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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  In my arms, she giggles as I take her hand and lead her to the edge. “Yes, I will leave the shoes on just for you, but you’re not fucking me against a rental car.”

  “It was a good ride.” I wink.

  “Yeah, it was,” she whispers as I sit my ass on the cement wall. “You’re not serious…”

  “I am.”

  “We’re four stories up,” she nervously says. “We cannot…”

  “We are,” I assure, pulling her closer. “This whole fear of heights thing with you stops here. Trust me. Do you think I’m going to cum so hard that I’m going to blast you over the edge?”

  “You might,” she giggles. “Kaboom! Skyrocketing Iris!”

  “Get on my fucking dick, Darlin’.”

  “Why this spot?”

  “We’re not on any cameras,” I inform, pointing as she glances around. “Don’t believe me?”

  “Your talent for scouting an area is remarkable.”

  “I like to know where I am at,” I say as she straddles over my lap, and I grip the base of my cock. I take each of her legs, placing them between the cement and the rail. Her lower legs and feet dangle over the edge. “Trust me. I know where you are at emotionally as my sub and I won’t fail you. Loosen up your body, so you feel all of me.”

  “You’re asking a lot of me.”

  “I’m a very demanding kinda guy.” I wrap my arms around her back. She isn’t going anywhere and I’ve got a rail against my back. I’m not going anywhere either. She is unreasonably terrified of heights. I’ll scare the shit out of her when I’m on our roof. “Trust me, I’m not letting anything happen to those sexy fucking stilettos.”

  Her terrified expression can’t hold back the giggle from her lips. Her body relaxes in my arms as I slowly thrust inside of her warm, wet pussy.

  “Oh, yeah…there’s my Salvatore…” I cannot help but grin like a fucking idiot when she says my name. Her eyes close as she runs her tongue over her bottom lip only to clamp down hard with her teeth. “You’re so good.”

  “Because I’m so fucking crazy in love with you,” I murmur, pumping hard. “I would do anything to make you happy.”

  Her eyes flash open. “I want to go dancing with a Pretty Boy.”

  “He showed you the pictures,” I allege, embarrassed. Rolling my eyes, I stop moving and lower my head with a shake. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I am totally fucking serious!” she booms, batting her lashes as I grip her ass. “You want to marry me. I want the whole package—all of it—mascara and snow and guns and secrets and whips and chains and shacks in the middle of nowhere with your strange addiction to fancy cars and your rage and your pacing, cracking, and cursing.” She takes a breath and whispers, “And your tender shyness that hardly anyone ever sees.”

  “I let Cruz doll me up one night,” I bashfully admit, feeling trapped. “This is not a thing.”

  “Oh,” she encourages, lifting her hands high and rolling her hips as she puts her faith in me to not catapult her over the edge. “But, it gives me a thang.”

  “You’re trusting me…”

  “And you should trust me,” she whispers. “I want the whole package—including my bad boy in coral lipstick.”

  My lips tighten as I rock them across my face and peer up to her. I’m caught, and there is no escape. “Cruz said it would wash me out. I did a raspberry.”

  She hysterically laughs. “God, I love him so much!”

  “So do I.”

  “I know that now,” she mentions, swirling slowly on my cock. “I get it—all of it—so put your freak flag out and let it fly.”

  “You’re flying…”

  “Like you cannot imagine,” she affirms. “Trust is a hell of an aphrodisiac.”

  “… Oysters and beer in Gifu later?”

  “With Cruz?”

  I nod as she quips, “We can, but Mama don’t eat no sea milk.”

  “Mama is slurping back sea milk,” I declare as she offers a putrid, frowning face, and I piston into her deluge. “We are expanding your diet to include many different kinds of milk.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Oh, ya…”

  “I’m gonna expand yours with breast milk if you aren’t careful,” she boasts, tossing her head back. “Probably not, knowing my luck.”

  “I can only hope,” I respond, easing my hands around to her hips. “I heard you’ve got issues. You should’ve said something.”

  “I didn’t know how,” she says, cradling her arms around my shoulders as I rest my cheek against her breast. “I was afraid you would lose interest.”

