Losers: Part I

When I woke up and saw long blonde hair splayed across my chest, I thought I was still dreaming.

Jess was nestled under my arm, with her back against my side and her hand resting on my bicep. She was wearing Jason’s shirt, her bare legs curled up slightly so her feet were pressed against my calf. The sun had just risen, a reddish orange glow peeking through her curtains.

I didn’t usually wake up this early, but I didn’t usually sleep away from home either. That familiar ache of anxiety bloomed in my chest, growing like a mass that pressed on my lungs.

I’d made a mistake. I wasn’t supposed to sleep here.

The last time I’d slept by her side, we’d been in my old bedroom in the Peters’ family home. I’d laid awake for hours that night just looking at her, at how soft her face was while she slept, how her lips twitched and her nose wrinkled as she dreamed. A simple dare had brought her into my arms, and it had seemed too good to be true.

Because it was. She left in the morning with one of the sweetest goodbyes I’d ever heard and then — nothing. Gone. Ghosted.

I was left feeling like I’d made the biggest mistake of my life and had no idea how to remedy it other than to simply let her go. That was the choice she’d made, and I had to respect it.

But now, if she made that decision again…when she did…

I didn’t know if I could respect it this time.

I was able to get a better look at her room in daylight. I hadn’t been paying much attention when Lucas and I broke in here, too distracted with the game to bother examining my surroundings. Her walls were painted crisp white, and there were still a few cardboard boxes stacked in the corner, taped shut and labeled with a sharpie. She hadn’t finished unpacking yet; maybe she didn’t intend to, especially if she planned to move in a few months anyway.

Her blankets were covered in a sunflower print. Glass figurines lined one of her shelves, and they caught the light and refracted it in prisms across the wall. The three shelves below were covered in trophies, medals, and sparkling crowns.

There was a stack of books on her desk, open notebooks and sticky notes spread across its messy surface. I tipped my head so I could read the spines, my eyes feeling too dry after having slept in my contacts. A book titled Form, Space, and Order had numerous multi-colored tabs sticking out from its pages, and most of the other titles looked like similar non-fiction. She had jars full of pencils and pens, and a small potted plant that looked like it was struggling to survive.

She sighed softly, squirming into a more comfortable position that pushed her closer against me. I curled around her, nuzzling my face against the back of her neck. She moved with me, her body shifting to twine with mine. She stretched her legs, her butt moving back to press right against me. My cock predictably twitched, swelling as she moved and slowly blinked her eyes.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice husky with sleep. She sounded so sexy like that.

Kissing her neck, I moved slowly along her skin. She made little sounds, soft whimpers and gentle sighs, her body utterly limp as I turned her onto her back and slid under the covers.

I moved between her thighs and slid her panties down, tossing them out from under the blankets. She giggled sleepily as they flew across the room, then gasped when I trailed kisses up her thigh.

I loved the smell of her, the warmth, the softness of her skin as I closed my mouth over her. Her thighs tensed, squeezing around my head as I sucked on her clit. I took my time, savoring her, stroking my tongue over every fold. My cock was achingly hard, and I knew she was sore, but I also knew she liked the pain.

“Ah, Manson…” She fisted the sheets and shuddered as I focused on her clit. I pressed two fingers inside her, humming in appreciation when she cried out. I curled my fingers, her muscles contracting around me, throbbing as her sounds grew more desperate.

When she came, it was with a groan that made my entire body tingle. I lifted my head from her, pushing back the covers to kneel over her.

Her pupils were swollen, her eyes half-lidded. I reached down and grasped her beautiful face in my hands, relishing how pliant she felt. I was used to her fighting back, passionately resisting, relishing being overcome. But having her like this — soft and submissive, quiet and accepting — was an instant head rush.

“Are you sore?” I said, leaning over her to bring my mouth temptingly close. Her lips were parted, and I couldn’t help myself — I stroked my fingers over her lower lip, then pressed two fingers into her mouth. She opened for me, lips and tongue so tender as I explored her.

When I withdrew my fingers and rubbed her clit, her back arched up off the mattress.

