Cock and Balls

by Mia Watts

  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 Pa
lace 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.

  Montegue passed him and pulled a dress shirt off a rack.

  “Nuh uh,” Hank corrected beside him. “People I hang out with don’t wear business clothes. At least not at clubs.”

  Hank extended a black T-shirt with silver skulls all over it. Then he laughed.

  “Just kidding. Even I can’t see you wearing this.”

  Montegue folded his arms across his chest, waiting. It was a good thing the kid knew better because if Hank came at him with black eyeliner like the Goth kid wore, he’d have to break Hank’s arm and that would show on his service record.

  Hank went to the other side of the store. Montegue followed, glad that the kid had closed the shop before beginning what would prove to be a monumental spending spree. Hank held up a tailored button-down shirt in blue polished cotton.

  “Here. You can wear this with your uniform pants.” Hank pulled a shiny black belt with black buckle off another rack. “Wear it with this. You can still be pretty and agenty and show off those gorgeous eyes of yours.”

  Was that a concession to the forced change in Montegue’s attire or a flirtation designed to make Montegue uncomfortable? He couldn’t be sure.

  Hank unbuttoned Montegue’s service jacket and rested his hands on Montegue’s waist.

  “Wow, you’ve got more muscle than it looks like. No wonder they put you boys in suits. They have to hide the goods.” Hank nodded appreciatively.

  Though his hands felt both good and too good at his waist, Montegue didn’t budge until Hank began untucking his shirt. Then he gripped Hank’s wrists and gave a firm shake of his head.

  “Don’t be shy, love-muffin. Lemme see what we’re working with. Or do I need to call your boss and tell him you aren’t cooperating?” Hank seemed to have no qualms about flinging around his power.

  “Letting you put your hands on me has no bearing on keeping you safe,” Montegue pointed out.

  “It does if it means getting the fit right in order to blend you in so I don’t stand out so much.”

  “You’ll blend in. Hands off,” Montegue snarled.

  Hank raised an eyebrow. Though he took a step back, the challenge in the soft gray depths held firm. There was no doubt in Montegue’s mind that the argument wasn’t over—just merely tabled until another approach could be made.

  By the time they got back to Hank’s condo, Montegue was ready to butcher the next salesperson who tried to measure him.

  “Hit the shower, hot stuff. Time to get cleaned up and dressed for a night out,” Hank told him.

  Montegue took his position by the front door and clasped his hands in front of himself. He lifted his chin and stared straight ahead.

  “Really? You’re going to go out with street grime all over you?” Hank asked.

  Montegue stood firm. A shower sounded exactly like what he wanted, but taking his eyes off the slippery son wasn’t an option.

  “I promise not to go anywhere,” Hank offered, as though reading his mind.

  And Montegue would be an idiot to trust him.

  “Suit yourself. I’ll leave your clothes here. Change into them while I clean up.”

  Montegue snatched up the clothes and followed him into the bedroom. The Secret Service still didn’t know how Hank gotten away the night before. He certainly wasn’t going to take the chance that it happened again.

  Hank walked backward into the bedroom, looking more than a little amused. “Can’t get enough of me? You know, if you aren’t going to let me out of your sight, the best option would be to join me in the shower.”

  Montegue didn’t take the bait. He took up a position inside the bedroom door, waited until Hank went into the bathroom then reluctantly removed his jacket. He sighed as he folded the shoulders together neatly and draped it over the back of a near chair. Unbuttoning his shirt was almost painful. It was the admission that Hank still managed to get his way and usurp Montegue’s control by taking away the emblem of his pride—the black suit.

  He looked at the short-sleeved, fitted shirt. This one was black and had black buttons, but there was nothing about it that looked professional. When he put it on, it hugged his body. Hank had put out worn jeans—new from the store—to go with it. When he pulled them on they hung on his hips. He cinched the belt around his waist. Montegue had to admit he looked pretty good, if not exactly his own style.

