Table of Contents

Title Page
Cock and Balls Copyright © 2013 Mia Watts
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
About the Author
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Cock and Balls

A Handcuffs and Lace Story

By Mia Watts

Resplendence Publishing, LLC

http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

Cock and Balls
Copyright © 2013 Mia Watts
Edited by Darlena Cunha and Juli Simonson

Cover Art by Kendra Egert

Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118

Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-636-3

Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized
reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright
infringement, including infringement without
monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is
punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison
and a fine of $250,000.

Electronic Release: February 2013

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and occurrences are a product of the
author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, places or
occurrences, is purely coincidental.

To Cheryl Dragon who keeps me going with

badgering, encouragement, bullying and

who is the sister I never had. Your personal

support to me and my daughters means more

than you will ever know—mostly because I

suck at sappiness, but also because there

aren’t words to describe how much you’ve

come to mean to us. Thank you for all of it.

Chapter One

“You’re a damn fool, Hank.” President McClaren paced the

span of his presidential desk in front of his son’s seat in the Oval
Office.

Hank’s fingers curled over the ends of the armrests, hearing

the butter-soft leather creak as his grip flexed. He forced himself
to relax, to keep in place the well-practiced expression of aloof
disinterest. He even managed to convincingly fake a stifled,
bored yawn.

As hoped, President McClaren stopped in front of Hank and

fairly vibrated with irritation. “Does nothing I say get through to
you?”

“Sorry, Dad. It was a long night,” Hank breathed, sinking in

his seat and folding his arms loosely across his chest.

“You can’t keep behaving like this. What would your mother

say?”

Anger tightened every muscle in Hank’s body, and he shot to

Anger tightened every muscle in Hank’s body, and he shot to

his feet. “What do you care what mom would’ve said? It’s not
like you paid any attention to either of us until she had the great
fortune of dying. Because we can’t forget that this is an election
year, and a sympathy vote is a huge advantage, can we?”

His head snapped to the right as his father slapped him.

Hank’s jaw throbbed, and his cheek burned. Hell, his neck hurt
from the jolt. He forced a smile despite all that and stared his
father down. “Go ahead, Dad. Hit me. Disown me.”

He watched the spasm in President McClaren’s temple. They

both knew he couldn’t do either and continue to ride a
conservative family values platform or milk the sympathy of his
constituents. Not without consulting the spin doctors. Their
opinion mattered more to him than actually acting like a father.

Hank glanced at the tall, lean Secret Service agent his dad

preferred. “See that, Monty? He can’t.”

Agent Garrett Montegue didn’t blink. He wouldn’t, of course,

as President McClaren’s prime bodyguard, he’d only move on
orders from either the Chief of Security, a threat to the president,
or presidential orders direct from the presidential talking ass that
had contributed to Hank’s DNA.

More than once, Hank had fantasized about his father issuing

presidential orders for the agent to fuck his son. Even now, when
that wasn’t his primary focus, the sharp-eyed gaze from the
agent had Hank’s pulse racing.

agent had Hank’s pulse racing.

“One more chance, Hank. One more.”

“What happens then?” Hank challenged returning his attention

to his father.

President McClaren moved around his desk. He straightened

his shoulders as a cool look entered his gray eyes. “You’ll be
dealt with.”

Disappointment sang through Hank’s veins. Not, I’ll deal

with you. Not, we’ll sit down and figure this thing out together.
Just, you’ll be dealt with. Which basically meant his dad would
leave the dealing up to his staff and play the part of the wounded
president to the masses. God, was he actually giving the
president ammunition for another sympathy poll? Wouldn’t that
suck?

Hank turned to leave, a frown pulling his lips downward.

“Agent Montegue, I’m changing your detail. You’ll be tailing

my son until further notice.”

Hank looked between the two men he knew equally well.

Monty gave a curt nod, his eyes trained on Hank. A shiver ran
through Hank’s body as every lustful thought he had for the
agent took a pass through his mind. Agent Montegue on his
detail? That would either be awesome or pure torture.

“You’re forfeiting your number one?” Hank asked casually,

“You’re forfeiting your number one?” Hank asked casually,

pretending that the James Bond-esque service man studying him
had no effect.

“If he starts to act up, I expect you to intercept,” President

McClaren told the agent, completely bypassing any answer to his
son.

Just to be a shit, Hank strolled over to the man he’d seen at

his dad’s side for the past three and a half years. He flattened the
agent’s already perfect suit lapels. He tugged the bottom of the
jacket as though there was a wrinkle to straighten. Any excuse to
touch him, really.

“You’re a little conspicuous, Monty. Too slick. We’ll have to

fix that so you fit into the party scene a little better,” Hank
mused. “We’ll have to mess you up a little.”

He almost smiled when he heard his father growl his

frustration across the room.

“So, Monty, I guess this means you have to do what I say

now, huh?”

Midnight blue eyes leveled on him. They were hard,

assessing, and not at all amused.

“Agent Montegue still answers to me. You’ll find no

conspirator in your pranks there,” President McClaren
corrected.

corrected.

Hank found it difficult to hold Montegue’s gaze, but he

figured it was like alpha dogs staring each other down. The first
to look away lost dominance. Hank wasn’t going to buckle. At
least, he hadn’t intended to, but the longer he challenged the
agent the more difficult it became to ignore the crazy spinning
sensation in his gut.

Monty had strong shoulders suited in black. A tie cinched his

corded neck. The cleanly shaved surface of Agent Montegue’s
jaw, the slight woodsy smell of him, all ganged up on Hank’s
good intentions with the same force as the steady blue gaze.
Could he kiss the agent and play it off as a prank?

Hank dropped his gaze first, using it as a pretense to face his

father with disgust. “Everything has to be your way, doesn’t it? I
don’t fit into your presidential plan, so you’re going to bend me
to your will anyway.”

“That’s the idea,” President McClaren agreed.

“Fuck you, Mr. President. And when you find my dad, tell

him to go fuck himself too.”

An iron hand gripped Hank’s shoulder and steered him

toward a hidden door.

“C’mon, Monty, that wasn’t a threat. If I’d been threatening

him, I’d have said I was sending someone to fuck him violently. I
didn’t say that,” Hank reasoned. “I told him to go fuck himself.

didn’t say that,” Hank reasoned. “I told him to go fuck himself.
Technically, it was a suggestion. At worst, it was a self-imposed
threat he never has to follow up on.”

Monty didn’t answer. He wouldn’t. He wasn’t programmed

to answer. Seemed like the entire White House was filled with
assholes and drones. Even if some of them were sexier than they
had any right to be.

* * * *

Montegue put Hank in the car and motioned for the driver to

pull out of the driveway. He lifted his cuff to his lips. “The cock
has left the coop,” he murmured.

Hank rolled his eyes and snorted.

Montegue got confirmation of the change of orders in his

earpiece along with the shift exchange that would take place at
four in the morning. He wasn’t surprised. The Chief of Security
probably assumed all clubbing would end when the bars closed,
and the presidential offspring would be heading home for a long
sleep. As the president’s personal choice for his son, and
previously the president’s number one, he’d be expected to
handle the waking hours of this particular handful.

He folded his hands on his lap, studying the man across from

him. Unlike previous families, this one had struggled even before
entering their new roles. He’d seen it in them the moment he’d
been assigned as the number two. Working his way up, proving

been assigned as the number two. Working his way up, proving
himself along the way, he’d gotten a first-hand look at the family
dynamic, and it wasn’t a sound one.

Henry McClaren, junior. Hank, had managed to put a

damper on to his dislike for his father out of respect for his
mother until she’d died several months ago. After that, he’d quit
trying.

Across from him, Hank’s belligerent lip-press slowly relaxed

the farther from the White House they drove. It was an
interesting observation. Hank’s father obviously had more
influence on Hank than he realized. His father’s opinion
mattered, or Hank wouldn’t have been so tense at the White
House and so relieved to go.

Twenty minutes later, they were pulling into the underground

parking lot for the secure condo where Hank lived. That was
another interesting thing. Questions crowded Montegue’s mind
about why Hank stayed. He hated his dad. Hated the constant
surveillance and only recently started putting on a show for the
tabloids. At twenty-two, he could move away and be under less
scrutiny. Why did he stick around if the constant battle with the
senior McClaren pissed him off so much?

Montegue had his theories, and despite the temporary

demotion of leaving the president’s side, he was curious to see
what spending time with the surly son revealed. There was love
there. Hidden. Deeply hidden, but there, and that meant hope for

there. Hidden. Deeply hidden, but there, and that meant hope for
the two men. Hank hadn’t given up yet, and the revelation
brought a small smile to Montegue’s lips. The kid wasn’t as hard
as he let on.

“You’re staring,” Hank said as the car pulled up beside the

interior parking elevators.

There was a lot to stare at. Like his dad, Hank’s sandy blond

hair and pale gray eyes were set off by stunning all-American
good-looks. Hank would hate to be reminded that he shared a
perfect politician’s smile and the constituent-pleasing long
dimples in either cheek, with his father. He had his mother’s long,
lean build and his father’s squared shoulders. Unlike the
president, Hank Junior didn’t have the worn look of a man
constantly under pressure, nor the developing gut of chef-
prepared food.

No, Hank exuded the sophistication of a private school

graduate and sex appeal of a bad boy with an angel’s face.

Montegue climbed out of the vehicle first, glanced around the

silent garage then motioned for Hank to join him. He announced
their arrival into his sleeve mic.

They waited for the elevator in silence. It dinged on arrival,

and both men stepped inside. A code whispered through
Montegue’s earpiece, and he punched in the penthouse access
before Hank could touch the control panel.

“Really? You already have that, too?”

The doors parted to the white marble foyer with double-

etched glass and wood doors that opened into the wide living
room beyond. Montegue caught Hank’s upper arm, drew his
weapon and carefully searched the room.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Monty. You guys watch this place

almost as well as the paparazzi do. No one gets in or out without
someone hearing about it.” He stumbled behind, probably finding
Montegue’s grip stronger than he’d expected. He’d have bruises
on his upper arm later. Montegue felt mildly apologetic for that.

Only after the entire condo was searched did Montegue let

him go, and when he did, he propelled him forcefully to the white
leather couch.

Montegue stood over him. “Ground rules.”

“Dear God, he talks,” Hank announced with elaborated

shock.

“Where you go, I go,” Montegue began.

“Where I go, you follow. My people shall become your

people. Isn’t there something like that in the Bible? Ruth? Are
you my Ruth, Monty?”

Montegue waited for him to stop talking. “You don’t leave

the protection of the Secret Service.”

the protection of the Secret Service.”

Hank smirked. “Try and keep up. The last guy couldn’t hack

it.”

Again Montegue waited, stemming his impatience in favor of

control. “If you step out of line, I will haul you back.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed, and he stood his full six foot two

height. He took a step toward Montegue. “I haven’t even begun
to pull out all the stops.”

“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

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.

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

“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

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.

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

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

“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

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

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.

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.

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

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.”

“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

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

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

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.

They stopped at Café Bonaparte around the corner from the

party location. They were shown in as soon as Hank was
recognized. Who needed reservations when your dad was the
president? The tiny table, off to one side of the small storefront,
was perfect. Though the place was packed and occasional
laughter did ring out, the environment lent itself to a more
subdued clientele.

“This doesn’t seem like your scene,” Monty said as they took

their seats.

“What do you know about my scene?”

“Loud. Parties. Young men with black paint on their eyes.

Piercings.”

Hank scoffed. “Do I wear black liner or have piercings?” He

leaned in. “Do I? You’ve seen me naked a couple times now.
Am I hiding metal anywhere?”

Monty stared him down then gave a slow single shake of his

Monty stared him down then gave a slow single shake of his

head.

“Exactly. You don’t know anything about me,” Hank said,

sitting back and picking up his menu to dismiss the other man.

“I know plenty.”

“You’ve been wrong so far.” Hank reached across the bistro

table and patted Monty’s hand. “Don’t worry. There isn’t a test
later.”

Monty picked up his menu too. As soon as his eyes left

Hank’s face, Hank swallowed. That piercing blue stare never
failed to unnerve him, to make him want to please Monty. He
had to fight it with every trick in his book because the last time
he’d tried to please someone, they’d become president and
decided family was even more of an inconvenience than before.

He wouldn’t go there again. Not ever.

Monty put his menu down. “You’re an attention seeking

spoiled brat who has daddy issues. How’m I doing?”

Hank laughed. “That’s quite a superficial estimation of my

character you have.”

“I call it like I see it.”

Hank put his menu down too. “I’m still making my

assessment since I wouldn’t want to jump to any conclusions—
unlike some people. But, you have control issues. You’re anal

unlike some people. But, you have control issues. You’re anal
about your control issues.”

A strange smile tugged the corners of Monty’s lips. It was the

first smile of his Hank had ever seen and frankly it weirded him
out. The waitress came over and took their order. It would be
another night for firsts since he was also about to see Monty eat
which he’d never done in Hank’s presence. The little window
into normal human behavior excited him. Which was ridiculous
because, of course, the guy ate and smiled. It was just that Hank
had never seen Monty do anything but guard, glare, growl and
disapprove.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Monty noted, mirroring

Hank’s position with his arms across his chest.

“I didn’t think it deserved one.”

“Your dad,” Monty pushed.

“Is a jackass.”

“Is the President of the United States of America,” Monty

corrected.

Hank snorted and suddenly leaned forward to pin Monty with

a look that he hoped Monty recognized as on the edge of a line
he shouldn’t cross. “Do you really think I need reminding?”

“You seem to. No matter what you think of him as a man,

he’s still your president.”

“Look,” Hank said, exhaling with annoyance. “I know who

he is and what he is to the country. You may not believe it, but
I’m mature enough to distinguish between the roles.”

“Are you?” Monty questioned. “Because you never let up on

him.”

Hank stared at him with disbelief. “You’re on-board to

protect him with your life. I’m not. Maybe recognize that there
are things that I don’t happen to agree are worth protecting.”

“You’d see him killed?” Monty raised a brow.

Alarm bells went off in Hank’s mind. “I’d like to say yes to

that, but I’m not that big of a shithead. He’s my dad. Of course,
I don’t want him dead.”

“Just some of his principles?”

“As a father, yes,” Hank agreed.

“What about as a president?”

Hank frowned. “He’s a good president,” he conceded.

That seemed to surprise Monty. His gaze darted between

Hank’s eyes like he was suddenly trying to figure him out.

“Then why are you trying to sabotage his presidency?” Monty

asked quietly.

asked quietly.

“Maybe I’m angry. Maybe I know my dad’s first love is his

office and not his family, and if I want him to feel it like we did, I
know I have to attack it.”

“We?”

“Mom and me.”

Monty nodded. The waitress brought their food and asked if

they needed anything more. Neither of them acknowledged her,
only stared each other down with equal intensity. Monty seemed
to be warily assessing him. Hank just wanted him to stop asking
questions.

“She was a sweet woman,” Monty said after they were alone

again.

Hank’s stare faltered. “Yeah, she was.” He picked up his

fork and rocked the side of it on his crepe.

“She got lost in the politics,” Monty added.

“We all did,” Hank replied. “But some of us didn’t let it

control us.”

Monty seemed to accept that as a conversation ender. He

didn’t add any more or open another discussion, which was just
fine with Hank. He didn’t feel like talking. He tried to remember
why the fuck he was going to the party tonight. To piss off

why the fuck he was going to the party tonight. To piss off
Monty. Yeah, it wasn’t as much of a fun prospect as it had been.

* * * *

They pulled up, and the party was already well underway.

Montegue wasn’t pleased to see that Hank’s idea of a close
group of friends getting together in Georgetown was actually a
full-out party with booze and behavior that appeared to be
enhanced.

He stayed close to Hank. Tried to keep his eyes on the kid,

but Hank didn’t make it easy. The more relaxed Hank got, the
more watchful Montegue became. Alcohol had loosened Hank
up. It wouldn’t be long before Montegue would be looking for
an escape plan to this farce of a gathering. He looked for and
located several points of exit.

A girl draped herself against Montegue’s side. Not the first

tonight, but if he had it his way, it would be the last. He stood her
upright and turned her around, gave her a gentle push. The girl
laughed and bumped into another target. Thank God.

“Monty!” Hank’s voice carried over the beat of the music.

Montegue tracked his voice to where Hank stood waving

amidst a group of guys. Hank motioned him over. With a
warning glare, Montegue obeyed. Blending in was going to kill
him, Montegue thought, which seemed to be Hank’s point.

“Monty,” Hank gestured widely, drunkenly to the guys in his

group. “These are the guys. Guys, this is Monty. My boyfriend
for the night.”

“Hot,” one guy said, giving Montegue a slow once-over.

“Isn’t he? Can’t wait to get him in the sack.” Hank laughed

when Montegue scowled.

“Does he smile?” another friend asked. “Dude, it’s a party.

Lighten up,” the man admonished Montegue.

“That’s as light as he gets,” Hank told them with a note of

seriousness. “Cute, right?”

“If you like them surly,” a third guy suggested.

“I seem to,” Hank said seriously. He slung an arm around

Montegue’s waist.

Montegue accepted it although he stiffened at the unexpected

contact. He didn’t want to encourage the behavior, but he had to
admit, privately, that he also liked the feeling of Hank’s arm
around him.

“Baby, have a drink. Relax a little,” Hank said.

“You’ve had enough for both of us,” Montegue bit out.

He didn’t like the term of endearment, knowing it was given

only to diminish his role beside Hank. He didn’t appreciate it,

only to diminish his role beside Hank. He didn’t appreciate it,
and if he had his way, he’d show Hank exactly how much he
didn’t. And turn the kid into a whimpering, desperate mass of
need in the process. If Montegue had his way—that was the
key. There wasn’t a reality in which that would happen without a
little creative thinking.

Montegue dropped his arm across Hank’s shoulder. Hank

jerked his head around in surprise. Montegue settled him with a
feral grin and a squeeze. “Time to go—baby.”

Interest lit Hank’s gaze with curiosity. “Oh?”

“I’m planning on strapping you down to the bed so you can’t

get away from me tonight.”

The guys hooted. Hank’s lips parted, and he laughed

nervously. Hank’s friends would think whatever they wanted.
The expression on the presidential son was priceless. Hope.
Fear. Uncertainty. God, it was enough to get Montegue hard. It
had been a joke designed to remind Hank of who was boss.
However, the flare of lust in Hank’s eyes had Montegue thinking
a host of different ways he could make the other man beg. All of
them had Hank strapped down and naked.

Those deep dimples bracketed Hank’s wicked smile. He was

so close. Close enough that Montegue could see the charcoal
rim around his gray eyes and the tiny flecks of amber that
freckled the iris in two spots of one eye. Close enough that
Montegue could smell the rich spicy undertones of Hank’s

Montegue could smell the rich spicy undertones of Hank’s
aftershave and feel the heat of Hank’s body lining his own.

Hank shifted, moving from side to front. He slid a hand into

the hair at the back of Montegue’s scalp. Strong, long fingers
tugged him forward as their gazes locked. Hank’s teased and
challenged. Montegue should’ve broken free. He should’ve
taken Hank by the wrist, put him in the car and forced him back
to his condo to wait for the Secret Service relief. He should’ve
done a lot of things, but Hank’s smooth lips pressed his and he
forgot every one of those things.

Sensation sizzled along his nerve endings as Hank’s soft

breath feathered across Montegue’s lips between tentative
kisses. Montegue had the presence of mind not to kiss back.
Something nagged at him like a warning. Like the stomach
dropping sensation of Hank’s lips fitting on his own had a more
critical consequence than giving in to a playboy on the prowl.

It was the hooting that woke him up seconds before he tipped

his head to take what Hank was offering. Thank God, because it
stopped him from making a fool of himself—which was probably
what Hank had been hoping for.

Montegue jerked his head back. “Home. Now.”

Hank grinned warmly. “Yes, sir.”

Let him think what he wanted to. There’d be no play here.

Getting Hank out of the spotlight, making out with another man,

Getting Hank out of the spotlight, making out with another man,
the repercussions on the presidential race had precedence. Hank
was more selfish than Montegue had realized if he thought he
could so foolishly act the way he was in public without
responsibilities. It disappointed him, effectively putting a chill on
the lust that had raged through him only seconds earlier.

