“Which one?” Tristan asked. “I mean, who’s sucking who?”
Rolex tapped his fingers on top of the cash. “I ... um ...” He swallowed. “Both. At the same time.”
Holy shit. I’m supposed to concentrate on sucking Tristan’s cock while he’s sucking mine?
“Break out another two hundred.” Tristan climbed off Jared and started to turn around as if he knew damn well the additional money was a foregone conclusion.
Which it was. The bills came out of the billfold and they probably landed on the table alongside the others, but right about then, Tristan was on top of Jared again, facing the other way, and Jared had his mouth and Tristan’s where he’d wanted them both for a long, long time. The salt of Tristan’s skin brought a groan from the back of Jared’s throat. He could barely accommodate Tristan’s dick, which turned him on even more.
I want every inch of this in me, he thought as he took as much as he could into his mouth. I can’t fucking wait.
He wrapped an arm around Tristan’s thigh just to anchor him, and stroked him with the other as he teased the head of Tristan’s dick with the tip of his tongue. And Tristan? Dear Lord, the man knew what he was doing. Teasing, deep-throating, teasing again. Just enough hand, just enough mouth, and squeezing just right to make Jared groan as he tried – really fucking tried – to concentrate on pleasing Tristan too.
“Fuck, you two are hot together.” The words burst out of the john so quickly they were almost a single syllable. A momentary lapse in control.
Jared wanted to look, to see the two of them in the mirror, all tangled up in mutual cocksucking ecstasy, but he couldn’t see the mirror because of Tristan’s leg beside his head. There ... were worse predicaments to be in. He couldn’t complain. And even though he’d lost track of the price, he was pretty sure Tristan would get them both rent money and probably next month’s too.
He focused on Tristan’s dick, and while he wanted to do more, he still needed to entertain the man with the money, and he had to remember that the visuals counted. So he traced it with his tongue on the outside, rubbed his face against it, ran it across his lips like a huge hot chapstick.
“You.” The john’s voice bordered on terse, but not out of malice or hostility. More like he was struggling to form words at all, and had to resort to short, sharp syllables to communicate. “On the bottom. Get on top. Keep sucking.”
Obligingly (for once), Tristan rolled over onto his back and Jared got on top and went down on Tristan, which put him into a very similar position to Tristan earlier – arse bared, pointing right at the john, only he was now completely naked. Totally exposed. He tried not to think about it, instead kept sucking and stroking, focused solely on the only dick in the room he really wanted.
Something clicked, like the cap opening on a tube of lube.
“Going to put anything in his arse,” Tristan said, stroking Jared’s hair as Jared sucked his cock, “it’ll cost you.”
“Of course.” Rolex sounded less amused now. Not angry, just taut with the same kind of impatience that had Jared trembling and half out of his mind.
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 could he concentrate now, no way he could ignore the john, that slick, impersonal 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 dick 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.
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, 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.”
“I am fucking him,” Tristan said. Jared didn’t have to look in the mirror to know Tristan had that grin on his goddamned 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 damned slowly – pushed his cock all the way in.
Jared’s elbows buckled. He went down onto his forearms with a small helpless sound, 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.
“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 pulling down his own zipper. “Just like that.”
Jared tightened involuntarily, worried for a moment the john would whip his dick 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 wall, 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 dialling down his pride or any sense of reserve.
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 down-stroke 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.”
The john stopped stroking his own cock. He reached for his wallet, and every muscle in Jared’s body trembled, ready for that release that wasn’t far off now. He almost never came this way, from penetration alone, not unless he was really aroused, but an orgasm was inevitable now. And close. So close. God, just a few thrusts and a hundred quid away.
But that devilish grin, that smirk, said the john was still in control. So was the way he slowly withdrew the crisp bills from the fold. And he held them. Didn’t set them down, didn’t put them back, just held them a few inches above the table, a finger sliding back and forth across the unwrinkled surface. A chess player unsure of his move? Hardly. He held Jared’s gaze, watching him while Tristan fucked him right to the brink, and Jared held his breath, held himself back, willed himself not to come. Not until that money was down and the order was given. Or until Tristan let him. Or made him.
Tristan held Jared’s hips tighter. He swore under his breath, his voice as taut as the tension building inside Jared, which pushed Jared that much closer to losing it.
And still, the bills weren’t on the table.
