On the Clock (Market Garden, #8)(32)

Good thing he’d long ago mastered the art of keeping his impatience under his hat. Instead of tapping his pen, he flipped it over and over between his fingers, turning the release of nervous energy into a contemplative gesture while his client droned on and on about . . . something he probably should’ve been listening to. It would all be recapped in an email anyway, further emphasizing how pointless and obsolete these meetings really were.

Eventually, as they always did, the damned meetings ended, and Blake’s driver picked him up for the slog through London traffic. At the other end of that snarled mess, the driver let him off in front of his hotel, and Blake hightailed it up to the penthouse. Outside his door, though, he paused, absently smacking the key card on the heel of his hand. There was no rational reason to be nervous—he’d watched men together before. He’d watched Jason with other men.

But the stakes were high this time, and Jason didn’t f*ck around when it came to earning his pay. With a first-class ticket on the line, there was no telling what he’d have up his sleeve this evening.

Blake’s palms were damp all of a sudden. Heart thumping and his cock already stiffening, he put in his key card, and when the door clicked, he pushed it open. He kept his eyes down until he was in the room with the door shut behind him, because he knew damn well that the second he saw Jason, he’d freeze and forget to close it.

The door clicked again.

Blake lifted his gaze.

And yeah. He was right.

He froze.

Holy. Shit.

Jason lay back in the middle of the bed, naked and hard, with a mouthwatering grin on his face. As expected, he wasn’t alone, but . . .

Blake swallowed.

Considering this was a European hotel, the bed was huge—almost California king—but there was no room for him now because Jason hadn’t brought one man from Market Garden. He’d brought two, and they must’ve been the biggest guys on the brothel’s payroll.

To his left, also naked and hard, was a stunning black guy with a neatly trimmed goatee and a shaved head. To Jason’s right, Raoul, the tanned, toned, tattooed South American bartender.

He’d already had a thing for Raoul, and the man was even more stunning naked. The other guy was gorgeous too, and just muscular enough to suggest that he could throw Raoul around if he wanted to, and Blake decided he’d pay to see that if he ever had the opportunity.

Both guys were hung, but proportionately. Bigger than him or Jason, but not so comically enormous that they might split someone in half. There wouldn’t be any double penetration tonight, and that was fine with Blake—watching Jason get f*cked by each of them in turn, or watching him f*ck them, would be more than hot enough.

Jason’s gaze was fixed on Blake as he slid his hands over the smooth abs of the men on either side of him. “I was starting to think you might not show up.”

“Commuters.” Blake cleared his throat, and wondered if removing his jacket had always required this much effort. “Lots of, uh, traffic.”

Raoul and the other guy exchanged glances over Jason, their expressions a mix of amusement and something that made Blake’s dick harder.

“Well, now that you’re here,” Jason said, “this is Raoul, who you’ve met. And this is Zach.”

“Good to, uh, meet you guys.” Blake pulled up a chair and eased himself into it. “So this is tonight’s entertainment, huh?”

“Oh yeah.” Jason grinned. “I want that ticket.”

Ticket? What ticket? I’ll buy the f*cking plane.

The guys must’ve been getting impatient after waiting in bed with Jason, because they didn’t hesitate to get started. Raoul kissed one side of Jason’s neck. Jason found Raoul’s lips, then Zach’s, and the three of them were quickly getting into this, touching and rubbing against each other on the bed.

Raoul’s bronze hand ran up Jason’s chest. Then Zach’s darker arm drifted past his before continuing down toward Jason’s erection. The difference in skin tone between the three of them added a dimension that Blake hadn’t imagined. There was never any mistaking who was touching who. Whose hand was sliding over whose arm, whose fingers were gripping whose ass cheek, who was stroking whose cock. The effect was dizzying. Blake squirmed in his chair, head spinning and palms sweating.

Jason was already breathing hard as he murmured, “Any requests, Blake?”

“N-no. Just . . .” Blake licked his lips. “Do whatever you guys want. I’ll let you know if I want . . .”

He ran out of breath, but they’d probably forgotten he was there by then anyway. He barely remembered he was in the room because he was so transfixed by three beautiful men touching and kissing and turning each other on.

Zach grabbed Jason’s hair, and Jason gasped, but he didn’t resist as Zach guided him toward Raoul’s cock. Obediently—and eagerly—Jason went down on Raoul, and when Raoul groaned, Zach kissed him. The two of them kissed passionately—like they f*cking meant it—while Jason took as much of Raoul’s cock in his mouth as he could.

As Zach made out with Raoul, he held on to Jason’s hair, and since Jason couldn’t move, Raoul took over, lifting his hips to slide his dick in and out of Jason’s mouth.

And Blake couldn’t breathe. Watching those two gorgeous men was hot as hell. Watching Jason in between them—his fingers digging into Raoul’s leg, knuckles bleaching above bronze skin, eager lips around that thick cock moving—was mind-blowing.