Holy . . .
None of them kissed like he did. None of them. Maybe he was only making sure the test drive was good and impressive, or maybe he really was that turned on, but all the maybes and the possibilities added up to Blake nearly falling to pieces on the limo seat. Jason walked that fine line between aggressive and overbearing, inching just close enough to the latter to be hot as hell. He kept a firm grip on Blake’s tie, as if he knew exactly how much of a turn-on that was, and demanded access to Blake’s mouth. All the while, he rubbed his hard-on against Blake’s palm, as if to remind him that his hand was still on top of the clothed erection that would be his entertainment for the evening.
Jason’s palm warmed the inside of Blake’s thigh, his body heat radiating through Blake’s trousers as if they weren’t even there.
Panic rippled through Blake.
No clothes off? No orgasms?
He opened his eyes and looked past Jason at their surroundings beyond the heavily tinted windows. They were still a few minutes away from the hotel. Still a few minutes away from moving their negotiations into the lobby, the lift, the room, the bed.
And Jason’s hand was slowly—and not very subtly—sliding higher.
Yeah, Jason was controlled enough to keep himself from coming or tearing off some clothing, but Blake’s certainty about his own control was waning rapidly as Jason’s fingertips traced the inseam of his trousers.
Jason ran his whole hand over Blake’s clothed cock and balls. Blake groaned, and he couldn’t help breaking the kiss as he did. He couldn’t concentrate on things like kissing and being kissed and being halfway decent at kissing when those slender fingers were running along every inch of his uncomfortably hard dick.
“Jared and Tristan weren’t lying,” Jason whispered.
“Yeah?” Blake panted. “What . . . what did they say?”
“They raved about you.” Jason’s lips grazed Blake’s at the same time his fingertips traced the head of Blake’s cock through his fly. “They were certainly”—he squeezed Blake firmly enough to make him gasp—“fans.”
“Any specifics?”
“Oh yes.” Jason’s smile was audible. “So far, it’s all true.”
Blake was too turned on to worry a great deal about whether the prostitutes of Market Garden had their own forum where they rated johns. “Such as?”
“Well, what do you think?”
Blake squirmed. “Good personal hygiene?”
Jason rolled his eyes. “That’s a low bottom line.”
“I was trying for self-deprecating.”
“You must be the only guy out there who can be self-deprecating while he’s this hard.” He grinned at Blake, baring all teeth. “It doesn’t really suit you.”
Yeah. Jason was most definitely rattling his cage, and rattling it thoroughly. But it was hard to care with Jason this close, and them both being this turned on. “G-good taste in music?”
“That was one.” Jason sinuously, fluidly pushed against Blake’s hand. “Any other guesses?”
“Rich.”
Jason grinned and nodded. “But we already ticked that off the list. They mentioned your good taste in watches. Actually, your good taste generally.” Jason kissed him again, as if to drive home every meaning of the word taste, and it made Blake desperate to feel those lips around his cock. But—no clothes off, and no orgasm. He sure as hell hoped he’d last longer than it would take them to reach his hotel.
Blake broke the kiss and kissed Jason’s neck, caught a whiff of aftershave or shower gel—whatever it was exactly, it made Jason smell delicious. He couldn’t wait to get him into bed and get down and dirty with him.
The car pulled up outside the hotel, and Blake separated from Jason, reluctantly. No need to scandalize the driver with particulars. The man had probably seen worse, but Blake didn’t quite know where the lines of sexual harassment in the workplace started in the UK. “Nearly there.”
Jason sat up. At some point, he’d let Blake’s tie go, and Blake pushed a finger into the space between throat and the knot to loosen it again.
“So, how did you like the test drive?” Jason adjusted himself in his pants.
“I think we’d better go in my office and discuss price.”
Jason’s grin was toothy, almost sharky. “You’re already sold, I think.” He touched Blake’s knee. “Pricing seems like a bit of a formality at this point, yes?”
“Mm-hmm. But unless you’re going to let me drive the Lamborghini off the lot for free . . .”
Jason shivered. “Pity you don’t have that car with you. There’s a fantasy or two you could fulfill for me, and I wouldn’t charge you a dime.”
Blake arched an eyebrow, and suddenly wondered if there was a place to rent a Lambo in London. Or, hell, buy one. He’d buy it, fulfill any fantasy Jason wanted, and then sell it at a loss and still come out ahead.