It was so intoxicating that Tate found himself sliding further into the feeling. “I’m wearing something.”

“Oh, look who’s being a tease now? So, you’re killing me here, you know that right? What are you wearing?”

Tate looked down at his gray boxers and the hand he was using to stroke himself. “Boxers.”

Immediately, Logan fired back, “Cotton?”

Tate ran his palm back up against the fabric under his hand. “Yes.”

“Tight or loose?”

“Tightish but tighter than usual right now.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Logan complained like he was in agony.

Tate couldn’t help the throaty chuckle that came from him, surprised to find he was enjoying the hell out of himself. “You?” he asked, picturing Logan lying in the same position he was in.

“I have a sheet over me,” Logan informed him sensually.

See, this isn’t so bad. I can do phone sex.

Hang on—phone sex?

Stop thinking. It feels good, right? Go with it.

“And what are you wearing?” Tate pressed, interested in the picture he could conjure up in his head.

“A sheet is all that I’m wearing.”

Tate didn’t mean to, but as soon as the image was relayed and imprinted in his mind, his fingers curled around his cock and pulled roughly as he released a guttural sound and arched up hard into his palm.

“Hmm, that sounded fucking good.”

Logan’s rumble met his ear, somehow breaking through the red haze of lust currently swirling all around Tate.

“So, you like the idea of me lying here, naked and turned-on, touching myself while you’re talking to me?”

“Oh God.” Tate thrust his hips up again.

“Spit on your palm, Tate. Get it wet, do whatever you have to. Then, slide it back inside your boxers and touch yourself, just like I am.”

Tate lifted his palm, spit into his hand, and then without a second thought, he pulled the boxers away and watched his erection spring free, pointing guiltily toward him.

“Wrap your fingers around yourself, and when you do, I want to hear you.”

Feeling as though his heart was about to fly right out of his chest, Tate gripped his shaft. He couldn’t have held back the raw noise ripping from his throat even if Logan hadn’t told him he wanted to hear it.

“Yes,” Logan hissed.

Tate knew that he, too, was fisting his cock at the other end of the phone.

“Tell me how it feels,” Logan demanded bluntly.

The first word out of Tate’s mouth was, “Hard.”

“I fucking hope so.” Logan gave a strained laugh.

“Hot. It’s so hot in my palm—and throbbing. I don’t think I’ve ever been this fucking hard in my life.”

“Jesus, Tate,” Logan cursed. “What else? What do you look like?”

“You mean, my cock?”

“Yes. You cut, uncut? Veiny, long? Describe it to me.”

Well, that was something Tate had never done, but eager to keep Logan talking, and for him to continue feeling this way, Tate did as asked.

“Cut, and I’d say average size, lo—”

“Don’t be a pussy, Tate. Give me an approximate length.”

Tate laughed, barely, at Logan’s put-out tone.

“Okay. I’d guess approximately seven inches, maybe a little more.”

“Fuck, fuck—fuck.”

Liking the strain he’d heard behind each cursed word, Tate really started to work his length. Logan’s breathing became heavier in his ear, and suddenly, Tate couldn’t shut his damn mouth.

“It feels like I could fuck for hours, I’m so turned-on. I swear, every time you groan or curse in my ear, it makes me even harder, if that’s physically possible.”

Logan’s breath rushed out and into the phone, sliding through Tate’s ear, and he could have sworn it was like the man was lying in the bed beside him.

“It’s insane how slick my cock is,” Tate muttered absently as he spread pre-cum over the swollen head. “I’m so close to coming. I don’t think I can stop myself.”

Finally, Logan seemed to find his tongue. “Then, stop fucking teasing me and come. I’m about to, and I want to hear you when I do.”

As though Tate had been waiting for permission, he clamped his fist around his agitated shaft and listened to the huffed groan at the other end of the phone as though Logan had finally given himself permission, too.

Like two marathon runners sprinting toward the finish line, there was nothing but gasping breaths, grunts of mutual pleasure, and right when Tate thought he couldn’t feel any fucking better, he heard Logan shout out his name, and that was it. With a snap of his hips, Tate pushed up and moaned loudly as he came all over his taut stomach in a rush unlike any he’d felt for years.

Breathing harshly, Tate looked down at the sticky mess he’d made as everything came crashing in on him. He’d just had phone sex…with Logan…and he fucking loved it. His right hand was still holding the cell to his ear, and Tate could hear similar breathing to his own through the line.

“You alive?” Tate didn’t know what else to say. He had no idea what guys said to one another after this sort of shit.

“I think so. Holy shit, Tate.”

Tate didn’t know why, but the awe in those three words made him proud. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah.” After some movement on his end, Logan asked, “You?”

“Yeah.” That was as much as Tate could admit, and then he laughed. “Definitely, yes.”

“And? Feel better?”

Tate could hear the smug tone, but he decided to finally give the guy a break. “I feel fucking fantastic.”

The satisfied sound coming through the phone made Tate happy that he’d told the truth.

“Tate?” Logan asked of him.

“Yes?”

“It’s going to be even better in person.”

As Tate swallowed, he was aware, for the first time, of his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“It can’t be at the bar.”

Logan laughed loudly, and Tate actually looked around his empty room as though he’d been caught jerking off.

“Well, I wasn’t thinking of doing this at the bar. Kind of unhygienic.”

Tate wasn’t so sure. He knew Logan liked taking opportunities whenever he could get them, and Tate needed to be crystal clear that this, whatever this was going to be, needed to remain separate from work.

“Okay. Well, you need to leave me alone at work if you want me to—”

“To?” Logan urged.

“To try this—in person.”

This time, instead of the silence coming from Tate’s end, Logan seemed to be waiting for him.

“That is what you want, right?” Tate started to slightly panic, thinking that maybe he’d misread everything.

“Are you messing with me, Tate?” Logan demanded, voice serious, tone flat.

“No,” he answered and quickly added, “I don’t think so. I need to know what this is, whatever it is, and the only way I am going to do that is to do what you said, and try it out.”

“Wow.”

Tate felt his chest shake as a laugh came free. “I’ve shocked you?”

“You’ve almost killed me—twice tonight.”

Tate licked his lips. “I want to talk to you about this first though, somewhere private. I have questions and things I need to know before—”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. You just say when.”

Tate thought about it for a moment and decided he wanted some time to think this all through before he went ahead with it.

“How about Sunday night? I can be there by nine?”

There was a pause before Logan’s voice came through from the other end. “Okay. And until then?”

“Until then, let me think about this some more.”

“What if you change your mind?”

This time, Tate felt a genuine smile hit his lips as he told Logan sincerely, “I won’t change my mind about meeting up with you.”

“But maybe about the other?”

Tate couldn’t make any promises, so he decided to be candid. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. But Sunday works best for me.”

Logan let out a long sigh. “Okay. Sunday, it is.”

Just before Tate was about to say good night, he requested one last thing. “Oh, and Logan?”