Page 46 of The Beast's Broken Angel
I wanted to remind him exactly whose bed he'd been writhing in just this morning, whose name he'd gasped when I'd made him come so hard he'd seen stars. The memory of his legs wrapped around my waist sent heat pooling low in my gut.
“I've arranged a gallery showing for Isabelle next month,” Sophia announced, studying my reaction with those too-perceptive eyes that missed nothing. “Noah's been helping identify which pieces best showcase her development. The art community is quite excited about her unique perspective.”
I circled behind Noah's chair, placing proprietary hands on his shoulders that appeared casual but applied deliberate pressure. His muscles tensed beneath my touch, body remembering what my hands were capable of, both pain and pleasure in equal measure.
“Noah has multiple responsibilities requiring attention,” I stated, maintaining eye contact with Sophia while my thumbs pressed into the knots of tension at Noah's neck. “His sister's career advancement, while admirable, remains secondary to his primary obligations.”
The massage was deliberately intimate, fingers working muscle with the same knowledge I'd used to map every sensitive spot on his body the night before. I felt him suppress a shiver, professional composure cracking under the weight of cellular memory.
“Of course,” Sophia acknowledged with a knowing smile that irritated me further. “Though I imagine his obligations have... evolved... since yesterday.”
The implication hung in the air like expensive perfume, confirmation enough of what her surveillance network had undoubtedly revealed about our nocturnal activities. Sophia made it her business to know everything that happened under Ravenswood's roof, and last night had been anything but subtle.
“Grandmother,” I said, voice carrying warning that made her smile widen.
“What? I'm simply observing that young Noah seems more... relaxed... today. The stress lines around his eyes have eased considerably.” Her tone was innocence incarnate, but we both knew she was taking the piss.
Noah's face flushed scarlet, the colour spreading down his neck to disappear beneath his collar. I had intimate knowledge of exactly how far that blush extended, and the memory made my fingers tighten possessively on his shoulders.
“Perhaps you should focus on your own affairs, Grandmother, rather than speculating about mine.”
“My affairs are considerably less entertaining,” she replied with a laugh that held decades of accumulated mischief. “But don't let me keep you from attending to... pressing matters.”
Noah cleared his throat, standing abruptly and stepping away from my touch. “I should check on Isabelle's latest test results,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes. “The specialists want daily monitoring of her white cell count.”
The excuse was transparent, but I let him go, watching the rigid line of his shoulders as he practically fled the sitting room. Sophia followed his retreat with knowing eyes before turning that same perceptive gaze on me.
“He's running from you,” she observed with amusement. “How deliciously unexpected. Most people run toward power, not away from it.”
“Noah isn't most people.”
“No,” she agreed, settling back in her chair with obvious satisfaction. “He isn't. Which makes him considerably more dangerous than your usual acquisitions. ”
The warning was delivered with grandmotherly concern, but I heard the steel beneath the silk. Sophia had survived decades in this world by understanding exactly what threatened the family's interests. Her assessment of Noah as dangerous wasn't criticism, it was professional evaluation.
“I can handle Noah,” I replied, though the certainty felt less solid than usual.
“Can you?” Sophia's smile was sharp as cut glass. “Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like he's handling you quite effectively.”
I found myself tracking Noah's movements through the estate over the next several hours, a predatory restlessness I couldn't quite shake.
Security cameras showed him in the medical wing, reviewing Isabelle's files with methodical thoroughness.
Then the library, researching something on his laptop with intense focus.
The greenhouse, helping the groundskeeper tend to Sophia's orchid collection.
Anywhere but where I might corner him.
The avoidance was starting to irritate me in ways that had nothing to do with practical concerns and everything to do with the growing ache in my chest every time he looked through me like last night had been a fever dream.
I finally cornered him in the east wing corridor hours later, backing him against century-old wallpaper with deliberate intent. The afternoon light streaming through tall windows cast dramatic shadows across his face, highlighting the nervous flutter of his pulse beneath pale skin.
“You've been avoiding me since I got back,” I observed, closing the distance between us until I could smell the faint scent of his skin beneath hospital-grade soap. “Running around the estate like you're being chased.”
