Tate shut his eyes and leaned back against Logan as his arms wrapped around his waist and he lowered a hand down to palm his rapidly growing erection.

“Train me, huh? And exactly how long would this…training take?”

He heard his front door shut and knew that Logan had to have kicked it closed. Then warm lips were pressing kisses down the side of his neck.

“I don’t know. A long time. But I don’t want to wait outside your apartment every night for the rest of my life.”

Tate angled his head to lock eyes with Logan. But before he could say anything in response, Logan squeezed his fingers around his hard-on, causing him to drop his helmet to the floor.

“God, Logan.”

“Hmm. I might be persuaded to wait around for that sound. I used to dream about you groaning my name. It’s so fucking hot. Like I’m already inside you. Do you want that? Me inside you? Right here? Right now?”

Tate tried to concentrate on what he was being asked, but Logan’s voice was close to hypnotic as he continued massaging him through his dress pants.

“Yes,” he managed, and then he brought one of his own hands down to push Logan’s harder against himself. “I want that.”

He could feel Logan’s arousal against his ass as his other hand came around to the buckle of his belt.

“So do I. In fact, I think we should see what it would be like if you came home to me every night. I’d take good care of you. Especially when you’re tired and worn out.”

Tate closed his eyes against the persuasive suggestion and reminded himself that he had good reasons for declining Logan’s initial invitation—even though, for the life of him, he couldn’t think of any right now.

Logan kissed and sucked his way down to the collar of his work shirt, his cologne filling Tate’s nose and clouding his senses as his black hair tickled his cheek.

“Well…what do you say?”

There was nothing he wanted more than to say yes, but… “I could always give you a key.”

Logan lifted his head and flicked his tongue over Tate’s lobe. “You could, or…”

“Or?”

“Or you could just move in with me.”

Tate knew he was in deep shit. When Logan wanted something, he was relentless until he either got it or knew the reason why he was being denied. He’d been in that particular scenario with him when they’d first met. Logan had been hell-bent on getting him in his bed, and nothing had stopped him from going after what he wanted. Not even the words I’m straight had been a deterrent.

Now look at us, Tate thought as the button on his pants was undone and his zipper pulled down. He was finding it more and more difficult to keep track of the conversation as Logan slid his hand into his boxers, all the while making promises that sounded really fucking amazing.

“My bed every night. Waking up together every morning. No late-night trips. No more ‘when will you be by’ texts. Just us. Together. Always.”

But as his words ran over and over in Tate’s mind, he kept tripping over the same two.

“My bed. My bed.” It’s Logan’s bed. Not mine.

“Logan,” he said as warm fingers finally wrapped around his naked cock.

“Hmm?”

“I can’t.”

Logan’s body tensed behind him, but his hand didn’t stop what it was doing as he asked, “Why?”

Tate was close to begging him to either stop or finish him off, but—

“Why, Tate?”

Jesus, what’s my reason again? He clenched his teeth together, biting back a curse of pleasure. “I… Damn, Logan. I can’t fucking think when you’re doing that.”

He heard a strangled groan of frustration come from behind him, and then strong fingers twisted in his hair and pulled his head to the side. Logan’s tongue traced a line up his neck to his ear.

“You sexy, stubborn man.”

Tate remained silent as Logan walked them down the hall to his bedroom, and when they stopped and a light switched on, Logan told him, “Don’t move a muscle.”

Logan fucking loved it when Tate got like this. When he obeyed without question. It was a pretty good indicator that he’d let all other thoughts go and was just in the moment.

He’d been impatient all day to meet up with Tate, wanting to talk to him about what Cole had said. But as usual, the minute he’d seen him, he had wanted nothing more than to get close and remind himself that what they had—though it was progressing at record pace—was very real.

He hadn’t been lying last night, and ever since he’d admitted to himself that he wanted Tate in his home, to share it with him, he’d wondered if Tate felt the same—or if he ever would. Walking around to stand in front of him, Logan ran his eyes over Tate, and fuck, he was thankful he was his.

Oh yeah. This man with the soft curls, unfastened pants, and fuck-me-now eyes. He is all mine…even if he is being a pigheaded ass at the moment.

He reached out and fingered the tie knotted at the base of Tate’s throat before pulling it out from behind the vest. As the narrow strip of material came free, Logan wound it around his hand, tugging on it until Tate’s mouth was only an inch from his own, and raised an eyebrow.

“I want to fuck you while you’re wearing this.”

Tate’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Apparently, Tate was as excited by the idea as he was.

“My tie?”

Logan released the material and stroked his palm down the vest covering Tate’s chest, and then he wrapped his fingers around his rigid length and started to give him a slow hand job.

“No. This uniform,” he said as he kissed the stubble on Tate’s jaw. “I want you on your hands and knees with these pants down just enough to see your perfect ass.”

“Fuck, Logan.”

“And your shirt and this vest? I want you to keep them on also. I want to feel them against my skin as I sink inside you.”

Logan released his hold on him before he took the tie again. Pulling on it, he brought Tate’s head forward so he could crush their mouths together in a demanding kiss, and when Tate’s lips parted, Logan slid his tongue inside to taste the pliant man swaying toward him.

As a moan ripped from the back of Tate’s throat, Logan pulled away and spun him around to whisper in his ear, “Get on the bed, Tate.”

He silently watched as Tate kicked his shoes off, went to his nightstand to grab a bottle of lube and a condom, and climbed on his bed exactly as requested. Without question, he dropped them both by his leg and positioned himself on his hands and knees, waiting.

Logan stood at the foot of the mattress and took in the picture Tate made, all the while thanking God that he had permission to touch what he was seeing. Because there is no fucking way I’d have the willpower to leave.

“You look un-fucking-real,” he murmured, reaching for his belt.

As he unfastened it, the metal sound of the buckle had Tate looking over his shoulder at him with fevered eyes. Logan gave him a shameless smirk and slowly pulled the belt from the loops of his jeans before dropping it on the floor. After removing his sweater and tossing it aside, he kicked his shoes off and stood in only his jeans and socks.

Tate’s eyes ran all over him, his skin heating as they went, and when he licked his lower lip as though he couldn’t wait for whatever he was about to get, Logan felt his cock pound behind his zipper.

Fucking hell, the guy is gonna make me come before I even get close enough to touch him.

Tate must have noticed the effect his perusal was having, because his eyes lowered to the more-than-obvious bulge in his pants, and he watched with a ravenous expression as Logan unbuttoned and unzipped.

He pushed his jeans and boxers to the floor and took his socks off to stand naked. He then placed a knee on the end of the bed and asked, “You ready for this, Tate?”