“Babe, you’ve left him a message. He’s a big boy. He doesn’t need babying. I agree it’s a bit disconcerting, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He reached over and chucked Clay under the chin, a little forcefully. “You can’t protect everyone,” he murmured fondly. “Only a badass former drug squad policeman with an amazing arse and a stomach you can bounce a penny off.” He sucked in his stomach and patted it.
Clay’s face crinkled into laughter. “Amazing arse, true, but I’m not sure about the penny bouncing.”
“Hey,” Tate growled fiercely. “I suggest we try it out later. I’ll prove it to you.”
Clay chuckled again. “Sounds good to me. I look forward to it.” He pulled Tate up off the bench, ignoring the people milling about them, and claimed Tate’s lips in a blistering kiss.
Tate’s initial surprise faded as he succumbed to the delicious assault. Clay didn’t usually do a lot of up close and personal in public like this. Tate closed his eyes and let Clay take charge. It was one of his favourite things, but he’d never admit it to anyone else.
A wolf whistle interrupted their impromptu make out session. “Hey, you guys. You’re hot and all, but you’re causing a crowd and people can’t get into my stall to buy my food.”
Clay surrendered Tate’s bruised lips with a soft grunt. “’Til later then,” he said huskily. “I need more of that.”
The Chinese youth manning a food stall, the one who’d shouted out, grinned at them and gave a thumbs-up. Tate grinned back. For whatever reason Clay had felt comfortable with the sudden display of personal affection, Tate was thankful.
There was something about Fetish Alley, Tate mused as they made their way back to the car-park. It was so diverse and cosmopolitan that everything felt and looked so natural. The world these patrons and customers inhabited was one that screamed diversity and it was a look Tate could so get on board with.
“What now?” he asked when they were strapping on their bike helmets. “Want to go see if we can talk to the witch of a girlfriend?”
Clay pursed his lips. Tate’s chest puffed out a bit when he saw they were pink and fuller than usual.
“Let’s go back to the office first, see what else Rick might have sent us, then we can call her and make an appointment. I’ve got a few things to do other than this case this afternoon anyway.” Clay straddled the bike and motioned behind him for Tate to get on.
“Hey, no fair,” Tate muttered as he took pillion position. “What the fuck happened to rock, paper, scissors?”
Clay’s green eyes gleamed through the visor. “I’m claiming maturity before sexiness rights,” he smirked as he gunned the bike into action. “Hang on tight and think about tonight. I have plans for you, and that kiss was only the start.” His mouth twisted in a wicked grin as he drove off.
Tate hung on tight, ignoring the sudden tightness of his jeans at the promise of wicked things, and let his imagination take flight along with the roar of the bike.
Chapter 4
“Jesus Christ, please.” Tate’s hoarse pleading as he writhed beneath Clay’s body inflamed his senses, causing his stomach to dip in anticipation.
“Please, what?” Clay’s fingers continued their determined caresses and tweaks of Tate’s engorged nipples. “What do you want?” He changed direction and trailed his fingers up the glistening skin of Tate’s throat, pausing at swollen, plump lips through which he was still begging and cursing. His lover’s face was sheened with sweat, unruly auburn hair plastered to a face that was desperate in its need.
“Touch me, damn you. You fucker, touch my dick,” Tate spat, rolling from side to side, trying to bring his straining body against Clay’s, who evaded Tate’s efforts and continued kneeling above him, straddling his stomach, allowing the briefest caresses of his skin against Tate’s.
Christ, my cock is hard enough to drill steel. I know how you feel, babe. But we can both hold out a little longer…
Tate’s arms were stretched above his head, wrists cuffed to the steel posts of the bed. Behind Clay, Tate’s ankles were tied to the bottom posts with a couple of Clay’s silk ties. Tate was a needy, sweating, and splayed mass of want.
Clay loved playing it this way, having Tate at his mercy so that he could reduce the man to a mind-blowing mess. The problem was Clay didn’t get to be touched much either, but with what he had in mind later, he could live with that.
