Page 2 of Business vs. Pleasure

For just one more dance with the devil.

When Ricardo came into the bedroom after his shower, a cold feeling prickled along his spine, disrupting the pleasant warmth. He stopped dead, towel still in his hair, and peered at his husband.

August was sitting on the bed in a pair of old shorts, his feet wrapped in their usual compression socks. His hair was still tousled from Ricardo gripping it while he’d ridden him into the mattress, but his face was no longer serene from being thoroughly fucked. The set of his jaw, the tightness of his lips, the way he resolutely did not look at Ricardo…

Danger! Danger!

Careful not to make any sudden moves, Ricardo lowered the towel. He wasn’t usually self-conscious about being naked around August, and he wasn’t now, but he did feel uncomfortably vulnerable. Exposed. Open to attack. Which was weird. Apart from their early days when they’d literally tried to kill each other, he’d never been more than slightly cautious around August. Hell, even then, he hadn’t been afraid of him because like hell was he going to die at the hands of August Morrison. Absolutely the fuck not.

And he wasn’t afraid of him now, but he was definitely wary. In the five minutes he’d been gone for his shower, something had shifted, and Ricardo couldn’t put his finger on it. He didn’t like that. Not one bit.

Inching into the bedroom, gripping the towel as if he might use it as a weapon, he cautiously asked, “August?”

His husband cut his eyes toward him, and the chill in Ricardo’s spine intensified. He’d briefly considered that whatever was pissing him off had to do with his family or something; for all August and his parents had reconciled, there were still moments of bumpiness. Or maybe his brother-in-law had done something stupid again. Few things made August more murderous than anyone upsetting his sister.

But the way August was glaring at him, this was not an issue with Ricardo’s in-laws. No, August was pissed at him. Like, really pissed.

Fucking hell.

He cleared his throat. “Um, what’s⁠—”

“You got a text,” August gritted out like a curse.

Oh, shit.

Ricardo gulped. “A text?”

“Yeah. You know,” August let the venomous sarcasm drip, “a digital message in text format?” He narrowed his eyes. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

All the warmth from Ricardo’s shower was a distant memory. He’d been on the receiving end of August’s anger before—came with the territory of being married—but August was pissed. He was damn near vibrating with incandescent fury, and Ricardo couldn’t imagine what “text” he’d received that would’ve⁠—

Oh.

Oh no.

Heart pounding, Ricardo patted the air and took a tentative step closer. “Listen. It’s not what⁠—”

“Oh, it’s not what it looks like?” August’s laugh was high and sarcastic and so dangerous. “So, what? Am I just imagining things? Is that it?” He snatched a phone up off the bed and flailed with it. “Are you just planning my surprise birthday party and I misread something? Oh, right, that must be it!” He laughed even louder. “How could I be so sensitive?”

Fuck. This wasn’t good.

Ricardo took a deep breath and injected as much calm as he could into his tone, hoping that might at least keep the situation from escalating. “I’m sorry, okay? I should’ve told you, and⁠—”

“Fuck you!” August snapped, all the laughter gone. “Should’ve told me? No! You shouldn’t have been doing it in the first place!” He punctuated that by hurling his phone at Ricardo’s head.

Ricardo caught it before it would’ve hit him or the wall behind him. It had a protective case, of course—one that had saved it from shattering on the villa’s marble floors multiple times. Still, thrown with enough force, the screen could still crack, and he had a feeling August had thrown it with that much force.

“August, listen to me. Please? There’s⁠—”

“Why the fuck should I?” August flung himself out of bed, hissing in pain when he apparently came down harder than he should’ve on his long-injured feet. He quickly rallied, though, and snarled, “What the fuck is going on, Ricardo? Why are you talking to her?”

Ricardo showed his palms as much as he could while still holding both phone and towel. “Listen, I can⁠—”

“We retired!” August yelled, throwing up his hands. “You said you were giving it up! Why the fuck are you lying to me about⁠—”

“Because I’m fucking bored!” Ricardo blurted before he could stop himself.

August froze. He stared. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. Ricardo couldn’t decide if he read more shock, anger, or hurt in his husband’s expression. Maybe it didn’t matter, though one of the three had serious potential to lead to bloodshed.