Swallowing hard, I never expected him to up the ante. I lay down on the bed and slowly raise my hands. Letting my fingers envelope the curve of my breasts, I trickle the tips over my nipples. My eyes drift over his body, and I gasp at the erection beneath his pants. I will do anything to get his mind away from talking about the devil—my nemesis. Negotiate because the thought of these two Masters is too much.
My hand traverses my belly to my lips, passing the silver closure, finding my studded hood, and rubbing the bean briskly.
Squatting down by the bed, Jack threatens with a harrowing smile, “I didn’t say seduce me. Show me how you touch yourself when you think about Sal fucking you.”
The whole move executes with a voyeuristic tone. His execution rumbles the distress under my flesh. The man feared for his psyche—calculating and callous—play alone.
It is not Sal who proposed, but Mitch. I ran to put distance between Mitch and I. I never anticipated Jack’s display of confrontation—the one thing my body craved like water—over Sal. Now not only am I collared to Jack, but revealing private fantasies between the sheets with another man.
Dirty, diabolical play.
I believe all women have that one guy. Be it Robert Redford or Robert Downey, Jr. Or hell, the good-looking guy down at the home improvement store whom they think about with their vibrators on their nubs and homegrown cucumbers shoved deep inside of them. By accident, my fantasy happens also to be my best friend and closest male confidante—not the wannabe betrothed.
“Tell me what do you think about?” His words hang in the air like a billowy smoke adhering to my body and causing the question of my own processes.
What do I think about?
Heaven knows there is a lot. With his being the most coveted male player in the South, his ability to move those hips, his dark sinister charm, his gorgeous deep emerald eyes surrender like never-ending pools preaching—stay, you will love it here with me—he lures the unsuspecting to their own abyss.
I am the unsuspecting and this is my abyss.
The first time I started lusting for Sal was at the stables. When I saw him at Kate’s house, he grabbed my wrist—hard—but not enough to bruise.
Lucas Salvatore Raniero, the stallion of Juliet, unapologetically takes what he wants. If that isn’t enough, he accepts the punishment for those sins—sometimes asking for more, but never begging. He adores pain, but the broken dynamic is also part of his appeal—his own masochism—seeing how far he will push himself to the edge.
He has never called a safeword. In that, I am jealous and competitive, probably overly so. My envy builds Sal to a new height, so much sexier as I need to be his equal, his overachiever caliber matching mine. If truth be told, that is why I came to Jack—not to get away from Mitch. I believe Jack can push further than anyone, and he seems to have already known why I showed up on his doorstep.
Salvatore.
To be his counterpart, to have his attention, to have him, I need more discipline than theory can impart. I have to up my game, and playing at this level can give me those lessons.
With my feet pressed high against the wall, I elevate my ass into the air and finger fuck my pussy hard all the while staring at Jack upside down as my hair brushes over his fine leather shoes.
“Don’t you cum, Precious,” Jack laughs and kisses my lips upside down. “Up.”
Looping a plain sisal rope around my neck, knotted in two places, Jack slides it tight. A small o-ring hangs on it which he attaches to his braided brown leather leash. “Safeword, Precious?”
“Certainly, not fuck again, Sir.” I giggle, recalling the mistake from previous studies. He smiles warmly at the memory, arching his brows up in question.
“Dandelion.”
“Are you fine and…”
“Dandy,” I say as if rehearsed, filling in the blank and offering more, “He is fine.”
Jack smirks. “And you are a dandy lioness?”
“Careful, sometimes I claw,” I warn as he pulls my hair up in a twist, clipping it.
“And sometimes, Precious,” Jack breathes against my neck. “I bite.”
Sinking his teeth into my flesh, I immediately feel the familiar tingle of chill bumps and waves of excitement pumping endorphins into my veins. Wrapping a black blindfold around my eyes, Jack ties it firmly, but gently—part of his great allure—he proves polished time and again.
We are going to go play.
Boy, are we going to play.
