Payoff (A Market Garden Tale)

by L. A. Witt

  “You should get—” Rolex’s breath caught as Jared ran his fingertips along the underside of his cock. “You should get on the bed.”

  Tristan’s stomach twisted itself into queasy knots as he watched Jared stand up. He’d barely been able to keep himself together while Rolex and Jared had undressed, but watching them fuck? He was going to lose his mind.

  Jared paused to stretch a little—his knees were probably less than thrilled about kneeling for so long—while Rolex riffled around in a suitcase beside the bed. When the john withdrew his hand, Tristan wasn’t surprised to see a pack of condoms and a bottle of lube.

  Jared turned his head and made eye contact with Tristan. Though Tristan had fought to keep his cards close to his chest all night, he had a feeling Jared saw right through him. At least enough to sense that something wasn’t right.

  So Tristan forced a playful grin. “You don’t mind being watched, do you?”

  Jared hesitated, but then returned the grin. “Absolutely not.” He winked, which sent a shiver through Tristan. Bloody hell, he was sexy. Rolex probably was too, and Tristan had been curious for a while about what he looked like naked, but for the moment, he didn’t notice because he was too focused on Jared.

  Jared, who was climbing onto the giant bed.

  Followed by Rolex.

  With the condoms and lube.

  Tristan gulped, willing his stomach to stop churning. This was their job. This was what they did. And they were damned good at it. Jared wasn’t involved with Rolex or any other john. This was sex. Just sex for money, like it was every night they worked.

  Jared sat on his knees, facing Tristan. Rolex wrapped an arm around Jared’s waist from behind, and when Jared turned his head, their lips met. Rolex’s other hand snaked around Jared, and his fingers closed around his cock. Jared tensed a little, back arching off Rolex’s chest. Tristan forced himself not to react. Jared’s response was not a panicked one, he reminded himself. He was aroused, but somehow that reassurance did nothing to calm Tristan down.

  Rolex’s hips began to move. He wasn’t fucking Jared yet—he’d better not be, with the lube and condoms still untouched—but moved as if he were, probably rubbing his cock against Jared’s arse. Jared moaned and rocked back against him. The bed protested softly, and as they picked up speed, the footboard transferred some of that motion to Tristan, nudging the sole of his boot in perfect time with Jared and Rolex’s naked pantomime.

  Tristan quickly dropped his foot to the floor. This was supposed to be hot, damn it. Watching Jared get turned on and flustered and fucked? Absolutely sexy as hell. And Tristan did have a hard-on, one he was fucking desperate to force into Jared’s arse. It wasn’t like this was turning him off.

  It was just messing with his head and driving him insane.

  “Want to feel him?” Tristan asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

  Rolex looked over at him, not annoyed, just distracted, and God, but did Tristan know what it was like to have Jared that close, that needy and ready for him on the bed. He was shocked Rolex didn’t tell him to shut the hell up. “Another hundred?”

  Tristan almost nodded, but corrected himself. “Two. Two hundred.”

  Rolex made no move to bring out the money. He stayed right where he was, only moving to get the condom and tear open the wrapper. “You’ve seen the cash I was carrying? You guys can have the whole lot. I don’t care.” He half grinned. “You won that game, eh?”

  Not . . . quite. Of course it was about the money, but the game . . . the game made Tristan feel in control. He’d enjoyed flustering Rolex in the past and making him beg for it. But Rolex wasn’t playing the power game tonight, and that was throwing Tristan off. They were going to make a big bundle, bigger than the other times maybe, but at the same time, Rolex was refusing to play. And he was calling the shots this time. And he knew it.

  Jared glanced over his shoulder and reached back towards Rolex.

  “Don’t worry, I got this.” Rolex positioned the condom and rolled it down.

  Yes, you do. Bastard.

  Tristan coughed to get his breath moving again. “Just going right for it? I can promise you, Jared’s a man who appreciates some good foreplay.”

  Jared met his eyes, and, oh God, he had that look. That surrendered, blissed-out look he always had when he was this turned on. Still a little concerned, but mostly gone, lost in the anticipation of a good, hard fuck.