  I lift my head to look her in the eye. “Iris Amarie Nakamura Kettles Raniero, my losing interest is not something you ever have to worry about.”

  She blushes and grins. “You said my whole name.”

  “I did,” I whisper, breathing heavily. “I will make you my wife.”

  With my soul woven in hers, my knuckles edge up over her throat, and I grasp, hinting the pressure disciplined in my fist. I am her collar, and I lay claim to the one thing I need. She gasps, “Is that a promise?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” I respectfully reply. “Come to me, Angel.”

  83

  Swim, girl. Swim.

  The Master

  With Iris’ luggage in tow, Rowan met us at the airport, and we took the Lotus jet from Tokyo to Gifu, where Cruz was staying. I asked Masa if we could put my training on hold until his storms blew over.

  He’s struggling, and Iris is scared.

  And I feel lost in the mix of it all because no one is willing to tell me what all happened in New Orleans.

  “How bad is he?” she asked as I drove to the airport.

  “Better with me, but he needs you.”

  “He clings to me,” she whispered. “Do you know what all happened?”

  “Sparse,” I said. “He doesn’t want to talk about it. All I know is Enzo, and two of his guys ransacked the house.”

  “No,” she replied. “They ransacked Cruz.”

  Between the plane and car ride, I couldn’t decide how I felt about the Iris and Rowan merger. I kept thinking back to the night on top of La Chapelle when the two of them made out.

  They’d obviously reconciled their differences over copious amounts of…oh, dear God…I’ve created a monster.

  We pull up to the minka where Cruz is standing outside, freshly showered in a white t-shirt and jeans. Iris sprints out of the car, and they hold onto one another. I have no doubt they’re crying over whatever happened.

  “You did a good thing,” Rowan whispers as we get out and wait for the driver to pull our things out of the vehicle. “A really good thing.”

  Pushing my sunglasses into my hair, I snarl, “What about being a passive idiot?”

  “There is nothing passive about what you’ve done,” she replies with a solid stare. “I was wrong in my assessments.”

  “No, you weren’t wrong,” I honestly mutter. “You kicked my ass in the right direction.”

  With a smirk, she curtseys. “Now figure out the fuck what you’re doing with Hannah Cruz.”

  I light a smoke and offer her one. “I ain’t touching that.”

  “Good,” she says, raising a brow. “Cause you can’t do that to your dumpling over there.”

  “I don’t know that I ever really wanted to.”

  “Probably not,” she assuages as the car pulls away. “It’s easier not to think about the emotional things when the physical takes the lead. It doesn’t make them right. It doesn’t make them wrong. It just makes them numb the present. And you’re putting them in the past. I’m proud of you. Look to the future.”

  I crouch in the drive as I watch the tears of my submissive play out before me. “Recovery is fucking hard.”

  “Tell me,” she says, squatting next to me. “I know.” She offers her hand. “If you get stuck, call me. And not for a booty call.”

  “Because that got us in a lot of trouble…”

>   “No,” she cackles, lifting the ring mail collar on her neck. “Because I belong to someone special.” She winks as my gaze shifts to Iris and back to Rowan. “And don’t even think about getting mad at Iris.”

  “I don’t think I am,” I mutter, standing fast and striding over to Iris. Cruz wraps a weak arm around my shoulder and plants a giant kiss on my cheek. The haunting shades of a sordid incident fill his eyes with despair. He’s managed to stay on the rails, not falling into the volatile valley where the demons wait. It took guts to call me and ask for help. Iris was right—his balls were fucking massive. “When were you going to tell me, you collared Rowan?”

  “Surprises are fun!” With wide anime-like eyes, she giggles, and shrugs. “You gave Dom and Megan a present in Oki.”

  “Oki is just staying there.”

  “No!” Rowan laughs. “That is not what is occurring. I took some documents over to their new house, and Megan was using Oki as a footstool.”

  “… A footstool?” I repeat, shaking my head as Cruz snickers and walks out to grab the bags as Rowan follows. “You got any more secrets, beautiful?”

