Free Cock and Balls (Handcuffs and Lace) by Mia Watts by Mia Watts Page A

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.
    “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.”
    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,