by Ella Frank
The groan that reverberated through the phone sounded anguished, part pleasure and part pain. He knew Logan had been worried that he’d changed his mind about them, but it was time to reiterate what the separation had meant to him.
“I needed to know that if I was doing this, it was my choice. I didn’t want to resent you later.”
The soft huffs of Logan’s breath were all that could be heard, and they had Tate eagerly touching himself, knowing that Logan was probably doing the same.
“And?” Logan asked.
Tate felt his mouth curl into a grin. He had him.
“And…this is definitely my choice. You might have done the chasing in the beginning, but Logan…”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve never been happier than when you caught me.”
Tate heard nothing, and then Logan ordered, “Get rid of the covers.”
“Okay,” Tate managed, loving the weight of that command. “Hang on,” he murmured, placing the phone down to push the covers to his feet. He moved to the center of the bed and picked the phone back up. “Okay. Done.”
“Prove it,” Logan demanded roughly.
Tate looked at his white boxer briefs and clearly visible erection. He brought the phone away from his ear and angled it down his body, taking a shot that would rival a dirty magazine.
He couldn’t wait for the reaction to—
“Fucking hell, Tate,” Logan rasped through the phone.
Tate shoved his hand into his briefs and gripped the base of his cock to begin slow, torturous pulls of his shaft. “What about you? Let me guess. You’re naked, right?”
Logan’s heavy breathing was so familiar Tate imagined him hovering above him, right by his ear.
“Yes. Hate wearing shit to bed. Gets in my way.”
“I wanna see,” Tate pleaded as he bent his legs and arched up into his hand, continuing to jerk off.
His heart raced as Logan told him to give him a second. Then his phone lit up and there on the screen was a view of Logan from the chest down, his treasure trail clearly pointing the way to the very plump and shiny head of his cock.
“Ahh, Logan. God, I want you,” he moaned, bringing the phone back to his ear. He dipped his hand down to cup his balls and squeezed. Fuck, he wanted to come.
“You didn’t take care of yourself last night, did you?” Logan’s voice was hoarse, like he was holding back—and Tate knew the feeling.
“No…” he managed, though he had no idea how, when he just wanted to clench his jaw and come—hard. “I waited like you told me to.”
“Good, because Tate…”
Tate’s breathing was now coming at a record pace. It was unbelievable how much he craved Logan. Just hearing his voice had him at a fever pitch, ready to fucking explode.
“Yes?”
“I want to hear you all the way down here in my room when you come.”
Fuck. Yes. He wanted to hear Logan too.
Tate brought his hand to his mouth, spat in his palm, and then began masturbating to the thought of Logan several doors away doing the exact same thing.
There was no more conversation between them as they each listened to the fervent sounds they were pulling from one another. The erotic sighs, groans, and throaty curses pushed them both closer to the release they’d been working toward.
Tate pulled up the photo of Logan to get another detailed look at what he wished his mouth was on, and then Logan’s voice cut through the line.
“The only thing that would be hotter than listening to you go fucking crazy right now would be listening and watching as I bury my cock inside you.”
That did it. The reminder of Logan taking him.
Tate came so fiercely that the harsh shout of Logan’s name echoed loudly in his room, and he knew Logan heard him through the house because the responding growl that reverberated up the hall splintered through the phone, making him shoot his load all over his stomach.
Holy shit, Tate thought as he finally calmed, and smiled up at the ceiling. The next time Logan shouted for him like that, he would make sure to be within touching distance.
20.
After a record-quick shower, Logan made his way down the hall to see an empty guest room. He then continued on and out into the living space, but even that was empty. It wasn’t until he walked around the large, brown sofa and across the plush rug that he spotted him.
Tate was standing in the sun on his porch, wearing nothing but a navy-blue towel, and damn if that wasn’t the best view he’d ever seen out his window.
His hair was slicked back, obviously still wet from his shower, and he was bent at the waist with his forearms resting on the railing, which caused the towel to stretch nice and tight across his ass.
Logan walked over to the door that led outside, and as he pushed it open, Tate glanced back at him. The thrill he got as Tate’s eyes moved over him was electric, and when he straightened and turned, placing his hands behind him on the railing, it was all Logan could do not to go to him and drag him inside.
“Good morning,” Tate greeted with a cocky grin.
Logan strolled over to where he was standing and made sure not to touch when he stopped beside him. Instead, he put his hands on the rails and looked out at the view in front of him—a view he loved.
When Tate turned back around and took up the same position as before, Logan chuckled.
“A very good morning.”
“Yeah?” Tate asked, tilting his face in his direction.
He couldn’t help himself then. He reached out and pushed a stray curl back from Tate’s face.
“Best I’ve had in a week.”
Logan felt his breath catch when Tate’s eyes closed and he leaned into his fingers. It was as if he were gaining so much pleasure from the way he was stroking his hair that he just had to get closer—Logan knew the feeling.
“You like it when I do this? Touch your hair?”
