Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Sure thing!”

  “Make it two,” Deacon says, polishing off his moonshine.

  Gina walks away as Allie says, “You know I’m going to eat those.”

  Never one to let an underhanded insult go, Cat snides, “Better a lobster roll than a mudbug.”

  “Have you ever had one?” Allie asks.

  I’m not sure what has gotten into Deacon’s head, aside from too much moonshine, but he says, “The hand girl knows what’s up!”

  “I’m sure the hand girl can get it up,” Cat brandishes, cutting through the bullshit going on between her and Allie.

  “Actually,” Allie says, “I prefer oral…or anal…over using my hands.”

  Deacon’s sad blue eyes sink into mine with a plea for a life raft.

  And this is why two hours later, I’m sitting drunk as a motherfucking skunk in Gina’s. There is a turf war going on between the two girls – Allie and Cat – over the guy I’m playing footsies with under the table—I’ll never admit that again but ya. I may have bruised his leg a couple of times when the tension got so thick between them that all I wanted to do was leave, or kick him in the shin.

  Apparently, we are not the only ones in strife as I hear, but cannot see due to the high-backed booth, the war breaking out between the bride and groom.

  “Can we please take this upstairs?” Dom tactfully says.

  “I want to know why this whore is here!”

  Oh. Shit.

  Ashley is drunk and going after Amber. With an instant sobriety, I stare at Cat waiting to hear the verdict. Her big emeralds shoot in my direction with a panic. “You…you need to go, nowala! They were walking for the door and she just smacked the holy fuck out of him.”

  “Excuse me, Allison.”

  “Of course,” she says, sliding out of the way.

  I knock twice on the table, drawing Deacon’s attention. “Do not let anything happen to any of my girls.”

  “I gotcha.”

  Walking through the bar lined with tables and chairs, I note Nico’s eyes locked in on me. I lift a steady hand for him to stay.

  If anyone is going to deal with the marital issues of Dom and Ashley, it should be me. I may not be his full-time pain slut, Dominant in training anymore, but I’m the closest to him. He won’t turn me away because he can’t. There is an unwritten rule somewhere that says when we have gone as far as we have and been through all that we have, we vow to never turn each other away. It is the dynamic coupling of our heritage and D/s combined.

  One time, he promised a dying girl he would care for me.

  And I promised my dying wife that I would look after him.

  Three-quarters of the way up the staircase, I hear the unmistakable sound of stilettos following me. I pivot to my ex-Mistress. “You’re not going up there!”

  “Why?” she asks through gritted teeth. “I was the one attacked. I was the one she was calling a whore. I’m the one who has been sleeping with Dom since we both got back to Sugargrove.”

  I may pass out, fall down the staircase, and be done—Here lies Sal Raniero. In the church, I made up the lie on the phone with Ashley on the fly. I had no idea there was any truth in it.

  “You’re sleeping with Dom?”

  “We’re not exactly sleeping, Sal.”

  Part of me wants to throw confetti over her head and yell, Congratulations! And the other part of me wants to wring her fucking neck for even thinking it was a good idea to come to his wedding.

  “… You’re having an affair?”

  “I’m two months pregnant.” I grapple for the rail. Everything is happening too fast. The world is spinning out of control. I’m going to puke. I’m going to pass out. I know she is talking—we thought I couldn’t get pregnant at my age—but all I can hear is Iris’ ringtone playing in my head. “Sal! Are you listening to me? Sal!”

  I come to and feel the vibration on my hip. “Iris…”

  “Sal.”

  And suddenly, nothing matters.

  Despite Dom and Ashley yelling, I weave past Amber through the bar. Deacon is standing up by our table, ready to pounce if I need. He notices the potency of my stare, lingering and longing, and he recognizes it. He rushes over without regard to anyone else but me. My skin is on fire as I mutter, “Hold on one second, we’re at Gina’s. It’s loud in here.”

  “Take your time.”

