Take It Off Read Online Free Page A

the tension with so much as a breath, Jared brought his knees together and kept his hands on Tristan’s thighs as his hips swayed from side to side, long legs bending and straightening as the circles became wider, looser. All the moves of a female lap dancer, as far as Tristan was familiar with them, but Jared pulled them off in a way that was sexy and masculine and uniquely him .
    Straightening, Jared turned around, the one-eighty executed with all the grace of a perfect pirouette. His hands slipped under his T-shirt, pushing it up to flash his toned abs, then slid again over his groin, left and right of his bulge, thumbs extended, framing his erection in a triangle, hip movements slow and thrusting as if fucking into and through his fingers.
    “Take off the shirt,” the john said, and immediately put the cash down.
    Jared didn’t hesitate, though he also didn’t rush. He condensed his rhythmic movements somehow, making them less overt, small and sensuous. His hands slid up under his shirt, rucking it up as if by accident, revealing his abs one muscle at a time, his flat belly button, the gentle curve of his pecs. Then in a single, smooth motion, he pulled off the T-shirt, his muscles sliding under his pale skin as he kept dancing. The T-shirt dropped to the floor between his feet. He turned around, folded his upper body down, legs straight and opened, arse pushed out as he retrieved his shirt. As he stood, he swept the shirt over his torso as if he were drenched in sweat. He wasn’t, though. He wasn’t even really worked up. Unlike Tristan, who already had perspiration cooling the back of his neck beneath the ends of his hair. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rolex wipe a hand across his brow.
    Jared, still calm and cool, tossed the wadded up shirt in Rolex’s lap. Some guys would’ve picked it up and pressed it to their faces, breathing in deeply. Tristan had no idea if Rolex did that or not. His eyes were locked on Jared’s sinewy body, the way he moved, the way he touched his own torso, hips, legs. Every time Jared’s hand ran over his own erection, Tristan swore his got even harder. All the times he’d teased and fucked Jared before, he’d always been turned on as hell, but never like this. Never to the point he could barely think, and probably wouldn’t be able to string together a coherent sentence if someone asked him to.
    “Get—” Rolex cleared his throat. “The boots. Take them off.”
    “That’ll cost you.” Jared rose and leaned back against Tristan. His arse ground against Tristan’s hard cock, and his bare torso was hot through Tristan’s T-shirt. “A hundred per boot.”
    At least one of them still had the presence of mind to keep after the money. Of course Jared did. This was business for him. All business. As it should have been, even if Tristan held out hope for more.
    “Gonna go broke with you two.” Rolex pulled out another hundred, but he didn’t put it down yet. “ One hundred for both boots.”
    Tristan bit his lip, staring at Jared’s back and silently begging him to agree to it.
    “Fine.” Jared writhed a little harder against Tristan. “Put it down, and the boots come off.”
    Please put it down. Please put it down. Fuck, dude, seriously, put it the fuck—
    Rolex put the money on the cushion.
    Jared didn’t get up. Oh, no, that would’ve been entirely too easy. He leaned down, arse still pressed firmly against Tristan’s erection. Tristan’s mouth watered as he watched him, their bodies locked together in a crude pantomime of the times they’d been stripped down to nothing except a condom and Tristan had thrust into Jared while Jared made helpless noises and cursed and fell apart.
    Except Tristan was still dressed. And there was no thrusting. Because he couldn’t move. At all.
    As Jared unlaced his boots, the muscles in his back, arms, and shoulders moved subtly, and those hypnotic movements happened in time with the music. Everything the man did was in