Death By C*ck (Fetish Alley Book 2)

by Susan Mac Nicol

  His left leg ached from where he’d tensed it on the ground to drive into Tate. He’d be getting a cramp if he wasn’t careful and that was no way to finish out a boisterous round of couch sex. Gingerly, he relaxed his leg, which made his body weight heavier. But he wasn’t ready to move yet. These last few moments of sex, when they were both satiated and boneless, were among his favourite.

  “Oomph.” Tate let out a wheezy laugh. “Someone’s been eating too many burgers.”

  “Shut up,” Clay said drowsily from his position resting on Tate’s warm body. “Give me a minute. Then we can clean up.”

  Tate’s chuckle echoed in his ear. “I’m in no hurry. I think I have a minute or two of air left.” His fingers carded through Clay’s hair and Tate planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “That was pretty hot. Couch sex is fun.”

  “Uh-huh,” Clay murmured. “It’s not the couch. It’s you. You’re what makes it so special.”

  Tate’s answer to that was a possessive and deep kiss that had Clay growing semi-hard again. He didn’t think he’d get it up again so soon, but it was great to feel himself stir inside Tate.

  “Feels like you might have another round in you,” Tate teased as he ran his hands down Clay’s back and tightened on his arse.

  Clay shook his head and lifted himself up with a sigh. He withdrew slowly and watched with some resignation as the mess between them made its way onto the couch where the blanket had come off. “It’s an illusion, sweetheart.” He swung his legs over Tate’s prone body and stood up. “And I think we need to get a bigger blanket.”

  Tate stretched, lifting his arms above his head. “That’s what leather cleaner is for. Stop worrying.” He watched with lazy eyes as Clay picked up his discarded clothing. “You going to shower first? I’ll lie here and bask for a bit until you’re done.” He closed his eyes and Clay had no doubt Tate would be asleep by the time Clay had showered.

  Clay leaned down and kissed Tate on his sweaty forehead. “I’ll wake you up when I’m done. Love you.”

  Tate nodded drowsily. “Love you too. Always.”

  Clay’s heart warmed at the murmured declaration. They weren’t easily given by either of them, both being men of action instead of words.

  Hearing them from Tate’s lips made Clay feel like he could fly.

  Chapter 7

  Tate wrinkled his nose as Rick swung open the front door to Stuffed for Choice and walked in. A stale smell wafted out of the shop, reminiscent of old weed, cigarettes, and the fustiness of small creatures. Tate noticed the crime scene paraphernalia was gone, and the shop appeared to have been restored to its former condition.

  Dead animals with a soupçon of dust.

  He wandered past Clay, shoving his way into the shop after Rick. “Huh. You could make a great joke out of this one.” He chuckled. “A policeman, two investigators, and a psychic walk into a taxidermy shop…”

  Clay snorted as he entered the cool clime of the shop. “Sounds like a match made in heaven. Except the psychic hasn’t arrived yet.” He took off his sport coat and left it on top of the counter. Today hadn’t been a suit and tie day, even more so now he no longer had an office. Tate had finally managed to convince his man to dress down when he worked from home or didn’t have clients to see.

  And what a sight he was. Clay was dressed in dark grey chinos, a crisp white long-sleeved shirt, and a camel sport coat.

  Tate grinned at the memory of this morning. He’d taken one look at Clay and shaken his head with affection. His words, “You’ll never quite get the hang of casual, will you, babe?” had made Clay grumble softly.

  His man did look pretty edible though. Tate was in black jeans, torn at the knees, a tight-fitting blue t-shirt, and his usual black leather jacket, a lighter version of the one he usually wore, because, after all, it was spring.

  If they hadn’t had an appointment to join Rick and Taylor Abelard down in Fetish Alley, Tate would gladly have divested Clay of all his clothes and taken him back to bed.

  Rick glanced at his watch. “We’re early. Tay should be here in about ten minutes.” He ambled through to Simon Shaw’s office. The shop owner had taken the morning off, on Rick’s request, so that Taylor could do his thing. He’d also trusted Rick with the key and told them to “Get on with it, so I can get back to normal.” Tate had some sympathy for the man, but from what Aurelio had told him, the little shop had seen more customers than ever due to the gruesome murder. Simon Shaw couldn’t complain too much.