  Grabbing my elbow, Deacon escorts me outside, leading my way over to the alleyway where the SUV we keep at The Dollhouse is parked. He hits the key fob and opens the back door. “Get in.”

  Staying out, he shuts the door and protects our time with the vigilance of an armed guard. “Baby…”

  “I was hoping I might get you on the phone,” she whispers, sounding amazing. “I miss you so much.”

  “I know, I miss you too.” I pull the AirPods from my jacket to go hands-free and stretch my fingers against my pants. “I know you won't tell me where you are.”

  “I can't,” she says. “Just trust, I'm safe and sound. What do you have on?”

  “Dark blue slacks and a white dress shirt,” I answer, kicking off my shoes and laying along the backseat. I toss my foot up on the headrest. “What about you?”

  “Smart Raniero, but I'm not biting.”

  Damn.

  “Can I have a clue?”

  “I'm in Japan.”

  While that seems a given, the confirmation is helpful. “Do you love it?”

  “I feel like I'm finally where I belong, but my Japanese still sucks. Most of the people I talk to speak English, so there is no consistent lesson.”

  I open my phone and notes to start jotting things down. If she thinks I’m not still going to look for her, she’s insane. Using The Spider’s trick, I ask, “What do you see?”

  She giggles. “Nuh uh…”

  “Damn, thought I could catch you off guard.”

  “Time changes people, Sal.”

  Her toss of the curve ball swipes past me so fast I land nose down in the dirt. “Why does that sound like the beginning of a breakup?”

  In all of our time, our ups and downs, I always knew we’d be together, but her random three words of philosophy makes my body tense and jerk. Not in a good way.

  “It’s more of an observation,” she whispers. “I’ve seen recent photos of you.”

  She has connections to social media or the local Boston news or maybe just the Internet. I don’t try and hide. I’d like to, but there are times when it is unavoidable. “When?”

  “I have a few friends.”

  Someone around me. Someone here. Someone I know.

  “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Not yet,” she giggles. “Depends on what you do and with whom.”

  I pick up the reference to Emily. “I’m going to end it.”

  “I’m not worried about you ending it,” she says. “I’m worried about it ending you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Morpheus?”

  “What was I going to say? My mother’s lover was using me to strike deals where no one had ever gotten in before. Morpheus was good and kind to me, but he’s a tough cookie. The Italians never belonged down there.”

  Carefully, I slide my piece on our board. “I’m in.”

  “… With Morpheus?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her breath hitches. “Ohhh…”

  “Does that change anything?”

  “Are you ready for it to?”

  Her asking the question implies she already has some power in Lotus to make decisions, and now, she has placed the choice in my hands. My heart pounds with the possibility. “Not yet.”

  “Let me know, Mr. Raniero.”

  “I will, Ms. Nakamura.”

  “Don’t think of it as reluctance.”

  “I don’t think anything,” she says. “I know you are working on alignment. Be careful who you choose to play with in the sandbox.”

  “I always am,” I reply, knowing every choice I have made has be
en with regard to how Lotus—how Iris—could sit prettier on her throne. Bravely, I crack my knuckles and ask, “Is there anyone you won’t work with?”

  “The only one I’m concerned about working with is you.”

  “And if I choose the wrong team?”

  “Then you may not get the dream,” she points out. “So, do your best and know I’m watching.”

  Her ranking position of power is above me and will be for many years to come. I can accept the difference as a man and even her husband. But what I don’t expect is how serving her in matters of business makes my cock throb. I’m not submissive, nor have I ever truly been a submissive. In my soul, I’m a Dominant with a masochistic streak. I love the power of control and pain.

  But serving, providing, and caring for her as a street punk to her Queen…

  Holy hell, I’m turned on.

  And honored.

  Apparently, I’m not the only one as she whispers, “Are you still going to tie me up, Sir?”

  “Not only am I going to tie you up and pin you down, I’m going to fuck you until you scream my name, baby. You’ll be the one to make my sadist come out of the shadows.”

