Элла Франк - Try

He watched Tate’s mouth open slightly as he wiped his palms on his jeans.

“That was the plan, right? To talk about what happened the other night? Or have you changed your mind?”

 “I haven’t changed my mind.”

Those five words pretty much guaranteed Logan’s erection for the rest of the evening. “You haven’t?”

Logan tried for casual as he lifted his glass and sucked the alcohol back. Tate must have noticed because he heard the guy laugh.

“Nope, I haven’t,” he responded as if this was a normal conversation for him.

Logan leaned forward on the couch and slid the empty glass onto his coffee table. Remaining bent over, he rested his forearms on his knees and turned to face the calm—apparently, up until now—straight man sitting in his favorite seat.

“Why are you so relaxed all of a sudden?” Logan demanded before the obvious answer hit him. Of course, Tate is relaxed. He knows where this night is going to go. He has the advantage.

Tate knew what Logan wanted—well, maybe not exactly—but Tate knew his intentions. It was him who had no clue what was going on, and that was starting to make him act like a nervous shit, which he hated.

I’m never nervous, except with this guy.

“Trust me, I’m not relaxed. But why are you so tense?” Tate uncrossed his legs and sat forward on the couch, mirroring Logan’s position.

Okay, so maybe the guy isn’t as relaxed as I thought.

“Do you really want that answer?”

Tate lifted his face and locked purposeful eyes on him. “Yeah, I really do.”

With a pent-up sigh, Logan told him bluntly, “I’m tense because I don’t know what you want to happen.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “And I’m tense because of what I want to happen.”

He caught Tate adjusting his pose, to sit up straight.

“Do you mind if I take off my jacket?”

Logan let out a long-suffering grumble and sprawled back on his couch in frustration. “No, I don’t mind. Take off all your fucking clothes if it makes you more comfortable.”

Shutting his eyes, Logan told himself to be patient, and waited for Tate to talk. What he didn’t expect was to feel the couch beside him sink down.

He saw that Tate was now seated at the opposite end of the two-seater, facing him with his jean-clad leg bent up on the cushion, and his arm resting along the back in a short-sleeved red shirt. His fingers were only inches from Logan’s shoulder, and Logan wondered if he’d done that on purpose.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to strip just yet, but this is much more comfortable.”

Oh, fuck this. Logan turned on the couch, so he could stare Tate directly in the eye. If the guy wants to drive me crazy, fine. I can play that game, too.

“Tate? Start fucking talking before I decide to really shut you up.”

Tate regarded the man opposite him, and he knew that he wanted his mouth on Logan’s. Problem was he didn’t know how to go about it.

Do I just lean forward and grab him?

All of their personal encounters in the past had been brought on by anger and adrenaline. This time though, it was premeditated. Tate wanted to kiss him. He wanted to feel those lips under his, and as the thought settled, he leaned forward and slid his palm along the back of the couch.

When his fingers were in line with Logan’s shoulder, he asked in a voice he barely recognized as his own, “How would you shut me up?”

Logan didn’t move a muscle as he watched him intently. “You want me to tell you—or show you?”

Tate knew that answer. He’d thought about nothing else for days. “Show me.”

 Logan didn’t wait around for Tate to change his mind. He raised his hands to Tate’s face, letting the scratch of his stubble abrade his palms. Sliding his hand to the back of Tate’s head, he asked at the last moment, “Are you sure?”

That seemed to trigger something in Tate because the hand he had on the back of the couch moved onto Logan’s shoulder and squeezed right before Tate tugged him in that final inch.

This time, when their mouths met, there was no fury, no annoyance, but there sure as hell was one wicked, hot burn. Logan could feel the heat radiating from Tate’s skin as he touched his jaw with his fingertips.

When Tate’s lips parted beneath his own, Logan slid his tongue over them, tracing and testing their shape and size as the hand on his shoulder flexed, and there it was again—cinnamon and something else that blended and made it all…Tate.

With no more hesitation or subtlety, Logan pushed both hands into Tate’s hair and thrust his tongue between the other man’s lips. As if he couldn’t help himself, Tate groaned against the invasion and let go of Logan’s shoulder to clutch his waist, trying to pull him even closer.