“I’m sore,” she gasped. “But I don’t care.” She grasped my hips, tugging at the elastic band on my underwear. “Fuck me. Please.”

Those words stunned me into silence for a moment. Goddamn it all, I was done for. If she tried to ghost again, I was certain I’d become one myself. I hurriedly tugged my briefs off, discarding them on the floor and crawling closer to her mouth.

“Get it wet for me,” I said. My cock was rigidly hard as she opened her mouth, gazing up at me as her tongue stroked over me. I pressed into her throat, knotting my hand in her hair, holding myself there until she gagged, her eyes watering.

“Fuck, that’s right. Choke on it.” She didn’t pull away, despite struggling to keep me so deep in her throat. I released her head after several long seconds, the tight pulsations of her throat feeling so damn good. But I repositioned myself between her thighs, knowing that her pussy would feel even better. “You sure you want it, angel? You must be aching.”

Jason had been merciless, and I loved the thought of sinking into that sore cunt, fucking her until she came again despite the pain. But I needed her to want it. I needed her to crave suffering for me just as much as I craved her in return.

She lifted her hips, pressing toward me as she whispered, “Fuck me like you hate me, Manson. Make it hurt.”

I had to pause, closing my eyes and inhaling slowly. When I opened them again, she was looking at me like she was on the verge of begging, nudging herself against me, her wide eyes pleading.

“Tell me that again, angel,” I growled. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me.” God, she was begging for it, her voice heavy with need. “Please, Manson. Fuck me hard. I want to struggle to take it.”

“Yeah?” My brain was going to snap if she kept looking at me like that, drawing me in with her eyes. She reached for me, gripping her fingers around me and stroking me.

“Please,” she said, like the anticipation alone was painful. “Fuck me, sir, please, please, please —”

I entered her hard, gripping her thighs and pressing them up so I could get a deeper angle. Her eyes went wide, grasping my arms as she cried out. Her nails dug in — I fucking loved those long, sharp nails — and I grinned at the sting, hunching over her as I fucked her.

“Is this what you want? Hm? You want it to hurt?” She nodded rapidly, her sleepiness now replaced with fierce endurance. It was impossible to look at her face without my balls tightening, warning me that my stamina was going to be short-lived.

“Fuck yes, hurt me…” Her voice broke on the words, and I nearly did too. “Harder…I want it harder…”

My mind was entirely engulfed by her, the feeling of her, the sounds. Her voice was contorted between pleasure and pain, and she cried out with every punishing thrust.

“Are you going to take whatever I give you?” She nodded again, whimpering as she did. “Then open your mouth.”

She obeyed immediately, without even a moment of bratty hesitation. I spat, hitting her outstretched tongue, and she swallowed it down with a smile. I rubbed her clit, knowing I’d be lucky to last another sixty seconds, but I wanted to see that perfect ecstasy on her face one more time. She writhed beneath me as I crushed her into the mattress, her breath coming in tight gasps.

“That’s it, angel. Come for me. Right now.”

“Ah, fuck…Manson. Please —”

I cursed, my body shuddering and clenching as she throbbed on my cock. I came, pumping every last drop deep inside her as her eyes fluttered closed and she went limp.

I was barely able to hold myself up, but I didn’t want to pull out yet. I liked that feeling of my dick plugging her, holding my cum inside her. With her pussy clenched around me and that smile on her face, all I could think about was how I couldn’t let her go.

Ever.

I couldn’t watch her walk away again. I couldn’t see her disappear into a future that didn’t have us in it. I couldn’t handle her choosing to leave behind what she obviously craved.

I tried to catch my breath, mentally scolding myself for such completely ludicrous thoughts. I had to be able to live with this, just this. She was a temporary fixture in my life and I had to accept it. I’d have to let go, eventually. We’d have to say goodbye.

No. Fuck that. I couldn’t live with it and I goddamn wouldn’t.

I reached for her bedside table, grabbing some tissues for her before I pulled out so she wouldn’t drip on the bed. She hissed softly as I slipped out of her before wiggling in contentment, pressing the tissues between her legs.

