“Now. Do I have your attention, Tate?” Logan rumbled against his right ear.

“Let me go,” Tate demanded through a lump that had formed in his throat.

Logan punched his length against the crack of his ass, covered by the denim of his jeans.

“But you were the one who wanted me to pick a side,” he reminded. “I pick this side for now. Fuck-me hair, broad shoulders, your hand trapped in mine with your ass cradling my cock.”

Tate’s body vibrated, and he hated the fact that he was really turned-on while being held prisoner against a fucking wall. “Yeah, for now, and only because you haven’t had me. It’s all about the thrill of the chase for you. Don’t act like this is more than that.”

Tate paused as Logan’s free hand slid around his waist and moved down to his front zipper. Tate bucked his hips back, trying to get away, but only succeeded in getting his ass massaged by Logan’s unyielding body.

“You’ll get exactly what you want from me, then you’ll be done, and I’ll be stuck on my own, trying to decide what on earth I just let happen.”

* * *

Logan could feel Tate’s entire body shaking against his, and he wasn’t sure if it was from lust or from the words the man had just spoken and was finally letting sink in. Tate was obviously conflicted by what he was feeling, yet he was still here, he’d still come to see him.

“Tate. I swear, I didn’t say anything to Cole,” Logan promised against the shell of his ear.

“But he knows, doesn’t he? He knows something is going on?”

Logan allowed his hand to fondle the bulge he could feel behind Tate’s jeans, and when Tate sighed and moved his hips against his palm, Logan felt his temperature spike.

“He’s a smart guy, and he knows me.” Logan admitted.

“So, in other words, he knows you get whoever you want between the sheets before you just throw them away.”

“God, you’re fucking mean when you want to be.”

“I’m telling the truth. Are you?” Tate finally turned his head back to look Logan right in the eye.

Instead of answering, because he didn’t know what to say, Logan took Tate’s talkative mouth with his own and pushed his tongue inside. Pushing forward, he wedged his stiff cock against the jeans covering Tate’s firm ass and trapped his own hand against the wall.

“Oh fuck,” Tate cursed as he tore his mouth free. “Touch me. No…no…don’t. Christ, I don’t know, Logan. I don’t fucking know what I want!”

Logan massaged his hand up the zipper to the button of Tate’s jeans. “Yes, you do,” he challenged gently, trying to calm the man pressed back against him, as he undid the button and slowly pulled the zipper down. “You still don’t get it, do you, Tate? I’m not looking anywhere but at you.”

Dipping his hand between the denim he’d parted, Logan thought he would feel cotton, but as his fingers brushed over wiry hair, he groaned out loud. “Commando? You came to see me fucking commando?”

Tate’s hard stare locked with his as Logan’s hand dug into the jeans. He watched Tate’s mouth part and a shaky breath leave him, as Logan’s fingers grazed the plump, wet head of the cock trapped inside the material. Unable to help himself, Logan ground against Tate and slid his hand farther inside, so he could wrap his fingers around Tate’s iron-hard erection.

Tate powered back against him. “No, stop. Not in here, not at your office.”

Logan’s hand and hips stilled as he looked at the eyes now staring at him. They were full of desire, frustration, and once again, that annoying fucking emotion—confusion.

“Stop thinking so much. Tell me, what do you want?” Logan held his breath as he waited for Tate’s frank response.

“You. Everything else aside, I still want you.”

Removing his hand from Tate’s jeans, Logan also released the arm he had been holding at Tate’s back, and as Tate turned to face him, Logan cradled his face with his hands and pressed his mouth to his, kissing him fervently.

When he felt Tate’s hands on his waist, Logan moaned and angled his head to stroke his tongue against the other man’s in a kiss that bordered sweet as much as it did hot. As Logan felt his control and desire to stop climbing, he pulled back.

Still holding Tate’s face, he told him, “Then, go with that. Forget everything else and see where that leads you.”

With Tate’s anger seemingly kissed out of him, his lips curved slowly into a half-smile.  “It led me here, to your office, and right into a hell of a lot of trouble.”

“And that’s exactly why you should follow where it leads.”

Logan dropped his hands from Tate’s face and took a step back. As he did, his vision trailed down to the parted denim, and he shook his head.

“Zip up, Commando, or I’m about to find out real quick how bad this hardwood would be on my knees.”

“So, lunch?” Tate queried, zipping his jeans.

“If we go to lunch, I won’t be coming back to the office.”

“Okay…”

“Dinner?” Logan suggested.

Tate seemed stumped. “Actual dinner? As in, food? Because I was under the impression I’d eat when I got here.”

Logan walked around his desk and took a seat. Sitting back in his chair, he pressed a hand against the erection that was still apparent but was finally starting to behave. He then reached up to take off his glasses before he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Actual dinner. Tell me where to meet.”

Tate thought about where they could go, and walked over to stand in front of the desk. “O’Malley’s?”

“The pub?”

“Yeah, the pub. Sound okay to you?”

Logan nodded and put his glasses back on. “What time?”

Tate shrugged as he offered, “Eight?”

“Make it nine, so I can get home and shower.”

As the word left his mouth, he saw Tate’s eyes darken and knew he was recollecting the last time they had been together in his bathroom.

“Okay,” Tate agreed as he walked backward, still focused on where Logan was sitting in his chair.

Tate bent down, picked up his helmet, and then tilted his head to the side before shaking it.

The expression made Logan curious, so he had to ask, “What?”

“You look sexy, sitting there all professional, in your suit and glasses behind that desk.”

Well, I fucking asked for it. Tate’s lack of subterfuge will eventually get me into a shit-ton of trouble, Logan thought as Commando turned and left his office.

Chapter Fourteen

Logan got there first, which he hadn’t expected, although he probably should have based off his previous meetings with Tate. The guy was always running around five minutes late. Making his way into the pub, Logan was happy to see that not too many people were about. Monday night wasn’t exactly the busiest night of the week.

Logan had opted to go casual, wearing some comfortable jeans and a white button-down shirt. He’d brought a jacket with him, but really, it wasn’t even cool tonight. Taking a booth against the wall, he made sure to slide into the side facing the door, and he sat, waiting.

He was waiting on a date. Hell, when did that happen? When I met Tate, he thought with an ironic shake of his head.

Usually, by now, Logan would have chased, caught, and released. But with Tate, he was still chasing, and who knew if he’d ever catch him. The guy was constantly dodging him, like a startled animal. One minute, Tate was paralyzed, and the next, he was running for his life. But there were those couple of occasions when Logan had caught him, and—damn, if the man wasn’t worth the time—he was delicious.

Just as the thought entered his mind, the pub door opened, and Tate stepped through the entryway. Logan’s body went on high alert as he watched the object of his attention scan the dim space. He supposed he could stand and wave him over, but—well, he didn’t. Logan was too busy enjoying his unfettered view.