Page 50 of The Beast’s Broken Angel

The proposition crystallised with sudden clarity—Harrison was offering alliance against Adrian, using Isabelle as both carrot and stick. Freedom from Adrian's control in exchange for information and cooperation. It should have been tempting, the rational choice for someone in my position.

Instead, it made me want to put my fist through his perfectly maintained face.

“I'll consider your perspective,” I responded noncommittally as the car approached Ravenswood's gates, calculated deflection that seemed to satisfy Harrison's expectations.

His slight smile suggested complete confidence in his manipulative strategy, as if my betrayal of Adrian was inevitable given sufficient incentive.

“Excellent,” Harrison murmured, settling back into leather seats with predatory satisfaction. “I look forward to our continued cooperation.”

Ravenswood felt different when I walked through its main entrance, the familiar grandeur now tainted by Harrison's poisonous suggestions.

Every shadow seemed to hide potential threats, every camera a reminder that nothing in this house was private, that someone was always watching and calculating advantage.

I found Adrian in his study, bent over tactical maps spread across his massive desk, the afternoon light casting dramatic shadows across his scarred features.

He looked up when I entered, and the heat in his gaze sent familiar electricity racing through my nervous system despite everything that had happened in the last few hours.

“How's your sister?” he asked, voice carefully neutral, but I caught the possessive undertone that made my pulse quicken.

“Improving,” I replied, closing the door behind me with deliberate care. “Dr. Whitman thinks she might be ready for the regenerative therapy trials within the month.”

“Good.” Adrian stood slowly, predatory grace evident in every movement as he circled the desk toward me. “That's very good news.”

The words were innocent enough, but the way he said them, the way his eyes tracked my movement as I approached, made it clear that Isabelle's health wasn't his primary concern at the moment.

“Harrison offered me a ride back,” I said, testing the waters, watching for Adrian's reaction.

Something dangerous flickered in those mismatched eyes, possessive anger that made my breath catch. “Did he? How... thoughtful of him.”

“He had some interesting perspectives on our arrangement,” I continued, stepping closer until I was within arm's reach. “Suggested that I might be exploiting your psychological vulnerabilities for personal gain.”

Adrian's jaw clenched, muscle jumping beneath scarred skin. “And what did you tell him?”

“That he was mistaken,” I replied simply. “That whatever this is between us, it's not manipulation.”

“No?” Adrian's voice dropped to that tone that made my knees weak, rough with want and something darker. “Then what is it, Noah?”

“I don't know,” I admitted, which was probably the most honest thing I'd said all day. “But I know it's not what Harrison thinks it is.”

“What does Harrison think it is?” Adrian asked, moving closer still, close enough that I could smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body.

“That I'm using sex to secure my position,” I said bluntly. “That I'm manipulating you through physical intimacy to protect my sister's treatment.”

“And you're not?” There was something vulnerable in his voice despite the challenging words, uncertainty that didn't fit with the confident predator he usually presented to the world.

“No,” I said firmly, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw with trembling fingers. “I'm not. Whatever fucked-up reasons I have for wanting this, for wanting you, manipulation isn't one of them.”

The touch seemed to unlock something in Adrian, walls crumbling as he leaned into the contact with desperate hunger. “Then why?” he asked, voice rough with need. “Why do you want this? Want me? ”

“Because you see me,” I replied, echoing his own words from days earlier. “Not just the nurse, not just the moral compass, not just the man trying to save his sister. You see all of it, even the parts I try to hide, and you want me anyway.”

“Especially the parts you try to hide,” Adrian murmured, hand coming up to cover mine against his face. “The darkness you pretend doesn't exist. The part of you that responded when I had you strapped to that chair, that got hard watching me break Hayes.”

Heat flooded my face at the reminder, shame and arousal warring in my chest.

“That doesn't make me a good person.”

“Good is relative,” Adrian said, and I was struck by how similar his words were to Isabelle's earlier assessment. “And I've never wanted a good person, Noah. I've wanted you .”

Before I could respond, he was kissing me, desperate and hungry and claiming, hands fisting in my hair with bruising force. I kissed him back with equal desperation, weeks of tension and confusion crystallizing into pure need.

When we broke apart, both breathing hard, Adrian's eyes were dark with want.

“Harrison's wrong about one thing,” I said against his lips, voice rough with arousal. “I'm not exploiting your vulnerabilities. You're exploiting mine.”

“How so?” he asked, though his hands were already working on my shirt buttons, impatient with the barriers between us.

“Because you make me want things I shouldn't want,” I replied, arching into his touch as his fingers found bare skin. “Make me crave violence and possession and all the dark things I've spent my life trying to heal in other people.”

“And that scares you,” Adrian observed, not a question but a statement of fact .

“Terrifies me,” I admitted. “But not enough to stop.”

His smile was predatory, satisfied, the expression of a hunter who'd finally cornered his prey.

