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Take (Temptation Series)(7)

By:Ella Frank

With a shit-eating grin, Cole announced, "Game night."

"Game night? Should we wear pajamas and braid each other's hair too?"         



Cole started chuckling and pointed out, "You could probably braid Tate's."

"I don't do game night."

"Oh, come on. How bad could it be?"

Logan leaned forward in his chair. "I don't know since I've never had  the desire to host one or go to one. Which begs the question, if you  don't think it will be that bad, why are you so insistent we come?"

Cole ran his palm down his tie. "I promised Rachel I would ask you both.  I knew you wouldn't be interested, but she asked, and she's pregnant  and … "

Cheap shot, bastard. "She really asked?"

Cole nodded. "She thought it would be good for Tate after everything that happened."

Logan pushed back from the table and stood, hating that he now felt  guilty and was giving in. "I'll check these in my office. Call your wife  and tell her I'll ask him. What night?"


Grumbling, Logan moved toward the door and opened it. "Okay. I'll ask,  but I promise nothing. Oh, by the way, what happened with Miss Cline?"

Cole shrugged. "She took her case elsewhere. Tate should find out in the mail sometime soon. Unless you feel like telling him."

Fuck. As if their lives weren't complicated enough … Let's throw in an ex-fucking-wife, a real bitch of one at that.

"Yeah, I'll let him know."

"And don't forget-"

"I know, I know. Game night."

Cole shook his head. "No. Don't forget to ask him about the function. He may just surprise you."

Logan opened the door, thinking about the time Tate had pulled away from  him in the coffee shop. That had been a mild rejection compared to the  kind of sting he'd feel from a "No, I don't want to be your date in  public"-and he wasn't quite sure he was ready for that.


Logan was out of the office and on his way home the minute the clock hit  five. He used to be the one who lingered and enjoyed the quiet that  came with the after-hours. He'd since traded that in after stepping in  to the actual After Hours and spotting Tate.

He wondered as he took the elevator up to his floor if Tate had stayed  the day like he'd suggested. The thought of him in his condo when he  wasn't there was incredibly appealing to Logan. Whether it was because  it showed he finally trusted someone other than himself or it was just  the thought of having Tate in amongst his belongings, he couldn't be  sure.

Hell, it's probably a mix of both.

He knew Tate would've left for work already since his shift had started  at five, but he was betting he'd have some company around one a.m., and  he was eagerly anticipating it.

Unlocking the door, he pushed it open and dumped his briefcase down on  the floor. He dropped his keys in the glass bowl with loose change and  reached up to unknot his tie.

As he made his way down the main hall and into the living room, he was  brought to a halt when he saw Tate sitting on his couch, dressed exactly  as he'd left him hours ago.

There was no light on, just the muted glow from surrounding buildings  filtering in through the balcony window and door. Tate's jeans were  still unbuttoned, he hadn't added a shirt, and he was just sitting  there, staring off into space.

Logan spotted the empty pack of cigarettes by Tate's leg and a glass  clutched between tight fingers, and he knew whatever had happened in the  last ten hours was nothing good.

Deciding it was time to break the ice, he spoke. "Hey there."

Tate turned his head toward him, and Logan could tell from the glassy  eyes trying to focus that he was three sheets to the wind. When no reply  came, Logan shrugged out of his jacket and held it in one hand.

"Whatcha drinking?"

"Your scotch," Tate finally replied, holding up his empty glass. "But I ran out."

The only scotch he'd had in the place was the Black Label that had been a  little over a third full, and when he looked at his kitchen island and  saw it now sat empty, Logan wondered how Tate was still awake.

He walked into the kitchen and laid his jacket over the counter before  slipping the tie from around his neck. "So, what's up? I thought you had  to work tonight?"

"Nothing." Liar. "I called in."

"Hmm," Logan mused. "So you've been here all day?"

Tate turned on the couch and rested his chin on top of it. "You told me I could."

"Yes, I did."

"Want me to leave?"

