Not two seconds after the message was sent, his phone began ringing. Tate pressed answer and brought it to his ear.

“Hey.”

“I could never hate you.” Logan’s deep voice filtered through the phone and sent a shiver of desire straight down his spine.  “I missed you so much last week. I was a fucking mess.”

Tate winced at the thought of causing Logan pain. He needed him to know that it hadn’t been easy for him either.

“I had to delete your number just so I wouldn’t call.”

He heard a muffled, “Fuck,” at the other end of the phone.

Then Tate admitted in a low voice, “I hated not talking to you. Not seeing you. And I’ve discovered I need to be touched by you—daily.”

The groan that reverberated through the phone sounded anguished, part pleasure and part pain. He knew Logan had been worried that he’d changed his mind about them, but it was time to reiterate what the separation had meant to him.

“I needed to know that if I was doing this, it was my choice. I didn’t want to resent you later.”

The soft huffs of Logan’s breath were all that could be heard, and they had Tate eagerly touching himself, knowing that Logan was probably doing the same.

“And?” Logan asked.

Tate felt his mouth curl into a grin. He had him.

“And…this is definitely my choice. You might have done the chasing in the beginning, but Logan…”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never been happier than when you caught me.”

Tate heard nothing, and then Logan ordered, “Get rid of the covers.”

“Okay,” Tate managed, loving the weight of that command. “Hang on,” he murmured, placing the phone down to push the covers to his feet. He moved to the center of the bed and picked the phone back up. “Okay. Done.”

“Prove it,” Logan demanded roughly.

Tate looked at his white boxer briefs and clearly visible erection. He brought the phone away from his ear and angled it down his body, taking a shot that would rival a dirty magazine.

He couldn’t wait for the reaction to—

“Fucking hell, Tate,” Logan rasped through the phone.

Tate shoved his hand into his briefs and gripped the base of his cock to begin slow, torturous pulls of his shaft. “What about you? Let me guess. You’re naked, right?”

Logan’s heavy breathing was so familiar Tate imagined him hovering above him, right by his ear.

“Yes. Hate wearing shit to bed. Gets in my way.”

“I wanna see,” Tate pleaded as he bent his legs and arched up into his hand, continuing to jerk off.

His heart raced as Logan told him to give him a second. Then his phone lit up and there on the screen was a view of Logan from the chest down, his treasure trail clearly pointing the way to the very plump and shiny head of his cock.

“Ahh, Logan. God, I want you,” he moaned, bringing the phone back to his ear. He dipped his hand down to cup his balls and squeezed. Fuck, he wanted to come.

“You didn’t take care of yourself last night, did you?” Logan’s voice was hoarse, like he was holding back—and Tate knew the feeling.

“No…” he managed, though he had no idea how, when he just wanted to clench his jaw and come—hard. “I waited like you told me to.”

“Good, because Tate…”

Tate’s breathing was now coming at a record pace. It was unbelievable how much he craved Logan. Just hearing his voice had him at a fever pitch, ready to fucking explode.

“Yes?”

“I want to hear you all the way down here in my room when you come.”

Fuck. Yes. He wanted to hear Logan too.

Tate brought his hand to his mouth, spat in his palm, and then began masturbating to the thought of Logan several doors away doing the exact same thing.

There was no more conversation between them as they each listened to the fervent sounds they were pulling from one another. The erotic sighs, groans, and throaty curses pushed them both closer to the release they’d been working toward.

Tate pulled up the photo of Logan to get another detailed look at what he wished his mouth was on, and then Logan’s voice cut through the line.

“The only thing that would be hotter than listening to you go fucking crazy right now would be listening and watching as I bury my cock inside you.”

That did it. The reminder of Logan taking him.

Tate came so fiercely that the harsh shout of Logan’s name echoed loudly in his room, and he knew Logan heard him through the house because the responding growl that reverberated up the hall splintered through the phone, making him shoot his load all over his stomach.

Holy shit, Tate thought as he finally calmed, and smiled up at the ceiling. The next time Logan shouted for him like that, he would make sure to be within touching distance.

20.

After a record-quick shower, Logan made his way down the hall to see an empty guest room. He then continued on and out into the living space, but even that was empty. It wasn’t until he walked around the large, brown sofa and across the plush rug that he spotted him.

Tate was standing in the sun on his porch, wearing nothing but a navy-blue towel, and damn if that wasn’t the best view he’d ever seen out his window.

His hair was slicked back, obviously still wet from his shower, and he was bent at the waist with his forearms resting on the railing, which caused the towel to stretch nice and tight across his ass.

Logan walked over to the door that led outside, and as he pushed it open, Tate glanced back at him. The thrill he got as Tate’s eyes moved over him was electric, and when he straightened and turned, placing his hands behind him on the railing, it was all Logan could do not to go to him and drag him inside.

“Good morning,” Tate greeted with a cocky grin.

Logan strolled over to where he was standing and made sure not to touch when he stopped beside him. Instead, he put his hands on the rails and looked out at the view in front of him—a view he loved.

When Tate turned back around and took up the same position as before, Logan chuckled.

“A very good morning.”

“Yeah?” Tate asked, tilting his face in his direction.

He couldn’t help himself then. He reached out and pushed a stray curl back from Tate’s face.

“Best I’ve had in a week.”

Logan felt his breath catch when Tate’s eyes closed and he leaned into his fingers. It was as if he were gaining so much pleasure from the way he was stroking his hair that he just had to get closer—Logan knew the feeling.

“You like it when I do this? Touch your hair?”

A rumble emerged from deep within Tate, and when his eyes opened, Logan noticed they were heavy and full of invitation as he admitted, “I love it.”

Logan speared his hand fully into his hair and brought Tate back up so they were face to face. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Tate’s lips, and when he opened them, Logan slipped his tongue inside for a better taste.

Tate’s hands landed on his waist, urging him closer, and Logan tightened his fingers and pulled his head back so he could put his mouth at his jaw.

“I wanted to do this when you sent that first photo this morning. Taste you. Bite you.”

He felt Tate’s hips grind against him, and Logan brought his other hand around to his ass to hold him still. He opened his mouth, scraped his teeth along Tate’s jaw, and worked his way up the side of his neck. The heavy breathing he’d listened to earlier was back, but now it was right there by his ear.

“This is a very flimsy towel, Tate.”

Logan smiled against his ear as the fingers on his waist dug in harder. Tate angled his head away, giving him more access to his neck.

He nuzzled his nose into the wet curls, inhaling the shampoo, and had the sudden urge to mark him. With that goal in mind, Logan sucked Tate’s taut skin between his lips until he heard him curse at the sting of pain.