Page 144 of Losers, Part I
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 rightbelow 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.
Sometimes, I needed someone to tell me when enough was enough before I tore myself into pieces.
I fumbled for his belt buckle, wrenching it open and grabbing his cock through his briefs. He was hot in my hand, throbbing when I squeezed. He shoved me to my knees and I pressed my face into his groin, inhaling deeply. I was practically salivating, my head flooded with the musky scent of him.
He jerked his briefs down, and I dug my fingers into his hips, taking his cock into my mouth until my nose was buried in his dark hair. He thrust into my throat, one hand pressed against the back of my skull.
“Choke on it,” he said, and the pleasure in his voice made me ravenous. “Get it wet for me, pup.”
He held me down until I gagged, until my eyes watered and I couldn’t breathe, my lungs aching for air. But I didn’t care. I wanted to reach that edge of endurance and push past it.
He pulled out of my mouth, and my lips were still parted when he spat on my face.
“Thank you, sir.” I grinned up at him, my chest tight with feral laughter at the bliss of having him over me. He hauled me to my feet and turned me around, dragging his nails down my spine.
He pressed against me, pinning me in place before he said, “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
The seconds he was gone, rummaging in the front of the Bronco, felt like an eternity. I held my breath, counting each moment as it passed, resting my forehead against the window’scold glass. When he returned, he had a little bottle of lube in his hands.
We kept that shit everywhere, just in case. Glove boxes, bedside drawers, jacket pockets. We weren’t going to be caught unprepared.
He made me stand in place as he undressed me. Starting with the boots, he knelt to pull the yellow laces loose. He pulled my jeans down, slapping my hands away when I tried to do it myself.
“Be patient,” he said, once I was naked and he was still dressed. My back was to him, my chest pressed against the vehicle. It was so hard to remain like that, to obey his orders not to move and justwait. I wasn’t patient. The anticipation was nearly impossible to bear.
“Make it fucking hurt,” I said, repeating the words like a prayer as he kissed my shoulder, dragging his nails down my arm. There was a sound, the click of a bottle cap, and then his fingers probed me, slick with lube. One pressed inside my ass as he gripped the back of my neck. He took his time before adding a second finger, and I groaned as it squeezed inside.
“Want more?” he said, his voice low in my ear as his fingers pumped into me. My cock was leaking against the Bronco, pre-cum beading on the metal.
“More…fuck, give me more,” I snarled. I needed it now,rightnow. I didn’t want to wait. I didn’t want to fuss and simper about pain. I wanted to lose myself in hurt and agony until there was nothing else in my brain.
He moved us to the side and forced my head down until I was bent into the back of the Bronco. The tremble in his arm gave away how eager he was for this. A third finger pressed inside me, and I slammed my fist against the thin carpet hard enough to hurt.
“Do it,” I murmured. “Do it, do it, do it, fuckingplease—”
He sunk his fingers in past the knuckle, pumping them untilmy cock jumped and I was gasping through clenched teeth. My hands were knotted into fists when he withdrew his fingers from inside me and the head of his cock pressed against me instead.
He hunched over my back, tongue gliding along my spine. “You’ll call red if it’s too much,” he said, and I growled in frustration. He squeezed my neck in warning. “Promise me.”
“Fine, fuck, yes, I promise —”