Page 45 of The Beast’s Broken Angel

POSSESSIVE CLAIMS

ADRIAN

I adjusted my tie with practiced movements, watching Noah sleep in the predawn light filtering through bulletproof windows.

Egyptian cotton sheets twisted around his bare torso like white silk restraints, and the sight of him tangled in my bed sent a bolt of pure possession straight through my chest.

The bruises from his interrogation stood out like dark flowers against pale skin, but now they looked different.

Not evidence of my mistake, but marks of ownership.

Mine. Every purple shadow, every fading cut, every place where pain had bloomed under my hands now belonged to a different category entirely.

The hours since our conversation replayed in my mind like high-definition pornography.

Bringing Noah to my bed properly this time, watching him surrender not just his body but his last reservations.

The way he'd arched beneath me in Egyptian cotton sheets, finally admitting what we both knew—that he belonged here, with me, completely mine.

Each touch had been a confirmation of the agreement we'd reached, power and partnership negotiated through pleasure.

I could still feel the ghost of him around me, tight heat that had nearly driven me mental with want. The memory of his fingernails raking down my back, the breathless sounds he'd made when I'd found that spot inside him that made him see stars. Christ, I was getting hard just thinking about it.

My phone vibrated against the nightstand, Harrison's name flashing on the screen with a message that made my jaw clench.

Emergency meeting requested. Camden properties compromised.

The timing felt calculated, another move in our unacknowledged chess match.

I silenced the notifications, unexpectedly reluctant to leave the rare moment of peace Noah's unconscious presence provided.

Instead, I traced a finger along his exposed shoulder, following the path my mouth had claimed hours earlier when I'd marked every inch of skin I could reach.

The slight shiver in response indicated he was transitioning from sleep to wakefulness, and I registered an unfamiliar impulse to wake him properly, with my tongue instead of words.

Business could wait another few minutes.

Noah's eyes were just starting to crack open, heavy-lidded, still caught somewhere between sleep and waking. I traced the curve of his jaw with the back of my hand. His breath hitched softly, the small, involuntary response telling me he was stirring.

I bent down slowly, suit jacket whispering against the sheets, and pressed my mouth just below his ear. My voice was low, hard, and meant to command. “Suck my cock,” I said, the words like a dark velvet promise, heavy with control and an unshakable demand.

His eyes blinked fully open, sharp and wide now, the hesitation gone in an instant, replaced by that raw spark of need I'd been craving all night.

The blush that bloomed across his cheeks was slow, a subtle fire igniting beneath my gaze.

I saw the pulse quicken at his throat and the slight parting of his lips as he swallowed.

I stood tall, the weight of my suit tightening across my chest, every inch of me taut with anticipation. My fingers slid down from his shoulder to his hip, firm, guiding, claiming. I wanted him fully present, entirely mine.

“No games,” I said, voice a low growl. “I want you on your knees. Now.”

He didn't hesitate. His hands trembled just enough as they reached for my belt, fingers fumbling over the buckle before pulling it free. The slow, deliberate motion, his breath hitching against my skin, it was a silent surrender.

The first touch of his mouth was tentative, a testing glide of tongue against the head of my cock. The slick heat sparked something primal inside me, a coil tightening with every second. His lips parted, wet and warm, and I pushed him gently, guiding him deeper.

He took me fully then, the slick heat of his mouth eager, tongue flicking over the sensitive tip, sending shockwaves through my body. My hands tangled in his hair, fingers curling tight, keeping him close as I let out a low, ragged breath.

His hands gripped my thighs, grounding himself as he worked. The pressure of his mouth, the slick glide of his tongue, it was both worship and challenge. I braced one hand against the wall above him, fighting for control as pleasure threatened to undo me completely.

The slick sounds, the soft suck, the slight gag when I pushed deeper, filled the room with a tension so thick it nearly choked me. I could feel my control slipping, replaced by a raw hunger I rarely allowed myself to indulge .

“Fuck,” I murmured, voice breaking the quiet, my body taut and trembling. “That's it, Noah. Don't stop.”

