“So, if I hurt her again, you’re stealing my girl?”
“Yep,” he quickly says, dropping the belt. He hastily unzips his jeans and thrusts his dick inside of my ass. It burns so good. “You can behave, or I will do it for you.”
“What the fuck…” His cock radiates hot goodness, grounding the voices, and defusing the landmines in my brain. “What right do you have?”
“I am only doing what you have told me to do countless times, Master Raniero.”
“Shit,” I mutter as his bucks increase in speed, and I rock against the bed. “You can’t just take her. She isn’t yours to take.”
“The Dominant in you said your weakened state would fight me on this,” he stresses as I endure the numbing drill of his dick into my exit. “You’ll just have to be my bitch.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mumble, lowering my head. “I’m already your slut.”
“Yeah, but I never overstep my ground.”
I hate to say how right he is about all of it. I gave him numerous leniency clauses with Iris….and me, for that matter. I just never imagined that we would get to the point where it would become necessary to implement such action.
“Am I that far gone?”
“Not yet,” he contends, ramming his hard thighs into the back of my legs. He lays his hands on the Lotus branded on my back. Above the flower, Iris Amarie’s name is inked on my shoulder blades. I promised to carry her, and I am failing. “But you tell me how many lines…you tell me how bad the demons were with Rowan…you tell me Kaci isn’t in your head again…you tell me Iris isn’t worth fighting for! You tell me I am not worth fighting for!”
“Goddammit!” I lunge forward onto the bed, trying to scurry away, but my pants tangle around my feet, and I fall to the floor. Flipping my ass over, he hovers on top of me—face-to-face—in the shrapnel of own my fucking war zone and mounts me like the motherfucking pretty-mugged biker he is. “Not in my house, bitch! Not in my house!”
“You’re not getting away!” he hisses as his blue eyes search through my black soul. “You are mine. You belong to me. I don’t care if you’re at your best or your worst, we both know you only surrender for one. And I own your fucking ass, your heart, and your love.”
Spit me out and call me done—I grieve.
“I am yours,” I submit, crying like a reborn baby and understanding he may end up owning my girl too. “I’m so fucked up, Cruz… Do whatever you got to do.”
“Don’t you dare give up on me that fast,” he forcefully warns through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to fucking quit!” His beast comes to life and bursts with a terrifying propulsion. “You must reignite those embers!”
“I am nothing more than ash.” I weep the truth. “Water can wash me away. Wind can blow me away. Nothing can save me.”
“Fuck, no! You aren’t getting washed or blown after this stunt,” he maintains with stamina, pumping hard and coming with a rush. “You are my lover. You are my one.”
His undulating body soars to my mine, breathing heavy like we’ve been through hell…or an exorcism. Maybe a Sal–orcism. Holding onto his cut, I mutter, “I’m sorry you only see the darkest parts of me.”
“I just wish you would let me see the light in you too.” He dips down to tenderly kiss me. “You don’t ever get to run from me. I’ll let you get away with a lot of shit, including but not limited to, plowing snow and Irish blows. But you do not run away from me. Do you understand me?”
I nod. “Ya, brother. I gotcha.”
His fingertips touch my lips. “Answer me honestly, do you want Cristos’ boats?”
“Are you offering to buy them for me?” I giddily ask. “Is this like sending flowers and chocolates after you get laid?”
“Exactly like that, Nero.”
“Yes, Sir,” I respectfully say, acknowledging the hell I put this man through and the battles he is willing to fight to keep my ass on the field. “I would like to go rowing and dock a boat with you.”
His smack to my arm comes on sudden. “I swear to fuck—I’m going to beat your ass. I may have a crush on you, but I will not dock with you.”
“At least one of us would have to be uncut,” I mumble with a straight face. “We could go to one of those parties.”
“… A dick dock party?” he banters smirking. “No, thank you. I appreciate the offer. Parties were never my thing.”
“But docking was?”
He pauses for half a second. “I’m about to clock a certain cocksucker, I know.”
I mischievously grin, and he laughs.