  “None worth mentioning,” she charms, rubbing her lips together. “You?”

  “Naw,” I dismiss. “None worth mentioning.” I bump her shoulder as we watch Cruz and Rowan. “You know we’re both lying.”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay,” I say, peering over at her smirk. “As long as we understand this about each other.”

  “I have an entire cooler of oysters on ice in there,” Cruz informs. “Masa brought them, just like you asked.”

  Trepidation blooms on Iris’ expression. “Not a chance!”

  “But…baby…” I beg as Cruz and Rowan laugh. Picking her ass up, I toss her over my shoulder, and she squeals and kicks those feet. I smack that ass.

  Swim, girl. Swim.

  “Cruz, get me a bottle of beer and an oyster,” I order, setting her on the kitchen counter as she shakes her head.

  “Sal…please…no!” she pleads. “There are limits.”

  “You are not allowed to safeword out of this,” I warn as Cruz laughs. “This is important. I am teaching you to eat…”

  She rolls her eyes. “And I try everything twice, I know!”

  “Hey, Rowan,” I yell. “You want an oyster?”

  “Do you want your dick made into blood pudding?” she shouts from the bedroom. She struts through the living space in a tank top and black yoga pants. “You’re really going to push this?”

  “Yes!”

  “Give me a beer, Cruz,” she demands, sitting down and shuffling the cards on the table. Perhaps I should clarify that—bitch shuffles cards like a damn magician.

  Cruz asks, “Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

  “I can do lots of cool, useless things,” she replies. “I’m the girl everyone wants to do party tricks, and no one wants to take home. You learn a lot when you spend hours alone in your room besides what objects serve as good phallic replacements.”

  Completely mesmerized, I mumble, “You’re insane.”

  The cards are flying, soaring through the air in an effortless dance, and we’re all staring in awe. Iris gloats, “She’s mine, boys.”

  Rowan smacks them down and glances up at Cruz. “Thanks for…opening my beer?” She giggles.

  “Habits.” Cruz shrugs. “Sorry.”

  “… You play?”

  “I was playing solitaire because there is a lack of things to do around here.”

  Still shuffling the cards—only slower now—Rowan suggests, “Play poker?”

  “I’m game,” he says.

  “Eat the fucking oyster, Iris,” Rowan quips. “So he won’t whine at you all night.”

  “But…”

  “Just do it,” she encourages as Cruz and her grin at one another. “It’s not going to kill you. Slurp that fucker down. Go yum. Make your man happy.”

  I cock my head and grin. “… Baby?”

  “Fine,” she grumbles as Rowan and Cruz start playing cards. “How do I do this?”

  “Lemon,” I instruct, holding it up. “Little squeeze. Don’t ruin it with sauce.”

  Her nose turns up. “What about all that liquid?”

  “Some drain it,” Cruz adds, lighting a smoke. “Some don’t.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Don’t ask me.” He deadpans, “I suck heads.” Rowan laughs.

  “More than one.” I wink.

  “Ugh…” Iris says, sliding from the counter and running away.

  Deacon quickly shoots up to chase after her, but I block him with my arm. “She’s probably getting sick, Nero.”

  “I got this,” I reassure, handing the oyster tray to Cruz. “Don’t eat all my oysters.”

  “I have six more platters!”

  Did Masa think we were feeding an army?

  Rushing to the bathroom, I find Iris topless with her red jacket on the bathroom counter and bent over the toilet. I quietly rub her back and flush the toilet.

  “I’ll be fine,” she says, exasperated, standing up straight and dropping her pants. She takes a deep breath, brushes her teeth, and pulls her hair down. It’s so long it brushes against her ass. As bad as this sounds at the moment, I want to curl my fist in it and pull. I scan over her face as she pivots to me. Exhaustion is taking its toll as her fingers unbutton my dress shirt.

  “What are you doing, Angel?”

  “I want this…” she replies, pulling my shirt off and biting my biceps. “Shirt.”

  “You want some bloomers?” I shout as she takes off across the living room. “I can open your luggage.”

