Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  I peek in the game room and spot her lying in the middle of the pool table. I smile as she lifts her leg and points her toe. Stepping inside, I close the door. “What are you doing, pretty?”

  “Looking at myself,” she answers as I glance up to the mirrored ceiling. “Thinking. Feeling. Wondering.”

  “About?” I ask, pulling a bar stool closer as she rolls onto her side. “You seriously want me to get up there. She blinks. “Fine…fine…”

  I wedge my body up onto the felt beside her as she queries, “Do you have enough room?”

  “Yeah.” I lay on my side and try not to stare at her bejeweled eyes. They’re enchanting. I glance over her body in my navy shirt that says Sugargrove PD on the long sleeves. “You stole my shirt.”

  “I steal everything, Cruz.”

  I smirk at her calling me Cruz. “How do you know…”

  “About your rare dope?” I interject, bravely running my fingers over her cheek. “I spent three years wandering the damn planet. I learned a lot. Some of it, I probably shouldn’t know.”

  “And yet …you’re relatively sober and sane?”

  “I have plenty of vices,” I admit, sharing myself. “You just don’t know them.”

  “Tell me one.” She smiles. “And I’ll tell you one.”

  “I search for the experience.”

  She holds my hand, playing with my fingers. “From drugs?”

  “From everything,” I honestly confide, “I can have a beer during a football game or swat a girl’s ass during sex, but I’m chasing the memory of that moment.”

  “You like the experience of Sal…”

  I grin wide. “Yes, I love taking him through the emotional hell and bringing him back out.”

  “It takes a damn good top to do what you do.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know about good. I just do what I do. Protect the bottom, but let them lead. Because fighting them doesn’t usually render a remarkable experience.”

  “Do I want to know what all you’ve done?”

  “Probably not,” I laugh, and so does she. Her expression lightens up every time she smiles, and it puts a vice grip on my heart because I know she can’t ever be mine. I lick my lips and flop on my back as I look up at our reflection. “You’re waiting…”

  “Yeah.”

  “Impress me with your vast criminal knowledge.”

  I cackle again. “You’re so not right.”

  “When was the first time you killed someone?”

  “Jesus, fuck!” I can’t stop laughing. “Is this your idea of a first date?”

  She nods and beams that smile at me.

  “I was in jail, running hits for a guy,” I say, remembering as my smile fades. “And I was good at it. I was my father’s son, and I guess the difference between Sal and me is I accepted my place a long fucking time ago. He’s fought it his entire life. I keep telling him to call Vinny because he needs his Dad.”

  “What haven’t you done?”

  “Not much…”

  “Who was the first boy you fell in love with?”

  I furrow my brow. “That’s easy. Sal.”

  “And the first girl?” I look at her with a steady gaze that says everything I cannot say. “No, Deacon…”

  “You asked the question,” I remind, slipping into a place I won’t survive. “I just answered. I’ve run guns, crated guns, shipped drugs, sold drugs on the street, seen all kinds of places where they craft drugs, from Ma’s kitchen to a factory in Colombia. I’ve done embalming fluid,” I say as she gives a questioning glance. “Angel dust in Marrakesh, smoked up vespertine…datura in a traditional bamboo pipe in Brazil, popped bennies in Switzerland, and shot laudanum with an old man in South Carolina. I’ve gotten tossed out of bars for defending girls, thrown fists in the lot over spilling my beer. I know how to get in and get out. And hotwire a car.”

  She gasps, but I don’t stop.

  “I’ve buried, hacked up, burned, and thrown bodies to the swamp. I have two creative outlets, cooking, and cars…or bikes. I like keeping to myself and being quiet…cause if I get loud, someone is leaving in a body bag. I don’t eat a lot. I rarely sleep. I enjoy hunting and fishing. I like my ganja every now and again as I do my beer. I hustled in Chicago and sucked a lot of rancid cocks.”