We’re going to be okay.
“Sal, you stanky, man.”
“You ain’t smelling too sweet yourself, Cruz.”
With a devious grin, he snickers. “Should’ve smelled my hand last night…sugared peaches with cream…”
“I hate you.”
He boisterously laughs. “Goddamn, I missed you!”
“Thank you,” I whisper, kissing him. “I love you so fucking much it hurts.”
He winks. “It’s my job to make it hurt.”
41
fell out of a tree
His Butterfly
Stepping out of the limo, I take Deacon’s arm as we make our way into Roses & Thorns. I haven’t seen Sal, and I’m not sure I want to. I chose to wear a white silk dress I found in the closet with a pair of come-fuck-me-red heels. My red lipstick matches the shoes.
To showcase the dress, I tossed my unwashed hair into my diamond butterfly clips and only added a lengthy broad stroke of eyeliner and mascara to my lashes.
Deacon Cruz’s ultimate fantasy.
The dress is cut like a long nightgown with a noticeable plummet in the front. I paired it with the cuffs from Ella and two collars from two very different Masters. And to top it all off with two proverbial cherries, I went braless.
Stick it in his face, girl.
I was pissed, having a good idea of what he did and with who.
“Good evening, Charlie,” I greet, passing by his podium with a wave. It seems his tune has changed.
“Miss Nakamura and Mr. Cruz have a lovely evening!”
“Good baby, subs!” I grin at Deacon, and he smirks. “How long do we have to stay?”
“Long enough for people to know you were here.”
“Why the fuck are you early?” I mutter under my breath, spotting the sexy young mafioso in a black suit with his white dress shirt undone to his breastbone near the bar. I loathe how fucking wet he makes me. I’m staring starry-eyed as Deacon smirks. “He’s so fucking cocky.”
“That’s why you love him.”
“Who is the girl in the mint gown that he is talking to?”
“That’s Skeeter,” he says as I break from my gaze and give a quizzical look. “Hannah.”
“Fuck, he sees me.”
“Wanna leave?”
“No,” I say, grabbing Deacon’s hand. “Dance with me.”
“You’re assuming he won’t cut in.”
“He won’t unless he wants to get cut,” I rebuke as he parades me like a showman onto the dance floor. He spins and twirls and dips me—all while Sal Raniero watches from the sidelines—through three songs. But in between trying to make Sal jealous, I notice how perfectly I fit into the arms of Deacon Cruz. He’s so disciplined in his love for me—a sexy gentleman in public and a dirty bastard in private. “Kiss me, Saint.”
“There are limits, princess.”
“You’re willing to walk out of here, take me back to Lakeside, and fuck my asshole raw all night before you will kiss me in front of Sal?”
“Yes,” he assures, smiling. “Because I won’t kiss you on command.” His next moves are so much harsher than a kiss. He nuzzles my neck as his hands slide over my ass. We can’t get any closer, and the next time I look over to Sal, he raises the bottle of whiskey and heads for the path to the gardens. “You need to go now,” he advises. “If you’re going to go at all...”
I blink at Deacon. I feel happy when
we’re together. “I have to go end this...”
I slip out of his hands as he yells, “Iris! No!”
Rushing through the cabaret and courtyard, I find my way to the path and take off my shoes as I run towards him.
“You son of a bitch!” I pummel one of my shoes at him, and it bounces underneath a nearby bench.
“You only got one more shot,” he baits with a sinfully delicious smirk. “Knock me out, Angel.”
His eyes sink into mine as I drop the shoe and take off running to the woods. I hear the crash of the whiskey bottle hitting the pavement, and I know the chase is on.
Welcome to Juliet.
Mating season is here.
“Iris!” he shouts. “We need to talk.”
I’m not falling for his tricks. He wants me to respond because he doesn’t know where I am. My feet hurt as branches and rocks poke and prod. I’m getting hung up on briars and shredding the dress. I don’t care about anything anymore. I want away from him—apart from this torment of loving two men. I can’t have them both, so I don’t want to exist.
