Slashfic Leather

In Alabama’s rot-soaked bayous, Drucilla Drakes survives by three rules: silence, scars, and never letting Louise—her Bible-thumping captor—catch her hoping. But when a schoolyard ambush leaves her bleeding beneath a stranger’s leather jacket, invisibility becomes a death sentence. Enter Dragon Morales: New Orleans’ most notorious runaway, a cartel prince turned outlaw mechanic with grease-stained hands and a death wish. He doesn’t save people—he survives them. Yet in Dru’s lashed flesh and hellfire gaze, he sees his own shattered reflection. Their bond is gasoline and matches. Dragon’s father—Colombia’s cartel kingpin—hunts them relentlessly. Louise, armed with voodoo rites and the chaos-hungry loa Marinette, vows to break Dru. Their only allies? The Lou Nwa, a bayou biker gang trading in bullets and black magic, and Papa Legba, the crossroads spirit who offers Dru a lethal bargain: *“Her soul or yours.”* Fleeing through the Deep South’s cursed underbelly, they dodge cartel hitmen, haunted swamps, and safehouses reeking of betrayal. Dark magic seeps into old wounds; family secrets tighten like nooses. Dragon swears he’s too ruined to love. Dru knows she’s too shattered to trust. But in the bayou’s choking heat, desire is a grenade they can’t outrun. This isn’t a fairytale. It’s switchblade kisses and saintly curses—a collision of fire and ruin where protectors become predators. Dru doesn’t need saving; she needs an inferno. And Dragon? He’s got a lighter and nothing left to burn. Will they raze the South to ashes, or become the sacrifice the crossroads demands? One truth remains: in the bayou, even survival leaves scars. **Warning:** No princes here. Just bayou smoke, blood-soaked magic, and the kind of love that devours.

Isla- a young, and underestimated warrior. After surviving years of traumatic abuse, she is left orphaned, and alone. She strives to prove to herself, and others, that she is not weak. Though she is beautiful and strong years of psychological abuse, she doesn’t believe she is worthy of love, or that the Moon Goddess will grant her a fated mate. Alpha Zac is the fair and strong leader of Clear Creek. Secretly a hopeless romantic, Zac wants his fated mate more than anything. But after waiting years to find her, he has accepted a playboy lifestyle. When a unique she-wolf warrior joins his pack, she does more than fulfill his fantasies, she tests how far he will go to protect from her past. “WEAK” he yells as he swiftly brings the whip at me. I quickly try to cover my face but am not fast enough. I hiss in pain as the unforgiving leather slices my hand and eyebrow.I try to swallow the sob that wants to escape me but instead I throw up. Maybe he would have stopped there if I would have missed his boots.** (ISLA) I feel a pang of jealousy, what she has is what I've always wanted. A loving family, support, friends, and stability. Audrie doesn't have to question if she belongs here or try to prove her worth. (ZAC)My whole chest tightens and my wolf presses forward. “MATE”. The urgency to hold her, to take away the pain intensifies. I reach out and lift her head, and that's when I see the gash trickling blood onto the already blood-covered rock. I scoop her up and head straight to the infirmary. I just found my mate, I can't lose her on the same night.

🔥🔥Warning – 18+ Only This story is full of raw passion, steamy romance, and tantalizing tension. By turning these pages, you confirm you are 18 or older and ready to be seduced by a world of pleasure, desire, and temptation. Read responsibly… welcome to an erotic world. He touched her in ways she didn’t understand but craved. Every movement, every kiss, every whisper made her shiver. His hands slid down her gown and tore off her panties. Spreading her legs as his face went straight to her pussy like he was starving. And goodness, that was just the beginning His tongue hit her like a rocket She screamed like a slut… She never knew she could scream like that. She had never been with anyone like him. She didn’t know what she was doing… but somehow, that didn’t matter. He took control, and she allowed him to. His tongue didn't just lick, it devoured her pussy, slowly and deep. Like he was memorizing every part of her body. “Fuck..” She cried her nails dug deep into the leather seat of the car, her legs shaking as he spread them wider shoving his two fingers into her without hesitation. After a brutal breakup that left her questioning her worth, Isabella Hart swore she’d never let another man make her feel small again. Her ex’s final words still echoed in her head... that she couldn’t satisfy him, that she didn’t even know what real pleasure was. So when a night out to forget turns into something wild, reckless, and unforgettable, Izzy doesn’t think... she just feels. One stranger. One night. One taste of what it means to lose control. He was dominant, commanding, intoxicating… and she never even got his name.

