Authors: L. A. Witt
There he was. Suited and booted, looking like he owned the place, flashy gold watch peeking out from the end of an expensively tailored suit.
Rolex. We meet again
.
And he was coming right towards them, too.
“Looks like we might be making some money tonight,” Jared said with a grin.
Is that opportunity I hear knocking?
Tristan ran his hand higher up Jared’s leg. “Hope he stopped at the bank on his way here.”
Rolex strolled up to their table. He gave Jared a long look, then Tristan. “I was hoping you boys would be here tonight.”
“We are.” Tristan offered a toothy grin. “And you found us. Now what are you going to do with us?”
Rolex seemed to think on it for a moment, as if thrown off his stride, then grinned. “Oh, I’ve got a little fantasy in mind.”
“How kinky are we talking?” Tristan asked. “The place has specialists for the weirder shit.” His teeth snapped shut. Best not to give Rolex—or Jared—any ideas that might subtract Tristan from the night’s equation.
Rolex glanced around. “Nothing weird. You guys know I like to watch.” He leaned closer, flattening his palms on the table. “And give some orders along the way.”
“Orders, eh?” Tristan flashed him a wide grin, and Rolex laughed, clearly picking up the challenge. Tristan reached for his drink. “It’s a rematch, then?”
Rolex pushed his tongue against his teeth. “Yeah. In a manner of speaking.”
Tristan was intrigued enough that he glanced at Jared, picking up the nod there. It might not be just watching, but by now they’d had enough experience to play basically any john who entered the Garden by ear. Oddly, two against one wasn’t fair—even if the other guy called the shots. Totally different to play this game as a team. And they were a bloody good team, especially when paired up with a john as hands-off as Rolex.
“You ready to spend some money?” Tristan asked.
You ready to watch me seduce him for real?
Rolex didn’t flinch. “I think I’m over my sticker shock from the last time.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
Jared slid out of the booth, Tristan hot on his heels, and they walked alongside the john, flanking him no differently from two tarts picked up by the same sugar daddy. It flattered the guys’ egos, that was for sure.
Rolex put an arm around Jared, but kept his right hand free to push the curtain aside and open the door. Tristan felt an odd twinge deep in his chest—not because the john seemed more interested in Jared, but because the touch looked almost intimate, and Jared was doing a great job of looking mightily pleased with himself.
All part of the game,
Tristan thought. He would have plenty of opportunity to be touched by Jared.
By the john
, he quickly corrected himself. Not Jared. The john. The guy with the money.
Tristan shook himself as he followed them out into the night. Had to keep his head in the game. The more he stayed in control, the more money he could squeeze out of this guy’s very well-stocked wallet. Not to mention draw things out with Jared.
Head. In the game. Come on.
There were always plenty of luxury cars in front of the Garden, usually with hired drivers, but that stretched Jag immediately drew his attention. Oh, yeah, he remembered that car, or at least one very similar to it. Riding in the back with Jared beside him and the john eyeing them like he thought he stood a chance at being in charge that night. Yeah, right. Tristan didn’t give up control. Sure, he took orders, but he took them on
his
terms, and his johns bloody well liked it. Just like Rolex had, and just like he would tonight. And hopefully Jared would too.
The driver held open the door, and the three of them filed in: Jared, then the john, then Tristan.
Before the door had even shut behind them, Rolex caught Tristan off-guard.
Sliding a hand over Jared’s leather clad arse, the john said, “Why don’t you sit here? With me?”
Being the consummate professional he was, Jared didn’t hesitate to let himself be guided not just to Rolex’s side of the huge backseat across from Tristan, but right onto the man’s lap. Jared’s slim, elegant body was compact enough he could arrange himself across the john’s legs and avoid hitting his head on the ceiling in the process. He glanced at Tristan, and the saucy gleam in his eyes relaxed Tristan a little. As long as Jared wasn’t nervous or uncomfortable, they could play this man’s game. At least until it was time for Tristan to play
his
game, and subtly—one kiss, touch, thrust at a time—tell Jared he wanted more than money.
Tristan eased himself onto the seat facing the two of them. As the car pulled away from the curb, he caught himself watching Rolex’s hand—gold watch, gold ring, long, slim fingers—sliding from Jared’s knee up towards his arse. Tristan forced himself not to fidget or even curl his own fingers on the leather upholstery beside him, searching for some sensation like the one Rolex was no doubt feeling just now—Jared’s body heat through slick leather, lean muscles underneath.