The john’s hand lowered a little, and Jared moaned. Grinning, the john raised his hand, and in the same moment, Tristan moved faster, and Jared was so close, so fucking close, but he couldn’t ... he wouldn’t ...
“Fuck,” he growled. The need to come was well past bearable now. His knuckles were white as he gripped handfuls of the duvet. His body ached, every muscle painfully wound with that shaky, cable-tight tension, and Tristan kept hitting that sweet spot, kept pushing him closer and closer.
“You are so damned hot when you’re on the edge like that,” the john said. “Jesus.”
Jared bit back a frustrated “fuck you” and just moaned, letting his head fall forward so his sweaty forehead brushed the rumpled duvet.
“You going to torture him all night?” Tristan’s voice was all playful now. And evil. Fucker. “Don’t you want to see him come?” His fingertips trailed up the centre of Jared’s spine, transforming each vertebra in turn to molten electricity. “He has a spectacular come-face, you know.”
“Does he?” Rolex’s voice was just as evil-playful. “But I can’t see his face.”
“Hmm, no, I suppose you can’t.”
Jared tried to lift his head. Couldn’t. He couldn’t move.
When Tristan’s hand slid higher, Jared knew what was about to happen, and his balls were already tightening because he was nearly to the point of no return, and there’d be no holding back, no turning back, and –
Tristan seized Jared’s hair.
Jerked his head back.
The money hit the table.
And Jared lost it.
His orgasm was like a snapping rope twisted too taut for too long, ends whipping through his whole body, the tension releasing in what was nearly mind-bending pain and then a huge wave of release. It felt like he couldn’t stop coming, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d shouted. He’d never come like that, no way; nobody had ever got him off like that, stars, explosions, very nearly blackout.
All strength and focus simply drained from him with every spurt of cum, and Tristan was still fucking him, small, harsh movements, shuddering more than thrusting, and Jared was almost sure Tristan was coming with him. Part of him was surprised as hell, but another just couldn’t care at all what anybody else felt or was going through.
He barely managed to look at the john, whose hands were digging hard into the armrests, teeth bared, body tight and taut, face flushed and sweaty. The man was almost there himself, but somehow he held back, tappin
g into some level of restraint Jared couldn’t even begin to imagine. Waiting out the money shot, maybe?
Jared collapsed when Tristan pulled free – too exhausted and sore to stay up, panting into the damp bedclothes. He shook his head, summoned a reserve from God knew where, and looked up at the customer. Behind him, Tristan ran a hand along his spine.
“Got some cash left in the budget?” Tristan teased.
The john nodded, breathless, speechless. He made an I don’t give a fuck circular motion with his hand at the wallet. “Take the rest,” he muttered eventually. “Get me off. Both.”
Tristan slapped Jared’s arse sharply enough to rouse him from his stupor, and then slinked out of the bed and onto his feet. Jared felt a lot less in control and a lot less graceful as he crawled after Tristan to the chair, like a clumsy dog following the more graceful feline.
Tristan knelt down next to the guy’s legs, motioned Jared to kneel between them, and kissed Jared – another one of those deep, open-mouthed kisses, just more tender now, less heated. As if Tristan was kissing him just because he wanted to, and Jared hoped that was the case. That Tristan wasn’t just performing now. That he really wanted Jared.
Please, God, don’t let me be reading too much into this.
The john reached out and touched both their heads. “Come on.” He was begging. No doubt.
Jared didn’t want to break this kiss, but he was still here to service the john, so he pulled away from Tristan and glanced up at Rolex. He felt weirdly tender and, hell, generous. Performance. He licked the side of the man’s cock as if he genuinely wanted it, as if that were the cock he’d wanted to feel, as if he were absolutely ravenous for it. He really did want to please the guy, especially when he kept stroking Jared’s hair but didn’t pull on it, like some arseholes did. Jared appreciated good manners.
Tristan grinned at him and licked along the other side, making the man jerk so hard in the chair that it almost looked like a seizure. They both slid up and kissed, brushing the tip, and Jared squeezed the man’s balls while Tristan’s tongue teased the rim of the crown, his hand around the john’s dick now, jerking him slowly. Their mouths met over the head of the john’s cock, and their lips and tongues teased each other and him at the same time. The man made a strangled sound, tensed, and both of them lifted their heads just as he came, staying so close together that he came in their faces, but, well, that was fine. Some guys got off on that.
Quid Pro Quo Page 3