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throaty groan as Jared stroked him. “So I can fuck you. Both of you.”
    Tristan shivered. So did Jared.
    “Better cash out your retirement fund.” Jared looked up as he leaned towards Rolex’s exposed cock. “We don’t come cheap.”
    There may have been a snarky retort on the tip of Rolex’s tongue, or even Tristan’s, but no one said a word as Jared took the john’s cock into his mouth just like he had Tristan’s earlier. Tristan watched him for a moment, mesmerised, but then joined in, running his lips and tongue up and down the thick shaft as Jared teased the head.
    Rolex moaned. His fingers were in Tristan’s hair, alternately petting and grasping. Maybe he had a hand in Jared’s hair too, but Tristan didn’t take the time to look. The john’s hips were nowhere near as controlled or rhythmic as Jared’s had been. They moved with more of a jerky, frantic need to thrust. Into someone’s mouth, into someone’s arse, it didn’t matter; he just needed to thrust into something .
    Jared and Tristan teased him together, their lips and tongues brushing as they sucked the man’s cock, and then Rolex moaned and tightened his grip on Tristan’s hair, pulling his head back. He must have done the same to Jared because they were both suddenly no longer touching Rolex’s cock, and just like he had the first time, Rolex took over, jerking himself off until he came on their necks and chests.
    He took a few wobbly steps back, and then dropped onto the couch, disturbing the pile of money. After a moment, he pushed himself onto his feet. “I’m gonna . . . go clean up. Be right back.” He disappeared into the bedroom, presumably going into the bathroom.
    While the john was gone, Jared eased off Tristan’s lap, but caught himself with a hand on Tristan’s shoulders when his legs tried to shake out from under him.
    “You okay?” Tristan asked.
    Jared nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” He wiped his brow with one hand, and then grinned at Tristan as he stood. “You?”
    “Oh, I’m fine.” Tristan returned the grin. He rose, got rid of the condom and, as he zipped up his trousers, said, “You’re evil. Just so you know.”
    Jared winked. “Turnabout’s fair play.”
    “So it is. Maybe we—” Tristan hesitated, his pulse skyrocketing.
    “Hmm?” Jared leaned down to pick up his clothes. “Maybe we what?”
    Tristan glanced towards the bedroom where the john had gone. Then, lowering his voice and hoping he wasn’t about to make an arse of himself, he said, “Maybe we should do this again. Without the money.”
    Jared arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
    Tristan swallowed. “I mean . . . not professionally. No”—he nodded towards the bedroom—“company.” And fuck it, he couldn’t say this without a shaky voice. He could fuck and be fucked and blow a john’s mind, but suggesting they move beyond the money, that felt like it took an extra pair of balls.
    Jared’s eyebrows pulled together.
    Please don’t be offended. Or shocked. Or laugh at me.
    “You mean that?” Jared still looked confused, but there was something else underneath. He brightened—nearly started to beam—and then tamped down on it. “Like, I don’t know. Just having sex? Both of us?”
    “Yeah.” Tristan sighed. “You’ve been blowing my mind for weeks now. I … start to find the clients distracting.”
    Jared glanced at the bathroom. “Dunno, I like that one.” He grinned then and looked deep into Tristan’s eyes. “Well, technically it would be practice, right?”
    Neither Tristan nor Jared had boyfriends—he knew that much about Jared, at least, and had mentioned his own status in the past, but hadn’t thought much about it. Not that it would matter, not with his job. “Technically. Maybe not actually .”
    “Dress rehearsal minus dress.” Jared put a finger on Tristan’s lips, then kissed him again. “I’m game.”
    Tristan refused to let it show, but weeks’ worth of tension melted out of his