Page 11 of Corrupt

Silence hit like a gavel.

Still.

Heavy.

Charged.

Then he eased out of me, leaving a hollow ache making my legs tremble, and the faint snap of a condom being removed put the full stop on what this was. I straightened, unsure of what came next. What we did next. But Razor didn’t leave me hanging. He turned me around, crouched, and his tongue was on me again. Licking along the inside of my thighs, my balls, a slow swipe over the sensitive tip of my spent cock, cleaning me up. Then he tugged my underwear and trousers up with surprising gentleness before standing and kissing my mouth. Hot, claiming, soft in the way nothing else between us ever was or could be.

The blindfold came off next, light stabbing in. I blinked hard, vision swimming until Razor switched on a light, a lone bulb hanging from the ceiling to illuminate a storage cupboard. How fucking ironic.

“How are ya, Tricky?” He threw the cloth among a bunch of other random things on the floor I couldn’t yet make out as I was far too stunned at the sight of him, cocky grin in place before he winked.

I grabbed a fistful of his shirt, yanked him closer, and kissed him.

Deep. Messy. Hungry.

Because stopping wasn’t an option, not after this.

Chapter three

Razor

Well, that sure as fuck wasn’t what I’d expected.

Yeah, okay, the second I saw him in my restaurant I knew I’d end up inside him again. But not like this. Not in a supply closet with cleaning fluid under our feet and my pulse still hammering from how hard I took him. And definitely not kissing him after, his arms slung around my neck, strawberry-shaped lips softening the roughness I’d carved into him.

But here I was.

Sliding my hands down his bare back, his shirt in ruins, fabric hanging off him in strips, kissing him as if it meant something.

Stupid.

Really fucking stupid.

Eventually, he slipped out of my hold and stepped back, as if he needed distance to prove I was real. His spine met the wall. Hands tucked behind him. Lip caught between his teeth. Breath stuttering, not from what we’d done, but as if he was trying to pull himself back together around it.

Then he said, “You’re alive.”

Not a question.

A fact.

Fucking obvious, from where I was standing.

“Yeah.” I reached for my jeans, buttoned them. “You thought otherwise?”

A small shrug. One shoulder. Careless-looking. Not careless at all. “For a while. But I checked.”

I stilled. “You checked?”

He met my eyes then. Properly. And whatever he saw there made his throat work before he spoke again.

“I didn’t know where you’d gone. You vanished. So… I made a few enquiries. Old news reports. Hospital records. A couple of names I shouldn’t have had access to. I needed to know if I was mourning someone who was already buried.”

My chest went tight and sore. “And when you knew I weren’t dead?”

“I assumed you were staying away from me for a reason.”