Getting Hank to the car seemed too easy. Once they were

inside, he realized why. Hank scooted across the seat to
Montegue’s side. His hand curled over Montegue’s thigh.
Montegue plucked it off.

“Not going to happen, Junior.”

Hank studied him momentarily. “You didn’t mean it.”

Montegue cocked his eyebrow. “Why would I? It would

destroy the president’s platform for re-election to have his son
caught making out with another man—a Secret Service agent—
at a bender with drugs.”

Hank retreated to his side of the backseat. “That’s cold.”

Montegue twisted to the side, facing him. “What’s cold is

your single-minded selfishness to indulge in every vice you want
at the expense of a presidency you acknowledge as being a
good one. You say you can distinguish between your father and
the president, but what you prove time and again is that you
can’t look past your own comfort. Your own petulant anger.”

Hank seemed to sober up a little. “I didn’t choose his lifestyle

or political stand. If I were a minor living in his home, I could see
where he’d have a say in my actions. But I’m not, nor have I
ever been while he’s been in the presidential office. I’ve never
lived in the White House. I was in college when he was
inaugurated.”

“Yet you know what you do directly affects him.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And you do it anyway,” Montegue pointed out.

Hank’s head dropped back on the leather seat. The car

pulled into the underground garage and alongside the elevators.
Still neither of them moved.

“I know it’s clear as day to you. He’s President McClaren to

you and that’s it. To me, it’s jumbled. I know there’s a
difference between President McClaren and Dad, but he’s also
the same person.” He rolled his head to the side to look at
Montegue. “You can’t behave one way and pretend that you
aren’t responsible for it or that it doesn’t reflect on who you are
in other areas of your life.”

“Funny to hear that coming from you.”

Hank’s smile was sad. “Touché. I don’t expect you to

understand.” He opened the door.

Montegue got out quickly and got to the other side of the car

before Hank had finished standing. “Make me understand.”

Hank ducked his head and hit the up button. “Not tonight,

honey. I’m tired.” He lifted his chin, a fake smile plastered on his
pretty lips. “You’ve already made your mind up about me. It’s
fine. So has he. I don’t expect either of you to change your
minds.”

The men got into the elevator.

Montegue felt unsettled. He didn’t like the resignation in

Hank’s voice or the sense that there was more to the story he
wasn’t getting. That beneath the cocky bravado, there was a
man in pain who was lashing out the only way he knew how.

Chapter Four

He winced as his dad slapped down a stack of brightly

colored photos showing Hank dancing on top of a bar without a
shirt and his pants unsnapped before an audience of young men.
It had taken two very creative nights of escape after the
Georgetown party to get his dad’s attention again. This time
Hank could admit that he’d overdone it.

“You’re gay now? Is this just for my benefit or something we

actually need to talk about?” President McClaren shout-asked.

Hank could feel the blaze of Monty’s glare on the back of his

neck. He’d made the detail look bad. In all fairness, he’d waited
for the other guy to be on duty first. Unfortunately for President
McClaren, it didn’t matter that Monty had found the formerly
boarded over and forgotten dumbwaiter in the wall of his
bedroom. It was coming back in the second night that had
revealed a very pissed off Monty in his bedroom closet waiting
for him to return.

“No, Dad, I’m actually gay.”

“No, Dad, I’m actually gay.”

“This? This is how you chose to tell me?” His dad pointed a

trembling finger at the stack of pictures. He looked stricken,
angry.

“I didn’t think you’d believe me?”

“I still don’t,” the president shouted.

“Ask Monty. He knows,” Hank suggested. He winced as he

realized that sounded suspiciously like he’d thrown the other man
under the bus.

His father stared hard behind Hank, and he knew it was at

the Secret Serviceman in question. “Well?”

From the look on his father’s face and the distinct lack of

sound coming from behind Hank, he figured Monty had given
one of his characteristic nods.

President McClaren ran his fingers through his hair. That took

Hank off guard. His father never did anything uncalculated. His
ruffled hair and blotchy cheeks were definitely uncalculated.
Hank felt sick to his stomach.

President McClaren sat on the front edge of his desk. His

shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what else to do with you.”

“Talk to me,” Hank suggested, his voice cracking.

“I’ve tried. You don’t listen.”

“I’ve tried. You don’t listen.”

“No, Dad. You don’t listen. If it’s not about the election or

about looking good for the election, you don’t want to hear it.
I’m sorry, but family isn’t always convenient. Sometimes, you
have to deal with us.”

“So help me, if this is about your mother again—”

Hank jumped to his feet. “You’ll do what, Dad? What will

you do? What if it is about Mom? What if it’s about both of us
and the fact that you’re so wrapped up in your career that you
forgot you had a family.”

“Be quiet!” President McClaren raged. “You have no idea

what you’re talking about. You can’t know because you’re too
selfish to think about anyone but yourself!”

“I learned firsthand from the very best,” Hank snapped.

President McClaren stood too. His jaw flexed. “Montegue.

Put Plan B into effect. Make it good and make sure he can’t get
himself or anyone else in trouble. You’re officially off the clock.”

“What the fuck is Plan B?” Hank demanded to know. When

he saw no ready answer coming from his dad, he turned on his
heel to face down Monty, who was even less responsive.

Monty gaze moved calmly from Hank’s to the president’s.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

He whispered into his cuff. Four suits entered the Oval

Office. One man each grabbed Hank’s arm.

“What the fuck, Dad?”

“Go quietly, Son. I hope you understand why I have to do

this.”

Hank swung his head around to Monty. “What’s happening?”

Monty didn’t answer, but a fleeting expression of compassion

pulled at the man’s forehead before it smoothed over once again.

“Monty?” Hank asked. “Please?”

Monty ignored him and nodded to the four agents who hauled

him out of the room. Hank fingered the cell phone in his pocket.
An idea struck him. He just needed a minute alone, and a whole
lot of luck.

Chapter Five

When the door to the airplane opened, Hank was hit in the

chest with the humidity and sticky heat that could only be from
the southern United States.

“Where the hell have you brought me?”

Monty walked up the aisle to stand beside him. He let out a

long breath. “Home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Alabama,” Monty answered, sounding more at ease than

Hank had ever heard him.

He spared a glance at the other man. His face seemed

relaxed. As he watched, Monty reached up and loosened his
service issued black tie and unbuttoned the top button of his
dress shirt. Hank should be pissed. Oh, he had been. Now, he
was resigned, he supposed.

The car ride to the airport, the private jet ride several hours

The car ride to the airport, the private jet ride several hours

had been ample time to sit quietly with his thoughts. President
McClaren had sent him away. That’s all there was to it. Getting
away felt pretty good, he had to admit. It felt like he could finally
breathe. Like no one was constantly watching him, waiting for
him to fuck up, waiting to rake his ass over the coals for being a
disappointment.

Looking out the airplane hatch there was literally nothing

obstructing his view of old tarmac and trees right up against it. A
motorized staircase was driven over and locked into place.

“Does this mean you’re going to suddenly develop an

accent?” Hank asked.

“I might. Been known to happen.”

Then Monty did something unexpected. He put rested his

hand on Hank’s back and ushered him forward. It was such a
gentle gesture, different from any of their other encounters. This
felt like Monty was as tired of butting heads with him as Hank
was of being ground down.

It wouldn’t last. Not with everything between them. Not with

the job Monty was hired to do and the way Hank was being
forced to hide out of sight of his father. It was artificial peace, but
it was peace, and it felt good. He let himself be directed down
the steps and led to a parked car near the only building in sight.
They got in, and Monty pulled down the visor. Keys dropped
into his hand.

into his hand.

“Really? All that security and you just have a car sitting here

for you? No bomb checks or dogs to sniff it out?” Hank asked.

Monty started the car. “Most of America doesn’t know

about this place. And no one knows the place we’re going to.”

“There are eyes everywhere,” Hank reminded him in his best

imitation of President McClaren.

“Not where we’re going,” Monty answered cryptically.

Hank seemed to sink into the front seat. He stared out the

window without so much as a snarky comment. Over the past
three years, he’d seen every season of the man next to him.
Silence and acceptance wasn’t one of them.

Montegue took the dirt roads that wound through the fields,

headed onward toward the trees in the distance beyond the
stretch of open farmland. Hank’s breathing evened and
deepened. Montegue smiled, pleased to see Hank relax with
him.

Montegue detoured down a side road once he reached the

trees and headed for the coastline. Another half hour had him
pulling up on the modest wood and tin cabin where he and his
father had spent countless summers fishing. It wasn’t pretty, but
the view of the Gulf was worth any inconvenience. He slanted a
look at the sleeping presidential son. He was used to fine
clothing, fine food and conditioned air. This may turn out to be

clothing, fine food and conditioned air. This may turn out to be
more of a wake-up call than Hank was prepared for. Which only
made Montegue smile wider. A little roughing up would do the
kid some good, he decided.

It would do them both some good.

“Hank. Wake up.”

Montegue opened his car door and popped the trunk. He

wasn’t worried about the kid making a run for it. The cabin sat
right on a rocky shoreline at the base of several hundred acres of
private forested and swampy land. Montegue and his father had
created the rock shore themselves to prevent too much
weathering through the storm season, and he liked the visual and
structural effect of strength it gave the water’s edge. If Hank
tried to find his way off the property, he’d still have virtually no
shot of being picked up by a neighbor since those were few and
far between.

He lifted the trunk and removed the two duffel bags he’d had

the car loaded with. Being Secret Service had its perks. He
wouldn’t ask how the car came to be where he’d asked for it or
who had packed the duffels. None of that mattered. He’d asked
for it, and the Secret Service had made it happen, because the
president’s son was being looked after.

He slammed the trunk closed and saw the younger man jolt

awake inside the car. Hank got out and stretched like he was on

awake inside the car. Hank got out and stretched like he was on
vacation. Montegue supposed that in a way he was.

“Where are we?”

“Home,” Montegue told him for the second time.

“This is where you live? Where’s the house?” Hank scanned

the area and locked in on the rinky-dink one room cabin
perched on stilts by the rock shoreline. “Tell me that isn’t it. Tell
me we aren’t going to hole up in some rust-covered, leaky cabin
that probably has more spiders and roaches in it than any
structure has a right to.”

“That’s it.”

Montegue hid his smile. It did look dilapidated. It wasn’t as

bad as all that. The outside was designed to be unappealing and
rustic. But the walls were lined and solid inside. The roof was
insulated. There were appliances and hot water. That’s where
the luxury ended. It was a cabin, after all. Not the Ritz.

Montegue walked up beside him and dropped the second

duffel. “This one’s yours. You’re going to want it.”

Without another word, he traveled the short distance to the

stilted structure, pulled out a key and unlocked the front door.
Montegue was swamped with memories as he stepped inside.
All of them were good. Some of them were better than good
because hard work and sweat always went well with laughter
and a cold beer when you spent quality time with your dad.

and a cold beer when you spent quality time with your dad.

He never brought anyone here, but this was a different set of

circumstances. Hank needed to be out of sight and not locatable.
He also needed to grow up a little and get outside his hatred.
Montegue only hoped that having the kid here didn’t sour some
of his own better memories of the place.

It was a risk. He glanced back at Hank, still standing on the

gravel drive, dumbfounded. Maybe it was a mistake, too. Guess
he’d find out soon enough.

When it was clear that Monty had no intention of forcing him

to go anywhere, Hank picked up the oversized bag and trudged
to the cabin. It wasn’t what he expected on the inside, but the
heat and humidity didn’t let up once he got there either.

The cabin was decorated with old black and white photos,

some colored ones faded to yellow, and boat paraphernalia.
Above an old-fashioned cast-iron wood stove in the living area,
rope had been arranged in a display of fancy knots, old bottles
cloudy with age filled with tiny shells sat on stair-stepped shelves
and sand dollars nestled with shark teeth in a glass dish graced
the small coffee table. A bank of wooden shelves lined the short
wall and at the far end a kitchenette barely took up a corner.

“Does this place have air conditioning?” Hank asked.

“Nope. Fans.”

“Great. So we’re going to sit here and melt. For how long?”

“No sitting around. There are some supplies on hand, but

anything fresh has to be caught or bought,” Montegue told him
with a little too much smugness, if you asked Hank.

“Like, what, road kill? Possum? Squirrel?”

Montegue shot him a funny look. “If you want. I thought

maybe fish or rabbit, but hey, knock yourself out.”

Hank adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “Where do I sleep?”

Montegue pointed to a bank of floor to ceiling cupboards

against the shortest wall. “Murphy beds are there.”

“Dare I ask about the bathroom?”

Montegue’s amusement annoyed Hank. Montegue opened a

slim door next to him in the kitchen and gestured inside.
“Standing shower, sink and toilet, sir.”

“Food?”

Montegue opened a few cupboards. They were empty but

for a few mismatched plates and cups. “We’ll take the boat over
to the dock store and pick some things up.” Montegue walked
over to him, took the duffel and dropped it on the ground.
“We’re going to have to disguise you a little first.”

“If you put me in plaid and overalls, there will be hell to pay.”

“If you put me in plaid and overalls, there will be hell to pay.”

Monty grinned. God, he grinned. His firm lips moved, and

his whole face transformed from sexy double-oh-seven to I’m-
going-to-shoot-my-load hot. Crystalline blue eyes sparkled with
humor, and a deep chuckle rumbled from the other man’s chest.
The blood drained from Hank’s face. How the hell was he
supposed to try to escape when a smile like that turned Hank’s
knees to jelly and his cock to cement?

“Oh, God,” Hank muttered, swallowing around the words.

Monty cocked his eyebrow. “Problem?”

Hank wanted to scotch tape that trademark lift back where it

belonged. “No. No problem,” he rasped.

No problem except he suddenly wanted to tackle his

bodyguard to the ground for a round of rousing sexcapades that
should have been the last thing on his mind.

“Good. Take those clothes off and put on something from the

duffel bag. As long as we’re here, you need to blend in.”

“Fine, but I refuse to knock out a few teeth for believability.”

Monty snorted.

Hank went to the bank of cupboards and tugged on the first

bed he came to. It pulled down smoothly, and he was surprised
to see a decent mattress on it. He hoisted the bag onto it and

to see a decent mattress on it. He hoisted the bag onto it and
began examining its contents. He almost laughed when he found
a flannel plaid shirt inside. The rest of the clothes were cotton
tees and jeans that had seen better days. They looked like they’d
been pulled off the shelves of a very sad secondhand store. At
least, the new bags of underwear and socks held promise, if not
the scuffed up canvas shoes.

“Who’s your stylist?” Hank mocked. “He needs to be fired.”

“My brother.” Monty’s voice came from beside him, and

Hank jumped.

“Jesus! Announce your presence, you ninja. You almost

made me crap my pants!”

“Excellent. It’ll take the shine off your big city perfume.”

Hank turned to stare the other man down, but Monty was

standing close—too close and too smiley for Hank’s comfort.
He forgot the retort he’d been ready to snap. Instead, his mouth
hung open, waiting for words to issue forth.

“You were saying?” Monty encouraged.

Hank grunted. “You are seriously too hot to sneak up on me

like that.”

Amusement again sparkled in Monty’s eyes. Why hadn’t

Hank noticed these details sooner? Oh yeah, that’s right,
because Monty became a cardboard cutout of a Secret Service

because Monty became a cardboard cutout of a Secret Service
Agent when he clocked in.

“Being hot and quiet are mutually exclusive?” Monty asked.

Good question. Were they? Hank tried to think. He came up

with nothing.

Monty’s gaze traveled over Hank’s face. “If that were true,

you’d be a mute.”

Hank might have squeaked. He wasn’t sure. The strangled

sound fighting through the tightness in his throat might have been
perceived as one. Not much registered at the moment. Sound
was definitely secondary to the blaring fact that Monty thought
Hank was hot. Very hot, apparently. Hank’s cock thanked him
by swelling painfully. Pre-cum moistened the tip and made him
that much more sensitive.

Monty’s grin turned into a full-blown smile, and his eyes

dipped to Hank’s lips. Hank was in serious jeopardy of coming,
and the embarrassment of that managed to sober him up a little.

“Are you always this easy?” Monty asked quietly.

“I’m not easy!”

Monty snorted. “You don’t think so?” He moved in closer.

Their chests touched, and Hank groaned despite himself. “Are
you saying that if I told you to suck my cock right now, you
wouldn’t start salivating?” He eased his hand to Hank’s lower

wouldn’t start salivating?” He eased his hand to Hank’s lower
back. “Or,” he whispered, bringing their faces closer together.
“If I told you I’d fuck you hard all night long, you’d turn me
down?”

Hank went on autopilot, tilting his hips to Monty’s and leaning

in to kiss his gorgeous lips. Monty let him, but he smiled through
the kiss. Suddenly, the agent stepped away from him.

“That’s what I thought. Get changed. We have to go to the

dock store before it gets too dark to make the crossing.”

Hank’s body vibrated with need. How the hell could Monty

walk away unaffected after saying the shit he’d just said? How
they hell could he make those suggestions if he didn’t also think
about them?

Oh, God. I’m screwed, Hank realized. He never let his

lovers have the upper hand. He never let them know he wanted
more than a quick fuck and a goodnight kiss. But in the span of
one minute and a few well-delivered comments, Monty had
Hank’s number. Monty not only knew Hank wanted him, he
knew Hank was stupid-in-lust with him. It freaked Hank out no
small measure.

Shit.

* * * *

Two hours later, Monty pulled his shirt off and picked up the

oars again. A box of groceries separated them, and it was a

oars again. A box of groceries separated them, and it was a
good-damn thing too because Hank wanted nothing more than
to lick every sweat-glistening muscle on display.

What looked like lean muscle under a suit turned out to be

tightly packed and corded abs, sculpted ribs and pecs, and
angular oblique muscles forming a tight low vee into his pant line
that had Hank squirming.

He hated it. He also couldn’t tear his eyes away from the

dark-haired agent who looked impossibly better mussed up and
sweaty than he did in pressed uniform suits. The trade of
expressionless agent on duty to relaxed man in his element only
enhanced the quickly forming daydreams about getting naked
with him.

Hank had always had the upper hand when it came to men.

How the hell had the tables flipped on him so quickly? He
resolved to make a change. He didn’t like being subject to his
baser instincts or the cloudiness of thought that seemed to have
him thinking with his smaller head.

Monty was a tough guy, a respectable guy, but if Hank didn’t

stay on his toes and figure a way out of here, he’d be staring
down the barrel of another four years with a father who couldn’t
give a damn. He’d done that already. He didn’t think he should
have to do it again. He certainly didn’t think that his dad should
come away from the destruction of his family without a few
scars.

scars.

“Your staring,” Monty noted dryly.

“You’re half naked and sitting directly in my line of sight,”

Hank pointed out.

“I’m not on the menu.”

“Are you sure about that?”

The skiff glided up to the dock. Monty tossed him the tie

rope, and Hank looped it around the dock support. Monty lifted
the box, with his shirt draped over the top, to the dock, then
steadied the boat, one foot in, one foot on wood.

Monty held a hand out to Hank. Hank hesitated a moment,

then took it. He liked the hard calloused slide of the other man’s
palm against his, the way his fingers wrapped like steel around
his wrist and steadied him onto the dock.

“I think you want to be on the menu, Monty. I think that’s

why you’re teasing me.”

Monty walked away from him with the box of goods. Hank

took a minute to examine the fine ass and relaxed gait before he
followed.

“Is that what you want?” Monty asked when they got inside,

and he’d put the groceries on the small counter. “Me?”

“I’d take you if I had you.”

“I’d take you if I had you.”

Monty dropped his hands to his hips. “I don’t get taken.”

“Is that your delicate way of saying you don’t bottom?”

“It’s my direct way of saying that when it comes to sex, I’m in

control whether I’m on top or on bottom.”

Hank folded his arms across his chest. “Well now we’re

getting somewhere.”

“Are we?”

“If we’re talking about sex, I’d say so,” Hank decided.

“We’re talking about sex,” Monty sealed all doubt.

Hank approached. “And if I won’t bottom or let you have

control?”

“I wouldn’t give you a choice.” Monty pushed away from the

counter and stopped in front of Hank. “Your problem is that
you’ve had everything handed to you on a platter, so when
something doesn’t go your way, you think the world is ending.”

