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when Tristan thought he could take no more, Jared pushed back, both their legs open wide so the john had a perfect view of Jared impaling himself.
    It was mind-bending, the pressure, the heat, and just knowing he was inside Jared , and still Jared moved, grinding, sliding, up and down, completely in control of every motion. Tristan gasped and moaned, too fucking close to losing it, and it only got worse when Jared took Tristan’s hands—damn near wrenched them off the seat of the chair—and put them on his naked torso. “Make sweet love to me, baby,” Jared whispered, rolling his hips just so .
    Tristan was in no state to laugh at the cheesy line. Performance. They were giving the john what he wanted, so he ran his fingers, his palms along that slinking body on top of his, all the way down to Jared’s cock, hard and gorgeous.
    “Don’t touch him,” the john said.
    Shit. Please? “But he—”
    “You heard him.” Jared took Tristan’s wrists and lifted his hands away. Tristan whimpered softly as he grabbed onto the chair again, fingers and palms still warm from Jared’s hot skin. He bit his lip, dug his teeth in hard , gripping the chair like it could somehow keep him from losing his already tenuous grasp on control.
    “ Fuck. ” He closed his eyes. “Oh fuck . . .”
    “My, my, he wears ‘losing it’ well, doesn’t he?” Rolex taunted.
    “He does.” Jared reached back and held onto Tristan’s hips as he kept riding him in time with the music still playing somewhere in the background. “Don’t you, darling?”
    Tristan didn’t care. He didn’t care at all. Let them tease him, because he couldn’t think past his impending orgasm and this taut, gorgeous body moving up and down on his cock— holy fuck , Jared —and he was this close to calling time on their game and just fucking the hell out of Jared.
    “Faster,” Rolex said, almost whispering. “Do it faster.”
    “With pleasure,” Jared purred, and obeyed.
    Tristan shut his eyes tighter and held his breath. That didn’t help. His head just got lighter, and his orgasm just got closer, and he couldn’t remember ever being inside someone who moved like that, as if Jared wasn’t about to stop performing his lap dance just because he was getting fucked.
    Getting fucked? Hardly. Tristan may have been the one with the condom on, but Jared was in control. Jared was on top. Jared was fucking him. And Tristan was falling apart. No matter how much he held back, the only thing he had a grip on was this bloody chair, and even that wasn’t going to last long with the way his hands were sweating.
    Movement beside him brought him out of his thoughts. He had just enough time to realize the john wasn’t on the couch anymore before a warm hand touched his shoulder. Tristan sucked in a breath. Rolex’s hand drifted from Tristan’s shoulder to his neck, then up to his face.
    “You look like you could use something to keep your mouth busy,” the john growled in his ear, and Tristan didn’t resist at all as the man slid two fingers into his mouth. Hot, salty skin pressed against his tongue. He closed his eyes again, groaning softly, and sucked Rolex’s fingers.
    “I should charge you for that,” Jared said, and he was out of breath. His voice was shaky, just like it always was when Tristan pushed him right to the brink. Tristan couldn’t even grit his teeth, not with those fingers in his mouth, and he groaned again, this time with both frustration and arousal.
    “He really knows how to dance, doesn’t he?” Rolex whispered.
    Before he could tell himself not to fall for it, Tristan opened his eyes, and now he was both watching and feeling Jared rising and falling on Tristan’s cock while turning his hips and shoulders. Still dancing. God, he was still dancing .
    Jared’s head fell back. Tristan caught a glimpse of his face in profile, and Jared’s lips were pressed together, his brow furrowed. So close. So close.
    Fuck. To hell with it.
    Tristan