“I had obligations,” Noah countered, professional mask firmly in place despite the betraying flush spreading across his cheeks. “Isabelle's treatment protocols required review. Your grandmother requested assistance cataloguing medical artefacts. Normal duties.”
Normal. As if anything about our arrangement could be classified as normal after what had happened between us. The clinical detachment in his voice made me want to pin him against the wall and remind him exactly how abnormal our relationship had become.
“Your duties include whatever I determine they include,” I reminded him, deliberately echoing our conversation from days earlier when he'd first challenged my authority. My hand moved to his throat, not threatening but possessively cradling the vulnerable curve where shoulder met neck.
His pulse hammered against my palm, quick and unsteady, betraying the composure he was desperately trying to maintain. The memory of bringing him to my bed hours ago, of the way he'd surrendered completely after our conversation, sent blood rushing south.
“You agreed to be mine,” I said softly, letting my voice drop to that low, dangerous tone I knew undid him. “Completely and without reservation. Yet here you are, hiding behind professional obligations like nothing's changed.”
His sharp intake of breath was loud in the tight space between us, pupils dilating as my thumb traced his racing pulse. “Adrian...”
“You told me you chose me,” I continued, stepping closer until there wasn't an inch left between us. “Said you belonged to me. Was that just words, Noah? Something you said in the heat of the moment?”
He swallowed hard, breath hitching. “No,” he whispered, the word rough with want. “But I'm still figuring out what it means.”
“Then let me show you,” I growled, already knowing I was going to take him right here, against the nearest solid surface, until he remembered exactly what choosing me entailed.
That admission sent a wild flame roaring through me. This wasn't just power, it was need. The kind that cut deeper than any threat or deal I'd ever negotiated. I was hard, straining against the fabric of my trousers, aching to be inside him again.
“Good,” I said, voice low and rough. “Because I've been hard all day thinking about sliding into you, feeling you take every inch of me.”
His moan was ragged and desperate, surrendering to something he could never quite fight.
I didn’t waste time—my hand slid into his hair, dragging him into a kiss that was all teeth and heat, then I pressed him backward into the apartment, slamming the door behind us.
His hands clutched at me, pulling, needing, as I shoved him back against the wall just inside.
“This is insane,” he breathed, but his hips surged forward, shameless in their hunger.
“Completely,” I agreed, dropping to my knees, unfastening his trousers with deft hands. His fingers tangled in my hair, holding me there as if I was the only thing tethering him to sanity.
I took him in my mouth, hot and eager, swallowing the desperate sounds he gave me. Every broken gasp and plea only spurred me deeper into craving—worshipping him with my tongue, rolling it over the most sensitive spots until his whole body trembled.
“Adrian, please, I need—” he choked out, voice thick with need, but I pulled away before he could finish, savoring the whimper that slipped past his lips.
“What do you want, Noah?” I murmured, rising up, my body flush against his, every movement deliberate and slow.
His answer was raw and immediate—fingers fumbling with my belt, voice a hoarse confession. “You. Inside me. Like last night. Please.”
That single word—please—cut through every layer of my composure. Here was this beautiful, stubborn man, the moral compass I respected more than anyone, begging for what only I could give.
I spun him around, pressing his palms flat to the door. I stripped away the last of his clothes, the cool air hitting skin still marked by my teeth and nails from the night before. I paused just long enough to take in the view—lean muscle, pale skin, every mark glowing faintly under the low light.
I growled into his ear, teeth scraping just below his jaw, making him shudder. “Every inch of you belongs to me now.”
I barely kept it together long enough to press a messy kiss to his shoulder before I spun him around, herding him down the hall, half-walking, half-pinning him as we stumbled together. I fumbled open the first door—my office, where the desk drawer was already halfway ajar from last night.
The second we were inside, I shoved him against the solid wood of the desk, kicking the door shut behind us. His breath stuttered, hands gripping the edge as he looked back at me, eyes dark and wild.
I reached into the drawer nearby for the lube—necessary, practical, and now urgent. I slicked my fingers and eased one inside him, watching his face twist at the delicious stretch. He rocked back on me, greedy for more.