“So I’m curious,” the john said, eyeing Tristan as he continued stroking Jared’s leg. “How did two young men like you wind up working for Market Garden?”
“Likely the same way you got started in your line of work.” Tristan ran the toe of his boot up the inside of Rolex’s leg, grinning when the john sucked in a breath. “You find a skill you can sell, and you fucking sell it.”
“Well.” Rolex squirmed a bit under Jared as Tristan’s toe neared the inside of his knee. “So you . . . you just showed up with a resume and started working there?”
“Not quite.” Jared’s hand drifted down and found the laces of Tristan’s boot, and he squeezed gently. “You don’t just waltz into Market Garden and get a job unless you have . . . experience.”
Tristan pressed his foot into Jared’s hand. “That, and you don’t find Market Garden. Market Garden finds you.”
Rolex snickered. “In Soviet Russia, whorehouse finds you?”
Jared snorted. Tristan allowed himself a quiet laugh. “Something like that.”
“And how did Market Garden find the two of you?”
Jared’s thumb traced the arch of Tristan’s foot, the dull contact making Tristan’s pulse race in spite of the layer of leather between their skin. “We were both strippers.”
“That explains it,” Rolex said.
“Explains what?”
Rolex grinned at him. “That confidence oozing out of you. Commanding the stage. And the body.” He slid a hand along Jared’s lean rump. “Proper pole dancing?”
Tristan nodded, not quite sure what the guy was going for. Complimenting them, or trying to get into their heads? “If you want to see a good pole dancer, we can give you some pointers.”
“H-how’d you learn to do that?” Rolex was clearly having a hell of a time keeping his thoughts straight. Tristan couldn’t blame him, not with Jared’s arse in the flustered man’s lap.
“On-the-job training,” Tristan said.
“And I did ballet for a while.” Jared squirmed just a bit on Rolex’s lap while the man’s hand explored his torso. Nothing overtly sexual, though the john touching Jared
at all
was surely erotic. He didn’t touch him under his clothes, just stroked the side of his body, from the ribs to his hipbone, stroking, caressing, even gripping, long fingers occasionally kneading Jared in a
very
suggestive way.
“Yeah, you’re very . . . limber,” the john said close to Jared’s ear. “I should have guessed you were both dancers.”
Tristan made himself look away, and glanced out the window as the car turned a corner. Familiar territory, hotels and expensive shops. Same general neighbourhood as last time, so they were likely headed for the same hotel. Rolex was a creature of habit, then.
He looked at Jared and the john again, and watched Rolex’s hand stray up to Jared’s chest, fingers splaying to cup his pec through the T-shirt, Jared’s nipple hard and visible between his first and second finger. Rolex closed those two fingers, squeezing Jared’s nipple hard enough that Jared let out a small gasp.
“Just beautiful.” Rolex’s gaze shifted towards Tristan. “You of course get him for free, don’t you?”
Tristan blinked, thrown out of the role for a moment. Was that the guy’s fantasy? Did he want to pretend he was fucking a couple? If that was what rocked the guy’s boat, he could play that.
“Maybe I do,” he said.
Jared threw him an odd look, confusion furrowing his brow for a split second, and Tristan wondered if he’d overstepped. But Jared recovered quickly. “He gets whatever he wants.” Trailing a finger down Rolex’s arm, he grinned and added, “Everyone else has to pay for the privilege.”
Tristan gulped. What he wouldn’t have given . . .
“You boys still dance for each other?” Rolex asked in that husky voice that said he was really getting into this. “Little lap dance once in a while?”
Jared shrugged. “Can’t say I’ve ever danced for him.” His gaze slid towards Tristan. “We’ve never done that, have we?”
This little bit of role-playing was going to be the death of him, Tristan was sure of it. He cleared his throat. “No, we haven’t. In fact, I’ve never seen you dance.”
“Never?” Rolex squeezed Jared’s arse. “Maybe we should fix that.”
Oh God
.
“Oh yeah?” Jared arched an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?” Well, at least one of them had the ballsy confidence tonight. Tristan chastised himself silently, trying to get his mind back on track. This was so not like him.
“I think . . .” Rolex watched his hand sliding down Jared’s thigh. “I want to see you dance.”
Tristan moistened his lips. “Dance, how?”
