Page 31 of The Beast’s Broken Angel

Viktor was relentless, his rhythm perfect, each swallow a quiet act of devotion. I forced Noah to watch all of it—each thrust of my hips, each flick of Viktor’s tongue, each sound I made. Noah’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, pupils blown wide.

“Don’t look away,” I growled, reaching out to grab his jaw, forcing his face back toward the mirror.

He trembled. Not just from rage. Not anymore.

I dragged my thumb down the seam of his mouth. He shivered. He didn’t flinch away.

Viktor sucked harder, faster—working me like it was penance and prayer and pleasure all at once. I saw stars behind my eyes, and when I came, it was with a ragged groan through clenched teeth, my gaze still locked on Noah’s ruined face.

Viktor swallowed it all.

Every drop.

He licked me clean with reverence, then rose silently, tucking me back into my trousers with the kind of care a soldier shows his weapon. He buckled my belt, smoothing the fabric like he was closing a ritual. His face was still, calm—but the ghost of my cock clung to his lips.

I reached for a handkerchief from the supply drawer—crisp, folded. Tossed it onto the counter beside Noah’s clenched hands.

He stared at it like it might detonate.

His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts. His jeans bulged painfully, the fabric damp where precum had soaked through. He looked like he wanted to scream or beg—maybe both.

I turned to Viktor.

“Go to him,” I said quietly, but the command carried steel. “I want you in front of him. On your knees.”

Viktor blinked once in acknowledgment. No hesitation.

He stepped around Noah—slow, deliberate—and dropped to his knees. His shoulders squared with discipline, not deference. A soldier awaiting orders.

“Strip him,” I said.

Viktor reached out and undid Noah’s jeans with precise fingers. The zipper came down like a sentence. Noah’s cock sprang free, flushed and already leaking.

Viktor exhaled softly. “He’s soaked,” he muttered, voice laced with his accent. “You hold him back too long.”

Noah flinched at the words, the humiliation deepening.

I stepped closer, grabbed Noah’s jaw, tilted his face toward the mirror. “Look,” I ordered. “Look at yourself. This is what you are.”

Viktor leaned in, letting his warm breath ghost over the flushed head of Noah’s cock. Noah hissed through his teeth.

“I could make him come in minute,” Viktor said, his tone almost conversational. “He is twitching already. One stroke, maybe two. All over the floor.”

“Don’t,” I said coldly.

Viktor nodded once. “Da.”

Then he took Noah into his mouth.

Noah let out a strangled, shuddering moan—his body jerking forward before I caught his throat with two fingers, pinning him in place.

“Don’t move,” I growled. “If you come, I’ll make you regret it.”

Viktor’s mouth moved with maddening skill—wet, slow, unrelenting. His fist pumped the base with just enough pressure to keep Noah balanced on the edge of disaster. I watched Noah’s legs tremble, his thighs tense.

“Fuck—please, I can’t—” Noah choked out.

Viktor pulled back slightly, lips shining. “He begs like child,” he said with a faint smirk. “You want I edge him again?”

“Yes,” I said. “Make him hurt for it. ”

Viktor dragged his tongue along the underside of Noah’s cock, slow and teasing. His eyes flicked up to me.

“He wants to come,” Viktor murmured. “But he knows he cannot.”

“Good,” I said.

I leaned close to Noah’s ear.

“You haven’t earned release,” I whispered. “You haven’t earned anything. ”

I curled my hand around Noah’s cock and gave it a single, punishing stroke. He bucked forward, eyes wide, desperate. His whole body screamed for friction.

Then I let go.

“Viktor,” I said, “stop.”

Viktor pulled away instantly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Da. He is ready to explode. You leave him like this?”

“Yes,” I said flatly.

Noah groaned, sagging against the counter, cock twitching and leaking with need.

I grabbed his waistband and shoved his cock back into his jeans—rough, unkind. I zipped him up and buttoned it while he whimpered in disbelief.

“You don’t come unless I say so,” I said into his ear. “You don’t get relief. You get what I give you. ”

Viktor’s voice rumbled low behind him. “He will feel this for days. Good. Teaches fast.”

I picked the handkerchief back up, pressed it against the wet stain in Noah’s jeans—soft, almost tender.

Then I dropped it again.

“Put your shirt back on,” I said. “If you touch your cock, I’ll break your fingers.”

Noah didn’t move. Couldn’t. His jeans were visibly damp at the tip, a dark patch blooming where his cock strained for friction, his balls drawn tight, the waistband unforgiving.

Viktor stood by the door again—impassive, silent, a warning in human form.

I reached for the handle, pausing only once.

“And button it only halfway,” I added, glancing over my shoulder. “I want everyone to see who you belong to.”

Noah blinked, his lips parted. His body trembled, a beautiful wreck caught between fury, lust, and helpless submission.

