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,