Page 73 of Corrupt

Then he brushed his lips into my hair. “You alive?”

I huffed a laugh against his chest. “Barely.”

“Yeah. Same.” He skated his knuckles over my shoulder blade, warm and gentle, and my gut clenched. Soft and painful and unbearably good. “You okay?”

I lifted my head to look at him. His eyes were half-lidded, softened by the comedown.

“Yeah.” I searched his face, bracing myself. “Are you?”

He nodded once. But his fingers went still on my arm, and that told me more than the nod ever could. I rested my cheek back on his chest, letting the quiet settle. It hit me then. Maybe this wasn’t normal for him. Closeness. Intimacy. Just… lying with someone. He’d told me he only ever paid for sex. And sure, there’d been Levi, but whatever they’d been, I doubted it looked anything like the relationship milestones Ollie and I had stumbled through.

The thought left me exposed. Vulnerable. As if suddenly, I had the upper hand and the disadvantage at the same time. Although Razor might be older, sharper, and streetwise to the point of terrifying, here, in this room, he felt brand new. Untouched. Uncertain. And that made my stomach flutter.

“This is nice,” I whispered.

He grunted. “Yeah. Kinda dangerous, though.”

I glanced up. “Dangerous?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

He waited a beat, then lifted one leg, foot bracing on the mattress. “’Cause I’m starving, and my stomach’s in danger of growling you off me.”

A laugh burst out of me, all the tension dissolving. “Didn’t you say something about Greek food?”

“Yeah.” He reached across me to the bedside table, tapping his phone awake. “Four hours ago. Probably cold as fuck now.”

“I am perfectly willing to eat cold falafel.”

He wriggled down beside me, pulling me closer until we were face to face. He slid his hand slid down my back and cupped the curve of my arse, kissing me lazily.

“You’re telling me you, rich kid from Mayfair, eat cold takeaway?” Another kiss. “Don’t you get the butler to heat it up?”

“Heat it up?” I gasped, scandalised. “Christ, no. We’d order a fresh one and sack the butler for even suggesting he microwave it.”

He laughed, though he wasn’t entirely sure whether I meant it.

Then he kissed me again, rolling me onto my back and sliding over me, braced on his forearms.

“Then wait there, Your Highness,” he spoke against my lips. “I shall serve you cold slop.”

I rested my hands behind my head. “‘Your Highness’ is for the King. I prefer ‘Sir,’ or perhaps ‘Lord.’ ‘Your Grace’ if you’re feeling formal.”

He pulled back to look at me, making sure I was taking the piss. I wrapped my legs around his waist and dragged him down for another kiss.

“Tricky’s fine, though.” I kissed him. “I like it.”

He rolled off me with a low groan and pushed himself up. I watched him stretch, long, hard lines of muscle pulling tight over his back, before he padded across the open-plan space towards the kitchen.

“You’re right,” I called after him, voice echoing faintly off the beams.

“Usually am,” he shot back, moving around his kitchen. “About what?”

“The view here is better.” I winked even though he was halfway across the flat.

He glanced back at me as he licked something off his thumb, and Jesus, the look he gave me nearly finished me. There was no doubt how sexy the man was, all tough edges and razor sharp but now with a soft glow. And it just hit me, we’d been making love for over four hours.