Out of hundreds of Doms, my attraction to Jack came almost immediately. He is intelligent and cunning. In other words, dangerous, but with a more suave demeanor than the reckless, wild one. Acknowledging a penchant for older men—clear by my marriage to a fifty-two-year-old to my twenty-six—I have remained enthralled by his maturity and panache. Older men know what they want, which is part of the reason Sal is such a catalyst; he knows what he wants, takes it, and keeps it shelved. At one point, I feared he would never want me like Jack seemed to.
This morning disproved my theories.
This morning he truly let go for the first time, in our escapade—hope exists.
Literally and figuratively.
With his hand on the leash, Jack directs my body through the house to outside. I follow with little coercion. I know I am a good slave—that never even comes into question—and no less than the best behavior is expected.
The file said I was a natural submissive, able and adaptable with easy manipulation. I had scanned my report, sitting on Mierne’s desk before I left. Formally trained for one semester at Juliet, I proved with my body and mind I was more than capable despite any obstacle—my one and only crutch—Sal. Yes, the devil was mentioned.
While Sal and I seem such an odd pairing with his mischievous charms and my coy, calm delight, there has been an affability between us that rarely occurs so easily and readily in the trenches at Juliet. We are balanced; we are one. When his fire flickers, my waters enshroud. When my tides roll out, his fire blazes.
Wrapping his gray lined trench coat around my body, Jack assists me into the all-terrain vehicle. The dark skies have fallen as the air lavishes chill bumps upon my body. We drive across his land through a path in the brush. I hear the rustle of twigs, thumping against the bumpers. We splash across a stream.
When he stops, I hear the clank of the gate and I know—we are headed to Serene’s playroom. Of course, the Cardinal-S dungeon makes the source of my crush permeate my soul even more as I clench my fists and pray for time with my nemesis.
SAL
After spending the day at Juliet helping Anna on the finishing touches for A Black-Tie Rendezvous, I finally get away at 6 PM. Following Serene’s BMW Z4 to the farmhouse, I play with her in the Ford Raptor, passing her fast as she blares her horn and races with me down her muddy, gravel driveway.
Hopping out of the truck, I smile and ask all-too-politely, “Is Zoe at Highlandale?”
“No. She is somewhere else,” Serene informs with a nod, wanting me to accept the answer, even though she knows I won’t.
Looking out across the pasture, I mumble, “You fucking sold her out from under me.”
“I did what I thought was best, but it was ultimately Zoe’s decision.” Her stance solid, unwavering in the belief that she did the best thing for Zoe. I cringe at the thought of Cristos or any other man getting their grubby paws on my sissy. “I cannot train her, Sally. As much as I want to, I can’t. I see her too much as a daughter. And she wants to learn, so I sent her to the best person for the job that I know of.” She starts walking towards the farmhouse. “And if it matters, she is in Texas.”
“… But it couldn’t be me?” I yell as she boomerangs back with a furious stride.
Serene lifts my face curtly with her finger. “What do you think, Salvatore? I mean come on…look at yourself. You are a fucking Dom. I cannot keep both of you here without asking for trouble. You might have wanted her V-card, but you aren’t getting it.”
“You are assuming way
too much…” Pissed off, I lean to the top step on the front porch and park my rump. Jaw popping and chain smoking, anger filters through my veins—it can be anything but taking Zoe away.
But fuck.
“I am not assuming anything,” she says, chasing after me. “You are a force to be reckoned with, and she is at the bottom starting level. I know you would love to sink your teeth into that. She is fresh and that is a divine, rare meal. I made a choice to let her go. Please don’t make me regret my decision.”
The truth is losing Zoe hurt. We have been close for years, and with her gone I feel any stability I might have weaken with her departure. “Are you saying you considered getting rid of me?”
“It crossed my mind for about one-second before I realized,” she says, easing off the bitch tone and sounding almost maternal as she strokes my scruff, “I cannot be without you.”
“This is so fucked up,” I say, shaking my head as her tiny fingers weasel between mine and steal the cigarette.
