Death By C*ck (Fetish Alley Book 2)

by Susan Mac Nicol

  Tate nodded. “Sometimes people make the mistake of thinking all criminals are psychopaths, or sociopaths, and have this ability to hold the truth inside no matter what.” He gave a gruff laugh. “Mostly, criminals are simply human and they can be coerced into telling the truth as long as they have the right motivation. Sometimes all that’s needed is one person to ask the right questions.”

  “Well, whatever it was, it worked,” Clay said. “That’s another Fetish Alley case closed.” He smirked. “At this rate, babe, Aurelio will need to pay us a retainer.” His face grew thoughtful. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I might pitch that idea to him.”

  Rick stared at Clay. “At this bloody rate, I’m starting to think they need their own damned police force,” he muttered. “Let’s hope there won’t be any more instances of dead bodies being moved or people being murdered down there.”

  Carol chuckled. “It makes life interesting,” she said lightly. “Right. I’m off to see what’s happening with Ms Vos. Gentlemen, enjoy the rest of your afternoon. I’d like to say I won’t see you soon, but we all know that would probably be a lie.” She winked as she left the room.

  “She’s special,” Clay said thoughtfully. “I think she’ll go far with the right encouragement.” He grinned. “Reminds me a bit of you, Rick. Full of enthusiasm, and not scared to tread those grey lines.”

  “I agree.” Tate picked up his jacket and looked over at Clay. “Shall we leave them to gloat about their arrest while we find somewhere we can get something to eat? Your fiancé is starving.” As if on demand, his stomach grumbled loudly.

  Clay looked at Tate in amusement. “Yes, we can do that before my fiancé and his stomach complain even more.”

  Rick regarded them both with a wide smile. “I still can’t believe the two of you are engaged. And taking so much pleasure in the word ‘fiancé.’ It’s brilliant.” He grinned. “So much better than ‘boyfriend’ or ‘partner.’”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Tate muttered as he left the room. “Now you and Lauren have something else to talk about instead of our impending nuptials and what name we’ll take.”

  “Speaking of, what are your thoughts—” Rick was stopped from saying anything further by Tate’s hand across his mouth.

  “Can it.” Tate glared at him. “Get your own upcoming wedding sorted before you even think of asking us about ours. It’ll be a while anyway. There’s plenty of time.”

  “Two years max,” Clay murmured as they walked into the corridor. “Remember?”

  “Yep,” Tate confirmed with a fond glance at his lover. “I promise, I won’t stiff you on that, babe. I’m the one who proposed, remember?”

  He ignored Clay’s look of indignation as Tate marched through the station and out into the street.

  “I asked you first,” Clay said sulkily. “Many years ago, and you said no, you bastard. So don’t come over all holier than thou because I said yes this time.”

  Tate waved a hand airily. “Semantics, babe. That was then. This is now. And by the way, fuck rock, paper, scissors. I’m driving this time.” He plucked the keys from Clay’s fingers and straddled the bike.

  Clay grumbled as he climbed on behind Tate. “You’ve become even more of an arse since we got engaged. God knows what you’ll be like when we get married.”

  Clay’s hands slid under Tate’s jacket, and he held tight. Tate loved it. Loved the feel of Clay against him, the scent of Clay’s aftershave, and the smile in Clay’s voice when he’d said those words, “When we get married.”

  Tate gunned the engine and sped off down the street, Clay leaning into him with an ease borne of familiarity. Tate had to admit, he was beginning to get a little excited about the thought of calling Clay his husband.

  Perhaps they’d be getting married sooner than Clay thought.

  Chapter 14

  Clay stood in the middle of Fetish Alley with a grin on his face and a spring in his step. There was a lot to be said for early morning sex to sweep away the last cobwebs of sleep and greet the day with vigour and enthusiasm. Clay had been wakened with a morning blowjob, and Tate had certainly seemed to enjoy the shower sex that came after.

  Clay whistled softly from the shady spot he was in, under an awning, watching Tate in earnest conversation with one of the vendors. It was market day, and the cobbled street was lined with tiny stalls, selling all manner of things from food to sex aids and hypnosis lessons. There was even one woman doing tarot readings. Clay wondered idly if it was Eleanor Lixer. He’d go over and check if it was her, as he wanted a word anyway.