“Your problem is that you make blanket judgments about

things you have no business putting your nose into.”

Monty’s hand curled around the nape of Hank’s neck and

tugged him forward. “Do I?”

Hank forgot what they were arguing about, so he decided to

agree and hope he was right. “You do.”

Monty tipped his head to the side. His lips moved along

Hank’s jaw. His teeth scraped the edge of Hank’s earlobe. “I
think you’re easy for a ready cock.” Monty’s voice rumbled
over Hank’s skin sending shivers through him.

Monty continued, “I think your dad doesn’t give you the

attention you think you deserve, so you take it.” His tongue
flickered into the whorls of Hank’s ear, and he heard himself
gasp as Monty kept babbling. “I think the idea of fucking a
Secret Service agent has your preppy ass in a tingle.”

Monty’s rough free hand grabbed Hank’s ass and squeezed

as though to make his point. As though Hank wasn’t already
meltier than butter on a screaming-hot pan.

“I think,” Monty moved his hand to Hank’s shoulder and

gave him a gentle push down. Hank dropped to his knees,
staring up at the sex-god who demanded his attention. “That if I
popped my button,” and in saying it, he did open the button to
his own jeans. “You’d suck my cock into that sweet, pink mouth
of yours.”

Hank reached for the man’s zipper to do exactly as he’d

suggested. Monty chuckled and stepped around him instead,
leaving Hank on his knees in the kitchen.

“I thought so,” Monty called back to him and left the cabin.

Chapter Six

Monty heard the delayed cursing behind him. Could nearly

feel the vibrations on the air when the cabin door slammed shut,
opened and slammed again as though the first one wasn’t
adequate enough. He’d have laughed if he weren’t so shaken by
what he’d just done. By what he’d wanted to happen when
Hank looked up at him with those glowing gray eyes half-hidden
behind a fringe of blond hair.

The kid’s mouth had already parted, giving Monty a clear

view of the dark, moist invitation to Monty’s dick. The slight
tickle of fingers on his zipper still had his cock zinging. He’d
wanted it, but he hadn’t realized how much until Hank was on his
knees, obeying.

Monty’s hands shook as he ran them through his hair. He

nearly laughed for real, then, because he’d seen the president do
that a couple times when the subject of his son came up. And
here Monty was doing it too. Because doing that was infinitely
wiser than strangling Hank or pinning him down while he fucked
the ever-living daylights out of him.

the ever-living daylights out of him.

God, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted

someone so badly. This had been the worst idea on the planet to
follow through with it. And this was day one! How was he going
to manage a week? Two weeks with the kid?

And when the fuck had he started thinking of himself as

Monty?

He stormed through the tree line and kept going. He hadn’t

bothered to bring out trapping instruments with him. He’d just
left, needing to put as much space between himself and the
temptation taking up space in the cabin. He wasn’t about to head
back there to pick up his trapping gear or unlock the case with
his hunting rifle in it.

Monty picked up a thick branch of dead-fall and whacked it

against the trunk of a nearby tree. The reverberation stung his
hands. It felt good, jolting, so he did it several more times before
he finally leaned against the trunk to think.

“Okay, Monty, let’s think this thing through,” he said,

beginning to make his argument out loud. His father had always
told him that hearing a plan aloud helped the brain work through
the hitches. He needed all the help he could get now, whether he
sounded crazy to the local squirrel population or not.

“He has to be in control, so you can’t let him be.”

Okay, that sounded sane.

“He wants you. That’s okay; he can want you. You just can’t

let him know you want him as badly.”

He frowned as he came to that conclusion. An erection pretty

much made that obvious.

“You want him,” Monty confessed out loud. He closed his

eyes and gave in to the truth. “Hell, yeah, you do. You want him
bad. That’s okay. You can work with that too.”

How? His conscience wanted to know.

“No emotional involvement?” Even as he said it, he knew the

opposite would have to be true, and it scared the shit out of him.

“It’s the one thing he actually wants that he needs: emotional

involvement,” Monty realized.

He wanted it from his father, lost it when he lost his mother,

avoided it with the guys he picked up. The trick to getting Hank
to crack was to make him feel. But how the hell did he do that
with an emotional icicle without falling into his own trap?

Back to dominance. Make him give it up without him realizing

he’s giving it up.

Monty’s dick throbbed. He leaned against the tree and

opened his fly. He pretended those pretty gray eyes were still
looking up at him as he took himself in hand. He imagined the

looking up at him as he took himself in hand. He imagined the
same stripped, naked hunger he’d seen there, the same
neediness of his open mouth, the same fixated stare from the
boat trip that had traced every line of his chest. God, if that
hadn’t been the hottest thing he’d ever seen—to know the other
man wanted him without pretense.

Monty came hard, shouting as his cum spurted over his

fingers and into the air, Hank’s name on his lips.

* * * *

Hank spent the next two days speaking to Monty as little as

possible. He hated the guy, and he wanted him with a passion
that had his prick hard almost constantly. The guy didn’t do
anything that didn’t scream of slow, hard sex.

He chopped vegetables, and Hank found himself staring at

the way he held the carrot. He tied knots in a trap by lamplight,
and Hank imagined the same skillful detail coaxing him to
arousal. He drank coffee, and the moan he gave at the first sip
made Hank think of what he’d sound like as he got off.

He couldn’t even sleep and get away from him. There was

only one room, for fuck’s sake! They slept in the same room
where they ate and sat. The only escape was the front porch or
the dock, and Hank had been out there so much, he was
sporting a light burn across his nose and cheeks.

He’d never been in a position like this, where he’d been the

He’d never been in a position like this, where he’d been the

one who wanted and couldn’t have. It sucked. He resented the
attitude that he should be taken down a peg or two. Every time
he thought he’d had the upper hand, Monty had snagged control
right out from under him.

Two could play that game, he decided. On the morning of the

fourth day, the clouds outside kept the cabin dimmer than usual
as a storm system seemed to be brewing. Monty had the
weather radio down and tuned in as he took a sip of his coffee
and made the soft sound of pleasure that had butterflies dancing
in Hank’s stomach.

Hank took his towel and headed for the shower. He cleaned

the dried sweat from overnight, and welcomed the breeze
starting to blow in through the tiny bathroom window. After
brushing his teeth, he draped the towel around his shoulders and
paraded into the cabin stark naked.

Monty’s eyes followed him. Hank tried not to let on that he’d

noticed. Instead, he opened the front door, propping it with a
doorstop and hung his towel to dry on the porch railing before
wandering back in.

He poured himself some coffee and was stirring in the

creamer when Monty finally cleared his throat.

“Thinking of getting dressed this morning?” he asked Hank.

Hank took a long, thought-filled sip of the hot beverage. He

Hank took a long, thought-filled sip of the hot beverage. He

sighed as he lowered his cup. “Nope.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Why bother? It’s just the two of us out here, and you’ve

made it very clear you aren’t interested. If I put on clothes, I’ll
just sweat in them with this godforsaken humidity.” He shrugged
casually. “I figure I’m saving myself the grief of smelly damp
clothes and enjoying the freedom of life without the glare of
media to see me.”

“Good point.”

“I thought so,” Hank agreed.

He felt pretty smug about the decision too until Monty did

something completely unexpected. He stripped out of his clothes
too. Hank tried to swallow his latest sip of coffee but sputtered it
all over himself instead.

Monty whipped a kitchen towel at him. “Clean that up, will

you? I don’t want ants.”

Hank’s eyes riveted to the thick, filling cock swinging heavily

as Monty walked past him to the refrigerator for some eggs.
Hank nearly sprained his neck to watch Monty’s firm ass flex
and relax on each step. He silently begged Monty to turn around
again so he could have another look at the gorgeous cock and
nest of thick black hair at its base. He’d known the man was

nest of thick black hair at its base. He’d known the man was
beautiful. He had no idea Monty was the real-life representation
of every erotic fantasy Hank had ever had.

By the time Monty head back his direction, Monty’s cock

was at full mast. So was Hank’s.

“You’re hard,” Hank noted tightly.

“It likes attention, and you haven’t stopped looking at it.”

“I could give it a lot more attention than just looks,” Hank

heard himself offer.

“I’m sure you could,” Monty agreed. “But the benefit of

having a brain is that I don’t have to listen to my cock to make
my decisions.”

The implication that Hank did wasn’t missed on him. It would

piss him off later when he wasn’t staring down the beloved hope
of having Monty’s cock all for his own. He blinked, trying to
control his reactions with a bit more dignity than he’d showed so
far.

“And yet you’re walking around naked in a kitchen while

cooking. Which brain is thinking that one through?” Hank
snarked.

“The one that tells me you’re trying to get under my skin and

knows that the only answer to your ploy is to throw it back at
you.”

you.”

“You can throw anything you want at me. I’ll catch it.”

Monty smiled but didn’t answer.

Hank took up a position where he could watch the other man

without the obstruction of the counter. He leaned back and
began to stroke himself.

Monty watched him from hooded eyes, poised to crack an

egg over the skillet. “What are you doing?”

Hank smiled. “Enjoying the view. Eggs really turn me on.

Crack ’em, baby. Crack ’em good.”

Monty chuckled as he cracked two into the pan.

“Mm. Yeah, that’s it,” Hank murmured.

But he wasn’t paying attention to the eggs. He was locked on

the way the tip of Monty’s cock nudged the counter when he got
close, the slow jostle of his balls when he twisted to reach for
something.

“I think you should scramble them,” Hank suggested.

Admittedly he was thinking more about what scrambling

would do to make Monty’s dick jiggle, than out of any palate
preference. Damn, eggs were never going to look the same to
him again after today.

“Scrambling doesn’t happen once they hit the pan. You’d

scratch the Teflon,” Monty informed him.

Monty picked up the pan and slid the eggs onto a plate.

Picking up a fork, he moved to stand in front of Hank. “I’d offer
you one, but it looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

He rocked the side of his fork through the cooked egg white,

speared it and held it to Hank’s lips. Hank took it and chewed
slowly. “I could eat the rest of those if you’d take over for me.”

Monty glanced down. “You’re doing just fine on your own.

I’d hate to mess up your rhythm.”

Monty put the plate on the countertop, braced a hand on

either side of Hank and leaned close enough to kiss. Their noses
brushed.

“Do it,” Monty said.

Calling Hank’s bluff? Hank pushed his hips forward until his

stroking hand rubbed the tip of Monty’s cock with every pull.
Monty’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t move. He seemed to be
assessing Hank, and it turned Hank on.

“Everything you do is designed to provoke,” Monty said

calmly. “Including this.”

“Only if you mean that it’ll provoke me to come.”

Monty gave the slow head shake, his eyes locked on Hank’s.

Monty gave the slow head shake, his eyes locked on Hank’s.

“For you, sex is a weapon. You use it to piss off your dad, to
piss of the Secret Service and you’re trying to use it on me.”

Hank’s strokes slowed, damn Monty. He didn’t want to

think. He wanted to fucking come. He wanted Monty to watch
him come and see if it worked Monty up—finally. But Monty
stood too close, pinned him with a stare too hard, assessed him
too coolly for Hank to keep jacking off like nothing was
happening.

“Get out of my face. You’re ruining my buzz,” Hank snapped.

Monty only seemed to settle in. His body heat didn’t have to

travel far to be felt, and his breath still had the minty quality of
brushed teeth. He used his body to show dominance and Hank
didn’t even understand how it was effective.

The guy was naked! He wasn’t wearing a gun, a suit or a

condom, just those inquisitive blue eyes and his hard, lean body
poised to strike the minute he found a weakness. It unnerved
Hank, to say the least. It made his heart pound uncomfortably
and made him second guess how he was going to get Monty off
his case. The typical cockiness that usually gave Hank the
desired results wasn’t working on Monty.

The man had balls. He didn’t play into any level of forced

discomfort Hank dished out. He remained steady and patient,
always wanting to know what made Hank tick. Always trying to

always wanting to know what made Hank tick. Always trying to
psychoanalyze him like he was a specimen to be studied.

“Why are you stopping?” Monty asked a small smile tugging

his lips. “It’s what you want, isn’t it? To jack off in front of me,
come on my chest. Watch me watch you losing your load and
see if I do anything about it?”

Hank blushed. He actually blushed. Was he that transparent?

No one had ever challenged him before. They just accepted that
Hank’s go-to mode was about making the most out of every
opportunity, without fear.

“You’re all about control,” Monty murmured. “You’re fine as

long as whatever you’re doing is your idea and it shocks people.
But what happens when it doesn’t?”

Hank’s heart pounded so hard he was sure the other man

could hear it.

“You want to take, take, take and if you can’t readily take it,

you want someone to pay for your unhappiness. Except I won’t.
So what happens now, Junior? What happens when you’re
stuck with someone who doesn’t give a shit how much you try to
take because he’s not going to give in like everyone else?”

Anger tightened Hank’s jaw so that all his words sounded

forced. “It’s easy for you to knock me down, isn’t it? It’s easy
for you to say what you think, accept it as fact and never bother
to find out if you’re right.”

to find out if you’re right.”

“Tell me where I’m wrong,” Monty said.

Monty spat on his hand, then reached between them to hold

Hank’s cock loosely. It surprised Hank to realize that he’d
forgotten about his dick the minute discussion got serious. Monty
gave him a stroke that twisted around the sensitive head. He felt
every callous, and Hank gasped on a shudder.

“Where am I wrong?” Monty asked this time. “You don’t use

sex as a weapon?”

He stroked to the base of Hank’s cock, swiped the side of a

finger over Hank’s balls making Hank groan.

“You don’t like to be in control?” Monty questioned.

Up to the tip. The thumb swirling through the moister at the

tip.

“You don’t shock people to deflect them from the real

questions?” Monty continued.

And down, but Monty’s hand moved faster now, pulling

Hank’s breath from him as surely as he pulled on his dick. Hank
wrapped his fingers around Monty’s wrist, not sure if he wanted
the man to stop or keep going. If he could just make Monty shut
up.

“That’s what I accused you of,” Monty recounted. “Where

am I wrong?”

am I wrong?”

He wasn’t. But Hank had reasons, damn it. And despite what

Monty believed, they weren’t about attention. At least not the
way he meant.

“Tell me, or I’ll stop,” Monty said.

He wanted that, right? He wanted Monty to stop touching

him in ways that made Hank want to forget everything but
throwing himself at the other man and beg to be fucked, held,
understood? His eyes flared wide as the thought hit him. God,
no. No, no, no, no, no! He did not need Monty to understand
him. He did not need this callous-handed goon of his father’s to
hold him, want him.

Did he?

Tears squeezed from the corners of Hank’s eyes as he tried

to block out the thoughts.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you or anyone else,” he

snapped through the haze of tears.

Monty leaned in, kissed him softly. “Tell me what you’re

really after.”

Monty’s pace remained steady. Hank was gasping now.

Release was so close, so fucking close. Monty’s lips brushed his
cheek, his ear.

Hank swore.

“There’s no one here but us,” Monty whispered. “No one

here to know what you say to me. No one but me. Tell me why
you fight so hard, Hank.”

Hank gritted his teeth. He wanted to say it, to confess all of it.

He just didn’t think he could stand the judgment or hear the
words come out of his mouth without crying. He didn’t want to
cry. Not here. Not with Monty. Not for his father. Not for
anything.

“No,” Hank ground out.

Monty’s hand stopped moving on Hank’s cock, and Hank

thought he might lose his mind.

“Why’d you stop?” Hank rasped in a near panic.

“You said no. Are you asking me not to stop touching you?”

Monty clarified.

“Yes. Don’t stop touching me. Please.”

Monty smiled. “Do you like what I’m doing?”

“Of course not. My dick gets leaky for shits and giggles,”

Hank snarled.

Monty tsked. “Be nice.”

Hank gave a muffled shout of frustration that had Monty

chuckling again. “What do you want from me?” Hank snarled.

“The truth.” Monty’s hand closed around Hank’s cock again

as he waited.

“I want you to touch me.” He fought himself to finish the

statement. “I like it. I like your hands on me.”

Monty resumed stroking.

When Monty didn’t patronize him, he risked another

confession. “I want you. I’ve always thought you were hot, but
when you got assigned to me—” So close! Just a few more
strokes.

“When I got assigned to you?” Monty reminded him.

“I wanted you. Crazy want. Different having you in close

quarters.”

Monty flicked his tongue along the side of Hank’s neck.

“How bad did you want me, Hank?”

“Pretty blue eyes over me. Makes me hard thinking of you

over me.”

“You’re already hard,” Monty pointed out. “Look at me.”

Monty pulled back enough that Hank could see those eyes

he’d mentioned. Hank stared into them, even when his vision

he’d mentioned. Hank stared into them, even when his vision
glazed over slightly. His ass tingled. His balls ached. Monty
thumbed Hank’s slit, tapped it, focused his efforts on the bundle
of nerves on the underside of Hank’s cockhead. Hank gasped,
trying to pull in air, but his lungs acted like they didn’t work
properly.

“Give it to me, Junior. Paint my chest. Show me how much

you want me. Prove it to me.”

Those hot, dark words rumbled over Hank’s skin like

thunder across the desert floor, promising, promising. Hank’s
lips were parted, unable to make more than basic sounds as
pleasure overrode him. Monty took advantage, kissing him deep
and long. He tangled their tongues and sucked Hank’s into his
mouth.

Hank shuddered as cum streaked up his cock and pumped in

thick jets away from his body. He gave everything to the man
who’d coaxed it from him until there was nothing left. Still
Monty’s mouth battled for dominance, though Hank was far
from interested in stopping him.

Finally, Monty’s sensual mouth lifted. He looked Hank in the

eyes. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Hank pushed them both away from the counter. He lowered

to his knees and looked up at Monty. “Let me?” he asked.

A strange expression filtered across the agent’s face, but he

A strange expression filtered across the agent’s face, but he

nodded as though uncertain he should. Still Hank waited for
permission. He didn’t know why he needed to hear it. Maybe it
was because of the way Monty had made him confess to his
needs earlier.

Maybe it was because he didn’t want this to be a fight of

wills. All he knew for certain was that he needed Monty to tell
him it was okay. That Monty wanted him to continue. That
Monty knew Hank wouldn’t take his cock without permission.

Monty held Hank’s gaze. The younger man waited for

Monty’s permission. He didn’t have to say it for Monty to see it
in his gray eyes. There was a need to please and insecurity
trapped in those depths. He sifted his fingers through Hank’s
hair. He felt a small measure of pride for the man, knowing the
wait wasn’t easy and knowing too that Hank hadn’t had time to
think about it yet. When he did, when the haze of lust had worn
off, he’d be fighting mad.

Monty wanted to give him that space of seconds to really

think about what he was offering. But like the last time Hank had
been on his knees, his eyes told Monty he had no reservations.
His pink lips parted, and he swished his open mouth over
Monty’s engorged crown.

“Let me,” Hank repeated, the words working like a wet kiss

on Monty’s flesh.

“Hank,” Monty said gruffly.

“Hank,” Monty said gruffly.

He waited for Hank’s gaze to find his and found the

composition of hungry gray eyes and open wet mouth at this
angle to be the most erotic thing he’d seen to date. His cock
wept. A pearl of liquid slid to the center of Hank’s bottom lip
and still Hank waited even though he fairly vibrated to taste
Monty.

“Take me deep,” he directed Hank softly.

Hank’s mouth closed on Monty’s flesh. He hissed at the

sensation of hot and wet encasing his dick. Hank did as he was
told, taking Monty deep into his mouth, adjusting and then
accepting more as Monty felt himself slide into the younger
man’s throat.

“God, yes. So good,” he praised Hank.

Monty slipped his other hand into Hank’s hair too, loving the

silken texture of the short strands between his fingers and against
his palm. Hank’s hands caressed the backs of Monty’s thighs
higher and higher until they rhythmically squeezed his ass cheeks
on each draw. Hank looked up at him, and Monty couldn’t tear
his eyes away from the beautiful man sucking his cock.

“Like that,” Monty encouraged.

Hank hummed with pleasure. Monty’s eyes nearly rolled to

the back of his skull as the vibrations plucked along the tiny

the back of his skull as the vibrations plucked along the tiny
nerves driving him toward orgasm. He leaned into Hank, rocking
his hips slightly and trying to keep himself in check so as not to
hurt Hank, but Hank didn’t seem to mind. If anything he pushed
himself to take more, adjust faster, swallow deeper. Hank was a
wet sucking dream that sent chills down his spine.

