Page 31 of The Beast's Broken Angel
“It might,” he said quietly. “To me.”
I studied him, trying to determine if this was manipulation or genuine moral concern. With most people, I could read intentions easily, but Noah remained surprisingly opaque despite his apparent forthrightness.
“No more dead bodies tonight,” I finally answered truthfully. “Though I make no promises about tomorrow.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it. “At least you're honest about that much.”
“I'm honest about most things, Noah. It's just that few people want to hear honest answers to the questions they ask.”
I peeledoff my bloodied clothing slowly, analysing every flicker of my reaction to Noah’s defiance. Most disobedience triggered cold rage. A predictable, useful response. But thiswasn’t that. This was something darker, hungrier. Something that curled behind my ribs and pulsed low in my abdomen.
The shirt was beyond saving, soaked through, the blood already drying into stiff patterns. I tossed it into the bin meant for that purpose and caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror—scarred, half-shadowed under harsh lights, water already steaming on the tiles behind me.
I stepped into the shower and turned the heat until the water threatened to blister. Pain helped me focus. Pain reminded me I was still in control.
The water hit my skin and I exhaled through my teeth, my hand braced against the tile as steam rose thick around me. I let it scald away the scent of blood, but it couldn’t burn out the memory of Noah’s eyes—wide with fury, dark with something he didn’t understand yet.
He had challenged me. Not with weapons, not with words. With will. And God help me, it made me hard.
My hand drifted down without thought, fingers curling around my cock, already half-hard just from remembering the curve of Noah’s mouth when he spat defiance instead of submission.
He was beautiful in his resistance. Strong jaw clenched, throat tight with suppressed rage. That mouth—full and trembling with all the things he wanted to say but knew better than to voice. I wanted it wrapped around me. I wanted to hear him choke on it, pride and breath both.
I stroked slowly at first, teasing the edge of sensation as I imagined him on his knees, hands bound behind his back, still glaring up at me like he hadn’t already lost.
But hehadlost. He just didn’t know it yet.
I’d take my time breaking him down. Strip away every layer of armour, every sharp retort, until all that was left was thesound of his voice—cracked and breathless—as he begged to be touched. To be claimed.
The image hit me hard.
I pumped faster, groaning low as I imagined his lips parting, soft and wet around the head of my cock, eyes glassy with heat and hate and confusion. He’d try not to give me the satisfaction. He’d fail. Because I’d make himwantit. I'd turn that moral fire into moans and gasps, fuck the righteousness out of him until all he could do wasfeel.
I could almost taste him. Salt and heat and stubborn pride.
My hips jerked forward, thrusting into my own hand as the water poured down my back. The fantasy tightened like a fist around my spine—Noah pinned to the bed, legs spread, bruises blooming down his throat, his body slick with sweat as he arched into me despite himself. Crying out when I hit the spot he didn’t want to admit he craved. Writhing. Needy. Perfect.
I grunted, the sound ragged, echoing in the shower as I came, hot pulses spilling over my fist and onto the tile. My breath shuddered out of me, chest heaving.
I leaned back against the wall, letting the water run over me as I caught my breath. My skin prickled under the heat, nerves twitching, especially along the damaged side. Numb, but not completely.
My phone chimed from the bedroom as I stepped from the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. Harrison's text glowed on the screen:
Harrison
Vega making moves in Camden territory. Three locations compromised. Requires immediate response.
Pulling on a fresh shirt, I acknowledged an uncomfortable truth: my interest in Noah had moved beyond his medicalskills. Something about him disrupted my carefully maintained control, triggered responses I hadn't felt in years. Dangerous, potentially, but also...invigorating.
I left my quarters, heading toward the east wing where Noah had been installed. The house was quiet at this hour, most staff retired for the night, security running silent patterns through darkened corridors. My position granted me access to any room in Ravenswood, including those assigned to staff and guests. Privacy was a privilege I extended or withdrew at will.
Noah's door opened silently to my key card. The suite was dark except for a small lamp beside the bed, illuminating his sleeping form. He hadn't even changed from his clothes, apparently having collapsed onto the bed fully dressed upon returning from The Raven's Nest. Exhaustion and emotional overload had claimed him despite his best intentions to remain vigilant.
I approached silently, studying him in the soft light. Without the barriers of consciousness, his face appeared younger, the stress lines smoothed away by sleep. His breathing was deep and even, one arm thrown above his head in unconscious vulnerability. The position exposed the slender column of his throat where I'd touched him earlier, the pulse point that had jumped beneath my fingers.
The intimacy of watching someone sleep uninvited should have felt invasive, perhaps even distasteful. Instead, I found myself cataloguing details with almost hungry attention.
A small sound escaped him, not quite a word but a soft exhalation that might have been distress. Dreams, perhaps, processing the day's trauma. I found myself wanting to touch him, to smooth away that furrow between his brows, to claim some part of his unconscious vulnerability for myself.