“Delay is the deadliest form of anticipation,” Clay murmured as his arse “accidentally” brushed backward against Tate’s weeping cockhead. The soft lick of wet heat against his own arse cheeks made Clay shiver in delight. “Good things come to those who wait.”
“Fuck waiting,” Tate growled, eyes impassioned with fury. “You’ve been teasing me for ages, and I want to come. I need to come, Clay…”
His voice trailed off and Clay’s skin prickled at the sheer need in Tate’s voice. God, how Clay loved this part of their love play, where he had this strong, sexy, and volatile man helpless and at his mercy. There had been a time in the past when treating Tate this way had been impossible, when his demons at being subjected to another man’s needs had fucked with his head and made restraints impossible. Now, years later, Clay marvelled at the trust Tate had in him and he revelled in every second of control Tate allowed him.
Tate’s safe word, “bulldog,” had never been used, and Clay took pride in that achievement.
“You want to come?” Clay teased as he reached under the bedcovers and took out the tube of lube. “That’s good, because I want you to fuck me. You can come then.”
Tate’s groan was pained, and he thrust his hips up once again, no doubt desperate to feel something against his hardened cock. “Then hurry, damn it, because I’m going crazy here, you cock-teasing son of a bitch.”
“What have I told you about your language?” Clay scolded as he poured lube on his fingers and reached behind himself. His fingers slid in his arse and he gave a hiss of pleasure. Tate’s pupils dilated as he watched Clay prepare himself.
“God, you are so damn sexy doing that. My tough soldier getting ready to have my dick in his arse.”
Clay laughed loudly as he shifted over Tate’s cock, and lowered himself down gradually. Tate was a large man and Clay wanted to take this slow and enjoy every minute. The sting and stretch were worth the slow burn as he took Tate in.
“So good,” Tate breathed as Clay moved up and down, hands planted on Tate’s chest. “Move faster, baby.” His hips undulated beneath Clay, who closed his eyes and bit his lip as Tate’s cock pushed farther inside him.
The rhythm and movements borne of familiarity and love soon pushed Clay into riding Tate with abandon, gasping out his passion in breathy endearments. As groans and loud expletives coloured the air in a cacophony of ever-rising lust, Clay felt Tate’s release between his cheeks. His lover moaned as his body tensed and tightened, and unfocused eyes stared into Clay’s, satiated and drowsy. Clay grasped his own cock and a few fierce strokes later he was shooting off all over Tate’s stomach and chest, even hitting his chin. There was something about this man spread-eagled beneath him, tied up and at his mercy with the remnants of his semen on that body that made Clay want to beat his chest. Primal and intensely sexual, fuck, it had been everything he’d dreamed of on their bike ride home.
If that makes me a Neanderthal, so be it. I’m a fucking caveman, and proud of it.
Clay eased himself off Tate’s cock, and rolled over to lie on his back beside his lover. They needed the king-size bed to accommodate them, and despite Tate being star-fished across the bed, there was plenty of room.
“Umm, are you going to take the handcuffs off?” Tate asked, eyes still closed. “Rick might want them back.” He gave a chuff of amusement.
Clay grinned. Rick had left them at their house a few months ago when he’d been demonstrating some new handcuffing technique he’d learned at a seminar.
“Firstly, that’s cruel and unusual punishment to give a man’s nephew handcuffs ba
ck after said uncle has got well and truly fucked in them,” Clay pointed out, and smiled at Tate’s low chuckle. “If Rick knew, it would scar him for life. Secondly, no, I think I’ll leave you in them for a while. I rather like the display.”
Tate opened one eye. “Really? What if I need to take a piss?”
Clay considered that question while running fingers down the mess on Tate’s chest. He scooped up some of the salty stickiness and rubbed his finger against Tate’s lips. Tate’s mouth opened and greedily sucked Clay’s fingers clean. Tate’s cock was already growing hard again. Clay was sure it would be put to good use later.
“Well, I’ve always had this fantasy of putting a catheter in you,” Clay murmured.
