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Logan followed suit and calmly stated, “Of Robbie. You were jealous.”

“And if I was?”

“There’s no reason to be. But I like it,” Logan informed with a self-satisfied grin.

“Why?”

“Because you looked like you wanted to kick his ass for even talking to me, and that makes me want you even more.”

Tate lowered his voice, questioning softly, “You really like that idea, don’t you?”

“Hell yes.”

Tate felt his erection pressing against his jeans at the look Logan was giving him. The kiss had gotten him interested, but the look aimed his way had him ready to go.

Then, Logan opened his mouth to add to the torture. “All of that honey-colored skin, naked under me, your curls all over my pillow as I drive my cock inside you—oh yeah, Tate, that’s going to happen. Mark my words.”

Tate’s ass clenched, and he actually pushed his hips up as though he were trying to ease the ache. He was more aroused by the image Logan had just depicted than he’d ever thought he would be.

“What if I don’t ever want that?”

 “Tate?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you turned-on right now, wishing we were somewhere private?”

Tate closed his eyes, sighed, and then reopened them. “Yes.”

“Then, trust me, you want it. Think about it, get comfortable with the idea, and when you’re ready, I’m going to make you feel so unfuckingbelievable that you’ll wonder why you ever questioned it.”

Tate’s thoughts were all over the place, and all he wanted was to ease his ache by doing…well, anything with Logan.

“Sure you have to go to work?”

“Yeah, but I’ll come by the bar after.”

Logan slid out of the booth, and Tate had to wonder how the guy didn’t have a raging hard-on like himself. But when he buttoned his jacket and placed his briefcase in front of him, Tate had his answer.

He does, but he has props. Lucky fuck.

Casually, Logan walked over to his side of the booth, leaned down slightly, and relayed in a tone that made Tate look twice, “I don’t expect you to announce this to everyone. Hell, I don’t even want that. But if you ever pull away from my hand again, like I have the fucking plague, don’t be surprised by my reaction.”

Catching his breath, Tate dared to ask, “Which will be?”

“Depending on my mood? Either a quick lesson on how much you like my hands or my back as I walk the fuck away.”

With that parting shot, Logan turned and walked out, giving Tate a taste of exactly what he did not want.

Six thirty rolled around, and so did the wind and rain. Damn, that wind is really humming. Tate had been lucky enough to get to work just before it had really started, but even he had raced against the fat drops of water that had started to fall.

One hour later though, and people were dashing into the bar from the sidewalk, drenched. It made for one messy entryway, but it was a busy Tuesday night with people trying to avoid the downpour.

Tate’s mind was preoccupied tonight—consumed by one person in particular. Ever since Logan had shown up, Tate’s life had gone from boring to one full of chaos and unanswered questions, but it was time to start working things out. He knew that the further he went with Logan, the more difficult the questions would become.

Dropping his insecurities though was a lot easier to think about than to actually do. Tate didn’t want his reactions to Logan to be based out of fear in any way—whether it be the fear of being seen together or the fear of losing what had just started. He wanted his actions to be made because of want and desire and the fact that what he was doing felt good for a change.

So, as he’d gotten dressed for work, Tate had made up his mind. He wanted Logan. He wanted to be able to touch him, kiss him, and do whatever the hell he felt like without having to worry about what anyone else thought.

And that—well, that meant accepting it himself.

As Tate wiped down the top of the bar, he let the thoughts he’d been contemplating start to really sink in. He knew he wasn’t quite ready to tackle people head-on, but he wasn’t going to hide how he felt either. He was going to act just as they did in private, and if someone wanted to question it, then they could fucking question it.

The bar door opened just as Tate glanced up, in stepped the man who had walked away from him hours earlier—except this time, Logan did not look polished and put-together. No, he looked like the complete opposite. Still dressed in his navy blue suit—well, half of it—Logan had the jacket over his head as he walked through the doors. When he lowered it, Tate saw just how ineffective it had been at keeping the rain from him. Logan was soaked.

As he moved the wet jacket in his hand, he looked to the hostess. She took it from him with a small smile, and Tate saw Logan mouth something, probably a thanks—or a, Damn, sorry about that—and then he turned.

Tonight, he was not wearing his glasses, and as their eyes collided and held, Logan raised a hand, pushing his fingers through his glistening black hair, and Tate felt his cock stir and his mouth dry.

The material of Logan’s shirt was glued to every muscle of his body from his solid arms to his flat abdomen. Those tailored dress pants were molded to his thighs and cradled the bulge in between, like a lover would, like he would.

Fuck, the man is hot.

Logan began walking toward him, and all Tate could think was, He should always be dressed in wet clothes. As he passed several other waterlogged customers, Tate noticed them looking him over as well, probably wondering how he still looked so appealing when he was just as wet as the rest of them.

Tate took in the water droplets sliding down Logan’s cheek, and his breathing faltered. When those same droplets then continued down to disappear into his shirt—holy shit—Tate knew he wanted to follow them with his tongue, and he wanted it now.

After what seemed like hours instead of minutes, Logan stopped in front of him.

Tate knew that the sexual longing he was feeling had to be written all over his face because the first thing out of Logan’s mouth was, “Do you have somewhere we can maybe dry me off?”