  “Deacon Vincent Cruz…”

  “I’m a Mama’s boy. I like trucks and jeans. Bikes in the right hands. Women under my hand. I like rough sex. Dirty sex with one guy. I like bondage—rope—a lot. Zero desire to get married or have babies. And I have no hesitations on killing anyone if they hurt you or Sal. I can work a blade or bang and can wrangle myself out of almost any situation…but this one.”

  She rolls on her back and stares in the mirror.

  “Do you need references to go with my resume?”

  She giggles. “No.”

  “And apparently, I have big feet.”

  Shifting to look at me, she whispers, “And a big dick.”

  “Don’t forget my massive balls.”

  “There is no way I could.” She sighs. “What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t have a fucking clue,” I mumble. Slowly, she straddles over me and pulls off the shirt, revealing her breasts. I admire her for a moment and say, “You have a beautiful rack.”

  “Touch me,” she pleads.

  My lips part, but nothing comes out. “Do you still have the collar I gave you when we ran off?”

  “Yes.”

  I’m struck by her highness humoring me. “You don’t want this.”

  “How do you know what I want?”

  “I have fucking clarity in seeing things for what they are,” I point out as she takes the rings from my fingers and places my hands to cup her breasts. I close my eyes and feel her nipples tighten against my palms. “I’m not making any apologies for who or what I am.”

  “Be unapologetic, Saint.”

  She falls to my chest as our lips melt together like candy in the hot summer sun. I push her back a few inches as she breathes on my lips. I should say no, but she’s so damned perfect. “Shit…fuck it!”

  Wrapping my arm around her waist, I roll on top of her. Her fingers ease down the ass of my jeans. “You’re hard…”

  “I’m always hard when you’re around,” I stress, pushing my hair back and passionately dipping my tongue against hers. I savor the taste of her skin, driving trails to her nipples. My mouth waters around the peak, licking and sucking and worshipping as she writhes beneath me.

  It takes every ounce of control I’ve got not to rip her panties off and imprison her under the cage of my flesh and bones. I’m at full tilt and draining my reserves fast. I won’t be able to hold out for long like this.

  Her fingers ripple through my hair and graze over my arms. I remember a decade ago—the lust in her eyes and the longings in between her thighs. Her conveyance sent my spirit into a cosmic nirvana, shifting my terminus and rearranging my world on a spinout as she rode along my dirty backwoods dick. We were an ice tsunami. We were in heaven.

  “Deacon,” she whispers, kissing my lips and tugging my goatee. “Take me to your church.”

  “Baby girl, I can’t.” The words tip from my mouth and spill onto her delicate porcelain skin, but my body disconnects from the command and the mind where I know better than to do what I’m thinking with my best friend’s girl. She’s not my peer and partner in submission anymore. And we aren’t kids anymore.

  She’s a woman wanting to be swamped in euphoria.

  And I’m a man needing the rapture past the curve.

  It’s a blackout route either way we take. We won’t come back unscathed. She’ll have scars, and I’ll have bruises. There is time to blast through the yield, sneak through the red, and solicit the fates for guidance along the treacherous ride.

  We’ll cross our fingers and pray we don’t get caught because the arrest at the end of the chase won’t be with cuffs but with our hearts. And I want to stop. God knows I do, but she’s so damned te
mpting. I’ll want to drive her like I stole her until the dawn comes up.

  “We have permissions.”

  “They won’t matter. I’ll break the rules and run like a rebel. I’m an outlaw,” I whisper against her lips. Her head arcs back as her hips lift with an invitation. “I won’t give a fuck who I piss off. It’ll be you and me. And we’ll be long gone by sunrise, so if you are ready to drop the collar, then I’ll toss the cut. And we’ll burn it all down on our way out of town.”

  With her arms around my neck, she asks, “You won’t make love to me?”

  “Not unless I’m making you fucking mine.”

  “This is the way it’s got to be?” she cries, looking into my eyes. “We can’t go back?”

  “… Can you?”

  “I’m so lost, Deacon.”

  “I know where you are, but I can’t come and get you. And that’s so frustrating because I always fucking find you. But if I rescue you this time, it’ll be with my dick inside of you, and I made a promise. I swore I would keep out.”

  “Your vow means more than salvaging me.”

