The Tight End (Red's Tavern 6)

“I want to do that to you, today,” he said.

I pulled in a shuddering breath. “All day?”

He nodded slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on mine. “If you need to come, you can let me know. But I kind of want to see how far I can take it.”

“Holy God, you are hot,” I whispered.

“You’re down to try it?”

Something about the confident way Logan was talking about this little edging experiment made me wonder if I was about to lose it and come right this second. But I held fast, took a deep breath, and nodded.

“Fuck yes. Let’s do it,” I said.

In an instant, he took his hand away from my cock, and I missed it immediately.

“Good,” he said, giving me a mischievous smile. He stood up, still naked above me, and turned around to grab his towel from the floor. As he grabbed it he pushed his ass out, very clearly tantalizing me.

“I can see what you’re doing, Logan, and it’s fucking working,” I said, my cock already aching to be buried inside him—his fist, his mouth, his ass, whichever. Hell, I was pretty sure if he just wrapped his thighs around my cock, right now, I’d come pretty damn quickly.

“Anyway,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m going to get started on dinner, like I had planned.”

I could tell that he was satisfied as he walked off to his room.

I lay there on the ground for another couple of minutes, trying to keep my composure and ignore that I was absolutely rock hard.

It was so damn good to be back with him.

Especially because I’d come back to find he was on a one-man mission to drive me crazy today.

Logan flitted around the kitchen preparing dinner. He’d put on a collared shirt but had only put on boxer briefs below, then slung an apron on the front of his body to do the cooking. Every time he turned around, I got an eyeful of his tight underwear around his ass, and he definitely made a point to bend over as much as he could.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, watching as he worked. The steak was marinading and the salad was already prepped, and right now, he was working on some kind of dessert. Apples and cinnamon were bubbling away in sugar on the stove, and it smelled so damn good in the house I knew was going to lose my mind in one way or another.

He took a wooden spoon and got one of the apples from the mixture, blowing on it to cool it down before walking over to me.

“Try it,” he said, leaning over me as he brought the spoon to my lips, watching as I tasted.

“This is incredible,” I said. “I don’t know what you’re going to make with it, but it tastes like apple pie.”

“Not quite what I’m going to make, but close,” he said. “I’m glad you approve.”

“Very much,” I said. “It’s fucking delicious.”

After I swallowed, he leaned over to give me a tiny peck on the lips. But as he did, he also reached a hand down and dragged his palm across my cock, touching me through the sweatpants I’d tossed on earlier. He closed his fist around my half-erect cock, just for a moment, before releasing me again and walking back over to the stove.

“You’re impossible,” I said.

“And you’re enjoying it,” he replied.

“Every fucking second of it.”

I pulled in a breath, watching his ass again for a moment before turning back to the table in front of me.

I had the notebook of memories here in front of me, full of messages, stories, and pictures from all of the team members of the Wolves.

I’d looked through the notebook countless times by now, but every time I paged through it, I found new things to love. It was undoubtedly the best gift I’d ever been given. It hadn’t been easy to grapple with the idea that my time with the Wolves was really over now, but this book had softened the blow.

“Do you want to know what the most amazing thing about this notebook is?” I asked, paging through it.

“Is it Vance’s illustration on the cover? Because I still can’t believe how good he is at drawing. The wolf is perfect.”

“That is surprising and very cool,” I said. “But honestly, my favorite thing is that… most of these stories and pictures aren’t even about football.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I said softly, running my fingers over a page where Mike had glued a bunch of movie tickets from things we’d seen together over the years. “Most of the written stories are just about times we’ve hung out together at the diner, or the bar, or each other’s houses or dorms. Most of the pictures, too. There are a few things about some games we had, but most of it doesn’t have anything to do with football.”