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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

“You’re pregnant!”

  “I don’t understand how this happened.”

  She blinks at me. “You had unprotected sex. Sperm hit the egg and boom.”

  “No,” I say, smiling. “I know how it happened. I don’t know how it happened with all the bleeding.”

  “Some women bleed their entire pregnancy,” she informs, rolling closer in her chair. “Yours is a bit more complicated because you’re dangerously anemic. Have you eaten today at all?”

  “... I had a grotesquely large bite of strawberry ice cream.”

  She glances down as I bite my lip. “Do you want to have this baby?”

  “I think so,” I say with a hint of uncertainty. “I don’t know. My personal life is a bit of a mess.”

  “Yeah,” she replies. “You need to hurry up and make a decision. You are going to make this more complicated the further along you go.”

  “How far am I?”

  “Let’s see if we can figure that out together,” she suggests with a comforting smile. “It’s a bit complicated, considering we don’t know when your cycles were. Lay back for me. I’m going to take some measurements and do an ultrasound. Is Sal the…”

  “I don’t know,” I admit, feeling a landslide of guilt. “There was a hiccup.”

  “Okay, I’m not here to judge. I’m an advocate for mother and child,” she assures, shifting the monitor so I can see. “We have a heartbeat right there.”

  “Oh!” I gasp, tearing up, and lifting my hand to the screen. “Look at that! It’s a baby bean!”

  “Yes!” she gleefully says, printing the screen. “These are all rough estimates since we don’t have exact dates, but I would say you are between eleven and twelve weeks.”

  “That doesn’t help with the paternity question.”

  “When do the boys come home?”

  “They’ll be here in a few days.”

  “Bring them by the office. We’ll get their samples along with yours. I want a full panel on you today. Have you been bleeding a lot?”

  “More spotting than anything for most of May, but during April, I had a few rough days. I’ve been throwing up a lot.”

  “I’m going to give you a couple of prescriptions. You need to get them filled. You need to start eating. Drop by when the boys get back, and we may do a transvaginal ultrasound then too.”

  “… Am I going to lose my baby because of the anemia?”

  “I wish we had been more prepared, but we’ll make it work. Let’s see what your numbers look like before we make any decisions. I would’ve preferred, based on your earlier numbers, to have done a blood transfusion beforehand, but you didn’t want to, and I respected that. But now, we’re going to do whatever is best for you and your baby.”

  “I agree.” Trying not to meltdown, I nod. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think there was any possible way this was going to happen. I don’t want to lose this baby…it has a heartbeat! I created something awesome with one of those guys.” I laugh and burst into tears. “Oh…God…shit…”

  “Iris, you’re going to be okay.” She holds my hands. “The chances of miscarriage tend to drop as the pregnancy progresses,” she soothingly says. “Not saying it can’t happen, but you’re about to hit or maybe have already hit the twelve-week mark. Remember, you’re two people now. Take care of yourself. Try not to stress your system out any more than it is. And we’re going to do everything in our power—together—to make sure you don’t lose it.”

  “Can I travel?”

  “If you’ll start eating and keep me in the loop. You’ve got my number, use it.” She winks. “Get some rest, too. Relax. We got this.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  In the truck, I wait with Megan for my prescriptions outside of The Cowbelle Pharmacy. I have a sandwich from Mario’s. I’m not eating it, but I am drinking my water.

  “Are you sure you want to get on a plane?”

  “This is going to be my final trip on a plane before I figure out what the fuck I am doing with my life.”

  Megan blinks. “Are you thinking about doing this alone?”

  “I’m thinking about going home to Japan when I leave the East Coast.”

  “Iris,” she pleads as I watch Cody Cameron pass by in his squad car for the third time. “Give them a chance.”

  “Sal is having an affair,” I scoff, refusing to cry. “And I won’t tie Deacon down to something he doesn’t want.”

  “They love you!”