“Suck it,” Monty told him. He twisted his fingers in Hank’s

hair, pulling it just enough to sting which seemed to get Hank hot.

Hank had dropped a hand to his lap, and every demand

Monty made of him, every element of sharpness seemed to
quicken the rapid jerks he gave himself. Monty would remember
that. How could he forget? It was fucking hot to see the younger
man so responsive to commands.

A cool sweat broke out across his shoulders, and moisture

dampened the base of the dip in his lower spine. Hank’s fingers
clutched him. And Monty lost himself in the flex of those
relentless fingers, the gentle slap of his balls on Hank’s chin, the
consuming draw on his cock and the soft hungry noises coming
from the man hell-bent on giving Monty the best orgasm of his
life.

“I’m coming.” Monty gripped Hank’s head tightly, not letting

the other man pull off, though Hank made no effort to do so. But
the show of strength, the perception of demand was what he
knew appealed to Hank, and so he held fast. “You’re going to
swallow every last drop.”

swallow every last drop.”

Hank’s fist wrapped the root of Monty’s cock as he turned

his attention to an oral assault on Monty’s cockhead. His tongue
dipped into the seeping slit, traced the heavy vein running the
length of the shaft and flicked that indefinable pleasure spot
under the rim of the flared crown.

Monty hissed. His balls tingled, and cum shot up his length,

into the hidden depths of Hank’s throat. “Suck it,” Monty
demanded between grunts.

Monty saw stars explode in his vision. His knees nearly

buckled, but Hank held him up, cleaned him off then sat back on
his heels.

“I knew I’d get you sooner or later,” Hank said.

Monty’s nostrils flared. He hauled Hank to his feet. “Did you

now?”

“It was a matter of time. I knew I had you the minute you

walked in on me at the Goth”

He studied the younger man for a moment, testing the weight

of his words, then smiled. The kid hadn’t a clue. Not at all. The
eyes he looked into were filled with bravado as he tried to save-
face however he could. Made sense considering the dominant
personality he’d been displaying had just had his sexual ass
handed to him in a series of commands.

“Nice try.” Monty let him go. He walked outside as though

nothing that had happened between them mattered. Let the
snarky little bastard chew on that for a while.

Hank followed. Somewhere between the hair pulling and

having cum shoot across his tongue, he’d known he was in
trouble. Monty seemed to take everything Hank dished out in
stride and throw it back at him. He also seemed to read him a
little too well. No one got under Hank’s skin. No one. It
wouldn’t start now that’s for damn-sure.

As he reached the porch, he saw Monty strolling down the

dock. Mid-morning sunlight hit his golden skin and lit him up. His
short black hair glistened, and Hank found himself hoping that
the man would turn, allow him to admire the rest of him with the
backdrop of the ocean behind him.

“God, he’s gorgeous,” Hank muttered under his breath. “He

fucking knows it too. Or else he doesn’t give a damn.”

Either way, the no-nonsense fearlessness Monty wore like a

second skin drew a desperate groan from Hank’s lips. Already,
his flagging cock filled. Even this soon was uncharacteristic of
Hank, but he just couldn’t seem to get enough of the agent. It
drove Hank half-crazy that the agent didn’t seem to feel the
same way about him.

Hank wasn’t used to it. Being ignored wasn’t something that

happened to him in clubs with other men—or with women. The

happened to him in clubs with other men—or with women. The
silence of the cabin on the water and the presence of the only
other human in his immediate vicinity not caring if he drank too
much or wanted fuck something, left him feeling out of sorts.

He shifted, uneasy with the powerlessness of it all. The lack

of structure to the days and expectations. President Dad
wanted him to sit still and calm down? Wanted him out of sight
and out of mind? Maybe, but Hank never did take instruction
well. At least not until that morning.

His dick got rock-hard as he remembered taking those

instructions. He rubbed himself absently. Dad may think he’d
gotten rid of him, but he had another thing coming. A smirk
curled his lips as he started to hatch a new plan. One that
involved putting both his father and Monty back in their rightful
places—although in completely different ways.

Chapter Seven

Monty gave him a little less than twenty four hours to cool off.

Hank had been shooting him glares since Monty had walked
away after the mind-numbing blowjob, intent on keeping the kid
in his place. Hank was used to having command of everyone
around him. The experience of not having control over Monty’s
actions was exactly what he needed—to Monty’s way of
thinking.

But the more hours that passed in tense silence the worse

Hank’s attitude became. Then maintaining his distance became
less about teaching Hank a lesson and more about keeping his
hands to himself.

Monty had served the president long enough to know the

dynamic between father and son. He’d seen the separation
between the two men grow until it had reached a fracturing point
six months ago when Mrs. McClaren died. He even thought he
knew why Hank hated his father, but knowing it for himself and
getting Hank to admit it were entirely different things.

Whatever was going on there, Monty was sure of one thing,

he had to get Hank to break. The façade he put up—the
carefree, selfish partier—came off too cheerfully forced to be
more than just that. Grief possibly caused it, but there was fire
beneath the grief. Anger. But the anger seemed to be directly
aimed at his father, not at the loss of his mother.

Hank wasn’t a child. He needed to deal with it to move on,

and the more he got to know the kid the more he wanted Hank
to heal. There was passion lurking beneath the surface. The
capacity for it, the desperation in his eyes mingled with hope
weren’t things Monty associated with sabotage. They were cries
for help, cries for understanding. But how did you understand
someone who refused to communicate the problem?

The president had said as much to Monty one night after a

long day of negotiations. He’d sat in his hotel suite in Paris, in
front of the fireplace, swirling a glass of amber liquid. Whiskey,
Monty had guessed from the pungent smell. The president had
stared into it, and with Monty stationed at the entry, the
president had crumbled into broken sobs at the news of his
wife’s death and his son’s refusal to take his calls.

Monty wouldn’t forget that moment. Not ever. But looking at

the son, he knew Hank had hurt too. He’d done his grieving just
as alone as his father, and he’d come out the other side angry,
bitter, destructive.

Why?

Monty picked up his paper breakfast plate. Nothing remained

except crumbs from his toast and eggs. Hank stared off as he
continued to chew.

“We need to go fishing before it gets too hot,” Monty said.

Hank’s gaze lifted. Almost out of defiance, he tore off another

bite of his toast with flashing teeth. “It’s barely light out.”

“Finish up.”

“I’ll stay here,” Hank countered. “Without you banging

around, I might actually get some sleep.”

“You’ll go with me so I can keep you safe.”

“So I don’t run away?” Hank corrected, his eyes cut at

Monty.

Monty leaned on the table top, not caring that he crushed the

plate in his fist as he leaned down nose to nose with Hank.
“Exactly.”

“Say what you mean, then.”

Monty searched the other man’s eyes. “Take your own

advice.”

Hank pushed his plate back from the table. “Okay. I don’t

fish.”

fish.”

“You will today.”

“I buy fish. I cook fish. I eat fish. I don’t fish.”

“Today, you will.” Monty stood his full height. “I’ll teach

you.”

“In the real world I only have to know where to find the

grocery store.”

“You think so?” Monty folded his arms across his chest.

“Because the way I see it, this is real, and if you plan to eat,
you’ll plan to provide. Get your ass up from the table, toss the
bratty attitude and let’s get moving.”

Hank stood up from the table so fast that his chair fell

backward. He glared at Monty as though he thought Monty
would back down. He’d have been wrong. Monty waited him
out until Hank pushed past him, muttering under his breath about
control-freak jackasses and presidential minions. Monty hid his
smile as he left the tiny corner kitchen to get his fishing supplies
together.

Less than five minutes later, they stood on the front porch.

Monty inhaled deeply, loving the moist salty smell of the Gulf as
it met the verdant decay and growth of coastal flora. The
bitterness of swamp water carried in just enough to remind
Monty that it was there, a few miles off, and already the cicadas

Monty that it was there, a few miles off, and already the cicadas
were singing within the shadows of every kudzu-covered tree
trunk. God, he loved Alabama in the summertime.

Hank stepped up beside him. Monty held out the tackle box

blindly, waited for the other man to relieve the weight of it from
his hand and moved off toward the shoreline.

“Are we taking the boat?” Hank asked.

“Nope.”

He heard the unmistakable slap of Hank swatting a mosquito.

“Can we?”

“Nope. Not everything has to be done from the boat.”

“But it could be.”

“C’mon citified sissy boy. Earn some man-stripes today.”

“Do those come in army green or just West Nile?” Hank

snapped.

Monty chuckled. “Mind the ticks.”

“Ticks?”

Monty shot him a backward glance. “More things out here

suck than just you.”

“Fuck you.”

He chuckled and kept trudging through the undergrowth to

get to the part of the shoreline he wanted. The part his dad
cleared under large shade trees where the fish liked to hang out
to get away from the summer heat. A short, wide deck extended
over the water.

Monty put down the Styrofoam container holding the

nightcrawlers he’d picked up from the supply store and kept in
the fridge. He looked from where he squatted.

“Don’t just stand there. Put the tackle box down, and get a

rod ready.”

Hank shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Aren’t they

already ready?”

“Release the hook from where it’s secured and put a section

of worm on it.”

“I have to go dig up worms?” Hank asked, horrified.

Monty sighed, held up the Styrofoam container. “We have

the worms. Cut one in half, and thread it onto the hook.”

Hank thought he might get sick. Mosquitoes. Ticks. Worms.

Fishing. Next thing, Monty would be having him gator wrestle.
They had gators in Alabama, right? He looked at the water’s
edge suspiciously.

“What’s wrong?” Monty asked.

“What’s wrong?” Monty asked.

“Nothing.”

Monty held up a wriggling worm. “Bait it.”

Hank tried not to gag as he baited his hook. Never in his life

had he felt so much like a ten-year-old girl. First, he tried
wrapping the hook with it. Was it more humane to do that and
then drown the worm before it was eaten alive or stab it with the
barbed end? He barely quelled his shiver of revulsion.

Fortunately, Monty saw his dilemma and baited the hook for

him. It was then Hank decided he’d pretend never to hook a
fish. If it ate the bait—even if a gator nabbed it and dragged him
into the water in some kind of death roll—Hank was going to
play it off like nothing was on the line to avoid touching the slimy
nightcrawlers, or in the case of gators, death by chomping.

Monty showed him how to cast his line. Hank fumbled it until

Monty made a scoffing noise and stood behind him. Suddenly
fishing seemed like a lot of fun. At least this part. Monty tucked
Hank’s body against his own. His big hand wrapped around
Hank’s on the rod and depressed his thumb on a lever-thing.
Then swinging it behind him slowly, Monty whipped the rod
around and fishing line zipped from the reel, plunked in the water
and the float bobbed happily on the gentle waves of the inlet.

“Now, you wait,” Monty murmured, stepping away from him.

Monty’s cock no longer pressed Hank’s ass. He decided he

needed to rethink his I got nuthin’ on the line plan. The more
times he had to bait the hook, the more often Monty would show
him how to cast the line, right? He looked at the sexy agent next
to him who busied himself setting up his own line. Hank didn’t
think he could get away with it too many more times, but damn,
he though looking down at lift in his jeans, who knew fishing
could be sexy?

Monty settled on the side of the decking, removed his shoes

and socks. He rolled up his jeans legs and careful not to disturb
the water too much, he dipped his tanned, hairy calves into the
blue water. Hank stared at the way his skin glistened around
hardened calf muscles.

Hank groaned.

Monty cut him a glance. “Sit.”

Hank sat. He hurried to get his feet in the water next to

Monty.

“Don’t splash. You’re scaring the fish.”

“Sorry,” Hank muttered too busy eying Monty’s thighs and

groin.

He didn’t know what it was about the man that kept him in a

tailspin. He wanted Monty like no one he’d met before. He
thought it might be because he could get other guys. Not just

thought it might be because he could get other guys. Not just
understand their very basic drives to fuck—there was always
that—but he couldn’t seem to get under Monty’s skin the way
he could with club fucks.

Monty made him want to do things. The guys Hank had been

spending time with lately, mostly made him yawn after he’d
gotten off. But even that wasn’t completely right. The last guy,
the guy Monty called the Goth, hadn’t done it for Hank. As
much as he hated to admit it, he suspected that it was because
Monty had been right outside the door. With the sexy, lean agent
nearby, all of Hank’s thoughts had been on him, not the guy in
his bed with Hank’s dick in his mouth. And that had been the
first moment Hank realized that maybe he was a little bit in
trouble.

“My dad used to bring me here. We’d spend a couple weeks

every summer just fishing and camping,” Monty revealed.

“Hm.”

“Did you and your dad ever have something like that?”

Monty asked.

Hank narrowed his eyes on the end of the fishing pole. “Not

really.”

“But there was something you two did together?”

“Is this therapy?” Hank countered.

“Is this therapy?” Hank countered.

“It’s conversation. I share something. You share something.

We talk, and nobody gets defensive. Normal people do it all the
time,” Monty explained.

“Gee, thanks for the clarification.”

“No problem.”

Hank tugged on his rod, watching the red and white float bob

gently on the water’s surface. “He used to take me sailing at
Martha’s Vineyard when I was a kid.”

“Do you like sailing?”

“I used to.”

“What changed?” Monty asked.

“My dad,” Hank answered flatly.

“He stopped taking you?”

Hank shrugged, not comfortable with the direction of the

conversation. He had no interest in getting personal about his
relationship with his father. Not with Monty who was clearly on
the “Mr. McClaren rocks” team.

“My dad and I could sit for hours without talking and be

completely at peace,” Monty told him.

“That sounds like a plan. Let’s try that.”

“That sounds like a plan. Let’s try that.”

Monty snorted.

“Or we could fuck,” Hank offered hopefully.

“You go from zero to sixty faster than a stock car.”

“What’s the hold up? I like cock. You like cock. Let’s use

the rods nature gave us and catch some real fun.”

Monty shifted to the side to look at him more fully. “Slow

down.”

Hank huffed impatiently. “Why? So you can psychoanalyze

me some more?”

A ghost of a smile touched the agent’s lips. “I’m trying to

understand you.”

“That’s easy.” Hank licked his lips and spoke slowly like

Monty was mentally challenged. “I. Want. To. Fuck. You.”

Something hot flared in Monty’s eyes, something that teetered

between hunger and anger. “You want to fuck. I got that. You
know what gets me in the mood?”

“A hard dick?” Hank tried.

“The guy I’m with. Maybe it’s old-fashioned, but I want to

know the man I’m plowing.”

Hank put down his fishing pole. He leaned sideways on one

locked arm. “My favorite color is green. I’m an only child with
commitment issues. I hate slow kisses because they take too
damn long, and I’m always up for rough sex. Hi.”

Seemingly despite himself, Monty laughed. He picked up the

discarded fishing pole and handed it back to Hank. “Hang onto
this. If you get a bite, I don’t want to lose a piece of my
childhood because you’d rather be choking down a cock right
now.”

“Yours. Your cock,” Hank specified.

That seemed to get Monty’s attention. “Why mine

specifically?”

Hank gestured to the empty clearing and the expanse of the

inlet. “Do you see another cock in sight?”

Disappointment pulled at Monty’s brow. “Go jack off. Come

back when you’re ready to have a real discussion.”

Hank groaned. Probably the thing he hated most about how

things were going with Monty was that the man made Hank feel
like a complete asshole. Hank never kept his one-nighters
around long enough to let them form an opinion of him. The
problem was he couldn’t get away from Monty. Monty had not
only been in his dad’s service for the last couple years, and he’d
been there through the death of Hank’s mother.

It wasn’t that he cared what Monty thought of him. It was

more that Monty kept calling Hank on his shit, which no one did.
And that sucked because no matter what Hank did or said,
Monty wasn’t budging in his assertion that there was more to
Hank than he let on. A one-nighter didn’t question what he saw.
He didn’t care what he saw so long as the promised fuck
occurred.

Monty cared, which meant Hank had to scramble to make

him stop. He needed Monty to stop. It shook Hank up. He
didn’t want it analyzed. He didn’t want to explain himself or how
he felt. He just wanted Monty to stop chipping away at him. It
didn’t take a genius to know Hank had his defenses up. It didn’t
take a lot of self-awareness either. He knew he pushed people
away. He just wished Monty would accept that and leave him
alone—emotionally. Physically? He wanted Monty every which
way he could get him. The man was a walking orgasm.

Maybe coming clean would finally shut the agent up. Maybe if

he stopped skirting the elephant on the dock, he’d lock the door
and Monty would finally respect his need for privacy on the
subject.

He watched the slightly older man from the corner of his eye.

Monty had turned back to the water at some point when Hank
wasn’t paying attention. He decided to do the same. If he didn’t
look at the other man while he spoke, maybe it would all be
easier to say, and they could move on.

easier to say, and they could move on.

Hank cleared his throat. It took him a couple seconds to form

the first words even though Monty hadn’t yet recognized, or
acknowledged, that Hank was on the verge of speaking. Or
maybe he did? It was hard to tell as he continued to sit in silence,
looking out at the water with eyes the same gorgeous blue as the
water circling his calves.

“I know what you’re trying to do. You want me to talk about

my dad,” Hank said.

He waited for Monty to say something. He didn’t.

“You want me to talk about my relationship with my dad, to

be specific. There isn’t one.”

Monty gently swished his legs in the water. He didn’t speak.

His fingers touched the transparent line, let it rest on the side of
his pointer finger as he change grips.

“He stopped being interested in me and Mom when he ran

for office,” Hank said sharply.

Monty reeled in his line. Hank watched as he applied fresh

bait to an empty hook. Obviously the bait had been nibbled off.
Monty swung the rod to the side and flung it. The whir, click,
click, click, splash landed the hook far off into the water. Hank
watched it for a few minutes. Watched Monty adjust his line, his
hold. Monty took a deep breath and let it out like he had all the

hold. Monty took a deep breath and let it out like he had all the
time in the world to sit and wait for fish to come.

Hank licked his lips. Without Monty sparring at him, Hank

felt his defenses drop a little. It was like being alone without
being alone.

“Mom used to grab my hand at public events. We’d stand

behind him at the podium, and she’d give me a double-squeeze.
She told me that was code for I love you.”

He shot a sideways look at Monty. Monty didn’t move.

Didn’t comment. He didn’t even look like he was listening. Hank
felt himself relax a little more. He hadn’t talked about his mom
since the funeral. His heart pounded a little faster to be doing it
now, but no one was around to hear. No one but Monty, and
Monty was Secret Service. He wouldn’t be talking to anyone
about what he heard.

“She said that no matter what was happening out there—in

the audience, in the media—no matter what they saw, we’d
always have that secret squeeze. It started when I was a kid and
being in the public eye scared me. I got older, and she didn’t
hold my hand anymore, but sometimes she’d see me tense up, or
I’d see her tense up, and we’d give a double-squeeze and let go.
Just so we knew we still had the support of one other person
there who loved us.”

Hank picked at the wrapped grip of his fishing rod. He

supposed he should pull in his hook, check the bait like Monty

supposed he should pull in his hook, check the bait like Monty
had, but he didn’t. He let it sit out there on waves that had
already taken it to shore.

Monty cast his line farther out again.

“I don’t know when it happened,” Hank said, lost in thought

and not caring to provide a beginning line of conversation.

The words flowed easier now. He hadn’t said them aloud,

ever, and there was a relief in it.

“He went from dad to politician so gradually that I didn’t

really notice at first. He had this duty, and Mom supported it. I
supported it. It’s just how things were. We all played our parts. I
watched Mom get sick. He left for functions and dinners, while I
took her to the doctors and through chemo. He’d pat her hand,
but I held it. She withered away!” Hank said, suddenly angry.
“And he let her. He let her die and never bothered to show up!”

Tears stung Hank’s eyes, and he tried to blink them away.

“He fucking let her die. I held her hand in the hospital every

day. I watched her smile as she pretended that everything was
fine and that Dad was where he needed to be—which was
bullshit, because he should’ve been with her, not at a State
dinner.”

He turned to Monty, suddenly needing to see him react.

Needing to see him acknowledge that the president he served

was less than human. He pushed Monty’s shoulder. Monty
looked at him.