  A good, hard fuck that was coming from someone else. Tristan was here, close enough to touch him, to see and hear everything, but unable to reach for Jared. Unable to do anything but sit back and let someone else taste Jared’s skin and feel the way he tensed and shuddered and rocked . . .

  “He does, does he?” Rolex reached for the bottle of lube. “Well, I’ve got all the time in the world, so . . .” The click of the bottle top made Jared close his eyes and bite his lip. The room spun around Tristan, and it took all the concentration he had to at least look calm and collected. Maybe Rolex had taken away his control in their little power game, but Tristan needed to keep it together so Jared could let go. Because that was what Rolex wanted. If he had to guess, it was what Jared wanted too.

  Tristan breathed slowly and evenly through his nose as he watched Rolex lubricate his fingers. Then the john put his arm around Jared’s waist again, and his other hand disappeared between them.

  Jared’s eyes flew open. He gasped. Again when Rolex kissed the side of his neck.

  “Is he right?” Rolex murmured, his arm moving just enough to hint at the way his fingers must’ve been teasing Jared. “This what you like?”

  “I . . .” Jared leaned back against Rolex, tilting his head to expose more of his neck and rubbing against him like a cat. He grabbed onto the john’s thigh, probably seeking any support he could find, and he stared up at the ceiling as Rolex kept kissing his neck and, as far as Tristan could see, teasing his arse with his slick fingers.

  Tristan shifted again, his erection getting incredibly uncomfortable inside his trousers. Finger-fucking Jared was one of his favourite things. Jared loved it, and by the time Tristan was done, Jared was always a shaking, begging wreck capable of forming only two words: “Fuck me.”

  The condom wrapper on the bed beside Jared and Rolex’s knees caught Tristan’s eye. He chewed the inside of his cheek. It wouldn’t be long before Jared started begging for it, and the condom was already on. By now, Rolex undoubtedly had Jared good and lubed, relaxed and ready, and whenever Jared said the word, all Rolex would have to do was slide his fingers out and fuck him.

  “Oh my God,” Jared whimpered, rocking back against Rolex. The tendons in his hand and forearm stuck out as he gripped the john’s leg tighter, and Rolex was breathing hard against Jared’s neck, whispering something Tristan didn’t quite hear. Something filthy, judging by the way Jared was slowly coming apart, inching towards that moment when he was reduced to those two words. The same two words he’d moaned in Tristan’s ear last night when he’d been right on the edge.

  Tristan’s chest tightened. Jared was rock hard, his face flushed and his eyes closed, and in no time at all, he was going to be bent over, probably not even able to hold himself up, surrendering completely with his arse in the air for Rolex to fuck until neither of them could take any more. This was what Jared wanted. Wasn’t it?

  Tell me if it isn’t, Jared. Say the word, and we’ll stop. We’ll leave.

  Leave? He barely kept himself from swearing aloud. What is wrong with me? What the hell?

  Apparently unaware, Jared shuddered and released a breath. He turned his head, pulling in a breath like he was about to speak, but Rolex kissed him.

  Tristan gritted his teeth as Jared and Rolex kissed. The jealousy beneath his skin burned hotter and his heart beat faster, even if that kiss had stopped them from taking this to the next step. He couldn’t watch this. He couldn’t—

  “Fuck me,” Jared moaned, breaking the kiss just enough to speak. “Fuck me, please.”

  “No.”
The word escaped Tristan’s mouth before he could think twice.

  Jared and Rolex both froze. Tristan sat up, cold water rushing through him. Had he really . . .?

  “What?” Jared licked his lips and blinked a few times. “No?”

  Rolex arched an eyebrow and didn’t let go of Jared. “You want more money before I fuck him? You’re already getting all my—”

  “No.” Tristan moved to the edge of the chair, closing a bit of the distance between himself and Jared. “Don’t do this.”

  Jared blinked again, his eyes getting clearer. “What? I don’t . . .” He shook his head. “Don’t do what?”

  Yeah, what?

  What’s the word again?

  Oh. Right. Professional suicide.

