I grumble, grabbing a smoke. I light it up and try again. “I get that you want me with Iris Kettles, but I don’t know. There are a lot of elements to that equation.”
“She’s hot…”
“So are many others,” I retaliate, taking a drag. “You think a nice rack is going to win me over?”
She giggles. “No, I think that angel baby face she is carrying will though.”
“Fuck you, Hope.”
“Look, I know you, Lucas Salvatore,” she says, expressing every word with her hands like me. “Don’t kill the messenger because I’m right.”
I shake my head and lower it to my hands as I grip the bridge of my nose. “I do not want Iris Kettles.”
“Ya, you do,” she replies, letting go of my ankles and getting up from the tub. “You want her and don’t want to admit it because the last girl you fell in love with is dying. Don’t let that define the rest of your existence, Raniero, or it’s going to be a cold, dark, and lonely life of lost memories. Do you hear me?”
I concede, lifting a finger. Surprisingly, not the middle one.
“Do not do that to yourself,” she threatens, grabbing a towel. “You deserve a beautiful girl and a whole lifetime. You may have signed up to marry me, but you also knew this would be short-lived. This was not permanent. This was temporary. I wanted to die with your last name attached to me, and you – being who you are – enabled that. But I’m not the one. I may be the one to haunt your every breath, but I’m not your end all of loves. You may be mine, but I’m not yours. And I’m okay with that.”
By this point, I have heard more than enough. I quickly lift my hand and demand, “Stop.”
“No, I’m not going to stop just because you tell me to. You need enough lessons to carry you through to the end.”
“Stop,” I repeat, standing up and stalking closer. “You do not get to tell me how I feel about you. Do you not think – considering I have listened to everything you have ever taught me like it was the motherfucking gospel – that I’m not going to do everything in my power to get Iris? Come on, Kaci… don’t be this way,” I plea, reaching out and holding her tiny arms in my fingers. “Don't be so insensitive to love yourself. This relationship is a two-way street, but you got to trust me when I say I am here for you.”
Raising my hand, I caress her cheek and collide my lips against hers. “You do realize I have zero choice in this matter. I can give you all the tricks in my book, and it sucks…” Her yelling turns to a whisper as the tears run lines over her cheeks. I pull her closer, and she wedges her hand, signaling for me to wait between us. She sniffles. “It sucks because I won’t be here to see all my hard work come to fruition. It’s like I planted a tree, watered, and fed it, but I will never get to sit beneath it, climb it, or enjoy it.”
“Thank you for not making me a fruit tree…”
Her face lightens as she beams a wide, toothy grin at me. “Fink is hot,” she teases, flicking up her brow. “Those blue eyes.”
Focusing in on her, I snarl. “No.”
“Fine, no Finkle or his pretty little winkle…”
“You’re pushing, Kace.”
Amidst the shower of tears, she grins and escapes from my grasp as she runs to the bedroom, overlooking the ocean. In the glow of the moonlight, her hair sparkles like golden threads. “It’s long,” I mumble, watching her from the doorway. “And so fucking beautiful.”
She turns and glances back with a smile. “I have often thought that about your cock, too.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head with a chuckle. “Your hair.”
Approaching her slow, I skim my warm hands over her cold shoulders. I press my lips to her skin, kissing her neck with a delicate touch. I envelop my arms around her, and we sway without music. Her eyes close and I know—we will never be here again.
This is our last dance.
“I’m going to miss the fuck out of you,” I admit through gritted teeth. Kaci spins fluidly in my arms to face me. “So damn much.”
“You don’t get to do that,” she mutters, rubbing the scruff on my cheeks. “You have to be the strong one.”
I snicker once. “If you think I’m strong, you don’t know me…”
“Sal, you are the strongest and bravest man I know. Don’t you ever doubt that. You completely redefined who you are and what you would become, most people never do that. They accept what they are given. You struggled, and that is why I wanted you on my team—you are a fighter. And now more than ever before, I need you to fight for me.”
“I will always fight for you, Mrs. Raniero,” I insist, picking her up and swooping her around and around in a circle until we crash upon the bed. “You are the one. You cannot think about that and leaving me in the same breath because it hurts you too much.”
“I hate you,” she says, holding back the tears. “I love you. I hate you. I love you so fucking much I hate you.”
“I hate you, too,” I reply with a wink as I hover above her fragile body. “And now I’m going to make love to you.”
A grin blooms across her face as she says, “At least you aren’t going to make hate to me… because fuck,” she flirts, gripping my guns and biting her lip as her eyes beckon mine. “I don’t want to ever be on the receiving end of your pissed off.”
I smirk from the corner of my mouth as my hands traverse over her lowly curves. She reaches up and kisses me hard and demanding. I sink inside of her as she welcomes me with a light scratch of her nails to my back.
“Why are we going to Boston?”
“Because you need to meet Nonna,” I mumble into her pile of hair as her fingers dig into my ass. “And Mama. And Maria.”
“They aren’t going to like me,” she alleges, breathing heavier. “I’m not the girl you were supposed to marry. And are you sure you should be getting so close to your father?”