Pushing up and onto his knee, Logan angled his body above Tate, whose neck tilted back. From the position Logan had put himself in, he gained such a deep slide into Tate’s mouth that he thought it would be a miracle if he ever decided to leave. As he continued to devour the lips moving under his, Logan wished like hell he were naked because this kiss was about to blow his fucking mind.

Rubbing their tongues together and imagining their cocks doing the same, Logan took from Tate every breath and sigh he could get, and he was finally relieved not to hold back. It was the most sexually driven mating of the mouths Logan had ever been a part of, and his brain needed to get a handle on itself and stop listening solely to his dick.

Tearing his mouth away, Logan wrapped the curls around his fingers and looked down at eyes that were heavy with lust and staring up at him.

“You taste like cinnamon. Why?”

Tate’s breathing was coming hard, and his fingers were flexing into Logan’s side as he answered, “Gum.”

“Gum?”

“Yep, Big Red.”

“You just like the taste?”

Tate licked his top lip, making Logan want to followed that tongue back in to his mouth.

“Something like that.”

“Hmm, we’ll come back to that. Any questions so far?” He hovered above Tate, ready for round two.

Tate blinked once. “Why’d you stop?”

Logan felt like he was close to attacking, so he closed his eyes for a second, blocking out the man below him as he tried to remind himself to breathe.

“You okay?” he heard Tate ask around what sounded like a swallow of air.

The laugh that came from him was strained. “Yes, I keep telling myself that you’ve never done this, and I need to slow down.”

As the final word left his mouth, Tate’s hand moved across his lower back.

“It’s funny you know, I expected you to be different.”

Logan’s brain was trying to stay with the program at hand—initiate the new guy. But come the hell on. What am I supposed to do when the new guy keeps changing all the fucking rules?

“What do you mean, you expected me to be different?” He released Tate’s hair, and reluctantly sat back on the couch.

Tate removed his hands from Logan’s waist and ran a palm up over his face. “Nothing bad. I just expected you to be more…”

“More?” Logan pushed.

Tate looked away then. It seemed his nerves had finally caught up with him.

He shrugged. “More forceful. Less willing to stop.”

Logan raised a brow and took Tate’s chin between his fingers, pulling his face back, so he was looking right at him. “I was trying to let you talk. You told me you wanted to. You had questions, remember?”

Tate’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out as his eyes clouded over, and he once again let them focus on Logan’s lips.

“But I don’t think you want to talk anymore, do you? You want to do exactly what I want to do,” Logan taunted as he leaned over, and an inch from Tate’s lips, he suggested, “You want to fuck.”

As their eyes connected, Logan slipped his tongue out and touched Tate’s upper lip. “Don’t you?”

Tate could feel every single pulse in his engorged cock as Logan’s tongue teased and tormented his mouth. As he listened to the suggestive words coming from Logan’s lips, all Tate wanted was to ease the ache between his own legs. If that meant fucking Logan, then maybe that was what needed to happen.

But damn, am I ready for all of that?

Before Tate could respond to the question hanging between them, Logan palmed his chest and pushed him back into the corner of the couch. When his back met with the soft leather, a strong thigh slid between his legs, and Tate groaned from the relief of finally having something hard to press against.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Logan encouraged, placing a hand on the back of the couch and the other on the armrest behind Tate’s head. Using them as an anchor, Logan rolled his hips downward and proved just how forceful he could be.

Tate’s head was resting against the couch as Logan looked down between them while he thrust his hips, over and over, creating a heated friction that had Tate’s mind spinning out of his head. The sexual hunger on Logan’s face as he watched their clothed bodies connecting made Tate wonder just how combustible things would be when their clothes finally came off.

Feeling the need to touch, now more than ever, Tate grabbed a hold of Logan’s hips and pulled the man down against him with much more force than he’d intended. The delicious pressure of having Logan’s shaft grind against his own was too much to forgo, so Tate arched up, anxiously meeting the steady rub Logan was giving with every single punch of his hips.