And I run—fast, hard, and far.
Heading to the kitchen to make coffee, Jack passes by the workout room at 8:18. I am still running. With a curious cock of his head, he smiles and makes motions of eating with his hands. I nod as he heads to the kitchen.
By the time I walk a few laps of cool down, he has coffee and French toast ready. My phone remains on vibrate. Sal calls and texts nonstop. I ignore all of it, flipping through the morning paper and scarfing down the breakfast as Jack watches me.
“Are you alright?” he asks, concerned.
“Yeah, I just wanted to go for a run,” I say, watching the screen flash to life and guzzling coffee like water. “What time do you leave?”
“My plane for New York leaves at two,” he says, touching my hand gently. “Will you be okay here?”
“Yeah. You’ll be back in three days,” I assure, getting up from my chair and giving him a hug. Sweaty and smelly, I apologize as my phone shuts off.
Uh oh.
“If you need anything, call Mierne or Anna,” he says casually as I walk towards the kitchen with my empty coffee cup.
I stop and backpedal. “I won’t be able to do that, Sir.”
“Why?”
I hold up the phone and swivel it back and forth between my fingers. From his pocket, he produces a cord and plug. “He is worried about you.”
“He should have thought about that when he left town,” I rebuke, no longer caring if I am a sweet or good or kind sub. “He can fuck the hell off.”
“You don’t mean that,” he assures, placing the necessary items in my hand. “You really don’t.”
“Right now, I really do,” I say, clearing the dishes.
He heads back to his room to pack as I go to the shower. From across the way, I hear, “Iris, come here.”
Slipping off my shoes and socks, I meander down the hallway to his room and crack open the door. “Yes, Sir?”
Sitting in a chair, Jack points to his lap.
Oh, shit.
“I am so filthy…”
The lick of the whip impacts my calf before I even finish my sentence. He cocks a brow and moves his head to the side, offering up a snarling smile. “You will never disrespect his name like that again in this house.”
Breathing heavily, I nod, unable to hold back my emotions. Tears rush forth, covering my cheeks. “I meant no disrespect, Sir. But he has been gone half a fortnight and is apparently fucking some girl.”
The whip slithers closer as he toys with me. His eyes are bright blue as we hold each other’s gaze in a stare off. He twirls the handle, and the ends tease my bare feet.
“I do not care who he is fucking or what he is doing, Ms. Kettles. He is your Dominantm and you will not disrespect him in his house,” Jack says, acknowledging the whole dang thing belongs to Sal.
“I understand, Sir,” I say as the end strikes my thigh. “I apologize.”
“Do you need a good round?”
Smiling, I cackle softly. “In his words, I need a good round of a drug no one seems to possess, Sir.”
“I possess the drug,” he lures suggestively as the thought wets my curiosities. “But you must agree to my terms. I won’t fuck you.”
“I don’t need you to fuck me, Sir Jack,” I say with as much sass as I can reasonably get away with. “I need you to spank me.”
“Come here and drop your drawers. We will do this old school,” he instructs as I move closer and he drops the whip.
I should feel like a little girl about to get punished and in a way, I do, but—I also know this should align my thoughts and keep me in line. Bending over Sir Jack’s knee, I am met with the spanking to end all others.
He is brutal, harsh, and unforgiving. Striking my ass hard, Jack never slows to rub and coddle or allow me to take a breath. It is fast and continuous for a good five minutes. Bad form, I know. But I lost count at one hundred.
And I deserve every single one.
With my flesh on fire, he dismisses me to my room. No blowjob, no aftercare, no nothing, which leaves my psyche feeling more wracked than before.
I am a bad girl.
I do not deserve such things.
After washing my hair and rinsing the nastiness from my body, I plug the tub and let the water fill. With a towel wrapped around my head, I pour a generous amount of bubbles into the water and sink into the hot water neck deep. Reading the text for my editing class on Kindle, I quietly try to distract my mind. My phone is sitting on the edge of the tub when it vibrates yet again. Picking it up, I realize Cas’ messages have been getting lost in amongst his since eight.
