Page 37 of Beyond Hate

Chapter 13

London

WhyhadIopenedthe 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 neededsomekind 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’tbeOtto. 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 usedhis 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 beenableto say no.

I needed that.

I needed to be able to deny this, to tell him that Ihatedhim 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.

Ihatedhim… but I hated the feeling twisting in my gut more, the need I had to be filled up withsomething. 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. Ineededto be punished.

I needed a few minutes to not think.

I needed the way he’d made me feel when he held meafterhe 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 Icouldn’thurt 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.

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