Hurt Me Right: Rotten Love

By Kitty Synn

Milly is sweet and kind, and lying in my ER, beaten and broken. At five foot nothing, she's so fragile, and it takes everything in me not to track down the asshole that did this and make him pay, but instead I focus on caring for her.

 

With everything she's been through, I should walk away. She deserves someone even-tempered and less controlling. But I can't let her go.

 

I refuse to let her go.

 

Note: This book has an intense, possessive man who will do anything (and I mean anything) to protect the woman he's determined to keep.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kitty Synn
• Release date: Mar 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781958309117

Book preview

Hurt Me Right

HURT ME RIGHT

THE ROTTEN LOVE SERIES

KITTY SYNN

LUPO PUBLISHING

Copyright © 2023 by Kitt Lynn LLC, Kitty Synn

Editing by Mountains Wanted Publishing & Indie Author Services

Proofread by P.S. Airheart

Cover by Soren Covers

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-958309-11-7 (eBook)

ISBN: 979-8-376814-10-9 (Paperback)

For more information visit www.kittlynn.com

For Holly. Thank you for answering some really weird questions.

CONTENTS

Do Not Read This Book

The Coffee Shop

University Medical

Where Am I?

A Few Days Later

The Bathroom

Milly’s Bedroom

A Few Days Later

The Gym

Getting Ready

In Ash’s Bed

Ash’s Bedroom

Fancy Dinner

The Kitchen

The Elevator

Ryan’s Waiting Room

Back Home

Dr. Jabbari’s Office

Ash’s Office

Yasi’s Waiting Room

The Stairway

Hospital Room

Two Months Later

Need More?

Acknowledgments

About the Author

DO NOT READ THIS BOOK

This series is about women that leave abusive relationships then fall for controlling men.

If men in real life acted the way the men in my books did, I would fucking rage. They aren’t good guys. They don’t deserve the girl, and any sane woman should run screaming. But this story isn't the real world, so don’t read this book if that’s what you’re looking for.

Content/Trigger Warnings:

Abuse of MFC by a secondary character

Assault of MFC by a secondary character

Sexual Assault by a secondary character

Discussions of past abuse

Discussions of childhood neglect and abuse by a parent

Discussions forced prostitution

Possessive and controlling MMC

PTSD

Descriptions of Anxiety/Panic attacks

Hurt/Comfort

D/s themes

Age Gap (19 years)

Spanking

Doctor play

Squirting

Light Degradation

Murder on page

HEA, cuz I’ve tortured my characters enough and they deserve to be fucking happy

THE COFFEE SHOP

Milly

Milly? Krista leans over the counter, staring at my wrist. Is that another bruise? Her blue eyes meet mine, and I swear her teased blonde hair doubles in height.

No. I pull my sleeves down. This happens every time I get even a papercut. I appreciate her concern, but she’s way too overprotective.

Like hell, Krista whispers harshly, marching around the counter and sidling up next to me. You’ve got to leave him, Milly. He’s going to end up killing you. Please—

I drag my hand down, motioning for her to lower her voice. The small lobby of the coffee shop only has two customers this morning, and I’m relieved when they don’t look our way. One, I whisper, pulling her toward the espresso machine, no one has hit me. Two: keep your voice down.

Show me your wrist, she demands, her hands on her curvaceous hips.

No. I mimic her stance, giving her just as much attitude as she’s giving. Josh didn’t touch me.

Milly, her voice drops, and she reaches for me, cupping my cheeks, then smoothing her hand down my dark, thick braid. I am begging you. Please, leave him. Come stay with me.

I lean into my sweet friend, thankful to have her in my life. She’s only five years older than me, but when you’re barely twenty-one, everyone treats you like a baby no matter how old they are.

He’s going to end up killing you, she says, her big blue eyes brimming with fear. And if you don’t—

I already left him, I cut in, smiling wide at the look of shock on her face. I left three days ago, and I haven’t been back. I tug at my sleeve, showing her the faint trace of blue mark on my skin. And this isn’t a bruise; it’s paint.

Praise sweet baby Jesus! Krista practically yells, then flings her arms around my shoulders. Her small frame squishes up against my boobs as she envelopes me in the snuggliest hug. What happened that made you leave? Where are you staying? Why didn’t you call me?