  The bathroom door opened and steam spilled into the room. Hank crossed to him with a towel wrapped precariously around his waist. “Not bad.”

  Montegue made a point of ignoring him and put in his earpiece.

  “That’s not going to be very productive.”

  He pinned the mic to the inside of his collar and threaded the wires into the front of his shirt.

  “It works better if you just unbutton your shirt,” Hank suggested.

  Montegue shot him a pointed look. They both knew he wasn’t going to undress in front of Hank, and Hank’s smile only grew as they continued to stare each other down.

  “Gonna have to fix your hair, though,” Hank said. He reached up and tousled Montegue’s hair.

  Montegue tried to dodge, but Hank succeeded in mussing it up.

  “There.” Hank stood back and blew out slowly. “Gawd, you’re sexy.”

  With the look the kid was giving him, Montegue had to fight not to rip the towel off Hank’s lean hips and bend him over the side of the bed.

  Hank winked suddenly. He took a few more steps and dropped his towel. He wiggled his brows and laughed as he went for his closet. “I’d do you,” he told Montegue as he turned away.

  The urge to teach Hank a few manners was nearly overwhelming, but Monty kept himself firmly in check. Losing his control now would only be a win for Hank, and a professional loss for Montegue.

  “Too bad you changed while I was in the shower, Monty. I’d like to see the whole package.”

  As he talked, Hank got dressed. His silk shirt flowed over his smooth skin like liquid. Not bothering with underwear, Hank pulled up a pair of black slacks that set off the emerald top perfectly. That Hank’s cock was only a zipper pull away was going to torment Montegue for the rest of the night.

  “Let’s grab a bite to eat and go. I’m ready to hit the nearest party, and I know right where it is.”

  “Location,” Montegue barked.

  “I’m not putting the place under watch, Monty. It’s the home of a friend of mine who’s having a smallish get together at his Georgetown townhome.”

  “Location,” Montegue restated.

  “33rd Street Northwest.” Hank disappeared into the bathroom again but left the door open.

  The hairdryer went on. The water ran. A drawer or cupboard opened and closed. Finally, the light went off and Hank stepped out looking like perfectly polished trouble. Montegue was screwed. As long as his hands were tied where Hank was concerned, Montegue’s tight rein on himself would be put to the
test. When today was over and he got to go home to his modest place in the suburbs, he’d be punching the sandbag hanging from the center of his garage. Hell, at this point, he might even put a picture of Hank’s smug expression on it for aiming purposes. The guy was a nuisance to his self-control. He needed a better plan in dealing with the kid.

  Montegue had been on the defense so much he’d forgotten that his best weapon was in the offense. If Hank wanted to play dirty, Montegue could reciprocate. With a new goal in mind, he set his observation skills toward finding something that would put Hank on the defense instead of him. Something that would really get him going and finally wipe the shit-eating grin off his face.

  Chapter Three

  If there was one thing Hank had discovered about his sexy bodyguard it was that he hated discussions that bordered on intimate. So far discussing sex, having sex, suggesting he was sexy all had the same effect on Monty: it pissed him off. And touching. He didn’t like being touched either.

  What he didn’t know was how much of that was because of his effort to keep things professional when Hank pushed them into personal territory, and how much was genuine annoyance. Monty’s expressions didn’t give much away.

  If this were any other circumstance, Hank wouldn’t have come on so strong. But just like Monty seemed to hide behind his suit and earpiece, Hank hid behind his sass. And there was nothing more entertaining than watching Monty adjust to the sideways hits of Hank sassing him. It was pretty evident that Monty wasn’t used to dealing with it, or not having the upper hand in the situation.

  This party would push him even more. Hank could hardly wait to see how Monty handled the noise, crowd, glitz and booze of a party-boy’s all-out slap in the face of calm and trendy Georgetown. It was time to see just how much of a deterrent Monty would be to his fun. Hank looked out the window for the short drive. Maybe he’d finally get through to his dad—finally get him to deal with their issues like a real father. Welcome to the land of dysfunction.