Logan wasn’t standing idle either. The leg between Tate’s thighs moved higher, and as he felt the added pressure to his aching balls, Tate brought his free hand up to Logan’s face. When the hair scratched under his palm, Tate’s craving for the man tripled as he was reminded of exactly whom he was kissing.

Taking his hand from Logan’s ass, Tate quickly slipped it between them and pressed his palm against the front of Logan’s jeans. Curling his fingers around the erection he could feel, Tate began to massage the rigid length.

“Yes,” Logan sighed against his lips. “That left hand is such a turn-on, who knew.”

Tate chuckled and then took a moment to bite Logan’s lip as he dared to ask, “Want to come home with me?”

Logan chased his mouth with his tongue as Tate teased and pulled his head back, all the while continuing to squeeze and stroke him.

“You fucking flirt,” Logan accused.

“You love it.”

Tate felt and heard the struggle in Logan as his breath caught, and his hips continued to move against Tate’s hand.

“So, we’re really going to try this, huh?” he asked.

Tate focused and confirmed, “I think so. That means you don’t give this”—for emphasis, he stroked the bulge in Logan’s jeans—“to anyone else.”

Abruptly, Tate found his hand brought up and trapped by his head against the bricks with Logan pressed flush against him. Tate always forgot how strong the guy was until he pulled shit like this.

“So, that means I get to give it to you?”

Tate’s heart thundered as he thought of the implications behind that one question and what it meant to him.

“For the most part,” he agreed, hoping that was enough for the moment.

As Logan watched him closely, Tate felt his nerves trickling back in. “I want you in my bed, the same bed I lie in at night, thinking about you, but I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.”

“Then, what are you ready for?”

“I’m ready to admit that I’m extremely attracted to you and that I can’t stop thinking about the way you looked lying in your bed, naked and hard—so damn hard.”

“Fuck me, Tate,” Logan cursed.

Tate picked up the words and answered on a raspy promise, “That, too. I want to do that, too.”

Tate carefully observed Logan as his brow furrowed and he released him. Thinking he’d said something wrong, Tate remained silent and waited.

“What’s your address?”

“Huh?” was Tate’s brilliant response.

“Your address? I need it to find your place.”

“No, you don’t,” Tate told him. “You’re gonna come with me.”

“And how am I going to do that?”

“I’ll drive us home.”

“On your bike?”

Tate rolled his eyes. “No, on my magic carpet.”

“I’m not getting on the back of your bike, like some chick.”

Tate shrugged and pushed Logan away as he turned and started to walk down the alley toward the parking lot.

“So, you’d give up the chance to be pressed up against my ass the whole way home?” he called out and started to laugh when he heard footsteps behind him.

Logan muttered, “Ah, hell.”

* * *

Logan stood in front of the shiny, black motorcycle Tate stopped beside.

He shook his head. “No way.”

He watched cautiously as Tate moved to the back of the bike and removed his red helmet and then—yeah, just fucking perfect—a black one.

“What?” he asked Logan as if he didn’t see the problem.

“The seat on that thing is tiny. I’ll just take a taxi.”

Tate walked back to him and thrust the black helmet against his stomach.

“Suck it up, Logan, and put the damn helmet on.”

Logan glared at Tate as he put his jacket on and then pulled the red helmet down over his head. As he flipped the visor up, Logan arched a brow and looked at the black one in his hand.

“How far is your place?”

“About ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes is long enough for me to fall off and lose an arm or leg.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

Grumbling to himself, his eyes followed Tate as he moved back to the bike, swung his jean-clad leg over the seat, and straddled the wicked-looking piece of machinery.

Finally relenting, knowing that nothing would keep him from getting up close and personal with the man currently sitting with his hands resting on his thighs, Logan shoved the stupid helmet on his head and moved over to the bike.

“If I die, I just want you to know that you have never looked hotter than you do right now, and that is the only reason I’m about to risk my life.”

Tate raised a hand, and before he shut the visor, he promised, “I’ll look even hotter in fifteen minutes when I’m naked. So, quit bitching, and get on the bike, Logan.”

“Fuck you,” he responded, climbing onto the back of the bike and clutching the leather waist in front of him.

Tate turned over the ignition, and the bike rumbled to life. His thighs brushed up against Tate’s, and as he slid farther down on the seat, his cock nestled up against the man bending over in front of him.

Huh, this might not be so bad after all.

That was, until Tate put his foot on the gas, and the bike actually moved.

* * *

 Ten minutes later, and they were at their destination. Tate pulled into the parking garage, shut off the engine, and felt Logan’s hands move to his thighs and then in between.

“You can get off now,” Tate informed as he lifted his hands to remove his helmet.

He heard a muffled sound and turned toward his handsy passenger. Reaching out, he pushed the visor up on Logan’s headgear.

“What was that?” he asked.

Logan’s right hand found his groin, and he repeated his words from a moment before. “That’s what I’m trying to do—get off.”

Choosing to ignore him the best he could, Tate asked, “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Logan hummed a little in his throat. “This is the best part.”

“Get off the bike, Logan, so we can go upstairs.”

Apparently, Tate didn’t need to tell him twice. Logan released him and moved back to swing his long leg up and over the seat. Once he was off, he removed his helmet, and Tate’s mouth twitched at the usually perfect hair that was now a mess on top of his head. Tate followed Logan’s move, removing his headgear, and once the bike was secured, he ran a hand through his own hair and noticed Logan doing the same as they made their way over to the elevator.

When it opened and they stepped inside, Logan looked at him from where he was standing. “So…”

“So…” Tate returned.

“I started seeing someone tonight. Did you know that?” Logan quipped.

“I didn’t think you were into that kind of thing.”

Logan winked. Tate’s cock throbbed. “Oh, I can’t wait to be into this…I think this guy’s different.”

* * *

Logan knew he didn’t need to say those words to get what he wanted, but it was imperative to him that Tate knew.

“And why is he different?”

Good fucking question. It was one Logan didn’t know the answer to yet.

“I don’t know, but I’m looking forward to finding out.”

He was about to move forward and kiss Tate just as the elevator stopped and opened.

“This is my floor,” Tate told him as he moved out ahead.

Logan followed, quiet and patient, as the man in front of him opened the door to his apartment. Logan turned, shutting them in from the outside world, and when he rounded back to face Tate, he was on him before Logan could blink.

Caught completely off guard, he was easily pushed back against the door as Tate put his entire weight behind the palms planted firmly on Logan’s chest. Immediately, their mouths connected in a molten kiss, and Logan groaned as Tate’s hand moved straight down between them to his more than interested cock.

Logan’s head hit the door, and Tate released his mouth as he began undoing the buttons on Logan’s shirt.