Men of London 04 - Feat of Clay (23 page)

Tate reached out and bumped Jax’s shoulder
with his. “See? I told you people would find you cute,” he teased.
“Mitch thinks you’re beautiful, Jax. It’s those blond curls.”

“Fuck off,” Jax said with a smirk. Tate
chuckled and finished picking up the cans and stuffing them in his
bag. Clay knew Jax hadn’t definitely come out and said he was gay
to Tate, but it was something Tate suspected. Based on his reaction
today, Clay thought it was probably the case. Jax hadn’t appeared
uncomfortable at all with Mitch’s admiration; he had in fact
welcomed it.

Clay watched as Tate bent down and his arse
strained the seams of the tight black jeans he wore, jeans that
were stained with pink paint. Clay decided that later he’d
definitely be peeling them off his lover and perhaps even putting
the study desk to good use again. He stood back and took one last
look at the murals that had sprung from nothing into statements of
affection, remembrance and compassion. Tate looked at Clay and the
love in his eyes spoke volumes. Clay grinned back at him and hoped
his eyes conveyed the same look.

Oh yes, there was definitely going to be
crazy, passionate sex when they got home. Then pizza. With
anchovies, whether Tate liked it or not. Clay thought that might be
the perfect ending to a perfect day.

Seven p.m.
on a Friday night and Tate was on his way back from a retirement
party being held for a fellow policeman. The local pub near the
police station where he’d worked was warm, friendly and had cheap
drinks. Tate was driving so he hadn’t imbibed too much. On a whim,
knowing Clay was working late tonight (having texted him only ten
minutes before) he decided to pay his boyfriend a late-night visit
at the office.

Maybe we can catch a quick
drink together before going home.

Happy with his plan, Tate swiped his own
office key card to gain access to the building and took the lift up
to Clay’s office. He knocked briefly on the door and entered. He
didn’t bother waiting to be allowed in.

As he stepped inside Clay’s office, his
partner waved a hand at him, motioning to him to sit down. The
scowl Clay had on his face disappeared momentarily at the sight of
Tate to be replaced by a warm, albeit distracted grin. The scowl
was soon back in all its ferocity. His mobile was glued to his ear
and Tate bit back a grin at the poor unfortunate soul on the other
side of the phone who was earning Clay’s ire. Tate made himself
comfortable in the plush visitor’s chair in front of Clay’s desk
and sat back to enjoy the show.

He admired the sight of his man standing in
full aggression mode. Tate drank in the sexy lines of Clay’s broad
shoulders in his rumpled white shirt, top button open, tie loosely
slung around his neck. The tight curve of Clay’s arse in his dark
blue trousers and the shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows was
another tantalising image. Tate’s cock began to swell, his
fantasies taking reign. In his mind, he slowly undressed Clay,
unzipping his trousers, pushing them down around his ankles and
then slowly, teasingly, undoing the buttons on his shirt one by
one…

“Fuck you, you miserable piece of shit.”
Clay’s infuriated roar jolted Tate out of his dirty daydream. He
sat up upright, watching Clay as he stormed around the room, phone
gripped tightly in clenched fingers. “Don’t you fucking tell me I
can’t fucking get my guy out of that damn place. Find me a way to
get Graham out of that fucking hellhole. I don’t care what it
costs. The man has family waiting for him back here, and the last
thing I want is him rotting in an Estonian prison cell. You’re the
negotiator. Fucking negotiate!”

There was a loud quacking sound from the
other side of the phone and Tate raised an eyebrow as Clay looked
over at him and shrugged apologetically.

Tate shook his head and gave Clay a slow
smile. “Don’t stop on my account,” he murmured softly. “I think
it’s hot, you getting so mad. All that testosterone makes me
horny.” He ran a hand suggestively over the front of his jeans
where the outline of his hard-on was already evident. Clay’s face
flushed and his eyes darkened. Tate licked his lips and chuckled
when Clay turned away from him, obviously intent on ignoring his
seduction. He continued his conversation with the negotiator on the
phone.

“That sounds like a better idea; now you’re
talking my language. Like I said, no problem with expenses. Just
get the man back home. Phone me later. Let me know when I can tell
Janey she’ll have her husband back. And Wally, don’t fucking let me
down. Or I will come over there, hunt you down and kill you
myself.”

