Lessons in Corruption (The Fallen Men 1)

I watched his intense stare transform into a brilliant smile. My breath left me all at once but I didn’t care to get it back. I’d never breathe again if it meant seeing that man with that smile made especially for me.

Come, he mouthed.

I could almost hear his voice whispering the command in my ear, his hot breath against my neck. I shivered as I slid off the stool, making my way towards him without any conscious thought.

“Cress?” Tay called after me.

“Bathroom,” I mumbled.

The blond king watched me cross to him for a moment before he turned around and sauntered out the backdoor.

I followed him.

The night air was cool and fragrant with sea salt and cedar, so fresh it made my lungs tingle. I took a moment to breathe deeply because I couldn’t help it.

In that second, hands came at me. They pressed me by the shoulders to the wooden exterior of the bar but I didn’t cry out because I knew it was the blond king who held me. The yellow light of a distant street lamp fell across the side of his face, cutting it into black and white relief that made him both staggeringly beautiful and utterly terrifying.

He stared down at me, studying me without words or care for as long as he wanted to. I let him because apparently, I was having an out of body experience.

We were breathing in tandem. It was a strange thing to notice, but I loved watching the way our combined breaths mingled together in white clouds in the cool fall night.

I’d wondered what color his eyes would be but no amount of guessing could have prepared me for the absolute wonder of his gaze. His pupils were a bright, beautifully pale blue shot through with deeper demarcations and spots of brighter hue like imperfections in an ice cube.

Finally—his lips, too pink for a man, really—opened and I felt anticipation pull my body tight against the wall.

“Hey,” he said softly.

I blinked up at him, shocked at the simplicity of his greeting.

“Hey,” I said back.

Humor tugged at his mouth. He had more restraint than me. I smiled fully. His eyes tracked every nuance of the expression across my face before they darkened with unmistakable lust.

“You were in the parking lot of Mac’s Grocer,” he continued as if it were only moments after our bizarre almost encounter three months ago. “Pretty little thing standing dumbstruck beside a piece of shit Honda Civic.”

Instantly, I bristled. “It’s rude to insult someone’s car.”

It was his turn to blink, which he did before he tipped back his head and erupted in that clean, bright laughter again.

I tried not to fall to my knees at the beautiful sound.

“That’s the truth, babe,” he agreed after he’d settled down. “That’s the damn truth. But I have to say it anyway, that car does not suit a smoke show like you.”

“Smoke show?”

This had to be the strangest conversation I’d ever had.

His eyes sparkled, gleaming such pale a blue they looked almost colorless. “Yeah, babe. You’re too hot for such a shit car.”

Before I could get annoyed again, he chuckled and dipped down to speak just beside my ear. “Look good on the back of my bike though.”

A little thrill shot through me. He must have felt the shiver through the hands still cupping my shoulders because they flexed against me in response, pulling me closer so that there was only a sliver of vibrating space between us.

“I don’t even know you.”

“Pressed up against me on the back of my bike, you’d get to know me pretty quick,” he retorted.

His fingers were playing with a lock of my hair, which was incredibly distracting.

“You know, it’s polite to introduce yourself to a lady before you hold her captive in a back alley,” I explained lightly and even though what I said was true, it didn’t mean that I didn’t like it.

His grin flashed against his face. He knew I liked it. “Name’s King.”

I jolted, my eyebrows raised and my mouth open in shock. “Are you making fun of me?”

He tipped his head to the side. “No.”

“Your given name is King?”

What were the odds that my little nickname for him would turn out to be so literal? Then again, what were the odds that I would run into the same man who had radically changed my life three months ago just by being alive, vibrant and beautiful in a way I’d never seen before?

“King Kyle Garro, babe.”

“Why in the world would your parents name you that? Talk about unrealistic expectations,” I muttered.

He laughed again but this time it was low, husky. “Not so unrealistic in my case.”

Oh.

His eyes were laughing at me as he leaned even closer. The scent of him, the sweet tang of male sweat, the clean wholesome fragrance of detergent, legitimately made me weak in the knees. I was strangely grateful for the hands pining me to the wall.