On the Clock (Market Garden, #8)(21)

Skype? What for?

Or more to the point, how much?

He grinned to himself, staring out the window so he didn’t accidentally creep out someone else on the train. God forbid someone in a suit smile for no apparent reason.

Whatever Jason had in mind, it was probably hot and dirty, which meant it was probably expensive. Live phone sex? Now wouldn’t that be hot. Jason would probably melt his webcam if he did that. Worth the risk, as far as Blake was concerned.

He was so caught up in imagining what was going to happen tonight, he nearly missed his stop but managed to get out before the doors shut. Then he hightailed it to the parking garage a few blocks away and took the stairs two at a time to the secure second level where his car was waiting.

The Porsche’s engine roared to life, echoing through the garage, and gave Blake goose bumps for an entirely different reason than usual. Every one of the sports car’s five hundred-plus horses was present and accounted for, ready to haul ass and get him home so he could be ready when Goldenboy_Jason pinged him on Skype.

He burned rubber out of the stall, and again out of the garage. He had to obey the posted speed limit in this tiny New Jersey commuter town, but as soon as he was past the city limits, he shifted gears and put the pedal to the floor. That wasn’t unusual—even when he didn’t have a hot, expensive rentboy waiting for him on Skype, he liked speed. He didn’t buy Porsches and Lamborghinis or live at the end of a long, winding country road so he could admire them standing still.

Farms and horse pastures blurred past him. His heart was pounding, and it had nothing to do with the needle creeping up on sixty, which was faster than he normally drove. It was the most he could sanely get away with out here, or he’d have been going seventy or better. He’d been craving Jason like he’d only craved one or two rentboys before him, and he had to find out what was in store for him tonight.

He pulled up to the restored nineteenth-century mansion. It wasn’t technically a “mansion” by today’s standards, but it was perfect for him. Large enough to be spacious with an added garage that could hold his various four-wheeled toys, but not Beverly Hills huge. He didn’t want a house that was big enough to remind him he lived there alone.

He parked the Porsche between the Land Rover and the covered Lamborghini, and nearly forgot to grab his laptop off the seat or his cell phone off the console. And he’d have left them out there, except he actually needed the damned laptop tonight.

By the time he’d had a quick bite, taken a shower, and changed into something casual and comfortable, it was nearly time to log on.

He felt a little presumptuous settling on his bed with his laptop, but to be fair, that was where he sometimes browsed the web or played video games. Or looked at porn.

At exactly 8:00 . . .

There was Goldenboy_Jason.

Blake accepted the request, and his heart went crazy as the connection initialized.

And then, there he was—smiling on the other end, and quite obviously also in bed. His shoulders were bare. Shirtless? Completely naked? Hard to say, but sexy as hell.

“Hey.” Blake moistened his lips. “Long time no see.”

Jason grinned. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”

Were you?

“So, um. What prompted this?”

Jason’s grin broadened. “Oh, I started thinking, and remembered what you said about watching.” The image on the screen shifted, as if Jason and his laptop were both moving. Leaning forward, Blake guessed. He set the laptop down, presumably on his bed, and as he sat back, he said, “So I brought some friends over.”

Blake’s pulse shot up. Oh God . . .

Jason settled against the headboard. From his left and right, two faces moved into the screen.

And Blake’s jaw fell open.

Jared and Tristan.

And all three of them were completely naked.

Tristan gave him a cocky wink and thumbs-up, Jared waved, then Jason turned the computer again so he filled most of the screen. “I assume there’s no teaser necessary—you know exactly what you’re getting with us.”

“But not what you’ll do.” Blake was glad his voice was steady, because, hell, his body was already very much into it and they hadn’t even started.

“Feel free to make requests.” Jason pulled Tristan closer and they kissed, openmouthed, tongues and all, like they’d done this before. Blake wondered for a moment about Jared, but then Jason pulled Jared in for the same kind of kiss. It lasted maybe a minute; Jason clearly wasn’t rushing this.

Eventually, he turned toward the screen again. “We figured we’d start at fifteen grand . . . sterling, of course, and take it from there. Any specific requests will cost extra.”

The eye-watering price should’ve given him pause, but all he could think was Sign me up. “How do I pay?”

“Well, we decided interrupting to log into PayPal sucks, so you’ll pay us cash when you come back to London. I doubt you’ll try to stiff us, as it were, because then there won’t be any repeat performances.” Jason smirked. “And if you do, I know where you stay and who you work for.”

Blake raised his hands. “Point taken. I’ll pay up. Of course I will.”

“Of course you will.”

“Fifteen grand.” Blake sat back against the headboard. “Let’s see what I’m getting for my money.”