“I can’t…”
“You can. You have a choice!” he emphatically exclaims. “What you don’t realize is that you are already choosing now. By not making the choice, Emily is predetermined to win.”
Amidst the wash of anguish, my eyes shutter closed. I know, he is right. His gentle fingers caress over my face as his warm breath, full of pure love, showers my being in safety.
He is the only net I need to make the right choice.
“You know, instead of breaking me down, you could’ve just said—I gotcha, bro.”
A smirk sparks a rise in his cheeks as he nods and teases, “Yeah, I’ll do that next time. Swagger up, pump the fists, I gotcha, bro.”
We laugh and I feel the lightest shift of his erection against my ass. I lift my head to reach his mouth, sliding my tongue against his, and I rock from beneath him.
“Can we try to not split up again?” he asks, diverting my attention and dipping a slick finger into my tight target. “Because I really fucking hate it when we’re on different pages.”
“Yes,” I say, tilting my head at the driving rain. “Same page.”
“Open for me, Sir.”
I relax my thighs, knowing it’s been months, and this may pinch for a half-second. I don’t care. Against his lip, I mumble, “Go…”
My eyes close tight as he thrusts all the way in with one move. It’s kindly cruel and I love him even more for it. “I can’t stop what we are or what may happen, but I’m going to do everything in my power to not let you hurt. That was why I didn’t tell you about Allie. You care about her, but her secrets would sting and I knew that.”
He begins a slow roll in his hips as I take all of his love and allow myself this one thing—the present of a sinning Saint from a meticulous Master who loves me more than words.
“Remind me to thank Dom.”
Pinning my hands against the door, Deacon teases, “For my thick cock?”
“For bringing you home to me, bitch.”
Taking the intimate moment in, I realize the hilarity of the situation. I’m the Dark Prince with everyone’s eyes on me – waiting to see what I do, waiting to see if I fuck up. I’m lying in the backseat of a limo with Deacon Cruz’s dick in my ass and being driven around by a Russian guy named Oral Semenov. My father would be so un proud.
This is my life.
And days like this are—priceless.
13
Cook For Me—n a k e d
On the lounger by the pool at The Dollhouse, I stare at the reflection of the moon on the water. The blackened blue sky serves as a parallel to the damp glazed look on the cement. I’m smoking through a pack and sipping on a beer as I think back over all the times I’ve spent here.
Deacon and I came home.
Together.
There is something so pivotal in coming back after all these years with what we’ve been through. We are resilient, tenacious, and an unstoppable force together.
We ordered pizza, watched the ballgame, and fucked through the night like there was never a dawn. Like vampires, we slept most of the day and I’ve only been up for about an hour. When he wakes up, he will know where to find me because this is my spot under the Spanish moss covered oak tree near the jasmine and honeysuckle with the bed beneath spilling over with lavender.
I smile at the scent of his skin knowing he is sneaking up behind me. He always does this. He leans over the back of my chair, draping his arms over my bare chest and kissing my cheek. “How are you?”
“I’d be better if she was here,” I confide as he walks around to sit on the chair next to me.
Latching two fingers around the neck of my beer bottle, he takes a long swig. Licking his lips, he pulls a smoke from the pack, takes the lit cigarette from my fingers, and lights his. He exhales out the side of his mouth and clasps his fingers together as he places his elbows to his knees and his head droops. His long, greasy bangs fall to his cheeks.
“Why don’t we see if we can do a lil something something about that?” he questioningly suggests, teasingly darting his eyebrows up a few times. “Let’s move her.”
Curling my feet in, I wrap my arms around my knees and glare at the water. I see her—so many times—naked in the pool before me. I want to touch her. I want to kiss her. I want to love her. I give a weary side-eyed glance to Deacon and concede, “How?”
“It will need to be after the holidays.”
Fuck. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Ugh.
Just stab me in the heart.
His tongue rests on his top lip, which is incredibly sexy. So is knowing where that mouth has been. He opens his eyes wide and insists, “But we need to start initiating a plan now to make it happen come spring.”
“I put her in Guam because I knew it was safe.”
“There is only one other place in the world where she will be even more protected.” My eyes fill with tears because in a way sending her home to Japan is admitting defeat. “Stop it,” Deacon scolds, laying his hand on my forearm. “It isn’t losing. It is your smartest move. And if The Chairman sees that your best interest is in his granddaughter’s wellbeing and not your gratuitous needs then maybe he will forgive us for the shit that went down last summer. We can make it appear fortuitous for her to end up back home in her familial castle.”
“And if she never walks away from that?”
“Is that your biggest fear?” he questions with a desperate plea. “That she won’t come back? Because if it is, then she was never yours to begin with, Pretty Boy.”
Hot tears trickle over my skin because I know he is right. I cannot keep what isn’t mine and letting her go to her homeland implies my trust in us, but I’ve got trust issues—big ones. “You’re lucky I don’t knock you one for calling me Pretty Boy.”
He deviously grins. “You won’t hit me right now. This mouth anointed every inch of your body.”