“Do you know what she did when she couldn’t talk anymore?

When the tubes in her throat kept her from speaking and dried
out her throat? She squeezed my hand, Monty! He should’ve
been there to comfort her, us—but he was in France not giving a
shit when his wife died. When she reached out to say goodbye
the only way she had left.” Hank leapt to his feet and dropped
the rod. “This is for shit. All of it. You serve a guy you have to
serve, but he’s not someone you should respect. He’s a selfish
jackass. A hypocrite on the stand of family values.”

“He’s broken,” Monty said softly.

“He can’t be broken. He’s not human enough to break.”

Hank turned on his heel and started running. He heard a curse

and the sound of Monty following him. Hank pushed through the
trees blindly shoving at branches and undergrowth. It scratched
at him all the same, tore at his arms and body like claws.

Monty grabbed his shoulder, slowing him. Hank pushed at his

hand, but the man held firm. The slightly fishy smell of working
with tackle, the scent of working with worms, the stink of the
mulching woods and their own sweat perfumed the air as Monty
shoved him against a kudzu-covered tree. Hank squirmed,
thinking of all the bugs that could be hiding beneath the bright
green leaves of the tree-choking ivy.

green leaves of the tree-choking ivy.

He wanted to punish—someone. His father for leaving them

to deal with death alone. The American people for having an
opinion about him that they had no business forming. Monty for
making him think he could talk about it, and it would be okay.
Himself for feeling like shit.

Monty was the only one he was willing to fight, so he fought.

He shouted, hit, swung a fist and missed. He grunted as he tried
to bodyslam Monty and failed without the momentum he needed,
pinned as he was.

“Fuck you!” he shouted.

Monty’s arm braced across Hank’s chest. He leaned the

weight of his body, and Hank howled in frustration that he
couldn’t break free. A hand unsnapped and unzipped his jeans
seconds before he realized what was happening. A hard,
calloused hand reached inside and grabbed Hank’s cock.

He should have been turned off, disgusted. The fishiness and

forest stink closed around him, and Hank’s nostrils flared.
Crickets whined all around them, and the leaves moved with life
and wind. These weren’t the smells, sounds, and sensations of
pleasure. They were gross, basic, sweat-ridden, earthy. The
hands on his flesh had touched nasty things and—oh, God—he
needed it!

Monty’s hand stroked Hank’s cock briskly. Dry and rough, it

Monty’s hand stroked Hank’s cock briskly. Dry and rough, it

worked the sensitive flesh of Hank’s shaft while steely eyes
stared deep into his, willed him to look back.

“Fuck the world, Hank. Fuck it. Fuck them all,” Monty

growled. “Give it to them. Give it to me. Show me just how
pissed off you really are.”

Hank’s mind clamped around Monty’s words. They didn’t

make any sense and yet they did. This wasn’t about getting off, it
was about getting even. It was about taking control back and
throwing it in their faces. It was—it wasn’t any of that. It was
Monty pulling it all out of him, every last bit of himself until there
was nothing left to expose.

Tears spilled down Hank’s cheeks. He hurt inside and out.

His cock chaffed and yet he reveled in it, thrust his hips as he
shouted obscenities that no longer linked to anything but hatred
and anger for everyone and everything.

“Fuck ‘em all, Hank. Fuck ‘em.”

Hank beat on Monty’s chest and suddenly he saw sparks of

light behind his lids. Cum shot from him in long ropes until finally
Hank sagged against the tree, breathing hard and completely
spent.

Monty whispered something. Hank’s ears still rang, and he

couldn’t understand the soft words. Lips met his, brushing,
caressing, testing Hank’s. Breathlessly, and too tired to keep

caressing, testing Hank’s. Breathlessly, and too tired to keep
fighting what felt like an onslaught beyond his control, he let
them.

They brushed over his cheek, his jaw. They whispered the

word beautiful against his earlobe, and he hung on those three
syllables like they were salvation. He didn’t remember reaching
for Monty, but he clutched the other man’s shoulders.

Monty’s strength held him up, gave him a barrier to the rest of

the world, comfort and peace. How was that possible? Why
was he doing this? Why was Hank letting him? He stopped
wondering and let his head sag forward, taking the comfort
Monty offered for as long as he offered it.

Finally the senseless whispers stopped, and Monty held him.

He stroked the back of Hank’s hair. “I’ve got you,” he
murmured. “It’s just us, and I’ve got you.”

And that’s when Hank started crying in earnest. He sobbed

the way he hadn’t let himself when his mother died six months
ago, and the way he’d never been allowed to as a small child in
the spotlight of his father’s success. He thought he’d been
emptied, but there was still this and Monty took it all, holding,
rocking, letting another grown man fall apart in his arms without
judgment. Hank knew he’d regret it later, but for the moment, he
took everything Monty offered. It was a lifeline.

Chapter Eight

Hank’s grief rocked Monty to the core, left him shaken and

at a loss. He’d brought Hank to the cabin to get to the bottom of
his behavior while getting him off the grid and out of the public
eye. He’d done it as his duty and to make sure the son of the
President of the United States didn’t alter the course of an
election because of a grudge he held against his father.

He’d had no idea how much pain lurked beneath the surface

of the other man.

He’d suspected. He’d witnessed years of relationship

problems between father and son. He’d even seen the fallout of
Mrs. McClaren’s death, but from the perspective of how
President McClaren had struggled to hold it all together and his
residual guilt. He’d even been a silent bystander in the doorway
of the hospital room when Mrs. McClaren had sent him off to
handle his sworn duties—refusing to let him show weakness in
her final days.

And he’d been there through the catastrophe when White

And he’d been there through the catastrophe when White

House spin doctors had taken his absence and lied that the
president had been unaware of the imminent death of his wife
while he was away overseas. The president had known and had
been pushed to his duty by the dying wish of his wife and his
inability to watch her go.

Monty knew that side. Hank’s side was different. The

president hadn’t seen any of it. He’d only seen the Hank go from
a strong, carefree young man to a national disaster. All the pieces
fit, and God help him, he understood the visceral collapse.
Losing his own father, their closeness, Monty remembered the
pain. Though he’d known the loss was great for Hank, he hadn’t
once, in all that time of service, put himself in Hank’s shoes long
enough to see that in all his posturing and antics, the one he really
hurt was himself.

President McClaren had been wrong. He dealt with his grief

how he’d needed to, and there was no judgment in that, but he’d
let his son flounder without explanation or support.

Yeah, it shook Monty up because now all he wanted to do

was protect Hank and take away his pain. He shouldn’t be
feeling that way. In fact, feeling that way was dangerous, and
he’d have to make a point of not feeling that way again.

Hank was silent as they took the boat to the supply store.

Monty left him at the register while he collected a box of fresh
foods and fish since they hadn’t caught any that morning. He also

checked for messages.

When he got to the register, Hank’s smug mask had settled

into place. The old shop owner, a man Monty had known his
whole life, blushed and wouldn’t meet his eyes as he checked
their purchases.

Monty frowned. Hank was up to something, and that never

boded well. Hank didn’t keep the expression all the way back,
but Monty’s mother didn’t breed idiots. The guy was up to
something, and it had Monty on guard.

They reached the dock, and Hank tied off the skiff before

helping remove groceries from the boat. Monty stepped onto the
dock, leaned down to hoist one of the boxes of goods when a
small rectangular box dropped on top of where Monty could see
it.

Condoms.

He lifted the box like he hadn’t noticed or cared and took it

inside. His cock filled with every step and with every step he
reminded himself of all the reasons fucking the president’s son
was a bad, stupid, moronic, dumb, suicidal thing to do. His cock
didn’t care. His cock practically sang with eagerness.

He left Hank to carry the other box on his own. Going back

out would only make Monty a sundial. So he unloaded the cold
storage foods and put them away instead. Each time he took
something from the box, the condoms dropped onto another

something from the box, the condoms dropped onto another
item until they hit the bottom, and Hank was walking through the
door, whistling.

Monty turned the box upside down, dumping the tiny

container of seduction on the small space beside the sink. He
stored the box and turned to silently unload the smaller second
box with cereal and potatoes in it.

Hank leaned a hip against the counter and folded his arms

across his chest. He sported the widest shit-eating grin Monty
had seen in a while.

“Hey,” Hank said after a moment. “You did tell me to fuck

everyone. I’m choosing to start with you.”

The sudden introduction of words in his otherwise silent

space had Monty stopping in his tracks. Every nerve ending
vibrated on edge. He hadn’t gotten off that morning. He still had
a load that wanted out. His cock was more than ready to get on
with the program.

Worse, he wanted Hank tied to the Murphy bed with his ass

in the air. Or legs draped over Monty’s shoulders with the look
of loss and ecstasy he had in the middle of coming. Or on his
knees taking Monty’s cock deep until his eyes watered again. Or
with his legs wrapped around Monty’s waist, begging him to go
deeper until Monty shattered inside him and let go of his own
restraints, let go of the self-preserving instinct that he needed to

restraints, let go of the self-preserving instinct that he needed to
be very careful or lose his heart to Hank.

Would Hank know what to do with it when he had it? Would

he laugh and pretend it had all been about the fuck, or would he
fall apart like he had in the woods and let Monty in, the way he
hadn’t let anyone else?

He wanted the guy under the façade so powerfully he

practically shook with it. He wanted Hank. The real Hank. The
one who hurt and cried and let himself be held. The other Hank
could go to hell. There was a huge difference in the two personas
and this time Monty had proof that the one he had known was in
there somewhere, existed. That Hank was his. Or he would be
when Hank got over himself, dealt with a few things.

“This isn’t a club, and I’m not some fresh-faced kid wanting a

quick screw,” Monty informed him.

Hank moved closer. “No. This isn’t. You aren’t, and I’m

positive that screwing you is an all-night adventure.”

God, the mouth on this one. He had the cockiness of a guy

with a lot less to hide. Did Monty have the balls to take him up
on it? He’d like to think so, but suddenly, he wasn’t so sure.

“I see a problem with your plan,” Monty said.

“What’s the problem?”

“You hate slow kisses and anything that smacks of personal

“You hate slow kisses and anything that smacks of personal

investment. I’m a personal investment kind of guy.”

A shadow of an expression filtered across Hank’s face. It

looked like uncertainty. “I liked today,” he hedged.

“Today wasn’t slow. Today didn’t have anything to do with

me.” Monty pushed the box over and came to stand in front of
the other man. “If you and I hook up, you won’t only know I’m
the one fucking you, but I won’t give you the opportunity to
forget it.”

Hank lifted a brow. His gaze searched Monty’s. “That

sounds an awful lot like commitment.”

It did, and Monty felt a moment of panic when he realized he

still meant it. “Is that what it sounds like?” he asked instead,
throwing the impression back on Hank. “I told you before I
wasn’t a one-night fuck. Nothing’s changed.”

“Nothing except a blowjob and a handjob in the last day and

a half,” Hank challenged.

“Do they change things for you?” Monty asked rhetorically,

caging him in until Hank no longer leaned a hip on the counter
but had the edge at his back.

“For a guy not interested in sex, you’re acting a lot like a guy

interested in sex.”

Monty grinned. “Who said I wasn’t interested in sex?”

Monty grinned. “Who said I wasn’t interested in sex?”

“Oh, so this is a word game now?”

“It all depends on you.”

Hank’s breathing had changed, and his gaze had locked on

Monty’s lips. “I like being in control.”

“Who said you were in control?”

“Technically? You did,” Hank reminded him.

“Did I? I don’t remember. You’re distracting me.”

Air rushed out of Hank’s lungs. “Are you as hot as I am right

now?”

“Hotter, but that doesn’t change the one thing I need to

know.”

“Which is?” Hank murmured.

“Fuck it. I’ll figure it out later,” Monty muttered, grabbing the

box of condoms.

He spun Hank, pinned his arm behind his back and forced

him to the beds. After pulling down one of the Murphy’s, he
shoved Hank to the mattress and dropped the box on his belly.
Monty straddled him and tore off his shirt while Hank wriggled
out of his own. Hank reached for Monty’s fly. Monty kicked off
his shoes, knocked Hank’s hands away and stood up to take off

his shoes, knocked Hank’s hands away and stood up to take off
his pants, irritated that he hadn’t thought to do that already. It
was Hank. He had Monty so mixed up inside, wanting so badly
that he’d completely lost any semblance of smoothness.

Hank already had his pants to his knees, and Monty helped

pull them the rest of the way off. Hank freed a packet from the
string of condoms. Monty took it and dressed himself.

“I don’t have lube,” Monty rasped.

“It’s in the box you didn’t unpack.”

Monty started to get up.

Hank grabbed his wrist. “I want it raw.”

Monty looked down at the younger man. His wide gray eyes

looked up at him trustingly. His lips were parted, and the pulse
point in the hollow of his neck raced steadily. His hair slipped off
his forehead. Monty traced his bottom lip with the pad of his
thumb.

“I want it to hurt,” Hank explained.

Monty narrowed his eyes, looking for whatever Hank wasn’t

telling him. “Why?”

“I want you inside me,” Hank said, his voice gravelly.

Monty laced his fingers with Hank’s and pressed them to the

mattress beside Hank’s head. He settled against the younger

mattress beside Hank’s head. He settled against the younger
man, stretching their bodies together until there was no denying
that Monty possessed every inch of Hank’s attention from head
to toe.

“You want it to hurt so that you don’t connect sex with me as

anything more than need,” Monty deduced.

Hank blushed. “My kinks are my own.”

“Not when they involve me. You want me to hurt you so that

you remember pain instead of something more personal.”

Monty shifted, lining his cock alongside Hank’s. He tilted his

hips to let them rub together. He smiled when Hank hissed.

“Hank,” he whispered. “I’m not going to give you the option.

It’ll be raw, but you’re gonna feel good, baby. I’m not letting
you throw your memory of this into the same dungeon as all the
others.”

Fear flickered in Hank’s eyes, but he didn’t protest, and

Monty had to believe that part of him wanted that kind of
dominance. In that case, dominance was what he’d give him. He
started with a slow kiss for the simple reason that Hank didn’t
like them. Now that he knew why, Monty planned on pushing
him to his limits, partly because Hank needed it, partly because
Monty needed Hank to feel something for him beyond lust.

He released the other man’s hands and slipped his hands

He released the other man’s hands and slipped his hands

under Hank’s shoulders to cup the back of his gorgeous blond
head. Monty covered Hank’s mouth with feathery kisses,
flickering touches that moved over every soft millimeter. He
learned the other man’s mouth, the way it moved, parted. He
tested the fullness of the upper lip with a flick to the upper
center. Hank moaned, but Monty didn’t relent when the younger
man tried to increase the pressure. There was a sweetness at the
corners of Hank’s lips, so he teased those too.

Hank reached around Monty, his hands dragging down his

spine and stroking his ass. He squeezed. Monty thrust
reflexively, and Hank gasped. Monty took advantage and
deepened the kiss with exploratory tastes. He dragged his hands
down and around to touch the pliant, smooth chest beneath him.
Hank’s tight little nipples pushed up just as demanding as the
man. When he passed over them, he discovered another little
pleasure. Hank’s nipples were extremely sensitive.

He took his time thumbing over them, scraping his nails along

the nubs until the younger man writhed and pleaded for him to
fucking hurry up. Monty moved from Hank’s mouth to his jaw,
following the line to his neck and enjoying every texture along the
way. He suckled a spot to the side where the neck corded.
Hank bucked up and dug his nails into Monty’s ass.

“Monty, if this is a challenge, you win. I call Uncle.”

Monty nearly lost himself when Hank parted his legs and

wrapped them around Monty’s waist. The contact was so

wrapped them around Monty’s waist. The contact was so
intimate, so hot with his body open and Monty’s balls falling
against the other man’s parted ass and scrotum. He swore
viciously.

He sucked hard on Hank’s shoulder. Hank turned his face

into Monty’s neck, and that gorgeous mouth closed on a sweet
spot that had Monty turning hot and cold. Pre-cum leaked into
the condom.

“C’mon, show me what the full Monty is capable of,” he

teased. “Pound my ass. Take it hard, and make me come all
over you.”

It would have been a turn off if Monty didn’t have the image

burned into his brain already. He wanted that. Most of all, he
wanted Hank shouting as he came. At the moment, Monty was
more worried about coming before his partner. All the squirming
and harsh demands had his blood in a steady lusty simmer.

He’d wanted to take things slower, but he knew he’d blow

his load if he didn’t get inside Hank fast. He reached between
them and positioned himself at Hank’s opening. He leveled a
look on the other man.

“Knock, knock,” he murmured.

Hank grinned smugly. “About damn time.”

If he’d had an ounce of control, he’d hold off and make the

If he’d had an ounce of control, he’d hold off and make the

kid wait a little longer. Unfortunately, the sexy little shit had him
by the balls. He nipped Hank’s collarbone as he pushed in.
Hank groaned and panted. Monty thought he might explode as
heat gloved his cock in a perfect embrace. Goosebumps raced
up his spine to nest around his shoulders as he moved in and out
of Hank’s tight body.

“Oh, God. Faster.”

“No,” Monty countered roughly.

Hank blinked and stared up at him. Monty never missed his

stride as he hooked one of Hank’s legs over his arm and tilted
his hips to rub across Hank’s prostate. Hank made choking
sounds, trying to squirm away from the concentrated onslaught
of Monty’s seduction. Monty could see Hank trying to shut him
out, trying to resist the pleasure Monty relentlessly sought as he
looked for the pain Monty could only presume he wanted
instead.

Well, Monty wasn’t going to let that happen. With a sharp

thrust, he pinned the man’s hips to the mattress, grabbed Hank’s
hands and pushed them over his head. He directed them to take
hold of the wooden rim at the top of the mattress.

Monty climbed to his knees, spreading his legs wide to push

the other man open, Monty then lifted Hank’s hips to rest higher
as though Monty were serving his cock into the platter of Hank’s
pelvis. He wrapped his hand around Hank’s cock.

pelvis. He wrapped his hand around Hank’s cock.

“Fucking gorgeous sight,” Monty murmured. “I can see all of

you. Every last inch of your body taking my cock.”

He flattened his hand on Hank’s abdomen and rubbed gently.

“Your muscles tighten every time I sink into you.” He stroked his
fingers against the sweet dusky hairless sack that trembled too.

Hank started to reach for him.

“Hold the head rail.” He waited until Hank complied before

he started moving again.

Hank’s back arched. His thighs quivered. “Oh, God. I’m

gonna come.”

“Watch it happen, Hank. Watch it hit me.”

He kept the pace slow and steady even though he knew the

other man wanted him to quicken. He wouldn’t let Hank hide
from what was happening here. He wouldn’t let this be brushed
aside when Hank had finished with him.

Monty swept his thumb over and around Hank’s cockhead.

He dipped into the slit at the top and nudged the nerves just
under the crown.

Hank watched his weeping cock and the darker, roughened

hand that wrapped around it. His hips lifted up at an angle. His
legs parted around the muscled, sleek torso of a sex god.

legs parted around the muscled, sleek torso of a sex god.
Monty’s broad shoulders were all for him. His flexing belly and
compacted moves were for the sole benefit of fucking his ass
and making him come.

It was heady, drugging, toxic. Crystal blue eyes under black

brows stared him down. Perfect, chiseled lips parted on silken
demands he automatically obeyed.

“So sexy,” Monty murmured with praise that heated Hank’s

blood. “Can’t wait to get those balls on my tongue.”

“Fuck!” The mental image is all it took. Hank shot, spilling

jets of cum on Monty’s upper chest. Monty continued to stroke
him down. Then, grabbing Hank’s hips, he pounded into him.
Hank watched in fascination at the fluidity of Monty’s body
taking him. Pain had become pleasure long since, but his ass
stung with the renewed vigor of Monty’s thrusts.

Hank’s gaze locked on his, watched as it intensified and his

pupils dilated. Monty’s lips parted on a groan.

“Fuck me, Monty,” he whispered. Hank locked his elbows

and pushed his ass into him, enjoying the sensation of being
stretched, owned, possessed until a fine thrill raced through him
at the constant abuse his prostate took.

