by Ella Frank
AS THE ALCOHOL swirled around his brain, Logan reminded himself that he needed to keep his voice down as Tate lowered to his knees in front of him. He was also trying to work out how in the world he’d gone from tracking Tate down so they could leave, to standing in his childhood bedroom with his pants unzipped and his cock about to be sucked. Because fuck me, the man at my feet doesn’t seem interested in going anywhere at all.
As Tate pushed the ends of his shirt out of the way, Logan shut his eyes, trying to focus on anything other than coming, and when nothing more happened, he looked down to see Tate siting back on his heels, watching him with an expression that Logan wanted to memorize.
It was a mix of adoration and lust. Lust being at the forefront when Tate slicked his tongue over his lips.
“Why’d you stop?” Logan asked, his chest heaving as he stared into those scorching brown eyes.
Tate’s shiny lips parted as he blew a warm breath of air over the cock he’d just been holding, making a shiver race up Logan’s spine. “I was waiting until I had your attention.”
Logan clenched his teeth together as Tate smirked and rose on his knees so he could tug Logan’s pants a little further down. Logan was about to accuse Tate of delighting in his frustration when he took hold of him and flicked his tongue over the head of his cock.
Holy fucking shit, Logan thought, as Tate began a slow, torturous stroke up and down. Up and fucking down.
If Sunday was supposed to be about giving thanks and worshiping the Almighty, then Logan was pretty sure he was close to doing so real loud, because the man who’d taken him to church this morning was now hellbent on making him see heaven.
TATE GLANCED UP Logan’s body and curled his fingers into the edge of his pants to pull them aside so he had even better access to the thick shaft. A low grunt came from above, and as Logan pumped his hips forward in an effort to get closer to his mouth, Tate used his tongue to tease the sensitive underside of his cock.
“Tate,” Logan said, in a hoarse tone. “Now’s not the time to fuck around.” Logan then cursed as if his patience was nonexistent, and Tate loved that. He wanted Logan to lose it—wanted him to fuck his mouth hard and erase any thoughts from the past week. He’d wanted that since he’d turned around in his sister’s bedroom and seen Logan lounging against the door.
Raising his head, he caught Logan’s fierce look and told him, “Then you better hurry up. Don’t want Dad knocking on the door.”
“Motherfucker,” Logan said. “This is not a good idea— Ahh shit.” Tate rooted his nose against Logan’s pelvic bone and kissed his way down to the underside of his cock until Logan growled and pulled his head up by his hair.
“Well,” Tate said with a raised eyebrow. “You want me to stop?”
LOGAN WASN’T SURE what he wanted. His dick was so damn hard he could feel every pulse in it, and it was distracting as hell when trying to make a rational decision. So when Tate licked and nuzzled in against him again and his hair teased over his bared length, Logan reached down to take a handful of it.
He twisted his fingers through the silky curls tormenting him, and when Tate ran his tongue from root to tip, Logan squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that if he continued to watch what Tate was about to do then he would likely shoot his load all over his face before he was even in that talented mouth.
Not that he was opposed to that idea or sight. But not here, that was for damn sure. Plus, he wanted to get between Tate’s very fuckable lips—that was where he’d invited him, and that was the place Logan intended to come.
He felt Tate’s hands on his hips as he angled his body toward his eager mouth, and Logan bit back a harsh cry when a warm tongue swiped across his sensitive tip and then dipped inside the slit.
Are you fucking kidding me, Logan thought, as he gritted his teeth and said, “If you don’t hurry up and suck my dick—”
“What? You gonna walk out of here?”
Logan narrowed his eyes on Tate’s juicy mouth, and thought, You sexy fucking cock tease.
“I didn’t think so,” Tate said, and the gravelly tone of his voice grated over all of Logan’s aroused nerves. “But you’re right. Enough is enough.” Then his lips surrounded the head of Logan’s shaft, and he couldn’t help but watch in awe as Tate braced a hand on his thigh, used his other to angle his cock so he could get a nice, deep swallow, and then aimed his eyes up at him, clearly giving him the go sign.
