“About five minutes,” was the answer. “It’s almost done.”
Tate took another deep breath and went over to the sideboard where Clay was charging his phone. He accessed it and scrolled through the music playlists. He was sure there would be one there to set the mood for what he planned to do.
Tate chuckled as he saw one titled “Shit Tate won’t like.” He clicked on it and strains of something mellow and calming floated through the air. He peered at the screen. Some dude called James Arthur. Tate admitted it wasn’t that bad. He preferred heavy rock and electronic dance music himself. Muse was his favourite band, and Tate thought their single “Psycho” might well be his signature tune.
He paced impatiently, waiting for Clay to call that everything was ready to dish up. When finally Clay said, “Ready,” Tate went to help bring the dishes to the table. Soon they were eating in companionable silence. Tate’s hands were sweating and he rubbed them on his jeans.
Clay noticed and cocked any brow at him. “You okay there, champ? You seem a little preoccupied.” He had a smidgen of sauce on his lip and Tate wanted to lick it off.
He forced a smile, hoping it hid his nervousness. Clay was too damn perceptive. “Me? I’m good. Enjoying your cooking.” He reached for his wineglass, his second drink of the night. “And the company. It’s been a while since we sat down like this.”
Clay agreed. “Yeah, I’m glad you suggested it. Nothing better than a good meal, then curling up on the couch together watching a film.” He wiggled his brows suggestively. “Well, we’ll be on the couch doing something if that kiss earlier was anything to go by.”
Tate grinned. “I’m down with that.” His hand strayed once more to the rings burning a hole in his pocket. He pushed his plate away and took a gulp of his wine. Then another. Clay’s eyes widened as Tate finished it and reached for the bottle.
“Wow, steady on there, babe. You want to be able to get it up later and the way you’re going, it’ll be a no-show.” He laughed softly, the affection in his voice a soothing balm that made Tate feel this was all going to be okay. He poured another glass and motioned to Clay if he wanted a refill.
Clay shook his head. “You sure you’re okay? I don’t know… you seem a little edgy. Anything you want to tell me?” He leaned back in his chair, a faint smile on his face.
Tate’s heart stuttered to a stop then carried on. “Ask you? No, what would I have to ask you? I mean, I’m not ready yet, maybe in a little while…” His words trailed off, seeing the expression on his lover’s face.
Clay’s face was comical, filled with puzzlement. “Tate, what the hell? I didn’t say you had anything to ask me. Where did that come from?” He leaned across the table and clasped Tate’s hands. “Your hands are frozen. What the fuck is going on?”
Tate’s words came out in a rush, and he couldn’t have stopped them anymore than the mighty Amazon River could stop flowing. He reached into his pocket and drew out the rings, holding them tightly on his curled-up hand.
“I know I’ve always downplayed the whole marriage thing. Remember you asked me years ago and I told you it wasn’t something I wanted. You’ve never asked again, because, obviously, I had a stick up my arse back then and you didn’t want to force the issue.”
He stopped to take a breath, watching Clay’s face as it morphed from puzzled to astonished. “I knew I’d need to be the one who took that particular bull by the horns, and seeing those kids today on the river made me realise it was the right time, and I needed to do something.” He uncurled his hand. “I’ve had these ages, but I think the time is right.” He slapped the rings down on the table. “Maybe we could do something with them now? What do you think?”
He stopped and clenched his shaking hands on his lap. Crap. What a fucking sorry attempt at asking someone to marry him. He should have planned this a little better. One thing he wasn’t sorry about was his decision to not do this publicly, because shit, what a disaster that would have been.
He swallowed and looked down at the rings lying side by side on the table.
What the hell is going to happen now?
Chapter 12
Clay figured he’d been transported to an alternative universe because surely in the real world, Tate Williams, the man who’d professed marriage would never be in the cards for him, would never have made the most awkward, adorable, and endearing proposal of marriage Clay had ever heard or seen.
His heart hammered in his chest as indescribable joy welled up from his core and settled like a fuzzy blanket over his limbs. He blinked at the beautiful set of rings lying innocently on the table, and then looked up at Tate.
