Chapter Fourteen Razor #2
“That’s different.” I chased him, wanting him back, kissing along his jaw, down the vulnerable line of his throat, and pushed his long, absurdly soft coat aside so I could get closer. So I could feel him. I needed skin. His warmth. Something real under my hands.
And when his fingers slid up my back and he tipped his head, baring his neck without thinking, it told me everything.
This wasn’t a decision he could make. It was instinct.
Me and him. Always had been. Wired too deep to reason with.
Too old to undo. There was no discipline in it.
No strategy. It was gravity. And there was no point pretending either of us was strong enough to fight it anymore.
Christ.
He smelt of that familiar, maddening mix of aftershave and clean soap. Warm cotton. Sweat from a day he’d survived without me. Every single thing about him set my body on edge, and I shoved his coat off, letting it drop to the floor to crowd him.
“Wait…wait.” He pressed his palms to my chest. “Fuck. This is so unethical.”
I stilled.
He met my gaze. “I can’t do this if I’m your barrister.”
The words were serious. His mouth wasn’t.
“So what? You here to hand me paperwork?”
“No.” He shut his eyes, then opened them again. “Fuck.” He cupped my face, holding me as if afraid I’d vanish. “Fire me.”
I blinked. Then laughed. “What?”
“Fire me. Please. Don’t argue. Don’t question my ethics or why I need this one stupid technicality when everything else is already fucked. I just do. So please. Fire me.”
I stepped into him again, slow this time. Close enough for our breaths to tangle. So that he could feel exactly what he did to me. And I settled my lips by his ear.
“You’re fucking fired.” I gripped his arse, yanked him to me. “So fucking fired.”
He smiled. Amused.
Then he surged forward and kissed me. And it went all mouths and hands and heat after that.
“You were a shit barrister anyway,” I breathed into his mouth.
He pulled back to glare at me.
“Too far?” I tilted my head.
“Marginally, yes.”
I kissed him. “I’ll make it up to you.”
Then I was back on him. Stripping off his jacket, his tie, unbuttoning his shirt to get to his chest, skin to skin at last. He dragged my T-shirt over my head. Our bodies met properly for the first time, and the frenzy ebbed. Slower. Darker. Charged.
I dropped my forehead to his sternum, breathing him in.
The madness was over.
Now there was only need.
Only gratitude.
I sank down in front of him, kissing as I went. Ribs. Stomach. Undoing him with my mouth before my hands finished the job. I worked his trousers open, dragging them down his hips, and pressing open-mouthed kisses to the hard line of him through his underwear.
God, I needed this.
Needed him.
Wanted to fucking devour this man.
“Fuck, Richie…” Tristan threaded his fingers into my hair, holding on.
I looked up at him. Met his gaze.
Then I slipped my fingers into his waistband and freed him.
Fuck.
He was beautiful. All of him. Every inch. And when he sprang into my hand, when the heat of him brushed my mouth, I leant in and dragged my tongue slowly up him, tasting him, tasting the restraint and want and everything he hadn’t said.
Then I took him into my mouth.
His breath left him hard enough to be a groan, and he hit his head on the door behind him. Somewhere, distantly, I thought Lennon might have been downstairs. The world might still have existed. I didn’t know. Didn’t fucking care, either.
“Fuck…” His voice broke as I took him deeper, and it went straight through me. I felt the way his body tensed, the way he gave even as he strained. I kept one hand firm on his hip, the other bracing him against the door. Not to trap him, but to keep him there. With me. Where I needed him.
He faltered, legs tight, breath wrecked, hips moving despite himself as I drew him in again. Every motion was a claim. Every suck and slide a promise. Every second he was in my throat was another way of telling him this is what he did to me.
I was painfully hard. Aching with it. Shaking.
It had been a long sentence. Maybe not as long as I should have had.
But long enough to turn want into something feral.
And it was he who had brought me back. Him who’d made this possible.
So I shoved my hand into my waistband, grabbing my aching hard cock, knowing I wasn’t lasting like this.
Not with him in my mouth. Not after so long.
“Wait. Wait,” he panted. “Come here.” Then he hauled me up to him.
He smashed his mouth onto mine, the kiss breaking and messy, teeth knocking, breath everywhere. Then he slid his hand straight into my joggers and closed it around me, no hesitation, wrapping his fingers around my aching length.