He couldn’t think of anything he’d rather not do. He laughed loudly when Tate’s eyes flashed open, a glare of panic in them.
“You aren’t going anywhere near me with a fucking catheter, you kinky bastard. I don’t do sounding, what makes you think I’ll agree to anything else?”
Clay tut-tutted and shook his head. “You’re such a spoilsport.” He turned around and got the key off the bedside table. Reaching up, he unlocked the handcuffs. Tate was out of them in a shot, glaring at Clay as he reached down to untie the binding on his ankles.
“One day I’m going to do something to you that you’d never expect,” he muttered darkly. “See how you like it.”
Clay smiled and reached down to cup Tate’s balls. “Promises, promises.” He squeezed the fleshy sacs gently and let go. “Bring it on, honey. Bring it on.”
***
The following morning, Clay drew the short straw at interviewing the girlfriend of the dead man. Along with this case, Mortimer Investigations still had plenty of other active ones and Tate was needed elsewhere, out of the city.
Tate had commandeered the bike with a smirk and had already left home. Clay, frustrated and grumpy, rode the tube, already packed and smelly, down to the residence of Ingrid Vos.
He’d called her this morning to make the appointment, which made him tetchy. Ms Vos was rude and uncooperative, and it was only with the veiled threat of having the police call on her instead that she grudgingly conceded to see him. With a haughty, snide tone, she’d told Clay he needed to “get there” today because she was going out of town.
Clay wondered if Rick knew that because there was no way in hell the DCI was going to let any person of interest or potential suspect disappear during a murder investigation.
After forty-five minutes of being jostled and bumped, Clay walked to the block of flats, which were typical of the area: four storeys of nondescript brick and sagging and peeling drainpipes. The entrance was situated in a small side street, alongside a deli and a Laundromat, and another shop Clay thought might have been a pet parlour. In the entrance of the abandoned, grime-covered shop, huddled in the corner, a homeless person was sleeping covered in a thin blanket.
Clay sighed and walked into the foyer. His nose wrinkled in distaste. The smell of vomit permeated the air, and in one corner there were three black bin bags, one unsealed. He stared at the lift, wondering whether he should chance it. It looked more like a small service lift than something people would use.
In the end he took a chance and pressed the button. To his surprise, the lift door opened straight away. Gingerly, he stepped over what looked like dried mud—at least he hoped it was mud—and into the lift.
The flat was on the fourth floor, and he walked down the narrow corridor with its peeling taupe-coloured paint, stopped at number eight, and knocked on the door. It opened within a minute to reveal a tall woman with dark blonde hair, dressed in a tracksuit. Her face crinkled into a scowl.
“You the consultant?” She made it sound like an insult.
Clay nodded. “I am.” He handed over a business card and watched her as she scrutinised it. “I take it you are Ingrid Vos?”
She didn’t answer, simply motioned him in. Her flat was surprisingly spacious and well kept, given the exterior of the building. It featured an open-plan kitchen and living area, with a door on one side of the room Clay presumed led to the bedroom.
She waved him into an armchair then slumped down onto a couch and put her legs up. Her grey eyes regarded him with disdain.
“So what do you want to know? I can tell you right now I haven’t seen JJ since the little fucker broke up with me, and I don’t know anything about his death.”
Hmm. Right to the point. Declaring no involvement before he’d even had a chance to ask any questions. She also didn’t seem particularly cut up about her ex’s murder either.
“That may be,” he said mildly, “but as you know, we have to do a proper job and interview anyone who was involved with him.”
Ingrid flapped a hand. “Fine. Ask me what you need to know. I won’t answer if I don’t want to.”
Charming. Clay had already read through the transcripts of the original interview with the woman and found them unenlightening. He didn’t want to cover too much old ground, so he took a different tack. Maybe he could shake her up a bit.
“You told the police he’d broken up with you three months ago. Can I ask why he did that?”
Her face darkened. “No. It’s none of your bloody business.” She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, but there was the start of a smile on her face. Something sly and disturbing.
