The rhinestone wearing, glitz, and glamour girl morphed into an astute and aware businesswoman. I blame Sal…or Iris…or maybe both. Amber Rosen isn’t swirling around a pole anymore. A year ago, I didn’t want to even look at her, much less have a drink with her. But now, things have changed…
“I’d love to,” I say with a smirk. “You got Patrón?”
“I do,” she eagerly replies. Nervously, I step inside. Her clipped up long mocha locks bounce as she heads to the bar.
I notice her five-inch black stilettos with sexy red bottoms and strapping up around the ankles. They’re size seven. The dress is most likely a four. She has no ink and only one piercing in each ear. She was a good girl who played a bad girl better than the rest and looked hot as sin in my cut and nothing else while riding my dick.
“How have you been, Deacon Cruz?”
We’ve been talking for a good hour, swapping stories and sharing our lives. We’re laughing and smiling as we drink our way through half the bottle. She is still an incredible listener, able to provide glints of light in the darkness we reside in without overburdening the narrative.
Amber doesn’t want to control anything but assist in development. She is a weird, rare breed—a devout, hard worker with one goal in mind. And her goal is the same as mine.
The uprising of a mafioso.
I was too dumb and naive to see it before, or maybe I wasn’t ready to join our forces. I was still in my twenties, figuring shit out, and Amber was more headache than heart.
“It’s Sal,” she says upon flipping it over. “Should I answer it?”
Her deference in accepting my lead sends a chilled bolt through my core. It’s a startling moment where I realize not everyone immediately responds to Sal’s imposing presence.
Sometimes, they deflect to me.
I lay my hand on top of hers, shielding the phone and breaking through the barrier of not touching. All it takes is one pinprick for the dam to give way.
“Nah.”
She gasps at the intrusion, feeling the spark as I do. It is unavoidable—this attraction and time stops. “Four years…”
“Get up,” I command. “And lock the door.”
“Yes, Sir,” her voice wavers as she walks away.
“Does my brother know what room you’re in?”
She spins back and nods. “Yeah, he does.”
I grab the bottle, hop up, and slide my fingers into hers. We leave the room with her mere inches behind my left shoulder.
Just like old times.
Amber positions and conforms with ease. She always did because of who trained her—my Master. And whether I have wanted to admit it or not, Sal has three submissive—Iris, Amber, and me. He may have others, but those are the ones that matter the most. We count.
I hit the button for the elevator and peer down at her blue eyes. She’s clean and sober.
A young Japanese family steps out when the doors open, and we board the elevator. I press the button for the fifth floor, wait for the doors to close, and push her against the wall.
“Deacon,” she whispers against my lip as I tower over her.
“Trust me, babydoll.” My lips caress against hers as I stop thinking about what happens next. I don’t fucking care anymore. All that matters is the present—real, here, and now. She wraps her arms around me as her lips part, and the door opens. I separate from her with a devious grin. “Hold that thought.”
She smiles, latching onto my arm and taking the bottle. I pull the room key from my pocket, unlock the door, and pick her up in my arms. She squeals with giddiness. “What are you doing?”
“Carrying you into my room.”
“You’re fucking crazy!” she laughs. “I’ve been captured by a crazy man!”
I kick the door shut with my toe. “Lock that up for me. My hands are full.”
“We can’t do this,” she informs as I set her on her feet and rip off my shirt.
“Why not?”
“Because,” she stresses, unable to stop staring and smiling. I kick off my shoes and flop on the bed. “You are Sal’s…”
I raise my brows high. “So are you.”
“I…I…” she stutters in shock. I snicker and gloat, watching her wheels spin. She’s an impromptu girl, laying tracks and traveling her roundabout way. I challenge that with my overt preparedness, ready on the go attitude. But this spontaneous moment is out of my wheelhouse because I am all about the reservations, schedules, and to-do lists. My lips curl as I stare at her. “I can’t do this to you.”
“What are you doing to me?” I question, tilting my head. “I’m just hoping you’ll do me.”