TATE THRILLED AT the carnal sound that came from Logan as his hips thrust forward off the door. With his thick erection now in Tate’s mouth and his hands in his hair, Logan was directing the pace of this face fuck, and Tate was getting off on it just as much.
“Yes, yes…oh shit, Tate,” he heard, and he flicked his gaze up Logan’s body to see his teeth bared, his jaw locked, and the cords of his neck strain as he tried to hold back his shouts. He was a goddamn feast for the eyes, and when Logan let go of his hair and brought his balled fist to his mouth to bite down on it, Tate knew he had him.
Tate closed his eyes and listened to the blood ringing in his ears, as Logan’s labored breathing filled his otherwise silent bedroom. Then Logan’s body tensed, his fingers snagged in the hair he still had hold of, and the warm, salty taste of his climax hit Tate’s tongue.
Tate swallowed the evidence of Logan’s enjoyment, and when he raised his head and sat back on his heels, he palmed himself through his jeans and swiped his thumb over his lips to make sure they were clean.
“Fucking hell,” Logan said, his breathing heavy, his eyes blurred from the alcohol and arousal swirling together—and Tate couldn’t get enough of him.
“I love seeing you like this,” Tate said, and then chuckled.
“What, with zero brain function and an inability to remember how to move?” Logan asked, as he reached down and started to right his clothing, tucking his now satisfied cock away for the time being.
Tate got to his feet and, without saying a word, crushed their mouths together as he ground his erection against Logan’s thigh. As Logan raised his hands to take hold of his face, he licked his way into Tate’s mouth and tangled their tongues, no doubt greedily tasting himself, and once he was done, he nipped at Tate’s lips and said, “Such a bad boy. It’s probably good you weren’t around while I was in college.”
“You think so?”
Logan nodded and copped a quick feel of the hard-on Tate was willing to subside—at least until they got in the car and, like, five minutes away from home.
“I never would’ve left your bed, your dorm, or you, for that matter,” Logan said as he zipped his pants. “So, yes, my education thanks you.” Tate laughed at that as Logan buckled his belt and said, “Don’t think you’ve distracted me from why I came up here.”
“I know. I know.”
“Good. Because I haven’t forgotten,” Logan said as Tate opened his closet to grab the box of toys he’d originally come up there for. “I came up here because we need to talk.”
“And we will. After a good night’s sleep.” Tate shut the closet door and checked his clothes to make sure he was presentable, and then shrugged. “Let’s end tonight on a good note. We can come back to all of that other stuff tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Logan said, nodding in agreement, and then he pointed at the small tub. “G.I. Joe?”
“Mhmm. And if Dad asks, we’ll just say you had to help me find them because they were hiding deep in the closet.”
Logan started laughing as he ran a hand down Tate’s cheek. “Well, I have been known to lend a helping hand in that particular circumstance. But there was never any hiding from you. Not even in the beginning.”
“Nope,” Tate said, and kissed him gently. “Once I knew what I wanted, I took it. I tend to do that.” He winked at Logan, who just shook his head as he walked by, and all Tate heard as they left his room was Logan’s chuckle and “Touché, Mr. Morrison. Touché.”
Chapter Nineteen
TATE STOOD OUT on the balcony the following morning i
n his grey sweatpants cradling a cup of coffee. He could see the appeal this time of the day held for Logan—it was relatively quiet as the streets began to fill and the Windy City woke up—but he was still more inclined to sleep in if given the choice.
However, this morning, his brain had been too busy to offer up much of a decision, so he’d left Logan showering when he got out of bed, and figured he’d start the coffee for when Logan finally came out hunting around for it.
When they’d gotten home last night they’d spoken briefly about the Jill situation, but really, Tate had already made up his mind. It was just the when and where and what the end result would be that was now weighing on him.