Delilah thought she married the perfect man. Charming. Respectable. Devoted. But then she discovered the man she trusted was a fraud — cheating behind her back, controlling her every move, and secretly stealing from the people who once believed in him. Her marriage wasn’t love. It was a trap. And when she lost the child she was carrying, alone, abandoned, and broken in a cold hospital bed, everything shattered. That’s when he returned. Thorne Weston. The estranged, adopted brother her husband never spoke of. The boy who once made her college life hell — cruel words, wicked smirks and relentless taunts. He's her tormentor. Her shadow. The one who looked at her like he wanted to ruin her… and maybe always did. He disappeared after graduation. Vanished. Forgotten. But now he’s back — colder, richer, and far more dangerous. And he’s watching her. And when she breaks down in the hospital, barely breathing through grief, he corners her in the shadows and makes her an offer that freezes her blood — and sets her body ablaze. “You want revenge? I want you. Be mine… and I’ll destroy him for you.” She should scream. She should hate him. But hate doesn’t explain the fire curling in her belly every time he whispers her name. Hate doesn’t make her knees tremble when he steps too close, smelling of smoke, leather, and sin. And hate isn’t what makes her crave the rough, twisted salvation only he can give. Because Thorne Weston is no longer a cruel boy with a chip on his shoulder. He’s a man forged in violence. Obsessed. Possessive. Unhinged. And he doesn’t just want her — he owns her. Body. Soul. And every shattered piece her husband left behind.

As a low-income student who's specifically recruited by the elite college this year, I can still feel my hands trembling as I clutch the letter that tells me I get to study for free. Not only are my tuition and miscellaneous fees waived, but I also get to receive 30 thousand dollars' worth of student grant per year. I even get to have free access to the leather seats inside the library, the equipment inside the gym, as well as the aerial garden on the roof. The best surprise for me has to be the cafeteria. All low-income students get a 50% discount on their meals, but the quality of their food doesn't decrease at all. Best beef is used in the steak dinners offered by the cafeteria, whereas a seafood platter showcases the entire huge lobster. Even the most basic mac and cheese meal has different types of freshly grated cheese baked into it. As I sit in the brightly lit classroom and look at the rich students around me, who wear custom-made uniforms and have branded watches latched around their wrists, all I have is one thought. I must be on good terms with them. But my seatmate, who's also a low-income student, isn't as thrilled as me. In fact, she just looks at the people around her with disdain in her eyes. After the first lesson, a rich student arrives at our table. He might not sound polite at all, but at least he's not putting on airs. "Do any of you have time to head over to the cafeteria and buy me breakfast?" I'm about to respond to him when a shrill voice booms out next to me. "You're so annoying! What, you think you rule the campus since you're rich? Had I known that this classroom is filled with useless scions like you who just waste their lives away on nothing, I wouldn't have enrolled in this college in the first place!"

I stood at the edge of Ironwood territory, boots sinking into mud as cold seeped through my coat. I hated being this close to their land. It smelled like wet dog, testosterone, and trouble. “You’re late, witch.” The voice hit low and deep, vibrating through the ground before it reached my ears. I didn’t flinch. I refused to give him that. I turned slowly, amethyst eyes narrowing as I found him at the tree line. Guilermo Santander. He stepped into the gray light, rain sliding off his broad frame. Six-foot-five of pure menace. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, silver streaks catching the gloom, and those amber eyes—burning straight through me. “I’m not late,” I said calmly, though my pulse spiked. “You wolves just don’t understand patience.” He stopped three feet away. My skin prickled as the runes along my ribs flared hot, reacting to the dense magic rolling off him. Suffocating. Intoxicating. “And you witches don’t understand territory,” Guilermo said. He didn’t sound feral. He sounded tired—like a man carrying a century of weight on deceptively young shoulders. He leaned in and sniffed near my neck. I stiffened. “You smell like sage and burnt sugar,” he murmured, voice dropping, darker now. “It’s giving me a headache.” “Then stop breathing,” I snapped. One corner of his mouth lifted, a flash of sharp canine. “Make me.” The air between us snapped tight. My magic stirred, violet haze curling from my fingertips without permission, brushing the leather of his jacket. He didn’t pull away. He leaned closer. And standing there in the freezing rain with a man who could tear my throat out, I realized two things: Elder Sibal was wrong—Guilermo wasn’t a monster to be chained. And I was in serious trouble.

"Say it," Tenz growled, yanking her hips against the hood of his blacked-out car, his hand wrapped around her throat like a necklace made of danger. Kyoline's breath shuddered as his mouth traced her jaw, his fingers sliding under the hem of her leather skirt, teasing, threatening. "Say you're mine, or I'll make you say it with your teeth clenched and your legs shaking," he hissed, dragging his tongue along her collarbone. She smirked through the haze of lust and war. "I'm not yours, Tenz... I'm just letting you play with me until someone better comes to steal me." "Someone like who?" he spat. A cold voice answered from behind the shadows. "Like me," Isaac said. And just like that... the chaos began. --- Kyoline Diego was born of blood, betrayal, and gunfire. A mafia princess with ash in her veins and a Glock in her purse. Her childhood ended the day her father-a respected Made Man-was assassinated. Left for dead, she crawled from the ruins with nothing but vengeance and two younger siblings she'd kill for. Now eighteen and jaded, Kyoline bartends for mob rats by night, runs guns for a price, and slays in gold heels by morning. Love? It's not on the agenda. Survival is. Enter Tenz Jersey-her inked-up, lie-laced mafia beau. The man who f*cks like a god and lies like a sermon. He gives her fire, chaos, and a reason to breathe. He also gives her bruises she wears like medals and promises that vanish like smoke. She tells herself he's enough. Until Isaac. Cold. Calculating. Beautiful in a way that feels like a bullet wound. He shoves her into an unmarked SUV, claims he's NYPD, feeds her lies and cannoli-then laughs while she figures out he's actually the most lethal hitman.....

