Page 99 of Corrupt

But he nodded, and we went inside.

I made dinner out of whatever was left in my cupboards. We ate on the sofa. He watched television while I had to open my laptop and get on with the work I’d neglected again. Then later, in bed, he curled behind me and drew me back to him, tangling our fingers together, fitting himself to me with quiet familiarity. I passed him the lube and there was nothing rushed in it. Nothing taken. Just him easing into me with the certainty he could. Whenever he wanted. Whenever he needed.

After a few unhurried movements, he tightened his grip around my hand and breathed, unguarded, “Fuck, Tris… I didn’t know I could feel like this.”

I threaded my fingers into his hair, drawing him closer even though there was no space left, and said, truthfully, “Me either.”

He stilled a moment. Then held me tighter. Slower. Gentler. And whatever it was we were doing shifted into something neither of us were brave enough to name.

Afterwards, he kissed my shoulder and fell asleep.

I stayed awake longer, though. Listening to the steady pull of his breathing, committing him to memory. Feeling the way he held me. The warmth of his mouth at my neck. The shape of being wanted without performance.

It felt too rare to sleep through.

Morning came anyway.

And he handed me my tie without being asked, concentrating as he knotted it. Then downstairs he stopped me at the door, pressed his forehead to mine, and kissed me in broad daylight.

“Go get some criminals off their charges,” he said.

“That’s not exactly what I do.”

“Convince me otherwise.”

He kissed me again, then walked away.

My grin lasted all the way to Baron’s Court station.

Until a car rolled up beside me and the rear window slid down.

“Tristan.” Lord Wolfe smiled like his namesake. “How about that breakfast, hm?”

Chapter twenty

Razor

I slid into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and leant my head back against the rest.

Breathed.

Once.

Twice.

Fuck.

I could feel it. That crawling, sinking sense in my chest. The knowledge that I’d done something stupid. I’d gone to Tristan when I should’ve gone home. Should’ve shut my door, shut my phone off, shut him out. Left him clean. Left him untouched by all the rot clinging to me.

But that weekend? When I was with him? I felt like me again. Not Razor. Not the thing people waited for in rooms with no windows. Just… me.

And I hadn’t lied. Not to him. Not to myself. I wanted to get out. I needed to. The thought had lodged under my ribs and wouldn’t shift. I couldn’t keep living with Cormac’s hand wrapped around my throat, tightening whenever he felt like it. If there were a way out, I had to find it now. Before I lost whatever part of myself Tristan kept calling back.

I opened my eyes.

He was up ahead, walking towards the station. Tie straight. Back easy. Belonging to a world moving forward instead of closing in.

I fucking smiled.