Cock and Balls (Handcuffs and Lace) by Mia Watts (2 page)

“That would be ill-advised.
Sir
.”

“He thought I was flagrantly partying before? He hasn’t seen anything yet. The truth would destroy his re-election. He should be grateful I’m waiting until it’s over.”

They were the same height, but that’s where their similarities ended. Hank’s pretty-boy, Martha’s Vineyard privileged-rich looks had nothing in common with Montegue’s olive complexion and black hair. Where Hank was lean and sleek, Montegue’s suit-covered, powerhouse physique would dominate any physical competition.

“Think outside yourself and your father, Mr. McClaren. Are you prepared to disrespect the Presidency of the United States of America?”

Hank frowned. “The funny thing is that you think they’re two different issues. I have a father who pulls the presidency card on me constantly. He’s not one or the other. He’s both, and I still don’t like him.”

This close, Montegue could see other, finer, differences between the son and the father. Though the features were the same individually, the combination of eyes, lips, hair was more attractive on Hank. There was no confusing the family genetics, but Hank kept him looking. Kept Monty interested down to the flare of Hank’s pupils the longer they stared each other down. He liked what he saw a little too much, he decided.

“He’s still in there,” Montegue said after a moment.

Something in Hank’s soft gray eyes faltered, and he turned his face away. Hank left him standing as he made his way to the bedroom.

Chapter Two

Montegue woke from a dead sleep to the blaring ring of his service phone. He found the offending item and brought it to his ear.

“Montegue,” he answered, his voice sounding like rolled gravel.

“I can’t find him.”

Montegue sat up, his mind racing between the number of people that could be lost.

“The
cock
. It left the barn!” The agent on the other end announced with no small measure of panic.

Montegue was up and scrambling for clothes before he’d hung up. Ten minutes later, he was screeching into the parking structure. He pressed the elevator buttons repeatedly as though it would speed up the lift. When he got into the condo, he saw his relief holding a phone, a look of frustration on his face.

“Where did he get by you?” Montegue barked.

“He’s back. I never saw him leave, and now, he’s back.”

Montegue fumed. He shoved Agent Espinoza to the side and stormed through the condo. He pounded on the master suite then threw open the bedroom door. Hank lay on his back, chest bare, arms folded behind his head. Lower someone crouched beneath the sheets.

“I told you to ignore the knocking,” Hank instructed the unseen guest. He pushed his hand on top of the sheeted head.

It bumped in the unmistakable movement of someone sucking off the presidential son.

Hank rolled his head to the side as though nothing was happening. He stared Montegue straight in the eyes. “Oh, yeah,” he encouraged. “That’s it. Take it, baby. Take it deep.”

Montegue’s nostrils flared as every rage-filled particle of him went into motion. He crossed the room and ripped the sheet from the bed, prepared to send a naked, terrified girl back to her home. What he saw instead, stunned him into momentary stupidity.

A man in full Goth garb and makeup tirelessly worked Hank’s dick. The black-lined eyes glared up at Montegue around his mouthful of thick, pale cock. Montegue spine tingled with lust.

“Enjoy the show, Monty. I’ll be finished soon,” Hank told him calmly.

Montegue turned on his heel. “The minute he’s done, he’s gone.”

“That was the plan, anyway, genius.”

Montegue shut the bedroom door. He settled his seething gaze on Espinoza. “Get out. Have Hayes send up a replacement after you file your report.”

“He slipped away,” Espinoza argued.

“The president’s son doesn’t slip away from the Secret Service. He doesn’t return without us knowing. He doesn’t bring back a stranger for sex under our noses, and he sure as hell doesn’t make us look like idiots. Get out.”

The bedroom doors opened, and the Goth exited, wiping his mouth on his wrist. “He didn’t even fucking come, man.”

Montegue propelled the man toward Espinoza. “And take this piece of shit with you.”

The front elevator opened and closed as Montegue tried to steady his breathing. Behind, he heard the long moans of a man getting off.

“Monty, come in here and finish me off, will ya?” Hank shouted to him.

Montegue’s spine crawled, resisting the urge to turn and watch through the door the Goth had left open.

