Salt Kissed Love
a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book I
Kailee Reese Samuels
SALT KISSED LOVE
a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book I
Copyright © 2017 by Kailee Reese Samuels
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of author credited, brief quotations in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely and purely coincidental.
All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
E-Book Edition: October 31, 2017
ISBN-13: 978-1-947362-15-4
All Bible verses are quoted from King James Version (KJV).
The Holy Bible, King James Version.
Cambridge Edition: 1769; King James Bible Online 2017
http://www.kingjamesbibleonline.org/
J. Dickerson
Nerdy Girl Editing & Co.
Contents
BEFORE WE SET SAIL…
Warning
I: Prelude to the Silver Rings
Fly
1. Number, Please
2. Running Home
3. All We Are Is Lost
II: Circinate Vernation
Baby Girl Blue
4. Be a Good Girl
5. After the Fall
6. Down with the Moon
7. The Kiss of the Whip
8. A Hollow Heart
9. Peace Be With You
III: Bittersalt
Red Cherries and Blue Tears
10. Sweet Decadence
11. And Also With You
12. Bulletproof
13. Hellfire to End the Abyss
14. Adrift in Eternal Seas
15. I Don't Know How to Say No
16. The Red Heels, Part II
17. Reverberations
18. Sweet Wicker
IV: Downkissed
Cherry Breeze
19. The Sandwich King
20. Fuck & Mud
21. Ricochet & Rust
22. A Slight Misalignment
23. God. Glory. Guts. Guns. Girls.
24. A War, A Dance, and A Walk of Shame
25. Three Hells in a Holy House
26. Whiskey Rebellion
V: Sugarlove
The Lasting Hope
27. Rie–Fucking–Ford will be the death of me.
28. The Enchanting Lula Gregory, aka Tank's Daughter
29. Heavenly Hay Views in a 4 x 4
30. Need the Sun to Break
Ms. Samuels Notes
Also by Kailee Reese Samuels
Juliet
Kinky Sex Magic
The Initiation
Tea for Two
Grunt
Hopechest
Fluff
Bounce
RAW
BEFORE WE SET SAIL…
Salt Kissed Love is the first book in
a Tomb of Ashen Tears.
However, you must have read the prerequisite world-building book – JULIET.
NOT a standalone book.
Please read Juliet prior to reading Salt Kissed Love.
I am Lucas Salvatore Raniero.
Prince of a demented Mafioso.
Golden boy of twisted Mistress.
Black ops agent fighting a horrific underworld.
Protecting a girl, I have been hired to guard.
I want to own her.
There is only one problem—
She took a contract with my mentor. My best friend.
I put her in his care for safekeeping.
In the past, she had been a bad, bad girl doing very naughty things.
And now, the men in the darkness want her dead.
I need to make her mine.
There is only one problem—
She has other plans.
And now, it is my job to change them.
In the fetish world, nothing is as it seems in the middle of a sleepy little town in Texas. The Juliet academy lies on the outskirts, keeping the hustle and bustle alive and saving Sugargrove from extinction. The carnival of carnal feasts beckons as the house of mirrors threatens to collapse, shattering everything they once knew to the ground.
Your invitation to escape awaits…
Kailee Reese Samuels writes dark dirty lit. Her words may cause increased heart rate, hand sweating, and other issues. You are strongly advised to enter at your own risk. Not for the faint of heart. May cause triggers in some. Others may choose to ride again and again. You have been warned.
Kailee Reese Samuels
SALT KISSED LOVE
a Tomb of Ashen Tears
Join my mailing list at:
kaileereesesamuels.com
W A R N I N G S
are like cups of tea.
This warning is here for a reason.
This book is a work of fiction containing explicit, graphic, and violent material.
If you’re not 18+, put it the fuck down.
Please practice safe sex.
Safe, Sane, and Consensual (SSC)
and
Risk-Awareness Consensual Kink (RACK)
practices in BDSM.
Communication is key and I do not believe anything should be swept under the rug - sexuality, gender orientation, race, age, or religion. If I help stir the cauldron of conversation and provide an escape for a few hours, I have done my job.
Play hard and have fun. Be good and love one another.
Enjoy the ride!
Without further ado, here we go…
With rain pelting down upon him, Sal knew he had no other choice, but to go back home to the farmhouse with Serene.