  He should wave it off. If he did it quickly, the awkwardness wouldn’t settle. He could just banter about more money. Could do business as usual.

  The thought made him sick.

  And it was made worse by how Jared still didn’t get it, but Rolex, of all people, the guy who paid to get his fantasy acted out, seemed to grasp first that something was wrong. His grip on Jared changed, became softer, less passionate.

  “Just . . .” Tristan clenched his fists, wanted to get out of the chair but knew that if he got up now, he’d rush out of the hotel room and never stop running. “Sorry. Damn. It’s . . . I don’t know. I can’t watch this.”

  Jared frowned at him. Yeah, that had sounded lame. He’d watched this, had taken part in it, had been turned on by it, and he and Jared had happily fucked each other in between. They were both professionals who had, between them, slept with hundreds of men, and most of them a lot shadier and less attractive than Rolex.

  Still he felt like he should safeword, like he had, and nothing made sense anymore.

  Tristan broke eye contact and slumped back in the chair, cheeks darker than Jared had ever seen them.

  Jared was beyond stunned. He had no idea what to say. Think. Do. All his earlier irritation with Tristan’s attitude evaporated in favour of nauseating worry.

  Rolex loosened his grasp a little more, and slowly drew back from Jared. “Um.” He cleared his throat. “What do . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” Tristan whispered, though he didn’t look at either of them.

  Jared turned around. “I, uh . . .”

  Rolex touched his arm. “Maybe I should step out for a moment. Let you two regroup.”

  Jared blinked. The man had been offering them a huge wad of cash for sex, and when one of them baulked, that was his response? Rather than booting them out and finding someone more professional?

  Jared glanced at Tristan, then back at Rolex. “You don’t mind?”

  Rolex shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I can . . .” He paused, looking Jared up and down. “There’s a robe in the bathroom.” Gesturing at the door off to the side of the suite, he added, “If you want to wear that so you don’t get cold.”

  Jared glanced down at himself. He did his job naked, of course, but for the first time, he felt uncomfortable and, yes, a little bit cold. “Thank you.”

  Rolex offered a faint smile, then got up and went into the bathroom.

  Turning to Tristan, Jared whispered, “Are you okay?”

  Tristan nodded, but that was the extent of his response.

  Jared lay across the bed and reached over the footboard for Tristan’s hand. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

  Swallowing hard, Tristan met his eyes. He took a breath and looked like he was about to speak, but then his eyes darted to the side just as the bathroom door creaked quietly.

  Rolex stepped out, a fluffy white dressing gown in his hand. He’d put on what Jared guessed were his workout clothes—track pants, a plain T-shirt. It was odd to see him dressed so casually after the expensive suits he’d worn whenever he’d come to Market Garden, but what about this moment wasn’t odd?

  Jared sat up and took the dressing gown. “Thanks,” he said as he pulled it around his shoulders.

  “You’re welcome.” Rolex’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two of them. Then he picked up his wallet, watch, and mobile off the table. “I’ll just step out for a few minutes.”

  No one said another word. Jared had no idea what could be said at this point, so he just avoided both Rolex and Tristan’s eyes until the door to the suite had closed, and he and Tristan were alone.

  He reached over the footboard again and took Tristan’s hand. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “I just can’t do it.” Tristan looked up at him, and he seemed more hurt than anything, though he was still hard to read.

  “Do what, exactly?”

  “I don’t know. He’s no different to other tricks, is he?”

  It took Jared a moment to realise that was an actual question that Tristan wanted an answer for. “Uh. No. Guess not. No different.”

  “Then why—” Tristan lifted his shoulders. “Why do I get upset to see some stranger fuck you?”

  “Uh. Why are you asking me?”

  “It’s not even some weird delayed response to anything that happened.”

  Jared held Tristan’s hand in both of his. “Whatever this is, it’s been brewing for a while. The whole evening’s been off.” He paused. “And this isn’t the first time.”

