Chapter 137 My Angel | 030
NOELLE
Slowly, the slight crease in his brow melts away. He just stares at me for a moment, slowly running his tongue over his sparkling upper teeth, his electric gaze boring into me. My breathing quickens, the oxygen vanishing out of his office. He looks hungry. No. He looks...like he's about to go wild.
I try not to gulp as he takes a step towards me. My feet refuse to stay in one place. And with every step he takes, I move. Even so, his energy is so strong, it pulls at me like gravity.
"Noelle," he says, his voice lower than I've ever heard it. My head spins, the hairs on my skin rising.
"Y-yes?” I end up squeaking, stumbling backwards.
He doesn't rush. He closes the distance as if he's measuring how many seconds I have left before I beg.
"Tell me. Who's this friend of yours?" He practically purrs. "I want his full name."
Shit. I didn't think about that.
"Why should I tell you that? It's private," I force out the words with the intention to rile him up even more.
He's standing right in front of me now, my back against the wall. I barely remember getting here.
He plants a hand on the wall beside my head, looking down at me.
"I'll ask you that question one more time. I dare you to deflect," he all but growls.
Holy...hell.
Does he know that I'm lying? Can he hear my heartbeat?
His other hand wraps around my throat, and I gasp.
"Full name, Angel. Now."
"Why—" My voice cracks. "Why do you even—"
"Full. Name." Each word is punctuated by another incremental squeeze. "Or I start wrecking things. Starting with whatever part of you still thinks you can keep secrets from me."
His free hand slides down slowly over my hip, then lower. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my inner thigh like he's marking territory.
"Say it, Angel." His mouth ghosts my ear, his breath hot. "Or I’ll make you scream it while I ruin every inch of you."
My lips tremble, parted, but silence is all I give him.
He holds my gaze for one long, suffocating second. Then the corner of his mouth lifts, his disarming dimples flashing.
"That's what I thought," he says, his voice thick with dark satisfaction.
His fingers ease their grip on my throat. Air floods back in a rush. I drag it in greedily, my chest rising and falling hard against his.
But his hand doesn't leave. His palm stays pressed flat over my collarbone, his thumb resting lightly against the frantic flutter of my pulse, feeling every erratic beat.
He leans in and takes my mouth without warning.
His lips seal over mine, warm and unhurried at first. Then deeper. His tongue slides against mine in a slow, stroking glide that steals the last of my oxygen.
He tastes like espresso, yet the taste of his kisses leaves my body humming. I’m addicted.
I whimper involuntarily into his mouth.
His free hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him until there's no space left. His heartbeat thuds against my chest, syncing with mine in a reckless rhythm.
My hands fist in his shirt, anchoring myself against the tide of sensation threatening to drown me.
He deepens the kiss further in lazy strokes of his tongue that explore every corner of my mouth like he's mapping me for later.
A low sound rumbles in his throat. Something in between a groan and a growl. And I feel it more than hear it, the vibration travelling down my body until my thighs tremble around his.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. Our breaths tangle, ragged and hot.
His thumb strokes along the column of my throat, tracing the place where he held me moments ago.
"Did it hurt?" He whispers, blinking slowly.
I shake my head, too stunned to speak. He leans in, pressing his soft lips along my neck. I'm panting now, my body heating up.
Then he pulls away and heads to his desk. I watch him speak into the intercom.
"Paige," he says, his voice still rough from the kiss. "Cancel the rest of my meetings for the day. Everything. Reschedule for next week if you have to. I'm out."
Paige's voice crackles through, professional but laced with the faintest surprise.
"Yes, sir. All of them? Even the board meeting at four?"
"Especially the board meeting at four." He straightens, already moving back towards me. "Tell them something came up. Something personal."
The line clicks off.
He crosses the distance in three strides, gently takes my wrist and guides me away from the wall. My legs feel unsteady, as if the floor is still swaying from everything that just happened. He doesn't let go as he steers us towards the door.
I blink up at him, my pulse still hammering.
"What are you doing?" I whisper, breathless.
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob and looks down at me. Those dimples flash again, a soft expression on his face. Is he fighting the spell now?
"I'm going shopping," he says.
My brows knit. "Shopping?"
"With my wife."
Heat rushes to my face, my chest, and everywhere else at once. A ridiculous, giddy smile breaks across my lips before I can stop it.
He watches the transformation on my face and brushes his thumb along the inside of my wrist.
"You didn't think I was going to let you walk out of here after that little stunt, did you?" he murmurs. "Not without making sure every man in a twenty-mile radius knows exactly who you belong to."
I let out a laugh. "Whatever you say, husband."
....
The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, leading into the dim, cool expanse of the underground parking garage. Azren's hand is still wrapped around mine, possessive.
We've taken maybe five steps when a figure bursts from between two SUVs. She's small and hunched, her white hair escaping a loose bun. She's an elderly woman, moving faster than she should be able to. And she's heading straight for Azren.
"My baby!" she shrieks, her voice cracking. "Give me my baby! Where's Trent? Where is he?!"
She collides with him before either of us can react. Her small frail fists pound against his abdomen, over and over, like she's trying to break through muscle and bone to reach something inside.
She's so short that her head barely reaches his ribs, but the blows land with desperate force.
"You took him! You took my boy!"
Azren doesn't move or raise a hand to stop her. He just stands there, staring straight ahead, his expression blank. My heart sinks.
"Ma'am—wait—" I step forward instinctively, my voice shaking. "Are you okay? What's happening?"
Confusion spikes through me. Trent? Baby?
This woman looks like she's breaking down, tears streaming down her cheeks, and Azren... Azren is letting her hit him.
A younger woman—maybe late twenties, with her dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail—comes sprinting from the same direction, breathless and horrified.
"Gran! Gran, stop—come on—" She grabs the old woman's arms, trying to tug her back. The elderly woman fights, still pounding and sobbing Trent's name.
The young woman's eyes dart up first to Azren, then to me. She freezes.
Her gaze locks on mine, widening with terror.
"Noelle?" Her voice lowers to a hoarse whisper. "Oh Gods. You're Noelle."
I blink. "How do you—"
"You shouldn't be here." She yanks harder at her grandmother, but her eyes never leave my face. "You need to get away from him. Right now. Before it's too late."
Azren still hasn't spoken. But I can feel the tremor in the hand holding mine. It's subtle at first, but it's growing stronger. His fingers twitch against my skin.
The young woman's voice cracks. "He's a monster. He killed my brother, Trent. He killed him, and he never even looked sorry. Don't let him do the same to you."
My blood runs cold in my veins as I process her dreadful words.
I stare at Azren's profile. He's still blank-faced, but now I can see the tremor running through his body.
His jaw is clenched so hard, it looks like it hurts. Slowly, he lifts his free hand and presses it hard against the side of his head, his fingers digging into the skin behind his ear.
A low sound slips out of him. It's not quite a groan, but it's more like air forced through a closing throat.
The elderly woman keeps crying, her fists still thumping uselessly against him. The young woman keeps pulling at her while staring at me with desperate, pleading eyes.
Azren's eyes finally slide to mine.
They're wrong.
His pupils have consumed the iris until there's almost no colour left. His breathing is erratic. The hand at his ear presses harder, his nails leaving crescent marks on his own skin. He's shaking harder now.
"Az?" I whisper, fear slowly creeping in.