Page 9 of Corrupt

I stepped inside anyway, washed my hands, and tried to regain some sense of composure. Then I caught my reflection. Hair mussed, collar slightly skewed, irritation written plain as day across my face.

Jesus Christ.

I should go.

I should grab my blazer, text my father something neutral, disappear into the night and chalk this up to another Hale-Fitzroy social disaster. So I bent over the sink and splashed water onto my face, eyes closed as droplets slid down my cheeks. I reached for the paper towel as the door opened behind me.

Before I got the towel to my face, a soft and silky fabric snapped down over my head from behind, covering my eyes and rendering me in darkness. I couldn’t even protest, as the blindfold tightened and a hand clamped firmly over my mouth, followed by a solid, scorching body crashing into my back and driving me forward for the sink to bite into my stomach.

The air left my lungs. Panic hit me hard.

Then a deep, rumbling voice skimmed my ear, “Don’t scream.”

Holy.

Fucking.

God.

Eight months of silence, yet my body recognised that voice instantly. Traitorously. The way a starving man recognises bread. Everything inside me went loose. Weak. Willing. And I fell back into the man behind me, my whole body turning molten and pliant before my brain could catch up.

The grip on the blindfold tightened, forcing my head back onto a broad shoulder. One hand stayed locked over my mouth while an arm crossed my chest and trapped me. I couldn’t move. I wouldn’t have even if I could. Pinned between cold porcelain and the blistering heat of this man, all I could hear was his breathing.

Harsh.

Uneven.

Hot against my ear.

My pulse hammered so loudly I could feel it in my teeth.

I tried to twist to see him, to confirm this wasn’t some desire-induced hallucination, but the cloth over my eyes made it impossible. So I arched my back helplessly against him, as if I wanted nothing more than to sink inside him.

“Move again,” he growled low into my ear, accent brutal and unmistakable, one I hadn’t heard in months, “and I swear I’ll put you on your knees right here.”

A violent shiver ripped through me.

I stopped moving.

And satisfied, or maybe the satisfaction was its own problem, I was dragged backwards, step by forceful step, the grip on me never loosening. Then I was shoved through a door where the sound changed instantly. It was quieter. A faint hum of compressors. The dull thuds of bass leaking through walls. Cold air rushed over my face as I was dragged deeper into the passage, doors slamming left, right and centre. I couldn’t see a thing. I also didn’t want to. Because what if this wasn’t him? What if I were delusional, and this were an easy kidnap, a ransom note to my father by midnight, maybe something Wolfe had even planned?

Then it was silent. Deathly quiet. And I was shoved forward. There was rustling, clattering and clanging as if things were being moved then a kick of a door shut. Before I had time to process anything, the body pinned me, full weight, chest pressed to my spine, one thigh wedged between my legs to keep me open and off balance. The hand finally peeled away from my mouth, but the silk stayed over my eyes, holding me in perfect, trembling darkness.

“Fucking Tricky.”

Razor.

His voice vibrated along my spine. I didn’t move. Barely even breathed.

Then he ghosted his lips along the side of my neck while dragging my shirt collar aside so he could inhale me as if he’d been starving for this, starving for me, for months. I let him know I felt the same with a soft moan, tilting my neck to give him more access and drifting my hands behind me to grip his thighs, digging my fingers into rough denim stretched over muscles that could break me open or hold me exactly where he wanted. Muscles capable of bleeding me dry.

“Fuck,” he growled.

Then he pulled my hands away from his thighs and slammed them flat on the wall above my head. He didn’t need to tell me to keep them there. I would. I’d surrendered. To him. Without even knowing where I was, who could see us. Then he untucked my shirt from behind, shoving it up, and scraped his rough palms over my back, around to my stomach, chest. He pinched my nipples as he dragged his mouth along my neck, nipping my earlobe.

I groaned. Loud. The sound cracked off the walls.

“Shhh.” His voice slid down my spine like a blade dipped in heat. A threat. A promise. “Not a sound. You understand? I don’t care what I do to you, you keep quiet.”