Anxiously, Iris stood in the doorway waiting for him to say something.
Yes. No. Maybe.
You are ugly. Kneel and suck me bitch. Bend over and take it up the ass. Say something. Anything. She was here. She was a submissive. And she could take Jack.
Or so she believed.
September 27, 2014
Salt Kissed Love, from KRS notes
The day brought the finishing of the debut
– Juliet –
and the beginning of this,
it’s been a hell of a journey.
What started as just one girl with a dream…
We went to hell and back in the last three years.
Take the hammer and tear it apart only to
rebuild it brick by brick,
so much stronger, so much braver,
and so very indebted to so many.
This is for you.
Keep searching until you find what you seek.
The invisible magick swirls in all of us.
These words are for you.
Right back at ya, baby.
Always Forever.
There are five stages to grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. These do not necessarily occur in any order or in a singular incident. They are not levels or pieces on a game board, collected to move onto the next one. They can occur at any time or all at once.
Death changes us, constantly and continuously remapping our own topography. Our computers can accept the new landscape or we glitch and falter.
This is his story.
&
nbsp; Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother,
and shall cleave unto his wife:
and they shall be one flesh.
Genesis 2:24
I: Prelude to the Silver Rings
Fly
Always cold, a little girl shivers.
Her grandmother says, “Go run in the yard, child.”
When she does, the fates bestow a gift upon her—and suddenly, she can fly. Spreading her arms as wings—far and wide—she soars, breathing in the boundless landscapes. Springing into the air, she lifts off her feet, trusting the sky and wind to catapult her high.
At night, the moon and stars bless the luminous chroma, turning it into radiant dust upon her transparent wings. Cascading across the horizon, she gathers the hurt of everyone beneath, transforming it into a mass of swirling color, fluid and pure as she believes her sands heal the wounded hearts of many.
And she becomes the magic.
The next day and many days after, the fairy dips and mingles amongst the butterflies, trees, and grass. Landing in the dew, she finds the beauty in the stitching of the seasons as the elements contain the catalyst of her chaos, recharging the feathers. Cages do not exist as she scatters the energy onto everyone she meets. They feel love, and she is warmed—the balance complete.
Ballet brings a new, choreographed aerial routine in positions and pirouettes. Spinning and falling, she spreads her light far. During her lessons, she discovers a sweeping whirlwind where boys pull her hair and she pushes them into perilous situations. The tug-of-war begins, the fairy’s flight to his fight, yet the prism sifts, showering all in a bright magnetic ray.
Until the twisted bars of torment drop, changing everything with one single drop of blood—misguided in white—infiltrating her particles. The twinkling dust stays pure, but her once beautiful nocturne dance tarnishes to a lethal poison.
After the first rounds of shredding, the cinders glow burns into her wings, etching and desecrating. Knowing the years change to months and trickle down to days, the pixie vows to give every single soul she encounters the blessing of her granules—use my magic and take my life—for I am broken—these wings will fail soon.
It seems such an impossible dream, touching spirits with the kindness of her ether in hopes to cause change. Immune to the cost of her gesture—because it matters not—the wings crumble and turn to ash before she surveys the damage and understands how hefty the curse will be.
She will fly off into the heavens soon, but worry not––the drifts of glitter carry on…
… scattering the ashes of hope.
– Kacilyn Mae Hope Raniero
December 31, 2010
Chapter One
Number, Please
FROM HIGH IN THE rafters, the swing waits empty in the early dawn light. The sky hovers with a deep shade of fuchsia as the sixteen pane industrial windows sparkle with an aquamarine glint in the sun’s rays.
Amidst the many open filing boxes, papers and files strew over the floor and furniture. The walls hold the ruffling wafer thin documents with tacks and tape navigating to a truth unseen.
Tangled in white sheets, she stumbles out of bed in white tank top and ballet slipper pink panties. Clicking the coffee pot back on from last night, Jaid studies the early morning email.
“Trash…trash…trash,” she mumbles, checking her text messages. One from Dale reads, “See you this afternoon,” and another from Sal, “I miss you, Prissy Pants.”