“I’m thinking about you sucking me off. Goddamn, it’s hot. You—” He grunted and hissed pleasurably. “On your knees. Asking for permission to taste me. Can you see it, Monty?”

Unfortunately, he could, and his mouth watered. He should walk away from the door, shut it, something. Instead, he was rooted to the spot, listening to every soft gasp, each wet slide of cock against palm. He rationalized that he couldn’t leave since Hank had already sneaked by the other agent. Montegue couldn’t risk a second escape.

“Oh, God, I’m coming. It would help if you lifted your jacket. Let me see your ass, Monty.”

Montegue didn’t move. His cock pressed hard against the inside of his black trousers. He managed to keep his arms folded across his chest and enough wits about him that he didn’t unconsciously move his hips in time to the sounds behind him. It was hell.

In all his years serving, no other job had left him as emotionally undressed as this one. No other job had shaken his confidence or tested his sexual fortitude. He hated that Hank could call his professionalism into question. Hank had gotten under Montegue’s skin in record time, sneaking beneath his defenses before Montegue had known there was a breach. He’d be damned if he let Hank know it.

“C’mon, stud. Let me see your
full Monty
.”

Montegue bit back a reluctant smile, which he lost the minute he heard Hank’s escalated involuntary whimpers followed by a shout of orgasm.

Hank breathed heavily. “Damn, Monty. I don’t think I’ve come that hard in months. Thinking about you seems to do the trick.”

Montegue paled, his back still to the room. Bare footsteps padded up behind him and moved around. Montegue couldn’t help but watch the firm white globes of Hank’s ass flex all the way to the open-plan kitchen.

The shadow of his balls could be seen between the inner curves of his butt. Hank took a glass off the shelf and reached into the fridge for a container of filtered water. The movement bent him, giving Montegue a painfully unobstructed view of the man’s crack and swinging, hairless testicles.

Montegue moved into the living room toward the front door as casually as he could. He prayed his suit covered the bulge in his pants enough to play off his cool demeanor without tipping his hand.

“How did you get out?” Montegue asked.

Hank turned and walked toward him, unembarrassed. It took everything in Montegue’s power not to admire the man’s naked body.

“Aw, now, what’s the fun in that? If I tell you, you’d only stop me next time. And didn’t we have fun?
Fucking
?” Hank’s taunting grin magnified for a moment as he lifted his glass to take a long drink.

“Does your father know you have lovers?”

Hank lifted a brow. “I don’t have lovers. I have fucks. I don’t remember their names, and I don’t have to. As long as they have mouths and asses.”

“How mercenary of you.”

“Now you know the little secret I’ve kept from the media. What do you think? Would Daddy be proud of his big, gay son?”

Montegue looked him in the eyes then, no longer as interested in the erotic physique as he was in the man who seemed intent on testing his father to the limit, only to hold back when true destruction lay within reach.

There was a reason for the reserve, and Montegue meant to discover it. He also meant to discover how this very important piece of information wasn’t something the Secret Service knew. Sure the kid managed to slip his detail with head-spinning frequency, but there would have been clues, signs of his sexual orientation.

There was more to this one than he’d imagined. More reserve, anger. More desperation and…
pain
. The moment was gone, and Hank trekked back toward his room.

“Goodnight. If you change your mind and you feel like a good
Monting
—I mean,
mounting
—just knock three times, and I’ll see what I can do for you.” The door closed behind him.

* * * *

Hours later Hank stretched between his Egyptian cotton sheets, enjoying the silky slide of high-count fibers on his naked flesh. He grinned when he thought about the night before, and nearly saw the point where Agent Montegue’s blood almost boiled over with anger.

The guy was cool as a cucumber, and finding the chink in his armor made the victory that much sweeter. Today, he’d test the limits of his endurance. Tonight, after the new guy got on shift, he’d make another escape. Nothing wore a guy down more than frustration and sleeplessness, and Hank intended to have Monty called into action too frequently to actually sleep.

Hank lazily ran his hand down his flat belly and gave his cock a few tugs. His smile broadened. The look on Monty’s face at seeing the dark-haired club kid
hoovering
Hank’s cock had been priceless too. Hank had been unable to resist teasing the controlled, silent agent with sexual references. But, then again, he’d love to get the sexy agent naked, so what was the harm in letting him know that Hank thought he was hot?

