Quid Pro Quo (4 page)

“Think it’ll be worth the price to see me put this to use?”

Tristan asked.

The john gulped. So did Jared. Oh, yes, he was getting

fucked tonight.

Tristan draped his clothes over another chair, and then

came back to the bed where Jared waited. He was on top

again, hips pressed to Jared’s just like before, except they were naked now. Smooth, hot flesh against smooth, hot flesh. Hard cock against hard cock. His kiss was hungrier, more aggressive, or maybe that was just his response to Jared’s hungrier, more aggressive kiss. Jared grasped Tristan’s hair and kissed Tristan even harder as he pressed their cocks together.

More paper rustling.
Christ, that didn’t take long.

20

“Suck his cock.” The john’s voice was sharp and

commanding, but had a breathless, unsteady undercurrent.

His hand hit the table again, and Tristan looked, probably checking to make sure money had actually materialised.

“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 fucking 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 fucking tried—to concentrate on pleasing

Tristan too.

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“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 fuck 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

he’d managed to forget that even for a moment.

At least it was plenty of lube, slicking him up, though he gritted his teeth when the man added a third finger, pumping in and out of him, seemingly keen on making this unpleasant.

And yet, Jared wasn’t even a little tempted to throw out his safeword because something up his arse was exactly what he needed now.

“You’ll be grateful, you little whore,” the john said, almost affectionately. “This”—he separated his fingers slightly,

making Jared groan again at the stretching sensation—“is so you can handle
him
.”

“Oh,” Tristan said, gently grasping Jared’s hair. “I don’t think . . . I don’t think he’ll have trouble handling me.”

Jared lifted his head and looked up at Tristan. There were only so many things that could be faked, and those huge

pupils weren’t one of them. Nor was the way his hazel eyes were very distinctly dilated now. Tristan was undeniably,

genuinely turned the fuck on at the deepest and most primal level. Between those eyes, the cock Jared was eagerly sucking, and the fingers invading his arse, so was Jared.

Tristan closed his eyes and let his head fall back to the

pillow. His hips rose, pushing his cock deeper into Jared’s mouth, so Jared stroked him a little faster and ran the tip of his tongue around the head. Tristan groaned. Or maybe Jared did. Hell, maybe it was the john. Jared couldn’t keep track anymore.

The fingers slid free, and goose bumps prickled along

the length of Jared’s spine. The john got up off the bed, the mattress shifting slightly beneath Jared’s knees. He listened for that sound, that distinct sound, please, please, please . . .

Rustle.

24

Fuck, yes.

Then another sound, similar but still distinct, and a square of foil landed beside them.

“Fuck him,” the john ordered. “He’s all ready for you.”

Oh, God, yes, I am . . .

Jared rose up off Tristan and handed him the condom. As

Tristan took it, he said, “Orgasms cost extra.”

“Fine. Fine. Just . . . just fuck him. Now.”

Tristan tore the foil and rolled the condom down. As he

put on some lube—the john had left the bottle nearby—he

said, “Which way do you want us? Facing, I mean?”

Jared looked over his shoulder. The john was back in his

chair, looking a lot less together, calm, and relaxed than he had earlier. His trousers were much tighter, his shirt decidedly less buttoned. He swallowed. “Facing me. You”—he gestured

at Jared—“on your hands and knees.”

Jared turned around, facing him completely. Normally,

he’d lose his erection while he was getting fucked, but judging by the way his balls tightened as Tristan put a hand on his hip and got into position behind him, that wouldn’t be the case this time. And while he’d not been sure how to deal with the john’s manual “stimulation,” he was grateful for it now because there was no need to wait. He could take everything Tristan gave him. Every inch.

Or, he could if Tristan actually
gave
it to him. But Tristan teased him with only the head of his cock, pressing in just enough to blur Jared’s vision. He tried to rock back. Tried to take more. A firm hand on his hip didn’t allow that, though.

