Page 14 of Beyond Hate (Beyond #3)

London

W hy had I opened the door? I’d known exactly what was going to happen. It wasn’t like I could deny the fact that I’d known who was out there; I’d stared out the peephole for a few seconds before I finally slid the chain lock open so I could let him in.

Let him in .

Fuck, I’d wanted to let him in. That was the problem. Maybe I just wanted him to hurt me—maybe I wanted to be punished for the things I’d let happen.

Or maybe I just wanted him.

Everything was too tangled in my head now, too messed up for me to sort out. I needed something. I needed some kind of clarity so I could figure out what the fuck I was actually doing, what I wanted.

Because it couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be Otto.

I couldn’t want the person who was sliding his thumb to the back of my throat and watching me gag with eyes that went hot.

I couldn’t want the person who unzipped his pants without saying a word and used his digit in my mouth to wrench my jaw open.

He didn’t ask for permission, he didn’t wait to see if I gave him the go ahead.

He slid his cock between my lips and rolled his pelvis so my mouth was suddenly full of the taste of him, and it was his cockhead drawing another gag from me instead of his finger.

It didn’t stop me from raising my hands and putting them on his hips.

I gave one squeeze—hard, desperate—drawing him closer while I swallowed around the taste of him in an attempt to stop myself from completely choking.

It drew a sound from low in his throat, a groan that he couldn’t quite suppress.

“Do you want me to punish you, London?” Otto’s eyes were fire when he whispered the question, like I could answer with my mouth full of him.

But…

I squeezed his hip once, hoping that would be enough for him—fuck, hoping it would be enough for me.

Maybe if I didn’t say yes, when this was all over and done with I could convince myself that I hadn’t been able to say no.

I needed that.

I needed to be able to deny this, to tell him that I hated him because he’d done this to me. He’d broken me in that building, and then thrown me back into my life like nothing had happened and expected me to know how to be a whole person without his bloodstained fingers holding me together.

I hated him… but I hated the feeling twisting in my gut more, the need I had to be filled up with something . To be punished for all of this, because I’d let it happen.

I’d led my client to his death. The men Otto had hurt in the facility were because of me. All of this was apparently because of some person I’d been in a past life, who’d been so fucked up that his karma was chasing him into my present day. I needed to be punished.

I needed a few minutes to not think.

I needed the way he’d made me feel when he held me after he broke me.

My eyes rolled up to Otto, and I don’t know if he saw the begging in them, or if he was like a predator finally sniffing out the weakness in his prey, but I saw the heat streak through his gaze.

His hands tightened in my hair and he jerked his hips forward without warning, thrusting so hard into the back of my throat that it made me dizzy, that my body clenched and revolted, choking around him even as I clung to his hips in a weak attempt to tell him that he wasn’t allowed to stop.

Maybe I could die like this.

It seemed better than all the other options Otto had shown me were possible.

There were options where you didn’t die—where you lived, and had to deal with whatever form of pain he could dish out, whatever punishment he saw fit.

But this… this was different.

And when he flexed his hips and drove into the back of my throat again, punching the air from my lungs and making me groan around his cock, I felt my mind drift.

All I could see was his face and those pale eyes burning down while he looked at me. All I could see was Otto, and as fucked up as it was, it was… bliss.

I gave myself over to it, my hands falling loosely to my lap and my head tilting to give him as much access to my throat as I could, guided by the way he had his fingers tangled in my hair.

This wasn’t about me getting off—it wasn’t about pleasure.

It was about the look on his face, the way every thrust into my mouth felt like he was delving a little deeper inside me, like he might eventually touch the center of me and realize that I wasn’t who he thought I was.

I hadn’t hurt him.

It felt like I couldn’t hurt him, even though it might have been a good idea. I didn’t have an explanation for it, no logic or reason that made it make sense.

It just was.

Otto was inevitable, and at that moment, I needed him to break me apart.

He fucked my throat until my vision was completely blurred with tears, until I could feel the stuttering of his hips as pleasure overtook him and he started to lose his careful, punishing rhythm.

If he wasn’t so deep, I might have been able to taste it—if I wasn’t so out of it, I wondered if I’d want to.

It was getting hard to deny it. Hudson had been right, and Otto had been right.

I really was fucked up. I was so fucked up, because blissing out on the feel of Otto fucking me to the point that I couldn’t breathe was the first time I’d felt whole since he’d left me in the trees by that burning building.

Otto being here to break me apart felt better than every moment of my life I’d spent trying to hold myself together alone.

