Элла Франк - Try

After that last drink, the time hit twelve thirty, and he decided he was probably now bordering on the pathetic line—especially considering he was sitting at a bar and drinking alone just so he could watch a certain bartender move around in front of him.

Logan felt the familiar stirring in his cock as he tore his attention from the other man. He got down from the bar stool and made his way into the restroom, trying to decide what he’d seen in Tate’s expression when they had been going back and forth.

Confusion was the first expression that came to mind. It hadn’t once been accompanied by disgust though, and that he could work with.

Finishing up, Logan washed his hands and stepped out into the dim corridor, leading back to the bar, where he practically ran into Amelia.

She stepped in close to him. “Leaving so soon?”

Logan glanced around, and when he saw they were alone, he peered down her black shirt and vest to where she had the top three buttons popped open. Running his tongue along his top lip in contemplation, Logan raised his eyes back to hers.

“I was about to—unless there’s a reason I should stay?”

When Amelia placed her hands on his lower abdomen, stroking his rigid muscles, Logan knew exactly where this was going.

“Well, I was thinking…”

Stepping back into the corner of the hall, Logan wasn’t surprised when she followed.

“What were you thinking?” He was now thinking about her lips around his dick.

Warm hands burrowed under his black shirt before fingers dipped into the top of his jeans. She turned her face up to him, and he watched expectantly as—ah, yes—her tongue came out to moisten her lips.

“I was thinking that I want this,” she whispered daringly as she moved her right hand down to cup him through his jeans, “in my mouth.”

Putting his hand on hers, Logan rubbed it up and down his throbbing cock.

“Then don’t let me stop you,” he invited, and then added, “Did you at least clock out? I’d hate to think you might be fired for inappropriately servicing a patron.”

Removing her hand, Amelia laughed softly as she unbuttoned his jeans and lowered the zipper. Dropping to her knees in front of him, she tugged his pants down and freed his insistent hard-on.

“Well, if worse comes to worst, we can just tell them I was giving exactly what the customer wanted.” Fisting the root of his shaft, she lowered her lips over his sensitive, swollen head.

Logan shut his eyes and imagined a different person altogether kneeling down in front of him—a person with hands as large as his own whose face revealed uncertainty and shock during their conversation tonight. He envisioned brown curls and dark eyes looking up at him as firm lips opened and took him into that mouth he wanted to taste.

As Logan moved his hands to the wall behind him, he didn’t dare open his eyes. He was too busy enjoying the fuck fantasy he was imagining in his head, and when dainty lips slid down his shaft, taking him as deep as they could toward the back of her throat, he tried not to think about the fact that he wanted it harder.

Yeah, I’m an asshole.

He bucked his hips forward into her mouth, but all he was picturing was how much quicker he’d lose his shit if he could reach out and touch cheeks that were rough with stubble—dark stubble like Tate’s.

When a small hand clutched his thigh, Logan was pulled back into reality, and his eyes slid open. That was also the moment they locked on to the man standing at the entrance of the dimly lit hall, who was staring at what was going on with an intense focus that Logan had never seen.

* * *

Tate couldn’t believe what he was looking at, and even more disturbing, he couldn’t look away.

At first, as he stood in the hall leading to the restrooms, he was hit with the visual of Logan backed up against the far corner wall, his legs parted, with Amelia kneeling at his feet. From the silent shadows, Tate could see that Logan’s head was arched back as though the pleasure was so fucking good.

That was all bad enough for Tate until he felt his cock react as though he were the one on the receiving end of Amelia’s mouth. Then, Logan’s eyes opened, and that was when Tate’s reality became one huge blur.

As his stare collided with the other man’s, Tate realized that it was Logan’s focus, not Amelia’s, that made him finally reach full-on, rock-hard, aching status—and there was nothing he could do to try to fool himself into believing otherwise.

Tate absorbed all that he was seeing as Logan moved his hands from beside the wall to direct the head moving rapidly over his cock. Tate felt his breathing accelerate as his fists clenched by his sides. Silently, he watched Logan pump his hips forward, pushing his shaft farther down his coworker’s throat, all the while looking at him and licking his lips.

Unable to make himself move, Tate found that he was entranced by the scene unfolding in front of him. He couldn’t take his eyes off the man who was eye-fucking him, while face-fucking the woman on her knees.

When Tate dropped his vision to the back of Amelia, he saw the large hands on her head, and he couldn’t help but wonder how strong they were as they flexed and fisted her blonde hair.

Jesus, I’m thinking about him touching me now? Walk the fuck away. Just turn around and walk away.

However, his feet weren’t listening to his brain, and instead of walking away, he continued to play voyeur to a man who was becoming a menace to his normally sane life.

* * *

Logan hadn’t expected this twist of events, but as he slid free from Amelia’s lips, and his gaze trailed over Tate, he felt his climax building in the base of his spine, causing his balls to tighten. There was something so depraved and deviant about being watched while performing a sexual act, but being observed by the one person he wanted and didn’t think he could have was even fucking better.

As he continued to use Amelia’s mouth, Logan remained fixated on who he really craved, Tate. Having him standing there with an expression that crossed from shock to straight-up heated lust, Logan wondered if Tate even realized how much he was giving away.

