Page 116 of Corrupt

Clothes followed. His first, then mine. I had to help him with the tux, the buttons and fastenings beyond him, but eventually there was nothing between us but heat and skin and need. We kissed, stroked, pressed together until it was so good it bordered on painful. I could have cried from it.

Then I rolled him onto his back and straddled him, sliding my palms over his chest as his hands roamed freely, confident. I reached for the lube, slicked him properly, and took my time easing myself down on him. And when he breached me, I dropped my head back, a moan tearing out of me as he slid his hands up my thighs.

“Fuck, Tris…” He gripped my hips, digging his fingers in, then propped himself up on one elbow to thrust up while working me, guiding me up and down on him. “That’s it. So good. Fucking ride me.”

I pressed my palms to his chest and took over, rolling my hips, setting a rhythm that had us both making noise. Every sound from him felt like encouragement. I wanted him to say it again. Wanted baby on his tongue. Wanted, stupidly, for him to fall in love with me so I could save him.

But he kept slapping into me, as if trying to work off whatever he’d been through. And I let him because that’s what I was for. He then sat up, locking his arm around my waist, pulling me down against him. He traced my throat with his mouth, teeth scraping, then took over completely. He spread me open with his hands, lifting me, slamming me back down onto him, again and again.

“Fuck…fuck…Richie…”

“That’s it, pretty boy.” He fell back, pupils blown, wrecked. “Say my name. Scream it.”

“Richie…fuck, Rich…”

He slapped my thigh, and I gave him exactly what he wanted as he lay down and let me. “Oh, God, Tris, I’m gonna—faster. Fucking faster.” He then came with a fierce, animal sound, locking his hands on my hips to slow me as his body shuddered beneath mine. “Jesus,” he breathed.

But he didn’t give himself time to recover before he dragged himself out of me to lay me back down. Then he wriggled between my legs and took me into his mouth. I thought he’d take it fast. Go wild. Get me off quickly, as I was nearly there. But he settled. Got comfy. Sucked on me slow. Licking, gorging, taking my balls into his mouth to roll them around, then he shoved my legs apart and eased his fingers inside me.

I gasped.

“There?” He pulled off, tongue at my slit.

“Yeah,” I gasped. “Fuck. Yeah.”

Razor’s mouth curved in satisfaction. Then, with his fingers gently stroking my spot, he set a pace that made my toes curl as he closed his lips around my cock. “Get ready, baby.”

Oh.

God.

It was obscene. Overwhelming. Perfect.

He fucked me open with his fingers and sucked me apart until there was nothing left of me that wasn’t him. No space to hide in. No part of me untouched. And when I came, he held me through it, unflinching, swallowing every broken sound, every tremor. Taking me not just into his mouth, but into him. His heart. And it felt terrifyingly permanent.

I wasn’t coming back out.

And I knew it then. With brutal, aching certainty.

I was in love with him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Razor

I lay on my back on Tristan’s bed, the mattress soft, the sheets absurdly comfortable, with Tristan sprawled on my chest and me stroking his arm, wondering how the fuck I was ever supposed to get myself out of this.

It felt almost as impossible as getting out from under Cormac. Harder, maybe. At least with Cormac, I understood the rules. The punishments. The cost. I always knew what came next. This, though…this thing with Tristan, I hadn’t got a fucking clue.

It was physical.

Sure it was.

That much at least I could still pretend to understand.

I was desperately attracted to him. Wanted to do filthy things to him the way I’d just done, again and again, until it burnt itself out. And usually, that was enough. With Levi, with most people, it had been.

But something scratched at me.