Tate’s jaw was clenched in what looked like embarrassment and his eyes looked everywhere but at Clay. The love Clay had for this man increased tenfold, taking his breath and leaving in its place a heart-stopping moment of sheer giddiness. Then his heart started beating again and Clay reached out and took both rings in his hands. He stood up and moved over to crouch at Tate’s side.
“I think this is the most memorable moment of my life,” he said softly as Tate shifted uncomfortably on his chair. Clay pulled Tate to his feet and they stood sandwiched together, as Craig David’s “I Know You” played in the background. “And could this song be any more appropriate?”
Tate relaxed in Clay’s embrace. “I don’t know the song or the words,” he said gruffly, his face almost buried in Clay’s shoulder.
Clay drew Tate’s face away from his shirt and smiled at him. “I’ll play it for you afterward and you’ll see what I mean.”
Tate’s eyes met his, the uncertainty in them breaking Clay’s heart. “I know that was a shit marriage proposal,” he muttered. “But it’s not something I’ve much experience in.”
Clay cupped Tate’s face in his hands. His eyes stung from the tears welling in them. “Tate Oliver Williams, that was the most incredible proposal I’ve ever had, and I can’t believe you did it. And…” his voice cracked and he grinned through his tears, “I’d be honoured to be your husband.”
Tate’s face brightened as if the room had been flooded with angel light. “You will? Oh, thank God for that.” He sagged in relief then frowned. “Wait, Oliver? I’ve never told you my middle name, even after all the time we’ve been together. Nobody knows that name.”
Clay wanted to dance around the room, holding the man in his arms, and never let go. “I’m an investigator, sweetheart. It’s what I do. I find things out.” He couldn’t wait any longer. He swooped down, taking Tate’s mouth, and relished the soft moans that played out against his lips as Clay put every heartfelt molecule and atom he possessed into telling Tate how much he loved him.
When they drew apart, as well as both being completely at full mast and kiss drunk, Clay reached out and drew his fingers down Tate’s jawline. “Would you like to put the ring on my finger?” he murmured. “Then I’ll do the same to yours.”
Tate nodded dazedly and picked up one of the rings. He took Clay’s left hand and slid the ring onto his finger. It fitted perfectly.
Clay stared at it for a minute then looked back up. “It’s stunning,” he said. “I love it. Now let me seal this deal before you change your mind.”
Tate regarded him steadily. “That will never happen.”
Clay slid the other ring onto Tate’s finger and they both stood in silence, looking down at their hands. Clay was choked up, the magnitude of what had happened taking a minute to sink in. From the look on Tate’s face, he was feeling the same.
“Thank you for this,” Clay whispered unsteadily as he once again drew Tate into him. “It’s indescribable how I feel. Like everything has come full circle and we’re both exactly where we need to be. I love you so much it hurts, Tate. I always have.”
“I know,” Tate said. “And I love you, and trust you, and I might not have always shown it because I’m a difficult, stubborn bastard.”
Clay let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. “But you’re my difficult, stubborn ba
stard. And I don’t know about you, but I’m so fucking turned on right now and I want to take you to bed. I need to touch and taste every bit of you.”
Tate didn’t say anything. He took Clay’s hand and led him down the hallway to their bedroom, lit with soft light from the bedside lamps. The minute they entered the room, Clay manhandled Tate against the wall, already fumbling with Tate’s jeans. “Take it all off,” Clay panted. “There’s no time to get all seductive and shit. I want you and me naked, on that bed, right now.”
“Ditto,” Tate growled as he shucked his jeans and underwear down at record speed. He lifted his t-shirt over his head and flung it on the floor. Clay was doing the same, and as soon as his shirt was off, and trousers pooled around his ankles, he pushed Tate back onto the bed.
Clay’s cock ached, his need to be skin to skin with Tate overwhelming. The instinct to bite, lick, taste, and maul was strong, and he had to hold back. Tonight, he wanted to worship his man’s body, to lavish him with every facet of affection in Clay’s arsenal. Tonight was not one of simply fucking. As a couple they alternated between that, and making love, dependent on their moods. Tonight was all about the lovemaking.