I laugh, only feeling slightly bad for not telling her before now, but Krista has two babies at home to keep track of in addition to owning this adorable little coffee shop. Bugging her with my depressing problems just seems mean.

I don’t know why, but I just had enough and decided to leave. My eyes drift over the shiny equipment just past Krista as I remember the exact moment. That morning, I was standing in the living room, staring at Josh passed out on the couch. We fought the night before, and… I cross my arms, hugging my still sore ribs, I just couldn’t do it anymore.

Krista’s lips press together like she’s trying to hold in a thousand thoughts, but she doesn’t say anything.

So I packed what I could and left. I’m staying at a motel not far from here. Her mouth opens, and I answer her question before she has a chance to ask it. And I didn’t call because the twins are still getting over that ear infection, and the last thing you need is another needy baby in your house.

You stop that right now, Krista says, smacking me playfully on the hip with a tea towel. You don’t have to stay in some run-down motel.

It’s not run-down, I lie.

We have a guest room with your name on it, she continues, completely ignoring me. And I just know Rick would love to have someone around to chase the girls so he can lay on the couch like a bum.

I smile at that, but only for a moment. The thing is, I whisper, giving the shop a sweeping look. I don’t want to risk Josh coming to your house.

Her expression falls, and I can feel her momma-bear tendencies rising to the surface. I won’t let him touch you, she practically snarls. You come stay with me, and that boy will die if he so much as looks at my front door.

I nod but don’t say anything. I can’t. I’m too overwhelmed. Krista has been my closest—and only—friend for three years now.

I mean it, Milly, Krista says, squeezing my upper arms. I will kill that boy if I have to.

I force a smile, pretending it’s a joke, but I know Krista all too well—she’ll totally kill him. I can’t do that to you or the kids. I shake my head, trying to push away my swirling fears. He always knows where I am. I don’t know how he does it, but—

Do you share your location on your phone?

I give her a pointed look. I might not be the brightest crayon in the box, but I’m not that stupid. Of course not.

She snorts at my expression. Calm down there, girlie. I was just checking. No need to go feral on me.

I laugh, rubbing the spot of blue on my wrist. I bought one of those watercolor kits on Saturday, I change the subject, not being subtle in the least. I’m horrible but completely in love with the process.

Krista has mercy on me, not forcing me to talk about my shitty problems anymore. I’ll call Rick and have him pick up dinner. We can drink wine and talk about shitty men and trashy TV.

Actually, I hesitate, knowing Krista won’t be thrilled by what I’m about to say. How about I come over tomorrow?

Her brows pull together, giving me a look that screams suspicion. Why?

Stop giving me that look. I narrow my eyes even though I understand her distrust. I’ve talked about leaving Josh for years and never actually went through with it. I’m sure this is all very hard for her to believe. I’m working at the grocery store tonight. My shift gets off late, and I don’t want to wake anyone up. It’ll just be easier to come tomorrow.

She smiles at that, and I slowly exhale. I’ve always been an awful liar. The truth is, I’m not working. Instead, I need to go back to the apartment. Josh will be at work tonight, so this is my chance to go back and grab a few things…like my grandma’s ring. I still can’t believe I forgot it, but I was in such a hurry…

Well, the twins will be very excited to have their Aunt Milly sleeping just next door. She gives my braid a playful tug.

I give her a quick side-hug just as the bell over the shop door chimes. I plaster on my sweetest, how-can-I-help-you smile and turn.

And there he is.

My favorite part of every morning.

Dr. Ashby Williams is massive, at least six-foot-five, dwarfing my tiny five-foot-nothing frame. He’s a bit older, maybe in his forties—his sideburns showing a bit of salt and pepper—but the rest of his thick hair is still a chocolate brown. And his body…I’ll be damned if this man doesn’t work out at least three times a day.

Good morning, Milly. His blue eyes drift up and down my face, and I immediately push my braid over my shoulder. I also left behind my curling iron and flat iron. They didn’t seem important at the time, but now I wish I had at least grabbed some tinted chapstick.

Good morning, Dr. Williams, I say as he places his palms flat on the counter. His hands splay, big and wide, and his biceps flex.

How many times do I have to ask you to call me Ash? He narrows his eyes as if scolding me.

This is the game we play most mornings—him trying to make me more friendly and me fighting every step of the way. I like the push and pull. I like that he wants to be…unprofessional? Maybe that’s not the right word, but the fact that he wants me to call him by his first name feels special. All the doctors who come in here insist on being called by their full title. I get it, but it’s still a bit much.

