Page 78 of Corrupt

He sauntered, bare and smug, across the room, shutting the bathroom door behind him. I sat back against the wall, thumb between my teeth, scrolling through Co-op like some sad bastard planning a brunch date. Ordered half the fruit aisle, a sack of yoghurt, and whatever else looked clean enough he might actually eat. I tossed the phone aside and stood, dragging on grey joggers. I crossed to the living area, grabbed my cigarettes from the coffee table, then paused.

The burner sat beside the ashtray. Face down. Battery warm.

I hadn’t checked it once yesterday. Or last night. Or at dawn when I had him writhing under me. And a thick pulse of reality thudded in my chest. Cormac didn’t like unanswered messages. And missing a Saturday night at the club? That wasn’t nothing.

A flash of unease, obligation, and the first crack in the escape we’d made together, split the edge of the morning. Nothing I could do now, so I stepped out onto the balcony and lit up. Let the smoke settle, the shake under my ribs coming from having tasted something good and knowing I couldn’t keep it.

When I stubbed the cigarette out and came back in, I started the coffee. Partly because Tristan looked like someone who treated coffee as morning scripture. Mostly because I wasn’t ready to flip the burner and see which version of my life was waiting for me when he left.

The bathroom door opened, and I looked up through my lashes, unable not to watch him. As if trained to find him in any room. He emerged, towel slung low around his waist, another one dragged through his hair, sunlight catching him full-on. Gold skin. Soft edges. Fresh heat rising from the shower. My chest twisted.

He was far too pretty.

Too beautiful for a place like this.

Too perfect for me.

When he reached for the clothes I’d hung over the chair yesterday, trying to rescue the suit from becoming a complete crease massacre, he glanced over. I tore my gaze away, back to the coffee, pretending I could do this. He then dressed, crossed the room to lean beside me against the counter, and I handed him a mug. He took it, sipped, smiled. Clean and put-together, making me ache and bristle at the same time. So I stepped in close, buried my face in his neck, inhaling the scent of my shower gel on his skin. My mark. My grime beneath his polish. It did something ugly inside me. Self-loathing and hunger twisted together. Making me want to drag him closer and ruin him all over again.

I kissed his neck, his jaw, his mouth. And he dropped the coffee to wrap both arms around me.

“Kinda like you in a suit.” I nuzzled into his throat.

“Kinda like you in grey joggers.”

I snorted. “Standard prison wear suits me, yeah?”

“Well, I got a thing for you in them.” Tristan kissed me. Soft. Sweet. Too much.

I kissed him back, lifted him onto the counter and stepped between his legs, deepening the kiss, undoing his shirt buttons. I didn’t know what spell he’d put on me, but I couldn’t get enough. Wanted him under me. Around me. All the fucking time.

I yanked his shirt free, sliding my palms over new-washed skin, when a loud, violent bang rattled the door.

“Fuck—” I jerked back hard. “Shit. Bollocks.” Heart punching my ribs, I shoved a hand through my hair and forced my erection down, tugging my joggers lower to hide it. “That’ll be the delivery.”

I went over to the door, and I should’ve checked the peephole. Should’ve fucking thought. But between the comedown, the heat of him, and the burner’s shadow at my back, I didn’t.

I opened it.

“Thank fuck.” Keeley burst in, pushing Maisie’s buggy through the gap before I could stop her. “Was hoping you’d be awake. Went to Mum’s first, but she’s flat out. Reckon she drank all of Londis. Stinks in there. Couldn’t leave Maisie with her.” She shoved the buggy over my toes and swept into the apartment, breathless. “And wait ’til you see this, Rich!”

Heat slammed into my throat, and I looked past her, straight to the kitchen.

Tristan had slid off the counter, stepping back, buttoning his shirt with quick, nervous fingers. His eyes met mine. Worried. Knowing.

“Kee,” I barked, sharper than I meant to.

“What?” She crouched by the buggy, unfastening the straps before hoisting a gurgling Maisie out. “Look, Rich! Watch!” She was practically vibrating as she set the baby down on the floorboards. “Go on, princess, show Uncle Richie what you can do now.”

Maisie squealed, slapping her little palms on wood as she crawled straight across the floor towards the kitchen. Keeley beamed, following her progress, until the baby reached the edge of the room and stopped, gaze catching on the tall, well-dressed man standing frozen beside the fridge.

Keeley blinked, then looked back at me. “Oh.” She glanced between Tristan and my bare chest. “You having a meeting or summink?”

My stomach dropped straight through the floor.

Keeley wasn’t stupid. And nothing about this was fucking explainable. Because the life that ruined me and the one that made me feel human had just collided in my kitchen with a buggy and a baby crawling towards my one good thing.

“Uh…” I kicked the door shut behind me too hard. “Yeah. Meeting’s finished.”