Ella Frank - Take

Tate: You don’t want to see me?

The text was innocent enough, but the tease was underlying. He knew Tate, and Logan could sense the way he was leading them, building them towards more than a casual texting session. I do.

Tate: Then come see me.

Groaning, Logan reached down under the sheet to press a palm against his morning erection. If I do, I’ll touch you.

He could almost see Tate’s grin when he read the next question.

Tate: And you don’t want that?

He shook his head. Of course I WANT that.

Tate: But?

But…I don’t think so. Not yet.

He was battling the desire to take his time and move slow against walking down the hall, opening the guest bedroom door, and pounding Tate into the mattress.

Then, frustrated, he typed out: You really fucking scared me last week. I thought that was it. That you were done with me.

Logan read his message and felt the fear from the last few days creep back inside. The pain of having everything he wanted ripped away had opened his eyes in ways he’d never expected.

At first, he’d been furious, but it was after the anger seeped out that the empty sadness had found him. When he’d really thought he’d lost him.

Tate: I know…I’m sorry.

And Logan knew that he was. Logically, he was aware that Tate had needed time. But to go from having him available and within talking and touching distance to nothing…Well, it was a reality he never wanted to experience again.

I know.

Fuck. This was not like him. He wasn’t the kind to hold a grudge, and he certainly didn’t believe in that bullshit of withholding sex. But right now, he needed to make sure that his heart was strong enough for whatever was ahead of them.

Because his heart was now one hundred percent involved.

Tate: Logan?

Yeah?

He waited for whatever Tate was going to write, but instead of words, an image loaded on his phone that made him ache with longing.

There, staring back at him, was Tate.

The curve of his lips was subtle but definitely there.

Total sex face.

His brown curls were visible against the cream pillow, and the photo caught a glimpse of the top of his chest with all of that delicious honeyed skin. He’d sent it with the caption: Wish you were right here, lying beside me.

Fucking hell. So do I.

God, Tate. You’re fucking gorgeous.

He took another look at the photo and found himself stroking his cock.

Damn, I can’t stop looking,he typed, his hand moving faster.

The morning shadow lining Tate’s cheeks made Logan want to lick and bite his way up his jaw, and as he imagined just that, another message flashed up.

Tate: Just looking? Or…

Definitely or…

Logan knew nothing would stop this from going below his waist now. He was already there.

Tate: So you still want to...

Be with you? Yes. Don’t doubt it, Tate. My head may be thinking things over but my cock is sure of what it wants, and you’re it.

Yeah, his heart had said its piece this morning. Now it was his cock’s turn.

Tate’s hard-on knew whom it wanted too, and even rooms away, Logan still had him ready to go.

When his phone chimed earlier, he’d hoped it was Logan, and after pulling some hard truths from his moody lodger, Tate was determined to see if Logan was closed off to his reaching out with the need to…be needed again.

What he really wanted was to touch Logan, to show him that he cared, but for now, this would work—if Logan was open to a bit of play.

With his phone in one hand and the other down between his legs, Tate remembered the first time they’d done this. He’d been so unsure that night, but by the end of it, had the best orgasm he’d had in months.

He was not unsure this morning, and he was going to chase after that amazing release. The one he knew was right there, in Logan’s hands. He was the only one who could give it to him.

He imagined Logan naked and hard, ready for him, and text back: That’s one hot visual.

Logan: Is it?

Jesus, yes it is. He pushed his hips up into his palm. He wasn’t about to play coy now. The teasing was done, and he wanted Logan to take him there as only he could.

Yes. When you’re turned on, nothing compares. Everyone should be so lucky to see. But I don’t share, so they can fuck off.He hit send, and then, quicker than he thought his fingers could type, he followed up with: You’re even sexy when you hate me.

Not two seconds after the message was sent, his phone began ringing. Tate pressed answer and brought it to his ear.

“Hey.”

“I could never hate you.” Logan’s deep voice filtered through the phone and sent a shiver of desire straight down his spine. “I missed you so much last week. I was a fucking mess.”

Tate winced at the thought of causing Logan pain. He needed him to know that it hadn’t been easy for him either.

“I had to delete your number just so I wouldn’t call.”

He heard a muffled, “Fuck,” at the other end of the phone.

Then Tate admitted in a low voice, “I hated not talking to you. Not seeing you. And I’ve discovered I need to be touched by you—daily.”

The groan that reverberated through the phone sounded anguished, part pleasure and part pain. He knew Logan had been worried that he’d changed his mind about them, but it was time to reiterate what the separation had meant to him.

“I needed to know that if I was doing this, it was my choice. I didn’t want to resent you later.”

The soft huffs of Logan’s breath were all that could be heard, and they had Tate eagerly touching himself, knowing that Logan was probably doing the same.

“And?” Logan asked.

Tate felt his mouth curl into a grin. He had him.

“And…this is definitely my choice. You might have done the chasing in the beginning, but Logan…”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never been happier than when you caught me.”

Tate heard nothing, and then Logan ordered, “Get rid of the covers.”

“Okay,” Tate managed, loving the weight of that command. “Hang on,” he murmured, placing the phone down to push the covers to his feet. He moved to the center of the bed and picked the phone back up. “Okay. Done.”

“Prove it,” Logan demanded roughly.

Tate looked at his white boxer briefs and clearly visible erection. He brought the phone away from his ear and angled it down his body, taking a shot that would rival a dirty magazine.

He couldn’t wait for the reaction to—

“Fucking hell , Tate,” Logan rasped through the phone.

Tate shoved his hand into his briefs and gripped the base of his cock to begin slow, torturous pulls of his shaft. “What about you? Let me guess. You’re naked, right?”

Logan’s heavy breathing was so familiar Tate imagined him hovering above him, right by his ear.

“Yes. Hate wearing shit to bed. Gets in my way.”

“I wanna see,” Tate pleaded as he bent his legs and arched up into his hand, continuing to jerk off.

His heart raced as Logan told him to give him a second. Then his phone lit up and there on the screen was a view of Logan from the chest down, his treasure trail clearly pointing the way to the very plump and shiny head of his cock.

“ Ahh , Logan. God, I want you,” he moaned, bringing the phone back to his ear. He dipped his hand down to cup his balls and squeezed. Fuck , he wanted to come.