Men of London 04 - Feat of Clay (21 page)

Tate finally remembered to breathe. “The
study,” he gasped as his hands fumbled with Clay’s zipper. “I’ve
always had this fantasy about being bent down over that desk and
taken and it’s the one place we haven’t done it yet.”

The look in Clay’s eyes said he thought that
was a great idea. Clay took hold of his arm, propelling him forward
as they stumbled to the inner sanctum of Clay’s—and now
Tate’s—home.

Tate’s arsehole clenched in anticipation of
being bent over that huge leather-topped desk. His dick pushed
against the front of his stained and dusty sweats and the minute
they reached the room, he tugged off his pants together with his
briefs. He breathed a sigh of relief at being free. Pulling his
polo shirt over his head, he flung it into the far corner and
turned to see Clay pushing his jeans down to his ankles. He made to
remove his open-necked button shirt and Tate stopped him.

“Leave the shirt on, just open it.” he
growled. “I love it when you fuck me that way.”

Clay hitched a breath, his green eyes
deepening to slits of emerald. “God, you drive me insane when you
say things like that.” He did as he was told though and his eyes
roamed around the room. “I don’t think we have lube in here,” he
muttered. “I think this is the one place—”

He stopped as Tate triumphantly reached under
a pile of papers and unearthed a tube.

“You planned this?” Clay’s mouth quirked in a
grin; a hot, slutty, needy grin that took Tate’s breath away.

“Hell yes. I knew we’d need it sometime. Now
come here.”

Tate drew Clay to him roughly, taking his
mouth and groaning as their cocks pressed together, wet and slick,
and he knew his was about ready to blow. “God, I want you,” he
grunted as they rutted together. “There’s something about this
whole move thing that has made me as randy as fuck.”

Clay picked up the lube and opened it, then
slid a warm hand down Tate’s flank, reaching around to grip the
tight globe of his arse. “Bend over,” he instructed, his breath
deepening as Tate did what he’d been told. He lay flat on the
table, arse in the air. He gripped across and over the table,
unable to get his hands around the two sides as it was too wide. “I
love your arse.”

Clay leaned down and kissed Tate’s ruined
cheek, tracing the dragon scar with his tongue. “I love this.” His
mouth gently bit at the flesh on his hip. “I love this.” His finger
slid inside Tate, now coated with cold coffee-scented lube. Tate
clenched and unclenched and as another of Clay’s fingers pushed
inside, he let out a slow growl of satisfaction. He surrendered to
the sensation of being filled, and when Clay’s cock nudged his hole
and slid deep, he gripped the table tighter and pushed back.

They were adept at this slow serenade of
lovemaking, of meeting each other’s needs and the teasing, needy
seduction of skin against skin while mouths grasped greedily at
each other’s as the chance arose.

Clay’s deep sighs as he pushed deep inside
Tate were a serenade. Tate made noises of his own when his lover
sunk in and touched his prostate, causing his body to spark with
fierce, unbridled pleasure. The murmured endearments as Clay made
love to Tate made him feel cherished and adored and banished any
memories he might have of another time, another place, a tormentor.
For Tate, there was only the here and now, as the gentle breeze
blew in through an open window and the fragrance of honeysuckle
touched his nostrils.

“Going to make you come now,” Clay gasped as
his hand encircled Tate’s cock and he began to stroke it
fiercely.

Tate grunted as his swollen prick responded
to the movements of Clay’s hand. His arse pushed back frantically
against Clay as Tate’s balls contracted and he covered Clay’s hand
and desk with warm strings of come that also painted pearly
pictures on the floor. The warmth of Clay’s own orgasm inside his
channel caused Tate to smile fiercely, and he clenched his muscles,
milking Clay dry and leaving him a sobbing, gasping mess splayed
across Tate’s back. Sweat, semen and honeysuckle all combined to
make a recipe for a perfume Tate thought he’d definitely buy. It
was intoxicating, primal, erotic and all
them
.

Splayed out on the desk like a flattened
starfish Tate knew he should have felt uncomfortable but he wasn’t.
Instead, he twisted so he could embrace that sweaty man of his as
he lay heaving above him.

“Hell.” Clay’s raspy laugh tickled Tate’s
ear. “There will definitely be more of that. That was fucking hot.
You’re
hot.” He gripped Tate’s face,
turning it to face him then seductively licked Tate’s mouth. “And
you taste like more.”