Thrusting slow, I lift and pull her up to my lap, so we are face to face. “It isn’t like Dad is going to put a gun to my head, babe. He’s better behaved than that.” Stopping my moves, I pause, “Not by much, but ya.”
“You are his only son, I understand why…”
“Don’t side with him or this will turn into a hate fuck quick,” I growl, rocking my hips into her shelter. “He is a bastard. And an asshole.”
Her eyes dart around the room before she leans back in my hands. “Like father, like son.”
“That’s it, bitch,” I say, ripping her from me and plopping her face down. “You are asking for this…”
Her giggle holds the cues. “Would I ever do something intentionally wrong just to reap your punishment?”
“Yes,” I reply, taking her from behind like the vicious monster I am. Her hips tilt back to greet me as we fuck greedily in tandem. We are hungry, starving, and insatiable once we find the intimate balance. My hand comes down against her rump—not too hard, but just enough to remind her who is leading this dance now.
I may be in the top spot, but she is still guiding and providing me with training wheels. She is gorgeous in this position, arched and graceful and accepting. She was once a perfect submissive, and at times, I’m blessed to witness her splendor. I’m honored and humbled and grateful for the chance to parade her about like the shining star she is.
I happily take on the role of the post to hold her pedestal. “I will escort you to your father. Or try.”
“You will?” Her expression shifts to one of a serious thank you. “Pretty Boy… It’s time. You do your thing, and then Mistress Kaci is coming to pierce that bad boy cock of yours.”
“It’s about time,” I point out.
“But right now, I’m going to come, Raniero… And I’d appreciate it…”
“… If I’d come, too?”
Her laughter echoes throughout the room. “I do like you. And you’re so well trained.”
“Gee, I wonder who did that?” I pick up the pace, pushing her over the edge as she moans. I keep pumping inside of her as I let it go and come with a grunt. “Jesus fuck, Kace…�
�
“Yeah, we are fucking awesome together,” she says, rolling over as I collapse onto the bed. “We should order some food and make our last night the most memorable.”
“Agreed,” I acknowledge, starving. “How many lashes will I have to give to bring out the fire in my Dominant?”
She doesn’t answer, but smirks.
Hours later, she appears in the first outfit I ever met her in—a black vinyl full body suit with cat ears. Her shaking hands say too much about her condition, but I want the one piercing which has been promised to me more than anything.
“Right here. Straight through. Don't bend. I can get you forceps, but you don't need them. You can do this. You are a fighter…” she whispers as the conversation becomes more life coaching without Kaci than how to self-pierce your angry, one-eyed beast. “Don’t think. Just do it.”
Taking a breath, I plunge the needle through the tip of my cock as I know this is the first of many things I will have to do with only her guidance and teachings. She isn’t strong enough to be the Mistress I once knew. I have to pick up the ball and prove myself worthy of being a Master – not just her student, but her creation – it is the least I can do for the girl who has done so much for me. She has encouraged me to conquer all my demons, and I only hope I don’t fall prey to them in the end.
“It’s perfect, Raniero,” she whispers, placing the jewelry through the new hole in my dick. “Just like you.”
“I’m so far from perfect,” I mumble, grazing my knuckles along her jaw. “I’m only perfect in your eyes. The truth is I’m just a street thug with a boulder on my shoulder who is running from the past set on destroying me.”
“You tell it no,” she urges. “You tell it no because you are tough.”
I am tough.
But that doesn’t mean I’m unbreakable.
Part I
The Secrets & Her Lies
3. Always Whiskey, Baby
Friday, December 10
22 days before…
The sunlight beaming through the windows of the loft wakes me from a dream. I run my hands over my face and roll over in the tangled mess of white sheets.
Kaci is already up.
It’s not unusual for her to keep some odd hours. The medicines have strange effects, and sometimes, that means she is up, baking at four in the morning or napping by noon. I’ve grown accustomed to it. And her.
I smell her pillow—a delicate fragrance reminding me of warm cotton candy when I was a child. It’s a good memory of a happier, far less complicated time.
I absentmindedly scratch my balls and bump the erection, provoked by my dream.
God, I wish I could go back to sleep and to the place where I was mere moments ago. Of course, that makes me feel like an asshole because how do you explain to your dying wife that you are hard over losing your virginity to a fetish club girl.
Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I ponder a search of her name but decide against it for obvious reasons. Kaci knows my history from birth to this day and all of the details contained within—including the night where my secret world crashed into my reality.
It was summertime. I remember because I was out of school and working at the fishery over the break between my sophomore and junior year. It was hot as fuck—even in the early morning hours.
The Raniero Fisheries are my inheritance because the witches – my four older sisters – would never be seen there on a typical workday. They were expected to visit the docks one time per year at the annual Christmas party, and even that was like pulling teeth.
I wanted to do the pre-dawn deliveries. Having done everything in the warehouse since I was wee high, I was at home there. So, I worked up the courage to ask my old man for a job. I remember it went something like this—can I work with the fish all summer?
My dad – Cesario Raniero – is many things, but he is not the stereotypical Italian. He is quiet, discriminating with his thoughts and believing in one thing more than anything—family.