  As Tate leaned in and laughed at something the man beside him said, Clay shook his head in affection. His fiancé had a knack for blending in with the buskers and vendors in the street. Probably a skill gained from his days undercover. Tate might have been a rich man’s “companion” back then—Clay didn’t want to use the word “plaything,” which Tate had called himself with derision since that wasn’t who Tate was at all—but his sympathies and loyalties would always lie with the underdogs and the unfortunate in life.

  Tate high-fived the man outside the gaudily decorated sex shop and sauntered back to Clay with an air of smugness.

  “Did you get that order in for a new batch of lube and that dildo you wanted?” Clay teased. “Or was it that sex doll in the window you ordered?”

  Tate raised his brows in lofty disdain. “First off, I have secret stashes of lube all over the house, we’re not likely to run out. Second, Clayzilla is better than a dildo in my arse any day of the week. And last, er, no. I like my men warm-blooded and alive, thank you very much.”

  Clay laughed. “Then what the hell were you two talking about? When you said you had to see a man about a dog, I figured you were covering something secret squirrelly. I didn’t expect it to be in a damned sex shop though.”

  Tate didn’t answer, simply walked on ahead, perusing the market stalls and picking up merchandise then putting it down. “Hey, babe, we could do with some of these,” he called out as he picked up a deck of playing cards depicting what Clay thought were various sexual positions on the back. “Might give us a few ideas.” He paid the vendor a fiver and ambled off again.

  Clay rolled his eyes to the heavens and swore softly. “Fine, if you don’t want to tell me your secret, that’s fine. I’m not going to pry.” He peered at the woman doing the tarot readings, noting it wasn’t Eleanor after all. They’d have to stop by her shop on the way to see Aurelio. From what Clay remembered, it was on the way.

  Two hot dogs and a fruit salad later (the fruit was for Tate, the hot dogs were all Clay’s) they reached E-Lixer. The shop was open, the fragrance of incense and sandalwood drifting out from behind a tinkling wooden bead curtain.

  “Here we are.” Clay tugged at Tate’s wrist. “Let’s go in and have a chat with her about closing the case.”

  He led the way into the cluttered confines of the shop. Eleanor was talking to a couple at the counter. She waved when she saw Clay and Tate enter, and asked them to wait a minute. Clay nodded back and wandered curiously around the small store.

  The wares were certainly interesting. All types of essential oils, proclaiming to heal various ills and conditions, collections of gemstones arrayed in a myriad of colours, and tarot cards and other occult items packed wall to wall on the shelves.

  Tate nudged him. “Think this might be fun?” He held up a small booklet entitled “Tantric Sex.”

  Clay looked at it and grinned. “I’m not sure either of us would have the patience for ‘slow sexual activity.’” We always end up banging each other’s brains out.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” Tate murmured, wandering away, book still in his hand. He picked up a small reed basket and dropped the book in. “Perhaps we should give it a try. It says the orgasms are even more mind-blowing than usual. I’m always up for one of those.”

  Clay noticed wryly Tate seemed drawn to the small display of sex toys in one corner of the shop. Tate chuckled wickedly and picked
up a peacock feather. “Maybe we could get into a little denial sex as well. I rather fancy keeping you on edge until I make you explode. Or not.”

  The feather and a pack of slim, multicoloured candles titled “Pain Play Deluxe” were added to Tate’s shopping basket.

  Clay cleared his throat, as his dick stiffened. “Babe, is there something I should know?” he murmured. “You seem to be on a theme here.”

  His eyes widened as his fiancé picked up a Bondage Pinwheel and added it to the haul.

  “Oh, I’m broadening our horizons a little,” Tate replied airily.

  Clay swallowed as Tate picked up a small wand thing labelled “Electrosexer 4” and perused it with furrowed brows.

  Jesus Christ, he means business. Not that I’m complaining. At least, I don’t think I am.