“I’m not sure I can manage that right now,”
Tate gasped. “But later you can count on me being there.”

Tate’s skin tingled at Clay’s dirty laugh as
he slid out of him and moved away.

Tate groaned as he unglued himself from the
desk. “I got spunk everywhere,” he moaned as he stood up and
stretched. “Do we have a housekeeper?”

Clay snorted. “No housekeeper. Just good old
wet wipes and Kleenex.” He rummaged in a small wooden cabinet and
Tate raised an eyebrow when he produced said goods.

“You’ve done this sort of thing before then,
to have
that
in there?” Tate gestured to
the items Clay was using to clean up, feeling a prickle of jealousy
that perhaps maybe he hadn’t been the first one to be had on Clay’s
table that way. He tore a piece of tissue off and wiped up the
random spooge that glistened on the side of the desk.

“No,” Clay said softly. “I’ve never fucked
anyone in here. Only you. It’s just I have a habit of coffee spills
and ink stains. And you don’t want to see what my hands look like
when I change the printer cartridges.”

“Oh.” Tate felt better at that. “Not that it
matters, of course.” He gave a careless shrug. “I mean you had a
life before me.”

Clay reached over and caressed Tate’s cheek,
his green eyes warm with satisfaction at the jealousy in Tate’s
tone. “Liar,” he said softly. “I
had
no
life before I had you in it like this.”

Tate’s throat closed at that statement and he
was horrified to feel a prickle of tears behind his eyes. He
coughed to cover it up.

Since when did I become so
damn needy?

“Sex makes you all emotional,” he murmured.
“You want to watch that. It could be catching.”

He didn’t miss Clay’s smile as he finished
cleaning up and tossed the dirty wipes and tissue into the waste
bin. His boyfriend looked decadent standing there in only an open
shirt, his cock hanging heavy between his legs and trails of dried
come on his stomach.

Tate looked down at himself and grinned when
he realised he looked even more debauched. He was naked, with dried
come everywhere. His arsehole hurt too. “Maybe we should get in the
shower and clean this off. I think I need a little TLC; my backside
feels as if it’s had a tree trunk rammed in it.”

He sauntered out of the door into the
hallway, and along to the winding stairs. The best shower in the
house was upstairs in the master bedroom. Tate had a hankering to
see what it felt like being in there as master of the house and not
an overnighter. Judging from the footsteps following him up the
stairs, and the hand resting lightly on his back, Tate had a
feeling he wouldn’t be in there alone.

Liquorice
had never been one of Clay’s favourite things to eat. Even more so
when it was covered with lint and speckles of dust. He and Tate had
the same dislike of the stuff.

His boyfriend had left him in the small
reception room at Castaways while he went to find the famous, or
infamous, Jax that Tate talked about incessantly. He had promised
to take Jax to Tate’s usual hangout to do some graffiti painting.
He’d wanted Clay to come along to meet his new young
‘apprentice.’

Clay prayed that Tate going back to where
Lily had died wouldn’t affect him and push him back to that dark
place he’d lived in for so long. Christ, he was moving forward now
and Clay didn’t want that to change. Tate hadn’t been back to the
abandoned baths since Lily’s suicide. While he had quietly assured
his lover he was fine with it, Clay had to decide whether to trust
Tate’s judgment or hover, which, Clay admitted, hadn’t gone down
well in the past. He worried over it, but at the end of the
day, he wasn’t going to undo all the progress they had made by
letting his insecurities for Tate’s well-being colour the
outing.

The problem now? Clay hadn’t been left alone.
He’d been quickly introduced and now two small faces watched him
eagerly as their proffered gift of a string of apple-scented green
liquorice had been pressed into his hand. Before he’d sped up the
stairs, Tate had chuckled and said he thought it was some baptism
of fire all newbies went through. Clay hadn’t quite understood it
at the time.

The two children, introduced as Damien and
Krispin, stared at him expectantly. They didn’t seem to say much at
all. There had been some shy smiles, some giggling and a few
whispers between them and that had been it.

Clay cleared his throat. He was obviously
expected to eat the item he’d been given. Or perhaps he could be
the bigger person and say he was saving it for Tate. That thought
made him hopeful. He was about to declare his noble intention when
someone tweaked the skin on his ribs and he uttered a soft curse as
he turned to face his pincher.