Tears fall on my cheeks as I stop to catch my breath and look around. With my heartbeat being the only thing I can hear, I turn to continue and face plant into his hard wall of muscle.
“We need to talk.”
“That’s right,” I say, stepping backward. “Hunt me down like the Capo.”
“If I were an actual Capo, I would have guys do this for me.”
“You do have guys. You just take kinky pleasure in hunting me.” I step back again and fall on my butt. “Ow!”
He lunges on top of me, pinning my hands above my head, as I kick and thrash against him. “We need to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to you!” I cry out. “I know what you did!”
“What did I do?” I fight against his brute strength and wiggle down just enough to try and nail him in the balls. “No,” he whispers, getting up and walking away. “You already did that once. We need to talk when you’re not throwing a tantrum and acting like a brat, lil girl.”
I cry—alone—in the woods for what seems hours, but it is probably only fifteen minutes. I look haggard. I’m no longer the pristine, exotic Lotus Queen, but a haggard shaman Queen that fell out of a tree and hit every branch. My dress is stained and torn, and I have leaves in my hair—I know because I felt one crunch in my fingers.
This is what love looks like.
Fucking ugly love.
But I’m a relentless cunt. I stomp my ass back up to Juliet as Charlie, now serving champagne, takes a shocked once-over my body and says, “Miss Nakamura, are you alright?”
I realize the cause of his concern; I look like I’ve been assaulted.
I steal the bottle of bubbles from his tray and spot Deacon laughing with Skeeter at the bar and Sal-the-motherfucking-asshole-of-the-century dancing with Rowan.
Under my breath, I mumble, “You left me in the woods to dance with an Irish bitch? Seriously, fucker?”
With everyone’s eyes on the girl from the deep woods—admittedly, I have a history of causing commotion while at Juliet soirées—I hastily walk onto the dance floor. I must look fucking demonic because everyone clears the space as his back is to me. I open my throat and guzzle down half the bottle when Deacon spots me and shouts, “Iris! No!”
Sal turns, and I see Rowan.
I won’t miss my target this time.
Slamming the champagne bottle to the ground—because I don’t want to kill her, I run as fast as I can and leap like a dolphin flying out of the ocean towards Rowan. My body strikes hers like a battering ram, and we slide like a damn water ride in our silk evening gowns across the shellacked wooden floor.
I swear I just heard Deacon and Sal snicker.
“What the fuck were you thinking, whore?”
“I thought he wanted a blow job from a real woman,” Rowan sasses as I slap her cheek hard. “You’re just proving how out of control you are! No top in their right mind wants to fight a bottom like you!”
“Bullshit,” Deacon remarkably defends in front of everyone. “You want to take this outside, bitch?”
Anna panics, “Sal, what is going on?”
“I’m taking back my man,” I roar, punching her in the nose. “From this skank!”
“Holy shit!” Serene mutters, “Buttercup went rabid! Bout damn time!
“... Can I have her when she’s done?” Nicky asks.
“No!” Deacon, Sal, and Serene simultaneously announce as I go at Rowan. We’re clawing, punching, and kicking in our girly fight. I never thought I would cause a bar fight. Love makes you do foolish things.
“When should we stop them?” Deacon mutters. “Cause this is kind of hot.”
“Not yet.” Sal replies, “Just a sec.”
“You can’t go put your loose lips on another woman’s man! You seduced him!”
“Not my fault, he has issues.”
“He is mine!” I blast. “You fucking harlot!”
“Those are some fierce words,” Deacon cajoles. “I got to teach this girl to brawl.”
“The punch was good,” Sal comments.
Deacon chuckles, “And the flying through the air would’ve only been better had her tits fallen out of the gown.”
“Stop judging me!” I snap at them. “She’s a tawdry, gold-digging tramp!”
“I swallowed his cum!” Rowan mutters, hoping to hurt me. “And begged for more!”
From the sidelines, Serene yips, “So has half of Juliet…your point?”
“Yeah,” Nicky deadpans. “We drink that shit for breakfast, lunch, and dinner around here.”