  Clay sat down in the typist chair in front of the desk and instantly stood up. “How the hell does anyone sit in these damn things? Are they made for midgets?”

  Tate cackled. “Babe, maybe your backside’s getting bigger. It’s all those damn Big Macs you eat.”

  Clay shot him a dirty glare he was sure would have fried Tate had Clay’s eyes been lasers. “There is nothing big about my backside. You seemed to like it well enough the other night when you—”

  “Oi, enough with that statement,” Rick said, leaning against the wall in the corner, as he scrolled through his phone. “Tender ears are listening.”

  Clay huffed and perched his arse on the corner of the desk. “Your ears haven’t been tender for many years, Ricky boy. Stop pretending you’re this virginal creature untouched by sexual activity. It’s getting stale, unlike our sex life.”

  Tate smirked at that as he planted his arse on the floor, long legs stretched out. He crossed his legs at the ankles, crossed his arms over his chest, and shot a lazy smile up at Clay. “Too bloody true, that.”

  He saw the sudden flash of desire on Clay’s face. Deliberately, Tate flexed his biceps and grinned up at him. Truth be told, he’d been horny himself since this morning and the only thing that was going to give him any release was having Clay naked and needy beneath him. It wasn’t quite the scenario to picture whilst waiting for a psychic friend to come along and see what he could tell them about a killing in the shop they sat in but… he gave a mental shrug. Clay shouldn’t be so damn sexy, he thought. I swear the man exudes special pheromones to drive me wild. At least, they’d better be only for me.

  “You okay?” Clay said, eyes dancing with amusement. “You look like a man who has other places he’d like to be, judging at how you were looking at me.” His voice grew husky. “Hold those thoughts. We have all night…”

  Tate’s cock plumped up at the promise in those words. “Oh, you’d better believe it,” he muttered.

  “Jesus, you two,” Rick exclaimed irritably. He pulled away from the wall. “Will you knock it off?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to the front of the shop. Taylor’s a couple of minutes away. I’ll wait for him there.”

  He left the office and Tate chuckled. “Ricky boy is getting irascible in his old age.” Ricky had recently celebrated his twenty-ninth birthday and Tate loved teasing him about the next step to thirty.

  There was a commotion at the front of the shop and Tate stood up to go see if Taylor had arrived. He wasn’t sure how this whole psychic thing was going to work, and he was eager to see it evolve from the start. Clay followed him.

  Rick stood with Taylor in the entrance, both men in quiet conversation. There was a familiarity between them that spoke of being more than friends, something Tate knew to be true. Rick and Taylor had been fuck buddies a long time ago, until Rick had met Lauren and fallen madly in love. It had also been over long before Taylor had met Draven, but Rick and Taylor’s friendship had continued. Now, Taylor was paid a small retainer for helping the City of London Police do his psychic thing when needed.

  Taylor Abelard was slim but wiry, with shoulder-length curling coal black hair and skin the colour of café au lait. He was striking in appearance, his faintly French-accented voice pleasant to the ear.

  He smiled widely seeing Clay and Tate and strode over to give each man a hug. “Hi, guys. Great to see you both again albeit it could have been under better circumstances.”

  Taylor gestured to Rick. “He didn’t say you’d
be here. Come to watch the show then?” His tone was friendly, but Tate sensed the reserve. He knew from conversations with Draven how much these sorts of events affected Taylor. Especially recently, when Taylor had to work twice as hard to read anything from whatever he was given.

  Clay shook his head. “We’re here because Rick said there’d be ice cream. What else would a man give up his Friday morning for?” Tate chuckled in agreement.

  Taylor’s eyes widened then he grinned as he realised Clay was joking. “Yeah? Choc chip or my personal favourite, cookie dough?”

  Rick harrumphed. “There’s no bloody ice cream here.” He gestured outside. “But we can go grab a cone from the van down the road afterwards. My treat.”

  “My nephew. Such a big spender.” Tate nudged Rick with his elbow.

  Taylor grinned, seeming more at ease with the banter. “Very big of you, Rick,” he agreed. He pulled a bottle of water out of his jacket pocket as he looked around the shop, shoulders hunching as if warding off a chill. “I can tell something bad happened here,” he said softly. He shuddered. “All those dead things on the walls, littering the shop with their bad juju …” Taylor shook his head as if ridding himself of bad thoughts. “How anyone can work in a place like this is a mystery.”

