The hand he had between Logan’s thighs, the fingers in his tight channel, and his own pumping hips all stopped moving until all he could hear was the loud breathing in the otherwise silent room.

He slowly removed his fingers and planted his hands by Logan’s head, and as he focused on the man under him, he finally understood what was going on.

Logan was giving himself over, finally admitting he was in this—really in this.

“I want to feel your hands on me,” Tate said. He waited as Logan smoothed his hands over his sides then down to his ass. “I want them on me all the time,” he admitted and lowered his mouth to kiss Logan’s.

“Tate, I need…”

He didn’t need to be told any more. Tate needed it too.

He grabbed the condom off the side table and made quick work of it. Then he was back between Logan’s legs, which were now wrapping around his waist.

Tate lowered a hand down between them and ran a finger over him, just to make sure he was—

“Fuck, Tate. Now.”

—ready.

He smiled against the bossy mouth that had finally resurfaced and slowly sank his cock inside Logan’s eager body. Tate groaned from the unbelievable pleasure he felt, and when Logan circled his arms around his neck and pulled him down to take his mouth, he went.

The heels digging into his ass encouraged him to move, and as Tate began to thrust his hips, Logan lay back and let him have him. With his coal-black hair pressed into the pillow and the veins in his neck standing out as he grit his teeth, Logan closed his eyes.

Tate watched his face and wondered if he’d ever seen anything as spectacular.

Logan in the throes of sexual bliss was a fucking masterpiece. He offered no apologies as he reached down to his cock and began jerking it as if he’d never get the chance again, and as Tate continued moving inside him, he felt his balls tightening.

He was ready. He wanted Logan to come all over the both of them and then he’d finish in the snug, hot home his dick was currently burrowed inside.

His fingers gripped the pillow under Logan’s head as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and fell onto Logan’s upper lip. He watched in rapt fascination as those sexy eyes opened and Logan’s tongue came out and licked his sweat—that was the trigger.

Tate’s hips picked up the pace, and nothing could stop him.

When Logan’s orgasm hit, his entire body bowed up off the bed, causing the firm muscle surrounding Tate’s cock to clench and tighten, making them both shout loud enough to bring down the fucking walls.

This was no longer about sex.

As Tate pressed his forehead against Logan’s, he likened it to a religious experience. Logan had fundamentally changed him, made him see the light—Or the fucking stars—and there was no way he could ever be unchanged.

When Logan’s lips parted beneath his own, Tate swept his tongue inside and pushed the hair away from his face.

“You’re a beautiful man, Logan Mitchell.”

Logan grinned and palmed his ass. “You look so confused saying that. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Tate shook his head. “No, I’m not worried about people knowing. I just never associated beauty with…”

“A man?” Logan guessed.

Tate nodded and then chuckled. “Stupid, huh?”

“No, not at all,” Logan disagreed. “I think you’re beautiful too. Fucking gorgeous to be exact.”

Tate felt a blush hit his cheeks and wondered how the fuck that could be after what they’d just done. He slowly pulled out of Logan, and as he stood and removed the condom, he said quite seriously, “Tomorrow, I’m going to talk to my mom again. I won’t hide from my family, Logan.”

Logan moved up onto his elbows. “Okay.”

Tate walked toward the bathroom door to clean up before bed, but before he got there, Logan called out to him. He stopped and turned back to see that Logan had lain back down and was staring at the ceiling.

“I meant what I said earlier. I’m already yours, so whatever you need...”

Tate wanted to respond and opened his mouth to do so but found that nothing would come out.

13.

By the time Tate made it out of the shower, the bed had been stripped and remade with navy-blue sheets under a white duvet. Logan was nowhere to be found.

With a towel secured firmly around his hips, Tate walked out into the dark living space and found him standing at the door to his balcony.

The city lights made for an impressive backdrop, but it was the man standing at the door that held all of his attention. Logan had pulled on his sweatpants, and his hands were resting loosely in his pockets.

Tate wasn’t sure what mood he was about to encounter since he couldn’t see Logan’s face, but he figured that the stillness in the room and the rigid posture were pretty good indicators that the wall Logan usually stood behind was back.

“I’m all done,” he announced, trying to break the silence.

Logan glanced over his shoulder, and Tate noticed his glasses back in place. Kind of like a defense mechanism—Logan’s version of a shield.

“Sounds good.”

That was it. That was all he got before Logan looked away.

Tate made his way past the glass coffee table and stopped beside him, staring out at the buildings. He wasn’t sure what was going through Logan’s head, so he didn’t know where to start. Instead, he stood beside him and waited.

Several minutes passed before Logan finally spoke.

“You know, the last time I sat out there, I was on the phone with you.”

Tate remembered. They’d talked about Chris, the asshole who had up and run when Logan had been in college, pretty much causing his inability to commit to more than a quick fuck-and-run today. They’d also discussed his family, and if he would be ready to defend—Hang on. Where is he going with this?

“I remember.”

Logan turned his head and caught his eyes in an unwavering stare. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me,” Logan cut in, serious as ever, and turned his body so they were now standing opposite one another. “You told me you wouldn’t lie to them. So what will you tell them?”

Tate pushed an agitated hand through his wet hair and then ran it down the side of his neck. “I’ll tell them we’re dating.”

Tate watched Logan’s lips thin.

“And when they ask you if it’s true? If you were kissing me that day? If you’re having sex with me? What then?”

There was no escaping the intense man in front of him, but once again, he was tongue-tied. His sister’s shocked voice began to loop in his head, and his mother’s denial was in his ear. Then Logan’s voice cut through it all—honest and brutal as hell.

“If you can’t tell me, how are you going to tell them?”

Tate thought about that and was about to answer when Logan spun around and started to walk away.

“Would you hang on a fucking minute?”

Logan stopped where he was but didn’t bother to face him, and didn’t that just annoy the shit out of him. Tate stormed over and stepped around him until they were face to face again.

“Are you going to give me a chance to speak? Or just be an asshole and walk away?”

Logan shrugged as if he didn’t care, but Tate knew that the underlying issue was that he cared too much.

“First, stop comparing me to Chris.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, and it’s pissing me off.” Logan’s jaw twitched, and Tate knew he was biting back some kind of caustic comment so he reiterated, “I’m not him.”

“I know that!” Logan thundered, and it was such a shock to hear him yell that Tate’s mouth clicked shut. “I fucking know that,” he repeated, quieter this time.

Tate stepped forward and took Logan’s hand. “I’m not going to deny anything.”

“But—”

“There are no buts.” Tate paused, and when Logan’s lips quirked, he couldn’t help himself. “Well, maybe a couple of asses.”