Hard SQUAD – File 1: HEAT

Alright, man, lean in close while I spill this one. This shit still gets me hard just thinking about it. Happened back in ’85, that sticky-ass L.A. summer when the air smelled like hot tar, gun oil, and bad decisions. Me and my partner Adam Lee—tall, blond, green-eyed rookie perfection, twenty-six, built like a Greek statue with that sexy, silly grin that always pissed me off and turned me on at the same time—blew a warehouse raid. Coke vanished, perps scattered, and the D.A., Jack Monroe, dragged our asses into his precinct office after hours to “debrief.”

Jack was fifty-two, built like a brick shithouse, gray creeping in at the temples, cigar in one hand, whiskey in the other. Shirt sleeves rolled up, tie gone, top buttons open just enough to show that thick mat of dark hair on his chest. The ceiling fan was doing jack shit against the heat, cigarette smoke hanging heavy, and the three of us were sweating through our clothes, tension so thick you could taste it.

I’m leaning on the desk, crow-black curls damp at my neck, Van Dyke sharp, shoulder rig riding high and heavy: stainless Taurus PT92 on the left, fifteen rounds of 9mm ready to bark, a snub-nose .38 on the right, shirt half-unbuttoned because fuck this heat. I’m giving Jack all the lip he can handle. Adam’s pacing behind me in that nervous, horny puppy way he’s got, trying to play peacemaker, but those green eyes keep flicking to me like he’s dying to drop to his knees and shut me up with his mouth. Kid’s shaved smooth down there (I know because I caught him in the locker room once), and every time he cracks one of his dumb jokes I wanna punch him and fuck him at the same time.

Words got sharper, closer, meaner.

“You two really fucked up out there today,” Jack growls, voice low, sipping whiskey like it’s foreplay.

I shrug, smirking. “Shit happens, Jack. Can’t win ’em all.”

His jaw tightens. “No, you can’t. But you can damn well try.”

Adam pipes up, all earnest. “We did try—”

Jack cuts him off without even looking. “Kid, you don’t know what trying is yet.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t scare the rookie, Jack. He still thinks the streets run on justice and blowjobs.”

Adam snorts. “Least I don’t shoot first and think never, asshole.”

I glare at him. “Shut the fuck up, Lee.”

Jack’s watching us, amused, cigar glowing. He stands slow, steps right into my space. I smell the smoke on his breath, feel the heat rolling off him.

“You ever gonna learn your place, Vega?”

I grin, defiant. “Doubt it.”

Next thing I know his fist is in my shirt, yanking me so close I feel his hard cock press against my thigh. “We’ll see about that.”

Then he kisses me—brutal, hungry, all teeth and tongue. I kiss back just as filthy, hands gripping his hips, grinding against him like I’m trying to start a fire. Adam’s breath hitches behind us; I hear his belt buckle clink like he’s already palming himself.

Jack breaks the kiss, shoves me back over the desk, papers flying. My guns clatter in their holsters as he rips my belt open, jeans down just enough to bare my ass. No prep, no warning—he spits once, lines up, and drives that thick daddy cock into me in one brutal thrust. I groan, loud and wrecked, fingers clawing the desk.

Adam’s frozen by the wall, green eyes huge, cock straining against his slacks.

Jack looks over, never breaking rhythm, pounding me so hard the desk creaks. “Watch him, Lee. This is what happens when you don’t follow orders.”

I manage a ragged laugh. “Fuck you, Jack—”

He slams in deeper, making me choke on it, then reaches back and grabs Adam’s wrist, dragging the kid closer. “Feel that heartbeat, rookie? He fucking loves this.”

Adam’s hand lands on my chest, trembling, feeling how hard my heart’s hammering. I lock eyes with him—those stupid pretty green ones—and lick my lips.

Jack leans in, voice rough in Adam’s ear. “You want in, kid? Take your balls out. Let him taste what he’s protecting out there.”

Adam’s cheeks flush red, but he doesn’t hesitate—belt open, zipper down, slacks shoved low. He steps up, cupping those smooth, shaved balls, offering them like a goddamn present. I don’t wait—lean forward and drag my tongue slow up the seam, tasting salt and nervous heat, then suck one into my mouth, humming so the vibration makes his knees buckle.

“Good boy,” Jack growls, fisting Adam’s blond hair, tilting his head back. “But you don’t get this ass tonight, Lee. You’re still a rookie. Know your place.”

Adam whimpers—actually whimpers—cock leaking onto the floor while I work his balls like I’m starving for it.

Jack’s rhythm goes full animal, hips slamming into me so hard the desk jumps, his fist pumping my cock in brutal, perfect sync. I lose it first: head thrown back, a raw shout ripping out of me as I shoot thick ropes over his knuckles, my ass clamping down on him like a fist.

That’s all it takes. Jack snarls, drives in to the root, and unloads, flooding me with pulse after pulse of hot cum, hips jerking as he marks me deep.

Adam’s right there, green eyes blown wide, my tongue still swirling around his shaved balls. The sight of Jack breeding me, the wet slap of skin, the smell of sweat and cum, it wrecks him. He doesn’t even touch himself, just gasps, cock jerking hard as he shoots untouched, stripes of rookie cum splattering the desk, my shoulder, even the holster leather still strapped to my chest. Kid’s shaking like a leaf.

We collapse in a tangle of slick skin, gun belts, and heavy breathing. Jack eases out slow, cum already leaking down my thigh, tucks that spent daddy cock away like he owns the room, and gives Adam one firm clap on the shoulder.

“Clean your partner up, rookie. Then go home.”

He grabs his jacket and cigar, walks out without another word.

Adam’s still panting, green eyes glassy, cum cooling on his fingers. I look up at him from the desk, wrecked and smirking.

“Next time, pretty boy,” I rasp, “I’m fucking that smart mouth quiet.”

He grins, silly and sexy and way too fucking likeable.

“Promise, asshole?”

Fuck, man… still gets me hard. You feel me?



THE END