A rumble emerged from deep within Tate, and when his eyes opened, Logan noticed they were heavy and full of invitation as he admitted, “I love it.”
Logan speared his hand fully into his hair and brought Tate back up so they were face to face. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Tate’s lips, and when he opened them, Logan slipped his tongue inside for a better taste.
Tate’s hands landed on his waist, urging him closer, and Logan tightened his fingers and pulled his head back so he could put his mouth at his jaw.
“I wanted to do this when you sent that first photo this morning. Taste you. Bite you.”
He felt Tate’s hips grind against him, and Logan brought his other hand around to his ass to hold him still. He opened his mouth, scraped his teeth along Tate’s jaw, and worked his way up the side of his neck. The heavy breathing he’d listened to earlier was back, but now it was right there by his ear.
“This is a very flimsy towel, Tate.”
Logan smiled against his ear as the fingers on his waist dug in harder. Tate angled his head away, giving him more access to his neck.
He nuzzled his nose into the wet curls, inhaling the shampoo, and had the sudden urge to mark him. With that goal in mind, Logan sucked Tate’s taut skin between his lips until he heard him curse at the sting of pain.
“Did you just give me a hickey?”
Logan raised his head and licked his lips as he fingered the towel that was barely keeping Tate decent. “I did.”
Tate brought a hand up to his neck and ran his fingers over the red mark. “I’ve never had one of these before.”
“Is that right? I do so love being your first.”
Tate lowered his arm and looked down at himself before glancing back at him. “Exactly how many days are we staying here? I kind of have a job I’d like to keep and…umm…what am I supposed to wear?”
Logan felt his mouth curve at the questions.
Tate didn’t seem overly worried by the prospect of being gone, even though he hadn’t preplanned. In fact, the way he was looking at him made Logan
think he was pretty fucking excited to be there.
“I was thinking a week when I called Pete…” he trailed off, thinking that Tate might be mad at first, but he just placed a hand on his chest.
“You called my boss?”
“Yeah,” he admitted and then shrugged it off. “It’s no big deal. I just thought we could go away and let things settle a bit. You know, after last week. And plus, Pete likes me.”
“Thank you. No one’s ever called my boss to get me out of work so they could spend time with me.”
Logan swallowed and didn’t know what to say in the face of such gratitude. His biggest fear wasn’t that he wouldn’t love him. It was…what if he did? How would he ever survive if he lost that?
How do people so readily hand over their hearts when I’m absolutely terrified to?
“Logan?”
“Hmm?”
“Let me back in.”
Logan blinked him into focus and placed his hand on top of Tate’s. “I’m trying.”
Tate nodded. “Then I’ll wait.”
“For how long?”
Tate’s eyes softened and the smile that touched his lips was full of sincerity as he promised, “As long as it takes.”
* * *
It turned out that Logan had packed a week’s worth of clothes for the both of them before he’d tracked him down last night. As Tate changed into a pair of jeans and a shirt, he checked himself out in the mirror, and there on the left side of his neck was a small but clearly visible bruise.
He felt his cock twitch at the memory of Logan’s mouth when it had applied the perfect amount of pressure to mark him.
God, Logan’s possessive side was so damn sexy.
He’d never thought that would appeal to him, but when it came to that man, Tate wanted to be branded by him. He wanted everyone to know they were together, that he was his.
So this was perfect, like an erotic signature.
He turned and left the room to find Logan waiting for him by the front door.
“You ready?” he asked.
“For?”
“We need to go and get a few things from town. Food for one.”
Tate stuffed his wallet into his back pocket and watched as Logan’s eyes followed his movements.
“You don’t need that.”
“Need what?”
“Your wallet.”
Tate continued walking toward him. “I’m paying for half the food, Logan.”
“I brought you here, so I’ll pay for the damn food.”
Tate stopped between Logan and the door. “No. Now let’s go. I’m hungry.”
He walked down the stairs and was making his way toward Logan’s car when he heard his name. He turned to see Logan walking in the opposite direction.
“This way.”
Tate followed and jogged a little to catch up. The property Logan’s cabin was built on was gorgeous and had him wondering, “How big is this place?”
Logan looked his way and smiled. “Thirty acres, give or take.”
Tate stopped where he was and had Logan coming to a standstill also. “Thirty acres?”
“Yep.”
“Damn,” he muttered, shaking his head. Then he started walking again, thinking for the first time of how much he didn’t have.
He was only a few years Logan’s junior and what did he have to show for it? A crappy apartment and a motorcycle his ex-wife was trying to get in their divorce. Yeah, he had some savings, but Logan...Well, Logan’s wealth was a little intimidating.
“Hey?”
Tate looked back to where Logan was still standing but said nothing.
“You okay?”
He nodded, trying to push aside his moment of insecurity, and asked, “Where are we going?”
Logan walked forward and indicated a barn farther up the path they were on. “We’re going to get my truck.”
That brought Tate out of his dispirited thoughts as he laughed and fell back into step with Logan. “You own a truck?”
“Yes. I do. Got a problem with that?”