Fuck. Goddamn Sal.
Flipping through the text messages quickly, Cas has apparently been such an exemplary patient she has been granted a weekend pass to go home. Her pass starts at noon on Friday to noon on Sunday. Home for her would have been Juliet. Staying in a dorm all weekend sounds uneventful at best, especially considering Cas knows she isn’t ready to be back on the floor. Her texts convey a desperate plea of—do you know anyone I can stay with?
It just so happens, I do.
The messages keep coming from Sal about every fifteen minutes or so and then every hour—on the dot—he calls. I don’t bother to read the messages or listen to the voice mails. I text Cas back immediately though saying I will be on my way as soon as I get out of the tub.
“Wait! You’re naked…and wet? :P”
I laugh at the reemergence of my friend. Cas is back. And I cannot wait to go see her. I haven’t seen her in two weeks, and it sounds by her text messages that she is doing awesome. Apparently, Cas is investing in the emotional work necessary to heal.
Deciding what to wear proves to be very difficult. Even more so by the fact that Jack fills my closet full of outfits in all kinds of styles and sizes, half of them still dangle with the tags.
Briefly, I consider going in classic Iris-style, ripped jeans and billowy poet shirt, but a pair of black and white horizontally striped leggings catch my eyes. Not sure what Jack was thinking when he bought them, but as I push the next hanger, I understood. The bulky red cable knit sweater is almost long enough to be considered a dress. Inching the leggings on, they show every ripple and pooch. That may have been forgivable, but the clash of the red sweater with my red hair would not.
I dig and find a lovely tweed jacket I have never seen with a gorgeous knit purple scarf. It is chilly enough that I can pull it off with the right outfit. Choosing a black turtleneck, black mini skirt, and black leggings with my black combat boots, I look ready for whatever. As an added bonus, I chose a divine little Victoria’s Secret purple bra and panty set for underneath it all.
Looking in the mirror, I pull up my hair, clipping the bulk of strands and letting the loose wisps fall around my face. I did my makeup, spending a lot of time on my eyes and lips.
What the hell are you doing?
I am just going to see my best friend. One minute I am picking something to wear, the next I am making myself up to the nines. Sure, we shared a moment. But it was one time.
Do I really believe it will happen again?
Do I even want it to?
Or is it all just an excuse to not face him?
IRIS
Pulling the Rover into the parking lot, I walk briskly to the door and within minutes Cas appears at the end of the hallway. Or the girl I vaguely remember being Cas.
All of her gorgeous, long hair is gone.
Buzzed up the back with long bangs, some of which are still pink, she shoots an unmistakable crooked grin as I approach.
“Hey, you!” Cas embraces me tight. I grab her hand and turn around. She bids adieu to the ladies at the desk who smile and wish her a good weekend.
Tossing her duffel bag in the back seat, she stands at the passenger side door watching as I get in the driver seat.
“Let me drive.”
“Serious?”
“Ya, come on. Get over here,” she says, tapping on the seat encouragingly.
I gracefully move into the passenger side, straddling over the center console as Cas stands sentinel. Handing the seatbelt to me, she says, “I am really glad you came. Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Leaning closer, she kisses my lips passionately lingering for a good minute. When she finally stops, I gasp with a dazed expression. “Where are we going?”
“The only place I want to go. To Idamae’s to get a fucking burger!” Cas says as we laugh. Driving fast, we sing along with the radio blaring and holding hands. I am amazingly happy. Like really happy. My phone lights up in the center console by Cas’ hand and she grabs it.
Message from LSR: “Why are you being such a fucking bitch to me?”
Holding onto the phone, Cas refuses to hand it over, and when we pull into the parking lot at Idamae’s she jumps out angry. Pushing the button, Cas paces back and forth. Her one fist balls up as her jaw grinds. I have never seen her this angry.
“What the fuck is going on, Lucas?” Cas screams, livid. “No. No. You, shut the fuck up and listen to me. I am out of the hospital for the weekend, and I am spending it with Iris. I swear to God if you don’t stop, I will take her Rover over to Serene’s right fucking now and show her everything on this phone. Stop fucking harassing the sub.”
