Chapter 103: Shattered Control 1

Damon’s POV

A hot, sudden tremor shot straight down my spine, blinding me completely as my breath caught dead in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut for a split second, my fists clenching into the bedsheets until my knuckles turned white.

I had actually come. Right there in my pants. Just from watching Micah recklessly crash his lips against Noah’s.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Embarrassment, anger, and an overwhelming, raw heat surged through my blood all at once. I was supposed to be the one in control here. I was supposed to be the sensible one keeping Micah safe until Noah arrived. Instead, I was sitting on a leather bed in a red room, soaked in my own ruin, completely unhinged by a drunk, chaotic trial worker who didn’t even know what day it was.

Noah didn’t pull away immediately. For three agonizing seconds, he stood entirely motionless, receiving the kiss with an unreadable silence. But when he finally backed off, his expression wasn’t angry or disgusted. It was dead calm. His dark eyes glinted with a quiet, lethal focus as he stared down at Micah, whose lips were still parted, wet, and breathless.

"You’re out of line, Micah," Noah said softly.

"Am I?" Micah slurred, a drunken, victorious giggle escaping his throat. He tilted his head back, looking up at Noah through heavy, half-lidded eyes. "You came fast enough when you thought I was in danger. Look at you..." Micah reached out a trembling finger, lightly touching the crimson drop of blood drying on Noah’s cheek. "Did you kill someone again, huh?"

My patience snapped. The raw frustration boiling inside my chest overflowed. I couldn’t sit there listening to him tease the most dangerous man in this city like it was a game. Anyone could call it jealousy.

I reached up, grabbing Micah firmly by his upper arm, and yanked him back onto my lap with zero gentleness.

"Ow! Damon!" Micah gasped as his back slammed flush against my chest.

"Shut up," I growled directly into his ear, my grip tightening around his arm until he winced. My jaw was clenched so tight it ached. "Do you have any idea what kind of mess you’ve made tonight? You’re playing with fire, Micah. You think this is funny? You think I’m just here for your entertainment?"

Yes, Damon. Yes, you’re here just for Micah.

Micah didn’t look frightened. If anything, my rough handling made his eyes sparkle with an even wilder light. He leaned back against me, letting his head rest against my shoulder, his hot breath fanning across my neck as he looked up at me sideways.

"You’re shaking, Damon," Micah whispered, his voice laced with an intoxicating sweetness that made my blood boil. "Are you mad at me... or are you just frustrated because you couldn’t finish what you started?"

"I said shut your mouth," I snapped, digging my fingers into his waist. I didn’t care if I was leaving faint red marks on his pale skin. He needed to feel the reality of where he was. He needed to feel that I wasn’t some soft cushion he could bounce off of whenever he felt like acting reckless.

"Damon."

Noah’s voice cut through the air.

I whipped my head up, glaring at Noah. He had stepped closer to the edge of the mattress. His titanium card was already back in his pocket, his bloody hand resting lightly on the wooden bedpost. He looked entirely undisturbed by my harsh grip on Micah, but his eyes were locked onto my face with absolute precision.

"Release his arm," Noah said quietly.

"He needs to be disciplined, Noah," I shot back, my voice tight and strained as I kept my grip locked onto Micah. "He’s completely lost his mind tonight. I’m sure he pushed George, he drank until he couldn’t stand, and now he’s acting like he owns both of us! If I didn’t hold him down, he’d probably throw himself off the balcony!"

Noah didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t argue. He simply reached out, his cool, steady fingers wrapping around my wrist. He didn’t use force, but the unyielding pressure he applied made my fingers open whether I wanted them to or not.

"I said release him," Noah repeated smoothly. "I will handle Micah. You better go gather yourself."

I stared at Noah, my breath coming out in ragged, angry hitches. "Gather myself? Are you blind? Look at him!"

While we argued, Micah didn’t sit still for a single second. Taking advantage of Noah’s close proximity, Micah reached out with both hands and grabbed the front of Noah’s jacket, pulling him down toward him.

"Noah..." Micah whined softly, his voice trembling with a needy, intoxicated ache. "Don’t talk to him. Talk to me. You’re so cold... why are you always so cold?"

Instead of shoving him away or barking an order, Noah let himself be pulled down onto the edge of the bed. He sat next to us, his presence cool and grounding compared to the feverish heat radiating off me and Micah.

Slowly, Noah raised his left hand. His long, calloused fingers gently cupped Micah’s cheek, cradling his face with a shocking, almost painful degree of tenderness. His thumb swept lightly over Micah’s bottom lip, wiping away a smear of spit.

"You drank too much," Noah murmured softly, his thumb pressing down gently on Micah’s lip until Micah opened his mouth slightly, taking a ragged breath. "Your body is burning up, Micah. You don’t know what you’re asking for right now."

"I do know," Micah whimpered, leaning his face heavily into Noah’s cool palm. A soft shudder ran through his body. "I want you. Both of you... right here. Stop acting like a boss for five minutes, Noah. Please..."

The contrast between us was infuriating. I was sitting right in front of Micah, holding him roughly by the hips, my body aching with a desperate, aggressive need to mark him, to make him understand pain and pleasure all at once. And there was Noah, sitting like a silent god, undoing all of Micah’s defenses with nothing more than a gentle touch of his hand.

"You see what he’s doing?" I spat out, my chest heaving. "He’s manipulating you, Noah. He knows exactly how to make you soft."

Noah didn’t look at me. His eyes remained fixed on Micah’s face, watching the heavy rise and fall of the boy’s chest. "He isn’t making me soft, bastard. He’s intoxicated, exhausted, and running on adrenaline because George frightened him. Violence won’t calm him right now."

"Violence?" I laughed darkly, my hands tightening on Micah’s thighs, pulling his lower body even closer against my damp trousers. "I haven’t even started being violent yet. If he wants to play with the big dogs in this club, he needs to learn what happens when he pushes people past their limits."