Tate stood there, a young, blond man beside
him, and Clay was stunned. When’d he expected to see Jackson Grady,
he hadn’t expected to meet a flawed angel. The man was simply
breathtakingly beautiful, even with the scars on his face and the
blue eyes that regarded him evenly from underneath a tilted
chin.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” Tate gestured
to the item in his hand with a smirk.

Clay stared at the liquorice. “I, er, I
thought I’d save it for you,” he muttered, knowing Tate would see
through that but giving it a shot anyway.

Tate shook his head vehemently. “Oh no, I
insist you have it. I’ve already had a bit.”

Jax chuckled softly and placed a hand on
Tate’s arm. Clay narrowed his eyes, knowing it was childish to be
jealous of a seventeen-year-old.

“It’s a thing with Damien,” Jax said, his
voice deep and rich. “Think of it like a university hazing
ritual.”

Clay glanced at the kids watching him and
decided
fuck it.
He’d been in the SAS, and
a sweet and two kids weren’t going to get the better of him. He
popped the green string in his mouth and chewed it. It was really
sour and his eyes began to water.

“Fuck,” he sucked his lips together as the
sourness intensified. Tate laughed loudly and placed big hands over
the little kids’ ears.

Clay’s face burned with guilt. “Sorry about
the swearword, but, wow. That’s a little tart.” He managed to
swallow it at last.

The two children were giggling and smirking,
no doubt at Clay’s language. Jax grinned and went over to the boys.
He leaned down and whispered something in their ear and their faces
lit up.

“Really?” Damien’s face lit up and Krispin
seemed to look at Clay with a new respect. “Will he do it for
us?”

“Maybe one day,” Jax promised and Clay
wondered what the hell he was in for now. “But right now, you guys
need to disappear into the garden and go find Jen. She has a picnic
outside for you.”

With whoops of glee, the two boys ran out of
the room.

Clay narrowed his eyes in suspicion at an
innocent-looking Jax. Tate was grinning from ear to ear and Clay
wondered what they’d been cooking up.

“What have you promised I’d show them?”

“Don’t blame Jax. It was my idea.” Tate
grinned. “The kids have an outing coming up and they all wanted to
go the airfield to see the planes take off and have a barbeque. I
might have suggested to young Jax here that you could parachute out
of a plane while we were there.”

Clay’s jaw dropped. “Honestly?” He could do
that with his eyes closed but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a
fair-side attraction.

Tate snorted. “Yes, Mister SAS man. It would
mean a lot to the kids to see someone they knew doing that. And you
have to keep up your jumping hours so I thought it might make a
nice trip out for us. I mean we’re talking you, jumping out of a
plane.” He grinned wolfishly. “That’s something I’d like to see
myself. Hell, maybe I’d join you.”

Clay didn’t miss the look of yearning that
crossed Jax’s face at Tate’s words.

“You ever thought of doing something like
that, Jax?” Clay asked softly.

Jax started, nibbling on his lips. “I’d love
to do that. Jump out of a plane. Feel the wind racing through my
hair, the rush…” His voice tailed off.

Tate reached over and chucked Jax on the chin
with a mock fist. “I’m sure we could organise a tandem jump…?” His
eyes searched Clay’s.

Clay nodded. “Of course, that shouldn’t be a
problem. Jax could jump with me when we do this whole day out.”

He warmed at seeing the expression of
gratitude in Tate’s eyes. His man really had a bond with the young
man.

Jax’s face brightened. “I could do that? I’d
need to check with the doctors though that they don’t have any
objections. My eyes might need some special covering or something
so they don’t get damaged, but hell, I’d love to do it if I
can.”

“Then it’s settled.” Tate gave Clay a quick
smile. “I’ll talk to Randy and he can find out what we need to do
to get this medically approved. The last thing we want is anything
happening to what’s left of your sight.”

Jax gave a wide beam and Clay’s heart melted.
Between Jax and Leslie Scott, Clay’s whole tough-guy act was going
out the window. He’d have loved to have had a child; a son would
have been nice. He sighed. It wasn’t really something they talked
about too seriously other than in passing, but he knew Tate had
been averse to the idea before. Now? Perhaps. He wanted to pursue
the marriage idea with Tate once again; talk to him about it and
see how he felt because, really, who knew? Anything was possible in
this ever-changing relationship they had; even the prospect of
having a child one day.