He watched Tate’s chest rise on a deep inhale and waited until he blew it out.

“Ten.”

Okay, so he’d been drinking for approximately the last seven hours. Fuck.

“Why did you—”

“No.”

Logan frowned at the interruption. “Excuse me?”

“I answered. So take something off.”

It wasn’t anything new that when Tate was drinking he got bossy, but Logan’s reaction was. It turned him the fuck on.

“Do you have a preference?”

Tate’s eyes narrowed and Logan waited—not so patiently.

“The pants. No, wait…the shirt.”

Logan chuckled. “Are you sure?” Then he started to unbutton his shirt. As he got halfway, Tate’s eyes found his and Logan asked his next question. “Why did you start drinking at ten in the morning?”

He shrugged out of the material and placed it on top of his jacket. When Tate’s teeth bit into his top lip, Logan knew he was getting closer to the truth and Tate was buzzed enough—and clearly horny enough—to tell him more.

“I was pissed off.”

That vague answer wasn’t going to cut it, so Logan placed his hands low on his hips and waited. He was positive he already knew the answer, but he wanted it from Tate. Logan wanted his trust with everything that was going on, and if he had to go to bed with blue balls for the second time in two days…then he would be a miserable fucker and crawl into that cold bed.

* * *

Tate stared through hooded eyes at Logan in a combustible stalemate. He didn’t want to discuss what had happened today but knew he’d get no further with the look on Logan’s face.

And fuck, I want to go further.

The picture Logan made with only his dress pants on and his hands on his hips had Tate’s cock pulsating inside his jeans.

After his mother had hung up on him, Tate had spent the next couple of hours inhaling his entire pack of cigarettes, and when those had run out, he’d hunted around until he found one of Logan’s men, Johnnie Walker, who’d left him feeling relaxed and very fucking horny.

“I spoke to my mom this morning after you left. Happy? Now take off your pants.”

Without a single word, Logan unbuckled his belt and pulled it through the loops. Tate watched avidly as he unzipped his own jeans and pushed them down his hips so he could finally grab his cock.

Yeah, fuck, it feels amazing to touch myself.

Logan removed his shoes, socks, and pants then pinned him with a molten stare as he added them to the pile. In that instant, Tate was reminded that all it took was one look from Logan and he was ready to go.

“And your mom, she pissed you off?”

“Yes. The boxers, Logan.”

Tate saw the arrogant rise of Logan’s left brow as he slipped his thumbs into the only thing left covering him—his tight, black shorts.

“You want something, Tate?”

“I told you what I wanted.”

Logan shook his head and pushed the snug material down his hip, allowing a hint of pubic hair to come into view. “No, you didn’t. You just commented on my clothing.”

Asshole is having a great time trying to make me talk.

But before he could say anything, Logan bent down and took off the shorts, causing all of Tate’s brainpower to focus on remaining upright—a problem his dick did not seem to have.

“That’s right, yes? You wanted them off?”

Why is he still talking?

The man was fucking spectacular, and Tate wanted to be touched by him—now.

When his mother asked him earlier how his relationship with Logan had happened, he’d had no answer. But as he kneeled on the couch, stroking his hard-on for this man, he knew.

How could it not happen? Look at him.

When Logan walked toward the couch and stopped directly in front of him, Tate tilted his head back to meet his eyes. Logan grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close, leaning down until their lips were only inches apart.

“What did she say that was so bad it made you smoke a full pack of cigarettes and consume enough liquor that you smell like a cheap bar?”

Tate closed his eyes as Logan’s warm breath entered his mouth. He gripped his cock harder and got up on his knees, trying to get his mouth closer to Logan’s, but he pulled his lips out of reach, prompting Tate to speak.

“It doesn’t matter.”

When a tongue touched his bottom lip, his eyes flickered open and connected with the intense blue ones searching his face.

“It does matter. What did she say to upset you?”

Tate released his erection and swayed slightly as he moved his hand to Logan’s shoulder, steadying himself. “I don’t want to talk about my mom right now.”

Logan wasn’t having that.

Instead, he lowered his hand, and Tate felt him wrap it around his erection. As a hiss of pleasure left his lips, that persistent mouth moved across his cheek to his ear.

“Tell me so I can take you to my bedroom and have you.”

Tate’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into the mouth and hand tempting him. “Yes.”

“Talk to me,” Logan coaxed. “What did she say?”

Tate didn’t want to say it. He was afraid to, he realized.

What if he said the words and Logan believed them? Worse, what if he said the words and he believed them?

But with Logan’s strong hand palming his cock and his warm lips now sucking his earlobe, Tate decided if he was going to find any release he needed to give Logan what he wanted, and right now, that was his final answer.

He pulled his head away and brought both hands up to Logan’s face. Touching his stubble-lined cheeks, he held him still. He wanted to witness any thought that flickered over the face looking back at him.

The hand around his hard flesh stopped moving and just held him until, finally, he spoke.

“She said you were a pervert who corrupted me.

5.

It shouldn’t have surprised him, and it certainly shouldn’t have come as a shock to hear, but as those words left Tate’s mouth and floated between them, Logan’s got caught somewhere inside his throat.

Did I corrupt him? No…we joked about it, but…no.

He blinked Tate back into focus and realized he was waiting for an answer, but for once, he didn’t have one. He was stunned into silence—stunned and hurt.

A pervert? What the fuck—

“Logan?”

He blinked again several times as Tate pressed their lips together.

Shit, the guy tastes like scotch and tobacco.

It shouldn’t have been a combination that was appealing, but as Tate’s lips parted, Logan couldn’t resist pushing his tongue inside. He threaded his hands into the hair surrounding a face he was becoming addicted to and held on as if Tate might vanish.

The kiss started out as merely a contact point, a way to reassure the other that they were there, but as their tongues tangled, Logan kicked it up a notch. He loosened the fingers of one hand and ran it down the back of Tate’s head to grip his neck and bring him even closer.

Tate went with it until his front was pressed flush against the back of the couch. When he groaned as if he were in agony and wrenched his lips away, Logan figured the friction from the leather against his cock felt pretty fucking amazing.

“Don’t you come all over my couch.”

The smirk that touched the corner of Tate’s mouth helped in easing the tension that had seeped into the room.

“Then take me to the bedroom, where I can come all over you.”

Logan was about to tell him, “You know the way,” but at the last minute stopped himself.

“Logan?”

As his name reached him, he watched Tate back off the couch, stand, and push his jeans away. He stepped out of them, and Logan looked him over.

From the leanly muscled body and engorged flesh, Tate was every wet dream Logan had ever had, a fact that was solidified when he gripped his erection and stroked it several times.