I turned my tear-streaked gaze up to his just in time to see his eyes narrow, to see his lids flutter as pleasure overtook him. I didn’t know if it was my expression or the way my throat struggled to catch breaths around his thrusts… and I didn’t really care.

I just wanted it.

I wanted whatever he was going to give me, and I didn’t have it in me to fight it anymore. My fingers on his hips spasmed once, felt weak when he buried himself and came down my throat.

He was so deep I couldn’t get a breath, so hot as he spilled that I wondered if he was going to burn right through me.

I wanted him to.

I wanted the fire to either cleanse me or prove that I was made for hell, that I was made for this..

I wanted…

My vision started to blur, sparking in and out with the thundering beat of my heart and the lack of oxygen in my lungs. Otto didn’t seem to care—he flexed his hips and stayed buried in my throat until my eyes rolled back in my head.

It took a second for me to realize when he pulled back…

another to notice he was picking me up and carrying me to the couch.

He laid me down, and I felt more than saw it when he kneeled beside me.

His fingers were careful when they slipped through my hair, his voice a low murmur when he said something.

Good .

Fuck. It made me shudder, but I couldn’t find the strength to open my eyes as he stroked his fingers across my chest, down the length of my body. He slipped his hand beneath my pajama bottoms and pressed his lips to my ear.

“You like it when I break you, don’t you? You looked like you wanted me to kill you, London… like you would have been happy to choke on my cock.”

I would have—maybe I did want that. I couldn’t open my eyes to look at him, couldn’t catch my breath to say anything as he wrapped his hand around my dick and started to stroke slowly.

How could I tell him that I’d barely felt like I was living before he’d taken me? That I’d felt more alive wrapped up in the grip of fear and his fucked-up touch than I had while I was with Hudson?

How could I say that I wanted him to punish me because I’d gotten a man killed to prove to myself he was real… that I’d do it again?

I’d do it again .

Fuck.

“Fuck…” I wasn’t sure if the word came out clear enough for him to hear it, but my body writhed and tried to rock up into his touch. It was Otto’s palm flat on my waist that kept me still, his mouth brushing up and down my cheek, slicking my skin with my own tears that kept me steady.

“You’re a mess. Maybe we both are. Maybe that’s just how we were always supposed to be. I wasn’t a killer in our past life, but you were. And now… now you’re the broken one.”

Broken.

The word made tears sting behind my lashes again, and his lips found them before they slid free, kissing softly while his palm kept up a steady rhythm that was starting to make my body burn.

I was trembling with the build of pleasure rippling through me, too guilty to let myself feel it, too fucked up and fucked out to push him away so I could stop him.

“Please…” I murmured, turning my head and finally opening my eyes. He was blurry, inches from me, and his face was… soft.

Curious.

I wasn’t even sure what I was asking for, and it didn’t really matter when he pressed his lips to my ear again.

“You’re fucked up, London. So fucked up that you want to come with my hand around your cock even though you watched me kill a man…

just because you want to be good for me, don’t you?

” Something about his cool, almost melodic voice saying such dirty things—such true things—made it impossible for me to resist. Impossible for me to deny.

Impossible for me to do anything but give in to it when he stroked me one more time and dug his fingers into my waist. I came hard, my breath punching from my chest in a low groan and my fingers scrambling to hold on to something.

To hold on to anything.

To hold on to him.

My nails bit into his wrists as I whined, and even as my vision blurred with pleasure, I couldn’t look away from his face. From those cat-green eyes burning with hellfire while he watched me fall apart.

I couldn’t move when he leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine so he could drink down the sounds I was making.

He kissed me until I was breathless again, pumped my cock through my orgasm until I was twitching and oversensitive…

and then lifted his hand and painted my lips with my own cum.

He coated my tongue with it, then leaned in and licked the taste out of my mouth, and I felt the low rumbling sound that ripped from his chest when he pulled back.

“Fuck, you really have no survival instincts, London.”

Yeah… maybe he was right.

I just didn’t have it in me to tell him that when he smoothed his fingers through my hair one more time before standing up. I didn’t have it in me to say anything when he looked down at me on the couch, my shirt rucked up over my stomach, my pants clinging wetly to my cock with cum…

Debauched.

Fucked up.

I wasn’t sure what word to use anymore.

“Otto…” It took me three times to manage his name, but he just shook his head.

“Try not to do anything that will get someone else killed while I’m gone, London.”

I wasn’t sure if the burn in my eyes was from shame or because he stood after that and quietly walked out the front door.