  When the small wand went into Tate’s basket, Clay thought perhaps enough was enough. It looked like he was going to be tickled, scraped, burnt, and electrocuted to sexual highs, and while he was all for something different, starting off slow was fine with him.

  Before he decides we need a bloody sex swing and a St. Andrew’s Cross in the living room.

  Clay’s cock seemed to like that idea too. “Eleanor is free,” he said, grabbing Tate’s arm and pulling him over to the counter. “Let’s go tell her about Ingrid’s arrest.”

  He ignored Tate’s low, sultry chuckle as they walked to the counter and greeted Eleanor. No doubt given the alley grapevine, she’d already heard the news, but Clay thought they owed it to her to tell her about it in person. After all, in a roundabout way, she’d helped them solve it. She looked better than before. The shadows under her eyes were gone and her demeanour was happier.

  “Good afternoon, you two, what are you doing here again? You’ve become regular visitors.” Green eyes sparkled at them from underneath her trademark blue fedora.

  “If people stopped dying, maybe we wouldn’t need to,” Tate murmured to Clay in amusement. Clay scowled at him then turned to greet Eleanor.

  “I’m sure you know why we’re here. I suppose you’ve heard the news about Ingrid Vos being arrested for JJ’s murder?”

  Eleanor’s eyes shadowed. “I did. Thanks to both of you for finding out the truth.”

  “We didn’t do it alone,” Tate said. “The police were equally instrumental in getting the result.” Clay was entertained by the slight peevishness in Tate’s voice. You could take the man out of the police force, but you couldn’t take the police out of the man. He was honour bound to defend his “tribe,” as he’d called them back in the day.

  Eleanor waved a hand. “Oh, I suppose. But you two are the official alley investigators, and people around here respect that.” She smiled. “They trust you in a way they’d never trust the police.” She chuckled. “And of course, it helps that the boss man is a personal friend.”

  Clay acknowledged her remarks, making a mental note to tease Aurelio about his title when he saw the man next. “I’m glad we could help. It was a nasty business.” He hesitated. “Are you all right? I mean, I know you said JJ was only a friend, but we felt there was more to it than that.”

  Eleanor stared at them for a minute then sighed. “True. We’d been seeing each other for a couple of months. It was beginning to get serious and then he…” Her tone was tinged with pain. “Anyway, the fact he’s at peace now his killer has been apprehended is what keeps me going. His spirit had been troubled and now…” Her voice trailed off. “JJ’s where he should be.”

  “The police found his phone in Ingrid’s apartment,” Clay said gently. “Apparently there were some selfies on it date stamped on the day he was murdered. It helps make the case to have further proof that she was there. Cut and dried, I’d say.”

  Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you for letting me know that.” She reached out and took Clay’s and Tate’s hands, squeezing them gently. “And look at you two. I see your circumstances have changed since I last saw you.” Her face crinkled into a wide smile. For a moment Clay wasn’t sure what she was referring to then he noticed her meaningful glance at their hands.

  “Oh. Yes, we’re engaged. He asked me.” He heard Tate’s snort of amusement beside him, something he did every time Clay told people this important piece of information.

  “Congratulations to you both. May your home be blessed with love and patience, and may it always be your safe space.”

  Clay huffed affectionately. “Patience is certainly required with this one.”

  “Hey.” Tate nudged his arm. “Pot, kettle much?” His sly grin did more than warm Clay’s heart. It promised something a little dirty later. Given what he had in the shopping basket, Clay couldn’t wait.

  Yet, even at his age, Clay’s face flushed as Eleanor peered into the basket, taking it from Tate and hauling it onto the counter.

  “Let me sort this out for you.” She puttered around to the till and began ringing up their purchases. Clay was sure his face was incandescent with embarrassment. He might get to enjoy some of the items, but he damned well didn’t want anyone else knowing about them.

  Tate leaned over and whispered in his ear, “You’re so cute when you’re flustered. Relax. It’s not like she hasn’t seen these things before.” He gave Clay a wicked wink and reached into his pocket for his wallet.

  An over-generous discount later, the purchases were handed over, wrapped in a discreet brown paper bag. They said their good-byes, then left the shop to head down to Graffiato Animé.

