Slashfic Leather Novels & Stories

"You think you can hunt us in our own territory, little star?" Cain's voice is velvet wrapped around steel as he and his brothers flank me in the shadowy alley. "We know exactly who you are." I was a cop. Then my brother's mutilated corpse turned up in a ditch and every piece of blood-soaked evidence screamed the Vultures MC's name. Three ruthless brothers who ruled through fear, pain, and absolute dominance. So I dyed my hair blonde, erased my identity, and walked straight into the devil's den. Their bar. Their territory. Their world of sin and savagery. I'd destroy them from within or die trying. But nothing prepared me for Cain's predatory stare that strips me bare with a glance. Or Jax's twisted smile that promises delicious torment. Or Ryder's brutal hands that pin me against cold brick while his breath burns against my neck, whispering dark threats that make my body betray every principle I've ever held. Now I'm drowning in their intoxicating darkness. Leather, blood, and raw masculine hunger that consumes everything in its path. They're marking me, claiming me, breaking me down piece by piece until I can't remember who I was before them. When I finally uncover the shocking truth about my brother's murder, everything I believed shatters. The real killer has been hiding in plain sight, and now I'm caught between two deadly worlds. My oath as a cop and my surrender to these beautiful monsters. But when the lines blur between justice and vengeance, between duty and desire, how far will I fall before I lose myself completely?

On the day Winter Everhart suffers a miscarriage, her husband, Joshua Stroud, and their son, Terence, are out with his beloved Jessica Lynch. They watch the very performance Winter has always loved. "You're just so unreasonable. What's the point of all this?" "Dad, can you get me a new mom? She's so annoying!" On Winter's birthday, she returns from the hospital only to find Joshua celebrating Jessica's instead. Even Terence, the child she nearly gave her life to bring into the world, pledges to protect the woman who has stolen everything from her. Tears glisten in Winter's eyes as she smiles. Then, with quiet resolve, she walks away from the cage of a marriage that has bound her for five years. Joshua and Terence believe she won't survive without the Stroud family. What they don't expect is that she rises so high that they can no longer reach her. "Mr. Stroud! Mrs. Stroud's car design is now number one nationwide—Stroud Group has been completely outshone!" "Mr. Stroud! Mrs. Stroud has just won the World Championship in Artificial Intelligence Design!" "Mr. Stroud! Mrs. Stroud has been invited by a foreign president to attend a state banquet!" Regret tears Joshua apart. Dragging Terence with him, he kneels before Winter and pleads, "Honey, please give me another chance! If being your servant is what it takes, I'll do it!" But just beyond the door, a strikingly handsome man kneels on one knee, a leather collar fastened around his neck. Twining a diamond leash around Winter's palm, he vows with his gaze burning with feverish devotion, "My master, from this moment on, I bow to no one but you. Please, take me in."

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.

For three years, I slept with my father’s head of security behind everyone’s back. Last night, with one hand at my throat and the other under my dress, he finally asked for a name, a future, something real. “After graduation,” I whispered against his mouth. “Let me finish my defense first. Then we’ll tell them.” “No.” By then I was shaking beneath him on the leather seat. “Then sooner. On my birthday next Friday. I’ll stop hiding then... Cassian, please—gentler...” That seemed to satisfy him. His mouth softened against my skin, and his voice dropped low against my ear. “Good girl. I just want you too much.” The next afternoon, I met my best friend for tea. The moment she opened the passenger door, she spotted the torn foil packet caught beside the seat and lifted a brow. “Bourbon cherry?” she said, already grinning. “That’s our company’s unreleased line. So this is what you’ve been hiding.” I snatched it up and shoved it into my bag. “It’s not public yet.” She frowned. “That’s the strange part. We only sent those samples to a handful of VIP clients.” Then she pulled out her phone. “I did a product follow-up with one of them yesterday, and his private account was basically a shrine to his girlfriend.” She turned the screen toward me. I only looked once, and my whole body went cold. The man in the photo had a line of Latin script inked low across his abdomen. I knew that tattoo. I had kissed it the night before. My fingers started shaking as I opened the private account Cassian had never shown me. April 4. The conservatory. Me and him. April 7. The upstairs studio. Me and him again. April 11—last night. A six-second clip in the back of the car.

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 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.

Lena Marchetti, twenty-eight, operates on fumes. Her father Marco's cancer treatments have swallowed her savings and the final credits of her degree. She interns at Croft Industries, a glass tower engineered to diminish. She is invisible, sweat gluing her blouse to her spine, until she drops Julian Croft's Montblanc pen. The crack on marble halts breath. She scrabbles on cold stone. When she lifts her chin, Julian crouches beside her. He doesn't retrieve the pen. He waits. His gray eyes hold hers, and heat floods her neck, damp and unwelcome. "You break it, you buy it," he says. "And you can't afford it." He leaves her kneeling. At 3:17 AM, her phone blares: Croft. Office. One hour. She goes. His office smells of leather and ozone. He slides a contract across the desk. Six months. Exclusivity. Her compliance. In exchange, her father's debt dissolves. Her signature slants, barely legible. After her best friend Dani labels Julian a sociopath, Lena sobs in the service elevator. He finds her. "Come with me." He escorts her to a 24-hour diner. He orders cherry pie, slides it across formica. She is wrecked—blotched skin, swollen lids. He studies her as if memorizing the topography of her distress. He teaches her to fence. She lunges, jabs his ribs. He laughs in that rusted, startled way that travels up her calves. She registers: I manufactured that sound. Elara Vance, Julian's former mentor who sold his first deal for a board seat, resurfaces. She invites Lena to lunch, offers employment. "He'll never perceive you as an equal. Work for me. Become a threat." The words burrow. Lena's palms dampen at his touch. While Julian travels, she picks the lock of a hidden room. A library.

"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.

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.