I wish I could have seen the looks they gave him.
“And you,” I boom at Rowan. “You can tell your boys to go back home because they aren’t welcome on my turf. And if you ever put your lips on my future husband again, I will slit your fucking throat. I will be Mrs. Salvatore Raniero, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of all his needs.”
“Not all of them,” she subtly knocks his choices with a cruel glare. “Considering he has to have a lover b….”
A moment passes when I no longer care about perceptions or being okay. I don’t care if I’m the Lotus Queen or a wilting flower in the marsh. She will not talk about my boys like that.
Stopping her airflow, I wrap my hands around her neck, choking her as she grips my hands. My Juliet family loves me so much they’d be willing to sweep a public killing under the fucking rug.
“Don’t you say it!” I howl like Satan’s mistress. “You have no fucking right!”
“That’s one way to deal with some mean girl hate,” Deacon acknowledges with a fucking fabulous flair, how panache-y of him. “Are you ready for me to…”
“Ya,” Sal mutters, calling his hound to do the dirty work for him. “Before she kills her...”
Deacon hovers over my back, plucking me—like a tick—off the poor girl. He tosses me on his shoulder, and I don’t fight him. As we pass by Nicky, his eyes are glassy, and he gives a maniacal grin.
“Get her out of here,” Sal commands. “Now!”
“What the hell happened?” Trudy yells, running late, as she spots Deacon and I heading for the garden. “... Sally?”
“Iris grew a pair,” Serene proudly boasts. “Our girl grew up.”
You’re right, Mistress, I damn sure did.
“Should we just call you Killer now?” Deacon ribs as he lights two smokes and places one in my quivering hand. “I must say, this is an amazing look on you.” He pulls a twig from my hair. “You kind of look like a goth geisha doll from the woods gone mad. It’s really quite attractive. Kinda giving me a boner.” He winks.
I finally break into a giggle because he doesn’t usually talk to me that way. “I almost killed Rowan with my bare hands.”
“You were well on your way,” he admires, standing in between my legs and picking debris out of my hair. We’re near the butterfly fountain where I’m perched on a table. “Quite impressive for w
hat I assume to be your first rumble?”
“Yeah,” I say. “At least like that. You know I never imagined we’d be like this,” I whisper, latching my fingers to his. “And I never thought I would be thinking about actually breaking up with Sal…because even when we weren’t together for three years, and I knew he was doing things with other girls…I knew he loved me. We were still a team. We aren’t a team now. I’m part of a one-person team, and he’s a fucking soloist looking to play his flute everywhere with anyone he can.”
He snickers. Rubbing my hand, he replies, “I’m ready to serve you. All you need to do is say the word, and I will be yours.”
“I don’t know if I can be with him,” I confide, crying. “We aren’t even engaged yet, and he’s cheating on me. And last I checked, Rowan wasn’t a part of us.”
“You can make excuses all you want, but you can’t make excuses for how you feel.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your feelings for me are deeper than what they should be.”
“Yes, they are, Deacon,” I whisper, inching closer as his lips engulf mine, and we passionately kiss. He doesn’t hold back as I wrap my legs around him. I feel his arousal pressing against me as his hands grip my ass. We lay our foreheads together. “I want you so bad.” I blink to see his blues staring at me. “I need to leave Sal, so we can figure out what is going on with us.”
From the shadow of the building, Sal steps into the light. With his stoic resolve, I cannot read him. “Let me try this one more time. We need to talk, please, Ma’am.”
Fuck. Shit. Damn. Hell.
Holding my hands, Deacon backs up, and I slide onto my feet. The men grab one another’s arms and embrace like they’re completely in sync. What? Since when? I call this the moment of boy’s club betrayal. “Be gentle with her, man.”
“I got this,” Sal assures, totally composed. “We need to go and get your shoes.”
“Yeah,” I say, unable to breathe. “How much trouble, am I in?”
“Not as much as you probably should be, but more than you’re thinking.”
Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4) Page 34