The usual? I ask.

You know me well. He smiles, flashing those million-dollar teeth. Who knew teeth could be so sexy? How was your weekend? he asks like he does every Monday morning.

It was wonderful. I ring him up, and he taps his sleek black credit card on the reader. I did some painting while drinking far too much wine.

His eyes widen slightly as he leans over the counter between us. I instinctively inhale, pulling in his delicious scent. He smells so good. Like expensive leather and dark whiskey.

Is everything okay? he asks. You only drink when you're nervous about something.

I…no…I don’t… I stutter. It’s such a personal thing for him to remember, and I can’t decide if I’m embarrassed or flattered. Dr. Williams has come in almost every day for six months or so, but apparently I’ve shared a lot in such a short amount of time.

You do, Krista cuts in, pretending to wipe down the back of the bakery case.

I give her a pointed smile before turning back to Dr. Williams. His dark blue eyes search my face, waiting for me to answer. I’m not nervous. It was a relaxing weekend. I even watched a few old Cary Grant movies.

His brows rise, and a deep chuckle leaves his broad chest. I’m surprised you even know who that is.

Cary Grant? I take a few steps toward the espresso machine. He follows me, his eyes staying on my face the whole time. I swear he’s into me, but it’s just ridiculous to even consider. He’s so sexy, probably rich, and is old enough to be my dad…not that his age bothers me.

Yes, Cary Grant. He crosses his arms, testing the strength of his button-up. It’s powder blue today with a matching dark blue tie. The combination complements his eyes perfectly. I didn’t think girls your age watched anything in black and white.

"Gone with the Wind is in color, sir," I say with a playful smile, tamping the grounds then pulling the shot. The machine whorls and hisses, filling the little shot glass with rich, black espresso.

I guess you're right. A slow, sexy smile spreads across his face, and I forget how to breathe for a moment. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it.

I watch it probably once a month, I admit, inhaling the warm aroma of coffee. "That and My Fair Lady. I love the classics."

Audrey Hepburn is gorgeous, he says, narrowing his eyes slightly at my face. I’ve always had a thing for tiny brunettes.

My cheeks immediately warm, and I look down, pouring all my attention into finishing his drink. Here you go, I try to say in a loud, confident voice, but it’s still barely a whisper. One black coffee with two shots of espresso.

He reaches out, and his fingers brush over mine as he takes the cup. I have to fight with everything I have not to jerk my hand back.

I’m not with Josh anymore, I tell myself. This isn’t cheating. I’m not cheating. I’m allowed to flirt. Even though this isn’t even flirting. I’m literally just pouring the man a cup of coffee. Lord, I’m awful at this.

Have a wonderful day, Milly, Dr. Williams says, leaning down to see my eyes.

I don’t look up. I can’t. You too.

See you tomorrow, his deep voice is especially husky as he turns and walks off. I wait until he’s halfway across the shop before I look up. His shoulders are so broad, it makes his waist look tiny, even though he’s still probably twice my size.

Sweet Jesus, he has a gorgeous ass, Krista says, and I turn to see her leaning against the back shelf, eating a blueberry muffin. You should sleep with him.

I roll my eyes. You say that about every good-looking guy who comes in here. I wipe down the machine, dumping the used grounds into the trash. If I listened to you, I’d have had relations with half this damn city by now.

You’re right. She takes another bite. But I’ve been married since I was eighteen, and I’ve got two three-year-olds at home who make me too damn tired to do anything more than a weekly quickie in the laundry room while they nap. One of us needs to be getting laid by a sexy plastic surgeon. And I think the good doctor might prefer you over my tired-ass-mom vibes.

I snort, trying to hide my embarrassment. I’ve been with Josh since I was fifteen, and the very fact that I could date someone else just feels…wrong. Well, if you don’t mind, I say, I’m going to keep my panties on and focus on getting that batch of scones in the oven.

She pulls a face, pretending she’s disappointed. Suit yourself, but the next time I see that hottie, I’m telling him you're single.

I shake my head, knowing damn well she won’t. Krista knows it would embarrass me to no end. Plus, I don’t need a boyfriend. I’m newly single, and for the first time in my life, I get to decide what’s next for me.

I just wish I knew what the hell I wanted.

My heart is beating so damn hard