Rolling to his side, Logan picked up his phone to check for any messages and was happy to find none. Cole said he’d take care of everything at the office, so he didn’t have to worry about that, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d thought maybe Tate would—

Okay, this is ridiculous. Just fucking text the guy.

He found Tate’s name and typed in: You up yet?

He put the phone down and tried not to stare at it while he waited for a response. He also reminded himself that Tate was just down the hall.

Then it vibrated.

Tate: Define up.

Usually, he was the first to slip in a sexual innuendo, but this morning, he wanted something different, so he typed: Awake.

Almost immediately, the phone buzzed.

Tate: Yeah, I’m awake.

Logan looked at the screen for a moment before writing: You sleep well?

Christ, when did I become the person who pussyfoots around a situation?

Tate: An hour or so…Logan?

Logan looked at his name, wondering where this would go if he responded. Well, there was only one way to find out: Tate?

One heartbeat, two heartbeats—

Tate: I missed you.

The words were so simple, and as he focused on them, Logan realized that it was the first time they’d ever been used in relation to himself.

While that made him happy, it also made him…wary.

He typed back: When? He needed to know if Tate had felt any of the misery he had during their time apart.

Tate: All of last week. Last night. Right now.

Logan felt a smile cross his mouth as he read the last message—at least three times. He didn’t think written words had ever been more satisfying, and then his phone vibrated and made him realize that the written word could be insanely powerful.

Tate: I miss lying beside you.

Suddenly, his heart wasn’t the only thing that was happy.

As he imagined Tate lying in the huge king-sized bed down the hall, his cock took immediate interest.

When he didn’t reply right away, his phone buzzed again.

Tate: Logan?

Quickly, he typed back: I’m here. It scared him that he couldn’t imagine a time where he wouldn’t be there if Tate wanted him.

He kept trying to think of that precise moment when Tate had slipped in under his defenses, because he sure as hell hadn’t pursued him with forever in mind.

The actual thought of forever still freaked him out—even as it was becoming more appealing.

Tate: Did you sleep well?

That was easy enough. No.

Tate: Why not?

He’d known that was coming, and his answer made his palms sweat. I missed you too.

Several minutes passed and he started to think he’d said the wrong thing, but then, as usual, his addiction reached out to him and reminded him he was still hooked.

Tate: I’m right down the hall.

Tate Morrison. He might as well change his name to temptation, because that’s what he was. Pure fucking temptation.

Logan steeled himself against what his body wanted and tried like hell to keep things above his waist. I know.

Tate: You don’t want to see me?

The text was innocent enough, but the tease was underlying. He knew Tate, and Logan could sense the way he was leading them, building them towards more than a casual texting session. I do.

Tate: Then come see me.

Groaning, Logan reached down under the sheet to press a palm against his morning erection. If I do, I’ll touch you.

He could almost see Tate’s grin when he read the next question.

Tate: And you don’t want that?

He shook his head. Of course I WANT that.

Tate: But?

But…I don’t think so. Not yet.

He was battling the desire to take his time and move slow against walking down the hall, opening the guest bedroom door, and pounding Tate into the mattress.

Then, frustrated, he typed out: You really fucking scared me last week. I thought that was it. That you were done with me.

Logan read his message and felt the fear from the last few days creep back inside. The pain of having everything he wanted ripped away had opened his eyes in ways he’d never expected.

At first, he’d been furious, but it was after the anger seeped out that the empty sadness had found him. When he’d really thought he’d lost him.

Tate: I know…I’m sorry.

And Logan knew that he was. Logically, he was aware that Tate had needed time. But to go from having him available and within talking and touching distance to nothing…Well, it was a reality he never wanted to experience again.

I know.

Fuck. This was not like him. He wasn’t the kind to hold a grudge, and he certainly didn’t believe in that bullshit of withholding sex. But right now, he needed to make sure that his heart was strong enough for whatever was ahead of them.

Because his heart was now one hundred percent involved.

Tate: Logan?

Yeah?

He waited for whatever Tate was going to write, but instead of words, an image loaded on his phone that made him ache with longing.

There, staring back at him, was Tate.

The curve of his lips was subtle but definitely there.

Total sex face.

His brown curls were visible against the cream pillow, and the photo caught a glimpse of the top of his chest with all of that delicious honeyed skin. He’d sent it with the caption: Wish you were right here, lying beside me.

Fucking hell. So do I.

God, Tate. You’re fucking gorgeous.

He took another look at the photo and found himself stroking his cock.

Damn, I can’t stop looking, he typed, his hand moving faster.

The morning shadow lining Tate’s cheeks made Logan want to lick and bite his way up his jaw, and as he imagined just that, another message flashed up.

Tate: Just looking? Or…

Definitely or…

Logan knew nothing would stop this from going below his waist now. He was already there.

Tate: So you still want to...

Be with you? Yes. Don’t doubt it, Tate. My head may be thinking things over but my cock is sure of what it wants, and you’re it.

Yeah, his heart had said its piece this morning. Now it was his cock’s turn.

* * *

Tate’s hard-on knew whom it wanted too, and even rooms away, Logan still had him ready to go.

When his phone chimed earlier, he’d hoped it was Logan, and after pulling some hard truths from his moody lodger, Tate was determined to see if Logan was closed off to his reaching out with the need to…be needed again.

What he really wanted was to touch Logan, to show him that he cared, but for now, this would work—if Logan was open to a bit of play.

With his phone in one hand and the other down between his legs, Tate remembered the first time they’d done this. He’d been so unsure that night, but by the end of it, had the best orgasm he’d had in months.

He was not unsure this morning, and he was going to chase after that amazing release. The one he knew was right there, in Logan’s hands. He was the only one who could give it to him.

He imagined Logan naked and hard, ready for him, and text back: That’s one hot visual.

Logan: Is it?

Jesus, yes it is. He pushed his hips up into his palm. He wasn’t about to play coy now. The teasing was done, and he wanted Logan to take him there as only he could.

Yes. When you’re turned on, nothing compares. Everyone should be so lucky to see. But I don’t share, so they can fuck off. He hit send, and then, quicker than he thought his fingers could type, he followed up with: You’re even sexy when you hate me.