My eyes widen and I bite my lip, watching her from a distance. I cannot believe Cas is confronting him. And here I am worried she won’t be able to handle him or his shit.
“No, you listen to me. You and her are over. You are done. Leave my girlfriend alone. And by the way, fuck off.”
Pushing the end call button, Cas puts the phone in the back pocket of her jeans. I am clearly not getting it back anytime soon.
“You ready?” She smiles again, taking my hand and leading us to the door. Before opening it, she kisses my cheek again and says, “I am sorry you had to hear that, but it needed to be said. Just because he was a top ranked submissive doesn’t give him the right to assume he is top dog. He’s not.”
We nibble on burgers, fries, and sweet tea through the lunch rush and up until the early dinner crowd starts trickling in. We talk mostly about school. Cas has decided to continue her college work despite the lapse. She has no worries that she can make up the absence from the Dom program during her final year.
In the increasingly crowded diner, Jenne Pearson walks in with some of her friends and Cas instantly decides it is time to leave. She orders two slices of lemon meringue pie and as soon as they come, she drops the waitress a couple of twenties on the table and we make our way back to the Rover.
Opening my door, she declares, “I hate that girl.”
Not surprised, I laugh, “You are not the only one. Rumor is she is dating Sparks now.”
“Shit, talk about age difference,” she mutters before asking, “Where am I headed now beautiful?”
“Jack’s.” I nod.
The drive home is peaceful. With the sun setting early in the gray winter sky, we hold hands up until she pulls onto the gravel road. We pass Serene’s dark farmhouse as she tilts her head and inquires, “Where is she?”
“Fetish Convention with Jack,” I whisper.
Cas’ reaction is priceless, frowning and angling her brows as she skeeves the idea of the pairing. “Are they fucking?”
“I dunno, I try to not think about who is banging who. I have enough trouble keeping up with who I am fucking,” I admit as Cas laughs. “All I know is they are going to a convention in New York for three days.”
“You know it’s strange—the two of them.” She pulls the Rover to a stop outside the garage. “Do you have all the keys?”
“If you are asking me—if I have keys to the playroom, my answer is yes. And her house. And all the cars,” I reveal with a wink and smirk, “Even Sal’s truck.”
“Damn, girl!” She grabs her duffel bag and heads for the door as I fuss with the lock and turn off the alarm. After Cas steps inside, I carefully repeat the process of locking the door and setting the alarm. “You realize we are in the middle of nowhere, right?”
“Yeah, I know but…” I turn away to flip the deadbolt. “I have had some threatening phone calls.”
“You realize I will kill anyone who hurts you, right?” Cas says with a dead serious expression.
Slowly, I turn away, breaking from her haunting gaze. It is disturbing and not a look I have ever seen from Cas. Her cold and uncaring stare leaves me unsettled.
“You are safe here with me.” She leans in and kisses my lips more passionately than before. This is no longer just slumber party make-out kisses, but hardcore coming on to me like I expect the opposite sex would. And while the undeniable heat permeates my panties, I feel slightly awkward, almost tipsy by her pass.
In an effort to be welcoming, I mistakenly overstep too far, but by the time I slip it is too late. “Where do you want to stay?”
“In your bed, if you’ll have me,” Cas boasts, oozing a flirtation which I am not sure I find becoming. She follows me through the house. I click on lights as we go.
“You know, Jack is going to discipline you for this,” she conveys.
“I know,” I say, showing her to my room. “And I don’t care.”
It’s weird now having her in here. We are no longer just friends. We have crossed a line and slide to a dangerous new territory. It was ok with Sal that night, but since the park… I am not so sure. I don’t want a rejection from me to cause her to spiral into a depressive state, but does that mean I have to walk on eggshells and spread my legs?
I just don’t know. I wish we could rewind time and Cas be the one I used to know and love. And I wish the asshole were here.
Strangely, Sal is the mature one—the grown up—I depend on to know what to do. Yes, the grown up is my younger boyfriend. I smile at that thought, wishing it were true. I overreacted this morning and I feel like a cunt now that I need him. And I guess that alone makes me a bitch.
