Men of London 04 - Feat of Clay (5 page)

Tate frowned. “Am I interrupting? You sound
as if you’re in the middle of something.” Part of him felt a little
peeved that Clay was having fun without him. It was completely
illogical. He’d been the one who’d kicked him to the kerb.

“I’m having dinner with Draven and Taylor at
Galileo’s. They knew I was down so they bought me one of Eddie’s
famous ‘Chocolate Orgasm’ desserts to get me through it.” Clay’s
voice was matter of fact, not at all judgmental about Tate being a
bit of an arsehole and pushing him away. Tate closed his eyes as a
wave of guilt swept through him.

“I miss you,” he murmured softly.

There was silence then, “I miss you too.”

“I’d love to see you. Do you think—” Tate
hesitated. “Do you want to come over later after you finish
stuffing your face with pudding?” He took a deep breath and waited
for Clay’s response.

There was a sudden quiet and a whispered
conversation in the background then it sounded like the phone was
grabbed as someone came onto the line with all the subtlety of a
Force Twelve hurricane.

“Tate, is that you?” Taylor’s voice was
slurred, and Tate sighed.

“Yes, Taylor, it’s me.” They’d met on various
occasions and Tate really liked the wild, unconventional being that
was Taylor Abelard.

“You need to stop being such a fucking prat
and giving Clay gray hairs. He’s a really nice guy and he’s been
bloody miserable and I for one—wait, Clay, what the fuck are you
doing? Ouch, stop that, you bully. Draven, what the hell are you
doing with that fork—fuck, that hurt, you bastard. You are
so
not getting any tonight—”

Taylor’s indignant tone was cut off as he
squealed loudly and there was muffled laughter on the other side,
deep and amused. Tate knew it to be Draven. He’d heard that laugh
often enough before at the office. Tate was also curious about
Taylor’s words. It sounded as if the man knew the real nature of
his and Clay’s relationship.

What has Clay been telling
them? Has he finally confided in someone?

With a small flicker of hope in his soul, he
grinned into the phone as he imagined the scenario being played out
in the restaurant. Finally there was a loud scuffling noise and the
next he knew, Clay was on the phone again. He sounded out of breath
and rather apologetic.

“Love, are you still there? Sorry about that.
I swear I haven’t been bad mouthing you. Taylor came to the whole
prat conclusion all by himself. He’s had one B-fifty-twos too many
and he’s a menace to society when he gets tipsy. His mouth knows no
bounds. Dray’s not much better off either.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can see you have
your hands full with those two.” Tate snorted with laughter.

There was a sudden flurry of words, a loud
guffaw and then Clay groaned.

“Yeah, Taylor, tell the restaurant
exactly
what your mouth does with Draven.
God, Dray, shut him up will you? I don’t care how. Oh, shit. I
didn’t think you’d actually
do
that whole
‘stick your tongue down his throat’ in public to keep him
quiet…”

Clay sounded flustered and Tate felt better
with each minute with the events being enacted on the other end of
the phone. His one regret was that he wasn’t there to see it
himself. He broke into quiet chuckles at Clay’s next mortified
words.

“Oh hell, Gideon, I’m so sorry. I understand
you don’t need a porn show in your dining area. I promise to get
these two drunken sods out of here. Just let me say goodbye to my
boyfriend. Love, I’ll come over once I’ve off loaded these two,
okay? See you later. Love you.”

The line went dead and Tate stared at the
phone with a sense of longing. He wanted that camaraderie too. He
wanted to be with Clay, in public, instead of hiding who they were
to each other. He wanted to sit in a restaurant and fool around
with friends. It did sound as if Clay had perhaps opened up a
little about their relationship. Maybe Tate’s last words about
being molly coddled, spoken the night he told Clay to leave, had
finally struck a chord.

It was close to ten-thirty when Clay finally
arrived. There was a tentative knock at the door, almost as if he
was expecting him not to answer. Tate took a deep breath. He’d had
a shower, shaved and put on a clean pair of jeans and polo shirt
and he was ready. The

bedroom was well stocked with lube; the toys,
an electro wand and torpedo plug they’d bought together at a sex
fair in Manchester, had fresh batteries. He didn’t think that sort
of play was on the cards tonight; no, tonight he just wanted to be
close to Clay—but who knew?

