Quid Pro Quo (5 page)

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 notes 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 28

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 notes weren’t on the table.

The john’s hand lowered a little, and Jared whimpered.

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 goddamned 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 29

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, smal , 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, tapping into some level of restraint Jared couldn’t even begin to imagine. Waiting out the money shot, maybe?

Jared col apsed 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.

30

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 cock now, jerking him slowly. Their mouths met over the head of 31

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 on their faces, but, well, that was fine. Some guys got off on that.

Tristan grinned and kept stroking the john through it

until the man released them and waved his hand.

They both sat back, wiping their faces. Rolex picked up a

stack of napkins that had come in with the champagne bottle and handed it to them with a shaking hand before he took a couple and cleaned himself off.

No one spoke for a long time. The only sounds were

napkins brushing on skin, men getting to their feet and

getting dressed. The whole room felt surreal. Otherworldly.

As if the tension that had built since their arrival had become a tangible thing and shattered, and they were all moving

carefully and slowly to avoid disturbing the pieces on the ground. That, or Jared was just halfway out of his mind from everything. Which was entirely possible; he wasn’t even sure he could fit this evening into his head.

The john handed Tristan the thick stack of notes. “You

two are . . . you’re well worth the money.”

Tristan grinned as he slid the cash into his back pocket.

“Well, if you feel the need, you know where to find us again.”

Rolex laughed, and it was a lethargic, sleepy sound. “I

don’t know which you boys will kill first. Me or my bank

account.”

“Only one way to find out.” Tristan winked at him. Then

he turned to Jared. “Ready to go?”

Jared nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say to the john—

Thanks for the hottest sex I’ve ever had, even if you barely touched
me?
—so he just smiled, and then Tristan put his arm around 32

Jared’s waist. Jared pretended his heart wasn’t fluttering at Tristan’s touch.

Wordlessly, they left the john’s hotel room. On the

way down the hal , Jared finally found his voice. “That was different.”

“No kidding.” Had Tristan just shivered? Jared was sure

he had.

They stopped in front of the lift, and Jared pressed the

button. While they waited, he said, “So all the things you’ve heard about me. Good things, I hope?”

Tristan grinned and pulled Jared closer to his side. He

kissed just below Jared’s ear and said, “All very good things.”

He paused to nibble Jared’s earlobe. “And every one of them was a bloody understatement.”

This time it was Jared who shivered.

The lift doors opened. Once they were closed, and they

were safely separated from anyone else for at least a minute or so, Tristan pulled the money out of his pocket. He counted out a third for Jared—the remaining third went to Market

Garden—and stowed away his own share. Jared was too far

gone to crunch the numbers, but he could tell at a glance

this was a lot more than he usually brought back to Market Garden
before
he subtracted the boss’s cut.

“You know,” Tristan said, watching Jared thumb through

the notes, “we could make a killing doing this.”

“Working together?”

Tristan nodded. That spine-tingling, devilish grin spread

across his lips, and he slid his arm around Jared’s waist again.

No need for that now.
Holy shit, maybe he
likes
me.
“If you’re game, then I say, let’s make some money together.”

He kissed Jared before Jared could formulate a response.

Not that it mattered.

33

Working with Tristan? Getting fucked, sucked, kissed,

and touched by Tristan? For the kind of money that was in

his hand right now?

There was only one answer to that.

Hell yes.

34

Many thanks go to our editors and proofers, and our

Britpickers Alex and Gitte for quick last-minute checks on Christmas Eve. Remaining British language mistakes are

Aleks’s fault, as always.

Incursion

Country Mouse, with Amy Lane

Dark Soul Vols. 1–5

Break and Enter, with Rachel Haimowitz

Counterpunch

Scorpion

Dark Edge of Honor, with Rhi Etzweiler

The Lion of Kent, with Kate Cotoner

If It Flies, with L.A. Witt (Coming Soon)

For a full list, please visit

www.aleksandrvoinov.com/bookshelf.html

Conduct Unbecoming

Where There’s Smoke

A Chip in His Shoulder

O Come All Ye Kinky

From Out in the Cold

Something New Under the Sun

Covet Thy Neighbor (Coming Soon)

For a full list, please v
isit www.loriawitt.com

Aleksandr Voinov is an emigrant German author living

near London, where he is one of the unsung heroes in the

financial services sector. He published extensively in his native German, then switched to English and hasn’t looked back.

His genres range from horror, science fiction, cyberpunk, and fantasy to contemporary, thriller, and historical erotic gay novels.

In his spare time, he goes weightlifting, explores historical sites, and meets other writers. He single-handedly sustains three London bookstores with his ever-changing research

projects. His current interests include special forces operations during World War II, pre-industrial warfare, European magical traditions, and how to destroy the world and plunge it into a nuclear winter without having the benefit of nuclear weapons.

Visit Aleksandr’s website a
t www.aleksandrvoinov.com,

his blog a
t www.aleksandrvoinov.blogspot.com, a
nd follow him on Twitter, where he tweets as @aleksandrvoinov.

L.A. Witt is an abnormal M/M romance writer who,

after three years in Okinawa, Japan, relocated to Omaha,

Nebraska in late 2011. She lives there with her husband, two cats, and a buck-toothed turtle named Sheldon. In between

writing smutty books full of smutty smuttiness, she continues her tireless pursuit of her arch nemesis, erotica author Lauren Gal agher.