Ballsy Read online

  Ballsy

  A Handcuffs and Lace Story

  By Mia Watts

  Resplendence Publishing, LLC

  http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

  Ballsy

  Copyright © 2012 Mia Watts

  Edited by Darlena Cunha and Venus Cahill

  Cover art by Les Byerley, www.les3photo8.com

  Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC

  2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349

  Daytona Beach, FL 32118

  Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-602-8

  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: November 2012

  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 Tessie Bradford who reminds me why I write and why I love this industry, every time I release a new title. And to our mutual friend, Mary, who always makes me feel like a rock star—even if I think she’s delusional for believing in me so much.

  I love you both in a way that forever holds my gratitude and humbles my heart. Thank you for everything. Tell your families I owe them big for indulging me.

  Chapter One

  Steven Garvey hooked two amber bottles in one hand and deftly levered off the caps. He handed one to the guy he’d known since nursery school and turned back to the sizzling pan of stir-fry. His kitchen always felt smaller when Mark Huffman was in it.

  “I’m serious!” Mark characteristically waved his free arm in the air for emphasis. “What did we say we were going to do when we were kids? We were going to arrest sickos and fight fires. And look at us! Everyone else dropped their dreams of being President or astronauts. I think when you know, you know and not living up to that dream leads to a lifetime of disappointment.”

  Steven shot him a look as he pushed up his glasses. “Well, you’re fighting fires anyway. Me? I’m just the desk-jockey.”

  “An important desk-jockey whose job is critical to the arrest of sickos,” Mark clarified. He took a long drink before he continued. “God, you should have seen the blaze today.”

  Mark still rode the adrenaline high. Even though Steven couldn’t smell the smoke on his freshly showered body, the gleam in his eyes gave him away. Mark on a high was enough to make Steven’s skin tingle. The man was a walking pheromone. Which meant later tonight Mark would grab some cute, eager college kid from a bar and fuck his brains out. A stab of jealousy twisted Steven’s gut.

  “Tell me about it,” Steven encouraged, feeling like a glutton for punishment. “And while you’re at it, check the rice cooker.”

  Mark circled the granite-top island, his arms in the air as he demonstrated the magnitude of the flames. Excitement lit his voice as he described busting through a window to get to a litter of kittens at the back of the warehouse. His voice, his personality, took up space, Steven realized. He didn’t just enter a room. Mark owned it and left you gasping.

  “You take too many chances,” Steven complained. “Did you wait for back up before you charged in there?”

  Mark shrugged. He glanced down at the tiny white pot. “Rice is done.”

  He unplugged it and brought it to the island top where the salad, Chinese sticky buns and dishware had been laid out. Dinner together had become a twice-weekly tradition since college. Every night off Mark had, he found his way over to Steven’s, and Steven never failed to cook him dinner. It used to bother Steven, but in the eight years since they’d graduated and found jobs, it had become a hallowed tradition.

  Steven took the wok off the burner and scraped the contents into a serving bowl. Mark handed him a large serving spoon without interrupting his story about the blaze.

  “How many made it?” Steven asked conversationally. He handed Mark a plate already ladled with rice, then picked up his own to do the same.

  Mark counted in the air with salad tongs. He clutched up a huge portion of greens and put them on Steven’s plate. “The mother plus three. One of the little guys didn’t make it. Not sure he would’ve even without the fire. He was runty. Kind of like you,” he teased, nudging his arm against Steven’s.

  “Ha, ha.”

  “I took them home.”

  Mark’s tenderness in caring for kittens made Steven’s stomach flutter wildly. He cut a smile toward his friend. “You did?”

  “Yeah. They were going to be fostered out from the shelter anyway. I didn’t see any reason to add to the mama’s stress by moving them around more. I’ll foster them.” Mark picked up a bun, seemed to notice Steven was watching him and looked over. “What?”

  “You’re tenderhearted. Do the guys at the firehouse know that?” Steven asked.

  Mark gave him a cocky grin. “I’m a multi-faceted kind of guy, yo.”

  Steven laughed suddenly. Mark’s smile eased and humor danced in his pale green eyes. He put his plate down and took Steven’s, placing his on the granite too. Mark took a step toward him. Automatically, Steven retreated.

  Mark took off Steven’s glasses and neatly folded them, before putting them on the counter top. He stalked closer. Steven continued to move backward, watching his friend warily. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Mark was making a move. But he did know better. He knew exactly how much he wasn’t Mark’s type.

  “What the fuck, Huffman?” Steven hit the wall. The light switch uncomfortably poked his spine. He squirmed forward, putting a hand out to push Mark.

  Mark knocked it aside. Eyes so impossibly pale they were almost transparent drew close. Mark caught Steven’s face in his hands, angling him slightly to the right. Steven’s pulse raced as he recognized the familiar feral look in Mark’s determined expression. He’d seen it a thousand times before, but never directed at him. It stole his breath away. No wonder Mark’s dates never said no. All that energy, all the room-filling attention had just been focused solely on Steven.