Holding me.
Grounding me.
Undoing me all at once.
“Oh, God…” The groan tearing out of me weren’t tough.
Weren’t controlled, either. It was all need, stripped bare. Because that—his hand—had my vision blurring, my head tipping back as if my body gave up on pretending it had any say.
Then he moved.
Slow. Certain. Letting me slide through his fist, guiding me in and out of it, and I stepped closer without thinking, closing the last of the space between us.
Heat to heat. No air left. I covered his hand with mine, worked us both, our mouths never breaking apart.
Then I dragged him away from the door, half-stumbling us back until the edge of the bed hit behind my knees.
The rhythm never faltered.
Our mouths never parted.
We groaned into each other as I reached back blindly for Lennon’s chest of drawers, yanked the top one open, rummaging while I kissed him and pushed him harder.
“Fuck, Tris…”
I was right on the edge of losing any control when my fingers closed around something familiar.
Baby oil.
Thank fuck.
I should’ve felt ashamed. Rooting through Lennon’s drawers. Thinking about having him in here. It should’ve twisted me up with guilt.
But it didn’t.
I needed this. Needed him. Needed to be inside him to make sense of what this was between us. And I’d never been good at denying myself.
Or him.
I tore my mouth from his and turned him as I ruffled down my joggers and sat on the edge of the bed, holding his hips to bend him, settling him where I needed him.
Then I kissed between his arse cheeks, tracing his entrance with my tongue, one hand holding him open, the other flicking the lid of the oil.
I squeezed some out, worked it between my fingers, then slid some over myself as Tristan arched, opening instinctively.
Offering himself without thinking. I circled him with my tongue, felt his body shudder, his breath break.
His whimpers alone were almost enough to undo me.
Almost.
But I pulled back and pressed inside him with my fingers instead, feeling the way he took me, the way his breathing hitched, the way his body answered before his mouth ever could.
Preparing him.
Taking care of him.
Getting him ready to have me.
When I spoke, my voice didn’t sound like Razor. It was Rich. It had always been Rich with him. “Hey, come here. Sit on me. Need you.”
I guided him. Felt the moment stretch. Felt the brief hesitation, then the trust. His breath left him as he lowered, as we finally slotted back together, the sensation ripping through me so hard my hand fisted the sheets.
“Oh, fuck… Rich…” He dug his fingers into my thighs as he settled fully, tipping his head back, body fitting to mine as if it had always known how. I tore his shirt from him, needed his skin, needed to touch every part of him I could reach, my mouth finding his back, his shoulder, his neck.
“Move,” I rasped into his ear as I caught his hips and helped him up, then down. “God, Tris. Feels so good.”
I watched myself slide in and out of him, watched the way his body opened to me, and he fell back into my chest, throat bared, head turning so I could kiss him.
“Missed you, Tricky,” I breathed into his mouth as we found a slow, almost unbreakable rhythm.
He didn’t even need to move.
Being inside him felt unreal. Weightless. Enough.
“Missed you too, Richie.” He slid his hand into the back of my hair, fingers curling, pulling me into a deeper kiss, tongues tangling as if he needed to taste the words back.
And in this strange, twisted thing we were making of ourselves, I reached around him, wrapped my hand around his length and felt the slick heat there. He rocked on me, small, helpless movements, and I bit his shoulder as I felt the tension gather.
“Shit…” I gritted my teeth, working him harder, holding him through it. “I’m gonna come.”
Then it hit me.
I came with a sound I didn’t recognise, body shuddering, tightening my hand around him as I followed him over, keeping him there, feeling the way he broke around me.
Then I dropped back across the two beds and he came with me, settling on top of me, back to my chest. That was all either of us could manage.
Shoes still on. Trousers tangled around our ankles, my prison-issue joggers bunched on my tag, breathing as if we’d run somewhere and never quite arrived.
But I held him. Let my pulse even out. Then I found his hand and laced our fingers together.
After a moment, his voice broke the silence. “How far away is the nearest shop?”
I turned my head. “Huh?”
“Lennon was only popping out for milk. How long would that take?”
A laugh left me before I could stop it, and I pressed my mouth into his hair, kissing the crown of his head.
“He’s got a six-pinter in the fridge. Reckon he’s circling the block til he thinks it’s safe.”