  Reluctantly, I break off a piece of bread from the sandwich as Megan bounces her legs and taps on her thighs in the driver’s seat. I offer her a bite—from my fingers. She’s well trained, by Dom; she won’t snap me, out of respect. Not like Sal and me. I used to bite him—literally—all the time and not in a good kind of way, but like a frothing at the mouth, rabid dog threatening to go for real blood.

  He broke me—of so many things.

  “Do you think I need to tell them?”

  “With absolute humility and grace,” she whispers, staring into my eyes. “Iris, you are a fool if you don’t.”

  On the dashboard, the pager goes off, and she pulls around to the drive-thru to pick up my medicine. With shaking fingers, I open my phone, snap a picture of the sonogram, and send it to Deacon.

  “I need you. I’m almost twelve weeks pregnant. Help me. Please.”

  Megan hands the bag to me. “Where to?”

  “The Lotus jet, please,” I mumble, lightly squeezing her fingers. “I’m running away from home.”

  98

  Thank you for your order, Sir. Drive-thru, please.

  His Ride

  Pizza boxes and beer bottles litter the table at the far end of the cellar as I study Dom’s moves. I slump in the comfy chair, elbow on the armrest, and fingers under my chin. I cannot comprehend what Dom has over the one I covet.

  From a skill standpoint, his precision is impressive considering his disability. I do not say that to be callous or cruel. Fucker is graceful—not sweeping and swaying like firefly Sal—but a cascading leaf, falling from a tree.

  I’m not graceful, nor was it ever a goal.

  I just wanted to be good—a Master to behold and the very best submissive he’d ever had—and I’ve earned both. I’m far better than she’ll ever be, but I’m not sure he knows that.

  I am Team Sal on this one. I love Iris dearly, but she’s lost her fucking marbles, flown into the cuckoo tree, and done baked her brain. I don’t know what the fuck she is thinking.

  I still haven’t told him about her suspicions of a tiny human. I haven’t talked to her, and it’s not my place. It’s not my position, and that clarity is paramount.

  It’s not my problem.

  It’s theirs.

  If I get involved before she does, he will go all alpha dog on me. And no one needs that. The pure strategy on my part supplements our continuance.

  Dom’s talent with the crop inspires my imagination. His lines rival a proper shibari unwinding, and that’s about the only reason to acquire a female playmate. Not that Sal won’t let me, but our sessions are too few and far between.

  “Are you just going to sit there with your hand on your dick?” Sal flirtatiously grins from the rack across the room. “What’s a hard up boy gotta do to get some loving?”

  “Beg me,” I seductively suggest, crossing my fingers that he’ll take the bait. “Talk dirty to me.”

  Dom snickers and strikes the cane against Sal’s ass. I want the power he has with my lover. I briefly considered killing him—not joking; jealousy is a serious problem here—but that won’t get me what I want. He walks over and hands the crop to me.

  Uhh, thank you?

  “... Are you done?” I ask, taken aback. “That was the shortest sesh you’ve ever had with him.”

  “He doesn’t react the same with me anymore, and there must be a balance in S and M,” he replies with a soft smile. “It’s curious because I’ve practically raised you both, and neither of you needs me much anymore, which is okay because
I have Meg, but you damn sure need one another.”

  Sitting up, I openly gripe, “He wouldn’t listen to me in the ring.”

  “Because you didn’t say the magic word.” He grins and fondly looks back to Sal, tethered tightly. “Thank you for letting me play with your sub, Master Cruz.”

  “You’re welcome, but he’s not my sub,” I snicker. “Submissive is a label Sal will never allow.”

  “Baby Saint, you took the collar, and he gave the crown. There is an undeniable truth in the organic evolution of your love. Stop fighting the natural tendencies. You lead; Salvatore will follow. Labels be damned. It is what it is.”

  His microscopic evaluation of our relationship leaves me a bit unsettled and poses the question of how others see us. I never wanted to be closeted, but by the same token, I didn’t need to tell the world. I wanted to exist, peacefully, doing my own thing—my way—regardless if that was with a male or a female. What I did behind closed doors was my private fucking business.