He opened the door and his heart beat faster
at the simple fact that his lover stood there. Clay looked tired
and a little frazzled, but the scent of him and the hesitant smile
on his face made Tate’s world a little brighter.

He reached out and pulled Clay inside, not
even stopping to say anything. His mouth found Clay’s, his tongue
pushed inside a warm, chocolate and whisky-scented mouth and from
that point on, the clock stopped. Clay’s answering moan into his
mouth, the way he pulled Tate’s hips against his groin, the
already-hardened cock Tate found pressed into his crotch; those
actions spoke louder than any words.

They grappled with each other, both ravenous,
each of them trying to say something in the pressure of lips on
lips, the thrust of tongues, each seeking dominance, releasing soft
groans as hands found skin. For Tate, it was ‘Welcome Home,’ ‘I’m
sorry’ and ‘I love you’ all at once.

Clay pushed Tate back against the wall and
pinned his arms to his sides, his mouth sucking on Tate’s bottom
lip. Tate heaved a shuddering sigh and gave into his lover, his
body becoming pliable and surrendering to whatever Clay wanted to
do with it.

“You smell like sandalwood,” Clay finally
murmured when his lips stopped assaulting Tate’s. “Did you shower?”
His pupils were dilated and there was only a thin green line around
them. It was sexy as hell and Tate loved that he was the cause of
it.

“Yes,” he whispered. “And I fingered myself
too, tried to get ready before you got here.” He noted Clay’s
flared nostrils with a deep sense of satisfaction. The man was so
turned on.

“God, Tate, I missed you so much.” Clay’s
lips trailed a heated track down Tate’s throat. “I thought you’d
never call, but I didn’t want to be a needy bastard and call
you.”

Tate’s hands were finally released and they
wandered down to the hardness at Clay’s groin. His lover hissed as
eager fingers rubbed his cock. “I missed you too. I’m sorry I’m
such a prat like Taylor says; I just get so damn frustrated
sometimes—” He hitched a breath as Clay bit his shoulder, pushing
the shirt aside to get at the skin.

“Let’s not play the blame game right now.”
Clay’s hands were under Tate’s shirt, his touch searing Tate’s
skin. “Let’s just go to bed so I can fuck some loving into you. I
was going to suggest double-Dutching but I really want to be inside
you myself.”

Tate’s balls contracted and his cock swelled
at those words. They tended to be pretty versatile in bed, giving
and getting on an equal basis. What they called double-Dutching was
always a firm favourite. Pushing something into Clay at the same
time Tate was being filled, the fact they fucked each other with
their own personal favourite toy; that was a huge turn-on for both
of them. There were nights when Clay would drive him insane with it
all and the constant assault on his body and his senses. And then
there were nights like tonight when he just wanted to be as close
to Clay as possible and feel him inside him.

He tugged Clay toward the bedroom, already
set with candles flickering in the darkness and the smell of
incense permeating the air. The covers were already folded back
neatly to the bottom of the bed.

Clay’s eyes smouldered as he looked around
the room. “You had this all planned out then? Are you trying to
seduce me, Mister Williams?”

Tate laughed huskily. “I did and I am. Now
get your clothes off and into bed. I need to feel skin, cock and
your mouth everywhere. As for the candles—you can put them to good
use later. Round two, maybe.”

The shiver that ran through both his own and
Clay’s body at those words was anticipation. Tate enjoyed having
hot wax on his skin and Clay enjoyed putting it there. There were a
few other things they’d experimented with: ice against Tate’s prick
and balls, then rubbed on his arsehole until it froze so that
Clay’s warm tongue could warm him up. Another favourite was using
the pulsing wand on Tate’s cock, taint and balls until Tate was
ready to scream with the tension before begging Clay to finish
it.

Both men disrobed hastily and Tate’s skin
prickled in pleasurable response to the sight of Clay’s heavy
balls, and the erect cock curving against the muscles of his groin
and stomach. A dark line of black hair ran into a neatly clipped
bush above his cock and as Tate watched, his breath deepening,
Clay’s stomach muscles contracted as he palmed himself and looked
at Tate with a wicked grin.

“Ready for this? I’m too damned horny and I
can’t promise this is going to be slow or easy. In fact, I think I
can pretty much guarantee I’m going to pound the life out of you.”
His voice deepened. “Get on the bed, Tate, onto your back.”

