Order (Tattoos and Ties 2) - Page 104
“Wanna watch you come, Key.”
Pleasure churned in his balls and radiated through him in mind-numbing waves of intense pleasure that locked his muscles in place and made his knees weak. He absolutely wanted to give Alec everything he’d ask for.
A deep rumble erupted from Alec’s chest and the firm grip quickened when the man took his mouth in a soul-claiming kiss. His orgasm swamped him, the weight of it almost bowling him over.
Their combined release spilled over their hands, a few warm jets escaping, painting the dark leather with perfect ribbons of white.
When his breathing finally slowed, and he was certain his legs would hold him, Keyes lightly brushed his lips over Alec’s. “I love you.”
“Say it again, please.”
“I love you, Alec Pierce.”
“God, I love hearing you say that.” Alec’s silly grin filled him with a sense of pride, and it felt amazing. “Let’s get Nash and go home. I want you all to myself. I’m not finished with you.” Alec licked across his lips, sending an excited thrill down up his spine. “Not by a long shot.”
“You always have the best ideas.” He held his hand up and looked down at his jacket and grinned, pushing to his feet. “Have a couple of those handy towelettes in that wallet?”
Apparently being in love and loved in return made Alec a crazy, silly man. He had more work than he could possibly do with less than two weeks before his last day with the district attorney’s office and exactly two weeks and a day before he started his new job where he had already learned his biggest obstacle wasn’t the ever-changing landscape of international law. Instead, it was Arik Layne himself. Since the first day they had met, Arik was a force to be reckoned with and had pushed and pushed until he had Alec starting right away and meeting with his board of directors that very same day.
Instead of dealing with any of the mounds of paperwork on his desk, Alec was out in the garage, sitting on an uncomfortable stool, looking down at Key who was, at the moment, on all fours. Maybe the problem was he liked that position too well to leave—his grin grew at the idea—or maybe it was because the idea of spending even a minute of their precious time together out of Key’s company was more than he could bear.
“Do you need your gloves?” Alec asked, torn between watching Key change the oil and transmission fluid oil on his Harley and the cuteness of Nash attacking Key’s shoestrings, continually pulling them free of the tight lace Key had to keep retying. Apparently, Nash had a real thing for shoes.
“Fuck no, I don’t need gloves.” Key’s hands stopped moving, and he looked up over his shoulder. His sweet biker explained his hard-edge tone, “That fuck was because the fluid’s not that hot, not because of the suggestion.”
Alec smiled back at Key. It had been over a week since he’d seen the tattoo, met Clyde, and finally gotten his I love you, and Alec wasn’t certain Key had left his thoughts for one single minute since. Without question, Alec had never been happier in his life. His world began and ended with those blue eyes staring up at him, waiting for his acknowledgement, so he nodded and winked. “I didn’t take offense.”
Key went back to turning the wrench. Alec had gotten a lesson in changing bike oil and transmission fluids today. Key had meticulously schooled him on every step, and Alec had listened, insanely interested in anything that came from his biker’s mouth.
“Watch him.”
Alec got off the stool, reaching for Nash as Key moved the oil pan to a new position under the bike and did a twist of his hand. He had cat-like reflexes, barely getting a drop of transmission fluid on his hands before it dumped down into the pan. That was a pretty remarkable skill since the second the plug was freed, nothing stopped the flow.
Key pushed away, knocking his ponytail back over his shoulder as he reached for a shop towel, wiping it first over his hand then over the plug he held. “Need a new O ring.”
“I’ll get it, where?”
“I got it.” Key stood, going to the tool box in the corner. “Clyde texted me today. He said that dressin’ you made was the best he ever had.”
“He sent me that text too. I think he’s just being kind. The dressing seemed dry to me,” Alec said of his attempt to cook a turkey and dressing, southern style. Clyde had joined them for Thanksgiving, giving Alec the perfect chance to finally use his dining room table. He had cooked for two days straight, made enough food to feed an army, so pleased to be cooking for his new family.
“Nah, it was good. I liked it. I want that for my birthday next year,” he said, rummaging through one of the drawers in the toolbox.
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