He slipped out of bed and wandered into the bathroom. When he’d cleaned up and dressed, he left his suite. He smiled when he saw Monty still in guard-dog position by the elevator doors. Shrewd blue eyes followed him to the kitchen.

“I’m making an omelet. Want one?”

When Monty didn’t answer, Hank decided to keep up the chatter for the agent’s benefit.

“Hope you have your walking shoes on today, Monty. We’re going shopping.”

Hank moved so he could see the agent while he collected and chopped his vegetables.

“If you’re going to hang out with me, you need to blend in.”

If anything, Monty’s lips firmed slightly. God, he was sexy when pissed.

“I know what you’re going to say
. Oh no, Hank, I couldn’t accept such lavish gifts
.” He did the imitation of Monty’s part of the conversation in a school-girl’s voice.

“No need to thank me. I like buying you pretty things,” Hank insisted to himself.

“
Oh, Hank-baby, you’re so good to me!
” He sang out for Monty who seemed to be turning red around his crisp white collar.

Hank pulled out a frying pan and sprayed it with no-stick spray. He whipped up some eggs and poured them in.

“Don’t worry, little darlin’. When you’re with me, I’ll make sure you have whatever those pretty blue eyes settle on,” Hank continued.

“
Oh, Hank! Please let me suck your big, ginormous cock. I’ve never had such a manly man before. I could eat you all day
.” Hank gave Monty a pretty, high-pitched sigh.

“That’s generous of you, Monty. If you’re a very
good
little sucker, and you ask nicely, I’ll bend you over and fuck your ass after dinner,” he offered.

He flicked a glance toward his sleek bodyguard. Monty had stopped watching Hank and now stared straight ahead, his expression tight. Hank grinned. Looked like he had Monty’s number. Sweet.

It was juvenile, but getting the best of his dad’s goon only made the effort worth the while. He finished plating the second omelet and brought it to the standing
Double-oh-seven
look alike.

“Sweetheart,” Hank crooned. “I’m really worried about your commitment to this diet. You need to eat.”

The glare Monty sent him almost curdled the eggs.

Hank made a point of examining the food he held up to the man. “What’s wrong? Does it need salsa?” He blinked at Monty in mock innocence. Then he feigned supportive understanding. “Oh,” he twisted his lips and nodded. “It’s that time of the month again, isn’t it?”

Monty actually snarled at him. Hank barely contained his glee. It was like taunting a mean dog on a leash. Monty couldn’t do anything about it because Hank was his charge. The freedom to utterly control the dark, handsome agent was more than a little intoxicating.

“Okay. If you insist. I’ll leave it on the counter for you.” Hank made a big production of his pained sigh. “I wish you would believe me that I really don’t think you’re fat. And that suit makes your ass look smaller too.”

Hank gleefully noted the way Monty’s hands flexed into fists before relaxing by his side again. Hank popped a mouthful of omelet into his mouth as he pulled up a barstool to the granite kitchen bar top. Poking at Monty’s control felt like the kind of fun he’d have tormenting an English Palace Guard all day. So far the biggest reactions were from pretending Monty was his little sexy plaything.

He hurried through breakfast, brushed his teeth and went for the elevator. “Come on, hot stuff. Time for daddy to buy you some new clothes.”

* * * *

Montegue was going to kill the little shit if he didn’t shut up soon. Two hours into clothing shopping—none of the clothes Montegue accepted or acknowledged—Hank called Montegue’s boss. With the slick manipulation of a politician in training, he deftly convinced the head of the Secret Service detail that having Montegue blend in took attention off Hank. Hank further reminded him that anyone who paid attention to the president’s detail would recognize Montegue and begin to speculate about the reasons behind his new, less distinguished assignment and did the president
really
want those questions flying just now? Did he
really
want the added attention on a son whose public footprint he wanted to minimize?

It took exactly one second after Hank hung up for Montegue to get the orders in his earpiece. When he did, he glowered at Hank whose eyes were dancing with mirth and who had begun to laugh. Loudly.