“There’s no one here, and no one is going to come in. Just do it,” he whispered, eyes locked on to conflicted brown orbs, “Try.”
As the word left his lips, Tate spun him around until his back was up against the wall, and Tate was crushed against his front, with Logan’s wrist clasped firmly between them.
“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Tate questioned.
Logan touched his tongue to his top lip as though he’d already had the second taste of the mouth that was sneering at him.
"Only when I have a good incentive. Give me one.” He hauled his arm back closer to himself, drawing Tate in that final inch. “Make me shut up."