“Mm, it really is a good morning,” she said. She looked over at me as I sat on the edge of the bed, tiredly running my fingers through my hair. “Thank you, sir.” She giggled slightly after she said it. “Or should I say Master?”

“You better be careful about using that title,” I said, unable to stop the smile on my face. “Otherwise I’m going to end up never letting you go.”

What I didn’t say was that title made me goddamn feral. As in, throw-her-over-my-shoulder, steal-her-away, and keep-her-locked-up-just-for-us feral.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind that,” she said, and my heart felt like it glitched for a moment.

“I think you would.” I curled my arm around her and dragged her closer, kissing her neck. “I think you’d mind if we stole you away and kept you as our little fucktoy forever. We’d fuck you like you want, punish you as you need, and have in you in our beds whenever we damn well please.”

She shyly looked down. “I mean, that’s kind of my ultimate fantasy.”

“Wait…really?” She had to be joking with me. It was one of my deepest desires to relish complete and total control over a willing submissive, although maintaining a twenty-four-seven lifestyle of dominance and submission wasn’t something I was quite ready for yet. I was only twenty-two and something like that was no joke; it required responsibility, patience, and far more time than I was currently able to give.

For now, the idea of a weekend getaway where the boys and I “kidnapped” our toy to have our way with her was a particularly tempting prospect.

“Tell me,” I said, lying back down beside her. “I want the details.”

“Oh, God,” she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I want you to take me away, Manson. Snatch me up, kidnap me, drive me out somewhere, and use me. Put me on my knees, make me serve you. Make me obey.” She sighed as she lowered her hands, but the spark in her eyes was bright and eager. “Make me your slave again for a few nights. I don’t want to think, I don’t want to worry, I just want to let go.”

Did she have any idea what those words did to me? How much they fueled me to make this happen? I leaned down, chastely kissing her mouth before I whispered, “I won’t tell you when, or how, but we’ll do it. We’re going to fulfill that fantasy of yours, angel.”

She got in the shower as I was leaving, lamenting that her parents were going to be back the next day.

“Knowing my mom, she’ll probably smell that I had boys in the house,” she said, with her arms around my neck after she’d kissed me goodbye. “Maybe it’ll make her finally stop harassing me about getting a boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. I wondered what it would take for her to call one of us by that word, if it was even a possibility or if I was truly a fool.

I pulled out my phone on the way downstairs and saw a text from Jason, asking if I could leave Jess’s front door unlocked when I left.

I have some free time today so I’m going to do what I can about that security system, he wrote. Her parents will probably be pissed if they come back and it’s still broken.

I left the door unlocked as he’d asked. It was already getting warm and sticky outside, but for once, I didn’t mind. I felt good, better than I had in a long time. I started up the Mustang and sat for a moment while she warmed up, smiling at nothing as I hummed a tune.

Damn it. What the hell had she done to me?

I pulled out of her neighborhood with the windows down, playing Siouxsie and the Banshees loud as I headed toward home. Maybe I’d take the day off and insist Lucas do too. We’d been working too damn hard these past few weeks.

Then, just a little ahead of me on the side of the road, I spotted an old red Chevrolet truck.

My eyes locked on it as I passed. The windows were down; the cab was empty — I passed far too quickly and jerked my head back, swerving on the road as I tried to get a better look.

Fucking hell, that wasn’t…that couldn’t be…

I wrenched the wheel around; the tires squealing as I flipped a U-turn. I turned down the music as I pulled up behind the truck, staring at the license plate with a sickening feeling in my gut.

I recognized the plate. The dent in the rusted back bumper. The crack in the glass on the back windshield.

I stepped out of the car but left the engine running. My hands were suddenly cold, but sweat was dripping down my back. Every step felt slow and robotic as I walked toward the Chevy’s driver side door. There was a roaring in my ears like a distant ocean, pulsing with the beat of my heart as I peered through the open window into the cab.