Gazing outside at the stunningly beautiful horizon, she smiles and grabs a cup from the open cabinets and the overly sweetened, sugary crap from the fridge. Pouring a cup of coffee, she checks the weather as she moseys to the window. The loft sleeps with a pervading stillness as the equipment is built to be used and abused. Chains lay silent, and leather shines as she reflects, “Such a waste…”
She decides over spring to seek solace during the summer in Houston, away from the gossip mongering in Sugargrove. She wouldn’t be going back today if work hadn’t required it, but today—they need as much help as possible. Her deep blue eyes cast a look of worry and confusion.
After downing her coffee, she strips off her shirt and tosses it on the bed. Next to the humongous spread, her shivs, knives, and other sharps await in a drawer to be strapped to her thighs. She plugs in her phone and meanders to the bathroom.
The mirror shows an exhaustion with dark circles, sinking under her eyes. Just because she stays in Sal’s loft for a couple months doesn’t mean she is completely off the map.
She has spent weeks working tirelessly, trying to make sense of it all. The murder of a young woman, the secrets her friend Kaci kept, the obsession with a woman plaguing one of her own brothers—an agent in the secret society of Sibyl—not to mention the lure of her own secret affair plaguing every minute in her twenty hour days.
There are no hidden rainbows and frolicking unicorns in her conclusions. She wants to believe the answers fit together neat like a puzzle and they do, if she doesn’t mind the skewing picture, zigzagging haphazardly like the wall of intel.
Turning on the stereo, she blasts the workout mix throughout the loft as she props her leg up on the tub. She squirts a generous amount of shaving gel into her hands and rubs over her legs. Carefully, she unfolds the straight razor, shaving her legs.
Sal has warned her countless times to go slow and precise, much like her research. She has gone over it all—four times—wanting to debunk any possibility of miscalculating.
But the truth is present—and she knows it all.
Working the edge over her muscular thighs, she sings along and bops her head to the beat. Her dirty blond tassels tease up into a loose ponytail, offering her an infamous, chaste quality. No one knows she is a killer—an assassin to bring forth the reckoning of evil doers.
Jaid thinks little about her deviant brand of justice. Her efforts to push forth in finding the truth, bringing slivers of light into a darkened world. She resides in the shadows, her roguish ways kept hidden.
After taking a hot shower, Jaid wraps a white towel around her body and goes to text one of her gentlemen back with a single, solitary word.
“Same.”
The dew on the green grass splatters against his boots as he takes the four-wheeler to the metal building. A chilly, misty morning offers no excuses for the day in June. The bottoms of his jeans hold the dampness as he curses, “Motherfucker!”
In an hour, the air will be thick and hot and humid, clinging to skin and clothes and making everything ten times more difficult, which is why he is headed to his job early. He doesn’t mind the work, but the daily trips out to the remote location in the woods proves a daunting task.
By luck, Mack Larrabee finds employment from the most unlikely of sources, and this morning it is his job to see to it that the dungeon remains prepped and ready to go for the evening. It is a big day, and there is no doubt in his mind that someone will be occupying the space this evening.
After unlocking two sets of doors, he discovers the joint wrecked with every paddle and bat scatters across the floor. The pile of whips tangle in amongst one another, and the worst part of it all—the sheets on the bed are stained with cum and reek the whole place in the foul stench of night-old sex. If it is your own—that is okay, not so much if it belongs to someone else.
Doffing his jacket and boots quick, he strips the bed and makes his way to the secluded and locked backroom which holds a bathroom, washer and dryer, and small kitchenette with fridge and microwave.
After starting the sheets, he makes a cup of tea and parks his rump in one of two chairs. He glances out the window to the backfield contemplating if he can live in the dungeon as so many reportedly have done. The building is a decent size, and the idea of isolation appeals to him greatly.
The offer has been on the table for two weeks from his boss. “You will eat, breathe, shit, and live in the dungeon until the new year and when I release you; you will not only be a better disciplinarian, but the Dom to beat.�
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The idea sparks his inner urges to become more. He can practice and learn here, continuing his studies in a private setting. The cost of the education is steep, but he already made amends for that by selling his cabin on the lake to some rich new guy in town. Mack plans to chunk down a wad of cash to support his fetish and enjoy the ride of his life.
Returning to the dungeon, he starts the painstaking process of sanitizing everything—all the equipment, furniture, and gear. Having worked in dungeons for almost half a year already, he is well versed on disassembly. But the job left him wondering—how many times the desolate building with the weathervane marked with the Cardinal-S is used.
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