“You don’t think I know that. I get how fucked up it all is,” she exhales, bumping into my shoulder. “But you must understand one thing, Kid, I never brought Zoe here to train her. I wanted her out of the trailer park and a guaranteed teenage mother ticket. I wanted to save her, just like you and Mierne have been known to do.”
Our relationship spanned the years from my working as her ranch hand to being her trained sub in some sort of skewed, bizarre dynamic. Moments when she acted like I was her son and fiercely driven to protect me. Others when she looked at me like I was a piece of meat, she wanted to savor and enjoy.
The damn bitch is cougar-ing hard.
Certain she placed Zoe in some rich man’s castle in Europe, I am stunned by the news she is in Texas. The baby sister I never had. I embraced the role to watch over her, guard, and protect. No one wanted to meet her bro, least of all any unwelcome suitors. Weren’t they all unwelcome though, really? Would anyone have ever been good enough for Z?
Despite Zoe being a tough cookie and not really needing watching over, I resent the accusation that I will bring my Dom to meet her sub. Okay, maybe I hoped. She is fucking gorgeous and sweet, and I would have been good to her. But it’s too late for that now. No doubt some schmuck has claimed that cove. Desperate to know who it was, I text Aimee on the way up the stairs.
“Find out who she sent Z off with.”
She responds quick. “10-4.”
Once upstairs, I pass her room and notice it already empty. She really is gone. Scampering off to take a shower, I let the hot water fall over my body and fret. Not only did I lose my sissy, but fuck buddy Nina enrolled in H2, and Cas went into rehab. I never take losing women in my life lightly, and the tears deem necessary to get through the rest of the day.
There is nothing I can do about any of it, so I cry and pray and hope Iris will not meet the same fate.
I cry because losing the special ones always take a chunk of whatever spirit I have remaining. By myself, I don’t care what the tears mean.
Spending the morning at the cemetery, I let my emotions collapse again. I lost my cherry girl. I lost my fucking wife. And slowly, one after another—I lost all of the women in my life but one. Iris is a gift, and this is how her fight changed me.
SAL
Heading downstairs to the dark kitchen, Serene sits on the table drinking a glass of Bordeaux. When things whirl out of her control, she likes to sit on things—tables, hoods, rails. “Come sit.”
I pull out a chair as she picks up the wine to pour a glass when I slip my fingers around the bottle, filling both glasses.
“Tell me, Sal, what do you want to do?”
Pulling a cigarette out of her case, I light one for her, all the while not breaking my gaze. The startlingly beautiful woman with strawberry blond hair and ice blue eyes sparkling like glass in the sun stares intently at me.
I take the smoke and inhale deep. “What do I want? I don’t know. But I know I need a Mistress. I feel completely off-kilter without one.” My words are the truth. Without a good strong sadist, I lean closer to unstable than preferred. My request takes insight and balls and earns respect through honesty.
“I love you, I do. And I have for a long time. But I understand you have been through a lot. So, I will extend you a courtesy,” she whispers, sipping her wine and smoking the cigarette from my fingers. “I will keep my feelings out of it for now, and I’ll keep you in line so you can figure out what you need to do.”
The offer she makes marked with incredible amounts of self-discipline and control, not that I doubt she can do it. Once setting her focus, Serene embodies a tenacity and stamina until the desired results are achieved. Her composure is one of her most erotic qualities, and I aspire to have the degree of restraint she does.
Holding her hand, I continue to burn down her cigarette. “I feel like I have lost everything.” Running my fingers through my wet hair, I rest my forehead against it as my head hangs low. “I mean everything, Steph.”
I am one of the few people in the world who could get away with calling her by her real name and not suffer the consequences. But to me, Serene has not only worn the hat of Mistress, but also showed off the tiara of her girl. Underneath the facade of the strong-willed, aggressive Mistress, a soft, demure woman breathes. And I love both, but I can’t fathom putting on anyone’s collar now—I only need the pain.
I am too broken for anything more.
“I know, Kid, I know.” She pulls another smoke out, lighting it as my tears continue to fall. My emotions wrack from the past six months. Not to mention it is January—the month Kaci died—I am overemotional and a mess. Serene grips my hand and mutters, “Let me make it go away for a while.”