First off, Tate was not looking at Amelia. No, his attention is all on me. Second, Tate’s hands were balled up into fists as if he was trying to stop himself from touching. It was a wonder he hadn’t broken his fingers. And last, as Logan eyed Tate’s pants, he could see a bulge that made him want to push Amelia out of the way and get down on his own knees to finish his bartender off.

That was it. That was the visual Logan needed.

Parting his lips on a groan, he imagined sucking Tate’s cock into his mouth and it was all over. His balls tingled as his hands seized the blonde hair they were entangled in. Focusing on Tate, Logan watched the man’s tongue as it slipped out and slid along his bottom lip. When it disappeared back into his mouth, Logan wanted to be the one to fucking chase it, and taste inside, after he swallows, of course. He knew it was a fantasy but with that final thought, he stared at the man he truly wanted, and immediately came down Amelia’s throat instead.

Tate could feel his chest rise and fall with each labored breath he took as he remained fixated on Logan, who had just very obviously come in a jaw-dropping way.

As soon as the dimly lit space went from combustible to a silent dark hallway, Tate thought, turn the hell around and go.

Do not wait to see what happens next. Move! Move! Move!

But no, he didn’t move. Instead, Tate stayed where he was and watched Logan run his hand over the back of Amelia’s head as she moved away and he licked his full bottom lip.

 Tate unconsciously moved his hand over his stiff cock, adding pressure to the ache behind his work pants. Of course, Logan didn’t miss the gesture at all. He glanced down to where Tate was rubbing himself, and his lips tipped up into a full-on arrogant-as-hell smirk.

That was what finally had Tate turning on his heel and getting the fuck out of Dodge.

What is the matter with me? Standing here and getting off on Logan? Sick fucker is screwing with my head.

Quickly, Tate made his way back out to the bar and to the break room to grab his gear. It was time to go, and he wanted to leave immediately. Punching out on the time clock, he made his way back out, hoping to God that Logan had left and wasn’t waiting out there to further torment him.

When he got to the bar, he noticed it was practically empty. He sighed with relief, until he remembered exactly why he had gone to the back restrooms in the first place.

Better if I go now than need to on the back of my damn bike.

Making his way back over to the hall, he almost made it when Logan stepped out, and they both stopped in the empty space.

Oh, this is just great.

Tate stared at the man standing opposite him. There was no expression on Logan’s face, and Tate wasn’t exactly sure he had one damn thing to say. So, he stood and waited and hoped like hell Logan would do the one thing Tate figured he would not—leave silently.

* * *

Logan counted in his head, waiting for Tate to flee, and then thought, fuck it, and went into action, not wasting any time. Taking a step forward, he felt the thrill of the chase skate up his spine as Tate automatically backed up and hit the wall behind him.

“Logan,” Tate acknowledged in a way that screamed he was trying to keep things distant, professional even.

Well, tough shit. You just watched me get head. It’s too late for distant and professional.

“Tate.”

“You just leaving?”

Logan felt his lip curl, as he saw Tate quickly look to the only means of escape. Or maybe he was checking to make sure no one was witnessing what was going on.

“I was about to since I got everything I came for. But now, I’m not in such a rush.” Logan dropped his gaze to Tate’s mouth and watched as he nervously ran his tongue over his lips, nodding.

“Well, I’m sure Amelia hasn’t left yet. She’ll be waiting for you.”

A low rumble left Logan’s chest as he raised his right hand and placed it beside Tate’s shoulder, effectively blocking his escape.

“I think we both know I’m not in the least bit interested in Amelia.”

“And I think I made it clear that I’m straight. Take a hint, sir,” Tate pointed out and glanced at the hand against the wall before turning back to him. “You need to move your arm.”

Logan straightened slowly and stroked his fingertips down the dark hardwood beside Tate’s arm. “Straight, huh? You know, funny thing is, often the straightest of trees have crooked roots.”

As he removed his hand, he angled his body closer, getting within a few inches of Tate’s.

“You forget my name?”

“No.”

“Then, don’t call me sir. It turns me on,” Logan admitted, finding that the word sir from Tate’s full lips really did turn him on.

“Doesn’t everything turn you on, Logan? You seem willing to do anything at every opportunity.”

Logan tilted his head to the side and pursed his lips. “Why not, if it feels good and someone offers? However, fucking wise? As of a few days ago, I just want one thing, and since he hasn’t punched me in the face yet, I’m thinking I may have a shot at it.”

“Like I said earlier, you’re delusional, and right now, you need to get the fuck out of my face.”

“Or?”

“Or it might just meet with my fist.”

Logan felt the blood and adrenaline pumping through his veins at the pissed-off expression crossing Tate’s face. Stepping back, he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets to try and shift the erection that was once again trying to rear its head as it painfully pushed against his zipper.

“Threatening a customer? Doesn’t seem very professional. Are you upset because of what I did tonight? Or because you stood there, watching and wishing it was you on your knees instead?”

Choosing to ignore him, Tate clenched his jaw and his fists, and Logan thought it was probably smart that he had taken a step back. Tate looked explosive.

“We’re all told during training that sexual harassment will not be tolerated—by employees or customers.”