“Fuck him,” the john ordered, his voice taut with the same frustration that had Jared digging his teeth into his lower lip.

“I’ve paid. Come on.”

25

“I am fucking him,” Tristan said. Jared didn’t have to look in the mirror to know Tristan had that grin on his damned

lips. He didn’t have to, but he did anyway, and . . . fuck. His whole body shuddered, and he tried again to get more of

Tristan inside him.

“Damn you,” he muttered, letting his head fall forward.

The chair creaked. The john’s foot rubbed back and forth

on the carpet. Tristan gave Jared a little more, but very little.

“He said fuck me,” Jared said through his teeth. “God,

what are—”

“You like watching him like this, don’t you?” Tristan ran

his hand up the middle of Jared’s back before slowly returning to his hip. “Watching him get frustrated?”

Confusion furrowed Jared’s brow for a moment, but then

he realised Tristan wasn’t speaking to him.

“I want to see you fuck him,” the john said. “Holy shit.”

“Mm-hmm.” Tristan held onto Jared’s hips with both

hands and slowly—so bloody slowly—pushed his cock all the

way in.

Jared’s elbows buckled. He went down onto his

forearms with a helpless whimper, grabbing handfuls of

the duvet for . . . for . . . support? An anchor?

Something. Tristan made sure he felt every single inch

sliding in, stretching him even after the john’s fingers had done their work, sliding across that sweet spot as if it were put there just for him.

Just as slowly, he withdrew. One long, slow stroke,

followed by another, before he stopped, buried all the way inside Jared, groin pressed to arse. His hand drifted up Jared’s spine and into his hair. For a moment, he just stroked Jared’s scalp, the movements slow, almost tender.

26

“Always hot watching a man get fucked.” And then he

grabbed Jared’s hair and jerked his head back. “But even hotter watching him beg for it, isn’t it?”

Jared met the john’s eyes. The john’s lips parted. He

shifted, stroked his own cock through his trousers.

“You like this?” Tristan asked. “Or you want me to just

fuck him hard and fast?”

The john started pul ing down his own zipper. “Just like

that.”Jared tightened involuntarily, worried for a moment the john would whip his cock out and stuff it down his throat. It would be more than he could cope with if he had any hope of not coming until the john paid him to.

But the john didn’t do anything but sit there and, after

freeing himself, stroke with more control than Jared would have had. And seeing him so turned on, Jared’s professional pride flared up. This was not about him or even Tristan. They were providing a service—a very specialised service—and

they were being paid very, very well for it. Poor bastard was probably stressed out of his head, and this helped him to

come down.

Those thoughts vanished though when Tristan began

to fuck him just a little faster, his speed clearly designed to drive Jared up the wal , and while he would have been less vocal if he’d been doing it just for fun, he reminded himself to
perform
. And hell, it didn’t take much for him to groan and moan and beg for more, eyes closed, throat bared or head hanging, lips open, or biting down on them. The
porn face
, as he called it. Show what he was feeling, but exaggerate it. Make it more believable just by dial ing down his pride or any sense of reserve.

27

And hell, but Tristan made it easy. At a sharp twist of

Tristan’s hips, Jared’s eyes opened again, and he noticed the john was really struggling to not get himself off. His hand moved slowly, unsteadily, and he jumped now and then as if he were on the edge, a squeeze or a sharp downstroke away

from losing it. He looked as turned on as Jared was, and

allowed himself to show it.

“What next?” Tristan asked, his tone just this side of

mocking. And maybe, just maybe, a little out of breath.

“I think he wants to come,” the john said with a grin, but his heavy-lidded eyes said Jared wasn’t the only one.

“Mmm, yeah, I think he does,” Tristan purred, running a

hand up Jared’s side. “Well, that’s entirely”—he fucked Jared a little faster—“up to you. Because he’s not going to come until you pay for it.” Faster still. “Are you, Jared?”