Page 4 of Hush
He hadn’t been home this early in a long, long time. Silvio should be happy.
He and Silvio constantly argued about his work hours. It seemed every other conversation they had was an argument now. Yes, he worked a lot. But he had a big job. A huge job. He didn’t have the kind of job where he could take a few days off because he felt like it. His schedule was dictated by the court, by the judges he protected, and by their trial dates. And if he wasn’t running security for a high-risk trial, then he was chasing down threats or following up on intelligence passed over from the prisons or the task force. If he managed to find a few days where each judge he protected didn’t have a trial going, and if he managed to get Villegas, his fellow deputy JSI, to agree to cover for him, then he could take a few days off.
That wasn’t ever enough for Silvio, though. Silvio wanted him to jet around the world, fly off for a long weekend on one of his international trips. Spend a weekend in Paris before coming in late on Monday. As a flight attendant, Silvio had a different understanding of time than Mike did. The workweek was whatever Silvio wanted it to be, and he seemed to resent Mike’s rigid hours, his lashing to the federal courts.
Coming home early would be good for them. Hopefully he’d get to see that giant smile of Silvio’s, the one that lit up his face. The one he’d been captivated by from the first night they met, dancing and grinding at the Going Down club. Was it a year now? In about six weeks, yeah. Damn, he should start making noise at the courthouse about getting time off. He needed at least a day with Silvio for their one-year anniversary.
Mike thundered up the steps to his building, an older block of townhomes squished together on the edge of Logan Circle. He wasn’t wealthy enough to own one of the fancy townhouses on the Circle itself, but he liked being close to the neighborhood. His home was quiet, DC charm in a teaspoon-sized place. He’d moved Silvio in four months into their relationship, eagerly hauling boxes and boxes of Silvio’s stuff from his studio north of DC, on the Maryland side, into his townhome.
There was a strange car parked on the street. He knew his neighbors, generally knew what time they came and went. An out-of-place vehicle on the street before anyone was due to be home stood out. Mike eyed it, making note of the license plate as he shoved open his building’s door.
He jogged the steps to the third-floor apartment he owned and reached for the door handle. There were noises inside, someone obviously happy. Silvio. Maybe he was on the phone.
Smiling, Mike unlocked the door and strode in, expecting to see Silvio in the kitchen, glass of white wine in one hand, phone in the other, chatting with his friends about the latest high-fashion crime. Silvio loved fashion, loved dressing to the nines. His closets were near to bursting with Silvio’s decadent wardrobe, shoes and shirts and skinny pants for days. He loved peeling those pants off Silvio and finding his jock strap. He always wore a jock, and always a sexy one. Silvio was a tiger in bed, a sex kitten with the wildness of a jaguar. Sinking into Silvio made each of their fights fade away, made each of their arguments soften and disappear from his mind. They’d work it out. They’d made it this far.
Mike stopped short, his boot scuffing against the scraped hardwood he’d laid by hand. The rubber of his sole made a sad little whine, like a balloon letting loose air by surprise.
Silvio was in the kitchen, but he wasn’t alone.
And he wasn’t wearing any of his cute clothes.
Someone tall, dark, and swarthy moved behind Silvio, his cock obviously buried deep in Silvio’s ass. Hands gripped Silvio’s shoulders, pulling him down on Tall & Swarthy’s cock over and over. Silvio had that look on his face, that scrunched-up, mouth-open look he got when he was getting a good dicking, when he was loving Mike’s cock buried in his ass. When he was close to coming.
Neither of them had noticed Mike, even though they were facing him. Tall & Swarthy was watching himself disappear into Silvio’s ass. A captivating sight, Mike knew.
He should feel something. Something should register. But all he did was blink, watching this stranger plow into his boyfriend, over and over.
Well. Hisex-boyfriend.
Mike let the door go, letting it fall back against the doorjamb with a loud clang. It wasn’t balanced right and would always slam if not shut carefully.
The door banged and Silvio’s eyes opened, shock bursting across his delicate features. Tall & Swarthy’s thrusts faltered.
“Hi honey.” One corner of Mike’s lip curled up. “I’m home.”
Silvio cursed, a breeze of Spanish as he backed up, pulled off Tall & Swarthy’s cock—and, look at that, they were going bareback—and grabbed a dishtowel, as if he could somehow preserve any sense of modesty in front of Mike. “What thehellare you doing here?”
“I live here.” Mike held out his hands, spreading them wide. “This is my home.”
“You’reneverhere this early.” Silvio’s eyes flashed.
Jesus, was Silvio angry? Athim? Something bubbled in Mike’s chest, indignation rising like a wave, a slowly-building tsunami that kept growing and growing before it crashed against the shore. “I wanted to surprise you.” He turned to Tall & Swarthy, who wasn’t doing a thing to cover himself. “Who the hell isthis?”
Tall & Swarthy had the good sense not to say anything. His eyes slid sideways to Silvio.
“He’s not your concern.” Silvio’s voice snapped, cutting like broken glass.
“Not. My. Concern.” Mike snorted, shaking his head. The wave in his heart kept building, rising higher than a skyscraper, a wall of rage and hurt that threatened to crash down on his world. He never thought this would happen to them. To him. Didn’t Silvio know how he felt? What happened to the good times, when they cuddled on the couch and watched TV, that then turned into kissing and making out and then slow, sweet loving into the cushions? Waking up slowly on the weekends and drinking coffee in bed? Holding hands and walking through the city, talking for hours, listening to Silvio tell stories about the flights he went on, the cities he visited. Planning to visit them together.
Though… those moments, his favorite moments of their relationship—of any relationship—had been few and far between.
“What do you expect? You’re never home. You never give me any attention anymore.” A curl of hurt wrapped around Silvio’s words, his voice trembling at the very end. “You think I’m just going to sit here and wait for you all day?”
“I’m working! I have a job! I’m trying to support you!Us! And, I expect someone who loves me not to dothis.” Mike threw his hand out, toward Tall & Swarthy and his kitchen. Jesus, there was a shine on his counter, right where they’d been. He’d have to bleach the entire place. He’d have to remodel. Rip out all the granite and the cupboards down to studs. Maybe he should just burn the whole place down.
“You’re such a selfish bastard!” Silvio snapped, stamping his foot. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have made me do this!”
The wave crashed, descending through his soul and drowning out his entire world. Red flared in front of his eyes, a bolero waving a crimson flag in the path of a bull. Reality seemed disconnected, as if he were living in a soap bubble with edges that shimmered. Silvio’s face warped, first sneering, then twisting as if he were about to cry.