He raised his mug, needing another hit of caffeine, and took a sip as the glass door slid open behind him and he saw Logan walking his way, dressed and ready for work.
“Good morning,” Logan said, trailing his fingers up Tate’s naked back.
“Mornin’. There’s coffee inside if you want it.”
“Thanks, I’ll grab some on my way out. I have to head to court this morning, so that’s perfect.” Logan leaned in for a kiss and absently fingered one of the curls by Tate’s ear. “Hey?”
“Yeah,” Tate said, as he leaned in to the familiar touch.
“This business with your sister. You sure you’re good with it? I can come with you, if you like.”
Tate considered Logan’s offer but shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Really. I’m just going to call her up and see if she wants to meet. She’ll either say yes or no.”
“She’ll say yes, otherwise she wouldn’t have given you her card.” Logan looked out at the surrounding buildings, then rested his forearms on the rail and sighed.
“Would you rather I not go?” Tate asked, studying the pensive man beside him.
“No,” Logan said. “Look, I told your dad I wasn’t going to influence you either way on this, and I’m not going to. This is your decision. You’re the one she hurt. And it has to be your choice in the end if you want to see her. Not mine. And not his.”
A headache threatened at the base of Tate’s skull as he turned to look at the city below. “I don’t know,” he said. “My brain is telling me that I’m insane to even think about calling her after what she did. That she doesn’t deserve it and I—we—shouldn’t have to go through all of this again with her. But Logan…she’s my sister.”
Logan took a step forward until his shirt and tie were grazing Tate’s arm, and then he kissed his bare shoulder and said, “Call her.” Tate looked directly at him, and Logan said, “You should call her. Your heart won’t be happy until you can deal with this. It’s who you are.”
Logan was right—he just had to do it and get it over with. “Yeah, okay. I think I’m going to. It’s what I keep coming back to.”
“Then it’s what you should do,” Logan said.
“And you’re sure that you’re okay with that?”
“Me?” Logan asked.
“Yes. You.”
“Why should it matter? She’s your sister, Tate, and if you want to sit down with her and ask her where the fuck she’s been for the past four years, I’m not going to stop you.”
Tate grinned and took a sip of his coffee. “Eloquent as ever. I always wonder how you curb your tongue when you’re in court.”
Logan shook his finger as he headed back to the sliding door, and just as he stepped through it, he said, “Don’t you know by now I can do just about anything with my tongue, Mr. Morrison? I’ll see you tonight at the bar around eight. Call me if you need me.”
“I’ll see you tonight, Logan. Have a good day.”
“Count on it,” Logan said with a wink, and then he disappeared inside to head off to work.
AFTER SPENDING THE morning in court, Logan quickly grabbed some lunch on his way back to the office, knowing he was already running late for the sit-down that Priest had set up with Robbie, his cousin, and his nonna.
Shit, he’d really wanted to be there when things got underway, but he couldn’t help that the morning’s case had run over. So there he was making a mad dash for it.
With a glance at his watch, he cursed as the elevator hit Mitchell & Madison’s floor, and then he rushed through the lobby, barely stopping to give Tiffany a wave.
When he got to Sherry, he looked at her expectantly, wanting the lowdown on how things were going in the meeting she had set up. But when she grimaced and pointed toward the conference room, Logan stopped and said, “What does that face mean? Because it doesn’t look good.”
When one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows winged up, Logan replayed his words in his head and corrected himself. “I meant it doesn’t look good for what is going on in there. Not that your face doesn’t look good.”
“Stop talking, Logan,” Sherry said with a roll of her eyes.
“Okay. Good idea. So, what do you mean?”
Sherry got to her feet and leaned a little over her desk. “That young man who originally set all of this up—”
“Robbie?”
“Yes, Mr. Bianchi. Well, he doesn’t seem very happy with Mr. Priestley.”
“Really?” Logan said, and glanced over his shoulder at the shut door. He knew Priest could be a hardass, but he was intelligent and fantastic at his job, and Robbie should’ve been smart enough to be able to see that. So what was the problem?