The threat in his voice was unmistakeable.
Tate was now so turned on it was all he could do not to bend Clay
over his desk, rip his trousers off and take him right there. He
gave a satisfied chuckle at that thought and tried to look innocent
as Clay slammed his phone down on his desk and glared at him.

“What?” Tate said indignantly. “I’m not
allowed to have fantasies?”

“Fantasies?” Clay growled. “You looked like
you were about to blow right there. You had that look on your
face.”

Tate stood up and sauntered over to Clay, who
leaned back against the desk, arms folded across his chest. His
green eyes were watchful, but there was the hint of a grin on his
lips. From the looks of the bulge in his crotch, he was beginning
to get turned on too.

“What look?” Tate asked as he reached out a
hand and slid Clay’s tie through his fingers. “The one that says I
find you so damn sexy I can’t keep my hands off you?” He twirled
the tie around in his fingers. “The one that says I want to rip
your clothes off and fuck you right now?”

Clay’s breathing was shallow, his pupils dark
as he watched Tate’s mouth. Tate was having a bit of trouble of
breathing too. “Or the one that says that I want to taste you in my
mouth, right here, right now?” He leaned in and swiped his tongue
over Clay’s lips, loving Clay’s throaty moan. He pushed against
Clay, rubbing their groins together as Clay gripped the side of his
desk, knuckles white.

“We can’t do this in here,” he groaned
softly. Tate brushed his hand against Clay’s cock, which pushed
forward instinctively. “There are cameras everywhere.”

“I like the idea of putting on a show,” Tate
whispered in Clay’s ear, as his tongue delved into its depths. A
delicious shiver ran through Clay’s body. Tate loved it. Loved that
he could do this to a man who with one phone call could probably
start a small war in some distant country. He loved hearing Clay’s
breaths deepen and his eyes become black as his pupils dilated with
pleasure. He loved the control he currently had over this man who
meant the world to him.

“We can’t…” Clay groaned again. “I’m the damn
boss, the last thing I need is them seeing me with my arse in the
air with you inside me.”

Tate’s dick grew harder. “You want me to take
you?” He licked a trail from Clay’s jaw up to his mouth. Clay’s
lips parted and Tate slid his tongue against Clay’s eager one then
pulled away. “Push inside you until you scream, ram my hard prick
into you and call your name when I come?”

Clay’s breathing was ragged. His hands had
slid inside Tate’s shirt, finding warm skin, and Tate was in need
of more of Clay’s naked skin himself. “Christ, Tate. We need to go
somewhere else to finish this, baby. It’s gone too far already.” He
pulled away from Tate, slipping to the side and zipping himself up.
He took Tate’s hand and motioned to the door. “Come with me. I know
where we can continue this seduction you have going.”

Tate gave a sultry laugh as he was dragged
out of Clay’s office. “Seduction? Is that what I’m doing?”

Clay nodded as he tugged Tate along the
darkened corridor. “Oh yes. That’s exactly what you have going. And
may I say I like it, so don’t stop.” He halted at a closed door and
looked back at Tate, his eyes quirking devilishly. “This room has
no cameras. You’ve been here so you know it’s pretty comfy. Come
on.” He opened the door and pulled Tate inside.

The office common room, known fondly as the
Chill Room by the employees, had a couple of couches, a luxurious
shaggy pile rug and even a fireplace. In winter, the fireplace
burned cosily and the room became a haven to escape the pressures
and often ugly aspects of the work Clay’s team did. As they entered
the room, Tate found himself propelled backward to the floor,
landing on the thick rug with an ‘oomph’ as Clay towered above him,
fingers already unzipping his jeans.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Tate muttered and with
one limber move, he shot up, unseated Clay from his hips and had
him pinned beneath him. Clay shouted out in surprise but didn’t
struggle. Instead, he relaxed and grinned as he lay back,
stretching his arms above his head with an air of nonchalance.

“I see which way this is going,” he said,
lips curving into a soft smile. “I hope you brought lube with you
because I sure as hell don’t have any in here.”

Tate smirked. “I do, actually.” Tate reached
around to his back pocket and drew out his wallet. “It’s only a
sachet but I think it’ll do.”

“You
think
?” Clay’s
eyes widened in apprehension. “Hell, you’d better make sure it’s
mega-size for that huge cock of yours to fit in me. Economy just
won’t do.”