  Harming none—unless they hurt us—but that was a separate compartment in my brain, far removed from my profane sexual tendencies.

  I willingly welcomed the mix like a well-blended shake. My mother’s age gap love with Dragon was beautiful. X and Oscar were too. That mentality of acceptance crossed the color spectrum also—Kate and Evere—white and black were hot with an age gap.

  Let love be.

  Wherever you find it.

  Stay outta my bedroom, and I will do the same.

  If Sal had pursued my sister, then I would’ve accepted it. But I am not okay with how sub Iris is behaving with Dom Sal. It’s a nagging, festering sore spot, and it’s not because I’m hellbent on loving him—I’m doing that regardless of her involvement.

  My problem fundamentally boils down to her lack of trust. It’s like he ran off to Japan, did all this work on himself, and now, he’s at a higher level than she is. He is giving more intimacy than she is.

  I’m bothered by that because my boy will not be shortchanged. My boy will not be stringing a quarter mil in ice on a bitch who won’t confide her fears and confess her fantasies. I have no right to judge, and I’ll keep this all to myself, but if she doesn’t up her game—I will kick her ass in ways she never dreamed.

  Because I am a Master of the game.

  I bravely ask, “Do you miss him?”

  “I miss the time with him, but we have evolved,” he says. “And we cannot go back.”

  “How long do you wait for catching up before you know there is no turning back?”

  “Why do you ask?” he questions, keeping his voice low. “Are you planning on breaking his heart?”

  “Never,” I maintain, knowing I vigilantly strive to stay at least in the same chapter as Sal. We may not be on the same page all the time, but we’re damn sure reading the same book. “I want to know when he is going to give up on her because it’s going to break his heart.”

  “Iris is a challenge for him,” he assesses. “And you would be wise to hope she stays as such. He won’t toy with those who bore him. He has a whole box full of discarded relics that weren’t fit to entertain his brain or his tool.”

  “He likes Rowan.”

  “She is dangerous for his emotional state, but you’re not going to stop that train. That bullet left the station the moment Father McPhail was killed.”

  I blink at his mentioning McPhail. I believe our efforts at extorting intel from Dom Gennaro’s mind are depleted. I stand, and he offers a handshake, but I embrace him. “Do you really think Serene funded the hit?”

  “Serene is tried and true to the girl’s club, and she would do anything to protect her Buttercup,” he thoughtfully says. “But I hate to bring accusations when I don’t know. Iris is showing her true colors to be far more violent than we originally believed.”

  “She murdered your father,” I remind. “One lethal syringe.”

  “How about this…” Dom suggests, “The massacre was a bit messy to be an Iris-endorsed event. Her previous hits have all been clean.”

  Staring at Sal, I shake my head and snicker, “All that we know of…”

  “If you’re implying she’s a hybrid arachnid with her fangs aimed at Salvatore, then you’ve missed her whole crusade. She’s one of his biggest advocates. Just don’t piss her off. Do not underestimate her. It would be a tragic mistake to question her love for Boston.”

  He kisses my cheeks with a grandiose appreciation like he’s handing over the reins to the man on the rack, and I’m an honorary member of their secret daego society.

  DNR…I tell ya.

  I watch as he says farewell to Sal, planting kisses on his cheeks and lips. He ruffles his curls. “Thank you, Sir.”

  Dom points to me. “Take care of him.”

  “I will,” I promise as he reaches the door and glances back with equal parts fondness and regret. “We love you, Daddy.” I wink, and he laughs.

  “I know you do, son.”

  The door quietly closes, and I’m left alone in the chambers with Sal. I pace closer to the rack and eye his taut frame. His wrists are secured above his head as his naked body waits with vulnerable access.

  “You ought to let me tie you up soon,” I offer, skirting my finger over his side. “… Before Europe.”

  He snarls. “You can bind me in your threads anytime.”