“You’re drunk!” she excuses. “You’re going to regret this.”
“First of all, it takes more than that to get my ass wasted. Second of all, I regret nothing because everything is a lesson.”
Her eyes flick at mine. “… What am I teaching you?”
“More than anyone else, Amber, you have this incomparable resilience. Nothing brings you down. You meet every issue Sal throws your way with this grace. You’re a goddamned swan.”
“I have issues.”
“We all do,” I admit as our confession continues. “I’ve got plenty of faults.”
Her eyes scan over my body and the multitude of tattoos covering my arms. She stops as I roll on my side and prop my head in my hand. “Rebellion,” she whispers, shifting her gaze between my eyes and chest.
“I’m still reckless.” I show off my knuckles.
“Jesus, Deacon…”
“I’m the same guy I was four years ago. Nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed,” she insists with an unaccustomed seriousness. “You’re bulkier and louder about your sexuality.”
“I’ve come to terms with a lot of things.” Trusting the moment of pure honesty, I confide, “I was going to sleep with a guy recently until I realized, I’m fucking in love with that cocky fucker thousands of miles away.”
“If that is true, why are you propositioning me?”
“Cause Darlin’, you look like you’d be a damn good time,” I flirt. Her wide eyes and smile brighten the room as I undo my belt and unbutton my jeans. “Try me.”
“I am fucking in love with you,” she whispers, holding back tears. “You are my greatest weakness and my best-kept secret, Deacon Cruz. But this is going to hurt one or both of us.”
“I know that, and I don’t care,” I mutter, rolling on my back. “Show me how much you love me.”
“You’re not the same! You’re a self-proclaimed gay man who is two steps away from marching in a parade!”
“March with me,” I rebuke, inciting a vision of the future. “Is that your big reason for not riding my dick?” I quiz. “Come on, Amber.”
“I am only going to get my heart hurt again, but this time, it won’t be anyone else’s fault. It will be my ignorance and failure to read the warning signs—Do not enter! Danger zone!”
“Give me something better to work with. Because I could point out all the times you’ve ridden Jaid’s fucking strap-on. Hell, I was there. I watched it happen. I like guys. They intrigue me. So the fuck what? One, in particular, has my fucking number. I can’t get away from him even if I tried. And trust me when I say I have tried. I have seen the other side of the motherfucking mountain, and I don’t want to live there. I belong in a Swamp Shack in Texas with a damn daego on my dick. That is where I belong. So what if we’re fucking under the gray skies with a rainbow over yonder? Who the fuck cares? Love me. Because I love you.”
“Holy fuck…”
“Fuck a holy Saint?” I grin and wink as she hesitantly walks closer. She stops by the side of the bed, reaches behind her, and drops her dress. My lips part at the sight of her creamy flesh wrapped in a red lace bra, panties, and garter belt with stockings. “You’re so damned beautiful, babydoll.”
Her finger breaches the no-touchy bubble to my skin. She runs her finger along the ink beneath my navel. “Stra
ight to hell.”
“Go there with me,” I beg, unable to keep my hands off of her. “Trust that I am not going to fuck you over.”
“You didn’t fuck me over before,” she concedes. We aren’t treading carefully through the murk of our past, but jumping in headfirst with our fingers crossed. We’re making wishes on stars. “I ruined what we had.” She leans over and kisses my ink. “It was all my fault.”
My hand settles on her ass, and my fingers rub the edge of the lace. “Don’t think twice because the window of opportunity may get boarded up in the hurricane.”
“Would you get a hammer?”
With a straight face, I deadpan, “I’m remarkable with a crowbar.”
53
Straight to Hell
The Mistress
I nervously laugh, understanding the fallout from this could affect the rest of the dominoes we’ve carefully laid out. Our intricately placed house of cards could tumble to the ground if we’re not cautious in our actions.
This is unplanned.
This is unprecedented.
