Payoff (Market Garden, #6)(5)

Without a word, though, Tristan lowered himself into the chair. Jacket on. Shirt on. But in the chair. His lips were tight and his gaze still fixed on Rolex, expression hovering between his usual poker-faced seductiveness and the weird undercurrent that had been there since before Rolex had shown up at Market Garden. Yeah, Jared and Tristan needed to talk.

Rolex watched Tristan for a moment, his eyebrow quirked as if he too sensed something wasn’t right.

Jared tried to swallow the panic rising in his chest. They could still do this. Whatever was on Tristan’s mind could be sorted out later so long as the two of them did their job and pleased their john. So long as Rolex was satisfied, they—

Rolex slid an arm around Jared’s waist, exactly as Tristan had done when they’d stepped out of the car, and kissed him. He wasn’t as aggressive as Tristan had been in the lift, but this was the most demanding his kiss had ever been. He pushed Jared’s lips apart with his tongue, and pulled him right up against his body, letting Jared feel every inch of that impressive cock through their clothes.

This was the third time he’d been in a room with Rolex, but he’d never seen the man naked. Oh, he’d seen his dick a few times, but everything—shirt, trousers, jacket, even that distinctive watch—had stayed on.

With his hands on Rolex’s chest, Jared gently pushed him back. “Shirt.” He swept his tongue across his lips. “Take off your shirt.”

Rolex grinned. “Never thought you were the type to give orders.”

As he’d learnt to do from Tristan, Jared kept his expression neutral. “Well?”

The man’s eyes widened slightly, but then he hooked his finger in his necktie and loosened the knot. Once it was untied, both sides of the undoubtedly expensive tie hanging over his shirt, he started on the buttons.

Jared turned towards Tristan. He was absolutely still, one foot on the floor and the other propped up against the foot of the bed, expression betraying nothing.

Was it something I said? Something I did?

Maybe Tristan was getting bored with him. Or maybe, between work and play, the sex was wearing him down. Perhaps he was tired of splitting the money. Well, that wouldn’t make sense. When they worked together, they each made more than they did alone. Whatever his issue was, he wasn’t—

Oh, hello.

Rolex had shrugged off his jacket, and then his shirt. Well. Now Jared knew how the man passed his time when he was in America and not working or f*cking the odd rentboy. He was clearly well acquainted with the inside of a gym. Even flawless genetics didn’t give someone abs like that. Jared’s fingers curled at his sides as he resisted reaching out and running his fingers down the gorgeous, contoured muscles.

Rolex grinned. “Something wrong?”

“Wrong?” Jared returned the grin. “Absolutely not. Just wondering how those abs would look with a few teeth marks on them.”

Rolex laughed, trailing his fingers along his belly in what might’ve been an unconscious movement. “So much for my idea that you were the meek and mild one.” He winked, but Jared could tell he was intrigued, and definitely turned on.

Interesting. Though Rolex had butted heads with both Tristan and Jared, Jared still wasn’t sure if Rolex didn’t actually like losing on some level, or whether he was just that good-natured. Maybe the tug-of-war was the real reason he was willing to pay so much money? Some guys liked working for it, especially if everyone else in their lives obeyed them without question. On the other hand, Rolex knew exactly what he liked and how to get it.

Of course, Jared’s job was to not only get him off, but push all the other buttons, too. That was most of the fun in this line of work, apart from getting off.

Rolex bundled up his tie, shirt, and jacket and placed them on the bureau against the wall. He took off his gold watch and set it on top of the pile, along with his wallet and mobile, before turning to Jared. “Now it’s your turn.”

Jared liked undressing in front of people. He was good at it—he’d taken off so many clothes with a background of music and disco lights that nothing could faze him. For the moment, he didn’t strip-dance so much as borrow a few tricks of the trade—how he angled his body, how deliberately his fingers moved. It was all about projecting confidence, and giving a taste of what awaited the john. His fingers reached the button of his trousers and slowly, suggestively, freed it, and then he glanced at Rolex, who nodded.

Well, then. Jared opened the fly and pushed his trousers down, legs straight, pushing out his arse in full view of the client. His briefs were snug and rode low—he’d made sure of that beforehand—and as he took them off, the “don’t touch” rule didn’t apply like it did in a lap dance. Rolex grabbed his arse with both hands, grip firm and demanding, and pushed up against him. Not enough to make Jared overbalance, but more than enough to let him feel that long hard cock without the leather between them.

If not for Tristan’s scowl, this would have been so much fun. Before he’d started this thing with Tristan, he wouldn’t have hesitated to shag Rolex for the fun of it. The money was just a bonus. Having Tristan in the same room—hell, having him at the same time—was even better.

Except tonight.

Jared closed his eyes to avoid looking at Tristan. Which made him feel weird. And guilty. And—

Fuck, Rolex was nibbling his ear. Mostly lips, a little bit of teeth, just enough to make Jared lean against him for support. Those firm, flat abs were hot against his back, and Rolex’s hands roamed all over Jared’s body, from his chest and stomach down to—but not quite touching—his cock. It hadn’t been all that long since Rolex had blown him in the car, but Jared was already plenty hard, and every time Rolex’s hands slid over his groin, he moved his hips to try to guide the man’s fingers to his cock.