Masuk[CARLTON’S POV]Something flickers in his eyes. Surprise. Then hunger."You're insane.""So are you."He sets the bottle down, making sure I track every movement. "You want more?""I want everything."His cock twitches, still half-hard. I slide off the table, my legs shaking, more cum dripping down my thighs.I walk to him."My turn," I say.Before he can respond, I shove him back. He stumbles back, hitting the wall. "Carlton—"I drop to my knees and take his cock in my mouth.He tastes like me. Like us. Salt and musk and something darker.I hollow my cheek and suck using my lips to handle his balls up to that ‘V’ on the under of his crown. I lick him from root to tip, applying both hands and a scrape of teeth, not enough to hurt but enough to make him shudder. Mad-Bishop is sputtering Russian now. My saliva and his precum washes down his girth. His piercing adds extra spice. When I kiss his engorged cockhead. Not soft kiss. A french kiss where my mouth and his cock fights for dom
[CARLTON'S POV]He's on me before I can breathe.Tristan's mouth crashes into mine. Not a kiss. A claiming. His teeth sink into my bottom lip, splitting skin, drawing blood. I taste copper and whiskey and something wild, something feral that makes my spine arch off the table.His hands are everywhere. Ripping my hoodie over my head. Yanking my sweatpants down my thighs. Rough. Brutal. Like he's trying to peel me out of my skin."Tristan," I gasp. "Wait—""No."One word, final.His mouth moves to my neck. Bites. Hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to mark.I'm his.I've always been his.My hands scrabble at his back. Nails digging into muscle. Scarred flesh beneath my fingertips. The ridges of old wounds. New ones.He hisses and I know I've torn stitches open."You stood up for me," he rasps against my throat. "In front of everyone. You defended me.""Tristan—""That was the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."His hand wraps around my throat, and squeezes. Not hard enough to hurt. Ju
[TRISTAN'S POV] Yosef points at Carlton. "For a fucking bussy?" Yosef spits. "For a boy who's done nothing but destroy everything you've worked for? You've killed men for him! Good men! Men who've bled for this Brotherhood!"The room explodes. Soldiers stand. Shout. Some agree with Yosef. Some defend me.Amanda steps forward. Her voice cuts through the chaos."If anyone should be punished, it's Delinda!" she screams at me. "Not Lydia! Delinda is the one who destroyed us! And you—" She points at me. "You're the reason we're all falling apart!"Carlton flinches.I step forward."Enough," I say.No one listens.Yosef isn't done. "Since he came here, everything's gone to hell! You've lost your mind, Tristan! You've put his ass over empire! You've—"I move.In two strides, I'm in front of Yosef. My hand wraps around his throat.He chokes, his good eye bulging."Say one more word," I whisper, "and I'll finish what I started."Yosef's lips move. He's trying to speak. Trying to defy me. But
[TRISTAN'S POV] Carlton's face flushes. Red creeps up his neck, stains his cheeks.Damon opens his mouth. "Pakhan, I—""Shut the fuck up, Damon," I say without looking at him.Damon's mouth clicks shut."No," Carlton’s voice is small. Shaky.God, he's beautiful when he's ashamed.My cock strains against my slacks. I pat my thigh twice. "Come here."Carlton's eyes widen. He glances at Damon. At the room full of men watching him. At me.He doesn't move.I sit forward, let the cigar fall from my lips. It hits the floor, smolders.My gaze locks on his.This is the look I gave him last night. In the bathroom. Right before I folded him over the sink and fucked him until he couldn't remember his own name.He knows what it means."Any problem?" I ask.My hand drops to my lap. I adjust my cock through my slacks, slow and deliberate. Let him see how hard I am. How much I want him.Carlton swallows. Then Stands.Good boy.He crosses the room. Every step is hesitant. His bare feet make no sound
[TRISTAN'S POV]The meeting room smells like copper and expensive leather.I sit at the head of the table, no, not a table. A throne. Carved mahogany, velvet cushions stained with something I don't remember spilling. The hall stretches out before me like a cathedral built for sinners. Vaulted ceilings disappear into shadow. Chandeliers drip crystal and candlelight. Tapestries line the walls, burgundy and gold, embroidered with the Pyramid Brotherhood's crest: a serpent coiled around a dagger.Below me, three steps down, benches curve in a semicircle. My men sit there. Straight backs. Silent mouths. Eyes forward.They know better than to look at me directly.I'm half-dressed. Black slacks unbuttoned at the waist, hanging low enough that the V-cut of my hips shows. No shirt. No pretense.Smoke curls from the cigar between my teeth. Whiskey burns in my glass. My left leg is thrown over the armrest, casual as a king who's already won every war that matters.My cock throbs.Still. Again. A
[CARLTON’S POV]"I had my revenge," I snap. "Or did you forget Yosef's leg is shattered because of me? Tristan fucked him up real good. I guess he won't have five fingers to finger your hypocritical hole."Silence.Then Damon laughs, sharp and cold. "You think that's revenge? You think watching Tristan beat someone makes you powerful?""More powerful than you. At least I'm not spreading my legs for a man who doesn't even know my name half the time.""Yosef knows my name!” "Does he? Or does he just moan ‘Tristan’ when he fucks you?"Damon's hand twitches toward his glass. For a second, I think he's going to throw it. Instead, he drinks."You know what's sad, Carlton?" His voice is quieter now. Deadly. "You think you're special. You think because Tristan fucks you, because he puts a ring on your finger, because he calls you his, that you matter.""I do matter.""You're a replacement."My heart stops."You're not the first he's obsessed over. You won't be the last. You're just the one s
(DECLAN’S POV)The first stone hits my chest before I see it coming. “Satanist!” someone screams. Then another stone. “Kill him!” People surge against the police barricade like rabid dogs. Camera lights. Reporters. Parishioners wailing. They think we let the devil walk among them. They think we
(DECLAN’S POV)The wail of sirens fills the air. A few officers scatter around, knocking on doors and stopping people who were at home, and might have witnessed or heard something. Others record license plates of cars in the area as passers by gawk at the scene, some pushing at the tape, while offi
(CARLTON’S POV)Ducking behind the pillar, I watch Yosef stride toward the garage, Tristan’s hounds trailing after him like he owns them. Like he owns everything here. Yosef looks great tonight, nothing like the Archdemon he is, the kind of conventionally handsome that makes people stop and stare.
(CARLTON’S POV)I can’t feel my throat. Can’t feel my face. Only Tristan’s cum coating my mouth, the taste burning in the back of my throat. One minute I’m stabbing him, and the next I’m choking on his cock. I sneeze, droplets of cum glistening on my palm. I’m worse than Damon. I’m sick. But I’m n







