Salt Kissed Love (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 1)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “You are eighteen.”

  “It was in the agreement,” she says as tears stream down her cheeks. “Can we maybe discuss this later?”

  “No, we cannot,” I say, pulling her up to sitting. We are cross-legged, knee-to-knee. “Start talking.”

  “Sal… I got pregnant,” she confesses as the air collapses and sucks us into the maelstrom fast. We suffocate on the paralyzing toxins of our past. “Dad didn’t believe in abortions, so I had the baby. That’s why I moved to Georgia.”

  “You were twelve and raped,” I say out loud, needing to hear the words to believe the horror.

  “I know,” she mumbles ashamed.

  “What is the agreement?”

  “Your dad paid my parents to stay quiet because he didn’t want any unnecessary attention on what you did,” she reveals, her face contorting in unimaginable pain. “But part of that was my tubal ligation after delivery.”

  Fury flows through me like an inferno as my fists clench and blood vessels constrict. “Where is the baby?”

  “Noah lives with my dad’s parents in Alaska,” she informs, trying to muster a smile through a sheet of sheer sadness. “But, Sal, there is more…”

  “They also agreed I would never see you again,” she wails hysterical, closing her eyes and fighting through an impossible quest. “That’s why I stayed gone so long. I was never going to move back to Boston, but when my friend told me I could stay here for free if I would let her boyfriend live here too, I jumped at the chance.”

  The rage flies free as I roar, “I am going to kill that son-of-bitch one day…”

  Grasping my hand and suppressing my hatred, she confides, “I know you are.”

  I loathe the man known as my father. He is everything I am not. I want to die every time I remember his blood is part of me. “I am so fucking sorry…oh my god…Em…”

  “It’s ok. I had Grammy and your Nonna came to see me several times.”

  Turning my head quick, I inquire, “Nonna went to Georgia?”

  “Yea, she came probably half dozen times before she died. I saw her exactly one month before she passed. I wanted to go to the funeral, but I couldn’t risk Cesario seeing me. He didn’t just threaten my parents, Sal. He threatened me, too.”

  The fervent fire wicks hotter with each passing blast. “I am going to fucking murder him!”

  Calming sounds fall off her tongue as she whimsically says, “Not tonight.”

  “No, not tonight,” I snarl with my jaw locked and lips tight. “But one day soon, I am going to fuck him up.”

  The moment passes as she knows firsthand what my version of fuck him up is. I wish I could say she didn’t know. I wish she would never have seen me grab the machete off the wall and run it across his neck with the smoothness of a killer. Blood spilled that night. And the last color Cesario Raniero will ever see is red.

  Unwinding some, I question, “You have anything to drink other than tea?”

  “Absolutely. What would you like? I have a full stash,” she says as her eyes spark. “I swipe bottles from the bar.”

  “You’re bad,” I cackle.

  “I am,” she acknowledges with a hint of mischief from her brows. “And Nero, next time you are ready to have sex with me—I haven’t been with anyone since the rape, and I am fixed. So just, have at me.”

  “I need a minute. We aren’t done,” I assert as she crawls off the bed.

  “That is understandable. Whiskey good?”

  “Perfect,” I answer, thinking about her request to have at her. I stare hungrily at her luscious curves as my dick reignites. I salivate and stalk my prey as she bounds towards the bedroom door. She is in my crosshairs. She will not escape me next time. “And Em, you shouldn’t tell monsters like me to have at you.”

  “Yea, if you are a monster, I’ll take a cage because it will take that to keep you out.”

  You think.

  SAL

  A few minutes later, she walks in with not only a bottle of Jim Beam but ten tiny sandwiches. Maintaining my gentlemanly decorum, I have covered the angry savage. No need to display my obvious attraction to this woman.

  “Well, it’s snowing hard now,” she says, handing the bottle to me as she sets the tray down on the bed.

  “Seriously?” I ask, taking the glasses and pouring two double shots.

  “Yea,” she sighs. “I fucking hate the weather here. I am such a coastal girl.”

  “You always loved the beach,” I blurt out, recalling how she would spend all summer in her bikini.