Serene’s heart raced as she stood in Nicholas’s dimly lit study, the scent of leather and whiskey heavy in the air. She’d been dusting the bookshelves when he entered, his presence filling the room like a storm. Now, he stood inches away, his black suit hugging his broad shoulders, his dark mullet framing a gaze that burned with intent. “You missed a spot,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, pointing to a shelf she’d already cleaned. Her cheeks flushed as she turned, the hem of her maid uniform riding up her thighs. “I-I’ll get it, Mr. Volkov,” she stammered, reaching up, but his hand caught her wrist, firm yet gentle. “No,” he said, stepping closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Let me show you.” His fingers slid down her arm, leaving a trail of heat, before guiding her hand to the shelf. His chest pressed against her back, and she gasped at the hardness of his body, the evidence of his arousal unmistakable. “You’re trembling, little maid,” he whispered, his lips brushing her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “Do I scare you… or do I excite you?” Her breath hitched as his free hand trailed up her thigh, slipping beneath the lace of her uniform. “Mr. Volkov…” she whimpered, but her protest melted into a moan as his fingers found her, teasing her through the thin fabric of her panties. “ Nicholas,” he corrected, his voice rough with desire, his touch growing bolder, circling her most sensitive spot until her knees buckled. “Say it,” he demanded, nipping her earlobe. “N-Nicholas,” she gasped, her body arching into him, surrendering to the fire he’d ignited. In that moment, the billionaire and his naive maid were bound by a hunger neither could deny.

"Jett?" My voice trembled. "Shhh, Bunny," he murmured, tilting the bottle and pouring the liquor over my p***y. The cold sting hit my swollen folds, and I jolted up, gasping as the burn spread through me. "Ahhh—!" I nearly buckled from the mix of cold fire and his hot tongue as he went back to eating me. My body jerked off the table, chasing the torment I knew I couldn’t withstand. He pulled back, eyes dark, smirking as his tongue followed every drop running down my thighs. "F***," he groaned. "You taste even better with whiskey on your pussy." --- I thought my biggest mistake was crushing on Jason Maltideon—my best friend, the boy I’d spent my life yearning for—only for him to reject me the moment the Goddess fated me to him. But my real mistake? Giving myself to the wrong man. His twin brother—Jettison Maltideon. He’s everything I should fear: wild, reckless, a walking sin wrapped in leather and gasoline. The kind of man who fights too hard, drinks too much, and smirks like he knows exactly how to ruin me. I hate him. I hate that he looks just like the man who shattered my heart. I hate that he knows my darkest secrets—and doesn’t care. But most of all, I hate that when he touches me, I burn. Jettison wants me. He doesn’t take no, and he’s made it clear he’ll chase me until I break. Now, with the Moon Goddess pulling our strings in a storm of betrayal, forbidden bonds, and a sickness tearing our pack apart, I’ll have to decide— Is Jettison my ruin? Or the only wolf who was ever meant to save me? Note: Rated 18+. Dark romance, morally complex characters, and triggering themes.

I stepped closer. Close enough to smell his cologne—cedarwood, leather, and power. My hand moved. Smooth, practiced. The pistol slide from under the apron into my palm. I raised it fast. But before I could pull the trigger— BANG. Not my shot. A scream tore through the restaurant as another man launched himself toward Romano’s table, blade flashing. Another assassin. What the hell— Romano didn’t flinch. He shoved the table forward, knocking the attacker off balance. The blade scraped across wood, not skin. I ducked instinctively as the room erupted into chaos. Gunfire cracked. Glass exploded. People screamed and dove for cover. “Get him out—NOW!” one of the guards barked. I aimed for the second attacker. Didn’t even hesitate. One shot—head. Gone. The guard saw me. Confusion flashed in his eyes. Then rage. I ran. I weaved between overturned chairs, plates, and screaming bodies. The smell of blood was real now, thick in the air. One of the guards grabbed me. I slammed my elbow into his ribs, twisted, and brought the butt of my gun down on his skull. He dropped like a sack of bricks. Out. I had to get out. My boots pounded the floor as I tore through the narrow hallway. But then— “Elisa.” His voice stopped me cold. I turned. Antonio Romano stood in the middle of the carnage, suit untouched, blood spattered behind him like art. His eyes were on me. And he was smiling. It was darker. Slower. Like a hunter seeing something worth chasing. Somehow, he knew who I was. “Interesting,” he said softly, tilting his head. “They sent you.” I didn’t answer. I ran. But that voice followed me. He knew my name. And he let me go. This wasn’t over. It had just begun.