His lips moved faster now, more confident, more demanding, as if he knew just how far I could be pushed before snapping. I gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles whitening, as a sharp pulse of pleasure rolled through me.

When I finally tipped over, the shudder that shook through me was raw and beautiful. He didn't falter, swallowing every drop, his mouth a perfect cage, his hands steady and sure. I let out a ragged, guttural sound, something between a growl and a plea.

Afterward, I pulled him up, breathless, fingers tracing the damp strands of hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes held something fierce and tender all at once, a mixture of pride and surrender that made my chest tighten in a way no money or power ever could.

“Your sister's treatment evaluation is scheduled for eleven,” I said, deliberately shifting into business mode even as my fingers traced lazy patterns along his hip. “The car will be ready at ten-thirty. I expect your professional assessment of her progress afterward.”

Noah's expression shuttered immediately, the professional mask sliding on like armour. “Of course. Anything specific you want me to focus on?”

His clinical response should have cooled the fire inside me. Instead, it ignited a new kind of hunger, one that made me want to pull him back beneath me and remind him exactly what he'd begged for in the dark hours before dawn.

“Everything, Noah. I want the full picture. Condition, progress, prognosis. Details you might not think are relevant. Complete medical assessment.”

“That's what you're paying for,” he replied, but I caught the flicker in his eyes, how they followed the hard line of my chest beneath my partially unbuttoned shirt, the silk tie hanging loose around my neck like an afterthought.

“Among other things,” I said, voice dropping low, a promise barely more than a whisper. “We'll discuss those when I return.”

Harrison presented his analytics with the same impeccable attention to detail that had made him invaluable for twenty years.

Property values, rival interests, security assessments, all laid out with mathematical precision across the boardroom table.

The floor-to-ceiling windows showcased London's financial district, empire visible from Blackwood Financial's penthouse headquarters.

“Turner's information suggests internal weaknesses were exploited,” Harrison explained, sliding forward documentation with those manicured fingers that I was beginning to see in a different light. “Someone provided access codes to our secure properties. The patterns indicate high-level breach.”

I studied the evidence while analysing Harrison's body language through the lens of newfound suspicion.

The controlled breathing when discussing certain financial transfers.

The microscopic pupil dilation when mentioning specific properties.

The way his left hand worried the edge of his portfolio whenever the conversation touched on security protocols.

Twenty years of trust dissolved under clinical observation, replaced by the cold calculation that had kept me alive in a world built on betrayal.

“Curious timing,” I observed, selecting documents apparently at random while actually following a carefully planned strategy. “These particular properties maintain separate security protocols overseen exclusively by the financial division. Your division.”

Harrison's response came with perfect composure, concern, slight indignation, reasonable counterarguments that would have convinced me yesterday. But today I noted the nearly imperceptible tension at his jawline, the microsecond hesitation before presenting alternative explanations.

“Adrian, you can't seriously suspect...” he began, but I cut him off with a raised hand.

“I suspect everyone, Harrison. It's kept me alive this long.” I leaned back in my chair, studying him with the same cold assessment I'd give any potential threat. “The question is whether my suspicions are justified.”

The meeting continued with surface pleasantries masking deadly undercurrents, both of us playing roles we'd perfected over decades. But the game had changed rules now, and only one of us fully understood that yet.

My phone buzzed with a text from Viktor:

Viktor

Package secured. Awaiting instructions.

Time to see exactly how far Harrison's betrayal extended.

I found Noah and Sophia in deep conversation when I returned to Ravenswood, their unexpected rapport evident in relaxed body language and shared tea service.

The domestic scene triggered a bolt of possessive displeasure that caught me off guard with its intensity.

Noah's attention should be exclusively mine, not divided with family members who had their own agendas.

“Your grandmother has been explaining your collection of medical antiquities,” Noah offered by way of greeting, professional demeanour restored as if last night had never occurred. The deliberate distance triggered my predatory instincts rather than the desired relief.