Page 48 of The Beast's Broken Angel
“And now that you have,” I said, “you won’t be able to forget it.”
He looked at me in the mirror. Eyes dark. Chest heaving.
“Say it,” I breathed.
“…I want this.”
“Want what?”
“You,” he said, voice rough. “I want you to fucking destroy me.”
I smiled, slow and sharp.
Not yet.Not yet. He wasn’t ready. But something in me wanted to test that edge. To show him just how thin the line could be.
I let my palm hover just an inch from his bare skin, ghosting the heat of a touch I withheld. He trembled. Even his breathing felt like a question I’d forced from his chest. I could have taken him apart, right there—bent him over the counter, pressed his cheek to the glass, made him watch. That would have been easy. But I wanted something more complicated. I wanted him aware. Exposed.
I pressed the silent alert hidden in my pocket, a custom-built remote that sent a single encrypted pulse. Viktor would come. He always did. He knew when he was needed.
Noah didn’t notice. Not with how wound up he was, how he fixated on the movement of my hand, the tone of my voice curling like smoke in his ear. He was barely breathing, too consumed by the heat in the air—by fury, shame, and something far messier.
Three hard knocks. The door opened. The sterile airshifted as Viktor stepped inside, closing it with a softclickthat sounded like judgment. Final. Inescapable.
Noah flinched, half-naked and flushed, but he didn’t move. His reflection stared back at him from the polished steel cabinets—shoulders tense, lips bitten raw. My reflection beside his looked calmer, colder. Predatory.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Noah spat, but his voice had frayed at the edges—more fear than fire.
I didn’t bother to answer. I looked at Viktor instead, gave a small tilt of my chin. It was all he needed.
He moved forward, quiet and massive, placing himself between Noah and the exit. A wall of flesh and silence. I reached back, curling my fingers around Viktor’s wrist as he passed behind me—guiding him forward, letting him know what I wanted without saying a word.
His body responded before his mind even caught up.
I moved to unbuckle my belt, but Viktor’s hands replaced mine—precise, obedient. He lowered himself to his knees with deliberate reverence, the overhead light catching on the pale scar slicing through his knuckles.
As he undid my belt and pulled my trousers down just enough, I cupped his jaw.
“You know what to do,” I murmured, my voice low, intimate.
Viktor’s dark eyes met mine for a heartbeat. Then he kissed me.
Not soft. Not gentle. It was filthy and full of weight, his lips bruising mine, his tongue demanding space. I let him devour me for one greedy second before I bit his bottom lip and pulled away.
“You only get what I give,” I growled. Then I spit into his open mouth.
He swallowed without flinching—becausehe knew it was a gift. Then he looked up at me from his knees, lips wet and red, and wrapped one fist around the base of my cock.
His mouth was hot as it closed over me—tongue working in practiced circles, throat flexing as he swallowed me deeper, slower, deliberate. He made a sound low in his throat, guttural and obscene, and I felt it all the way through my spine.
But my eyes weren’t on him.
They were on Noah.
His face was thunderstruck. His breath came hard, shallow. His cock strained visibly against his jeans, and he was trying—failing—not to reach for it. The mix of rage and shame carved deep into his face, coloring his cheeks a violent pink.
I caught his gaze in the mirror, not allowing him to look away. Not from this.
“You see this, Noah?” I asked, voice razor-sharp. “You see what loyalty looks like? Obedience. Not lip service. Not tantrums. Not ego.”
