Smex Scene Sunday: Take it Off by L.A. Witt and Aleksandr Voinov

takeitoff

Blurb:  High-end Market Garden rentboys Tristan and Jared have found their niche. Men are willing to pay good money to watch Tristan tease Jared, and the two of them seduce London’s elite with sex and power games.
Except Tristan is less and less interested in getting money out of the johns these days. He wants his partner in crime, and he wants the seduction to be real. But is Jared just in this for the pay?

When Rolex, the john who started it all, returns to Market Garden, the boys jump on the opportunity to service him—and each other—for a fresh pile of cash. Rolex isn’t the only one itching for a rematch, though. Jared’s been waiting for a chance to get back at Tristan for teasing him so mercilessly the first time.
And for a former stripper, revenge is a dish best served extra hot.

Jared got up and turned around. He put one leg over Tristan’s. Then the other. Straddling him. Tristan had the most tantalizing view of nearly everything Jared had to offer: that gorgeous chest, those amazing abs, not to mention that very pronounced erection all wrapped up in slick black leather.

Their eyes met. Jared’s were hot with lust, and there it was, that gleam of raw desire Tristan had seen the first time.

Tristan’s heart skipped. He very nearly reached for Jared’s face to draw him into a kiss, but then Jared grinned and it was back to strictly business.

Jared leaned back. Way back. He must’ve had his ankles hooked around the legs of the chair. Something. Somehow, he balanced perfectly, his torso almost horizontal. His abs were taut with the exertion of holding himself like that, his legs pressing hard against Tristan’s lap, and Tristan couldn’t fucking breathe.

Rolex cleared his throat. “The belt. Take it off.”

“Don’t rush me.” Jared looked right at Tristan. “There’s a method to my madness.” His hands materialized on Tristan’s calves, and Tristan’s heart pounded as Jared ran them up. Down. Up again. In a smooth, fluid motion, they went from Tristan’s legs to his own hips, drawing a curving path over his cock— yeah, Tristan, you see how hard I am—before coming back up to his belt buckle. His abs were quivering now, his leg muscles rock hard over the tops of Tristan’s thighs, and the cords in his neck stood out slightly as he continued to hold himself in that perfectly balanced position.

He unbuckled his belt, then tugged it free, leather hissing over leather as it slid out of the loops. Without breaking eye contact with Tristan, he dropped his belt, and then pulled himself up using only his legs and his toned abs. He wrapped those legs around Tristan and the back of the chair, pressing their clothed cocks together, and then kissed Tristan hard.

“I’m not usually a kisser, ” Tristan had said to Jared a while back. “But the johns like it. A lot. ”

“Do they? ” Jared had grinned, and hadn’t hesitated to kiss since then. For the johns. Because the johns liked it. Jared was doing this for Rolex. Just for the john. But Tristan indulged anyway, tangling his tongue with Jared’s and kissing him like he meant it, because fuck it, he did. As deeply, passionately, intimately as he could without breaking the rules and taking his hands off the chair.

“That is fucking amazing,” Rolex breathed. “Holy shit.” My sentiments exactly.

Jared broke the kiss. For a split second, he looked breathless and flustered, and it was sweet, shy Jared holding Tristan’s gaze. Then his eyes narrowed as he swept his tongue across his lips. “Only one thing left. Just the trousers.” His grin made Tristan’s heart pound even harder, especially when he added, “Better make it count.”

Tristan tried so hard to clear his head, just enough to regain control of the money negotiations, because he needed that one last bit of control over something. Though, fucking hell, this performance alone was worth being so precariously close to falling apart.

Tristan turned his head towards the john, who leaned forwards on the couch. He’d taken off his jacket, his cufflinks too, rolled up his fine white sleeves, and his lower arms showed the tension, his muscles and sinews playing as he balled his fists and loosened them again. Just what kind of kick did a guy get out of watching alone? Seemed like a waste when he could have fucked them both, or joined them.

Whatever.

Jared got up, then put a hand on Tristan’s shoulder and walked around him, running his fingers over Tristan’s chest, down his pecs, making sure he was rubbing against his nipples. He slid his hands further down until they framed Tristan’s cock in his trousers—all for the john’s viewing pleasure, and yeah, to drive Tristan just that little bit more insane as the leather tightened over his erection. One hand continued down and cupped his balls.

“You are so hot when you’re frustrated,” Jared whispered, so softly only Tristan could have heard. Which meant that was just for him, not Rolex. Tristan’s stomach fluttered, but before he could respond, Jared said to the john, “I’m down to trousers and nothing else.”

Take it Off by L.A. Witt and Aleksandr Voinov

Releases tomorrow! (Monday, February 25). This is the second book in the Garden Market series. The first, Quid Pro Quo was reviewed at Smexy earlier this week.

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