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

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.
    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 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 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