Before long, Clay was pressed against Tate’s heated and willing body, face to face, cock to cock, and lips to lips. No words were spoken, and the sound of the moans and sighs into each other’s mouths a symphony in Clay’s ears.
He thrust against the heated flesh of his lover. The slick, hot friction of cock on cock sent thrills along Clay’s spine, and heat pooled in his groin. Sheer physical need suffused his body and would play out to a breath-taking climax. Clay would make sure of it.
His heart was singing, igniting Clay’s passion, the welling of which filled his soul. The reverent touching and now whispered endearments as both men struggled to tell the other how they felt sent soft thrills of comfort and belonging.
“If this is what asking you to marry ends up like,” Tate gasped out as Clay finally took them both of them in his hands and jacked them off, “I’m going to do it again as soon as I recover my breath. God, Clay, you make me feel like nothing else exists for you.”
Tate’s pupils were blown wide, his face a medley of beard rash and moisture from sweat, and sloppy, demanding kisses that spilled over with gentle kisses on cheeks and foreheads.
“No one else exists for me like you do,” Clay promised as he bit down on Tate’s ear, feeling his lover spasm in pleasure beneath him. “You drive me crazy. You fill my heart.”
Tate’s eyes closed as his body bucked, spilling warm fluid all over Clay’s hand and between their bodies. Tate cried out desperately and clutched at Clay’s hips. “Jesus, what you do to me…”
Clay let go of Tate and continued to jerk himself off, his orgasm building until he stiffened then painted Tate’s chest and stomach with white streams of come. He collapsed on his back beside Tate, loose limbed and satiated, as he stared up at the ceiling.
“Christ almighty.” Clay grinned between gulps of air. “Our sex life has always been above and beyond, but that was…wow.”
Tate lifted a hand and wriggled it where the ring shone in the dim light of the side lamp. “I didn’t buy any old rings, you know,” he informed with amusement. “They have superpowers. They make sex even more incredible. The shopkeeper who sold them said so.”
“Yeah, and I bet he even sold you some magic beans and told you a beanstalk would grow,” Clay teased as his body stopped shuddering. He turned to face Tate, who was still sprawled on his back. “I’m too damn relaxed to even think about cleaning all this up right now.” He waved at the sticky sheets and their painted torsos. “So I think I’m going to lie here and bask in the fact I now get to call you my fiancé.”
Tate’s eyes softened. “I like that. Sounds good on the tongue.” He huffed. “You know everyone is going to want to fuss over us when they hear about it. Rick and Lauren are going to be playing ‘what name will they take,’ and no doubt Jax and your folks are going to start plotting the wedding.” He narrowed his eyes. “Can we agree we don’t want a huge one? I’m not feeling the whole ‘sell my soul and bankrupt myself’ for one day.”
Clay nodded, his eyes half closed in sleep. “Uh-huh. The friends and family will be told to back off. I think we both want the same thing, a small, intimate gig with important people only. All we have to do is set a date.”
Tate harrumphed. “What, now? Draven and Taylor have been engaged for five bloody years, and still no wedding on the horizon.”
Clay raised a hand and pushed sweaty hair from Tate’s face. “I know, but to be honest, I think that’s crazy. A five-year engagement is a bit too long. Can we agree we at least do the deed in the next couple of years, maximum?”
Tate laughed quietly. “Sure, baby. Anything my boo-boo wants.”
Clay stifled a silly, happy giggle at being called Tate’s “boo-boo.” That was a new one. He lay back on the bed and pulled the loose comforter at the bottom over them. “I want a couple of hours’ nap.” He yawned and closed his eyes. “Feel free to wake me up if the house catches fire or a group of armed terrorists break in. Unless that happens, leave me be.”
Tate gave a jaw-cracking yawn as well and turned away, pushing his arse against Clay’s hip. “Sounds good.”
Within five minutes Tate was snoring. Clay envied him his ability to go to sleep so quickly. Tate may wake up with bad dreams, but getting to sleep had never been a problem.
Unlike Clay, whose active brain needed time to wind down before he entered the Land of Nod.
