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but not.
    Tristan’s eyes flicked past him, towards the other chair. Against his will, his mind showed him Jared’s slim, sexy body writhing on and bending over that chair. Oh fuck. He swallowed hard and looked up at Jared again.
    Skip the second chair and dance on me. Please.
    Jared grinned. Winked. He trailed a finger down the centre of his own chest, and Tristan couldn’t help watching it follow a straight path down the tight black T-shirt, across Jared’s abs, and to his belt buckle. There, it stopped, but Tristan’s eyes kept going. Right to the pronounced bulge beneath Jared’s trousers.
    He looked up at Jared’s face again. Jared bit his lip, then grinned, just the way Tristan had often done to the men he’d teased to within an inch of their lives.
    You’re going to kill me tonight. You know that, right?
    As if reading Tristan’s mind, Jared licked his lips, winked again, and then turned around. One provocative, choreographed step at a time, equal parts stripper and classically trained dancer, Jared sauntered towards that other chair. The empty chair. The one Tristan wasn’t sitting in, fuck it.
    Tristan curled his fingers around the edges of the seat on either side of him, no doubt turning his knuckles white. He inhaled deeply and watched, mesmerized, as Jared made a slow, slinking gesture of leaning over the other chair. He rested a hand on the back of it, then pulled one knee up onto the seat, and the way the leather stretched tight across his arse made Tristan’s breath catch. The little snap of his hips to one side, then the other, didn’t help at all.
    Tristan made himself breathe slowly and deeply. Eye on the prize, indeed.
    “Are you—” The john’s voice startled Tristan. He’d all but forgotten there was someone else in the room. “Are you going to dance over there? Or on him?”
    Jared turned around, lowering himself onto the hard chair and straddling it. “You telling the dancer how to dance?”
    Both Rolex and Tristan watched Jared slide a hand down his abs on onto the front of his trousers, and Tristan had no idea which of the two of them made that helpless “oh fuck” whimper as Jared squeezed his own erection through the leather.
    “I want . . . I want to see you . . .” The john swore under his breath. “I want to see you on him.”
    “Do you?” Jared slid his gaze towards Rolex. “Make me.”
    Tristan didn’t know where this sassy side of Jared was coming from, but Jesus fuck, it was hot.
    With shaking hands, Rolex freed a couple notes from his wallet and added it to the one already lying on the cushion. “There.” He nodded sharply towards Tristan. “On him. Now.”
    Jared grinned. “I do love it when you ask nicely.” He took his sweet time rising from the chair, and was in absolutely no hurry to get to the other. When he made it to Tristan, he stood with both legs between Tristan’s knees and slid his hands over Tristan’s shoulders. He leaned down, and his breath was hot on Tristan’s neck as he whispered, “Enjoying this?”
    “You’re a motherfucking tease,” Tristan said before he could stop himself. I want you so bad.
    “Of course I am.” Jared drew back. “Would you really want me any other way right now?”
    Tristan’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t think anything except that this was likely payback for every time he’d fucked Jared and made him beg for it to score more money. Shit, it was nothing personal. But apologising for something that had put a lot of cash in their pockets and been tremendous fun would have been dishonest. He wasn’t sorry, and Jared had never protested.
    Though, it dawned on him now, that didn’t mean Jared hadn’t been plotting revenge. Fuck.
    A small flick from Jared’s finger changed the music, and now it was much slower, Kylie’s singing sensuous and breathy. Jared turned in front of Tristan, bent over a bit, curved his spine, nearly pushing his arse against Tristan’s chest. Before Tristan had managed to break