  He walked around the shop as Tate and the other men watched in silence, respecting Taylor’s time to process whatever he was feeling.

  Taylor prowled around the place, eyes darting into corners and then up at the wooden rafters that traversed the ceiling. Now and then his hands reached out to touch things, and Tate saw faint shivers wrack Taylor’s body.

  “It will be difficult to see much in here,” Taylor finally acknowledged with a wry smile. “There’s a lot of death and darkness in this place, not only from the recent murder but from the business it’s been involved in for so long.” His lips twisted in a grimace. “I’ll give it a whirl, though, but no promises.” He quirked an eyebrow at Rick, who stood behind the counter, arms folded. Taylor snorted softly and looked around at the people in the room. “I didn’t anticipate having such an audience though. Perhaps I need to start charging a fee.” He smiled wryly and took another sip of his water.

  Rick cast a glance over at Taylor and sniffed. “Like I don’t pay you enough already for your spidey senses?” His fond smile at the seated man spoke volumes.

  Taylor grinned. “What is it you want to me touch that was directly related to the killing?”

  Rick reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a plastic bag, in which resided the fake penis that Tate assumed was the one shoved into JJ’s mouth.

  “This is probably the best thing we have for you to use, Tay. Now I know your visions aren’t straightforward and there’s a limit to what you can do, but anything you can give us will be appreciated.”

  Taylor reached out and took the bag, gingerly opening the seal. He took a deep breath and reached into the bag and withdrew the item. “Here goes,” he muttered.

  Rick pulled a chair behind Taylor and waited.

  Tate had to admit it was a bit of an anticlimax. In the films he’d seen, on touching an item used in a killing, the psychic usually went into convulsions, or their eyes went white and they spouted gobbledy-gook, which ultimately led directly to the apprehension of the murderer.

  Taylor did none of these things. His handsome face grew dreamy and thoughtful. The only indication any of them had that something was happening in his head was an occasional twitch of his shoulder, a frown on his brow, or a hiss of air from between his lips.

  Tate knocked Clay’s arm with his elbow. “I wonder what he’s seeing?” he whispered. “It’s fascinating to watch him at work.”

  Clay nodded, his gaze focused on Taylor, who had now closed his eyes and seemed to sway on his feet. Rick’s hand reached out to grip Taylor’s arm gently, as if steadying him. Tate supposed having had a relationship BD—Before Draven—Rick had been exposed to Taylor’s gifts then and knew how to manage them.

  Suddenly Taylor let out a soft, keening cry and clutched his chest. His eyes whipped open and Tate caught a chill down his spine at the emptiness in them. Taylor gasped loudly, heavy pants that soon dwindled into steady breaths. All the while, Rick gentled Taylor, murmuring something in his ear, keeping his hands on Taylor’s shoulder. Finally, Taylor’s face slackened, and he seemed to collapse in on himself. Rick was there to steer Taylor into sitting in the chair strategically placed behind him.

  “Not my first rodeo with him,” Rick muttered as he gently removed the fake dick from Taylor’s hands. “That was pretty tame compared to some of the stuff I’ve seen.” He bit his lip worriedly as he stuffed the item back into the evidence bag. “Draven said his gifts are different now, but that was something else.”

  Tate watched Rick as he stroked Taylor’s hair, made soft patting gestures to his shoulder, and kept up a quiet chatter of encouragement. “Come on, Tay. Get back here, buddy. Draven will kill me if anything happens to you. And we all know your fiancé is not a man to cross. Come on, Tay. Wake up.”

  Taylor’s eyes opened and he took a deep breath. His eyes were unfocused, his face taut, then, as he realised where he was, life and colour flooded back into his once pale cheeks.

  “You all right?” Tate asked in concern.

  Taylor nodded. “Jesus, that was weird,” he croaked. “What a mindfuck,” he muttered. “I’m not sure how it’s going to help you, though. I didn’t really see all that much I think will be useful.”

  Rick squeezed his shoulder. “You let us be the judge of that. When you’re ready, spill the beans. We’re all ears.”

  Tate saw Clay take out his phone and scroll through, no doubt opening his voice recorder app. It was easier to get the conversation down verbatim, rather than trying to remember it later.

