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?”
Oh, you bastard. You fucking bastard.
Jared licked his lips. “Not until . . . not until he pays.”