  “I still do,” she says, feeding me a sandwich. I find this endearing as I have the bottle in one hand and my glass in the other. Emily is kind. And considerate. And loving.

  “What kind of art?” I ask, genuinely interested.

  “All kinds, but I love sculpting,” she replies as her waters churn with delight. “Grammy has an art studio in her house; I hated leaving all my gear. So, what have you been up to?”

  Oh, god. No.

  Taking a deep breath, I tell her everything—Kaci, Bertie, Iris, Juliet, and the one thing I am sworn to never discuss—Sibyl. After listening to me for hours, she dreamily blinks up as her seas smooth out with the passing of whiskey.

  “Wow… I thought I had an adventure,” she raves with a smile.

  I laugh and she blushes as we sit propped against the headboard. It is good. Really good. Edging closer, I kiss her lips as she eagerly straddles over me. This fucking girl really wants my dick—despite our brief spell down an evil trajectory.

  Breaking apart briefly, she whispers, “Should I be worried you are going to go off and do something dumb?”

  “No, babe,” I assure, caressing her arms. “I am way too calculating for that.”

  Our make out session continues, building up the momentum we lost and finding so much more. Through it all, she stays and welcomes me. Her body presses to mine as I wrap my corded arms behind her back. Nuzzling her neck, I ask, “Let me make love to you…”

  “Yes, Lucas…please,” Emily whispers as her lips ravage my skin.

  Lifting her up slightly, I grip my dick and nudge her entrance. I rub the head over the entire length of her split. I can feel her heat radiating over me in a shower of warmth as I slide deep into her slick, hollow hole. She is a perfect fit, and I feel like I might explode right then and there. Her mouth nibbles at my neck, her breasts lay into my chest, and her hips roll against mine.

  “Fuck it, baby. Don’t worry about me. You do what you need, and I will have a damn good time. Fuck my dick good like you mean it,” I growl as I push into her as deep as I can go.

  “I need it,” she pants, bouncing on my cock. “I need you…so bad, Lucas. Don’t ever say that again.”

  I know exactly what she means as earlier I was damned to sabotage this moment by saying she didn’t need me. “I need you, Em. God, do I…”

  Her sensual movements force issues I cannot keep hidden. There is something about her, and the ammunition she gives me as her tempest laps my triggers and provokes my foray. I want to be more. I need to do more. I wish we could start the whole thing over.

  Where would we be now?

  As the thought hits, I laugh at my stupidity clearly wrapped up in my other head. She is eighteen. We are starting over. This is it. My second chance.

  Don’t blow it, chump.

  Most of the time I do the fucking, but this fucking girl is riding my cock and claiming it without a care. We don’t just fly; we fucking skyrocket with turbo boosters.

  I take a pause to watch her, wanting to memorize every moment of this for later use. It’s twisted and sick and I rarely do it, but this lovemaking session is worth it. Her soft, unmarked skin stands out against my own hard, inked sculpture. And this alone turns me on. Her dainty size boosts my ego to feeling so much bigger than I am. God, please don’t let her stop, I quietly pray. Her slippery folds sheath over me repeatedly offering shelter in her glorious expanse.

  “Are you going to come on me, bab
y?”

  “Yes,” she pants, swirling her hips and dipping me deep into her delectable, ravenous kitten. She is savage in the act as her eyes flood her cheeks and drool drips out of the corners of her mouth.

  Holy hotness.

  Just when I think I cannot get any harder, I do as she tightens around me. And the most erotic thing I have ever experienced happens as I feel us dancing together. She rocks against me; I thrust into her and we find one another. It seems like such a trivial thing, but I have never made it to this height or depth of trust. My mind is blown as she thrashes against me. In perfect rhythm, she rides onto me from above as I burst up into her—I am going to come and soon. She is going to make me come.

  “She, as in Baby Emlee. You are fucking Baby Emlee, you schmuck,” my inner voice prods. “You harm Emily and you will end it all in her ocean.”

  It is so very unlike me; I usually have remarkable stamina. Holding her close to me, I roll us, landing her gently on her back. Her hair scatters across the pillow as she looks up at me and smirks. “You’re going to come soon.”