She says it as a statement, but sounds more like a question, asking for permission. I slam the wine and lean back in my chair. My muscular, tattooed chest heaves, distraught and enticing. I don’t know what to say, so I say the only thing that ever makes sense. “Yes. Please, Ma’am.”
Standing up, Serene walks over and holds my head against her bosom as I let the tears fall and soak into her black sweater dress. Mistress not only disciplines, but loves unconditionally. Though not easily obtained, once she loves, she never stops. She will hold me as long as I need.
Looking up, beneath raven curled bangs slicked with water, I kiss her lips slowly. Little pecks to her cheeks, her chin, her nose. Knowing this world as well as she does, I understand the connection we share is special. She reads me like no one else and invites me into her world—to get to know the real her—Stephanie. A rare feat not even granted to her two former husbands.
The kisses intensify with breaths being exchanged and tongues merging into one, a heated battle of desire. Shifting her body onto my lap, I harden fast beneath her slight frame. My hips buck up, asking for more in a pleading roll. After five years—tonight, she can’t turn me down, despite how we both know what is waiting in the house next door. Her yearning body pushes against mine as our battle of wills douses with a hot lust.
“Sal, please,” she whimpers the request, “Yes, take it.”
Wrapping my hands around her tiny waist, I lift her carefully onto the table and spread her legs, her desire wafting. “Ms. Stanton, you seem to have lost your undergarments.”
Smirking with a blush, she undoes my belt and pulls my cock from my jeans. Cascading her finger over the slick, pierced head, she mentions, “I haven’t done this…” I pull her closer and kiss her with ferocity, sliding into her with one deep thrust.
“Dear god,” she cries, in a raspy-voiced moan. “Oh, shit!”
Startled and uncertain, she didn’t believe we were actually making love on her kitchen table after all this time. “Why have I waited so long to feel you, Sally? Why?”
I keep my movements slow and methodical, ascending us both to a pinnacle of ecstasy. With shorter, more focused thrusts, I snarl, “Do you really want the answer to that?”
Deliberately, I move faster as my body commands hers. Her dampness wra
ps tight around my cock. The immeasurable pleasure forces my eyes closed as I moan and lick my lips—I have waited for this notch for a fucking long ass time.
“Yes. Tell me.” She pushes closer to meet me with each pump more intense than the last.
“Simple. My collar never really belonged to another, but you are not the kind of woman to succumb to your sexual needs, regardless of how you may feel about it. You keep it hidden and suppressed, never allowing yourself to travel outside the bounds. People think you are a cunt, but I know you. You are many things, but you are not a snake, Steph.”
She laughed; I called it correct. “You are also not about the sex.” I grabbed her hips, pulling her hard onto my rigid shaft.
“Yeah, but this is good,” she giggles with the epiphany.
I smirk. “… As good as the rumors?”
“Better,” she acknowledges with a wink.
While Serene may not be a snake, I have no qualms about taking from any number of generous, beautiful women. I truly worship women, their bodies a chapel for which I can go and confess as frequent and often as possible. With our pain filled history, Stephanie holds a special lure, her cathedral unlike the others, and neither is my prayer.
With each movement, we sink more and more into each other, until the waters drown us both, submerging in a synchronous deluge of love. Taking her every last drop, I savor her velvet ripple against my growing ache. Many others will stop at the moment of sin, but I don’t. Bathing in her altar, I demand more. I need more.
“How many times can you shoot?”
“The most I ever did was four,” I say with a blissful grin.
Her hands drape onto my shoulders. “May I ask with who?”
Smirking like the devil, I continue to move painstakingly slow. “My hand.”
She drops her hands to my ass and digs her talons into my flesh. “Who were you thinking about?”
Without hesitating, I answer, “Iris.”
I stop and close my eyes, realizing what I have done as the blush rises up quick on my cheeks. I search for a place to hide, but there isn’t one with my cock trapped between her thighs.
Salt Kissed Love (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 1) Page 9