Tate chuckled again and drew out the sachet.
“I’ll get you ready,” he said slyly. Tate straddled Clay and once
again unzipped him. “Up,” he commanded and Clay obeyed, lifting his
hips so Tate could draw the trousers and his boxers off his lean
hips. “Turn over,” he instructed, kneeling over Clay.

Clay did as he was told and was soon
face-down on the rug, on his knees with legs apart. Tate could have
spent hours staring at that sexy sight—Clay clad only in his shirt
and tie, his tight, rounded backside, the dusky puckered hole, the
balls that hung low with the jutting cock as Clay moaned and rutted
down against the rug.

“Christ, hurry up and do something will you?
I need you.”

Tate stroked Clay’s cheeks and ran his hands
loving down his lover’s hips. “Patience, you randy bastard. Who’s
running this show?”

“You,” Clay whispered as his hips thrust
against the rug. “Always you.”

Those husky words spurred Tate, their timbre
and passion inciting the flame in his groin and in his heart. He
stood up and dropped his jeans and briefs to the floor, leaving his
shirt on. Then he knelt down behind the prone and groaning man on
the floor and ripped open the lube. Tate’s own dick was so hard he
thought he might have been able to drive nails into the wall with
it. He was already leaking and wet and ready to be buried inside
Clay. He dripped the lube onto Clay’s hole, hearing Clay’s hiss of
pleasure, then slowly, deliberately, he pulled Clay’s cheeks apart,
thumbs sliding inside his man, widening him, delving deeper and
deeper as Clay moaned in ecstasy.

“Oh, God, Tate, your fingers. It feels so
good, love. Want your cock inside me, need to feel you. Love to
feel you split me open, own me. Please, make love to me. Now.”

Seeing Clay come apart in this way thrilled
Tate in a way nothing else could. His tough man, his protector…the
tables were turned and now it was Tate’s turn to make sure Clay got
what he needed.

“I’ll make love to you,” he whispered as he
pushed inside that warm, tight place. “Not fucking tonight. Want to
make you feel good.”

Clay’s groans below him as he rocked back
against Tate’s cock, impaling himself deeper, turned Tate’s insides
to mush. Clay’s moans and whispered entreaties to go deeper was
what Tate needed. He loved to see Clay give up, be taken and
controlled. He wanted to be the one giving solace to him, loving
him.

As they moved together as one, slow strokes
and muffled cries, the fusion of their bodies performed a dance of
both adoration and possession of each other, and to Tate, the world
seemed to stop. His dick was aching for release and as he moved
toward the welcome sensation of spilling his seed inside the man he
loved, he whispered Clay’s name.

That single utterance pushed Clay toward his
orgasm. Clay shuddered beneath Tate as he came, muscles tightening
around Tate’s cock, causing him to lose him breath. As Clay emptied
himself onto the rug, Tate cried out softly and gave one last
thrust, then pulsed inside his lover, filling him and spending
everything he had in payment of his debt of love. Boneless and
content, Tate kissed Clay’s shoulder, dropped soft kisses across
his back, before moving out and off him to lie beside on the rug.
The air had grown chilled and both of them shivered as they lay
there half naked.

“I’m cold but I can’t get up,” Clay murmured
as he raised a hand to stroke Tate’s cheek tenderly.

Tate closed his eyes at that gesture.
“Uh-huh. Me too.” He snorted. “This rug of yours is going to need
cleaning. There’s spunk everywhere.”

Clay waved a hand tiredly. “I’m sure it’s
seen worse. I’m not too sure what goes on in here after hours. I’ll
get it cleaned up.”

He leaned up on one elbow and gazed down into
Tate’s eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered softly and traced Tate’s
lips with a finger.

“For what?”

“For being here. For making love to me like
you did tonight. For moving in with me. For just being you. Tate
Williams. The man I love.”

Tate’s throat closed up with emotion at those
heartfelt words. “I love you too, Clay Mortimer. I doubt I’d be
here if it wasn’t for you. I know I’m a pain in the arse sometimes,
but you keep forgiving me, taking me back.”

Clay chuckled. “Pain in the arse is right.
There could have been a tad more lube.” His face softened. “And
forgiving is all part of loving someone.” He shivered. “I don’t
want to break up the romance but I’m fucking freezing. What say we
get dressed and get home, get into bed and we can do a little more
lovemaking? Where it’s nice and warm.” He shivered again, goose
bumps breaking out on his skin.