Quid Pro Quo (Market Garden, #1)(8)

“Which one?” Tristan asked. “I mean, who’s sucking

who?”

Rolex tapped his fingers on top of the cash. “I . . . um . . .”

He swallowed. “Both. At the same time.”

Holy shit. I’m supposed to concentrate on sucking Tristan’s cock while he’s sucking mine?

“Break out another two hundred.” Tristan climbed off

Jared and started to turn around as if he knew damn well the additional money was a foregone conclusion.

Which it was. The notes came out of the wallet and they

probably landed on the table alongside the others, but right about then, Tristan was on top of Jared again, facing the other way, and Jared had his mouth and Tristan’s where he’d wanted them both for a long, long time. The salt of Tristan’s skin brought a groan from the back of Jared’s throat. He could barely accommodate Tristan’s cock, which turned him on even more.

I want every inch of this in me, he thought as he took as much as he could into his mouth. I can’t f*cking wait.

He wrapped an arm around Tristan’s thigh just to anchor

him, and stroked him with the other as he teased the head

of Tristan’s cock with the tip of his tongue. And Tristan?

Dear Lord, the man knew what he was doing. Teasing, deep—

throating, teasing again. Just enough hand, just enough

mouth, and squeezing just right to make Jared groan as he tried—really f*cking tried—to concentrate on pleasing Tristan too.





21


“Fuck, you two are hot together.” The words burst out

of the john so quickly they were almost a single syllable. A momentary lapse in control.

Jared wanted to look, to see the two of them in the

mirror, all tangled up in mutual cocksucking ecstasy, but

he couldn’t see the mirror because of Tristan’s leg beside his head. There . . . were worse predicaments to be in. He couldn’t complain. And even though he’d lost track of the price, he was pretty sure Tristan would get them both rent money and probably next month’s too.

He focused on Tristan’s cock, and while he wanted to do

more, he still needed to entertain the man with the money, and he had to remember that the visuals counted. So he traced it with his tongue on the outside, rubbed his face against it, ran it across his lips.

“You.” The john’s voice bordered on terse, but not out

of malice or hostility. More like he was struggling to form words at al , and had to resort to short, sharp syllables to communicate. “On the bottom. Get on top. Keep sucking.”

Obligingly (for once), Tristan rolled over onto his back

and rotated to face the other way, while Jared got on top and went down on Tristan, which put him into a very similar position to Tristan earlier—arse bared, pointing right at the john, only he was now completely naked. Totally exposed. He tried not to think about it, instead kept sucking and stroking, focused solely on the only cock in the room he really wanted.

Something clicked, like the cap opening on a tube of lube.

“Going to put anything in his arse,” Tristan said, stroking Jared’s hair as Jared sucked his cock, “it’ll cost you.”

“Of course.” Rolex sounded less amused now. Not angry,

just taut with the same kind of impatience that had Jared

trembling and half out of his mind.





22


The slap of money was a relief. It meant the show would go on, that they could continue. But it also meant the customer was getting more and more into it, and Jared had to remind himself it was for the guy’s pleasure rather than his own.

Please, please, tell Tristan to f*ck me.

Jared forced himself to ignore his own anticipation and

focus on his one task: going down on Tristan. Easy enough.

God knew he’d been wanting to do this for ages, and for all he knew, this was his one and only chance. He fully intended to savour every second and every inch. Every ridge and contour.

Every taste of Tristan’s skin, every gasp or whispered curse.

He didn’t have to put on a show because he wanted this more than he’d wanted to suck another man’s cock in a long time.

Behind him, the john got up out of his chair. Something

clicked. The cap of the lube again? A second later, the mattress shifted with the addition of someone else’s weight, and the john’s clothed knee brushed the bare skin of Jared’s calf.

Something landed on the bed beside him. The tube of lube.

Cold slick fingers slid between his cheeks, startling him.

The bastard hadn’t warmed the lube, no doubt on purpose.

Extremely hard to ignore that jarring touch.

Nevertheless, Jared had done this before. He could

pretend, and pretend with the best of them when he had to.

He opened his legs wider, pushed his arse out, but jolted when the john pushed two fingers into him. At least two fingers. As if he wouldn’t feel just one.

The touch was rough, much less an exploration and very

much a power thing, but nevertheless, Jared couldn’t control the groan when the man curled his fingers and slid both of them over the sweet spot. Fuck. No way he could concentrate now, no way he could ignore the john, that slick, impersonal 23

touch very much showing him who controlled whom, as if