“More like my soul…”
“If you don’t trust in Iris, then put all your fucking trust in me, brother,” he maintains, clenching his fist around my hand. “Because we may fight and not talk for a while, but I’m never leaving you. Ever. We are fluid. This thing between us…this love/hate relationship…this motherfucking glorious affair we are having is not ever ending.”
His words bring on my heavy sobs. “I can’t fuck this up.”
“I know what is on the line and how you think,” he softly whispers, maintaining his grip on my hand. “You’re out here thinking about Kaci and Iris and all the things you’ve done wrong, but you need to be looking at what you have done right—you saved my son, your daughter, and rearranged the pieces on a continuously shifting game board. You play a mean match, Salvatore. The odds of you fucking up… I wouldn’t put my money or my ass on it.”
Leaning my head back against the headrest, I blink several times as I purse my lips together. “How are you going to do it?”
“First thing I’m going to do is call Ma.”
Furrowing my brow, I crinkle my nose. “… Trudy?”
“Yeah, because she’ll know better than any of us how to approach this.”
“I wish I had a mom like yours.”
“You do,” he reminds, smiling. “Only you, occasionally, do things for which I hope you never groan out an Oh Ma…”
“What if I say I won’t ever do that again?”
Deacon bursts into laughter. “Then I would say you’re stupid. If you want to fuck my ma, I can’t say as though I blame you. Just remember the goal.”
“Why do you think I just said I won’t ever do that again?” I ask, stretching out. “I turned Amber down. I sent Allie away. And I’ve kept my distance from Mierne.”
“… Yeah, but you fucked Jaid.”
“Don’t remind me how I have a weakness for Cristos’ daughters.”
His hand runs through his filthy blonde hair—there was a lot of sweat involved in last night’s activity—and he says, “You can’t stop sleeping with Em.”
“I know,” I groan.
“Is it that bad?”
“It’s…sex. Let’s leave it at that.”
Pulling his phone out of his oversized, ripped up jeans, he swipes through the contacts to call his ma. “It sounds very vanilla,” he mutters as we wait for her to pick up. The ringing stops on the speaker phone and the plan to move Iris begins to take action. “Ma, your sons have a problem…”
An hour and a half later, we’re in the shower. With the steam billowing around the room, his hands are on my back, lathering soap over my skin, and rinsing me. He kneads my shoulders. “You need to relax. You are too tight.”
“I can’t help it.”
His hand tucks under my arm to my chest and eases down low to my cock. “You need to relax.”
I hadn’t planned on a hand job in the shower, but hell if his grip isn’t enough to drive my mind away from the crux of my problems. I close my eyes and let him stroke me as I’m certain this is what it feels like when he’s jacking off. It’s not just the stranger of my right hand, but an insight into how he is. “You’re going to make me come.”
“Good,” he whispers, kissing the middle of my Iris Amarie tattoo. I feel his tongue following the curvature of the letters. “Let yourself,” he says, stopping briefly, “love her…by trusting me.”
“How the fuck do you know how to get me every time?”
“Pure love.”
My breathing speeds up as his hand consumes the worry with every passing rub. “I need your mouth on me.”
He spins my body around, pushing me against the wall, and dropping to his knees. Swallowing down my erection, he curls his fingers under my sack and lightly squeezes. His finger shifts back and circles my puckered hole.
And I lose it.
Gripping his wet hair, I hastily buck into his mouth like a madman. His free hand grabs my ass cheek encouraging me. “God, suck my cock, Cruz! Harder, bitch! Harder! Give me some teeth!”
His moan vibrates against my skin as I claim his throat. It belongs to me. He belongs to me.
Deacon Cruz is mine.
“Shi—t,” I groan out, knowing it won’t be long. He runs the sharpness of his bite over my ridge. “I won’t ever leave you. I can’t. I didn’t choose this. It just happened. And I’m so fucking glad it did,” I confess, breaking through the walls and crying amongst the drops of water hitting my skin. His fingers run from my ass and tightly interlock with my hand. I look at them and I know—we can do this. We have to try because what we are doing isn’t working. “I love you so damned much.”
He takes me right to the edge. Pulling his lips and tongue away, he strokes with such dedication. His blue eyes shine up to mine, offering a sacred vow of one last chance at redemption. He knows this one counts. This move with Iris. This orgasm with him. He winks like the cocky bastard he is. “Now come.”
“Do it!” He runs his mouth over my cock one final time, and I shoot my load all over his gorgeous mug, open mouth, and shimmering chest with a very pronounced grunt. “Fuckin’eh… Deacon!”
Rising from his knees, he serves up a sexy as fuck grin covered in my cum and flicks his tongue out to catch a taste. “I love you, Sally.”
I don’t think as I pull him closer and shove my tongue down his throat. We’re solidifying our arrangement, signing our contract, and promising whatever happens—we go into an eternal hell together.
“You know,” he mumbles in the pouring water, “Iris would call this snowballing.”
“Then we’re one step closer to home,” I announce, grinning. “I’m starving.”
“What am I cooking?”
Rinsing off, I step out, grab a towel, and snicker, “Anything you would like, but you’re doing it naked.”
“You’re such a maddening Master.”