In truth he wasn’t sure he wanted to go to sleep yet. Every minute of tonight still whirred in his brain, and the fact he and Tate were now engaged to be married.
It wasn’t something he’d expected to happen, and he’d been resigned to that fate. Now he had a ring on his finger and the man of his dreams beside him still.
Clay turned and snuggled into his pillows, pulling the comforter up to his chin. Sometimes life threw you a curveball and sometimes, it was one you’d always wanted.
He fell asleep with a smile on his face.
***
The news of their engagement spread like spilled suntan oil across water, ripples within ripples, blending into each other. Telling Jax was fun. The young man was overwhelmed to the point poor Dare had to take the phone away from him because their boy was in tears.
Of course, once Jax had recovered, he’d wasted no time in telling everyone he knew, and calling Clay’s mother to suggest they band together on the wedding preparations. Clay’s mother had been overjoyed and laughingly told her son she’d try to temper Jax’s enthusiasm.
“I know a big thing isn’t you, honey,” Angela Mortimer had said between sniffs and sighs of joy. “I’ll try to control him, but it’s Jax, you know? I told him you were a big boy and could arrange your own wedding, with a little help, of course, but he doesn’t want to listen.”
Clay did know. If Jax had his way, the wedding would be filled with unicorns, Pride banners, drag queens, and be set in a castle. Clay hoped like hell Jax would listen to reason after the initial excitement.
Tate had taken it all in stride, and he’d even received a new set of spray cans as an engagement present from the trio in the alley, Mitch, Josiah, and Freddie. No doubt their “announcement” was courtesy of Jax’s big mouth.
Rick and Lauren were excited as all hell, and from the looks of it, Lauren was stepping up her game in getting a wedding date arranged for their own event. Tate’s sister Lucy had already insisted she help with the wedding plans once it was decided. Clay was starting to think he and Tate’s plan for a simple affair was steadily growing into a monster of epic proportions.
He had one more person to tell. From the chair in his office, he dialled a number and waited for Aurelio to answer. He could have waited until their next meeting at the club, but the way the news was spreading, Clay didn’t want him to hear it from anyone else.
“Clay, my friend. Good to hear from you. How are things?” Aurel
io’s deep voice echoed through the phone.
Clay smiled and sat back in his chair, twirling around to face the garden. Outside, Tate worked out in the sun, his painting canvas already filled with an abstract swathe of colours. His fiancé—and didn’t that sound excellent—had decided to take up painting again. Clay thought he might get some plans drawn up to build Tate a studio down at the bottom of the garden.
“Oh,” Clay said airily, “things are going well. Rick called this morning. He says they have Ingrid Vos in custody and if we wanted to go down and watch the interview, we can go down to the station today at two. Tate and I plan on making that one. It should be entertaining. DS Carol Meadham is conducting the interview with another of her colleagues, and it’s said she has legendary interrogation skills.”
“I’m not sure the word ‘interrogation’ should be used in this instance,” Aurelio said drily. “This is not a military situation, my friend.”
Clay snorted. “Whatever. You say toe-may-toe and I say toe-mah-toe.” Clay watched as Tate made brushstrokes on his canvas, the muscles in his back flexing pleasingly. “By the way, something incredible happened the other night.”
“Oh, mi amor, I do not need to hear of your sexual escapades,” Aurelio groaned. “And why would you think I would?”
Clay chuckled. “Not that sort of thing, you idiot. Something else entirely.” He paused, knowing Aurelio would be intrigued. After a few seconds there was a splutter from the phone.
“Are you going to tell me what happened or are you going to leave me hanging here like a piñata?” Aurelio asked, irritation tingeing his tone.
Clay waited a millisecond before responding. “You’re now talking to a man with a ring on his finger. Tate asked me to marry him the other night. I said yes, of course.”
There was silence as Aurelio no doubt digested the news. The silence was followed by a short cough then Aurelio spoke. “That is excellent news, my friend. Congratulations to you both. I think perhaps it was about time, yes?”
Death By C*ck (Fetish Alley Book 2) Page 15
