C’mon, Tristan. Don’t start. Not now.
But then Tristan slid his arm around Jared’s waist, steadying him, and they continued towards the hotel lobby. They’d been to this hotel before—together, alone, with Rolex, with other johns—but he had to admit, he was glad for the guidance towards the lift. His head was still spinning too much to navigate anything more complex or less familiar than his own flat. Or Tristan’s.
The lift doors opened, and Rolex gestured for them to go in ahead of him. Then he pressed the button for his floor, slid in his key card, and—
Tristan kissed Jared.
He pushed him right up against the wall of the lift, hard, leather-covered cock pressed against his hip, and kissed him.
Jared was almost too dazed to kiss back, but he could trust his body to respond. Tristan immediately thrust his tongue into his mouth, and Jared didn’t even think of resisting, though it was weird that Tristan was getting so rough here without first pulling some money out of the john for the show.
“Leave me some.” Rolex touched Tristan’s shoulder, brushing Jared’s fingers, and from how Tristan’s body tensed there for a moment, Jared almost expected Tristan to shrug him off.
Don’t. That would be too . . . weird. Yes. Weird.
Tristan opened his eyes and all but glared at Jared before he broke away.
Was that for me? Or Rolex?
A second before things would’ve become unbearably awkward, the lift dinged.
Rolex herded them down the corridor until they got to a door. He swiped the key card, and the lock’s LED flashed green on the first try.
“Sweet home away from home.” Rolex let Jared and Tristan go in first, then followed and hung up the “do not disturb” sign. This was one of the more upscale rooms; pretty large overall, and even the bed could easily hold three people. Especially three people who didn’t mind getting really close.
Rolex looked around, then grabbed an armchair from the corner and dragged it over to the foot of the bed. He nodded to Tristan. “Why don’t you take off your jacket and shirt and sit for a moment?”
Tristan eyed the chair, the bed, and only then the john, as if he came a very distant third in terms of priorities. “It’ll cost you.”
Rolex shrugged. “I can afford it.” He nodded sharply towards the chair. “Sit.”
Tristan’s eyebrows rose. Normally, Jared would’ve had to smother a laugh at someone attempting to tell his partner what to do, but the irritation that flashed in Tristan’s eyes kept Jared’s humour in check. No doubt about it: something wasn’t right. Jared was tempted to bail, apologise to Rolex, and drag Tristan out with him so they could settle this before it got out of hand.
Without a word, though, Tristan lowered himself into the chair. Jacket on. Shirt on. But in the chair. His lips were tight and his gaze still fixed on Rolex, expression hovering between his usual poker-faced seductiveness and the weird undercurrent that had been there since before Rolex had shown up at Market Garden. Yeah, Jared and Tristan needed to talk.
Rolex watched Tristan for a moment, his eyebrow quirked as if he too sensed something wasn’t right.
Jared tried to swallow the panic rising in his chest. They could still do this. Whatever was on Tristan’s mind could be sorted out later so long as the two of them did their job and pleased their john. So long as Rolex was satisfied, they—
Rolex slid an arm around Jared’s waist, exactly as Tristan had done when they’d stepped out of the car, and kissed him. He wasn’t as aggressive as Tristan had been in the lift, but this was the most demanding his kiss had ever been. He pushed Jared’s lips apart with his tongue, and pulled him right up against his body, letting Jared feel every inch of that impressive cock through their clothes.
This was the third time he’d been in a room with Rolex, but he’d never seen the man naked. Oh, he’d seen his dick a few times, but everything—shirt, trousers, jacket, even that distinctive watch—had stayed on.
With his hands on Rolex’s chest, Jared gently pushed him back. “Shirt.” He swept his tongue across his lips. “Take off your shirt.”
Rolex grinned. “Never thought you were the type to give orders.”
As he’d learnt to do from Tristan, Jared kept his expression neutral. “Well?”
The man’s eyes widened slightly, but then he hooked his finger in his necktie and loosened the knot. Once it was untied, both sides of the undoubtedly expensive tie hanging over his shirt, he started on the buttons.
Jared turned towards Tristan. He was absolutely still, one foot on the floor and the other propped up against the foot of the bed, expression betraying nothing.
Was it something I said? Something I did?
Maybe Tristan was getting bored with him. Or maybe, between work and play, the sex was wearing him down. Perhaps he was tired of splitting the money. Well, that wouldn’t make sense. When they worked together, they each made more than they did alone. Whatever his issue was, he wasn’t—