Page 70 of Beyond Hate

“Fuck, yes… Otto, please. Forever.”

He was too sweet. Somehow his begging seemed to soothe the need inside me to hurt, to cut, to maim. Somehow his tears on my tongue calmed the monster in my chest at the same time it called it forward. I started to thrust in earnest, fucking him hard enough that my ears were flooded with the sound of the breath punching from his lungs… and when I started to feel pleasure make my body tense and tingle, I dropped my hand between us and wrapped my fingers around his throat.

London’s eyes went wide as I shifted my angle and started driving against his already oversensitive nerves, over and over. But this time he couldn’t gasp, he couldn’t beg, he could only stare at me with wide-eyed desperation as his fingers scrambled and his lids fluttered.

His pulse hammering against my digits gave me a perfect guide to how close he was, but it was his fingers weakly tangling in my hair and dragging me down for a breathless kiss that drove me over the edge. He would have let me choke the life from him and kissed me while I did it.

London really would give me everything.

My hand at his throat shifted upward, and the low gasp of his inhalation was cut off with a cry as he came one more time. I could feel his body jerk weakly against me, his half-limp cock attempting to give more even though I didn’t know if there was anything left to give.

That was fine, I had more than enough for both of us, and with his mouth pressed against mine and the taste of blood and cum and tears on my tongue, I couldn’t resist anymore.

I couldn’t do anything but thrust hard and fast and feel my body clench as orgasm swept me over the edge.

In that moment, I was vulnerable. In that moment, London probably could have grabbed the knife I’d used to carve us both up and put it in my back, and I might have died happy. Pleasure tingled along every nerve ending in my body, and my cock spilling deep inside his worked ass was fucking poetry… because I knew it was both of us. Our blood, our cum, our pleasure mixing inside him and marking him as mine forever.

My hips rocked and worked into him until I had nothing left to give, until he was whining and crying my name and halfheartedly trying to push me away even as his fingers stayed clenched in my hair and he kissed wherever he could reach.

For a while I just stayed like that, with his mouth pressed to my skin and his body shivering in an attempt to draw me closer while needing to push me away.

If I could have lived like that forever, I would have… but I wasn’t sure London could take any more. Reluctantly, I shifted, pulling my cock from his ass and sitting back so I could watch the way our combined spill leaked from his stretched hole. I couldn’t resist sliding my fingers through it, pushing them and that mess back inside him.

London moaned, his hands scrambling, his body incapable of fighting me anymore as I teased against his overworked prostate and watched in fascination as another little trickle of cum oozed from his tip.

“Otto…” The whine of my name was enough to let me know I’d probably pushed him far enough.

For tonight.

It didn’t stop me from rocking my fingers into him one more time so I could drink down the sound of him gasping for breath until I finally relented and pulled out of him completely. My hands stroked his thighs, his hips—his body was a mess. Everythingabouthim was a mess… and I was pretty sure if Ileft him lying in it, he’d snap apart in a way I couldn’t put back together.

“You did so good, rabbit. You break so beautifully for me.” I murmured the praise as I continued the gentle motion of petting him. Even that touch seemed like it was almost too much, but he was leaning into each stroke of my fingers. The words seemed like a second caress, because his lips lifted in the softest, sweetest smile. Almostshy.

It was almost impossible to believe that smile could exist after what I’d done—after what I still wanted to do—but it was there. It stayed there as I kept running my fingers over his skin and murmuring praises until his breathing finally returned to normal and his lashes fluttered open so he could look at me.

Fuck, he was stunning. He was covered in blood and cum, a perfect painting of the depravity that lived in my soul and needed a canvas.

London was pure art.

The soft sound that tore from him when I slowly trailed my fingers through his hair was pure sin. It was nearly a purr, but it turned into a low whine when I forced myself to finally push back so I could stand. As gorgeous as he was, I needed to get the wound on his chest and the bite marks I’d left behind cleaned and bandaged.

“Don’t go,” he murmured as soon as I was on my feet. I wasn’t sure how to tell him I didn’t think I had the strength to, even though the taste of blood and tears on my tongue told me he’d be better off if I did.

Chapter 25

London

EverythinghurtwhenIwoke up the next morning, and I stretched without opening my eyes. I could feel every bruise, every cut. Every bite mark and sore muscle.

It wasgood. Fuck, it was better than anything I’d ever felt in my life. I felt used, and broken… I felt put back together. It was almost like I’d been baptized in pain, and Otto had brought me back to life with the pleasure that came after.

I was still confused about everything that was going on—most of it still seemed impossible—but I knew one thing.

I wanted to do that again.

I wanted to do that for the rest of my life.

I wanted…

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