lovely pale white to a bright shade of red as she lowered her eyes.
She floundered around a little and before replying, “Ah, yes…well, of course, hands are good too, for other things.”
Quickly, she looked back to Tate just as Logan did, and they both found him sitting back in the booth, cradling his beer. As their eyes connected, Tate lifted the bottle, put it to his sexy mouth, and took a swig of the beer without saying a damn thing. But Logan knew Tate was thinking about his own recent experience, concerning mouths, hands, and—
Yes sir, blow jobs.
“Well, if that’s all,” she muttered, about to walk away.
“Actually, can I get the cheeseburger medium well, with fries?” Logan asked and then also added, “And a Heineken.”
She nodded before turning to Tate for his order.
“I’ll have the wings, thanks.”
“Mild or hot?”
He flicked his glance to Logan and looked at—my mouth, fucking tease—before saying, “Hot, please.”
* * *
Tate stared over at Logan, who seemed determined to shake the very foundation he was used to standing on. Everything about him called to Tate—from the relaxed way he was lounging back in the booth to the I’m-cool-and-collected arm he had resting along the back of the seat. Not to mention, those blue eyes, minus the glasses, that were constantly watching him. The man was completely charismatic, and Tate had a hard-on for him that just would not quit.
“What are you thinking about?” Logan questioned as their waitress walked away.
Deciding he needed to just have this conversation and get it out on the table, Tate replied with, “You.”
“What about me?”
“I want to know where you see this”—Tate indicated between them—“going. Is this just a quick hook-up to you? Because…I don’t know. I can’t just change my whole fucking life for a night in your bed.”
“How about for two?” Logan remarked flippantly.
“How about you get serious for a moment?”
Logan brought his arm down and moved to lean across the table. “I want you. Tell me how I can have you.”
Tate brought the beer to his mouth and took another swig of the contents. Slowly placing it back down, he brushed his knee against the leg pressed on the inside of his own. “For a night?”
Logan eyed him hungrily, and offered, “For as long as you want.”
With that, Logan bent his torso down over the table with his hands behind his back and opened his lips wide over the shot glass in front of him.
Tate watched with rapt attention, as Logan lifted his head and swallowed the sweet contents of the drink in one gulp. Reaching up with one hand, Logan took the glass from between his lips, but before he lowered it, he made sure to stick his tongue as far into it as he could, licking clean all of the creamy liquid from the inside. When done, he placed it down on the table, brushed his thumb along his bottom lip, and smirked.
Tate was equally frustrated and turned-on by what Logan had just done, but at the same time, he was still unsure of everything he was feeling. So, he remained silent as Logan casually sat back and once again, placed his hand along the seat.
“Hmm, always gotta make sure you lick up every last drop. Don’t want to waste the end of a good blow job.”
Tate cleared his throat, pulling himself out of the sexual haze he was in and blinked across at him. “Is that right?”
“Well, that’s my rule anyway.”
“To lick up every last drop?”
“Of you?” Logan asked with a cocky wink. “Count on it.”
Stretching out both hands, Tate shuffled the bottle back and forth between them as he chewed on his lip.
“Okay, let’s come back to that later. How about you tell me a little about yourself?” Logan prompted.
Tate couldn’t help the burst of laughter that left him.
Logan raised a brow. “What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve gone on a date.”
“So, this is a date?”
Tate shifted in his seat and looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Well, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Do I get to kiss you at the end?”
“Logan, come on, be serious.”
“I am being serious.”
Tate lifted the bottle again, and this time, he finished the beer as he waited for a better answer than what he’d just been given.
Then, Logan gave it to him. “Yeah, it’s a date. I’m out with someone I find extremely attractive. I’m going to buy him dinner, and hopefully, walk him outside and kiss him good night.”
“Walk me outside, huh? In case I get mugged in the big, dark, scary alley?”
Logan’s eyelids lowered until the look he was aiming Tate’s way lit a fire in his stomach and made his cock weep.
“No. So, I can kiss your fucking brains out and then watch you get on your bike and drive away. I’ve been fantasizing about seeing you straddled over that vibrating piece of metal since you walked into the bar with your helmet.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. You have the whole sexy-rebel thing down.”
Tate shook his head. “Rebel? Not me. I’m straight as they come.”
Logan barked out a teasing laugh. “That’s way too easy. You can’t just hand me lines like that and expect me to sit here silently.”
“I would never expect you to be silent—anywhere. Tell me something about yourself. You said Cole’s your brother? Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”
Logan shook his head as the waitress appeared with their food. She slid the wings down in front of Tate and placed the cheeseburger down for Logan.
“Would you like another beer?”
He was about to answer when Logan spoke up, “Yeah, grab him one, would you, hon?”
She smiled down at Logan before spinning to walk away.
“I can order a beer, you know,” Tate pointed out.
“Yeah, but then I have to watch her drool all over you.”
“Jealous?” Tate joked, grabbing a piece of celery and dunking it into the bleu cheese dressing.
“Yes. I want you drooling all over me.”
Baring his teeth in a grin, Tate bit down on the vegetable and chewed slowly.
“Cole is my only sibling, to answer your question. And he’s my half brother. We met when he turned eighteen.”
Bringing the celery back to his mouth, Tate finished it. “Why eighteen? Or is that too personal?”
Logan grabbed the ketchup bottle, shook it a few times, and then put some near his fries before dipping one into the sauce, and stuffing it into his mouth.
“Hungry?” Tate questioned around a mouthful.
“I’m fucking starving. I missed lunch, remember?”
Tate picked up a wing, pushed it into the blue cheese, and then brought it to his mouth. After taking several bites, he dropped the bone back onto the plate, and then he began to lick his fingers one by one. Once they were all clean, he looked back across the table to find Logan had zeroed in on the finger closest to his mouth. Feeling rel
axed and playful, Tate took a moment to suck that one back into his mouth and make a big show of it.
Logan coughed and shifted on his seat before focusing once again.
“I lived with my mother. She had a relationship…well, affair, I guess you would call it, with our dad when Cole’s mom was pregnant. He remained married to Cole’s mother, and they lived as one big, happy family.”
“Oh…wow.”
“Yeah. Great guy, huh? Such a shame he’s dead.”
Tate could tell by the clipped way Logan had finished that particular story that the subject was now closed. Trying to think of something to say, he decided that eating seemed like a good fallback plan when Logan picked up his burger and took a bite.
Silence. Sometimes it was much more effective at solidifying a bond than all the talk in the world.
* * *
Logan sat quietly as he took a third bite of his burger, and internally he cursed at himself for being a giant asshole. It wasn’t Tate’s fault that he’d just happened to ask him the one thing that pushed all his buttons.
He could tell Tate was trying to think of something to say, but he seemed to have given up for the moment. When the waitress appeared with two more beers, neither of them acknowledged her. This time, they were just sitting in brooding silence.
Come on, man, snap the fuck out of it. You finally have him sitting across from you, and you’re screwing this up!
Lifting his beer to his lips, Logan opened his mouth and continued on the fucking stupid route of doing everything wrong this evening. “So, how long were you married?”
Tate had been halfway to bringing a wing to his lips but paused and glanced at Logan, lowering it back down to the plate. Wiping his hands on a napkin, Tate slowly picked up his Corona and took a long gulp.
“Sorry,” Logan told him. “That’s none of my business.”
Rubbing a hand over his face, Logan thought, Why am I screwing this up so badly? I’m never like this, especially with people I want in my bed. Get with the program, Mitchell.
“Four years.”
The words came out like a curse, and as Logan met Tate’s eyes across the table, Tate continued, “I spent three and a half of them trying to work out how to leave.”