Deacon is an unavoidable obstacle in my relationship with Sal. I cannot expect to hold my position—the position I am fighting to keep—as Sal’s mistress without dealing with his lover.
I was part of a plan. Sal used me to get to Dale and sent Deacon to save me. Neither of us expected real feelings to evolve. And neither of us expected the crash.
His fingers lace into mine. “If we do this…it will be a fatal accident.”
“I will always be here.”
He sits up with a leg on either side of me. I am trapped in his cage and held in his heart. I am not a prisoner, but an innocent follower into the chambers and passageways. We don’t love everyone in our lives the same, and we limit the access and shut down in the battle of accountability. Deacon has no reason to let me in or to trust me.
In the tethers of his inked arms, I whisper, “Why are we doing this?”
“True love never asks why. Love embraces the malfunctions regenerating the wounds and containing the damage so that the love can be stronger than before. I am not asking you to always stay with me. I am asking you to be with me forever.”
“Deacon… Crap, I can’t breathe… Does Sal know what you’re doing?”
“Does it matter?” he asks as my trembling hands brush through his hair. “I’ve tried having relationships—Allie, Catarina, Rowan—and I love them all, but there are only a couple of people in this world who truly understand who I am and want to elevate that. You are one of them.”
“Who else?”
“Iris,” he hastily answers. Thinking a beat too long, he hesitates and mumbles, “Jaid.”
“The base of The Unholy.”
“The holy trinity of a pink posse,” he says, smiling. “I trust actions, not words. People lie every damn day. Sal, Iris, Dom, Jaid, and you—those are the people who have my back.”
“… Trudy?”
“She’s included by default,” he replies, easing his hands from my lower back to my ass. “Let me love you tonight. We’ll figure out what it all means tomorrow. Just give me tonight. If you hate it…if you hate me…you never have to see me again. You can do your thing with Sal, and I will do mine. I will steer clear of you and never say one negative word about you.”
“I could never hate you,” I say as he lays his head between my breasts. “God, you feel good.”
He kisses my heart and lines his finger along the platinum and diamond necklace. “This is pretty.”
“It was a present.”
“Should I be jealous?” he teases, grinning. “Another man in your life.”
“Only if you’re jealous of Raniero.”
“What is going on with my brother?”
I tense up but rely on the truth. “I am keeping track of him.”
“Sleeping with him?”
“I have, but we aren’t a thing. He is an assignment. Not a lover.”
“Is it wrong that I understand that all too well?” he asks, trailing his fingers up my back and unfastening my bra. I gasp when he undoes the final hook. He slips the fabric from my skin and exposes my breasts. I want to draw up my arms as I fear his assessment will shame me. “You’re just as beautiful as ever.”
“What the hell am I doing in a hotel room in Japan, half-naked with Deacon-fucking-Cruz? This is not what I had planned.”
“Go with it,” he whispers against my nipple. “Stop thinking.”
I drift my hand over his cheek as he suckles me. My head tilts back, and he pulls me back onto the bed. I land on top of him. He’s staring with love and lust in those irresistible blue eyes. His erection presses against me. “Fuck…”
“That’s the idea.”
Our lips collide with passionate kisses, evolving into pure ecstasy. Deacon is a biker, a businessman, a soldier in the war Sal is fighting for, and so tender. His enormous heart runs stiff competition against his soothing hands and gravelly voice. He’s the calm in the storm, the island in the sea, and the director behind the scenes. He’s the foreman on the construction site of Sal’s architecture. He’s invaluable to the process and often overlooked, just like me.
“Don’t stop,” I beg as we part with desperation. “Please.”
He slightly lifts, reaching over my thighs, as the sound of his zipper causes a tremble within my soul. He lays back and asks, “What?”
“Loving me,” I reply, kissing his neck. My hands smooth over his chest as I lift and pull my panties to the side. He bites his lip, and I slowly ease down onto his cock, taking every glorious inch of him.
He snarls, bucking up, and seating inside of me. Laying back, he parks his hands under his head and wolfishly grins up at me. “Ball is in your court. Do what you want.”
