Cock and Balls (Handcuffs and Lace) by Mia Watts (4 page)

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, 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 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, 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.”

“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.”

“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 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.

“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.