Quid Pro Quo (Market Garden, #1)(6)

“What does . . .” The john exhaled hard. “What does

another two hundred get me?”

Tristan broke away just enough to respond with a simple

“More.”

“How much more?”

Tristan’s lips left Jared’s, and he dipped his head and

descended on Jared’s neck. He teased Jared’s nipple with his thumbnail as he spoke. “If you like what two hundred’s gotten you,” he murmured, his breath hot on Jared’s throat, “then another two hundred will be worth it, yes?”

Something rustled. Then smacked. Jared and Tristan both

looked at the john, whose hand was on top of a few flat notes on the table.

“All right. Two hundred more.” He squirmed in his chair.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Don’t overstretch, Jared silently pleaded, then jolted when Tristan slid his fingers under his shirt up to the same nipple. With no fabric barrier this time, this unhindered— uncensored—contact was insanely intense, especially the scrape of his thumbnail, and Jared gasped. It was completely stupid to get so worked up over such a simple touch, but Tristan had been the object of Jared’s lust for a long time now, and this was the first time in recent memory Jared had been this damn turned on, and what they were performing for their audience felt increasingly real. Their audience of one, 15

anyway, and this was for money, but damn, some things he

just couldn’t fake.

Maybe the john was into the real thing. Maybe he could

tell the difference. Maybe that was what he was paying for, and what Tristan was deliberately giving him at the expense of Jared’s sanity.

Jared pulled off his shirt, and then claimed Tristan’s

mouth again. He yelped when Tristan tweaked his nipple,

and then rubbed the pain-hard nub back into his chest, just to tease him more. Jared felt the world shift, and then he was fal ing backwards, pul ing Tristan down with him. Tristan didn’t resist, and they quickly tangled up again like fumbling teenagers.

Tristan spread his legs wide open over Jared’s groin, and

he briefly lowered a hand to pull Jared’s legs apart. Yeah, the show. From where the john sat, that was an eyeful of tight arse and two bulges, still very much clothed, but the angle would most definitely inspire the man.

Tristan broke the kiss and then sharp teeth nipped—

again—at Jared’s chest. He arched, turned on way too much; he just wanted to get all his clothes off and deliver the full porn show right now.

Fuck me right now. We’ll settle up the money later. Just f*ck me. In absolutely no hurry, apparently, Tristan rolled Jared’s other nipple between his teeth until Jared damn near pleaded for mercy. He gripped Tristan’s ink-black hair, tempted to force him lower, unzip his own trousers, and see if what he’d heard through the grapevine was true.

Tristan paused again, and gave Rolex a sly look.

“Come on, take the shirt off,” the man said. He was

starting to negotiate—probably a bad sign. Though Jared





16


was halfway glad he had a moment to catch his breath. God, he wanted Tristan. The confidence, the skill, that ferocious hunger that was somehow so controlled. Now more than ever, Jared understood why the guy was usually booked.

Hell, add me to his regulars. I’ll find the money somewhere.

“You want the other shirt off,” Tristan said, slightly out of breath, “it’s going to cost you.”

“This is all an extra two hundred buys me?” It was hard to tell if he was annoyed or being playful.

“I didn’t say that. I just said the shirt isn’t coming off yet.”

Tristan lowered his hips against Jared’s, and Jared groaned as their hard cocks pressed together—ground together— through two layers of leather. Jared slid his hands up Tristan’s back, under his shirt, resisting the urge to pull it completely off. Just rubbing his palms across Tristan’s hot flesh was . . . it wasn’t enough, was it? Fuck, Rolex had better pony up some more money and quickly. Or else Jared was going to rob him blind and then f*ck Tristan.

He curled his fingers against Tristan’s back, digging his

nails in. Tristan groaned, arching against Jared’s fingers like a cat as he leaned down to kiss Jared’s neck. His breath was hot on Jared’s skin, and they both ground harder against each other. Jared’s head spun. His eyes kept tearing up. God, but he was turned on, and he didn’t know who was control ing this little game: Tristan, who withheld action for money, or the john, who could turn up the heat any time he wanted to if he would just stop f*cking around and put some bloody money on the table.

Jared followed the curve of Tristan’s spine with both hands and slid them over that amazing leather-clad arse. Tristan groaned, thrusting against him. Jared was painfully hard now, especially as he imagined Tristan thrusting just like this with 17

only a well-lubricated condom between them, thrusting and

f*cking with this intense, controlled frenzy.

“Jesus,” the john breathed, his whisper barely making it to Jared’s ears over the sound of Tristan panting against his neck.

More rustling. Oh f*ck. Jared damn near came when that

telltale smack announced more money laid out now.

Tristan pushed himself up and looked over his shoulder.