“You.” Rolex tapped the centre of Jared’s chest with a single finger. “On his lap.” The finger pivoted towards Tristan.
Jared slowly swept his tongue across his lower lip as he turned his head. “I think we can swing that.”
Damn it. Rolex had just changed the rules, hadn’t he?
Very well. Tristan could work with that. He could play by the john’s rules and still hold the reins.
Tristan cleared his throat again. “It’ll cost you.”
Rolex laughed dryly. “With as much as the two of you cost me last time, I have no doubt about that.” His hand returned to Jared’s chest, and slowly slid downwards. “I came prepared, don’t worry.” He paused, hand resting just above Jared’s belt. “How much are we talking?”
Tristan glanced at Jared, and Jared gave him the slight nod that had become their code for “You name the price.” Jared still deferred to him on monetary matters, which was fine with Tristan since it kept him in control of the situation. To Rolex, he said, “Hundred quid for the dance.”
“That’s it?”
Tristan grinned. “That’s for the dance only. No clothes coming off.”
Rolex started to say something, but then Jared ground against him, likely pressing that stunning arse right against the man’s cock. “Holy shit . . .”
“You want anything off?” Tristan forced his voice not to betray how much
he
was getting turned on by this. “Hundred quid. Per piece.”
“Per
piece
?” Rolex’s eyes widened, then closed when Jared pressed into him again. “Fuck . . .”
“He’s only wearing so much,” Tristan said. “And it’s not the easy-to-remove shit we wore onstage, so he’s going to have to work at getting those leather trousers off”—
fucking hell, yes, baby, take them off
—“without breaking his stride.”
“And once everything is off?” The john licked his lips. “Then what?”
Tristan shrugged with one shoulder. “Same as before. You want to turn up the heat, you lay down another hundred and we’ll talk.”
And you can put a stripped-down Jared right into my hot little hands.
Rolex closed his eyes. He said nothing, but his lips moved, and Tristan was sure they formed another “holy shit.”
Jared glanced at Tristan and winked. Tristan returned it, along with a grin. He hoped he’d managed to mask just how much this was exciting him. A night with a john was business as usual, but Jared? Dancing? Stripping? On his lap? Maybe that wasn’t the original plan, but Tristan could run with it. He just hoped to God that Rolex had brought enough money to pay for Tristan to fuck the hell out of Jared before the night was over. Or else he might have to beg Jared to let him, and Tristan was
not
one to beg.
“Well, if you want me to dance,” Jared said, squirming in the man’s lap again, “I’m gonna need some music.”
With a hand that wasn’t nearly as steady as it had been before, Rolex fished a smartphone out of his pocket. “Here. Hundreds of songs. Use whatever you want.”
Jared eyed the screen. “If there isn’t anything on here I can dance to, it’s going to be another hundred.”
Rolex swallowed. “Hell, download more if you want. I don’t care. Let’s just . . .” He gestured out the window at the hotel, which the car was approaching. “Do this.”
Yes. Yes, let’s do this
.
On the way into the hotel and up the elevator, Jared searched through the john’s musical library. “Ooh, you’ve got Kylie.” He flashed a grin at Rolex. “Looks like we’re in business.”
Rolex snorted. “What gay man doesn’t have some Kylie?”
“Well, if you didn’t have it already,” Jared said, sliding the man’s phone into his own back pocket, “you would have had some before too long.” He looked at Tristan. “I’m ready for this. How about you?”
Tristan slid an arm around Jared’s waist. Looking straight at the john, he whispered in Jared’s ear, “I am
so
ready for this.”
And then some.
“Me too,” Jared said just as softly. “An hour or two of work, and neither of us has to worry about rent for a while.”
Tristan’s heart sank a bit, but he tried not to let it show. Rent. Of course.
Rolex opened the hotel room door for them and gestured, not towards the bedroom, but the living room area of the suite. This time, the champagne was already in the bucket. Three glasses. Rolex had been very confident (or hopeful) they’d be there.
Jared walked towards the sideboard with the smartphone dock, then navigated the menu on the phone. Setting up a playlist? Tristan inhaled deeply, trying to think clearly enough to set this up well for the john. Rolex was running the show, he was paying for it, and that meant he had to get off on it, ideally in a blacking-out kind of spectacular way. And preferably in some way, Tristan thought as his gaze slid towards Jared, that wouldn’t keep him from pursuing what he wanted tonight.