Monty shouted, pulsed inside him as his fingers bit into

Hank’s flesh. God, the man was magnificent when he came. All
tight and glistening muscles in the Alabama heat. His face had

tight and glistening muscles in the Alabama heat. His face had
been total concentration directed at Hank. He’d never
experienced anything like it. Had never had anyone fuck him so
perfectly.

Words filtered back to him now that the haze of orgasm

began to clear. The praise, the touches that he hadn’t been able
to ignore, the way his body had laid open for taking—both erotic
and terrifying. Hank felt sick.

Monty slid from Hank’s body. He got up to discard the

condom. Hank raced to pull on his clothes, his hands shaking.

Monty came back with a severe frown. “What do you think

you’re doing?”

“We’re done. I’m getting dressed. Actually, I think I’ll go for

a swim.”

“I thought you were worried about gators.”

Hank thought gators would be preferable to what he was

feeling right now. He could handle that kind of tangible pain. He
could handle the loss of a limb. He might not recover from this
thing that Monty was doing to him. Whatever it was—because
he wouldn’t look at it too closely, he decided.

“We aren’t done,” Monty countered.

“Yeah, we are,” Hank argued tossing his clothes aside again.

“We fucked. It was good. Don’t get all hung up on me, okay?

“We fucked. It was good. Don’t get all hung up on me, okay?
You just aren’t my type.”

Monty glowered. Hank could practically see the steam

building.

“Hey,” Hank offered. “Maybe we can do it again while we’re

here. You never know.”

He left the cabin before Monty said anything. Eyes bored into

his back, and Hank barely resisted the urge to run. He had to get
away. Monty scared the shit out of him. Fucking him wasn’t just
an exercise in extreme pleasure. It demanded that Hank think,
see and feel way the hell too much, and that shit wasn’t going to
happen. No, sir.

* * * *

Monty gave himself five minutes to calm down, during which

time he watched his charge from the front porch. Hank picked
his way over the shoreline boulders, teetering nakedly one to the
next as he hopped toward the water line. Monty ran a hand
through his hair in frustration. Getting through to Hank was
harder than he’d anticipated. Once he’d set his mind to
accepting the advances of the president’s son, he’d hoped to
crack the polished veneer. That hadn’t happened. Instead, Hank
seemed even harder to reach on a personal level.

The message he’d picked up that afternoon from the Secret

Service contact had been vague. Just an overnight envelope

Service contact had been vague. Just an overnight envelope
carrying a phone number and a single sentence: Call at 3 p.m. in
two days.

The way Monty figured it, he had two days to break the

Hank-code because they’d either get word to continue on at the
cabin, or come home. Either way, Monty wanted to make the
most of their time alone. He could pretend that it was all about
uncovering Hank’s demons so he could return to Washington
with a less destructive attitude, but he’d be lying. It might have
started off like that, with an eye toward fun, but the more time he
spent with the man, the more complex he seemed, the more
wounded.

Deciding he’d waited long enough, Monty shucked the

boxers he’d temporarily donned and picked up a condom. If sex
was the only language Hank would listen to, then he’d make sure
they were speaking the same language.

His cock stirred, and Monty reached down to touch himself

—a cock-check of sorts to acknowledge that all his parts were
in full working order. He set his sights on the wet, naked man
just yards from him and headed toward him. As he drew nearer,
he admired the play of light and water on Hank’s pampered
body, appreciated the pale glow of his ass cheeks as he stood.

Monty reached him easily, slipped an arm around Hank’s

waist and turned the younger man into his arms.

“I told you we weren’t finished,” Monty murmured as he stole

“I told you we weren’t finished,” Monty murmured as he stole

a long, deep kiss.

At first Hank didn’t react, yet the longer they kissed the more

receptive Hank became until his arms circled Monty’s shoulders.
Hank moaned, rubbing his hips against Monty’s raging cock.

When Hank pulled back, he was breathless. “Patriotic duty to

keep the president’s son satisfied?”

“Fucking you wasn’t in my contract,” Monty informed him.

“I’ll be sure you get a medal for this, then. Something with the

Obelisk on it, I’m thinking. Long, hard and straight just like the
dick that pierced my ass. Looks like you’re up for round two.”

Monty held up the condom he’d brought with him.

“I’m flattered, but I believe I told you we were done.”

“And I disagreed.”

Hank laughed. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Get over yourself.”

“It would be so much easier to get over myself, if you weren’t

always trying to pin me down with your penis,” Hank countered.

Monty growled and took Hank’s mouth in another searing

kiss. Hank’s tongue swept past Monty’s lips, taking control,
stealing Monty’s will to slow down. Monty’s stomach

stealing Monty’s will to slow down. Monty’s stomach
plummeted, and he couldn’t resist the urge to grind on the other
man. He lost his mind as Hank’s tongue worked the same magic
he’d used on Monty’s cock. When Hank finished, he sucked
Monty’s bottom lip between his teeth and pulled.

“I think I have a say in this.” Hank’s voice sounded as

unsteady as Monty felt.

Monty was beginning to wonder if either of them had a say

anymore. He tried to shake some of the brain-fog. “You’re all
about control aren’t you?”

“Look who’s talking,” Hank scoffed.

Monty smiled. “Touché.”

“And he speaks French too, ladies and gentlemen. Did you

pick that up in Paris with my dad?” Hank started to pull away.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Monty dragged him back. “You don’t

get to throw a bunch of misguided hate at me when I get a little
too close.”

“You seem to think very highly of your bedroom talents if you

think fucking makes us close.”

“I don’t have to think fucking makes us close. I know it does

because you use sex to either pull away or shut me up when the
topic of conversation get uncomfortable,” Monty noted.

“You use sex to psycho-babble about my motives,” Hank

countered.

“Maybe I want to know the man I’m screwing.”

“Maybe I have no interest in letting you know me.” Hank

forced a bright smile. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re a sexy
secret agent whose dick I intend to make good use of while I’m
in exile. Once we’re back to D.C., we go our separate ways and
every time I see you at my dad’s side, I’ll think of exactly how
good a lay you are. The end.”

Again, Monty pulled the other man back into his arms. “That

mouth is going to get you into a lot of trouble.”

Hank pointed at his lips. “This one? The one that had you

moaning in the kitchen as you shot your load down my throat?”

“That’s the one,” Monty agreed, his voice gravelly.

“You know what I’d like to see?” Hank asked. His gaze

strayed over Monty’s shoulder and back again, his smile
suddenly wicked and knowing. “I’d like to see your mouth
around my dick. But I’m not convinced you know how to give
as good as you get.”

“Your immaturity is showing,” Monty warned. “But your

M.O. is loud and clear.”

“How so?”

“How so?”

“Whenever conversation gets serious, you turn it into sex-

play.”

Hank reached between them. Monty sucked in sharply as

Hank wrapped his warm, firm hand around Monty’s cock and
began a slow glide up and down its length.

“What did you want to talk about?” Hank asked.

Not wanting to get distracted from the point he’d been trying

to make—and failing—Monty searched his brain to remember
why he wanted to talk at all. The president. Right. “Your Dad
may have been in Paris, but he was hurting too.”

A shadow crossed Hank’s features. He walked Monty

backward to the dock. Rough wood bit the back of his thighs.
“Tell you what. If you can manage a conversation while I jack
you off, I’ll answer anything you ask or say.”

“What’s the catch?” Monty asked.

“A blowjob. You talk, I answer, then I get a treat for being a

good boy.”

Monty put the condom on the dock near them and leaned

against it as Hank sank a finger into Monty’s ass. Monty
shuddered. “For duty and country.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to get you through the

day,” Hank murmured. “But we will secretly know you’re

day,” Hank murmured. “But we will secretly know you’re
enjoying every minute of it. At least, admit that much.”

Hank licked Monty’s collarbone and suckled a spot on his

shoulder. Monty moaned.

“Admit it,” Hank said again. “You want me and not just

because you’re trying to get information from me.”

Monty’s brain felt glazed. The words were on his tongue

before he could stop them. “I want you.”

“Am I just a fuck?”

“No,” Monty confessed raggedly.

“I’m not?”

“No.”

“Are you in love with me?” Hank asked. He plucked

Monty’s opening and then dragged his hand forward to cup
Monty’s balls.

“Stop changing the subject,” Monty rasped. “We were

talking about your dad.”

Hank’s gaze swept over Monty’s shoulder, seemed to focus

on something before coming back. Classic avoidance, Monty
thought.

“Ask away,” Hank invited. His thumb swirled over Monty’s

“Ask away,” Hank invited. His thumb swirled over Monty’s

cockhead, tapped the weeping slit.

“Uh—” Monty tried to relocate his brain, but the man tugging

on his dumb-stick seemed in full possession of it. His ass
clenched as the tingles began along his inner thighs and buttocks.
“Your mother told him to leave.”

“That makes no sense.”

“To go to Paris,” Monty tried again.

“She was dying. Why would she do that?” Hank snapped.

His sharp tone brought Monty around a little. “I was there.

She told him Paris was important. Said she’d hang on for him to
come home.”

“Politics were always more important to him than family.”

Hank’s strokes became rougher. Monty clutched the edge of

the dock as his thoughts fractured and jumbled. He was so
close, and thinking wasn’t going smoothly.

“He knew she was dying, and he left anyway. Left me to care

for her and to watch her go, and then didn’t come back until it
was over. That’s called avoidance, Monty.”

Hank bent and took one of Monty’s nipples into his hot

mouth. Monty’s head rolled back on his shoulders as Hank’s
tongue worried the nub with flicks and sucks. Pre-cum slicked

tongue worried the nub with flicks and sucks. Pre-cum slicked
Hank’s palm and already Monty could feel his balls drawing
tight.

“He cried,” Monty managed. “Couldn’t stop.”

“My dad cried? I find that hard to believe.”

“Went to his hotel,” Monty broke off, gasping as he struggled

to hold his thoughts together. “Dark room. Sobbed. I saw him.
He loved her.”

“If he loved her, he would have stayed with her. He didn’t.

He traipsed off to do another round of handshaking and baby
kissing.”

“He had to go.”

Whatever else he meant to add dissipated into nothing as fire

streaked Monty’s veins. He shouted, thrusting his hips into
Hank’s hand as cum showered the younger man’s chest. An odd
glint was in Hank’s eyes, but Monty was too far gone to care
until every ounce emptied from him.

“My turn,” Hank murmured huskily.

Chapter Nine

Hank hopped up onto the dock and sprawled out with his

legs spread wide over the edge. Monty moved between his
knees and massaged Hank’s thighs, still breathing hard and
looking a bit dazed. Which was exactly the goal. The more
distracted Monty was, the less likely he’d notice the cameramen
creeping toward them from down the beach.

Part of him was elated to see they’d gotten his anonymous tip

and the general directions to the house from the dock store.
Another part of him throbbed with anticipation of the anger he
knew he’d see on Monty’s face when he discovered that Hank
had put them both in a compromising position—on purpose.

What was done, was done, Hank rationalized. His chest hurt

for a split second, exactly how long it took to go from thought to
the sensation of Monty’s mouth on his dick. God, it was a
beautiful feeling. Double-oh-seven took Hank’s cock deep.
Hank might have made a noise. It might have sounded like he
was strangling, but he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that bliss
was happening to his groin.

was happening to his groin.

Hank propped up on his elbows to watch. Monty’s dark hair

swung over his forehead, and the agent seemed entranced by
Hank’s shaft. Monty shoved two fingers deep into Hank’s hole
and that time, Hank was fully aware of the long, drawn-out
groan those fingers tore from him.

“Your mouth is magic,” Hank told him, burying a hand into

the agent’s hair.

For a moment, he forgot what he’d done. He forgot about the

cameramen sneaking up to catch an illicit photo or their periodic
pauses to snap pictures with cannon-sized zoom lenses. He
forgot about the one-hundred dollar bill he’d given the guy
behind the register at the store to make the call, and the promise
of another if he delivered. He forgot everything but the hot,
sucking mouth of pleasure pulling on his cock and tracing the rim
of his head, delving into the slit. Everything but the fingers
plugging him relentlessly as they rubbed on his prostate and sent
hot and cold shivers through his body so intense, Hank couldn’t
form an intelligent sound to save his life.

Monty bore down. Hank saw stars as Monty added a third

finger. They curled on the tight ring of muscle and popped out,
only to glide back in and trip against that heavenly gland deep
inside his hole.

Pleasure burst upon Hank. He shot, and Monty hurried to

swallow it down. Some escaped to dribble from his bottom lip,
but their eyes locked, and Hank saw perfection in that moment.
These blue eyes and dark hair, these angled cheeks hollowed
around Hank’s cock, these lips pleasuring him—God, was there
anything more beautiful? More right?

Monty pulled off him, dragging his thumb over his bottom lip.

There was light in those eyes, and Hank believed it was all for
him. The click of a camera. The creak of a dock board snapped
Monty out of his gaze first.

“What the fuck?” Monty roared to his feet.

Cameramen seemed to swarm the dock from the beach and

the woods. Where Hank had only seen four coming up behind
Monty, that number seemed to have quadrupled. Flashes went
off in every direction. Monty dove to cover Hank’s nakedness
with his own.

“This is private property. Get off my land!” Monty shouted.

“Mr. McClaren! Is he your lover?” One cameraman asked.

“Private property!” Monty shouted again.

He grabbed Hank’s arm and hauled him across the rocks to

the grass.

“Mr. McClaren, who’s your boyfriend?”

“Mr. McClaren, you forgot your condom!”

“Mr. McClaren, you forgot your condom!”

“Does President McClaren know you’re gay?”

Voices shouted at them from every angle. The color drained

from Hank’s face as he ducked and ran. He’d expected photos
and questions. He hadn’t anticipated a circus. Hank felt sick to
his stomach. Monty tried to block Hank from view, then
slammed the door when they reached the cabin.

“Get dressed!” Monty barked.

Hank pulled on his underwear and pants. Monty went around

shutting windows and covering them. The heat was suffocating,
but the alternative was worse.

What did I do? Hank made it to the bathroom before he

vomited.

“How the hell did they find us?” Monty growled low and

dangerously as he continued to barricade them in.

Hank propped weakly against the doorframe of the bathroom

as he watched Monty scuttle about. Finally, Monty finished. He
took one look at Hank, went to the sink and wrung out a
washcloth. He tossed it at Hank’s chest grimly.

“You have my cum all over your chest. Bet they’re going to

have a field day with this in the press.” Monty dropped his hands
on his naked hips. He shook his head in defeat. “God. What was
I thinking?”

I thinking?”

If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Hank might’ve laughed

about the mirrored thought so like his own. Except, this was
anything but funny.

“Maybe, you should get dressed,” Hank suggested.

Monty snorted. “Nothing the whole world won’t see by

tonight.”

But he did get dressed. Hank sat down on the couch. He

lowered his face into his hands feeling his heart in his throat. He
wanted to be flip, to tell Monty that’s what he got for fucking the
president’s son, for stealing him away without asking him if he
wanted to go. But they were all childish words, and they meant
nothing when he thought of the look on Monty’s face as Hank
came and how that look would change when he found out what
Hank had done.

“I’m going to need to get word out. Get back up and fly you

out of here.” Monty shoved clothing into the duffel bag they’d
arrived with. “We’ll make a run for the car. You’ll need to cover
your head. We don’t want them to have any more ammunition
than they’ve already got.”

Monty was muttering to himself, making checklists aloud

while Hank watched him, feeling like a bigger and bigger asshole.

“There’ll need to be a cover up somehow. Fuck if I know

“There’ll need to be a cover up somehow. Fuck if I know

how,” Monty continued. “There are too many of them. Too
many pictures and we don’t know when they started shooting.”

Hank swallowed hard. “They started taking pictures before

they got to shore around the east bend,” he said hollowly.

Monty stiffened, stopped packing and swung his head around

to pin Hank with a cool stare. “What?”

Hank’s mouth went dry. “I gave them a heads-up before we

left D.C. I called them from the store to put them into motion.
They landed around the east point. They took photos while I—
while I—did you.”

Monty silently closed the space between the duffel bag and

the couch. “What?” he asked again.

“They probably got your cum-shot.” Hank had tried to make

it sound flip, but he’d lost it. Couldn’t seem to find the attitude he
favored when things got dicey. Monty had stripped him of it with
one soulful look at the docks. How was that possible?

Monty grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his

feet. “You told them where to find us?”

“I paid the guy at the store,” Hank confessed, feeling the

belated need to come clean and own up to what he’d done.

Rage shook Monty. It vibrated from him in waves as disgust

transformed his face. Hank winced.

transformed his face. Hank winced.

“Stop fooling yourself, Hank. You care about your father.

You care so much that you’d do anything to get his attention.
For fuck’s sake. You even live in the town where he is, probably
hoping he’ll reach out to you and apologize. The way you go
about it is fucked up and selfish. So selfish that you’d ruin him
and me and for what? For a public fuck?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“Don’t feed me that bullshit. You thought about this

thoroughly. As you said, you started this whole shindig before
we ever got here. You planned it down to who you’d pay, what
you’d pay and how you’d have them track us,” Monty snarled.
“What’s wrong? Did it turn into a bigger deal than you
expected?”

“Yes,” Hank whispered.

“You’ve destroyed him. Yourself. Me. And why? Because

you are so blinded by your own point of view about what
happened with your father that you can’t imagine anything else?
You can’t imagine that your father’s pain wasn’t as great as
yours, maybe greater because he couldn’t say goodbye?
Because she couldn’t hold on for him to come home?”

Hank turned his face away. “This isn’t the time to talk about

this. We should be getting away.”

“Running again? You run to the bars to get away from how

“Running again? You run to the bars to get away from how

much you hate yourself. You run to the nearest party to shake
your fist at your father’s politics. Now you want to run away
from the media circus you created because you can’t deal with
the fact that you screwed up so badly? What the fuck is the
matter with you?” Monty shoved him to the couch.

The photographers were knocking on the door, the windows,

the walls of the cabin. The sound of tires on the gravel outside
was unmistakable as yet more people zeroed in on their location.

“We need to go. Not for you, but for your dad.

Congratulations. Looks like you succeeded in dragging everyone
down with you on your road to self-destruction.” Monty pinched
the bridge of his nose. “You had me fooled. I actually thought
you were worth saving, that there was actually something to save
in you. Looks like you got the last laugh.”

Hank leaped to his feet. His eyes stung as the words kept

coming and the magnitude of what he’d done sank in deeper.
There were a lot of issues at stake here, stuff that couldn’t be
dealt with under the increasing roar of demands from outside, but
he also hadn’t intended this to happen either.

“We’re leaving.” Monty threw a towel at Hank’s head.

“Cover up and stay covered in the car. If we don’t go now,
chances are, they’ll think to block the car before we make it out
of here.”

Monty’s face lost all emotion. His eyes had gone steely and

he grabbed Hank’s upper arm, steering him to the door.

“Do exactly what you’re told. Understood? Stay down when

we get to the car, and I’ll try to lose them before we make a call
for the pickup. And no matter what, Hank, don’t talk to me.”

Hank nodded. He’d fucked up. He wasn’t about to do it

again.

Chapter Ten

Monty’s mind swirled with self-condemnation. His boss and

the president had trusted him to make the public situation better,
calmer. Instead, he’d taken Hank to a private location, fucked
him and treated the whole think like a fantasy vacation.

The plane ride back to Washington D.C. was quiet, thank

God. Hank didn’t utter a word. Unfortunately, that didn’t help. If
Hank had gone off spewing egotistical remarks or filled the air
with mockery, Monty could have allowed his own anger to boil
over. But he didn’t. Hank stayed quiet. It was so uncharacteristic
that its very difference from his normal behavior was an apology
of its own. Maybe.

When would he stop giving Hank the benefit of the doubt?

The jackass had called the press, for fuck’s sake. Called them
and made sure to deliver a spectacle that there’d be no way of
pulling from every paper in the country. No, this time, it was
personal. He hadn’t just disgraced his father and made a joke of
Monty, he’d fucking ruined Monty’s credibility, his job, outted
him. Granted, Monty was already outted, but Hank didn’t know

him. Granted, Monty was already outted, but Hank didn’t know
that. He hadn’t bothered to find out first.

As soon as they landed, Monty grabbed Hank’s upper arm

and steered him toward the exit. He shoved him into the limo,
and they made a straight shot for the White House.

“I’m sorry,” Hank said after they’d been on the road five

minutes.