  I drive my piston into her good as she grips my ass hard. That was all it took. Grunting loud, I let go, spewing deep inside of her as she chases after me with her own celebrated vibrations. “Emily… God, Em, I love you.”

  Breathing heavily, she looks up to me in a daze and mumbles, “… You do?”

  I grin and laugh. Not at professing my love for this girl, but the fact that I have been too dumb to realize it until now. “Ya, I fuckin do. I always did. I love you, Emily Lee Granger.”

  Her mouth opens as the tears spill from her tide. “And I love you, Lucas Salvatore Raniero.”

  “God, woman,” I grumble, laying beside her and offering her my arm.

  She quips, “Was it good, babe?”

  “Fuckin hell yes…”

  Biting her lip, she asks, “Are we done now?”

  Regaining my composure, I take her hands in mine and pull her up to sit atop me as I reinvigorate in her waters. “Hardly.” I smirk.

  “Oh, god… Lucas! What are you doing?”

  Dancing my hips in circles, I hold her against my chest as I thrust into her deep. I am performing for Em, giving her a show and savoring her reactions.

  “You’re still hard…”

  “Ya. It’s a priceless fucking gift at times,” I mumble as I lean up and take her nipple in my mouth. Caressing the tiny morsel against my tongue, I grip her hips and wildly buck into her dew and come with abandon. We are going far, past the stars and planets. Her clarity rules me. Her breeze guide me. Her air cradles me. In her clouds, I find forgiveness.

  Thank god you are born of fisherman, the fire of the devil.

  The speed of our plight rests in my hands as we sail smooth over the unchartered laps. My hands direct her hips, edging her closer to the abyss and holding her steady to not let her fall.

  “Oh shit, Nero, I think I may come,” she astonishes, breathless.

  “That’s the idea, baby. Go for it. Use my body.”

  “No, I’m serious,” she says with her chest heaving, trying to not stutter.

  With a dumbfounded expression, I suddenly understand what she is saying. I am more flattered than words could say—an even better gift than being the first one. The first one to ever make her truly come. That is memorable.

  “You didn’t let go…”

  She shakes her head.

  “Baby, you need to come with me,” I urge, patiently pleading desperate for our merging of souls and bonding of sacred oath.

  “I am so scared,” she cries, succumbing to the desire of her flesh and grabbing my cross on my neck. “I am afraid you think I don’t need you and nothing could be further from the truth, Lucas. I need you and I want you and I love you!”

  Over the edge, we tumble on her gospel, her confession, her absolution. When her storm rolls back as she comes, I release again and she collapses trembling onto my chest.

  “Umm, wow…” she whispers on my neck.

  “We aren’t done yet, sweetheart” I mutter.

  Flipping over, I grip her hands above her head, not letting her escape from the pinning of my hard shaft. “Take your time. Get used to it.”

  “Oh heavens, I could get used to this.”

  We both laugh at the blatant flirtation and attraction. Sparks sizzle in every direction between us. We are hot. Her winds fuel my fire. And I cannot see the ending.

  “That can be arranged, beautiful,” I taunt with a wink. Within minutes, she musters up the courage to move against me. I behave, not moving at all, allowing her body and mind to adjust to the shift of our position and saturation. I latch into her fingers as she rocks her wetness on my cock. She soaks with her come, my come, and our love.

  “How many more can you?”

  “I can go all night,” I brag.

  “Oh h—ell…”

  I chuckle as I bring her feet up to perching on my shoulders. “This is going to be really deep. If it gets to be too much, say whoa Sally…”

  “Whoa, Sally?”

  “Sure,” I snarl, running my hands over her legs. “It works.”

  “Wait a second,” she requests with a tilt of her head as I look at her purity. She is delicate and fragile, fluid and pure, but that doesn’t mean she is immune to shattering. “Are the subsequent ones as good as the first?”

  “Sometimes, it depends.” I kiss her toes, sucking and nibbling on them. “Sometimes the second is the best. I love chatter in sex, not just dirty talk either. If you have a question, ask. I am pro.”

