Page 53 of The Beast’s Broken Angel

I breathed against his throat, my lips tracing the delicate skin there, tongue flicking over his pulse before my teeth found that spot that made him gasp and clench around me.

He gasped, breath hitching as I hit that spot deep inside him that made his eyes roll back.

His hole clenched around me at those words, and I nearly lost it right there. My rhythm faltered for half a second, then I picked it back up, faster now, rougher, the table creaking beneath us with the force of my thrusts.

I took him harder but never without purpose, each movement angled perfectly to drive into that sweet spot that made his eyes roll back and his cock twitch with need. I reached between us and stroked him in time with my movements, slick and fast and merciless.

His nails left crescents in my skin, marking me, claiming me right back. I wanted them. Wanted every scrape and bruise, every ache he'd leave behind as proof that this was real, that he was mine and I was his.

“You're so fucking perfect,” I growled into his neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin. “So tight around my cock, taking me so good. You like being filled, don't you? Like being stretched around me until you can't think of anything else.”

He nodded frantically, words falling from his lips in broken gasps and pleas. “Feels so good, Adrian, please, I'm so close, I need...”

His legs tightened around me as his body started to tremble, that telltale tension that meant he was about to break apart. I felt him getting close before he even came, the way his hole clenched down around me, the way his voice hitched as he cried out my name.

He came with a sob, hot and wet between us, coating my hand and his stomach with proof of how good I could make him feel.

That did it for me.

I let go with a growl, driving in deep one final time and spilling inside him with a force that made the edges of my vision blur white. My orgasm tore through me like lightning, all heat and fire and the unbearable sweetness of being wanted, of being chosen.

I bit down on his shoulder as I came, hard enough to leave a mark that would last for days. Not to hurt him. To keep him. To mark him as mine in a way that everyone would see.

When it was over, I collapsed over him, careful not to crush him beneath my weight. We were both trembling, sweat slicking our bodies, breath coming in short gasps that gradually slowed as we came back to ourselves.

I brushed damp hair from his forehead and kissed him softly, reverently, tasting the salt of sweat and the sweetness that was uniquely him.

He looked up at me, eyes glassy with satisfaction, lips swollen from my kisses. “You're not a monster,” he said again, softer this time, like he was trying to convince us both. “You never were.”

I didn't answer. I just held him tighter, my cock still buried inside him, our bodies joined in ways I didn't have language for.

And for the first time in a long time, I believed him.

Afterward, I watched Noah get dressed, trying not to stare at the fresh scratches he'd left down my back or the bruises I'd painted across his skin. Fuck, we'd marked each other up proper, war wounds from a battle neither of us wanted to win.

“Right,” I said, forcing my brain back to business despite wanting to drag him back to bed and keep him there until the world ended. “Harrison's little recruitment speech proves Hayes was spot on about the bastard. This goes way deeper than just skimming money from the family accounts.”

Noah pulled his shirt on, hiding the evidence of what we'd been doing, though the scent of sex still clung to both of us like expensive cologne. “Hayes reckoned the government was after Harrison specifically, yeah? Not just sniffing around Calloway business in general.”

“That's what makes this fucking personal,” I said, jaw clenching at the thought of twenty years of betrayal, twenty years of playing the loyal advisor while bleeding my family dry.

“The cunt's been playing the long game since my parents died. Had perfect access to everything, could skim off the top and make it look like legitimate expenses.”

“Twenty bloody years,” Noah shook his head, pulling on his jacket with movements that were still slightly unsteady. “Must've stolen millions by now. And no one caught on because he was the one doing the books.”

The scope of Harrison's betrayal was staggering when viewed in its entirety. Not just financial theft but strategic sabotage, weakening the family's position while strengthening his own, positioning himself as indispensable while slowly bleeding us dry.

“He'll be expecting an answer to his little offer,” Noah continued, straightening his collar to hide the bite marks I'd left on his throat. “Thinks he's got leverage over you through me. We could use that, couldn't we?”

The way he said “we” without thinking about it sent warmth through my chest that had nothing to do with the physical satisfaction still humming in my veins. Noah was thinking like part of the team now, not just the bloke I'd coerced into medical service.

“Harrison thinks shagging you makes me weak,” I said, moving closer because I couldn't help myself, drawn by the magnetic pull that seemed to exist between us. “Reckons emotional attachment means he can manipulate me through you.”

“And does it?” Noah asked, though there was something careful in his voice, like he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. “Make you weak, I mean.”

“Probably,” I admitted, because lying seemed pointless after everything we'd shared. “But he's got it backwards. It's not weakness he should worry about.”

“What should he worry about?” The question was soft, curious, like he was trying to understand the machinery of my mind.

“That caring about you doesn't make me weak,” I said, letting him see the cold calculation in my eyes, the deadly purpose that had kept me alive in a world built on violence. “It makes me fucking lethal. Because now I've got something worth protecting, something worth killing for.”

Harrison thought emotion was weakness, but he'd never understood the difference between weakness and vulnerability. Weakness could be exploited. Vulnerability properly channeled became the most dangerous weapon in existence.

“What's your timeline then?” Noah asked, leaning into my touch when I reached for him again, unable to resist the magnetic pull between us.

“Tonight,” I said, decision crystallizing with absolute clarity. “Harrison's getting cocky, making moves too fast. Time to remind the prick why my family's run this city for three generations.”

The anticipation was building now, the familiar cold excitement that preceded violence. Harrison had played his hand too early, revealed his position before he was ready to defend it. Classic amateur mistake from someone who thought he understood the game.

“What about Turner's crew?”

“Viktor's boys finished them off this afternoon,” I said with savage satisfaction, remembering the reports of professional elimination, bodies left as messages for anyone else considering challenges to Calloway authority.