Tate grinned. “Nope. You just don’t strike me as the truck kind.”
They reached the barn and Logan walked them down the side to the door. He opened it and flicked on the light. In front of them was the oldest, most beaten-up truck Tate had ever seen.
“That’s your truck?”
“Yes.”
“It’s so…”
“So what?” Logan challenged as he pulled his keys from his pocket.
“Old?”
“Excuse me. I’ll have you know I was driving this baby all through college and she still runs like a dream.”
Tate watched as Logan walked over to run his hand over the scratched-up tailgate, and he was amazed that he even made that look sexy. Like he was stroking a lover.
“And it’s a she, huh?”
Now around at the passenger’s side, Logan opened the door and looked at him over the bed of the truck. “Yeah. Jealous?”
Laughing, Tate walked over to where Logan stood with a hand on the door and kissed him slowly on the mouth.
“I’m jealous of anything you stroke like that.”
“Get in the truck, Tate.”
“Or else?”
Logan stepped forward, crowding him back against the inside frame of the vehicle. “You’re not ready for the or else…”
Tate had a pretty good idea what it entailed, but the side of him that was always curious dared to say, “Tell me anyway.”
Logan lowered a hand between his legs, curled his fingers around his cock, and squeezed. “Get in, or I’ll turn you around and fuck you right here, bent over the front seat of my truck.”
The threat was real and the promise so fucking arousing that Tate felt his ass clench at the thought, but he also knew Logan was right. He wasn’t ready for something like that. He needed preparation before he took Logan inside him.
His hips bucked against Logan’s palm, and the desire in his eyes made Tate think he was about to get it whether he was ready or not, but Logan placed a kiss on his cheek and promised, “When I finally have you again, it’s not gonna be in a barn, Tate. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Tate groaned as Logan rubbed the heel of his hand up over him.
“I’ve been waiting and wanting, and when I’m finally back inside you, I’m not gonna leave until I’ve fucked you so hard and long that we can barely move. And we need to be inside for that.”
“Yes...goddamn, Logan,” he cursed, his breathing erratic, and then he was released.
“Now get in the fucking truck before I change my mind.”
Tate swallowed and scrambled up into the seat, waiting as Logan slammed the door shut and walked around the front to open the main door of the barn.
Once he got in the driver’s side and their belts were buckled, Logan looked his way and said, “I swear, you make me break all my rules. But you know what?”
“What?” he asked, curious as to what Logan was thinking.
“It’s time for some new rules.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, they were walking around the local grocery store, shopping for a week’s worth of food. Logan looked across the produce aisle to where Tate was picking out tomatoes, struck by how right it felt.
“Three?” he asked, holding one up.
“Yeah. Three’s good.”
It was interesting to him, learning what Tate liked and disliked other than on his pizza, and when they got to the seafood counter and he pointed at the lobster, the reaction was not what he’d expected.
Tate screwed his nose up and shook his head.
“You don’t like lobster?”
“Nope,” he replied, walking farther down the display to the shrimp and fish.
“Who doesn’t like lobster?” Logan asked and moved beside him.
“Me,” Tate reconfirmed, bumping their shoulders. “It just never appealed to me. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
“But what a
bout when it’s soaked in all that juicy butter?”
“Still…no.” Tate shrugged with a smirk.
“You’re a strange, strange man, Tate Morrison.”
Tate pointed inside the case. “I do like oysters.”
“Did you know it was reported that Casanova used to breakfast on fifty raw oysters every morning?”
Tate turned to him and Logan could see the wheels spinning when he finally said, “I’m thinking you’re just fine eating your toast and coffee.”
Logan grabbed Tate’s shirt, pulling him closer. “So you don’t think I need to up my oyster intake?”
“No,” Tate murmured. “I think you’re potent enough.”
Logan stroked his fingers over the small bruise on Tate’s neck. “Good, because I have to say, I’m not really a fan. Especially when there are other, more appetizing things to eat instead.”
Tate stepped away and pointed at him accusingly. “I thought we were shopping.”
“We are. Okay, since we can’t decide on seafood, how about steak? I can grill and we could have a salad and potatoes.”
Tate agreed and then started walking towards the rows of wine, calling out, “And how about a nice bottle of red?”
Oh yeah. Wine worked for him.
If they were going to have the talk he wanted, wine was definitely required.
“Make it two.”
* * *
When they returned home, they unloaded the groceries, filling the fridge.
Tate was seated on one of the two stools at the kitchen island watching Logan as he moved around in front of him. He’d been given a beer and told to sit his ass down, so that’s what he’d done.
Logan was currently getting the ingredients together to marinate their steaks, and as he bent down to look in a cupboard for a bowl, Tate was happy to inspect the way his khaki shorts stretched over his ass.
“I think this is the first time you’ve cooked for me. Should I be worried?”
Logan glanced up at him from where he was squatting and nodded. “Very.”
Tate chuckled and lifted the beer to his lips as Logan went back to fumbling his way through the pots and pans.