“Wow!” Cas booms, making herself at home. “He set you up sweet, didn’t he? You must be doing a lot for him!” Her insinuation is blunt and snide, almost like if I put out for my Masters so easily, I should give it up to her as well.
She has another thing coming.
I say nothing else. Soon after, Cas showers and comes to bed in a tank top and boxer shorts. Lying in bed, our feet lock around each other, and we sit watching movies. Sometimes it is easier not to talk.
At the end of the last movie as the credits roll, Cas rolls on top of me and kisses me hard. Sliding down my body, she makes love to me with everything she has.
And I don’t say no.
IRIS
We sleep most of the next day. By four o’clock, Cas spastically sits up in bed, waking me from a dead sleep, and declares, “I want to go to Juliet.”
“Tonight?” I question sarcastically. “Tonight, they are having a huge dance party.”
“So?” Cas beams, bouncing out of bed and flirting with me. “You don’t dance?”
Reluctantly, I sit up in bed, but before my feet even hit the ground—she is rummaging through my closet, looking for something to wear. I want to kill her. Maybe not kill, but definitely tie down and gag. Cas’ energetic fireball darts around like a flaming hot zigzagging course of ADD.
Maybe they overmedicated her, I think.
Or maybe her depression already slithered in last summer when we met.
Whatever this is, I feel like ball at a mini-golf joint going every which direction with a million personalities and none of them stable.
This is fucking exhausting.
It leads me to wondering if Kaci had been the same way. And if so, how the hell did Sal keep up with that?
Sal is many things, misguided is not one of them. But if the pellets are clues, I may just end up being the wise old owl who solves the enigma of Sal Raniero. And if Cas is as Kaci, it would explain many things about the man I covet.
Well—at least, she looks fantastic in those black and white horizontal leggings. She has the smooth ass and hips for it, but little up top. Ac
tually, nonexistent rack is more like it. I stare at my girls and get slightly aroused thinking about what Master Nero could do to them. I ignore the fact she is in a black sports bra as she pulls the red sweater on. I see the black thigh high boots laying on the floor, and I can only imagine how hideous this whole thing is about to look.
I’ll opt for demure and calm.
Or slimming mid-thigh length gray jacket and black undergarments courtesy of Victoria’s Secret. Red stilettos. And that is all.
To Cas’ eccentric streetwalker garb, I look like a 5k a night call girl. Sal would love this look. I even wear roll on stockings with a garter belt. None of that sticky shit will do. They say it stays. It’s a lie. Especially for a voluptuous little doll like myself. No, we go classic or not at all.
I am standing in my undergarments putting on makeup when Cas appears with a pint of rocky road ice cream. I assume this is her version of breakfast at 5:30 PM. She slides on the counter and watches me glamming up. “Let’s take his truck…”
I almost jab the mascara wand in my eye. “Are you fucking crazy?”
I put it out there. Maybe she is clinically off-her-rocker and this is her cry for help. Because any other reason cannot possibly make sense. Sal’s truck is his baby. His other woman that he bathes and waxes and caresses with the lightest of touches. If Cas takes Sal’s bitch out on a date, there will be hell to pay.
I realize the thought—I am Sal’s bitch.
And Cas taking out his Angel comes with a hefty bill at the end of Sal’s whip.
At six o’clock, we pull into the Juliet lot in Sal’s truck.
Cas whores up beyond belief. Of course, who am I to be talking, I am wearing fucking lingerie. With her misfit garb and my curvy wannabe-oh-so-sexy girlie swish, we looked like a couple. I hate to admit it. But somehow, we manage to complement one another in ways I had never imagined.
Zoe is the first to notice, running up to us in an exaggerated Zoe-fashion—arms spread, lots of yelling, and much kissing. The rumor mill surrounding Zoe has been intense since Serene took her on. With Cristos, it hasn’t slowed down. The number one question on every Dom’s mind: Is Zoe Hess still intact?
Salt Kissed Love (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 1) Page 26