Monty turned a stony glare on him. His jaw felt like lead, and

he had no interest in cracking it to comment on the sincerity of
that apology, even if Hank looked earnest.

“I am,” Hank whispered, his voice carrying easily in the

confines of the car.

“Save it,” Monty answered, finally.

“What can I do to make it up to you?”

Monty looked at him in disbelief. “Are you fucking insane?

You can’t make up for this shit. You didn’t just destroy your
father, you destroyed me—like the spoiled, self-indulgent brat
you are. You can’t wave a magic wand and pretend it didn’t
happen.”

Once Monty opened his mouth and let the anger out, it

seemed impossible to stop.

“What did you think was going to happen, huh? What did

“What did you think was going to happen, huh? What did

you think my superiors were going to say when they found out I
was fucking the president’s son?”

Hank’s eyes flashed. “C’mon. It takes two to fuck. I didn’t

force you into it.”

“No,” Monty relented grudgingly. “But I trusted you to keep

it to yourself.”

“So you wanted to spend whatever time was given to us,

screwing around with me and then what? You were going to
dump me?”

Monty stared hard at the other man, wondering if he’d

actually detected hurt in Hank’s words.

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Monty

admitted.

“Neither had I,” Hank bit out.

“Really? Because it seemed thought out. You’d had to have

planned a note, bribe money and the final setup. You saw them
coming to shore, and you stuck with your plan. Are you sure you
didn’t know what you were doing?” Monty challenged.

“I knew I wanted you. I knew I wanted out of there, and I

wanted Dad’s plan to micromanage me to backfire.”

“And what about me? If you thought you wanted more than a

“And what about me? If you thought you wanted more than a

holiday fuck, I doubt you’d have concocted a plan sure to get
me fired and embarrassed.”

Hank sighed. “I didn’t think.”

“No shit. The only one who benefitted from that little scene

was you.”

“Are you going to lose your job?”

“Very likely.” Monty chose to look out the window. Gazing

at Hank had him softening—almost believing the apology when
he shouldn’t.

“I’ll make sure they don’t.”

“Don’t do me any favors. I think you’ve done enough,”

Monty answered. “In fact, don’t say a word. The last thing I
need is for you to pull strings for as payment for fucking.”

“That’s not how I feel.”

Monty snorted. “Who are you kidding, Junior? You don’t

have feelings, remember? Except the blazing hatred for your
father, which proves just how much you do care about him.
You’re desperate for his attention, and you just found a sure-fire
way to get it. Good job.”

The limo pulled up at the gate fifteen minutes later. Long

enough to have Monty wincing over his last words to Hank and
angry at himself for caring. He knew the kid had feelings. He’d

angry at himself for caring. He knew the kid had feelings. He’d
opened up enough at the shore to let Monty see the pain caused
by his father’s apparent apathy. Yet second guessing his own
part in Hank’s supposed feelings would get him nowhere but
stupid. It was Monty’s own fault for thinking the guy was worth
getting to know personally. His own fault for letting his guard
down long enough to care that Hank worked through his issues,
and his own fault for letting the kid get under his skin.

Monty could pretend all he wanted that he’d been used, but

he wasn’t an idiot. He’d known what getting caught would do to
his career, and that was the real reason he was pissed. He’d
known, and he’d done it anyway. He was just as guilty for
screwing over the presidency as Hank was. Just as guilty for
putting his job on the line. What had Hank said? It takes two to
fuck. Yeah, it did, and Monty had truly fucked himself over, with
a little help from a blond, gray-eyed temptation with irresistible
dimples and polish.

Right now, he didn’t want to think about Hank’s side of the

story. Hank’s side of the story had tipped the pile-o-shit-ometer
off its teetering balance to dump on Monty’s head. He didn’t
have even a fighting chance to get out of this one unscathed.

Monty took a deep, fortifying, breath as he got out of the limo

and held the door for the presidential son. He didn’t meet the
blond’s eyes when he stood for a moment before continuing into
the White House. Both men were followed by a contingent of
Secret Service—which sucked because now Monty knew

Secret Service—which sucked because now Monty knew
exactly how much trouble he was in. They didn’t even trust him
to escort Hank to the security office.

But it wasn’t Monty’s boss that sent for them. It was the

president. Considering that Monty knew how little time he had to
deal with things like this, Monty knew that taking a chunk out of
the leader’s day didn’t bode well for him either.

They were brought from the on-site security office to the

president’s private quarters and taken to the living room. The
president appeared haggard, slumped in a chair across from the
couch.

“Have a seat,” President McClaren said solemnly.

Monty and Hank both sat. Hank on the couch, Monty opting

for another chair adjacent to the president.

“I trusted you to look after my son.” Disappointment dripped

from McClaren’s voice as he addressed Monty. “We set up the
Plan B, and I put you on it because I knew that of all the Secret
Service guys, you wouldn’t let me down.”

Monty winced, but he had no defense so he didn’t say a

word. He could feel Hank’s eyes move between the president
and Monty. If he looked up and saw a smug smile, Monty would
kick his ass—after he kissed the damn grin off his face, so help
him—so he didn’t glance at him. His attention fixed to
McClaren, senior.

McClaren, senior.

The president ran a hand through his hair, and Monty was

reminded of how infrequently the man did that, which already
showed how upset he was. Then the president sighed.

“You were technically off the clock. Technically, I can’t fire

you even though your behavior should always represent my
office, because you were on private property and off the radar.”
The president’s eyes seemed sad. “Why my son, Montegue? Of
all the men you could pick to mess around with, why did you
choose my son when you were on an unofficial mission to
protect the integrity of this office?”

“Sir, I have no excuse for my behavior.”

“You knew what Hank was like. You know the antics he

pulls. Did you stop to think for one second that he was using
you?”

Monty almost glanced at the younger man, who’d stiffened

suddenly. “Yes, sir. I did briefly, but we were alone.” He paused
to collect his embarrassment as he finished the confession. “And
I believed his sincerity.”

McClaren shook his head. “He had your number, I’m

guessing. It wouldn’t be the first time that he convinced someone
to behave out of character, but it’s you, Montegue. I can’t fire
you, but I won’t let this go.”

“Yes, sir.” Monty waited for his sentencing.

“You’ll be removed from my service.”

Monty winced. “Yes, sir. I understand, and I’m sorry for

letting you down.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” McClaren cut him off from anything

else he might have said. “If you manage to work your way back
up into service of the president, it won’t be during my term. I
don’t know all the ins and outs of the Secret Service, but I can
promise you that.”

“Dad, they’ll fire him. You know they will,” Hank spoke up

suddenly.

“No, I’ll make sure that won’t happen. I can’t say it’ll be an

easy road for you, Montegue. It’ll set you back in your career,
but it won’t blow it out of the water. That’s the only concession
I’m willing to offer you.”

“Yes, sir,” Monty answered. “Thank you.”

“Leave now. I believe your supervisor wants a word with

you.”

Monty nodded, rose and left. He took the corridors away

from the private wing, escorted by another agent. God, this was
going to suck, but it was no less than he deserved. If anything,
McClaren had been lenient with him.

McClaren had been lenient with him.

Monty had barely entered the security office when he was

asked to turn over his I.D. badge.

* * * *

Hank heard the door to the private suite close.

“He didn’t know I’d called the paparazzi,” Hank said.

“He should know everything. Every contingency should’ve

been accounted for and shot down,” McClaren told him quietly.
“He may have been on an official leave of absence, but he’s not
off the hook and neither are you.”

“He’s one man, Dad. How was he supposed to keep his eyes

on me and do things like pick up supplies? You had to know
there would be moments I’d be out of sight. If you were so
worried about me acting out, you should’ve sent a second
agent.”

A muscle in McClaren’s jaw ticked. “It’s everyone’s fault but

your own, isn’t it? You take no responsibility for your actions
even now when a man almost loses his job because of what you
did to get back at me. I would’ve been within my rights to fire
him off all service and see that he never takes a position in this
city again.”

“You’re right,” Hank admitted quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re right.”

McClaren eyed him uncertainly. “I’m waiting to hear you

elaborate on this one. I can’t wait to see how you twist this
around.”

Hank scooted to the edge of the couch. He rested his elbows

on his thighs and folded his hands. “No twisting. I-I screwed
up.”

McClaren held his silence seeming to expect the other shoe to

drop. He didn’t look as if he believed Hank. Hank didn’t blame
him. He’d spent the last couple years angry at his father for not
giving him or Hank’s mother attention, letting them sort it out as a
single parent unit, and the last few months making the president’s
life hell after her death. Hank still wasn’t sure he could forgive his
father, but he believed Monty too. He believed Monty had seen
the Hank’s father fall apart, that the mighty President McClaren
had cried when he heard that his wife had died.

It meant letting go of that splinter of hate he had for the man

because in the back of his mind Hank knew his mother would’ve
insisted his dad leave for Paris. It rang of truth, and besides that,
Monty’s sincerity had been there. If Hank trusted nothing else,
he trusted his memory of his mother and the truth he’d seen in
Monty’s eyes.

“I’ve been angry at you for so long,” Hank said, finally

breathing the words he’d kept pent up. Maybe if he said them
out loud, his father would finally admit his errors too. Maybe.
“You’d stand at the podium talking about family values—made
that your running game for the presidency. I got so mad because
Mom and I were living that family without you.”

“Who do you think encouraged me every step of the way?

She knew when she got sick that it would take a toll, and she
knew that some of the battle she had to take on would be
without me beside her.” President McClaren closed his eyes
briefly. When he opened them again, he seemed to have aged
another ten years. “I miss her too. I love her too. Your mother
knew what we were getting into.”

“I don’t think so. I think she was resolved to accept the cards

she’d been dealt, but she missed you. We missed you,” Hank
stressed. He wouldn’t have admitted that much, but his
conversation with Monty about how badly his dad had been
hurting entered his mind. It was for that reason alone he shared
as much as he did about his feelings, the loneliness and pain. “I
just let my resentment get out of control. I sank to a level I
shouldn’t have.”

“Changing tactics to guilt?” McClaren asked.

“No, Dad. I’m just tired of living my life to spite you. I don’t

know your motives now any better than I did back then. I just
know that I can’t be this hate-filled person I’ve been for the last

know that I can’t be this hate-filled person I’ve been for the last
couple years. Especially how I got after Mom’s death.”

“I miss her.” McClaren’s face seemed to crumble. “She was

the love of my life, and she’s gone.”

“You still left us at the end.”

“I didn’t want to. Do you have any idea how hard it was for

me to get on that plane and take off for Paris?”

“No, Dad. I don’t. It looked pretty easy from where I sat

beside her bed, holding her hand as her life slipped away.” Hank
winced. He’d grown so accustomed to getting in a dig at every
opportunity that the last one had slipped out despite his best
intentions.

McClaren dropped his face into his hands. His shoulders

weakened, and there was a hitch to his breathing that Hank
hadn’t heard before. A lump had formed in Hank’s throat as
well.

“I’m sorry, Dad. That came out wrong.”

Whether or not he heard Hank, McClaren appeared lost in

his thoughts. “Your mother and I—this was a dream for us. It
wasn’t how we started off thinking life would be, but it’s what
we found together. We rode the wave all the way to the
presidency, and when the diagnosis came in, she still supported
it. She loved our life together,” McClaren stressed, sitting

it. She loved our life together,” McClaren stressed, sitting
upright. “It came with the cameras and media. She knew that,
and she supported my run anyway.”

“Did you ever ask her what she wanted? What I wanted?”

Hank asked gently.

“Neither of you lacked for anything. She was a fantastic

mother to you and all your needs were met. You left home
before my first term in office, like any kid striking out on his own.
Was your life here so bad?”

“I did have a great mother, and I used to have a great father.

But he left me then he left his wife.”

McClaren sighed. He looked tired. “I thought you were fine.

You never said you weren’t. I can’t read minds.”

The old anger flared up hearing his father’s empty defense.

“But common sense is out of the realm of possibility for you?”
Hank snapped. “Your wife was dying.” God, letting go was
harder than he’d thought. He still had questions, maybe because
Hank would’ve lived his choices differently.

“I explained that.” McClaren rose. “Settle on an argument. Is

this about me being a neglectful dad or a neglectful husband?
Because from the looks of things, I’ll never be let off the hook in
your mind. You say you’re tired of being angry, but you’re still
trying to pin me down with blame.”

“It’s about you being plain old neglectful then controlling me

“It’s about you being plain old neglectful then controlling me

after I left home too. I don’t fit neatly into your political box.”
Hank rose too. “I don’t want to fight you anymore. We’re never
going to see eye-to-eye about Mom. But I also can’t just forget,
Dad. I screwed up. So did you.”

This was the longest discussion they’d had in years.

Normally, someone ushered McClaren off to an appointment.
Not once had the president looked at his watch, and not once
had he picked up the phone buzzing on the coffee table or
answered the soft knock coming from the other room. For a
second, Hank could remember him as the guy who’d played
catch with him and helped him build a fort in the woods behind
their Georgia home.

“So you want to party and be gay?” McClaren asked gruffly

by way of subject change.

“I am gay. It’s not like I woke up one day and decided to go

gay in order to spite you. If anything, I hid it from the media until
last week. I may have stupidly wanted to hurt you, but I knew
that would take it too far. And because that’s a part of my
private life that I didn’t want the public to have a piece of too.
But you kept pushing and pushing. I was tired of hiding from you
and everyone else. Tired of worrying about the judgment.”

McClaren moved to stand in front of Hank. He placed his

hands on Hank’s shoulders and gazed directly into Hank’s eyes.
Hank couldn’t remember the last time his father had really

Hank couldn’t remember the last time his father had really
looked at him. Years, probably.

“I love you. I loved your mother. I thought everything was

going well between all of us until it wasn’t. That realization snuck
up on me…one day we were fine and the next, I’m having you
tailed by Secret Service—not for protection as much as for
babysitting services.”

McClaren licked his lips as though gaining his courage before

he continued. “No matter what you think of me, your mother
insisted that I leave because of the state of negotiations taking
place in France. It couldn’t be delayed, and when I suggested I
stay behind, she refused to see me. She told me she had you to
look after her, and she’d be here when I got back.”

McClaren’s face did crumble then as grief stole over his

features. “She didn’t wait,” he whispered.

Pain stabbed Hank through the heart. “She couldn’t.”

“I never would’ve left if I’d thought that. So yes, Hank, I

screwed up. I know I did what she asked me to, and I know I
did what I thought I should at the time. Do I regret it? God, yes.”

Hank relented. He could see the truth in his father’s words.

Whatever else Hank had believed, his father had loved his
mother. He wouldn’t have left her to die alone. It knocked the
bottom card out from under his pyramid of resentment. All the
hate he’d built up and credited to her death and his father’s

hate he’d built up and credited to her death and his father’s
absence six months ago wasn’t actually about that. Not
anymore.

“I’m sorry,” McClaren said finally.

He jerked Hank forward into a hug. Hank didn’t know what

to do with his arms. He started to struggle, but McClaren held
on tighter.

“I’m not letting go of you until you know how much I love

you. How sorry I am for not being there for you,” his father told
him. “I followed my dream and expected it to be yours too.”

“Would you have really stopped vying for the presidency if

you’d known differently?” Hank asked skeptically.

“No,” McClaren admitted. “But I’d have made sure you

were with me every step of the way instead of dragged along
behind.”

Hank reluctantly hugged him back, with half-hearted pats on

the back. “I’m sorry too, Dad. I’ve been acting like a spoiled
brat. It didn’t even occur to me until Monty called me out about
it.”

McClaren loosened his hold to look at Hank.

“I don’t suppose he’s happy with you right now,” McClaren

agreed. “He just lost the position that all Secret Service strive
for, and he won’t be getting it back any time soon.”

for, and he won’t be getting it back any time soon.”

Hank winced. “It was my fault. All mine. I set up Monty to

get what I wanted.”

“I think you set him up to lose what you wanted—him. Did I

hurt you so badly that you try not to be in relationships that could
mean something?”

“What are you talking about? I did everything I could to

make you look bad, not him,” Hank countered.

“Are you sure? Son, I may have missed a lot about who you

are that I can never make up for, but you didn’t come back from
Alabama the same man. Something changed you down there.
Someone. I’m pretty sure that someone just left my living room.”
McClaren shook his head. “I know I don’t have the right to
claim that I know you, but the man you are right here would
never have had this conversation with me a week ago. If for no
other reason, that alone is worth not firing him from service
altogether.”

To his embarrassment, Hank felt his cheeks heat. “I’ve

messed up enough lives.” He stuck his hands in his back
pockets, uncomfortable with the turn of conversation. “I’m also
not anywhere near ready to talk about my personal life with
you.”

McClaren nodded. “I understand that. Maybe, one day, we’ll

talk about it?”

talk about it?”

“Maybe.” Conscious that his dad would be forced to leave

the cocoon of the family living room soon, Hank was loath to
delve any deeper. “So, how are your guys going to spin this?”

A funny look crossed his dad’s face. “I don’t know. Maybe,

it’s time the president took a hands-off approach to his son.” He
chuckled suddenly. “Don’t get me wrong, you know Hanson will
jump on the media wagon as soon as I leave this room and send
out a statement.”

“Yeah,” Hank agreed cynically.

“I can’t take the agent detail off you, but I can have it be

lower key.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“So that’s where we start. Deal?” McClaren held out his

hand to his son.

Hank took it. “Deal.”

“Good, we’ll keep working on us. Now, go track Agent

Montegue down at the security office.”

“And if they won’t release the information?”

“Tell them the president backs your search.” McClaren

clapped Hank on the shoulder. “I haven’t been very good at
showing you how much I love you, but I promise to make a

showing you how much I love you, but I promise to make a
better effort.”

“I’ll lay off the public appearances,” Hank conceded.

McClaren winked then picked up his buzzing phone.

His father’s words settled around him. Self-destructive

behavior? Yeah, Hank had done that, and it hadn’t benefitted
anything he couldn’t have accomplished with a good old-
fashioned chat with his dad. Losing the Monty on purpose? Had
he? God, was Hank really that self-sabotaging?

There was only one humbling answer to that question. Hank

swallowed hard and made for the door. He had some making up
to do. He just hoped that destroying Monty’s life, publicly
embarrassing him, degrading him and making a mockery of their
brief but intense connection wasn’t enough to keep Monty from
giving him another shot.

Chapter Eleven

Two weeks later…

Hank pulled up in front of the understated cabin along the

Alabama waterfront. His GPS intoned that he should make the
next available u-turn in a stuffy female voice and informed him
she was recalculating. Well, no shit. He was at the backend of
nowhere, and Hank suddenly had a lot more respect for the
enterprising paparazzi who’d found the same cabin fifteen days
ago.

In the distance, Monty cocked back his rod and swung it

long. Hank heard the distinct whizzing of the line leaving the reel.
Monty’s bobber plopped into the water—soundless from where
Hank stood but almost seeming to bounce on a gentle wave. It
bobbed a little, and Monty settled in to wait.

He had to have heard Hank pull up, but there was no

evidence of it. Hank shaded his eyes in the dropping sun, lifted
his roller bag over the gravel drive and walked toward the cabin.
He kept an eye on Monty, expecting him to turn at any time.
Still, the man remained motionless, feet dangling over the side of
a particularly large boulder he sat on.

a particularly large boulder he sat on.

Hank wanted to go to him and talk, but his nerves seemed to

cinch is throat around all the things he had to say to the other
man, all the things he needed to apologize for and hoped he got
the opportunity. So he took his bag into the cabin, placed it just
inside the door and took another long moment to steady himself.

After several attempts to reach Monty, Hank had finally

found out from his landlord that Monty hadn’t been around.
Since he was on leave, as long as he periodically checked in,
they didn’t care where he was. Which left Hank groping at
straws—and guesses.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darker interior

of the cabin. The last time he’d been there, everything had a
place and everything had been put away. Now, it looked like
Monty was in serious need of maid services.

It could have been procrastination, but Hank felt the need to

clean. He didn’t like seeing Monty like this. It was out of
character, and Hank was the reason for it. Perhaps some small
measure of apologizing was in helping Monty reorganize.
Unfortunately, the cabin was small, and it barely took him an
hour to clean up and wipe everything down.