“Good. Because I'm not letting you go, Noah. Not now that I know how you taste, how you feel wrapped around me, how you sound when I make you come apart.”

The possessive declaration should have triggered my flight response, should have sent me running for the rational safety of professional distance. Instead, it sent heat pooling low in my gut, need overriding every logical objection my brain tried to form.

“Then don’t let go,” I said, surprising myself with the surrender in my voice.

Adrian’s response was physical and immediate. He grabbed me by the hips and turned, walking me backward until my thighs hit the edge of the desk. Tactical maps and folders scattered like debris as he lifted me onto the surface with no effort, positioning me exactly where he wanted.

“Mine,” he growled against my throat, lips dragging over the earlier bruises like he was reaffirming his claim. His teeth grazed sensitive skin, and I gasped, head falling back, giving him more. “Every inch of you belongs to me.”

“Yes,” I breathed, and it was more than permission. It was a promise. “Yours.”

He dragged my shirt off, tossing it aside before pushing me back against the desk with one hand on my chest. I watched, heart pounding, as he knelt between my legs and unbuckled my belt with a precision that bordered on cruel.

Slow. Measured. I could feel his breath on my stomach as he tugged down my pants, the heat of his mouth following close behind.

Then he looked up at me with a darkness that left no room for doubt .

“Keep your hands on the desk,” he said, voice low and authoritative. “Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

I obeyed. Of course I did.

He wrapped a hand around the base of my cock, stroking once—slow and possessive—before leaning in to take me into his mouth.

My entire body jerked at the wet heat of it, the slide of his tongue over the sensitive underside making me cry out before I could stop myself.

Adrian hummed like he liked the sound, like he wanted more of it, and sucked harder.

The mafia boss on his knees, lips stretched around my cock with utter devotion, should have been a contradiction.

But there was nothing submissive about the way he did it.

It was a claim , every movement of his mouth designed to unravel me at his feet.

He kept eye contact, watching every twitch of my body as he worked me expertly, alternating suction and swirl until my thighs were trembling and I was dangerously close to falling apart far too fast.

“God,” I gasped. “Adrian—fuck—I’m gonna?—”

He pulled back with a wet sound, thumb rubbing slow circles over the head of my cock, keeping me right at the edge but not letting me tip over. His smirk was wicked.

He leaned in, his lips brushing mine as he unbuttoned his own shirt. “I’m going to fuck you, Noah. Hard. Deep. Until you remember who you belong to.”

My cock twitched at the words, aching, desperate.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, voice calm and deadly. “I want to see your mouth stretched around me before I take your hole.”

I obeyed, sinking to the floor. He freed himself from his slacks, and I hesitated for only a heartbeat before taking him into my mouth, hands gripping his thighs for balance.

Adrian’s hand threaded into my hair, controlling my pace, guiding every motion with a rough sort of tenderness.

He didn’t thrust—he commanded, hips rolling forward just enough to remind me who was in control.

“Good boy,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded with lust. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

I moaned around him, sucking harder, tongue working along the vein that pulsed against my cheek. His groan above me was all the reward I needed.

When he pulled me off, I was panting, lips swollen, eyes glazed with need. He dragged me up, turned me around, and bent me over the desk without preamble.

“Keep your legs open,” he ordered, and I complied, bracing myself with trembling arms.

I heard the soft pop of a cap, then felt the first cool touch—slick and deliberate as his fingers, coated in lube, pressed against my ass. The sensation made me shiver, anticipation curling hot and tight in my gut.

Then came the pressure, smooth and relentless. One finger at first, easing in with practiced control. Then two, working me open with maddening patience—twisting, curling, drawing breathless sounds from my throat until I was rocking back against him shamelessly.

“Please,” I gasped. “I need—Adrian, please ?—”

He didn’t make me beg further.

The stretch as he pushed inside made my vision blur. He was thick, relentless, pushing deeper until I was fully filled, his cock seated to the hilt. I moaned, overwhelmed, loving the way he took up space inside me.

“You feel that?” he whispered, teeth at my shoulder. “That’s mine. You’re mine.”

He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust pushing me forward against the desk, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—only feel.

Every drag of his cock over my prostate had me clenching around him, whimpering like something broken. His hand wrapped around my cock again, stroking me in time with his thrusts, bringing me closer with expert precision.

“Come for me, Noah,” he growled. “Now.”

And I did.

I came with a shattered cry, body arching as my orgasm ripped through me. Adrian followed a moment later, with a groan that sounded like victory and worship all at once, grinding in deep as he spilled inside me.

We stayed like that for a long moment, bodies trembling, breath mingling in the silence.

He kissed the back of my neck, softer now. “Still scared?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “But not enough to stop.”

His arms wrapped around me from behind. “Good,” he said again, voice low and possessive. “Because I meant what I said. You’re not leaving me. I own you now.”

And somewhere deep inside—underneath the fear, the shame, the logic—I knew I didn’t want to be owned by anyone else.