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

“And what will that cost me?”

Jason trailed a finger down the center of Blake’s chest. “Depends.”

“On?”

“On how much work it takes for me to get you off.”

“Can’t really negotiate that upfront, can we?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” That finger drifted alongside Blake’s cock—not quite touching it, but almost. “I’ll bet it won’t take much work.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Jason’s shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “Maybe. But I think you like games and control.” His finger continued down between Blake’s legs, and Blake could barely breathe as Jason drew light, lazy circles over that hypersensitive flesh. “And I have a game in mind.”

“What . . . what kind of game?”

“Well, usually I’d get more money for more work.” Jason leaned in, and his lips brushed Blake’s neck as gently as his fingertip teased Blake’s balls. “But in this case, if it takes that much work to make you come, then I’m not very good at my job, am I?” More fingers—two? three? ten?—materialized on Blake’s skin. “So the quicker I get you off, the better I am. And therefore”—his lips curved against Blake’s throat—“it should cost more.”

Blake closed his eyes. He struggled to make sense of what Jason had said and what it all meant, but it was nearly impossible with those soft kisses and those maddening fingers. “So I . . . so the longer it takes me to come, the less it costs me?”

“Mm-hmm.” Jason nipped below Blake’s ear. “More to the point, the faster I can get you off, the more it costs you.”

Jesus. He already had a tenuous grasp on anything resembling control, and now there was a price tag attached to it. On one hand, f*ck it, he could afford any asking price. On the other, it could be fun to make Jason work for it. Assuming Blake could hold out that long, and he wasn’t so sure of that. “What’s the baseline?”

Jason’s fingers drifted upward, sliding along the underside of Blake’s cock. “Hmm, I don’t know. What seems fair?”

“Oh God.” Blake couldn’t crunch numbers. Not now. “I don’t . . . f*ck, I don’t know.”

Jason lifted his hand away from Blake’s dick, which should have helped but only made the problem worse.

Where did you go? Why aren’t you touching me? Wait, where are you going?

Jason pushed himself up and moved on top of Blake. “If I can get you off in the first minute, five thousand pounds.”

“Five thousand—” Blake almost choked. “Are you serious?”

Jason grinned. “You don’t think it’s worth it?”

For an orgasm? Right now? Under Jason? Oh hell yes it was worth it.

Jason went on. “Every minute after, a thousand drops off.”

“You’re that confident you can get me off in under five minutes, eh?”

Jason dragged his thumbnail around Blake’s nipple, sending a shudder through him. “Oh, I think it’s a safe bet.”

Fuck. Holy f*ck.

The businessman in Blake should’ve been weighing all the options, running cost/benefit analyses, and printing up spreadsheets in his head.

That businessman, however, was no match for a hard-on and a seriously hot prostitute.

Blake grabbed his watch off the nightstand. “You’re on the clock.”

“Well, I will be in a moment.” Jason flashed another wicked grin. Then he leaned over to the nightstand and ripped a condom packet open, then reached behind and under himself and rolled it onto Blake’s cock. All without breaking eye contact. “You’ll want to take the time.”

Blake glanced at the watch, then put it on the nightstand because Jesus, f*ck, Jason was lowering himself onto his cock with one smooth movement, easily taking all of him. And he obviously loved it, which was yet another turn-on, especially since it was written all over the way his face blanked and his eyes closed. He grabbed the headboard and used it for balance or leverage or both, and right when Blake thought he could breathe again, Jason was rolling his hips in what looked very much like a dancer’s move—sinuous and controlled, every muscle perfect under his skin.

Blake groaned—this was the kind of thing a man wanted to see before dying, though dying was the last thing on his mind. He tried to thrust up, and Jason ground back against him, allowing him only short, hard movements.

Any thought of keeping track jumped out of the window. All he could think of was losing himself in this, in that tight, tight ass, because holy hell, Jason really knew how to work it. This was simply beautiful, unspeakably hot—the sight of Jason riding him to earn five thousand pounds. It made him want to hold out for just a bit longer, say, a couple minutes, regardless of how that ass was riding his cock, and regardless of Jason’s moans as he moved faster and faster.

Blake was tempted to grab and topple him, pin him down and pound him as hard as possible—Jason would love it if Blake lost it like that. This was one sweet, controlled mind-f*ck.

Jason released a sound that was half groan, half helpless whimper. “Jared was right about you. You feel . . .” He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, as if he too was lost in this, but he quickly seemed to remember himself. He looked down at Blake, fierce determination in his heavy-lidded eyes. “Stubborn too.”