  “No,” she maintains. “Everyone here has seen my ass.”

  Cruz and Rowan pay no attention to her new lack of attire. The shirt is long enough to cover her bottom until she stands on her tiptoes to reach a glass. And they both look.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch Iris douse the whole platter of oysters with lemon. “Babe…”

  She lifts a flat hand. “If I do not do this now, I will never do it.”

  “Now or never is a damn good way to live.” With a cigarette perched between her lips, Rowan puts her foot in the chair. She’s ridiculously small. “Be at peace with it.”

  In all his brilliance, Cruz pulls a joint out of the pack of smokes, and Iris hastily twirls to him as soon as he lights it. “Gimme.”

  I observe as my girl take a hit, but I don’t react. Rowan curls her fingers, demanding the ganja. He passes it to her as I mutter, “Should you be doing that?”

  “Raniero, I play with sharps.” She takes a long hit. “Got to know what the triggers are and how to fucking dodge them.”

  Blinking up, Deacon glares. “… Mojo?”

  Distracted by her hand of cards, Rowan mutters, “Anything I could suck up a needle, my friend.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I was bad for about five years.”

  “What got you clean?”

  Laying her cards down, she lifts both arms. “Four stints in a psych ward and a man named Stroker Mullins.”

  “… Boyfriend?”

  “Fuck no!” she sasses, returning to her cards. “Way too militant alpha dog for my taste.” We laugh.

  “You do realize,” I say, taking a hit. “I have a badge.”

  “Stroker exists in gray matter, Sal.” She winks. “He’s different.”

  “So, not like my red…”

  She smiles. “Not at all.”

  From the counter, Iris asks, “Should I understand this spectrum?”

  “No,” Cruz replies. “You exist in red.”

  “I’m going to do this…would you like to preserve the moment on film?”

  “Yes,” I mumble, standing in the living area and leaning on the kitchen counter as I pull out my phone. “Do it.”

  “How many times do I chew?”

  “Not too much, just a couple,” Cruz responds. “Pull the flavors up.”

  “Give me one,” R
owan requests as Cruz slightly smirks. She dumps the oyster in her mouth and chews a couple of times. Then she downs the rest of her beer and part of Cruz’s. “Okay, give me a platter. It’s not that bad, Iris.”

  Cruz peers up, and I stick my tongue out. “Score!”

  “You’re all sick and twisted,” Iris contends, slamming hers back and making a valiant effort.

  “If you had it your way, you would exist on cake.”

  “Here you go, Tuls,” Cruz says, giving her a pet name. I glance at Iris, looking guilty as sin about her acquiring Rowan Tully. I know exactly what she is doing, and by her wink at me, she knows I know. He puts the platter on the side of the table and hands her another beer.

  “Tuls is a new one,” she replies. “I get a lot of Row. Some Mae. A lot of bitch. I like Tuls because it’s slut backward.”

  With a blush to his cheeks, Cruz grins. I glance to Iris, kicking back her fifth oyster. “… Have you gone mad?”

  “Not yet, but they’d be better if I were slurping them off your eight pack.”

  “Everything is better off those abs,” Cruz chuckles.

  “I told you she would do it,” I brag. “You owe me a grand, Cruz.”

  “Yeah, yeah!”

  “Do you two bet often?”

  With her mouth full of oysters, she garbles, “They always challenge one another.”

  Randomly, Rowan inquires, “What is the bet at for Cruz getting in my panties?”

  Iris drops her beer bottle and laughs as Cruz licks his lips and informs, “Sal doesn’t think you swing that way, Tuls, because you didn’t fuck him.”

  Shuffling the deck, she looks up. “What’s the bet?”

  “Ten grand,” Deacon replies.

  “Ahh…”

  Pulling a bottle of pink bubbles from the fridge, Iris hands it to me. “You should get used to this.”

  Rowan twists to look at me. “You are a fucking idiot, Nero. Sometimes a blow job is just a blow job. And you should appreciate the single act without being a greedy ho.”

  We all laugh.

  And I pop the cork.

  Breaking my reputation is going to take some time.