Page 90 of The Beast's Broken Angel
I pushed inside him with a groan, the tight heat of his hole swallowing me inch by slow inch. I had to grit my teeth against the overwhelming wave of sensation, every muscle in my body straining not to lose control and just take what I needed.
He was so fucking tight, his body clinging to me like he'd been made to take my cock, like this was exactly where I belonged.
We both moaned, the sound raw and involuntary. He wrapped around me completely, arms and legs and heat, breath hot against my throat as I buried myself to the hilt.
“Adrian,” he whispered, and that did something to me, made me thrust deeper until I was seated fully inside him. We fit. Christ, we fucking fit like we'd been designed for this.
I moved slowly at first, each roll of my hips measured and controlled, watching the way his lips parted with every thrust, how his fingers dug into my shoulders like he needed to anchor himself to something real.
My possessiveness was still there, simmering beneath the surface like molten steel, but I tempered it with care. I didn't just want to take. I wanted to make him understand what this meant, what he meant.
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 reachedbetween 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, sweatslicking 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 onhis 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?”