  Mark’s kiss wasn’t gentle. It pressed his mouth in a bruising demand. It clashed their teeth and forced Steven’s mouth open to tangle their tongues. It smashed their noses and forced air to hush loudly against their faces. Mark’s cheeks and chin rasped Steven’s smoother face. It prickled, burned, set fire to a host of unexpected sensations that had been prepared for vegetables and soy sauce but were now feasting on an entirely different meal that stoked every erotic fantasy Steven had ever entertained.

  It would be easy to get lost in him, Steven realized, dazed. Easy because it was everything Steven had wanted to happen. Reality wasn’t that kind. This was Mark, high on adrenaline from a fire. It was Mark prepared to fuck the nearest ready ass in a celebration of life, to expend excess energy. When the crash came, it would hit even harder if Steven let this happen.

  He shoved at Mark’s shoulders, wedging his forearm between them when Steven didn’t let go immediately. “No,” Steven gasped.

  Mark looked confused, watched Steven’s face as though he couldn’t believe he’d been refused. “Are you sure? Your mouth wasn’t saying ‘no’ a second ago.”

  No, I’m not fucking sure. “Eat dinner and go find your boy-toy for the night. But find him somewhere other than my kitchen.”

  Steven’s arms shook. He stepped out of the circle of Mark’s heat. His body screamed he’d made a mistake, that he should take whatever Mark was offering and shrug it off in the morning. It would be the only way he’d ever have Mark and, God, did he want him.

  Trembling, Steven picked up his plate. He grabbed his beer as much to keep his hands full
as to redirect them toward dinner. “It’s getting cold. Let’s eat.”

  He headed toward the dining room.

  “Forget something?” Mark asked roughly.

  Steven looked back. Mark held up his folded glasses. He thought about taking them, but decided getting that close, this soon, was a bad idea. He still didn’t have his cock under control, and he might do something stupid, like beg Mark to kiss him again. This time he wouldn’t stop him.

  “Keep ’em.” Steven left him behind, choosing to sit in the chair at the head of the table so Mark couldn’t sit beside him, or across and distract him.

  “They don’t look nearly as good on me,” Mark called back. He came to the dining room and took a seat. “So are we going to talk about that or just pretend it didn’t happen?”

  “I’m good at keeping secrets,” Steven told him.

  Mark was slower to lift his fork, as though he didn’t know what to make of Steven’s short answers. Well, it was his fault, Steven decided. He shouldn’t have kissed him. Any awkwardness in their relationship rested solely on Mark’s shoulders, he thought stubbornly.

  “You were looking at me like you were into me,” Mark pressed.

  “I was looking at you like you’d said something funny, moron. Not like I needed a tonsillectomy.”

  Mark chuckled. The tension cracked a little. “C’mon. It was fun though, right?”

  Steven chanced a glance at his friend. “You need to learn how to kiss.”

  “What?” Mark seemed horrified. “I’ve never had any complaints.”

  “Then your boyfriends were too chicken-shit to tell you that you can’t kiss worth a damn.”

  “Are you offering to teach me your skills?” Mark teased.

  “Nope. Just offering you friendly advice before you go out into the big world and embarrass yourself.”

  Mark wadded up his napkin and threw it at him. Steven grinned, feeling far more comfortable with the banter than with the emotions Mark stirred up. He almost hummed as he speared a piece of chicken and brought it to his mouth. That is until he noticed that Mark’s gaze traveled with that fork to fix onto Steven’s lips.

  “Cut it out,” Steven said around the morsel.

  Mark sat back and folded his arms across his chest. The knowing grin was back, almost taunting Steven as he continued to stare.

  He swallowed with difficulty. “For fuck’s sake, Huffman. I’m not one of your cinder-boys.” It was the name Steven had designated for all of Mark’s post-fire fucks. They were nameless, faceless men his friend used one night and never saw again. It was almost insulting Mark wanted to use him like that.

  “Never said you were.”

  “No, you’re just trying to fit me into that profile.”

  “Profile? Cop-talk at the table, Garvey?” Mark tsked.

  “Why not? You brought the fire in your pants to my home. It’s only fair I put your behavior into its appropriate place.”

  “We could be good together.”

  “Why? Because I’m conveniently around, and you wouldn’t have to hit the bars in your advancing years? We both know the kind of guy you go for, and I’m not it.”

  Mark shrugged. “Maybe my tastes are changing.”

  Steven sputtered on a laugh. “Tell that to the Italian model you fucked last week. Or the badge bunny-boy with the high-gloss tan a few days before that.”

  “They aren’t you,” Mark noted. He sat forward and resumed eating.

  “No shit.”

  “Maybe I want you.”

  “Maybe it’s one-sided,” Steven added, refusing to be taken in.

  “Is it? You were into that kiss at first. Even if I did it badly,” Mark mocked.

  “Desperation makes a man do crazy things. Like kissing your best friend because you haven’t been properly laid in a while. Or from your view point, kissing your best friend because you can’t be bothered to get a take-out screw.”

  “You think that?”

  “You look surprised.” To make his point, Steven reached for the glasses Mark had brought from the kitchen. He put them back into place and cocked a brow as he waiting for the other man to protest.