“I want to go for a ride.”
“So do it…”
“On the back of your bike,” I whisper, barely moving. I’m terrified of fucking this up. “In Texas…”
“Easy,” he effortlessly says, “I need something more challenging.”
“I want you,” I confess as he rubs his calloused hands over my thighs and grips my hips. He rocks beneath me. “Every day. Every night.”
“Gimme more than that, Stardust.”
“I want a house. And a dog.”
“What about a cat?” he inquires, trickling his fingers over the sides of my breasts. “Or a horse? Or some cattle?”
“Goats!” I eagerly reply as we move in unison. “Have you ever bottle-fed a baby goat?”
“I can’t say as though I have ever bottle-fed anything,” he says, releasing me. “You’re on your own now. You’ve got this, girl. Training wheels are coming off. Give me your hands.”
“Shit…” I mumble in fear. He cackles as our fingers latch. “What do you want?”
“I want to be home in Texas, riding my bike, and just hanging out.”
She kisses my knuckles one by one. “What about Reckless?”
“I’ll get it back from Tank,” he assures. “But I am tired of jet setting around the globe. I’m fucking exhausted. Sal is a handful, but Iris is double. He wasn’t kidding when he warned me.”
“He warned you?” I ask, biting my lip at the intense pleasure.
“Yeah, he did,” he mutters, sitting up and flipping us over. He slips out, and I pout from the absence.
“I’m coming back,” he comfortingly says. “Calm down. We ain’t done yet, baby.” His jeans hit the floor, and his fingers curl around my panties, removing them. He brings them to his nose, and his eyes close. “You always smell like home.”
“Do you love me?”
“I always loved you,” he says. “But I am not good at this shit. This doesn’t come naturally for me.”
“It doesn’t have to, Deacon,” I whisper, nipping and licking his lips. “I will welcome your sins, Saint. I will harbor every secret, heal the scars, and respect every sacrifice.”
He fists his cock and nudges my entrance before lowering down. His thick, chiseled arms
encircle around my head as he hovers over the top of me. My eyes ease over the story in his sleeves when I note the very clear scrolling of my initials—A.L.R. “Why am I hidden in the shading of the lotus petals?”
“I will never have enough minutes with you,” he whispers, sucking my neck. “Are you ready for this ride?”
“Yes,” I affirm with a nod. “Forever.”
He thrusts deep into me. My legs twist around his as we find love in the wreckage of our past. I never dreamed I would crave my ex, or that in the debris, we would see a sliver of hope. “I love you so fucking much, baby girl.”
“Don’t stop,” I cry, etching my nails down his back to his taut ass. “I don’t want to wake up from this dream.”
“So don’t…”
I open my eyes to Deacon, standing naked before the windows. Room service litters the room with half-empty plates and champagne. We made love and ate and made love again until we passed out. His beautiful skin glistens in the light. “Tell me it wasn’t a dream.”
“How much do you trust me?”
I quickly sit up in bed as my hair falls all around me. I don’t know how to answer the question, and my lips move, but nothing comes out. “Tell me you didn’t just play me.”
He turns to look at me. “Answer the question, Amber.”
“I fully trust you,” I say, trying not to cry. “Why?” He faces me, and my eyes scout over the terrain of his body. “I want you more than anything, Deacon Cruz.”
Rubbing his lips together, he says, “I need you to do something for me. Because I can’t leave Iris. I need you to go check on Sal.”
“He’s in Italy.”
“He is in Ireland,” he informs, stroking his overgrown scruff. “I need you to make sure he is behaving and not getting involved with Rowan Tully or drugs or anything…”
“You want me, who just slept with you, who is arguably the love of my life, to leave and go play chaperone to your boyfriend?”
He smiles. “Pretty much.”
I fake a disappointed scowl and smile. “I’ve never wanted to take an assignment this bad. Do I sleep with him?”
A Dark Place (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 5) Page 41