Logan unbuttoned his left cuff and then moved to the right before answering. "Not at all."

"Wanna fuck me?"         



Now he knew Tate was half gone.

There were many ways he'd imagined Tate saying those three words, but visibly upset was not one of them.

"I do want that," Logan admitted, realizing that rejection wasn't something that would help this situation.

He'd known after Tate's first time he should exercise some patience, and  he'd been waiting for him to get curious again, but not like this-not  as a knee-jerk reaction to whatever the hell happened today.

When a drunkenly sensual smile stretched across Tate's mouth, Logan  cursed his own fucking morals. He would have sold his left nut right  about now to go over to the couch and pound Tate into it.

"Then why don't you come closer?" Tate suggested as he got to his knees and rested his hands on the back of the couch.

Ahh, Tate the tease-nothing was harder for him to resist.

Instead of answering, however, Logan pulled his shirt from his pants and  began unbuttoning it. That was when he was struck with inspiration.

"Why don't we play a game?"

Hell, why not get into the spirit of game night?

Tate raised a hand and swayed slightly as he placed his fingers over his  lips, and Logan had to remind himself to stay right where he was. He  would get to touch … eventually.

"A game?"

"Yes. I'll ask a question, and when you give me an answer I'm happy with, I'll take something off."

Logan felt his cock react to the intense sexual inspection he was given.

"And then?" Tate asked without raising his eyes.

Damn. He was more than aware that Tate's eyes were zeroed in on the taut  material now trying its hardest to conceal his hardening flesh.

"Then I'll fuck you."

When Tate's gaze returned to his own, the arousal there made Logan's semi turn to full-on rock-hard status.


Tate lifted a hand from the couch, and Logan could do nothing but watch  as he reached down and cupped the denim that was cradling his erection.


Satisfied he would now get some answers, but frustrated he had to wait,  Logan removed his glasses and placed them on the counter.

"What time did you start drinking?"

Tate rolled his eyes before he tipped his head back toward the ceiling, exposing his throat.

"What time, Tate?"

He watched Tate's chest rise on a deep inhale and waited until he blew it out.


Okay, so he'd been drinking for approximately the last seven hours. Fuck.

"Why did you-"


Logan frowned at the interruption. "Excuse me?"

"I answered. So take something off."

It wasn't anything new that when Tate was drinking he got bossy, but Logan's reaction was. It turned him the fuck on.

"Do you have a preference?"

Tate's eyes narrowed and Logan waited-not so patiently.

"The pants. No, wait … the shirt."

Logan chuckled. "Are you sure?" Then he started to unbutton his shirt.  As he got halfway, Tate's eyes found his and Logan asked his next  question. "Why did you start drinking at ten in the morning?"

He shrugged out of the material and placed it on top of his jacket. When  Tate's teeth bit into his top lip, Logan knew he was getting closer to  the truth and Tate was buzzed enough-and clearly horny enough-to tell  him more.

"I was pissed off."

That vague answer wasn't going to cut it, so Logan placed his hands low  on his hips and waited. He was positive he already knew the answer, but  he wanted it from Tate. Logan wanted his trust with everything that was  going on, and if he had to go to bed with blue balls for the second time  in two days … then he would be a miserable fucker and crawl into that  cold bed.

Tate stared through hooded eyes at Logan in a combustible stalemate. He  didn't want to discuss what had happened today but knew he'd get no  further with the look on Logan's face.

And fuck, I want to go further.

The picture Logan made with only his dress pants on and his hands on his hips had Tate's cock pulsating inside his jeans.

After his mother had hung up on him, Tate had spent the next couple of  hours inhaling his entire pack of cigarettes, and when those had run  out, he'd hunted around until he found one of Logan's men, Johnnie  Walker, who'd left him feeling relaxed and very fucking horny.

"I spoke to my mom this morning after you left. Happy? Now take off your pants."

Without a single word, Logan unbuckled his belt and pulled it through  the loops. Tate watched avidly as he unzipped his own jeans and pushed  them down his hips so he could finally grab his cock.