Quid Pro Quo (Market Garden, #1)
L.A. Witt & Aleksandr Voinov
About Quid Pro Quo
For the past six months, Jared’s been selling sex at Market Garden, a London club that caters to the better-off. But business is slow in the run-up to Christmas, when businessmen and bankers are too busy bickering over bonuses to rent themselves a little high-class action.
Though Jared’s wallet finds the downtime unnerving, the rest of him rather enjoys the opportunity it gives him to admire Tristan, an old hand in the club whose reputation usually sees him well booked. Jared has been crushing on Tristan for months—he’s no more immune to Tristan’s cockiness and confidence than the johns, and those are just Tristan’s inner qualities.
Just as Jared’s about to chat Tristan up, a businessman asks for something a little different: he wants to book them both.
They agree—and Jared finds himself going from crush to
mind-bending lust as he’s made the pawn in a sexual power
game. Tristan shows him how a pro handles a john while
delivering the top-shelf sex for which the Market Garden is so rightly renowned.
To Lori, who rocks so hard. —Aleks
To Aleks, who challenges me to be a better writer. —Lori
east or famine in this place, isn’t it?” Tristan sighed
“Fheavily. He wore his boredom as if he wondered how dare the universe not entertain him, and lounged as much as anyone could on a barstool. He was like a cat in that respect.
He could stretch and bend to get comfortable—at least,
Jared assumed he was comfortable—anywhere he damn well
pleased. Right now, his arm seemed like the only solid piece of his body, his elbow on the bar and his hand against his face, holding up his head as the rest of him poured over the edge of the bar, onto the seat, and down the stool leg to where the toe of his boot touched the floor.
Jared wasn’t quite so comfortable. It was hard to relax
when the wallet in the back pocket of his tight leather trousers was getting close to empty. Looking out at Market Garden’s mostly vacant lounge, where each of the few potential johns were already under the spells of at least one or two other rentboys, he said, “Does it get like this a lot in December?” It had been for two weeks. Almost three now.
Tristan shrugged. “Sometimes. Economy and all that.” He
sighed again and waved his hand. “Apparently people think
it’s a good idea to buy food before renting a cock or an arse for the evening.”
Jared would’ve laughed at the comment—so very
typically Tristan—but it was hard to find the humour when
he was in possession of a cock and an arse that desperately needed renting. After al , he needed to buy food. Never mind Christmas presents. And probably a new fridge.
“Relax.” Tristan smoothed a few long strands of ink-black
hair out of his own face. “Payday’s coming up for most of
them. They’ll be back.”
Question is, will they be back before rent’s due?
“Everything changes with bonus season. Guys’ll have
money to burn, and they’ll celebrate not getting laid off before Christmas by getting laid.” Tristan’s boneless figure solidified one liquid joint at a time, and he sat up, rol ing his shoulders under his slick, black shirt. “Well, as long as there’s some booths that aren’t occupied, we should go sit someplace more comfortable.”
Jared hesitated. “W-we?”
Tristan paused. “You don’t want to?”
“I didn’t say that. I just—” Didn’t think you’d . . . I mean, guys like you don’t usually . . . I’m me, and you’re you, and . . .
Jared shook himself to life. “Sure. Yeah.”
Tristan gave him a puzzled look, but didn’t say anything
and started across the lounge.
Jared picked up his drink. It was nonalcoholic, of course, since employees weren’t allowed anything else on the job. The rule was enforced too. There were a few guys who’d thought giving Raoul, the head bartender, a free blowjob would result in him breaking the rules and spiking their orange juices with vodka or the Coke with rum, but rumour had it all they got was a belly full of cum and, worst-case scenario, a swift and permanent dismissal from Market Garden.
Jared stood and followed his catlike colleague across the
lounge, which was more crowded with tables and chairs than with anyone occupying them. Well, maybe tonight wasn’t all bad. He might not get paid, but it also didn’t cost him anything to look Tristan up and down as he walked. Tight
leather, lithe body, slinking gait; God, it was no wonder he was in such high demand. Most of the time, anyway. Higher demand than a lot of the guys here, Jared included, but lower than food, heating, and mobile phones.
Jared reminded himself he just hadn’t been here long