And Jared was . . .
Tristan stole a glance at him, then swallowed hard and focused on Rolex, watching the man’s back as the three of them headed out of Market Garden. All night long, he’d been chastising himself and telling himself to get it together. So what if Jared had been out with another john? They were rentboys. This was what they did. Tristan himself had sucked off a good-looking lawyer in the back of a limo parked in front of the Garden while Jared was out. Not that he’d been able to focus very well, considering his mind had been on Jared and wherever he’d gone, but the john had seemed satisfied. He’d given him a fifty-quid tip, but Tristan’s heart hadn’t been in it.
His heart hadn’t been in any of this. Not for a while.
Things weren’t quite right between him and Jared, and it was getting worse. Every time they woke up together, the knot in Tristan’s gut tightened, despite his best efforts to ignore it. Something had to give. He’d been pondering getting Jared out of the city for a week or two—they had enough money between them to go on holiday somewhere cheap and preferably warm. Maybe talk things through, figure out where the problem was, and see what they could do about it. It wasn’t something Tristan could tackle on his own.
Rolex’s driver opened the limo door. Jared got in first, then Tristan opposite, feeling oddly sticky in his leather trousers on the leather seats. More friction than normal.
Rolex joined them, sitting next to Jared on the backseat. And Jared slid closer, giving him one of those coy glances while he pressed up against him. Rolex glanced at Tristan first, winked, then lifted Jared’s chin with two fingers and kissed him. Jared had always said the man was a decent kisser, and that was obvious just by watching him—not timid, not sloppy, not the type of freaky john who’d be slobbering all over Jared’s face. The quiet little moans coming from Jared were anything but fake. Rolex knew exactly how to kiss him. Bastard.
The car began to roll forwards, which disoriented Tristan. He’d been too caught up there for a moment in how their lips moved, their tongues. Jared had been the very picture of a boy with his sugar daddy, his fingers tightening on the john’s thigh as Rolex’s fingers splayed possessively on Jared’s shoulder.
It might have been hot.
It should have been.
In different circumstances, it would have been.
In fact, it had been hot the first time. And the second time. When Tristan had finally had the chance to get his hands on Jared, it had been a thrill to touch him and taste him and fuck him, and having another man to watch there had just made it hotter. The lap dance? Bloody hell. Tristan still got shivers thinking about that. Jared would have been stunned if he knew how many times Tristan had jerked off thinking about that night. Though he’d done a lot less of that over the last few months because he didn’t need to jerk off with Jared in his bed.
Leather squeaked softly as Jared draped his leg across Rolex’s lap. His hand was on the front of the john’s shirt, a couple of buttons undone now, and Tristan’s heart skipped a little as he remembered Jared touching him that way.
Does he think of me the same way he thinks of the johns?
Tristan quickly banished that thought. Not here. Not now.
He swore he could feel Jared’s fingers drifting lower, catching on each button on the way down the front of that crisp, white shirt. As Jared’s hand slid over the front of Rolex’s trousers, the contact hidden from Tristan’s view by Jared’s slim, leather-clad leg, Rolex wasn’t the only one whose breath caught.
Tristan swallowed. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to push Rolex out of the way and grab Jared for himself. He wanted Jared’s hands on his dick. He wanted to be the one kissing him like that, especially as he watched Jared playfully nipping Rolex’s lower lip. God, he loved it when Jared did that.
The thought of sitting back and watching Rolex fuck Jared was simultaneously the hottest thing Tristan could imagine, and the most frustrating. He wanted to be the one moving inside Jared while Rolex watched. Or to hell with Rolex. He wanted Jared.
Jared and no one else.
What is wrong with me? We’ve done this before.
They’d played this game with other johns. There was that banker a few months ago who’d fucked Jared in every position imaginable while Tristan had stroked himself and watched. That had been hot. If Jared had been able to move when they’d gone back to his flat that night, Tristan would’ve fucked him too. Instead, they’d settled for a long shower before curling up together beneath the covers.