  We’ve both known of its existence, but I’ve reserved the best of me for the best of her. I’ve whipped girls and played the role, but there is only one to balance me. Only one to find me.

  “That sounds like a promise.”

  “It always has been.”

  Immediately, she asks, “Are you going to go fuck Emily now?”

  “No,” I reply, adjusting my junk. “Not even.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Let Cruz suck me off in the backseat.”

  Her breathing shifts to an erratic place. “Shit… Is he there?”

  “Guarding outside the door. You want to talk to him?”

  “I want to hear you come.”

  “Oh, God… Iris…”

  “Just do it, Sal…” I open the door to the night air and find Cruz with a smoke dangling out of his lips. The one light in the alley way shines on us like a beacon. “Let me talk to him.”

  With great reluctance, I click it over to the phone and pull the speakers from my ears. “She wants to talk to you.”

  “Hello, beautiful,” he says, smiling. “I’m doing good. How are you?” He takes a drag off his smoke and stares at me. “He’s doing okay. I got him.” His wide smile gives way to a chuckle. “I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to him, ma’am.” His brow tightens as he lowers his head and paces around. “I can probably do that. Yeah. Of course. Do you need anything?” He’s nodding as they have some in depth conversation I’m not privy to. “I will look into it. How can I contact you?” My head tilts as I lace my fingers together and crack them all at once. He looks over and grins. “I can absolutely do that for you.”

  He approaches the door and I scoot back across the seat. “What are you doing?

  “I love you, babe. Alright,” he laughs, about to hand the phone over. “Here he is.”

  “Did you have a nice chat?”

  “I adore Deacon,” she giggles as he pulls off his shirt and collides into my body. His hot kiss makes me forget all about the questions I have concerning their conversation. Our tongues intertwine with an unforgettable passion and I moan as Iris whispers, “Oh, my…”

  “Are you going to touch yourself, babygirl?”

  “I already am,” she mutters. “God, I wish I was there to sandwich myself between you.”

  His hand rubs over my erection as we struggle to release my pants. I spring forth with a clear declaration of how these two make me feel. With my cock on display, he drapes his body across the backseat and grips around the base. “He’s going to suck me off…”

  “Yes, I told him to,” she informs. “And I told him to make sure he swallows.”

  “You’re so good to me,” I laugh as Deacon teases my dick like a goddamned popsicle. “I’m dying here man.”

  I grip my fingers into his blonde locks as he gulps the length of me down. I’m bucking my hips, rocking in the seat, and edging closer to coming as I mumble, “Fuck…”

  “Someone is out of practice.”

  “Don’t fucking remind me,” I hiss.

  “You could be sliding in out of my wetness with him in your ass.”

  I close my eyes tight, trying to hold back. “Jesus, don’t do that!”

  “We could go all night in our house.”

  Her word of house triggers a delay—thank God!—because I’m not ready to come. I don’t think about the house. I’ll rebuild the fucking thing.

  “Suck me, Cruz.” His mouth bobs up and down with such precision, and then he tightens the whole thing. It’s been a bit since we’ve done this and I forgot how much I enjoyed my exploits with him. “Ho—ly…harder, bitch.”

  “God, yes!” Iris says, allowing her inner siren to wail. “Tell him what to do!”

  “Suck my dick, don’t stop…don’t stop or I swear to fuck…”

  “I’m going to come, Sal…”

  “Let it go, baby,” I command, bracing my hands on the leather seat and the door handle. She screams with the fury of a storm coming inland. “Yessss!!!”

  And I grunt with all of my might, shooting my load deep into Cruz’s throat. “Fuck!!!”

  “Thank you,” she sleepily says a minute later after catching her breath. “I’m going to let you go before I start crying.”

  “It’s okay, Angel. Thank you for all of the presents—the blanket, pillow, note, and you. I love you more than words.”

  “I love you, Salvatore.”

  I hit the end button as Deacon kneels on the seat. He’s sweating. “I fucking came in my pants.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Yeah, I did,” he admits. “Shit.”