Sometimes not making love, but taking it
rough and hard, was necessary. This was one of those times. Tate
hastened to do as he was told. He scooted onto the mattress, lying
back on the continental pillows against the wrought-iron headboard.
Endorphins raced through his blood as his anticipation built, and
his prickling skin screamed for Clay to touch him and anoint him
with his own sweat and come. To claim him. To make things right, at
least for a little while.

Clay watched with hooded eyes and slightly
parted lips as Tate deliberately spread his legs, dropping them to
the side so he was exposed, then gently ran his hand over the flat
planes of his stomach and down toward his prick, which jutted up,
proud and ready. Keeping his eyes on Clay’s face, Tate stroked
himself, making sure his hand swept over the head of his cock. He
gasped as his calloused palm hit a particularly sensitive spot and
was gratified to see Clay’s cock swelling, the purple head
glistening.

“You look so damn sexy like that.” Clay’s
voice was thick with desire. “I’ve been dreaming about you like
this. Lying there, open for me, ready to take you, be inside
you.”

Tate smiled lazily. “Yeah? Then you’d better
get over here before I finish myself off, because it won’t take
long.” He twisted his hand around his cock again and drew in a deep
breath at the sensation.

The bed dipped as Clay got on and before Tate
could even make another stroke, his wrist was gripped and pinned
above his head.

“You will come when I do,” Clay growled.
“Just from me fucking you, you hear me?” His body covered Tate’s,
the feel of hot, slick skin against his frying his brain and making
his insides churn.

He nodded wordlessly, loving the dominance
that Clay brought to the bedroom. In Tate’s career as a policeman,
he’d always had to be in control. With Clay, he could lose that
part of him and succumb to someone else. Tate thanked God each time
he submitted like this that his enforced incarceration with Sonny
Armerian hadn’t taken this part away from him. He might have been
bound then and had no choice about what was done to him, but with
Clay, he knew there was always an out.

“I hear you,” he murmured breathily. “Just
fuck me already, for God’s sake.”

Clay’s mouth covered his and his forceful
kiss would have made Tate’s knees buckle had he been standing up.
He moaned, and his groin pushed up to rub against Clay’s. God, he
needed release so badly. His cock ached, his balls were tight and
his arsehole waited in anticipation for Clay’s breach.

From under the pillow, Clay brought out the
lube. He moved back, straddling Tate’s hips as he opened the cap
and rubbed it onto his fingers.

“Bring your knees up,” Clay murmured and Tate
obliged, lifting his knees almost to his ears. Clay’s face flushed
in the dim light, and the look on it at seeing his lover open like
that was almost Tate’s undoing. The look was reverent and
worshipping but also filled with pure lust. Then cool,
vanilla-scented liquid was pushed into him together with Clay’s
fingers—two of them from the feel of it. Tate arched his back and
whimpered at the feeling of being filled.

They had no need of condoms; they’d been
together exclusively for long enough for each of them to commit to
that. And while it was messier and they needed to change their bed
sheets far more often, Tate wouldn’t have given that up for
anything. The heady feeling of Clay’s naked cock in his arse, with
its smooth heat and slickness, and the feel of Clay’s semen leaking
out of him afterward was manna from heaven.

He groaned as he was breached more deeply,
Clay’s fingers pushing in, finding that place inside him that made
him see spots, that caused his body to tremble as waves of pleasure
coursed through him. “Just there…feels so good. Need you in
me.”

Clay kissed his cheek softly as his fingers
withdrew, and then his warm, hard body pressed against Tate’s as he
slid inside him.

Tate cried out as Clay stretched him, silken
flesh pressing against his inner walls. He pushed his hips toward
the welcome intrusion. Clay gasped as he sank deeper and leaned
down and bit the side of Tate’s neck gently, no doubt marking
him.

“I missed you,” Clay whispered as they moved
together, lost in the sensation of each other’s bodies and murmurs
of need. “Thought about you every damn minute…”

His thrusts grew frenzied and Tate gripped
his backside and urged him deeper still. He caught sight of Clay’s
face above him, sweat gleaming on his cheeks and forehead, eyes
half closed as he bit his lip. His look of concentration was
intense and Tate reached up and gripped his face, bringing him down
for a kiss, claiming the man inside him with the possessive need
borne of love.