When did I get so greedy?

He felt insatiable, as if he couldn’t get enough—couldn’t get close enough.

“Fuck,” he heard above him, and Logan pulled him forward as he jammed his hips out, pushing deeper—giving it to him the way he’d asked. Not holding back.

Yes, Tate thought, on my tongue. I want to taste you on my tongue.

The way Logan was moving against him was so fucking hot there was no way he could stop his own climax from building inside of him. Tate knew it wouldn’t be long before he exploded, and he was ready.

Ready to release everything that Logan had built in him.

“So fucking close, Tate. I’m so close...”

Tate grabbed his own cock and started stroking. He closed his eyes and relaxed his jaw while Logan’s fingers clenched and he used him as he never had before.

Gone was the careful, tentative man who’d taught him what to do, and in his place was a man out of control—a man taking his pleasure.

A man he loved.

Tate smoothed his other hand over Logan’s thigh and up to cradle his balls before he pushed a finger back between his cheeks. The slight stimulation was all that was needed.

Logan exploded on his tongue with a shout so loud that Tate’s ears rang, and as he swallowed the creamy fluid down, he gave several hard pulls of his own flesh and felt his orgasm hit. Then he shot his load all over the shower floor.

Tate looked up to where Logan had slumped back against the glass and closed his eyes. He drew his mouth off him, and when he felt the fingers in his hair loosen and stroke the back of his head, he didn’t get up. He rested on his heels, placed his cheek against Logan’s thigh, and once again stared up at him.

This time when Logan glanced down, his eyes seemed to be thanking him, but no words were exchanged. Instead, Tate gave a silent wink, leaned in, and kissed his thigh. No words were needed.

22.

Dinner went by quickly enough, and once they were done, they ended up in the living room.

It’s so unusual to be sharing this space with someone, Logan thought as he sat in his favored recliner and watched Tate grab a cushion off the couch so he could lie on the floor.

“You can lie up there, you know.”

Tate shook his head and leaned the cushion back against the leather. “No way. And this rug is comfy anyway.”

Logan picked up the wine he’d poured and looked down at Tate, who was laid out on his sheepskin rug. “Okay. But just know, when your ass goes numb, you’re more than welcome to move it to the soft Italian leather couch.”

“Are you showing off or just concerned for the welfare of my ass?”

“If I were concerned for its welfare, I wouldn’t be thinking about all the ways I’m going to devour it later,” he told him with a wink.

Tate stretched his arms over his head, making the red T-shirt he was wearing ride up. “So sure of yourself.”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?”

Tate gave him a look so hot it would melt fucking steel. “Not at all. You can have anything you want.”

Logan crossed his legs out in front of himself and took another sip of his drink. “Anything, huh?”

“Within reason, of course.”

“Now I’m trying to think of something that would be out of reason,” Logan mused.

“Oh, I’m sure you could come up with something, and even then, you’d dress it up in a way that would probably make me want it.”

“Now what makes you say that?”

“Did you forget how we met?”

Swallowing another sip of wine, Logan lowered his arm to the side of the chair. “I remember everything from the first time I saw you.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. You tried to hook me up with a woman,” Logan reminded him dryly.

Tate started laughing then asked, “Well, how was I supposed to know that you—”

“Were imagining you kneeling at my feet in your work clothes?” Logan shrugged. “You weren’t—until I told you.”

Tate calmed and then crossed his legs at the ankles. “Yeah. I’m really not sure how I worked that out since you’re so subtle and all.”

“Aren’t you hilarious tonight.”

“I’m relaxed. Probably for the first time in two weeks. Ever since my sis—Jill—found us, I’ve been a fucking basket case. Then Sunday happened and everything that came after that.”

Logan shared the sentiment, but there were still things they needed to discuss. “About that…”

“Logan—”

“No, let me say this. I’m not mad. Not anymore.” He paused, trying to decide the best way to say what he was thinking. “I wanted to be there for you after Sunday with your family. I wanted to prove to you that I wouldn’t just up and leave because things got hard. But that was what I wanted. What I needed. Not what you did, and I understand that now.”

He watched Tate’s face, trying to gauge what he was thinking from his expression, but he was giving nothing away, just quiet contemplation, so he continued.

“If you want to talk about what happened last week, I want you to know that I’m here to listen. That’s all. I don’t think I actually got to say that.”

Having said what he wanted, Logan waited to see if Tate had anything to add. He didn’t immediately talk, but then he said softly, “Last week was rough.”

Logan figured as much. If it’d been rough on him, he couldn’t imagine how Tate had felt.

“I switched up my shifts with Amelia just to take some time, and—”

“To make sure I didn’t track you down?”

Tate gave him an apologetic shrug. “Maybe a little. Like it mattered in the scheme of things. You know where I live.”

“Yeah. But you knew I wouldn’t go there. You told me not to.”

Tate scratched his stomach and asked, “Is it fucked up that I kind of wanted you to?”

Logan felt his chest tighten as he made himself answer. “No. You’ll never know how much I wanted to.”

Tate sighed, and rubbed his eyes. “I called my mom on Monday. She didn’t answer. I left her a message that I wanted to talk, and she never called back.”

Hearing that made Logan’s blood boil. Nothing pissed him off more than closed-minded bigots, but he kept his mouth shut. This was, after all, Tate’s family.

“I called again Tuesday, and still nothing. No answer, no reply to my voicemail. So I decided to try Jill. Her phone didn’t even ring. It just went straight to voicemail as if she’d just ignored me. Ignored her brother after knowing what happened. Who does that?” Tate’s voice slowly rose as his disgust took ahold of him, and then he placed an arm over his eyes.

Sometimes it was easier to say the hard things when you pretended no one was listening.

“Wednesday, I called again, and…” Tate paused and Logan waited—for what, he wasn’t sure. “I called…and my mom’s phone has been disconnected.”

Oh fuck. How can someone—no, not someone, Tate’s parents—just fucking cut him off?

It was infuriating, sickening, and Logan had no clue how Tate seemed so put together. But he kept his mouth shut and waited to see what else he had to say.

“That was a pretty shitty night,” Tate admitted and removed his arm to look at him. His brown eyes were full of turmoil from the inner conflict he was still dealing with, but they were also full of something else—conviction. “I knew they were going to be mad, but I never thought for a second they would disown me. Their own son. So I made a decision.”

Logan didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Tate sat up and clasped his arms around his knees.

“I was going to live for me,” he announced. “For what makes me happy. And you make me happy, Logan.”

Logan exhaled as Tate pinned him with serious eyes.

“You make me crazy and furious and out of my mind with need, but in the end, you make me so fucking happy. I can’t ever remember feeling this way. And no one is going to tell me it’s wrong. No one.”