Losers: Part II (Losers, #2)

by Harley Laroux

God, I could destroy her. I wanted to. I needed to. I didn’t just crave her perfection, her unattainable beauty. I wanted her filth. I wanted the messy, disgusting, fucked up parts of her. I wanted to rip her open, pick her apart, find the things that made her tick.

“Yes, sir.” I wanted it so badly I could have cried. But I grit my teeth. My suffering was worship, and I wanted to show my respect, my desire, my longing in the only way I could.

There was no judgment here, no fear. Shame was just another toy we could play with, not a weapon.

“German chocolate cake? Oh my God, it’s my favorite!” It was a thick slice too, perfectly moist and layered with chocolate ganache. The sight of it alone was drool-worthy. “How did you know?” “Lucky guess,” he said, but the twinkle in his eye told me it was so much more than that. It wasn’t a “lucky guess.” It was him paying attention, listening, watching, caring. It wasn’t luck, it was effort. He knew me. He saw me.