  Unable to let it go, I wipe my face with his shirt and query, “… What was your chat about?”

  “Oh, she wants me to come see her for her thirtieth birthday.”

  She fuckin’ what?

  33

  Before We Were

  We arrive at the Catholic Church the next morning, but Dom is nowhere to be found. I’ve called his number several times. I’ve discreetly asked Amber, who is apparently carrying the groom’s lovechild, but she knows nothing. My mind is still blown from news of their affair.

  Everyone—including Father Quinn—is waiting on Dominic.

  “Excuse me,” I say, getting up from between Emily and Deacon to go try his number again.

  As I pass by Nico, he mutters, “Where the fuck is he?”

  I shrug. “I have no idea.”

  I dash through the vestibule to go have a quick smoke in the parking lot. “Dom,” I say, leaving a message. “You’re supposed to be getting married.”

  I’m pacing as the drizzle turns to a heavy rain. I worry something went wrong. My mind flares with the rules of three—three possibilities and three outcomes from those. Finally, I see his black Mercedes pull into the lot. He parks off to the side near the fence. To add to my nerves, he backs in for a quick escape.

  Running in the rain, I open the door and plop my ass inside of his car. “Where the hell have you been? You’re an hour late.”

  He stares aimlessly over the steering wheel. His silence isn’t uncommon, but the distance between us is. He pulls off his sunglasses, which seems an odd thing to have on in the rain, and tosses them on the dash. He glances down at his hands and licks his lips.

  “I wish I had what you do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “And I hope you never take advantage of any of it. Because if you do, I may kill you. And that isn’t a threat coming from a Gennaro to a Raniero, but a promise coming from a Master to his greatest pupil ever.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He carefully pivots in the seat to reveal the bruise on his left eye and the cut beneath that required stitches. “What the fuck happened?”

  “We have a problem. And I will take care of it.”r />
  “That isn’t just a problem!” I panic, angrily. “That is a damn assault. Who fucking hit you?” His broken stare settles deep in my belly as I know the answer. “She fucking hit you.”

  With great poise, he takes a sip of his coffee. “If I do not go in that chapel and make her Ashley Gennaro today, she will take Romeo and leave.”

  “When were you going to tell me about Amber?”

  “There is nothing to say.”

  “She is carrying your damn baby!” I yell, losing my shit and slumping in the chair. I set my elbow on the door and press my thumb to my temple while my fingers strum at my falling bangs. “For many reasons, which I think you know, you cannot have a wife who is abusive.”

  “I don’t have much choice anymore, Boston,” he says, gripping my hand laying on my thigh. “I’ve worked my way into a corner and now I’m stuck.”

  I stretch my arms back and howl, “Fuck!”

  “I know you are upset and you have every right to be, but let this serve as your most poignant lesson. Figure out how the fuck to dump the girl you aren’t in love with before you get stuck in a house with her and four of her demon spawns for the rest of your life.”

  “I’m not marrying Emily,” I insist, grinding my jaw. “I may be engaged to her, but I am not marrying her.”

  “Life has a way of slipping through your fingers when you try and steer too hard. When you hydroplane, go with it, don’t fight it. But don’t let it go that far. Hit the mountain or plummet off the edge if you have to.”

  His words of advice sting like deadly scorpions drilling into my flesh. “You think I’m pushing it.”

  “I think you’re getting dangerously close to becoming Mr. Granger.”

  “Shit…don’t even…you can call me Nakamura’s Little Slut before that will ever happen.”

  He takes a deep breath. “Are you ready to go do this so we can go get shit faced?”

  “Are you not going on the honeymoon?”

  “No, she is,” he says, looking at the deluge falling from the sky. Things I thought were strapped down tight aren’t actually locked at all. They’re going airborne and crashing into one another at a rate faster than I can keep up. “I will be going to The Dollhouse to engage in some unsavory activities. Would you care to partake?”