Payoff (Market Garden, #6)(3)

Rolex’s driver opened the limo door. Jared got in first, then Tristan opposite, feeling oddly sticky in his leather trousers on the leather seats. More friction than normal.

Rolex joined them, sitting next to Jared on the backseat. And Jared slid closer, giving him one of those coy glances while he pressed up against him. Rolex glanced at Tristan first, winked, then lifted Jared’s chin with two fingers and kissed him. Jared had always said the man was a decent kisser, and that was obvious just by watching him—not timid, not sloppy, not the type of freaky john who’d be slobbering all over Jared’s face. The quiet little moans coming from Jared were anything but fake. Rolex knew exactly how to kiss him. Bastard.

The car began to roll forwards, which disoriented Tristan. He’d been too caught up there for a moment in how their lips moved, their tongues. Jared had been the very picture of a boy with his sugar daddy, his fingers tightening on the john’s thigh as Rolex’s fingers splayed possessively on Jared’s shoulder.

It might have been hot.

It should have been.

In different circumstances, it would have been.

In fact, it had been hot the first time. And the second time. When Tristan had finally had the chance to get his hands on Jared, it had been a thrill to touch him and taste him and f*ck him, and having another man to watch there had just made it hotter. The lap dance? Bloody hell. Tristan still got shivers thinking about that. Jared would have been stunned if he knew how many times Tristan had jerked off thinking about that night. Though he’d done a lot less of that over the last few months because he didn’t need to jerk off with Jared in his bed.

Leather squeaked softly as Jared draped his leg across Rolex’s lap. His hand was on the front of the john’s shirt, a couple of buttons undone now, and Tristan’s heart skipped a little as he remembered Jared touching him that way.

Does he think of me the same way he thinks of the johns?

Tristan quickly banished that thought. Not here. Not now.

He swore he could feel Jared’s fingers drifting lower, catching on each button on the way down the front of that crisp, white shirt. As Jared’s hand slid over the front of Rolex’s trousers, the contact hidden from Tristan’s view by Jared’s slim, leather-clad leg, Rolex wasn’t the only one whose breath caught.

Tristan swallowed. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to push Rolex out of the way and grab Jared for himself. He wanted Jared’s hands on his dick. He wanted to be the one kissing him like that, especially as he watched Jared playfully nipping Rolex’s lower lip. God, he loved it when Jared did that.

The thought of sitting back and watching Rolex f*ck Jared was simultaneously the hottest thing Tristan could imagine, and the most frustrating. He wanted to be the one moving inside Jared while Rolex watched. Or to hell with Rolex. He wanted Jared.

Jared and no one else.

What is wrong with me? We’ve done this before.

They’d played this game with other johns. There was that banker a few months ago who’d f*cked Jared in every position imaginable while Tristan had stroked himself and watched. That had been hot. If Jared had been able to move when they’d gone back to his flat that night, Tristan would’ve f*cked him too. Instead, they’d settled for a long shower before curling up together beneath the covers.

Just like they’d done last night. Market Garden had been dead, so they’d gone home early, had some of that long, drawn-out sex Tristan had come to love since he’d started hooking up with Jared, and then cuddled up for the rest of the night.

Tristan’s jaw started to ache, and he realised he’d been clenching his teeth. Watching Jared and Rolex while thinking about last night . . . he was going to drive himself insane. And whether he was thrilled about it or not, he was being paid for a service tonight. He was being paid very well for that service. Time to live up to it.

He moistened his lips. “I think you should suck his dick.” The words made his hackles go up, but also made his cock even harder.

Rolex and Jared broke the kiss and both looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Which one?” Rolex gestured at himself and Jared.

“You.” Tristan nodded towards Rolex. “Suck his.” Another nod, this time towards Jared.

Immediately, Rolex nudged Jared’s leg off his lap and moved to the floor between the seats. He started unbuttoning Jared’s leather pants, his hands moving quickly and not terribly steadily.

“We’re not far from the hotel,” he said over his shoulder.

“Then you’d better work fast, eh?”

Rolex’s hands moved more rapidly, fumbling with the top button and then the zip.

Over Rolex’s head, Tristan caught Jared’s glance. Jared was obviously turned on, his lips a little puffy from making out with Rolex and his pupils already blown, but there was something else in his expression. Just the slightest hint of a furrow between his eyebrows.

But as soon as Rolex went down on him, that expression vanished. Jared’s eyes closed, and he let his head fall back against the seat as he combed his fingers through Rolex’s neatly styled hair.

“Is he good at that?” Tristan asked, forcing the seductiveness into his voice. “What’s he like?”

Jared’s lips moved, but he made no sound, said nothing, though his fingers tightened in Rolex’s hair, and his hips pushed up from the seat. Sound of leather against leather. Hip bones visible. Trim, flat belly exposed as his T-shirt rode up. That tiny, vulnerable-looking belly button that Tristan had licked last night because Jared was ticklish there and Jared’s squirming made him laugh.