  “I mean obviously like the amount of stuff is not as much as the first,” she rambles on, taking my instructions to heart. She is trainable.

  “Well, wait. Sometimes it’s more. It just depends on what I am doing. Good head always makes me blow like a fucking volcano. But I don’t ever produce a whole lot with pegging.”

  It takes her a moment to register what I said. “Wait, you w—hat?”

  I try to hold back the humor of it all, but I can’t which makes me feel a bit like an ass. Running her hands over my washboard, she looks so curious. “Is it good? I mean fun?” She scrunches up her nose. “I mean does it feel good?”

  “Depends on who it’s with really. All sex is about connection.”

  “Can I stay underneath you all night?”

  “Yes.” I grin, knowing what she is about to ask. “And yes, I’d likely stay hard.”

  It is such an odd thing to be with someone unaccustomed to the super-dynamic of sport sex, BDSM practitioners. The difference is awakening.

  Emily is normal; there is nothing wrong with her sexual curiosity. Although she probably believes I am some sort of slut judging by my endurance and revelations. While that partly may be true, I actually enjoy her pleasure, her companionship, and her questions.

  Despite poking at me like some sort of freak show, I understand she means no harm. I am heavily involved in a trade which affords me having a lot of knowledge about sex, people, and my own body. She is a refreshing chill rushing over me, and it only makes me want her more.

  I want to make love to Emily again and again. I want to show her my world. And it is in that moment of her laying beneath me that I realize I will continue breathing without the world of Juliet surrounding me. But what I never expect as she caresses my skin and my hands grip her ass is wanting to hear her call me Sir.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I Don't Know How to Say No

  IRIS

  7:03 AM 24%

  I LOOK AT MY phone awaking in a shivering sweat as the numbers glare at me. My room is too warm. I am bundled in amongst the blankets.

  After fighting them, I check my text messages. The normal slew of banter from the—former and new—girl crew. Jessica wants to have coffee this weekend when she comes to town and Zoe wants to chat about her new position with Delarte Cristos.

  Nina even texts the group chatter from England. It is the first time she has said a word since taking her placement at H2. Surprising
ly, even Charlotte texts wanting to go shopping this weekend. While in my hand, the phone buzzes again. It is Sal.

  “Hi.”

  Well, hello, asshole…

  Holding the phone, I drop my hand down by my side and breathe, not wanting to answer it. I am beyond angry he left for Massachusetts without even saying so much as a laters, Bae.

  I love him and he knows that, but he seems to be immune to it since he never bothered or cared enough to say goodbye. Clearly, Sal saying he loves me hasn’t really ever meant anything to him. I want to cry, but I cannot give him the satisfaction. I don’t even want to text him back. He isn’t worth the battery.

  The phone rings, startling me.

  Looking at the screen—LSR—I reluctantly answer it. “What do you want, Raniero?”

  “You didn’t text me back,” he says, exhausted like he hasn’t been to sleep yet.

  “I got it like two minutes ago.” Sitting on the phone silent, I hear him breathing. “What do you want, Sal?”

  “I don’t know. To talk to you. I miss you…” His words trail off.

  “You could have talked to me before you ran off,” I reprimand harshly. I am hurt, and I cannot handle this man abandoning my soul like that. Okay, it may be a bit overboard, but it fucking hurt.

  “My cousin was shot,” his voice carries the pain, clear and evident.

  “I know. I talked to Anna,” I say harshly, uncaring. I am not letting him get under my skin. I am pissed—but more than that I am hurt. “Where are you?”

  “A friend’s house,” he says with a very blasé tone.

  Immediately, I flex back, “A friend with a pussy?”

  His silence is guilty. His conscience says more than enough. Hurt turns harmful. Toxicity bubbles through my veins, swallowing my soul and collapsing any remaining faith. Maybe I wasn’t going overboard before.

  He eventually confesses, “Ya.”

  Pulling the phone away from my ear, I click the end button. He immediately calls back. Silencing the phone, I put on my pink shorts and workout shirt before heading to the treadmill. Plugging my pink earbuds in, I crank up the JLo, Beyonce, and Shakira mix.