“Proper messy, lots of blood, exactly the kind of message that gets around fast in our circles.”

“He'll have backup plans,” Noah pointed out with the tactical awareness that continued to surprise me. “Blokes like him always do.”

“Course he does. That's why we're not waiting around for him to use them.” I pressed a kiss to his temple, breathing in the smell of his skin mixed with the lingering scent of our activities. “Twenty years to build his network, place his people. Every day we wait makes him stronger. ”

The strategic thinking was sound. Harrison's network had been decades in the making, tentacles reaching into every aspect of London's criminal and legitimate power structures. Delay would only give him time to consolidate, to turn advantages into unassailable positions.

“So what d'you need from me?” The question was simple, but it meant everything. Noah was offering to get his hands dirty, to cross lines he'd never thought he'd cross.

“When Harrison comes calling, when he wants to cash in on your supposed agreement,” I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be, “I need you to play along. Make him think you're willing to sell me out.”

“Play the part of your weakness,” Noah said with a bitter laugh that held no real humor. “The soft spot he can exploit.”

“Can you do it?” I asked, studying his face for any sign of hesitation or doubt. “Convince him you'd betray me to keep your sister safe?”

Noah's grin was all teeth and street-smart cunning, the survivor showing through the healer's mask like steel beneath silk. “Adrian, I've been lying to dangerous bastards since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Harrison won't know what hit him.”

The confidence in his voice, the deadly competence hiding under that pretty face, sent heat racing through my veins that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with recognition.

This was the Noah who'd kept his family alive through pure stubborn will, who'd learned to play dangerous games before most kids learned to tie their shoes.

This was the man I was falling for.

The thought hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest, sudden and devastating and absolutely fucking terrifying.

Love. Not just wanting him, not just the thrill of possession, but proper love.

The kind that makes you stupid, makes you vulnerable, makes you willing to burn the world down to keep someone safe.

Fuck.

“Adrian?” Noah's voice cut through my internal panic like a blade through fog. “You've gone a bit pale there. Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” I lied, because what was I supposed to say? That I'd just realised I was completely gone on him? That Harrison was right about emotional attachment being a weakness, and I'd just handed my worst enemy the perfect weapon? “Just thinking through the plan.”

But as I looked at Noah's face, marked up from our activities, eyes bright with intelligence and dangerous loyalty, I knew I was proper fucked. Harrison was right about one thing, caring about someone made you weak.

The question was whether it made you weak enough to get killed.

“One more thing,” Noah said as he headed for the door, then stopped and turned back with that professional expression that meant medical business. “I checked on Dominic this morning. Stubborn git's healing faster than expected, but he's pushing too hard in physio.”

I raised an eyebrow, grateful for the distraction from my own psychological revelation. “How hard?”

“Caught him doing extra reps when he thought no one was watching,” Noah said with the exasperation of a medical professional dealing with a non-compliant patient. “Trying to prove he's ready for tonight, I reckon. Had to give him a proper bollocking about tearing his stitches.”

“And?”

“Told me to piss off, that he knows his own body,” Noah continued with a wry smile that suggested he'd expected exactly that response. “Then proceeded to demonstrate why he doesn't by nearly face-planting during a basic coordination drill.”

I snorted with amusement despite the gravity of the situation. That sounded exactly like Dominic, too proud to admit weakness, too loyal to stay on the sidelines when he thought I might be in danger.

“He's worried about you,” Noah said, voice going softer with genuine concern. “Feels like shit that he can't watch your back tonight. Classic protective guilt response from someone who's defined his identity around keeping you safe.”

The assessment hit closer to home than I liked.

Dominic had been my shield for over a decade, taking bullets and knives meant for me without hesitation.

His absence tonight would leave gaps in my security that Viktor was scrambling to fill with personnel who didn't have the same instinctive understanding of my movements, my patterns, my vulnerabilities.

“He'll live,” I said, though Noah's concern for someone who'd threatened him weeks ago still amazed me. “Viktor's got tonight sorted. Dominic can get back to being my attack dog once his shoulder's properly healed.”

“Make sure he doesn't rush it,” Noah said seriously, professional authority bleeding through the concern. “Muscle memory tricks the brain into thinking everything's fine until something tears and causes permanent damage. He needs those extra weeks whether his pride likes it or not.”

“I'll sit on him if I have to,” I promised, meaning every word. Dominic's loyalty was absolute, but that same loyalty made him reckless when he thought I was in danger. “Your job is dealing with Harrison.”

Noah nodded, something passing between us that felt like shared electricity, recognition of the danger we were walking into and the trust we were placing in each other. Tonight would determine whether what we'd built together was strong enough to survive the shitstorm coming our way.

“Try not to get yourself killed,” Noah said quietly as he reached for the door handle. “I'd hate to have gone through all this trouble of falling for you just to lose you to Harrison's schemes.”

The casual admission sent warmth flooding through my chest that was immediately followed by cold terror. If I felt this strongly about him, if the thought of losing him made my chest ache like a physical wound.

“Same goes for you,” I said, voice dropping low with promise and threat. “I've got plans for later that require you breathing.”

His grin was pure wicked promise, heat and mischief and something deeper that made my pulse quicken. “Is that so?”

“Definitely,” I said, letting him see the hunger in my eyes, the possessive need that went far beyond physical desire. “So don't do anything heroic. Leave that to me.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Noah replied, though we both knew he was lying. If it came down to protecting someone, heroic was exactly what he'd do, consequences be damned.

As he left to prepare for whatever performance Harrison would demand, I found myself hoping love would prove stronger than the violence and betrayal that had shaped us both.

Because if it didn't, we were both fucked.

And not in the good way.