Tate didn’t hesitate, not even for a moment. If Logan wanted to go somewhere private, Tate was going to be the one to show him there. He was also going to be the one to stand and watch—or participate—as he dried off.

“Yeah, break room.” Tate stayed exactly where he was, fearing that Logan would disappear if he moved.

“Tate?”

Tate passed the towel between his hands. “Yeah?”

“Take me there.”

Stepping away from the bar, Tate turned, threw the towel on the back counter, and made his way down to the bar pass. He opened it up, and as Logan walked through past him, Tate could smell the aftershave lingering on his body.

Amelia walked up to the bar at that exact moment and looked between the two of them before focusing on Tate.

“Will you be okay for a few minutes? I’m just going to give him a towel from the back.”

Amelia’s mouth kicked up at the edges. “Yeah, Stacy just came back from her break, so we’ll be okay for a while. No rush.”

Tate had a feeling she was sizing him up, and more than likely, she was coming up with the correct assumption—especially considering Logan chose to move up and push against Tate’s side with his whole body, including the hardening cock he’d admired only moments ago. Before Tate had a chance to step away, he heard Logan whisper, “Hurry up, I want to taste you,” and that was all Tate needed.

Turning on his heel, Tate made his way to the back of the bar and into the break room that—thank God—was empty. As he entered silently, he was happy to hear the door click and lock. When he turned and saw Logan against the door, all Tate could think was, Now. I want him right now.

* * *

Logan might not have known the specifics of what was running through Tate’s mind, but he knew whatever it was, it was one hundred percent sexual.

The man had tracked him across the bar like a hunter stalking its prey, and for once, Logan had felt his own step falter. The fierce craving in Tate’s expression had made it difficult to walk from point A to point B and stay somewhat decent. But now? Now, as Logan stood there, with his back to the locked door and Tate looking at him like he wanted to consume him—well, Logan did nothing to conceal the way his cock was upright and erect.

“You’re so wet,” Tate uttered.

Logan felt an ironic laugh leave his throat. “Now, that’s something I bet you never expected to say to me.”

Before Logan could even blink, Tate was crushed up against his front with one of his legs maneuvered between his own. A stifled grunt escaped Logan as Tate opened his mouth and teased his tongue along his jaw to his ear where he told him in a voice that was gravelly and full of longing, “You look so hot right now. I wish I had the time to fuck you right here, right against the wall like you once dared me to.”

“Jesus, Tate.”

“Everyone in that bar watched you, all of them. You might as well take off your shirt with the way it’s sticking to you. Christ.” Tate nuzzled his lips under Logan’s ear where he gnawed gently with his teeth. “And this,” he explained, copping a quick feel between Logan’s legs, “I want this.”

“Then, fucking take it,” Logan goaded.

Nimble fingers found his belt buckle, and he heard the metallic snick and clink of it as it came undone. Then, the hot mouth by his ear was back, promising him exactly what he’d been fantasizing about.

“I want you in my mouth.”

Logan turned his head against the door and met the eyes blazing back at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Goddamn it, Logan. What have you done to me?”

Logan lifted his hand and pushed it into Tate’s hair. Holding it tight, he brought the man’s mouth to his own where he breathed against his lips, “Nothing yet, but I have plans. Get on your knees, Tate.”

Logan held his breath and congratulated himself for standing still as Tate lowered himself to his knees and looked up at him.

* * *

 Tate’s heart was thumping in his chest. He was down on his knees, and Logan’s hand was still tangled in his hair. Raising his face, he stared up at the man, leaning back against the door.

With his shirt still stuck to his skin, Logan’s tie looked beyond saving. Tate continued to watch his eyes darken. As the fingers in his hair loosened, the same hand smoothing over the back of his head, Tate was able to push aside the slight nerves he felt at what he was about to do.

Getting up onto his knees, Tate quickly undid the button and zipper of Logan’s pants. With them hanging open and the belt and water weighing them down, he looked back up to Logan, lifted his hand, and slid his fingers into the elastic of the black boxers.

He paused for a moment and asked, “Yes?”

“Hell yes,” Logan replied, thrusting his hips forward.

Tate followed a drop of water as it fell from the end of Logan’s tie and hit the back of his hand. Tate leaned forward and licked his own hand, and heard an expletive from above. He slipped his fingers further inside the material and pulled them down. Knowing they didn’t have long helped Tate to shove aside any doubt he might have had, and as he freed Logan’s erection, he found himself licking his lips.

“Oh God, Tate.”

Tate looked up to where Logan was watching him like a hawk. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re looking at me like you’re about to eat your favorite fucking meal.”

That boosted Tate’s confidence to a whole other level, and he smiled up at Logan as he encircled the base of the shaft in front of him. As Logan’s mouth fell open, Tate told him, “Who knows? Maybe I am.”

“God, please let that be the fucking truth,” Logan gritted out between a clenched jaw.

Tate lowered his eyes to his hand and glided his fist up the swollen, aching flesh he held. “What do you like?”

“Think about what you like and just—”

Tate flicked his tongue across the glistening tip, and Logan’s entire body vibrated against him.

He finished his thought by saying, “Ah shit, yes. Do that.”