I left him like that.

Viktor followed.

And the room still pulsed with the aftertaste of dominance, humiliation, and a hunger that hadn’t yet found its end.

“Your nurse is becoming rather involved in operational decisions,” Harrison noted hours later, pouring aged whiskey into crystal tumblers. “Remarkable transition from hospital corridors to criminal enterprise. Most civilians require months to adapt to our methods.”

I accepted the drink without tasting it, old habits of caution. “He provides unique perspective. His suggestion to target Turner infrastructure rather than families shows utility beyond medical skills.”

“Perspective can be valuable,” Harrison conceded, studying me over his glass. “But attachment is dangerous. I've observed how you watch him, Adrian. The interest exceeds professional evaluation.”

The presumptuous observation would have earned death from anyone else. From Harrison, it warranted consideration. But something about his eagerness to point this out, his sudden concern about my judgement, raised old suspicions I'd been trying to ignore.

“Professional interest only,” I replied, though we both knew it was a lie.

Harrison's smile was knowing. “Of course. Though I'd advise caution. Emotional attachments create vulnerabilities that enemies will exploit.”

Before I could respond, his secure phone rang. He answered with characteristic brevity, expression shifting from mild interest to sharp focus.

“Understood,” he said finally. “Prepare the evidence package. I'll review it immediately.”

He ended the call, turning to me with an expression of grave concern mixed with something like sympathy.

“We've identified the information leak,” he said carefully. “You should prepare yourself, Adrian. It's someone close to you.”

Ice formed in my chest. “Who?”

“It's easier to show you than explain,” Harrison replied, moving toward the massive display screen. “The security team completed their analysis an hour ago. The results are concerning.”

He activated the system, Ravenswood's internal security footage filling the wall. The timestamp showed 2:17 AM—during the attack, when I'd been responding to the emergency.

“Facial recognition confirms identity,” Harrison stated. “The subject accessed restricted areas during the attack, when security protocols should have prevented such movement.”

The figure on screen moved with purpose, navigating corridors with familiarity. They bypassed cameras with professional skill, avoided sensors with training that suggested military background .

“Here,” Harrison said, pausing at a frame showing the intruder's profile.

Noah's face stared back at me from the frozen image.

But something was wrong. The eagerness in Harrison's voice, the convenient timing of this revelation right after I'd shown interest in Noah's strategic thinking.

My old suspicions about Harrison's loyalty came flooding back—the subtle manipulations, the way he always seemed to benefit from crises, his insistence on handling intelligence personally.

“When was this footage recovered?” I asked carefully, not letting my suspicion show.

“This morning, after the security sweep.”

“And who conducted the analysis?”

“My team, obviously. The same specialists who handle all our intelligence gathering.”

Of course. Harrison's team, Harrison's evidence, Harrison's convenient revelation at exactly the moment when Noah had started offering alternatives to Harrison's preferred strategies. The timing was too perfect, the evidence too clean.

I studied the frozen image more carefully. Something about the body language, the way the figure moved through the corridors. It was Noah's face, but was it Noah's movements?

“I want to see the raw footage,” I said. “All of it. From multiple camera angles.”

Harrison's expression flickered—just for a moment, but I caught it. Surprise, perhaps annoyance. “Of course, though I'm not sure what additional perspective...”

“Humour me.”

As he manipulated the controls, I made my decision.

Harrison had been positioning himself as my most trusted advisor for years, handling intelligence, managing crises, always there with the perfect solution at the perfect moment.

But what if those crises weren't random?

What if Harrison was creating problems only he could solve?

The Turner attack, Noah's convenient presence in my home, the perfectly timed revelation of betrayal—it was all too neat, too orchestrated. Harrison had always been the spider at the centre of the web, pulling strings while appearing indispensable.

“Harrison,” I said quietly, my voice carrying the dangerous stillness that preceded violence, “I think we need to have a different conversation entirely.”

His hand froze over the controls. In that moment of hesitation, I saw the truth written across his carefully composed features. Harrison wasn't revealing Noah's betrayal—he was framing him for his own.

But I needed to be careful. If Harrison was playing games, I couldn't let him know I was onto him. Not yet.

“You're right,” I said, letting calculated anger replace suspicion in my voice. “The timing, the access, the tactical knowledge. It all fits.”

Harrison's relief was almost imperceptible, but I caught it. He thought he'd sold me on Noah's guilt.

“What are your instructions?” he asked.

I let the rage show on my face, the betrayal I would have felt if Noah really had been working against me. “Viktor and I will bring him in. Prepare the basement interrogation room.”

Harrison nodded. “Of course. I'll have everything ready.”

As Harrison made his preparations, I signalled Viktor to follow me. If I was going to get the truth out of Noah, I needed to do it without Harrison's interference. Whatever game my advisor was playing, I'd handle Noah personally.