Take It Off (Market Garden, #2)(8)

Jared’s eyes flew open. He gasped. Again when Rolex kissed the side of his neck.

“Is he right?” Rolex murmured, his arm moving just enough to hint at the way his fingers must’ve been teasing Jared. “This what you like?”

“I . . .” Jared leaned back against Rolex, tilting his head to expose more of his neck and rubbing against him like a cat. He grabbed onto the john’s thigh, probably seeking any support he could find, and he stared up at the ceiling as Rolex kept kissing his neck and, as far as Tristan could see, teasing his arse with his slick fingers.

Tristan shifted again, his erection getting incredibly uncomfortable inside his trousers. Finger-f*cking Jared was one of his favourite things. Jared loved it, and by the time Tristan was done, Jared was always a shaking, begging wreck capable of forming only two words: “Fuck me.”

The condom wrapper on the bed beside Jared and Rolex’s knees caught Tristan’s eye. He chewed the inside of his cheek. It wouldn’t be long before Jared started begging for it, and the condom was already on. By now, Rolex undoubtedly had Jared good and lubed, relaxed and ready, and whenever Jared said the word, all Rolex would have to do was slide his fingers out and f*ck him.

“Oh my God,” Jared whimpered, rocking back against Rolex. The tendons in his hand and forearm stuck out as he gripped the john’s leg tighter, and Rolex was breathing hard against Jared’s neck, whispering something Tristan didn’t quite hear. Something filthy, judging by the way Jared was slowly coming apart, inching towards that moment when he was reduced to those two words. The same two words he’d moaned in Tristan’s ear last night when he’d been right on the edge.

Tristan’s chest tightened. Jared was rock hard, his face flushed and his eyes closed, and in no time at all, he was going to be bent over, probably not even able to hold himself up, surrendering completely with his arse in the air for Rolex to f*ck until neither of them could take any more. This was what Jared wanted. Wasn’t it?

Tell me if it isn’t, Jared. Say the word, and we’ll stop. We’ll leave.

Leave? He barely kept himself from swearing aloud. What is wrong with me? What the hell?

Apparently unaware, Jared shuddered and released a breath. He turned his head, pulling in a breath like he was about to speak, but Rolex kissed him.

Tristan gritted his teeth as Jared and Rolex kissed. The jealousy beneath his skin burned hotter and his heart beat faster, even if that kiss had stopped them from taking this to the next step. He couldn’t watch this. He couldn’t—

“Fuck me,” Jared moaned, breaking the kiss just enough to speak. “Fuck me, please.”

“No.” The word escaped Tristan’s mouth before he could think twice.

Jared and Rolex both froze. Tristan sat up, cold water rushing through him. Had he really . . .?

“What?” Jared licked his lips and blinked a few times. “No?”

Rolex arched an eyebrow and didn’t let go of Jared. “You want more money before I f*ck him? You’re already getting all my—”

“No.” Tristan moved to the edge of the chair, closing a bit of the distance between himself and Jared. “Don’t do this.”

Jared blinked again, his eyes getting clearer. “What? I don’t . . .” He shook his head. “Don’t do what?”

Yeah, what?

What’s the word again?

Oh. Right. Professional suicide.

He should wave it off. If he did it quickly, the awkwardness wouldn’t settle. He could just banter about more money. Could do business as usual.

The thought made him sick.

And it was made worse by how Jared still didn’t get it, but Rolex, of all people, the guy who paid to get his fantasy acted out, seemed to grasp first that something was wrong. His grip on Jared changed, became softer, less passionate.

“Just . . .” Tristan clenched his fists, wanted to get out of the chair but knew that if he got up now, he’d rush out of the hotel room and never stop running. “Sorry. Damn. It’s . . . I don’t know. I can’t watch this.”

Jared frowned at him. Yeah, that had sounded lame. He’d watched this, had taken part in it, had been turned on by it, and he and Jared had happily f*cked each other in between. They were both professionals who had, between them, slept with hundreds of men, and most of them a lot shadier and less attractive than Rolex.

Still he felt like he should safeword, like he had, and nothing made sense anymore.



Tristan broke eye contact and slumped back in the chair, cheeks darker than Jared had ever seen them.

Jared was beyond stunned. He had no idea what to say. Think. Do. All his earlier irritation with Tristan’s attitude evaporated in favour of nauseating worry.

Rolex loosened his grasp a little more, and slowly drew back from Jared. “Um.” He cleared his throat. “What do . . .”

“I’m sorry,” Tristan whispered, though he didn’t look at either of them.

Jared turned around. “I, uh . . .”

Rolex touched his arm. “Maybe I should step out for a moment. Let you two regroup.”

Jared blinked. The man had been offering them a huge wad of cash for sex, and when one of them baulked, that was his response? Rather than booting them out and finding someone more professional?

Jared glanced at Tristan, then back at Rolex. “You don’t mind?”