  “I’d be lucky to date a guy like you.”

  It wasn’t at all what Steven thought he’d say, but then again, Mark was known for his charm. His honey-brown-hair-to-his-shoulders, eyes-of-green-ice and body-sculpted-by-bronzed-gods self had no idea what it was like to be crafted like every-man. All it took was one toothy grin and a naughty twinkle of those eyes to melt even the hardest of hearts. Steven was pretty sure women everywhere mourned the loss of Mark’s gorgeous body to the throngs of men waiting to be noticed by him. Many a straight man had fallen for him too. Mark was legendary and a little unnerving to have as a friend.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m pretty awesome,” Steven said instead.

  “You are.”

  Companionable silence descended between them. Steven sighed, glad to have the discussion over.

  “I’d do you.”

  Steven’s beer sprayed his plate. He whipped his napkin to his mouth and glared at Mark, who laughed.

  “And the world would wonder what I’d drugged you with.” Steven dragged the napkin under his chin to catch the last drops of brew.

  Mark stood, picking up his plate. He shook his head as he gathered his dishes together and headed for the kitchen. “I’m gonna take off. See you in a couple of nights. I’m off again Tuesday.”

  “Sure. See you then.”

  “Hey, Steven?” he called from somewhere near the front door. “For the record, I know at least five guys that want to get with you. Not including me.”

  Chapter Two

  Steven watched him leave. His mind stumbled on his parting words. What does not including me, mean? Did that mean there were five guys, six if Mark included himself, or did that mean there were five guys and Mark wouldn’t include himself because it would be a mercy fuck?

  Wait a minute. “Five guys?” That couldn’t be right. If there were five guys that wanted him, you’d think he’d have had at least one date in the last six months.

  Steven pushed back from the table and cleaned up dinner. He tried to watch television, but all he could see was Mark’s face coming in for a kiss. It got him hard every time he thought of it, too. Giving up, he clicked off the set and went upstairs.

  Steven sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the bottom drawer of his bedside table. He felt a little guilty, but it was better this than letting himself fall in love with his best friend and getting dumped when the next best thing came along. He tugged open the drawer and removed the Ladder Fifty Nine Firemen calendar and flipped to July.

  Where the date boxes were, Steven had stuck pictures of Mark and him together through the years. Mark laughing at a barbeque, his feet propped up on a folding chair, his shirt off and sweat glistening on his packed abs. Mark jogging out of the lake a different summer, his trunks weighted with water drooped low enough to see the beginnings of his pubic hair. Mark stoking a grill, his face lit with orange and a wicked grin tipping his lips. Mark with his arm slung around Steven’s neck, face turned to say something in his ear. Steven could almost feel his tiny ear-hairs shiver over each syllable.

  There was the main shot, the calendar shot, too. The one with Mark leaning against a big red truck, suspenders down, shirt off, chin up and eyes closed. His yellow turnout pants popped open at the top, his hips tilted forward as water dribbled over his wide, muscled chest from some off-scene source.

  It was completely impractical. Why would a fire fighter be standing around letting his pants fill up with water? And yet it was completely erotic.

  Steven put the calendar down beside him, keeping his eyes on the prize. He peeled off his shirt and hastily unsnapped his jeans, letting the zipper slide down. He pushed his pants down, freeing his cock and paused for just a second to shiver with anticipation as his hot shaft stretched unencumbered by clothing.

  Mark’s face, his scrubby jaw, his demanding lips, all
recent memories, leapt to mind and he picked up the calendar again. His eyes traveled each picture in turn before settling on the official picture for July. The man certainly set off fireworks in his body. The organizers had chosen well.

  Steven lay on the mattress. He didn’t bother to swing his legs up onto the bed. His body demanded satisfaction. He took his cock in hand and began the swift jerking he knew would bring him off. He roughened the motion, using what he knew about the way Mark kissed, to guess how the man would touch him.

  His balls tingled sharply, letting his imagination run with it. He stared at the open turnout pants, willing his eyes to see what the camera hadn’t shown him. A bulge pushed the yellow fabric up, and all Steven needed to do was envision that same forward thrust of Mark’s hips used on him. Bucking into him. Pounding his ass. Lips bruising the column of his neck as Mark fucked him with the same intensity he kissed.

  Steven cried out, cum shooting from him, spilling over his hand and chest. He groaned in the aftermath, stroking a few more times before folding the calendar and dropping it onto the bed beside him.

  “I’m so fucked,” he muttered aloud.

  * * * *

  For the thousandth time Mark winced as he remembered the pass he’d made at Steven. He dropped his face into his hands, almost too embarrassed to even let the memory replay.

  “What did you do?” Chief Owen Murphy asked. He walked into the room and dragged out another chair from the table where Mark had taken up temporary residence.

  “Something really stupid.”

  “Stupid like you didn’t follow procedure?”

  Mark lifted his head. The chief was a good-looking guy. Why couldn’t he have hit on the chief? At least he knew his boss wouldn’t think anything of it. He’d probably take it as a joke and move on.

  “I hit on my best friend.”

  “Oh,” Murphy nodded. “Didn’t take?”