On the Clock (Market Garden, #8)(17)

Finally, Jason stopped. He held himself up on shaking arms, and whispered, “Fuck . . .”

“My sentiments exactly.” Blake drew him down on top of him. It was probably just as well Jason was leaving after this. At this rate, if he stayed much longer, they’d start breaking furniture. And staying up till dawn. And clearing out Blake’s wallet, savings accounts, reserves, safety-deposit box, and next-door neighbor’s safe.

Oh, but it would be worth it.

So worth it.

And tomorrow—

Oh God. They had all night tomorrow, didn’t they?

Blake kissed the top of Jason’s head. Yeah, they had tomorrow night. He was sure something would end up damaged beyond repair—a body, a piece of furniture, a financial portfolio—but he just didn’t care.

Bring it on . . .

Jason withdrew, and while he was a bit unsteady, he managed to get out of bed much more gracefully than Blake would have. He vanished into the bathroom, and Blake drifted for a while, listening to running water, then to the silence while Jason was getting ready to leave. He opened his eyes as Jason came out with a damp hand towel and wiped the cum off him, and closed them again when Jason kissed him. “Where do you want to meet tomorrow and what time?”

“Come by here at nine?”

“I’ll need your name.”

“Raleigh. Blake.”

“Nice. I like it. Sounds pirate-y.”

“All legs and arms and eyes in working order. No replacements. I do, however, work in financial services.”

“I figured.” Jason winked. “Though your negotiation technique needs work.”

“Normally, I’m not turned on like this when I negotiate.”

“Fair point.” Jason grinned again and went into the bathroom to get rid of the towel, then came back out, buttoning the tight white shirt that played to all his strengths. You just didn’t get a fit like that from a store, not even the nice ones. And bless that tailor for knowing his craft.

“You certainly dress well for someone who spends most of his time undressed.”

Jason laughed. “The packaging does sell the product.”

Blake gave him a lingering down-up. “I can’t decide if you’d sell more packaged or unpackaged.”

“Well, I might find myself selling to my cellmates if I tried to go round undressed.”

“Hmm, fair enough.”

Jason buckled his belt. “So, nine tomorrow?”

Blake nodded. Then he looked Jason up and down again. “Or . . . sooner.”

“How much sooner?”

“I’m done with my meetings by six.” He sat up, reached for his wallet, and slipped a spare room key free, which he held out to Jason between two fingers. “Let yourself in if I’m not here.”

Jason eyed the offering for a moment, and Blake wondered if he’d violated some protocol he should’ve learned several prostitutes ago, but then Jason nodded and took the key. “All right. I’ll be here when you get back from your meetings.”

Mark my words, universe. Tomorrow will be the quickest meeting ever.





The next few days were a blur of negotiations—with Jason and with the stiff-upper-lipped clients—in between sex, a few hours of sleep here and there, and phone calls with Blake’s bank to assure them that, yes, he had intended to withdraw that much money that many times over the course of a week.

But as all his London business trips eventually did, this one had to end. Not quite yet, though. Tomorrow morning, he’d be in a limo en route to Heathrow, sucking down coffee and praying for short lines through security. Tonight, Jason was lying beside him, catching his breath and letting Blake do the same.

Blake had always been a little disappointed to leave London after he’d found someone particularly compatible at Market Garden. The turnover in that place was understandably high, and more than once, the guy in his bed during one trip had moved on by the next. He’d been sure Jared and Tristan would be gone, and had been surprised every time he came back and found them at the Garden, ready and waiting to relieve his bank account of a few grand. He was still disappointed as hell that they really were gone now.

Letting his gaze slide over Jason’s lean, naked body on top of those luxury seven-billion-thread-count sheets, he had to admit that the disappointment had lessened considerably over the past week. But damn, what if Jason was gone when he came back?

Well, such was the life of a prostitute, he supposed. But as long as he had him here, Blake was admittedly curious about more than just “how the hell does he bend that far?”

He shifted onto his side and propped himself up on one arm. “I’ve got a question for you.”

“I charge for answers.”

Blake raised his eyebrow. “From anyone else, I would think that’s a joke . . .”

Jason laughed. “It is. Go ahead.”

Blake trailed a finger down Jason’s arm because he couldn’t resist touching him. “You’re a bright guy. I’ve got guys working for me for six figures who can’t negotiate like you can. So—”

“So why do I whore myself out instead of getting a respectable job?”

“Basically, yeah.”

Jason sat up and fussed with the pillow, propping it behind his back on the headboard before he settled against it. “You’re not the first to ask me that, believe me.”