Minutes passed at our dinner table with his assessing thoughts and scrutinizing stares until he finally agreed to put me in as crew chief for the deliveries.
I knew the fishery was a front for the big crime business, but I didn’t care because I had a plan—a plan that involved the precious item which differentiated me from the witches—my cock.
I chose to work those hours in the dark for one reason. I love seafood, but in the heat—it fucking stunk. And when that stench reeks into your clothes, hair, and nose, no amount of shower, cologne, or prayer is going to make it any better. In a self-preservation effort, I told my old man that I wanted to go to work at three in the morning, seven days a week, all summer long.
Remember, I like fish.
Laying in our bed, I grip onto Kaci’s pillow as I continue to scan the messages on my phone, still wondering where she is.
Keep going; this one is worth it.
So, I’m a teenager, being groomed with fish to catch the bigger fish. Boats would come in, and I would be in charge, logging the stock and seeing to it that it ended up in the right bays. It wasn’t a bad job, but everyone knew Dad was giving his sixteen-year-old son a prime spot in his thriving company. Lucky for me, I was a charmer even back then, and the crew loved me.
I had worked there for a month. I set my alarm every morning and drove a used piece of shit motorcycle that I had picked up for cheap a couple of months earlier.
I had been on two wheels since I could walk, but most of my rides were competitive dirt bikes. Mama didn’t mind my fascination if I was jumping and racing on soil, but the second I got my license and told her I found a ride to take on the street—she blew a fucking gasket.
“Not my only son!” Blah. Blah. Blah.
I talked to Dad, who lifted his hands and said, “Mind your mother,” but he immediately followed with a whisper, “Go buy the bike. I’ll talk to her.”
Never one to argue with my father, I did it, and despite Mom’s second eruption, she eventually caved in. I promised to wear my helmet and be careful. I said all of those things women need to hear to stay stable. In this case, I agreed with her, and the bike was good enough to go the short distance from Nonna’s townhouse in Boston’s North End – Little Italy – to the pier.
Though I lived with my parents in the burbs, most of my great childhood memories were in the heart of the city with Nonna. From Memorial Day to Labor Day, I spent it with my maternal grandparents because I would have done anything to get away from my sisters.
There was a factor that no one ever considered into the equation – well, no one but me – I was bad. Not in the always finding trouble kind of way, but in the getting up early to go to work and zipping by the fetish club kind of way. I hoped to catch a peep of something exciting—men in leather gear, kinky couples, women on leashes—I was into it all.
Now, of course, this took me out of the jurisdiction of where Mama defined I could ride. But I didn’t care; the lure was too high. I had a short few months to soak up the culture that I so desperately wanted to be a part of, and on Sunday morning, I would confess my sins after mass and be forgiven, only to do it again the next week.
This was my version of bad.
I never hurt anyone. I never stole anything. I was respectful to my elders and kind to everyone, but I needed to feed my growing fascination with a kink I didn’t understand. And I did it by working for my dad and living with my grandmother.
I snicker softly at the memory as the temptation of looking up her name proves too risky. I toss the phone down and close my eyes.
That night five years ago, I left the townhouse at midnight and traveled deep into the city. I parked the bike and waited, propping my ass against it and smoking cigarettes I borrowed from Nonna.
An earlier thunderstorm glossed the streets with a glowing black slickness, and the lights reflected like mammoth swirling crystals. In my leather jacket, I pretended to look like I knew what the hell I was doing.
I didn’t have a fuck
ing clue.
But I put on a damn good show.
“Hey…” I hear the whisper from between the buildings. I tilted my head and gave a closer inspection. While I had no idea who it was or what they wanted, I was young, dumb, and frankly, horny. “Come here.”
With my less than intimidating frame, I stepped closer. I rubbed my hands on my jeans as my tongue darted from between my lips. Tasting the sweet and bitter tobacco, I said, “Hello?”
“Come with me,” the slight voice said in the shadows. “I'll get you a great spot. I see you here all the time. I know what you're looking for…”
In the darkness, I couldn't see her, but I felt her hand grip mine with a leather glove. A shiver ran down my spine as I worried I was about to get more than I bargained for, but I didn't care. I wanted to know what she had, and at that point, I would've followed her anywhere.
Through the dank back alleyways, we traversed until we came upon one dim spotlight, shining on the back entrance door. She unlocked the door, and my heart skipped a beat as the deadbolts released.
The industrial rhythms filled my ears, and the sweet smell of marijuana drifted in a cloud. I wanted to tell this girl everything.
I remember following her short frame in the leather jacket and black beanie and being completely nervous. We reached an alcove, and when she pulled back the curtain, I saw it all, including her face.
She was older than me, probably about college age. One look at her and it no longer mattered what was happening out on the floor. Her short, black hair trimmed to angle around her face and her decadent espresso colored eyes were enough to make me want to drown.
Laying in the mess of sheets, I snicker at the memory. Iris was not the first Asian girl I found attractive. I had a history—a long, sordid one with the opposite sex from the Far East.
My early inclinations tended towards any female in bondage gear—submissive or Dominant. But the older I became, the more I found myself attracted to the mystery and intrigue of a culture so different from my own.
Vote Then Read: Volume II Page 86