  Tristan flinched, but nodded. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. It’s like that thing that happened to my cousin. She’s a hairdresser. Did really well for like five years and suddenly gets all these crazy allergies that mean she can’t get anywhere near shampoo and hair dyes. It’s like her body went, ‘that’s enough now,’ and just stopped.”

  The comparison struck Jared as odd, but he figured it probably made sense. It was just so strange that it would be Tristan. Tristan was always so in control of the situation. Hell, Jared had learned most of his tricks from him, ever the eager student. They were friends, they were colleagues, and sex with a pro was better than any he’d had. Not that he had extensive experience dating fellow hookers. But date they had. Cinema, chatting in coffee shops before work. Mates-with-benefits, though there was always the lingering thought they could be more. For one, neither of them had been dating anybody else. Both of them had mentioned—repeatedly—how much easier their thing was than dating outside the Garden, because other people usually freaked out over dating a sex worker. Same people probably who wouldn’t mind paying one.

  “So what’s the upsetting part? That we were kissing?” If he managed to establish new boundaries, things might end up less awkward when they were working together. Assuming they could work together after this. He couldn’t even see how they’d get through this evening, never mind another one.

  “I don’t know which it is.” Tristan leaned forwards, but his face was still distant. “Watching you kiss someone else, I . . . hell, maybe it’s the ‘stranger’ part. I don’t think I’d mind that much if it were a friend. I quite like threesomes, normally.”

  Jared regarded him silently for a moment. “So is it him?” He gestured around the room as if that somehow implied Rolex. “Or me?”

  Tristan lowered his gaze. Barely whispering, he said, “I think it’s both.” He shook his head. “It’s you. Him. Any john. Me.”

  Frustration coiled inside Jared’s chest. Whatever was bothering Tristan, he desperately wanted to get to the root of it so he could help, and it drove him crazy that this was the one time in the history of the universe that Tristan couldn’t articulate his thoughts.

  “What do you mean?”

  Tristan took in a long breath as if he were about to speak, but let it out. He stayed silent for a long time, and the only sound in the room was the soft hiss of his thumb running back and forth across Jared’s.

  Finally, he pulled in another breath and met Jared’s eyes. “I think things have changed between us.”

  Jared’s heart dropped. “In what way?”

  “We were working together, fooling around on the side, and it . . . it worked.” He swept his tongue across his lips. “But now things are di
fferent. And lately, every time you leave the Garden with another guy, or I watch you with Rolex or anyone else, it makes me . . .”

  “Jealous?” Jared tried not to let the word sound like an accusation, but some of his annoyance slipped out with it.

  Looking away, Tristan nodded. “I guess that’s it.”

  Jared glanced at their hands, which were still clasped together, if a bit looser than before. “So, now that I’m sleeping with you, you don’t want me sleeping with other men?” Even if it’s my fucking job?

  Tristan closed his eyes. He pushed his shoulders back, his leather jacket squeaking softly as he did, and then squeezed Jared’s hand as he made eye contact again. “I can’t . . . look, it just kills me watching you with men who don’t care about you.”

  Jared’s breath caught. “What?”

  Tristan dropped his gaze again. Jared had never seen him so tense, as if just breathing—never mind speaking—was physically painful. “I don’t even mind if a guy doesn’t care about me, but when it’s you . . .” He visibly winced.

  Jared ran his thumb along the side of Tristan’s hand. “But . . . all these guys. We’ve known . . . we’ve both known since we started working at Market Garden that they don’t really care about us.”

  “I know.” Tristan brought up his other hand and tenderly stroked the back of Jared’s. His fingers trembled badly, and so did his voice. “But that was before I realised how much I care about you.”

  Jared just stared at him for a moment, heart pounding and stomach fluttering. He didn’t know whether to be touched or angry. His heart settled on both at the same time.

  Before Jared could speak, Tristan said, “I know this is the worst possible moment. I . . . I know. But it’s been tearing me up for a while now, and I was afraid to say anything because—” He released a long breath and met Jared’s gaze, the fear palpable in his eyes. “I was afraid of what you’d say.”

  “Couldn’t you have said something at breakfast? Or, I don’t know. Yesterday on the couch? When it was just you and me?”