Quid Pro Quo (Market Garden, #1)(11)

about to happen, and his balls were already tightening because 29

he was nearly to the point of no return, and there’d be no holding back, no turning back, and— Tristan seized Jared’s hair.

Jerked his head back.

The money hit the table.

And Jared lost it.

His orgasm was like a snapping rope twisted too taut for

too long, ends whipping through his whole body, the tension releasing in what was nearly mind-bending pain and then a huge wave of release. It felt like he couldn’t stop coming, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d shouted. He’d never come like that, no way; nobody had ever got him off like that, stars, explosions, very nearly blackout.

All strength and focus simply drained from him with

every spurt of cum, and Tristan was still f*cking him, smal , harsh movements, shuddering more than thrusting, and Jared was almost sure Tristan was coming with him. Part of him was surprised as hell, but another just couldn’t care at all what anybody else felt or was going through.

He barely managed to look at the john, whose hands

were digging hard into the armrests, teeth bared, body tight and taut, face flushed and sweaty. The man was almost there himself, but somehow he held back, tapping into some level of restraint Jared couldn’t even begin to imagine. Waiting out the money shot, maybe?

Jared col apsed when Tristan pulled free—too exhausted

and sore to stay up, panting into the damp bedclothes. He

shook his head, summoned a reserve from God knew where,

and looked up at the customer. Behind him, Tristan ran a

hand along his spine.

“Got some cash left in the budget?” Tristan teased.





30


The john nodded, breathless, speechless. He made an I

don’t give a f*ck circular motion with his hand at the wallet.

“Take the rest,” he muttered eventually. “Get me off. Both.”

Tristan slapped Jared’s arse sharply enough to rouse him

from his stupor, and then slinked out of the bed and onto his feet. Jared felt a lot less in control and a lot less graceful as he crawled after Tristan to the chair, like a clumsy dog following the more graceful feline.

Tristan knelt down next to the guy’s legs, motioned Jared

to kneel between them, and kissed Jared—another one of

those deep, open-mouthed kisses, just more tender now, less heated. As if Tristan was kissing him just because he wanted to, and Jared hoped that was the case. That Tristan wasn’t just performing now. That he really wanted Jared.

Please, God, don’t let me be reading too much into this.

The john reached out and touched both their heads.

“Come on.” He was begging. No doubt.

Jared didn’t want to break this kiss, but he was still here to service the john, so he pulled away from Tristan and glanced up at Rolex. He felt weirdly tender and, hell, generous.

Performance. He licked the side of the man’s cock as if he genuinely wanted it, as if that were the cock he’d wanted to feel, as if he were absolutely ravenous for it. He really did want to please the guy, especially when he kept stroking Jared’s hair but didn’t pull on it, like some arseholes did. Jared appreciated good manners.

Tristan grinned at him and licked along the other side,

making the man jerk so hard in the chair that it almost looked like a seizure. They both slid up and kissed, brushing the tip, and Jared squeezed the man’s balls while Tristan’s tongue teased the rim of the crown, his hand around the john’s cock now, jerking him slowly. Their mouths met over the head of 31

the john’s cock, and their lips and tongues teased each other and him at the same time. The man made a strangled sound, tensed, and both of them lifted their heads just as he came, staying so close together that he came on their faces, but, well, that was fine. Some guys got off on that.

Tristan grinned and kept stroking the john through it

until the man released them and waved his hand.

They both sat back, wiping their faces. Rolex picked up a

stack of napkins that had come in with the champagne bottle and handed it to them with a shaking hand before he took a couple and cleaned himself off.

No one spoke for a long time. The only sounds were

napkins brushing on skin, men getting to their feet and

getting dressed. The whole room felt surreal. Otherworldly.

As if the tension that had built since their arrival had become a tangible thing and shattered, and they were all moving carefully and slowly to avoid disturbing the pieces on the ground. That, or Jared was just halfway out of his mind from everything. Which was entirely possible; he wasn’t even sure he could fit this evening into his head.

The john handed Tristan the thick stack of notes. “You

two are . . . you’re well worth the money.”

Tristan grinned as he slid the cash into his back pocket.

“Well, if you feel the need, you know where to find us again.”

Rolex laughed, and it was a lethargic, sleepy sound. “I

don’t know which you boys will kill first. Me or my bank

account.”

“Only one way to find out.” Tristan winked at him. Then

he turned to Jared. “Ready to go?”

Jared nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say to the john—