  Aurelio had invited them for a thank you lunch, and while Clay had said it wasn’t necessary, his friend had insisted.

  Cleaver was on door duty today and he waved them in. “Afternoon, gents,” he rumbled, his Caribbean accent pleasing to the ear. Clay thought the man seemed even bigger than before. He wasn’t even sure that was possible. “The boss is already in the dining room. He’s on a call, but no doubt he’ll be done when he sees you.” He made a tutting sound. “You know what he’s like when it’s that little rascal on the phone.”

  Clay’s ears pricked up and Tate whipped round too. “Rascal? Are you talking about Tomas?” Tate asked with a gleam in his eyes.

  “Who else?” Cleaver’s six-foot-seven frame shook with laughter, his dreadlocks whipping around his head. “Man, that little imp has the boss wrapped around his fingers. I swear, those two are like the best entertainment ever.” He motioned them into the room. “There you go. Have fun, gents. And don’t let the boss get too excited. I’ve never seen him so close to a damn heart attack before.” Still chuckling, Cleaver strode across the foyer and into the kitchen.

  As Clay and Tate entered the room, Aurelio stood, talking excitedly on his phone. He switched to Italian when he saw them. Clay grinned. The man had secrets to hide. No matter, Clay was sure he’d prise it out of his friend at some stage.

  Aurelio moved the phone away. “Please, have a seat,” he said. “The food will be in shortly. I’ll make this quick.”

  “That’s no fun,” Tate murmured as he moved to sit down at the table. “You aren’t doing it right then, Aurelio.”

  He smirked as Aurelio shot him a dagger glare. Clay laughed and settled himself at the table, already set for their lunch. He reached over for the carafe of water and filled Tate’s glass before his own.

  “At least they’re talking,” Clay murmured. “The last time I talked to Relio he was convinced it was over.”

  Tate sniggered. “Christ, it’s like having our very own version of Queer as Folk. Those two need to fuck more and get over themselves.”

  Clay couldn’t really argue with that gem of wisdom. He pulled over the filled breadbasket, split a roll in half, and lathered butter on it. Tate shook his head.

  “All that fat is going into your body and staying there,” he teased. “You should stick to more protein going in. I know a way to get that happening.” He wiggled his eyebrows and made an obscene gesture with his hand and finger.

  “Jesus, you’re a filthy one,” Clay said as he munched his roll.
“And leave my eating habits the fuck alone. My cholesterol is low. The doc said so last time I went for a check-up.” He finished his roll and reached for another in rebellion.

  “Dare I ask what’s going on?” Aurelio sat down at the table and regarded them quizzically. “That gesture mean something else apart from the usual, Tate?”

  Tate shook his head. “Nope, it means exactly what you think it does.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched, arms rising above his head. Clay couldn’t help but watch the muscles of Tate’s arms flex, and the red t-shirt ride up exposing a glimpse of firm belly and a thin line of furry treasure trail.

  He was brought back to the present by a push to his arm. “Aurelio’s talking to you, babe, stop drooling over my body. Not that I blame you.” Tate smirked and reached over for a roll, taking a bite out it. “Wow, these are good,” he got out between mouthfuls. “Nutty.”

  Aurelio regarded them. “How are you? Oh and by the way, congratulations on the engagement. This is the first time I’ve seen you since it happened.”

  Clay smiled over at his friend. “Thanks, Relio. Was that Tomas on the phone?”

  He could swear Aurelio blushed. “Yes. He’s coming over later to stay the night.” His expression grew fierce. “And when were either of you going to tell me he was moving to London? I had to find out through someone else here in the alley.”

  Clay raised his hands. “Hey, Tomas asked us not to tell, and we weren’t about to break that trust.” He lathered more butter onto his second roll, ignoring Tate’s gimlet glare. “Anyway, I thought you said things were over between you?”

  Aurelio looked uncomfortable. “It seems I was a little hasty in making that assumption. Tomas was—” he coughed delicately, “—somewhat forthright in telling me that wasn’t what he’d meant, and I needed to get my stupid sense of drama under control.”