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Back Losers: Part I Save as PDF
Chapters (58)
  1. Table of Contents
  2. Content Note
  3. A Note From The Author
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. Acknowledgements
  57. Also By Harley Laroux
  58. About The Author

I reached up, tracing my fingers down his cheek. He really was a beautiful man. I loved the way he leaned into my hand, how his eyes never left mine. He said I often spoke silently, and that was why he watched my face so carefully. He was looking for the things I left unsaid.

“You’re what I need,” I said.

He gave me a crooked smile as he leaned down to kiss me. His kiss was deliciously slow, and I tangled my fingers in his hair as I held him close. He was intoxicating, a flawed god I couldn’t resist worshiping. His imperfection made him sacred, his strength made him holy. But the lust he inspired in me made him wicked, and the ease with which he bent me to his will was the closest thing to divinity I could imagine.

He parted from me, taking another drag as he released his hold on my throat.

“Take this off,” he said, tugging at the hem of my shirt before he got up.

I obeyed and followed him when he slid out of the back of Bronco. I tossed my shirt aside, and he pressed me against the side of the vehicle, the cold metal shocking on my skin. He stared at my chest as he pinned me by the throat, tracing the lines tattooed into my flesh with the cigarette, moving it slowly through the air. He brought the cherry close to my skin, hovering it above a small spot untouched by ink.

“Beg me for it,” he whispered. He didn’t want to have any doubt. He didn’t want to fear that he’d done anything I wasn’t already longing for. I was wound so tight I thought I would explode, waiting on the edge of desperation for him to give me what I craved.

“Please, fucking hurt me,” I got the words out, harsh and heavy. “Use me. Fuck me. Show me that I can’t ever get away from you.”

His lips crashed into mine, and the cigarette pressed against my chest. It was only for a moment, only long enough for the burn to set in. The pain didn’t scare me; in fact, I savored it.

It made me feel human. Flesh and blood, mind and soul finally connected into one complete being.

I groaned into his mouth, his hips grinding against mine as he flicked the cigarette down and crushed it under his boot. His tongue slid past my lips, his hand on my throat squeezing right below my jaw.

I used to make a game of putting cigarettes out on my skin. It was an ugly habit, destructive, full of hatred for my own flesh. Manson made me stop with the promise that he’d do it to me instead if I asked him. The control I was seeking in self-destruction was something I could find with him. Something I could trust him with.