“Fair enough. You said you hadn’t seen him since then, but JJ’s boss mentioned you’d tried calling him a lot while he was at work. Were you hoping to get back together?”
Ingrid’s face grew scarily blank. “He’d left some stuff at my place. I wanted to give it back. I didn’t want his shit reminding me of him. So I called him a few times, so what?”
She reached up to tug on her right earlobe. Clay nodded. He was getting a really bad vibe about this woman, something that made his instincts sit up and take notice.
“Did you ever visit JJ at the taxidermy shop when you were together?”
Ingrid nodded once. “Sometimes. We’d go for lunch or I’d go pop in when I was on my way home.”
“You work as a stylist at a hair salon not far from the shop, I believe?”
“Yeah. At Styles and Smiles on the High Street.”
“You say you came straight home? Could you tell me the route you take when you walk back from the shop?”
Ingrid’s expression grew frosty. “Why is that important?”
Clay smiled at her. “Because then we can check the CCTV and see if we can verify that. It’ll mean we may be able to remove you from our enquiries.”
She’d have no way of knowing they’d already checked it, having been up late the night before, and seen nothing that could positively identify her, one way or another, but it didn’t do any harm to put the wind up her arse.
For the first time, she looked uneasy. “You won’t recognise me,” she said. “I was all dressed up in a parka and a hat, and you’d have no way of knowing whether it was me or not. So how can that prove anything?”
“You’d be surprised,” Clay said matter-of-factly. “So tell me, what route did you walk that night?” His tone grew steelier and he sat forward, staring at her intently.
She swallowed and he felt a sense of satisfaction.
I’m getting to the bitch.
“I walked down the High Street, into Jones Lane, past the pub there, the Hat and Thistle, then into Barber Street. That brings me out to the rear of this building. Then I come in through the back entrance and that brings me into the foyer.”
Clay scribbled in his notebook. That was enlightening, but didn’t really help much.
“When was the last time you saw JJ? Or went down to the shop?” Clay’s words were casual but from the woman’s body language, she wasn’t feeling comfortable. At all.
Her face darkened. “It was before we broke up, okay? I don’t remember the exact damn date. I haven’t been there since.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I’ve told you everything I can. I think you should go now.”
<
br /> “Where were you when JJ was murdered?” Clay knew the police notes had that information, but seeing her reaction would be interesting.
His blunt tactic seemed to have worked. Her face paled and she leapt up from her seat. “I told the police. I was here alone, so I have no fucking alibi. If I thought I’d need one, I’d have gone to the pub or something. Do you think I’m stupid?” Her face twisted in a snarl. “Now I’m done with this. You need to leave.”
Hell, this woman was one unpleasant individual. Clay would be more than happy to leave. He stood up. “You said you were going away. I’m not the police, but I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t like anyone involved in an active investigation leaving town, so to speak.” He caught her eyes and held them. “I’d suggest you check with them first before you go anywhere.”
And he’d call Rick and tell him to have a word with her when Clay left this flat, which had suddenly become extremely suffocating. Ingrid Vos’s negativity and aggression seemed to permeate the walls.
“I’ll do what the hell I want,” she spat out as she stormed to the door and opened it. “Now get the fuck out.”
You could give Tate a run for his money on the swearing. Biting down a grin, Clay turned to leave. Then, in true Columbo style, he turned back as if he’d forgotten something.
“Oh, by the way, do you wear perfume?”
The answer was a push to his arm, as he was unceremoniously shoved out the door. It slammed shut behind him.
***
When Clay got back to the office, he was surprised to see Tate there, sitting in Clay’s chair, scrolling through his computer. He looked up as Clay walked in and slung his jacket over the stand in the corner.
“How did it go with the girlfriend?” Tate enquired as he squinted at something on the screen.
Clay snorted. “Like having a conversation with a rattlesnake,” he remarked drily. “And why are you in my office? You have your own desk if I recall. How did you get into my computer? What if I had private stuff on there?” His tone peaked in indignation, but he wasn’t truly worried.
Death By C*ck (Fetish Alley Book 2) Page 5