Page 3 of For Pleasure Or Worse

"Four decorated veterans andAngelo," I reminded him. "What the fuck is your brother supposed to show up in? His tool belt and that bright orange T-shirt with the permanent pit stains?"

"He might just do that anyway."

I groaned. That was a battle for another day, much like most of the next six months were going to be. Mateo and I were spoiled to death in our little palm tree bubble up until now. Other people didn't have any kind of sway or hindrance in our relationship; the majority of them probably thought it was one of those flings that would cool down to flickering coals and the wind would completely blow out with time.

I'd never even met his parents.

Not in person, anyway. Over FaceTime. We were friends on social media. His mom was the kind of woman who left stickers as comments on every photo of us together while mine was the kind who pretended she didn't see them at all.

"You of all people should appreciate the value of uniformity," I said.

"Fine." His voice had returned to normal, though I still had a very curious appendage tapping around between us. "Tuxedos, flowers, invitations, and I'll try all the cakes you want me to try. Don't worry about your mom and your sisters. If I need to come down to the dress shop myself and stand in the corner with my nose to the drywall I will. So there's no funny business."

"You're sweet when you want to be."

"I'm just picking and choosing my battles right now, baby."

The camera blinked across the room at the two of us still doing more talking than working. A curl of Mateo's hair had fallen perfectly in front of his forehead and I reached down to tousle a few more of those auburn brown locks intochoreographed disarray. The "sweat" had dried and I spritzed him with the spray bottle again like he was a misbehaving cat.

"I never thought I'd say this, but can you fuck me already?" Matty sighed. "My back is starting to hurt on my hands and knees like this."

"You should really start coming with me to yoga." I adjusted myself behind him nonchalantly, lifting the purple silicone to rest on the base of his tailbone. "Lengthen your spine a bit. You're so tense right here."

"I could not imagine why."

I paused. "Are you sure you're comfortable doing this?"

"Just a little nervous," he admitted.

Orange sticky note—things we hadn't done before. Mateo and I shared something that transcended intimacy, especially when it came to our cam work. It wasn't just necessary, it was crucial. We got so many requests per week in so many different shapes and sizes, some more enticing than others, some downright ridiculous and immediately disregarded. The price tag on this one made the two of us sit down and discuss it like we were at a high-level business meeting. We sat at either head of our dining room table and presented one another with the job. I usually shuffled around a stack of printed how-to manuals; before and aftercare prep; my ideas for costume, lighting, editing, and sound design; and a very large pros and cons list that Mateo always took a marker to and added to the pros:I get to have sex with you.

I also ran the financial side of it—ironic, considering I wanted nothing more than to escape my bank job. Payments, funds, investments, taxes, et cetera. The boring albeit necessary side of any business. My complaints couldn't extend any further though, because in our day-to-day lives Mateo ran TechOps from the ground up and never asked me to lift a finger. That business was his baby, and this business was mine. He washappy to play sidekick, trophy, ornament, and fucktoy if I asked him to.

"You do have the hottest ass I've ever seen on a man," I encouraged. "The back dimples are aesthetically perfect."

"I don't want to be aesthetic. I want to be tough and rugged. And covered in dirt, but not dirty. Like I might get under a car or something and fuck around with the engine every once in a while, but maybe also read a book for pleasure on a lazy afternoon."

I looked down at his little pink hole and did that stifled, mouth-curling-in-on-itself laugh again. "You definitely have the ass hair for it."

"You're one to talk."

My jaw popped open. "Okay, that's enough lip out of you, Cinderella. Cameras are rolling. Smile big."

My finger dared to breach him, and as if divine intervention, the telltale sound of our kitchen cabinets slamming shut down the hallway ripped our attention toward the door. We waited cautiously, both entirely sure we weren't hearing things but also eagerly hoping it was a freak occurrence. Our cellphones were across the room.

"Cup probably fell," Mateo reasoned. "A mouse."

Another cabinet hammered shut, followed by a fainter noise.

"Did the mouse open the faucet, too?" I let loose a hard breath. The metronome of my heart picked up behind my ribs and sent a cool wave down my body.

Normally the noise wouldn't have stirred any kind of panic. We were used to an extra body milling around the house day and night. We'd actually learned to completely tune it out. Mateo's best friend, Frankie, lived two doors down in his own bedroom up until two weeks ago when he'd up and shipped off to Colorado withmybest friend. The two of them fell head over heels for each other over Christmas and left us official empty nesters.

It wasn't Frankie getting himself a glass of water and a snack from the fridge at 9 p.m. but there was someone,something, milling freely about the kitchen.

"All right. Stay put, Natalia." Mateo had exited submission and entered the side of himself I rarely got a glimpse of, but marveled at when I did. The retired veteran half. The no funny business, all work no play, lethal and militant, sharp as a knife side. He climbed quietly off the edge of the bed and grabbed his boxer briefs from the floor, pulling them on.

The closet door across the room squeaked open on its hinges and unveiled a heavy safe I thought about so seldomly I often forgot it was even there. A keypad beeped beneath his steady fingers and the door dislodged before he reached inside and pulled out a blocky, black handgun.

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