Page 61 of Corrupt

Because apparently, I was a fucking idiot. One who had a death wish.

I exhaled smoke and watched it vanish into the morning. This was how it started. This was how things went wrong. One night turning into a morning. A body in my bed that didn’t belong in my world. A man with a future I could only fuck up by proximity.

By the time my cigarette burnt down to the filter, I heard movement behind me. Soft. Careful. I didn’t turn, but I felt the air shifting, awareness snapping sharp into place. Tristan was awake and the sliding doors whispered open as he stepped onto the balcony, better covered than I was, wrapped in my T-shirt while I stood there in nothing but boxers. And fear.

I didn’t look at him. I kept my head down as I said, “You good?” I didn’t know if it was sleep, smoke, or the fact I was bracing for impact that made my voice so damn rough.

“As good as I deserve to be.”

I flicked the cigarette into the canal and watched it die.

He stepped out beside me. “This your place, then?”

“Yeah.”

“S’nice. Good view.”

I snorted. “Better than tennis?”

“Depends on your views on thwacking and grunting.”

That got me.

I turned.

And faced the problem in human form.

He looked wrecked and soft and stupidly beautiful in my clothes, hair flattened, eyes too bright, mouth still tasting of regret. My chest tightened, sharp and unwelcome.

“Sorry, by the way.” He winced which just made him all the more fucking pretty. “I was a disaster last night, and I fully appreciate your… chivalry.”

“Chivalry?” I arched a brow, shifting to face him properly.

He dragged his gaze over me and okay, fair enough, I let him.

Eventually he met my eyes. “Or whatever the East End term is for ‘man who doesn’t take advantage of a drunk idiot.’”

“You seen what you’re wearing?”

He glanced down at himself, at the T-shirt hanging off him. “If this is you telling me you stripped me, fucked me, then put my underwear back on and wrapped me in your top…” His mouth twitched, but there was a fragility underneath it. “Points for effort, I don’t feel a thing this morning. And I appreciate you letting me keep a shred of dignity by not waking up naked.”

There it was.

The assumption.

That last night had been about one thing only.

I exhaled and stepped closer. Just one step. Enough to erase the air between us. He tilted his face up without thinking, instinctive as a reflex, and that nearly undid me. I caught his chin between my fingers, not rough, not gentle either. Making him look at me.

“I only fuck fully conscious, consenting men.” I held his gaze. “Might come as a surprise to you, I know. Considering where we started. But it’s not something I bend on.” I let him go before he could reach for me, before either of us mistook the moment for something simpler than it was. “And don’t come to me that gone again, thinking I will.”

“That’s not…” He stopped, words failing him, looking away as if he couldn’t quite decide where to put the truth. And I was oddly grateful he didn’t finish. I wasn’t sure I could take hearing it framed as a misunderstanding, or worse—as pity.

So I turned back to the canal, braced my elbows on the railing, giving us both the space to breathe. The water slid past below, indifferent, relentless.

“You wanna tell me,” I peeked over to him, “how, and more importantly why, you ended up in my club off your nut?”

He glanced away, and my chest loosened and tightened at the same time.