  I step up onto the small platform with him. My denim-covered crotch accidentally brushes against his semi-erect cock as I narrow in on him. I lift his chin with my finger and press my lips to his. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

  His tongue jets into my mouth with the force of a rocket. We’re soaring and spiraling to a place where everything else ceases to exist, and it is just him and me…

  Just him and me…

  “Fuck me, Cruz.” The words spill out of his mouth like an invocation. “Please.”

  He makes it sound so easy.

  And it is.

  But my mind understands what my heart cannot reveal—the imperial consequences of his actions will determine my future. If he marries Iris, I stay in the sweet, non-conformist place. But if he doesn’t, my future is unknown because his will be too.

  And because of that—I don’t express my concerns about Iris. I need him to marry her…because he’ll never marry me…and she is better than anyone else.

  “You know the last time you were restrained like this…”

  “You beat the fuck out of me,” he whispers. “Don’t hurt me tonight, baby. Just love me.”

  Goddamn.

  With the insta-boner throbbing against my zipper, I undo the cuffs from his wrists and release him. I take his hand in mine and lead him to one of six beds. We’re the only ones in the cold cellar tonight.

  “Lay here and wait.” I place the riding crop on the nightstand. I kiss his lips. “I’ll be right back, beautiful.”

  “Why do you love me?”

  “Because you’re my wet dream.”

  He laughs.

  According to Iris, when she was here, the beds were double-occupied by upper ranked franchise members—making twelve trainees under Masa just when Iris was here. I have to wonder how big the Lotus army is. From what I know, if I had to guess, I would think they rival Morpheus’ militia. He keeps them hidden in the forms of smaller gangs and motorcycle clubs.

  Iris is one of his best students.

  I wouldn’t be Sal Raniero’s right-hand man if I didn’t question every-fucking-thing, including his bride. I grab the bamboo staff, return to the bed, and hand it to him. “Please tell me you’re not about to beat me with this…”

  “No,” I reply, quickly removing all my clothes. I pick up the rod and place it parallel to the metal bed frame. “Slide down just a bit and grab it.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “Blessing my staff.”

  His wide grin shines like a spotlight in the dim room as I coat my hard cock in lube. We’re going for pure pleasure tonight. “You sure about this, Swamp?”

/>   “Yes,” I reply. “Because I’m taking the stick and you home.”

  “Does this mean I’m going to find you out in the yard dancing with your wood in your hand?”

  With a chuckle, I grin and lick my lips as I kneel between his thighs. “Would it turn you on?”

  “Does that matter?”

  “Yes,” I say, “I would do anything to turn you on.”

  “What if I said you marrying Iris would turn me on?”

  Gripping the base, I bump against his opening, and he readily opens. I slowly slide in, letting him feel every glorious inch. “I would say that is you in the throes of avoidance.”

  His hands lay on my shoulders as he leans up to kiss me. “And if I said there is someone else I think about marrying?”

  “… Who?”

  “You.”

  “It was never a goal,” I reply, cutting the wounds deep in my flesh with the words. I tell the lie to protect the man. “You need to marry Iris.”

  “And what if you leave me?”

  “I’m not ever leaving you, baby,” I whisper, thrusting through the difficult conversation. “Never.” My mouth partakes of the sexy skin on his neck, kissing and sucking like this moment will be our last. “I can love you without you being my husband.” He blinks several times. “What?”

  “I wanna be your bitch, fucker.”

  “I can love you without you being my wife, Salvatore. I am fully capable of juggling your balls, her balls, and my own.” I glance up as he holds the stick. He takes the opportunity to suckle my neck. “But fuck…I ain’t giving you up—ever…”

  “No one understands me like you do.”

  “I know, Nero,” I whisper, getting lost in the feeling of him overtaking my dick. His muscular legs entangle with mine as he moves against me. “Drop it. Grab my ass.”

  “What happened to blessing the rod?”

  “You already are,” I mutter, closing my eyes. “God, I fucking need you…”

  “I won’t leave you.”

  “Do you swear?”

  “I’m here until the end,” he promises. And I believe him. “There is no me without you, Cruz. You’re my ride to heaven or hell. And there will never be another.”