  Taylor rolled his neck and closed his eyes again, fingers flexing where he rested them on his knees. “Well, you know I don’t see people as such, more sounds and feelings, and often, scents. I did get a scent from this one, I think it was some woman’s perfume.” He wrinkled his nose. “I’m not a fan. It smells like one of those cheap ones you buy in a pharmacy, you know, titled Soaring Passion or something equally as awful.” He frowned. “It smelt sweets, like candy maybe? I’m no expert. I’ll remember if I smell it again, though.”

  Rick pursed his lips. “That could be useful,” he said encouragingly. “Go on.”

  Tate hitched his backside up onto the counter. His legs kicked idly against the front as he leaned forward, hands on his thighs. “At this stage of the game, anything you can give us might help. We haven’t really had a lot of luck in getting new leads so far.” He grinned encouragingly at Taylor. “Of course, an actual name or physical description would be welcome, but I know it doesn’t work like that.”

  Taylor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I felt as if I was choking, but there was nothing in my mouth,” he murmured. “There was this pain in my chest, as if I was having a heart attack. Is that how the guy died?” He opened his eyes to stare at Rick.

  Clay frowned. “Taylor doesn’t know how JJ died?”

  Rick shook his head. “No. The best way for this to work is for Tay to go in cold, with no preconceived notions. That way, we know whatever he’s telling us isn’t tainted by something he might have imagined or remembered.” He flashed a grin at them all. “Think of going to a psychic and not telling them anything about yourself. That way they have to work for their money.” He smirked.

  Taylor nodded. “Yeah, what he said. I don’t like knowing anything beforehand about the case other than the fact someone died here. It means my ch’i is clean, ready to see things as they are, not as I expect them to be.”

  Clay blinked. “Your key? What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Tate scoffed. “Ch’i, sweetheart, spelt c-h-i. It’s that whole Chinese energy life force thing.”

  “Ah. That kind of chi.” Clay grinned. “Sorry, I’ve never been much into meditation or yoga.” He jerked a thumb at Tate. �
��That’s more his deal.”

  Tate chuckled. “You make me sound like some sort of self-help guru.” He winked at Taylor. “I confess in the past I’ve had anger issues and meditation helped. As for the yoga…” He cast a wicked glance at Clay. “Clay’s enjoyed my downward dog pose more times than I can say.”

  Rick squawked, and his pale face flushed pink. “Jesus, Tate, TMI. Clay, keep a tighter leash on your animal, please.”

  Clay was too busy laughing at Rick’s embarrassment and Tate’s lewd satisfaction.

  Taylor was chuckling, trying to catch his breath. “I can see why Draven loves working with you two,” he managed to get out in between fits of laughter. “God, that office of yours must have been fun to work in.”

  His face creased in merriment. “He came back from the office the other day complaining about the fact you said you’d chucked his box of sex toys into the bin.” He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his t-shirt. “First, I wanted to know why he had a fucking box of sex toys in the office, because I haven’t had the benefit of them. Then he explained it wasn’t a real box, but a metaphorical one and he tripped himself up trying to explain he didn’t have one, but if he had, you’d have gotten rid of it. By the time he finished, we were both so confused. It took him giving me a blowjob to clear the matter up.” He smirked.

  Tate’s chest ached from laughing.

  Rick still looked rather flustered and he glared around at the three amused men. “Can we please get on with this?” he demanded petulantly. “This is supposed to be a serious effort to try to solve a murder and all you guys can talk about is your damned sex lives.”

  Tate sobered up and brought his laughter under control. “Point taken,” he conceded.

  Clay huffed. “Okay, babe, knock off with the funnies. Let’s keep this PG for Rick and find out more about what Taylor saw.”

  Tate rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “Let’s carry on.”

  “What else can you tell us?” Clay asked.

  Taylor nibbled his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Well, I couldn’t breathe, and it felt as if there was something heavy on my chest. I was trying to reach for something, but I couldn’t get it.” He shrugged. “I think someone else had it, but I can’t be sure. There was a distinct energy around me, as if someone was really pissed off. I also have this weird taste in my mouth, a bit like…” his brow creased, “like grape, some sort of bubble gum?” He made a moue of distaste. “It’s bloody horrible, whatever it is.”