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You’re all mine, he thought as he dragged his tongue over the underside of Logan’s cock. As a guttural curse left him, Tate didn’t play around. He circled the base and then sucked the tip of him between his lips.

“You’re so fucking dirty,” Logan rasped and fucked his hips forward.

Tate swallowed him into his mouth and raised his eyes to see him staring down at him.

“On your knees. On the ground. Jesus, you look so fucking depraved right now.”

He felt depraved kneeling there at Logan’s feet. But he also felt full of adrenaline. This amazing man he had his mouth around, the same one using him in a deliciously carnal way, was his. Mine, damn it.

As that thought flashed through his mind, he closed his eyes and tongued the slit of Logan’s cock, and when the sound of a car roared to life, Logan’s fingers twisted in his hair—the chance of discovery ramping up the sexual high. This was not going to take long at all.

“Tate...fuck, fuck,” Logan panted as he really started to go at him, shoving his cock in and out of his mouth over and over, making his jaw ache in the most satisfying way. “Yeah, that’s it… So good. You’re so fucking good,” he praised, and as he drove his hips forward, causing Tate to cough, Logan growled.

Tate greedily took him back between his lips and tasted the salty explosion of Logan’s desire as his name echoed off the concrete walls surrounding them, and Logan came all over his tongue and down his throat.

When Logan managed to find the strength to open his eyes, he saw Tate getting to his feet with a wicked-as-fuck smile on his gorgeous face. Then he reached down to put himself back inside his pants.

“Still mad?” Tate had the audacity to ask.

He zipped his pants and pushed off the pillar behind him. “I was mad?”

Tate reached for his hand. “You were.”

As they started to walk through the parking garage to his car, he said, “Funny, I don’t remember that.”

“No?”

He unlocked the car and opened Tate’s door, shaking his head. Tate stepped forward, about to get inside when Logan said his name.

“Yeah?”

He took the back of his neck and pulled him forward to attack that dirty fucking mouth. After he tasted himself on Tate’s tongue, Logan lifted his lips away and whispered, “You’re mine too. Now, get in the car so I can take you home and make my point.”

Chapter Thirty

Three weeks after their initial visit with Daniel Finley, they were finally making headway on the case. With Tate’s physical therapy sessions having wrapped up, they were now able to file for the full amount they were seeking for damages, and Logan hoped like hell they could settle out of court.

As much as he hated to admit it, Finley was damn good at his job. He was a shark—a relentless one. But then again, in his business, he needed to be. After several meetings with him and Tate, Logan had decided to let the guy do his thing. He’d respected their boundaries since the day Tate had set them, and if he could get Tate what he deserved, then who was he to stand in the way?

He’d just grabbed a cup of coffee and was sitting down with the newspaper when Tate strolled out of their bedroom in his loose, grey sweats, scratching a hand across his lower abdomen. When he passed by behind him, he put his hands on his shoulders, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Good morning.”

As he continued into the kitchen, Logan turned his head to watch him. “Morning.”

Tate poured himself a cup of coffee and then moved to grab the hazelnut creamer that now sat in the door of Logan’s fridge. Logan felt a smile cross his face, and Tate must’ve caught it, because he asked, “What’s that about?”

“What?”

“The grin.”

Logan closed the paper and put it down as he eyed the bottle. “I was just thinking how nice it is that things have changed around here.”

Tate put the creamer back in the fridge. Then, after picking his cup up to take a sip, he took the seat opposite his. “Were you?”

“Yep. I sure was.” Logan ran his eyes over the smooth skin of Tate’s chest and down his ribs until they landed on the scar on his right side. “I’m glad I had a chance to see them change.”

When he raised his eyes, Tate lowered his mug to the table and winked at him. “So am I.”

Logan opened the paper back up and glanced down at what he’d been reading. The real estate section had caught his attention just before Tate had wandered out, and when he looked back to the listing, he saw the address and folded it over.

“Hey? This address… Isn’t it the same street where the accident happened?” He slid the paper across the table to Tate, and as he reached for it, Logan took a sip of his coffee, watching him carefully.

Tate picked up the paper and read over the article. “Yeah. That’s the place Rachel and I looked at that day.”

Logan said nothing as a reflective kind of silence settled around them, and when Tate sat forward and put his arms on the table, he waited for whatever he would say.

He hadn’t pushed Tate about the bar since they’d last discussed it weeks ago, but when he’d gone back to work at After Hours, Logan thought that it was a shame he seemed to have pushed his dream aside…yet again.

“It’s funny, you showing me this today.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

Tate’s mouth curved as he raised the mug to his lips and took another sip. “You’re trying so hard not to demand an answer from me right now, aren’t you?”

Logan tried for his most affronted look, but he knew he hadn’t pulled it off when Tate chuckled. “I can be patient.”

“I don’t know. It’s not your finest quality.”

Logan crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Tate, waiting for him to continue.

“Well, tonight…” he said, pausing as he thought over his next words.

“You’re an asshole,” Logan grumbled. “Spit it out, would you?”

“You know, you’re right. You are so patient,” Tate teased, a wide smile flashing across his lips. “Tonight is my last night at After Hours. If that’s still okay with you.”

Logan hadn’t been expecting that—not at all. Sitting forward, he tilted his head to the side and heard himself ask, “Are you serious?”

Tate nodded. “But only if it’s something you’re still comfortable with.”

Logan stood and walked around the table to rest his ass against it. “I know there’s more. You’d never just leave your job to do nothing. So start talking, William.”

Tate looked up at him and ran his fingers through his hair. “How do you know that?”

Logan placed a hand on the back of Tate’s chair and gave him a lingering kiss. “Because I know you. You’d never be happy sitting around here. You’re honorable, hardworking, and stubborn as hell. And by your own admission, you’ve worked two jobs most of your life with a single goal in mind.” He kissed him again and then lifted his head. “They’re also some of the many reasons why I love you.”

Tate raised his hands to cradle Logan’s face, and as he deepened the kiss, he stood up between his legs. He nipped at Logan’s lower lip and then whispered, “I want to take you there.”

Logan smiled, and then he joked, “You took me there when I woke earlier. You should eat breakfast, restore your strength first.”

Tate rolled his eyes and pointed to the paper by Logan’s hip, indicating the advertisement for the restaurant and loft. “There. I want to show you this place.”

Logan looked down at the paper, and then he backed away holding up his finger as if to say, One sec. He disappeared into their bedroom and, after several seconds, came back out with something in his hands.