Ripped seats, ash all over the dash and a distinct odor of menthol cigarettes. I swallowed down my rising nausea as I realized the door was only partially closed, so I eased it open. The keys were gone, but there were black plastic bags on the passenger seat and in the bed of the truck, clothing and trash littering the floor.

And there, barely visible beneath the front seat, was a shotgun with the initials R.R. carved into the wooden stock.

Reagan Reed. My father was back.

I’d smoked through the last of my pack of cigarettes by the time Jason pulled up in front of Jess’s house. I’d parked a little way down the road, so she wouldn’t see me out the windows and come ask what I was doing.

Jason had already spotted me as he stepped out of the Z, walking over to tap on my window curiously.

“What’s up?” he said as I cranked the glass down. “I thought you were going back home. Did you decide to go for round two?”

His jovial smile faded as I said, “My dad is back in town. I saw his fucking truck.”

He didn’t look nearly as surprised as he should have. He swore softly, awkwardly running his fingers through his hair as he said, “Where’d you see him?”

“The Chevy was parked along Route 15,” I said, automatically reaching for my cigarette pack. I scoffed in disgust as I remembered it was empty, crumpling the pack in my hand before I threw it to the floor. “He wasn’t there, and his keys were gone too. But all his stuff was in there. What the hell are you looking at me like that for?”

“Vincent was supposed to tell you,” he said. “But he thought you might…”

“He thought I might what?” I snapped without meaning to, and Jason gripped my open window, leaning down as he looked at me.

“He wasn’t trying to stress you out, okay?” he said. “He saw your dad when he and Jess went to Satin —”

“My father saw Vincent with Jess?”

I wrenched open my door and Jason stepped back. I was trying the best I could to keep myself calm, but fucking hell, Vince had known about this for days and hadn’t said anything? Jason tried to start again, but I was speaking too fast as I paced.

“So the man who threatened to kill me, who swore he’d put me six feet under for taking everything from him, saw Vincent with Jess in public, and Vince decided to tell me fucking nothing?” I lowered my voice, anxiety gripping me so tight it was difficult to breathe. “Did he think Reagan wouldn’t recognize him? After Vince came with me to every funeral arrangement, when he was right there in court with me? He knows exactly who Vincent is!”

My dad had challenged Mom’s will before she was even in the ground. He hadn’t bothered to come to the funeral or help with the planning. No, that was all me. Vincent had come to every awkward meeting, whether it was with the funeral director or the probate litigation attorney. He was the calm, optimistic presence I’d needed when I was working through so much turmoil.

Dad didn’t have the funds to pursue challenging the will in court. He’d shown up for one hearing and then vanished again, but not before making it clear to me that if he couldn’t get what he wanted legally, he was willing to try other methods.

Namely, putting a bullet in my skull.

“Manson.” Jason gripped my shoulders, the strength of his hold finally making me pause. “Deep breaths, man. It’s okay. You’re okay. Vincent was going to tell you, I know he was. He was just trying to figure out the right way to do it. Then with work, and Jess, and everything…he must have forgotten. I know he’ll feel like shit that you found out like this.”

I finally took a deep breath. I had to think logically here.

“Jess isn’t going to mean anything to him,” Jason said, his tone perfectly even. Reasonable. Calm. At least one of us was. “In his eyes, she’s just some girl. He’s not going to bother with her.”

“We don’t know that,” I said, staring at her house. Her unlocked front door, her fucked-up security system…

As if he read my mind, Jason said quickly, “I’m going to go get her alarm fixed. You should head back to the house. Take the day off, relax…” I gave him a look, and he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know, you don’t relax. But try. Get into Vincent’s stash. He’ll have something to calm you down.”

I nodded, clasping his arm for a moment in thanks. I hadn’t meant to get so upset, but it was hard to think clearly where my father was concerned. I hadn’t heard a thing from him or seen any sign of him since Mom’s funeral, and I would have preferred to keep it that way.

Hopefully, this was just a temporary thing. There was nothing left for him in Wickeston, and if he had any sense left in that rotten head, he’d move on again sooner rather than later.

His truck was gone when I drove past again, but it didn’t make me feel any better.