Looking back to his PA, Logan said, “How do you know?”
“Well, he came out here and said: ‘I’m not happy with this Priestley guy.’”
Logan’s lips twitched as Sherry stared at him, unamused. “Did he say anything else, Sherry?”
“He asked where you were, and said something about men who wore suits thinking they were all God’s gift to earth.”
Logan was more than a little amused by that last comment, because if he didn’t know better, that sounded like the old—
“Well, it’s about time you got here.”
Robbie.
As Logan turned around, he saw Robbie standing just outside the conference room in skinny black pants and a bright red fitted shirt. His patent leather shoes were the same color as his top, and as he marched over, Logan grinned.
“Where have you been?” Robbie said, and Logan blinked once to make sure he wasn’t imagining what he was seeing. “Logan?”
“Court,” he said, finally letting his eyes wander down the man opposite him. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” Robbie said, crossing his arms. “But that new lawyer you got us? He’s an ass.”
Logan glanced over Robbie’s shoulder to the open conference room door. “How about you let me put my stuff down and I can come in there and see what’s going on.”
As he headed into his office, Robbie followed closely behind, and Logan said over his shoulder, “Congratulations on the new job, by the way. Tate said you’ll be coming in to get a feel for the place tonight.”
“Thanks,” Robbie said as Logan put his briefcase down. “And yeah. He said to get there at six.”
“Well, he’s the boss,” Logan said as he gathered up a notepad and pen and turned back. “Is that the reason you dressed up?”
“Dressed up?” Robbie said.
“Yes. You’re…” Logan gestured with his pen. “You seem a little more like yourself today.”
“Oh,” Robbie said, and looked down at his clothes. “I guess so. He just said to wear what makes me feel comfortable.”
Logan smiled, because that sounded exactly like something Tate would say. “I think you’re going to like working for him.”
“I do too. Plus, he’s not exactly hard to look at.”
“You just concentrate on your job, Robbie. Remember, that’s what got you into trouble at your last job,” Logan said, shaking his head, and Robbie just shrugged.
“Oh please, you know it’s true. Tate’s hot. But he’s always been a little moodier than you. Testier.”
“Uh huh,” Logan said, gesturing for Robbie to turn around. “Okay, time to head back to the me
eting. Not sit here and gossip about Tate.”
“Actually…”
Logan looked up to see Joel Priestley standing in his office doorway. He had on a pristine grey suit and a black dress shirt, which made his auburn hair stand out in a way that commanded one’s attention.
“I think it would be better if he sat out of the meeting.”
Oh shit. What the hell did I miss here? Logan thought, as his phone buzzed in his pocket and he tore his gaze away from the two men facing off with one another to see who it was.
TATE STARED AT the card in his hand as the phone rang by his ear. After the twentieth pep talk to himself, he’d taken a seat in the living room and dialed Jill’s number, and was now waiting anxiously for her to pick up.
How did it come to this? That I’m scared to talk to my own sister?
But he knew. The reason was right where he’d pushed it to the back of his mind. It was that look on her face from four years ago. That disgust. The discrimination he’d seen that day in Logan’s office. And that thought alone was enough to piss him off and make him want to hang up.
Just when he thought that was the perfect idea, the phone connected and he heard Jill saying, “Hello.”
Tate’s heart was pounding so hard he was surprised she couldn’t hear it through the phone as he sat there in the otherwise silent condo, trying to remember how to speak.
“Hello?” Jill said again. “Tate?”
I can still hang up, he told himself as he shut his eyes and rested his head back on the couch. I can hit end and it will be like this never happened. Logan won’t think less of me—in fact, he’d probably be happy about it.
“Tate? Is that you?”
Deciding it was now or fucking never, he finally grew a set of balls and said, “Yes, it is.”
Silence greeted him for several heartbeats before she said, “One second.” Then he heard some muffled talk, as though she’d covered the mouthpiece, and then she was back. “I’m so happy you called.”