  “No,” I desperately profess, regretting my inability to provide her with what she needs. Her hand’s ball and she pounds them against my chest and arms. “Never.”

  “Then fuck me!”

  “Now, you’re just being a demanding cunt.” She tries to slap me but I grab her hand. “You don’t want to do that.”

  “And you don’t want to say no, either,” she sasses, looking up in the mirror. The gleam in her eyes changes from wild rage to carnal desire. “Saint…”

  I flip my hair back. “What?”

  “Grind on me.”

  Glancing at the mirrored ceiling, I grin, “Does it have a good view?”

  “Yes.”

  There are thousands of ways to travel to the point of no return. I have only ever had one final destination, and she just slid my jeans down. Things are about to get fucking messy as her legs spread, and she soaks against my skin. I feel her slippery wetness teasing around my shaft, flooding my carpet, and making me wish I had better insurance.

  Or at least a piece.

  “Are you watching?”

  “I am,” she whispers as I wrap my fist around my dick and thrust into her ass. I breathe hard and buck like a madman as she flails her arms and whimpers, “Dammit! Deacon!”

  “Sorry, baby girl, I’m a Saint for a good slut.”

  My hand collapses around her mouth, and I have my way with her, using her passage for my release. She’s pissed I won’t fuck her hooch. I’m pissed she asked me to in the first place.

  We’re swirling, threatening to fuse into a superstorm—her waters and my wind—and we could be so compatible, but without a doubt, our hurricane would extinguish his fire.

  I avoid the source at all costs.

  This was the only shortcut to avoid the wreck. She’ll be mad, and we won’t speak for days, weeks, months, but better to hurt her now with a few bumps than needing to bury another lost soul.

  The lines blur in a hazy winter, where the shadows seem to understand more than the daylight. And the harder I try to find the stillness in the breeze, the more I’m challenged by churning skies, threatening to send my gale-force winds into her waters, the more I must retreat. Up the hill, the glow of fiery red embers punctuates the horizon. I am well acquainted with his inferno.

  And I know the damage Sal delivers.

  My dick thrusts into her asshole, relentlessly claiming what I want with every rapacious slide as I inflict lachrymose destruction to our sacred bond. The carnage will last.

  “Do not ask me to make love to you ever again,” I threaten, pounding the punishment into her being. “Do not ask me if I love you. Not because I can’t answer, but because I do.”

  “Deacon,” she whispers as I lower to her sweet lips. “I am in love with you.”

  I brush my tongue across her pout once more as I erupt, spewing my come into the chasm of our chaos. Keeping my weight, bearing upon her, I hold her tremulous body steady as we pass, narrowly escaping the union of our pieces. Her hands slip over the sweat on my back as I hide my face in the crook of her neck. “I am so sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” she mutters, detaching emotionally. “I only wanted to know how loyal you were. And it is clear, you are with him until the bitter end. Good luck.”

  I see every card in her hand as I hiss, “Don’t shut me out!”

  “You shut me out!” she rebukes with spite.

  “I didn’t,” I argue, trying to hold my ground. “I did as you asked. I saved you from the edge.”

  “No, Saint Cruz,” she whispers, staying reticent. “You pushed me over.”

  “And I warned you. I would get my turn.”

  V

  The Diamonds of a Sinner

  36

  Cupid's Cravings

  The Master

  I wake up in bed, drooling all over Cruz’s chest and glaring at the clock. “Is it really three in the afternoon?”

  “It’s almost four,” he says. “You slept hard.”

  “Holy fuck, did I.” I blink a few times, adjusting to the brightness of the sun. I’d be much better as a vampire. “Where is Iris?”

  “She’s been on the phone with Masa all day,” he informs with a hint of a foreboding tone. “I would not go in there.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just say. She wields power well.”

  “It’s Valentine’s,” I mumble, getting out of bed and scratching my balls. “Fuck…we have that thing tonight.”

  “Yes, we do,” he confirms. “Would you like a limo, or are we taking a truck?”

  “We’re taking the new one,” I say, wobbling into the bathroom and taking a piss. “Why is she on the phone with Masa?”