The last item, a damp bath towel, he hung outside to dry. He

watched Monty reel in and cast out again and decided waiting
was no longer an option.

Hank worked his way out to the shoreline. Only as he drew

nearer did he see the white cords coming from both ears. Music.
Of course. No wonder Monty hadn’t heard him.

“Monty!” Hank called to him.

Monty didn’t answer. Hank drew closer, climbing over the

nearest boulder. He dropped a hand on Monty’s shoulder.
Monty reacted, swinging out an arm that connected perfectly.
Hank toppled to the side, barely managing to push out of the
way of the stony shoreline, only to dump himself into the water.

Hank huffed, blowing water from his lips as he wiped a hand

over his eyes. They stung with saltwater. He peered at Monty
from his position in the water.

“You’re scaring the fish,” Monty snapped, popping a bud

from his hear as he spoke.

“Felt like making a sandcastle.” Hank lifted a palm full of

loose brown sand from under the water.

“Go home.”

“They don’t have quality sand in D.C.,” Hank informed him.

“Just that sissy stuff from the home gardening center.”

“Did you bring your shutterbugs with you again?”

“Naw. They were a little overworked. I told them to take

“Naw. They were a little overworked. I told them to take

some time off.”

“How considerate of you,” Monty replied.

“I figured I owed you after last time,” Hank said, tiptoeing

into the subject he knew he needed to address but felt sick about
bringing up.

Monty reeled in his line as though he had all the time in the

world. He cast it off again. Hank waited through it, dragging
himself from the water and taking a seat on a rock near Monty.

Soaked to the bone, Hank unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it

off his body. Then he took off each shoe and sock. He
considered removing his pants, but he needed to know where
things stood with the sexy agent before he completely stripped
down as literally as he was about to emotionally.

“What do you want, Junior?”

“You.”

Monty snorted. “What’s wrong? Did the White House kill the

story already?”

“They’ve handled it.”

Monty made a point of looking around. “Where are they?”

“Who?”

“Your camera hounds,” Monty said.

“I left them in D.C.”

Monty nodded, seeming to accept that as an actual answer

even though they both knew Monty had been picking a fight.
Monty shifted on his rock. “Did you sort things with your dad?”

Hank lifted a shoulder. “As good as can be expected. We’re

working on it, and that’s a start.”

“Good.”

Hank licked his lips, tasting salt. He probably looked pretty

horrible. Like a drenched rat. With drippy gel. “I’d like to get
things sorted with you, too.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I had a job. I did my job. We

had fun. I got burned.” Monty reeled in and hooked his line to
the rod. He stood and headed toward the cabin.

Hank followed after checking to see that the catch line was

empty. How long had Monty been out there, casting and reeling?
Thinking back, he realized he hadn’t seen Monty bait the hook,
and Hank frowned.

“You cleaned my place?” Monty snarled when Hank walked

in.

“Yeah.”

“So you’ve been here for a while?”

“About an hour before I said hello,” Hank admitted.

Monty glowered. “I didn’t need you to clean up my shit.”

“I wanted to.” Hank shrugged. “Felt like the least I could do

to help out.”

Monty stalked to him. Hank backed up until his ass hit the

back of the only couch. He had to bend back as Monty got in
his face.

“What else do you have in store for me, Junior? A tell-all

book? Sex inside the White House? How to Fuck a Secret
Agent?”

“I’m sorry,” Hank snapped. “I’m sorry,” he said, catching

himself and making his tone a little gentler the second time
around.

Monty slipped an arm around Hank’s waist. “I hate that I’ve

missed you.”

His warm lips covered Hank’s firmly, almost painfully

punishing. Hank wrapped his arms around Monty’s shoulders,
letting the other man keep his balance for him. When Monty
stood, still holding Hank, they broke the kiss, and Hank couldn’t
help but read the heavy conflict in the agent’s eyes.

“You missed me?” Hank reminded him hopefully.

“This is what’s known as a toxic relationship. You aren’t

good for me.”

Hank felt his lips widen in a smile. “We’re in a relationship?”

Monty suddenly let him go and paced back to the kitchen. He

snagged a beer from the fridge, twisted off the cap and guzzled,
keeping an eye on Hank.

Hope sputtered. Monty didn’t want to want him. That much

was true. What was also true? Regardless of what he wanted to
feel, Monty did want him. It was all in how you spun it.

“I looked for you after you left Dad’s.”

“I was put on leave, effective immediately,” Monty answered

when he finally lowered the amber bottle.

Hank approached casually. “I got your phone number and

address from them, with Dad’s support, and tried to reach you.”

“I know.”

“You never picked up or answered the door,” Hank

continued.

“I know.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Because nothing you say changes what happened or what

could happen between us.” Monty placed the bottle, still half full
on the countertop. He leaned on the surface, his eyes tracking
Hank as if he were a feral creature about to pounce. Monty’s
gaze raked over Hank’s bare chest, down his damp jeans to his
bare feet and back up again. That gaze warmed Hank better
than any summer sun.

“You should change,” Monty suggested.

Hank grinned. He unzipped his pants and pulled the clinging

heavy fabric off his legs. Now, in only his boxer briefs, he knew
the wet material did nothing to disguise Monty’s effect on him.
The more he looked, the more Hank’s cock filled and pushed at
the white cotton.

“God.” Monty choked on the word.

“What can I say? Love makes me horny.”

“Love? That’s not love. That’s lust. Love doesn’t do to

someone what you did.”

Hank frowned. “Okay. I deserved that.”

“And so much more.”

Making a sudden choice to change tactics, Hank grabbed the

blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around his
hips. He didn’t want there to be any confusion from Monty that

hips. He didn’t want there to be any confusion from Monty that
Hank knew what he was talking about.

“What’s that about?” Monty asked, gesturing to the blanket.

“I want you to hear my words, not see what my body is up

to.”

“You can learn a lot from a person’s body language,” Monty

countered.

“Sure, but in this case, you already know you turn me on.

What you don’t know, or are choosing not to hear, is that I’m in
love with you.”

Monty’s brows rose. “That’s a bit sudden.”

“Not really. You’ve been in my dad’s service for years.

You’ve always been there. Despite what my relationship is with
my father, I knew you were dependable and protective.” Hank
walked back to the place he’d chucked his clothes, picked up
the wet pants and draped them over the kitchen sink. It gave his
hands something to do and got him into the kitchen with Monty.
He kept talking as he did so. “And you were right.”

Monty had turned and now leaned back on the counter so he

was facing Hank at the sink. “Really?”

“Love was a weakness. I loved Dad, and he left us when we

needed it most. I loved Mom, and she died. She loved Dad, and
he wasn’t there. I guess you could say I thought I’d learned my

he wasn’t there. I guess you could say I thought I’d learned my
lesson pretty well. I thought that if I let another person get close,
they’d hurt me too.”

Monty tried not to look as interested as he felt, as the

fluttering in his belly insisted he was. Hank seemed to struggle
with what he wanted to say. His hands trembled a little as they
draped the jeans. His eyes drifted down and bravely back up as
he spoke, and there was a resolution about his posture that told
Monty better than words that Hank not only believed what he
was saying but was terrified of saying it.

Hank licked his lips. The lips Monty had just kissed, and

Monty nearly groaned for the sudden lust to taste those lips
again. Sweet, salty and soft. Hank’s kisses were always
intoxicating, but Hank’s kisses professing love were almost too
good to be true.

Monty kept his silence, sensing Hank needed to speak. More

than that, Monty needed to know what Hank meant.

“I didn’t have boyfriends. Looking back, I think it had to do

with the same issue. Don’t let people in. They hurt you. I
didn’t realize how much you’d already gotten to me before you
were ever assigned to watch me that week.”

“I don’t understand.”

Hank ran his hands through his hair. Monty tried not to smile

as every hair stood up on end. Hank’s face was a study of

as every hair stood up on end. Hank’s face was a study of
concentration, and when he pressed his lips together, his dimples
deepened and set off another riot of hunger in Monty’s gut that
had nothing to do with food.

“The two weeks I tried to find you and thought you were still

in D.C., I had a lot of time to remember.”

Monty folded his arms across his chest. “What did you

remember?”

“You were there. You were always there.”

“Hank, that’s my job,” Monty informed him dryly.

“Yeah, but the Secret Service doesn’t hire guys who aren’t

dependable, who can’t be trusted and who wouldn’t willingly
give their lives. It takes a certain kind of person.”

“You love me for my job?” Monty asked incredulously.

“No! I mean, that was the initial thought I had. That as a

character reference, it’s pretty huge. That realization gave me the
courage to look at other things, like how you were at the funeral.
Most of the agents were solemn, sure, but you were genuinely
affected. I saw the look on your face. I saw you take off your
boutonniere and drop it on the casket when Dad was ready to
go. I saw you support her elbow, the last few times she stood
with Dad on the podium. I remember the shoulder squeeze you
gave me at the hospital when he came to see her.”

gave me at the hospital when he came to see her.”

“I respect your family.”

“I know. But you know what else I remember?”

“Do tell.”

“The couple times I pulled some shit on Dad and had to go to

his office for a chat. I remember the way you had to hide your
smile at some of the antics, even if they weren’t wise choices. I
also remember that my detail changed after I told Dad that the
four men he had on me were suffocating me.”

“I recommended it, but look how well that turned out.”

“Sorry,” Hank said and actually looked apologetic. “I didn’t

do you any favors by slipping them almost immediately.”

“No, you didn’t. But they also should have been paying better

attention. I reduced the number but increased the skill of the two
on your detail.”

“I was determined,” Hank clarified.

“Like you are now?”

Hank sighed. “I knew you weren’t going to make this easy. I

didn’t think you were going to skin my every intention.”

“You were doing fine,” Monty cautiously admitted. “Keep

going.”

going.”

Hank’s smile was one of relief. “Good, because for a minute

there, I was starting to doubt that anything I said mattered.”

“It might matter.”

Hank moved to stand in front of Monty. Monty liked the way

he moved. His lean, sinewy body was graceful and sultry. It
didn’t take much to cross the tiny space that had been etched
out as a kitchenette.

“I want it to matter,” Hank said quietly. “A lot. Because in all

that remembering, I also relived every second of our time
together, in my apartment and here. Everything you were and are
was consistent. I could trust it. I did trust it.”

“Until you screwed me over.”

“I know it doesn’t help to hear it, but your consistency helped

me screw you over. I knew what to expect from you even as I
was selfishly planning my way out. And once I’d set it into
motion—once it all happened—I realized what an asshole I’d
been.”

“Mm.”

“Can you forgive me?”

The truth was he’d forgiven Hank the moment he’d blinked

up at him with wet spiky lashes as he’d sat in two feet of
seawater. He loved Hank more than he’d thought. He’d known

seawater. He loved Hank more than he’d thought. He’d known
he cared for the younger man, but until those gray eyes had
found his and those lips had quirked in a self-depreciating grin,
Monty hadn’t realized how much Hank had come to mean to
him. And now admitting it?

Monty blew out a breath. “I forgive you. I let my own guard

down, and that’s harder for me to forgive.”

“I hope you never put your guard up with me again,” Hank

said.

God, Monty liked the sound of that. To be allowed to be

himself with the man who made him dream of a life together?

“I think the forgetting is what will take time,” Monty answered

the unissued question.

“I have the time to give.”

“Do you?” Monty tugged on the blanket, dropping it to the

floor. He held Hank’s hips and pulled him forward until their
bodies touched.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole. We have something here.”

“What about your trust issues and the whole love-is-the-devil

thing?” Monty asked.

“I’m not afraid to let you in.”

“What if I hurt you?”

“Are you planning to?” Hank asked nervously.

“No, but it happens. Things won’t always be perfect, but we

can work them out together. You have to try, though. None of
this bridge-burning shit you like to pull.”

“I’m all in, if you’ve got the balls to try,” Hank teased, though

his eyes said he was still uncertain.

“I’ve got the balls,” Monty told him. “Thank God, you’re

cocky enough to come back here and think you’ve got it all
figured out.”

“I do have it figured out. You’re going to tell me you love me.

Then we’re going to take those rope knots off the wall and put
them to better use on one of those Murphy beds.”

“We are, are we?” Monty challenged, smiling.

“Tie me up and do whatever you want. I trust you.”

The deeper meaning in those last three words smoothed like a

balm over the vestiges of hurt Monty had been feeling. Hank’s
body language was in agreement with his words. Hank did trust
him.

“Tell me you love me too, because I’m nervous enough to

puke right now,” Hank said.

Monty kissed him, savoring the traces of saltwater on the

other man’s lips. Hank’s mouth opened tentatively. When Monty
pushed in, Hank moaned and Monty shook with the need to
hold him closer and never let him go. Gathering his scattered
senses, Monty ended the kiss.

“I love you. I’m not quite sure it’s a wise idea yet, but I love

you.”

Hank grinned widely. “I love you back.”

“Wait a minute. You already said you loved me.”

“Yeah,” Hank agreed.

“So you can’t love me back. Loving me back implies I said it

first.”

“You did,” Hank told him calmly.

“I did not.”

“You did. That day on the dock—the day of doom—I knew

you loved me. No man has made love to my cock like that, ever.
That was more than getting off. You said it yourself, actions
speak louder than words or something like that.”

“Nope. I never said the words.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, I do have to. You gave in first,” Monty insisted.

“You did.” Hank laughed suddenly. “I suspect we’ll be having

this argument until we’re old and gray.”

Monty couldn’t help the smile that split his face. “That long

huh?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Shut up and get naked. I have an asshole to fuck,” Monty

snapped good-naturedly.

“Only if you promise to teach it a lesson.”

“Repeatedly,” Monty agreed.

“God, yes. And I think it’s only fair that I be forced to suck

cock every day for the next several weeks.”

“Only weeks?”

“At least as long as we’re holed up in this cabin,” Hank said,

nodding toward the room at large.

“And then what?” Monty asked.

“Then you’re going to have to decide if you’re ready to move

in with me.”

“Why wouldn’t you move in with me?” Monty pressed.

“Have you seen where you live?” Hank scoffed. “I’ve seen

better living arrangements from college students. You don’t get
paid nearly enough.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Monty murmured, dropping a line of

kisses on Hank’s shoulder. “It has its perks.”

Hank’s hands rubbed over Monty’s chest, then down, down,

into Monty’s pants where he wrapped a possessive hand around
Monty’s cock.

“Point taken. Literally. Now, can we fuck? I think I have

some dire lessons to learn about treating you badly. I’m looking
forward to the rope burns.”

Monty felt like he’d been punched in the gut with lust. Hank,

sprawled naked and tied up with rope, begging for Monty’s
cock? Damn, he loved this man.

About the Author

Mia makes her home in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where she
divides her time between a job and spying on people. Mia
enjoys long walks in Como Park, daisies, dancing in the snow…
(Delete prior sentence, meant for personal ad)...

Mr. Perfect may apply in person for a thorough evaluation and
trial. All others will be towed.

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Balls and Chain by Mia Watts

Sam Bahlson doesn’t know what the hell is going on. The FBI
storm his workplace, take him into custody, and then tell him
he’s the target of a notorious hitman. Since he’s pretty low
maintenance and doesn’t take a lot of risks, he finds it hard to
believe. Yet when Agent Jude Cheney whisks him off to
protective custody, it’s bullet grazing chase to the finish line.

When Sam discovers that Jude’s hot for him, he’s determined to
make protective custody as enjoyable as possible. The bad guys
keep coming, and so does Jude. Will they nab the man behind
the hit in time, or is Sam’s life going to end at gun point?

The Policeman’s Balls by Mia Watts

Brian McCray can’t believe his bad luck in getting caught by the

police for breaking into his own home—until he sees the cop in
question. Now all he wants to do is catch the sexy protector of
the peace and give him some piece…of ass.

Officer Joshua Severn has to admit that Brian is attention
grabbing. Brian’s also going to rack up a lot of tickets if he
doesn’t stop inventing reasons to see Josh. Then one night a kiss
sparks something Josh wants to explore, unfortunately so does
Internal Affairs when it’s caught on cruiser cam.

What began as a little play has turned into something loaded, and
Officer Severn is more than prepared to fire his weapon.

Brass Balls by Mia Watts

Kissing a fellow police officer might not have been the smartest
drunken move Oak Takala has made in recent years. Okay, and
it might have complicated the issue that the officer in question is
his father’s former partner, Wyatt Peterman. Aaaaaand there’s
the fact that Peterman is the newly appointed precinct captain.

So what the fuck? Why not go balls to the wall and make a play
no one will forget?

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Resplendence Publishing

Royal Flush

by Sean Michael

Handcuffs and Lace Series

Three years ago, Royal played slave to Mike’s Master while
working undercover in the leather community, and their
relationship has never recovered. After a perp’s accusation of
impropriety, Royal and Mike decide taking early retirement with
a pension is easier than fighting false charges. Nursing his
wounds in a bar, Royal’s interrupted by a man from his past,
from the very time when things with Mike started disintegrating.

Big, bald, and tattooed, Bone is a piercer with confidence and
attitude to spare. He can’t believe his luck, spotting Royal at the
bar. Here’s Bone’s chance at the man he’s wanted since giving
Royal a very intimate piercing for an undercover stint. “I bet
you’re still wearing my ring,” he challenges Royal, hoping the
man will not only take this bet, but the next one as well. In fact,
Bone is betting their future happiness on it.

Bone is betting their future happiness on it.

Learning the Ropes

by Kim Dare

Sex Sells Series, Book 4

Working for a company whose slogan is ‘Sex sells and we’re
very good at sex’ isn’t easy for a man with an apparently
inexhaustible ability to blush. Things only get more embarrassing
for Floyd when he’s sent to construct an advertising campaign
for a BDSM club.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the owner of the club is Peter
Ingram, the silent partner in SKIN designs, which technically
makes him Floyd’s boss. If he screws this up, Floyd’s going to
be looking for a new job. His only option is to set aside his
embarrassment and throw himself into learning everything there is
to know about leather.

But, when Peter agrees to teach Floyd what submission really
means, suddenly it’s not only his job that’s at risk.

Hot Rivals by Cheryl Dragon

All Male Nudes Series, Book One

Jay and Robbie both bare their bodies at the most popular strip
club in Vegas. Pleasing the customer is their main job. However,
Jay isn’t going to let the new guy knock him out of the top spot
without playing dirty. Dating another stripper is asking for
trouble, but in the end Jay finds himself being seduced by the
sexiest cowboy in Vegas!

Love in La Terraza

by Ethan Day

Cain Elliott is a desperate man. On the brink of losing La
Terraza, the 1920’s Spanish style courtyard apartment complex
his grandmother left him in her will, he’s faced with the option of
selling to a real estate developer or losing the building outright,
due to the costs of upkeep that have now left him teetering on
the brink of bankruptcy. One setback after another has slowly
whittled away any hope he’d been harboring to turn the tides.
Having time for little else in life, Cain’s guilt over his failure to
protect the home of those who reside within the walls of La
Terraza has crippled his spirit.

On the partnership fast-track at the flashy architectural firm of

On the partnership fast-track at the flashy architectural firm of
Hamilton-Bach, Henry Abrams is new in town, a little lonely and
looking for inspiration. Tired of games and longing for something
real, Henry discovers the road to happiness could lie in the arms
of the sad, uncomplicated Cain Elliott.

Discovering that Hamilton-Bach represents the mysterious
entrepreneur attempting to purchase La Terraza, combined with
the self-doubt and mistrust over a love that develops too fast,
leave both men struggling to decide whether or not they can truly
find… Love in La Terraza.

The Pit Boss by Dakota Rebel

Derek Sikes has always had a nice, boring life complete with a
normal office job and weekly dinner at his parent's house. His
brother was always the crazy, unreliable, wild child in the family.
So Derek isn't really surprised when his brother ends up engaged
to a Las Vegas show girl and begs him to come be the best man
at the wedding.

Derek's plan of flying to Nevada, watching his brother make a
huge mistake, and making it back to work by Monday gets
sidetracked when he meets a handsome pit boss named Joel his
first night in town. Falling harder and faster than he ever has
before, Derek can't help but wonder what's going to happen

before, Derek can't help but wonder what's going to happen
when he has to go home to his simple life in Nebraska. Because
unfortunately, what happens in Vegas usually stays in Vegas.

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