“Are we going to tell her what we are doing?” I ask, handing him a towel. He runs it over his body, but his reluctance to answer sends a shiver through my spine. He drapes the towel around his neck as I grab a pair of shorts and follow him to the kitchen. He pulls out a few ingredients in complete silence. I take a seat at the bar, lock my fingers together, and lower my head. “Deacon…”
“I’m thinking.”
He is a meticulously clean cook. After tossing herbs and shrimp into the pan, he chops vegetables with the skilled accuracy of someone raised with a blade in their hand. Like Nico. I don’t want to interrupt him, but I need a solid answer because what we’re considering doing is brilliantly diabolic. And undoubtedly, Iris will not want to cooperate. I fear her safety even in our plan.
“I’m suffering here,” I mutter as he blinks up from behind the stove. “Just say it. Say it with the ease in which you slice through those vegetables and… God, fuck… Don’t hesitate.”
“If you are asking what I think, I believe we shouldn’t tell her until after the fact.”
Every nerve ending in my body ignites with a hot flame. The sweat forms on my skin and my breathing turns erratic. The one thing I’ve tried to keep her safe from—one fucking thing—and we’re thinking about doing it. “This isn’t some random panic I’m having, I have a certain expertise in this department.”
“Yeah,” he calmly replies. “Which is why you are going to have to get back into the fray of it whether you are ready or not.”
“How the hell did Trudy come up with this?”
A smile upturns at the corner of his mouth. “She’s conniving, bright, and manipulative, Sal. Don’t ever underestimate Ma.”
“Ya, but…” I cover my face with my hands and let out a deep guttural howl as I fear how quickly everything is spinning out of my control. “She is suggesting having her kidnapped…”
He stops stirring our dinner. “Say it and own it. Don’t deny what we are thinking.”
My fists clench tight. I grind my jaw. “The Unholy are hiring an insurgent gang to capture, abduct, and traffic the Lotus Queen.”
“We will be responsible if this goes wrong.”
Shaking my head, I let the tears surface in my eyes and correct, “I will be responsible for this. Iris’ blood will be on my hands and on my soul. This isn’t just risky; this has the potential to be not only her homicide but my suicide.”
“We will not fuck up,” he assures, lighting a smoke off the burner and handing it across the bar to me. “And if we do, you can bet your ass, it will be a double suicide after I kill every fucking one of those bastards with my bare hands.”
With the cigarette dangling from my lips, I crack every knuckle, ignoring the pain. I give a dreadfully menacing scowl to Cruz and growl, “We.”
“You don’t need the blood on your hands.”
I raise a brow at the doubt all my brothers seem to have of my heinous capabilities. “I’m the guy who hacked up a man at eighteen in a garden shed for raping girl I’m not even in love with, so do you wanna make a fucking bet on how insane I will go if they hurt the one woman I love more than every breath I take?”
14
Floating Away
With our ludicrous plan in action, I return home to Boston for the holidays as Deacon prepares for our siege of one Lotus Queen. Since we have months to go, we decide our best decision is to pull small increments of money into one localized resource and transfer it to an account overseas owned by the former Raniero Fisheries, for which I have access. We’ll convert it when we arrive to their preferred payment method before signing the agreement.
Half on capture; the rest on safe release.
In addition to the money, we are stashing fifty crates of weaponry from our source dealers in a warehouse in Tokyo. If nothing else, it will sweeten the deal. If it’s drugs they want, we can get those delivered in a matter of hours. If it’s human cargo, we have a problem because I don’t have a direct link to any traffickers. However, I do know of several who would do a favor for me.
I pray they just take the cash.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Kary Vega asked as we met on the coast of Maine. “This is more than holding a therapist hostage—on an extended sab
batical—for a year. This is risky as fuck.”
“Do I have any other choice?”
“What has you so backed into a corner that you feel this is the only option?”
Pulling my hoodie up, I muttered, “Leeza Torrente.”
He nodded. “That’s fair. But that happened years ago…”
“Ya, well I was recently reminded what a shell Jas has become.”
“You have my full support, including any agents we have overseas.”
The bitter ocean wind stung my cheeks and drew the water from my eyes as I lit a smoke. “Can you implant one into Lotus?”
“I did over a year ago,” he confides as I stepped back, stunned. “Her name is Kali Ose.”
“Can you send me her file?”
He smiled. “She’s got an impressive record. I think you will find her more than acceptable.”
“Is she one of ours?”
“Contractor,” he answered as a wave of bile edged up my throat. I gave a concerned stare. “I know what you’re thinking, but remember who you are, Lucien Tolan.”
“I know.”
He laid his hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to have to relinquish some control and trust someone else if this is going to be a successful mission.”
“Kali Ose it is then.”
As for the details of what happens to Iris, I don’t know and most likely, I won’t. I want her taken from Guam, unharmed and cared for…no starvation, torture, or rape…she is to be kept in an absolutely pristine condition.
Though I realize the limitations of that notion, and henceforth, where my own quandary comes into play. These are human farmers/stock herders, and she will likely be in the confines of girls who are being legitimately taken.
Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3) Page 11