  “I don’t know. I got up, made coffee, and she had six pencils in her hair by eight.”

  I tilt back to look out the door. “What the...”

  “Watch what you’re fucking doing before you piss all over the floor!” he scolds as I grab a pair of joggers and head to the kitchen. He isn’t lying, only now, it’s about a dozen pencils.

  “I just do not know if I can agree with this decision,” she frantically says. “He isn’t trustworthy, Masa. I’ve made my point abundantly clear with sofu. If he doesn’t listen to me, I won’t be responsible.”

  She clicks the end button and throws her phone across the table. It skids, hitting the floor. I pick it up and set it beside her as she fumes.

  “Do I want to know?” I ask, pouring a cup of coffee.

  She crosses her arms and licks her lips. “Cristos wasn’t in Brazil meeting with Muerte. Cristos was in Brazil, introducing Raniero to Muerte. Cristos has pulled out of his involvement with them and is now on a plane to Dubai.”

  “What the fuck is in Dubai?”

  “My grandfather,” she whispers with hurt as she carries her coffee cup to the sink. “Goddammit!” She smashes the cup, breaking it into a thousand tiny pieces, and Deacon comes running out of the bedroom. “I need out of here for a few minutes!”

  “We have the Juliet reception tonight,” Deacon reminds.

  “And I will be there,” she vows. “But, I need some keys.”

  “Baby,” I ease, trying to calm her down. “Stress.”

  “Please, do not do this,” she vehemently urges. “Just let me go drive.”

  “Jeep? Challenger? F-250?” Deacon asks. “... Raptor?”

  I scowl at Cruz.

  “Motorcycle,” she whispers as Deacon and I shoot one another a glare of—What? You can’t ride! “One of you, please.”

  “I’ve got you.” I briefly grab her hands. “Give me two minutes. Get some shoes on your feet.”

  She nods as I overhear Deacon say, “What can I do for you?”

  “Convince my grandfather not to feed my future to that snake.”

  “I’ll call Zach and see if we can come up with something,” he informs. “Try not to worry. Is Masa?”

  “He
is on my side,” she interrupts, filling in the blanks. “But there isn’t much we can do.”

  I give a deep sigh as I toss on jeans, hoodie, and boots. I pass by the living room and say, “Come on.”

  “Since your bike is parked in front of the car in the garage, you can take mine,” Cruz offers, tossing the keys to me. “Be careful. I love you guys.”

  Without a word, Iris heads out the door, which I find slightly odd. “… You two, okay?”

  “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “We’re fine.”

  “Call Dom,” I demand. “See if he has any bright ideas. And whatever you do, don’t talk to Nico or Serene. Let me do it.”

  “You got it, Boss.” I press my hand to his cheek and give him a quick kiss. “I love you too.”

  His Butterfly

  Sitting on the bench at the park in Little Bee, I watch mothers playing with their kids, pushing strollers, and living ordinary existences.

  “Maybe I’m not cut out for it,” I muse to Sal. He drops his Bollé shades, harshly glaring at me.

  Taking my hand in his, he says, “It’s not easy, but if you give up, will you regret it?”

  “I’m fighting a losing battle against these men.”

  He flips his box of smokes open and offers one to me. “If anyone knows what it is like to go up against these assholes, it’s me. I have been the underdog since day one.”

  “But, you have balls!” I announce as he flicks the lighter for me. I exhale and say, “And a dick.”

  “You can’t use that as your excuse,” he replies. “You are going to have to show them yours. Bring a better offer to him. Swat Cristos off the fucking table. Just make sure, whoever you get in bed with, you like getting fucked by them.”

  “… Why not The Unholy?”

  “Unholy doesn’t have the kind of available capital that Cristos does,” he pauses for a moment. “Unless…”

  “What?”

  “If my father…Cesario hitches up with Muerte, and I sell what I own in RE, I might. And this is a big might be able to pull the guys together to have enough to make it worth his while.” He pushes his shades up into his curls. They’re a mess from the ride. “It would take everything I’ve got.”