A Dark Place (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 5)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “… Sweet Baby Raniero?”

  “I’m gonna knock you one,” he says, kneading my ass cheek a little too long for this to be casual. I moan. “You need a name. ASAP.”

  “For a boy and a girl,” I anxiously realize, closing my eyes as his hand grips my shaft. With deliberate strokes, he paints the shower wall with my cum. “Shit, can I call my wife yet?”

  “Yes, Sal,” he gloats, smiling. “You can call your wife. Just promise me if it fails…”

  “You will be Deacon Raniero.” I wink.

  “As long as I am carrying your ass over the threshold,” he snickers. “Cause I will not let you pick me up.”

  “Are you going to put makeup on me again?”

  “Do you need makeup for me to fuck you like the slut you are?”

  “Nah, all I need to be your hussy is one look from those eyes,” I admit, cutting off the water. “I’m sunk on those babies. I’m sunk on you.”

  Grabbing a towel, he grins. “Baby Daddy Salvatore.”

  The Master

  With Cruz’s sauce sufficiently depleted, I grab his phone at 2 AM, shut the bedroom door, and flop on the sofa in my gray sweatpants. I put on the sexhat, light a smoke, and open the water bottle. I even place a fucking candle beside the roses from Cruz, just in case she wants my ugly mug on video.

  Everything must be perfect to court my wife.

  I check the battery on his phone and skim over his many contacts. Damn boy has almost as many as me. I keep him busy. My finger hovers over the button as I take a deep breath.

  Why the fuck is this so difficult?

  It’s not like I haven’t fucked this girl a thousand times. It’s not like I haven’t stalked her for years.

  This girl is different; this is unyielding love.

  Ay. Ay. Ay.

  With my trembling hands, I notice my phone light up. The text from Berk reads—“She’s a fucking snake.”—and I accidentally hit the button before I am ready.

  Shit.

  My heartbeat is racing as I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. I stopped breathing on the first ring.

  God, let her answer.

  Fuck.

  “Hello, there.” Her delicate voice sparks every nerve in my body. She doesn’t sound like one of the most sought after cartel leaders in the world. I should be scared. So should she. “Say something, Raniero.”

  Goddamn.

  “Guess what I have?”

  “Hopefully, not an STD,” she giggles as I sigh. “Sorry! Do tell.”

  “I have your wedding ring on my neck.”

  She softly asks, “Do you have my birthday present?”

  “Yes, baby girl,” I reply, hearing her cry. “I do.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Three days. You?”

  “My flight is boarding any minute,” she confides, sniffling. “Sofu is refusing to relinquish control to me. I have nowhere else to go. I snuck away from Berk.”

  “You’ve got to stop running if you want me to keep you safe and…”

  “May I come home, Sir?” she interrupts.

  My core burst into flames with the sounds of her needing me. Holy hell. “Did Sofu kick you out?”

  “No, but I can’t stay here, Sal.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Houston.”

  “I’m on my way. I will take care of you,” I volunteer, not thinking about the obstacles. Cruz is here, and he is more than capable of getting my boxes shipped. “Assuming you aren’t leaving me?”

  “I need you badly, Lucas.”

  “I’m coming, Angel baby.”

  98

  More Than Me

  The Master

  Standing in the crowded airport, I wait for her plane to arrive. Her flight took a bit longer than mine. Cruz offered to stay in Italy to get all the boxes shipped. He will be over in two days.

  Popping a piece of gum in my mouth, I glance up at the screen and see that she’s landed, and I smile. I’ve got one small bag and my backpack on a cart because I am anticipating her half dozen bags.

  “I’m here,” she texts. “Where are you?”

  “Ready to catch you.”

  I spot my girl in a periwinkle camisole, gray leggings, and my hoodie as she politely waits for an older couple to move. She’s not wearing any makeup. I smile, and she does the same.

  She walks straight to me, and I take her carry-on and purse, setting them on the cart.

  “Hi, I’m Iris Raniero,” she formally says, extending her hand as her eyes fill with tears. “I need to speak to Sal Raniero for a job interview. I’m a highly qualified and dedicated worker. As you can see, I’ll need to know the policy on maternity leave.”

  I know then and there that in her mind, Lotus is over.

  “I would love to hire you, and I would be happy to offer you a splendid signing bonus as well as perks.”

  She bats her naturally thick, long lashes, which perfectly frame and accent her stunning blue-violets. “Will I need to get your coffee?”

  “No,” I reply, playing along. “But, you will have to sit on my lap and be able to handle a lot of dic-tation.”

  “I outstandingly perform many tasks involving dick,” she earnestly declares with a straight face. I burst out laughing, unable to hold my composure. She touches my Henley-covered bicep, and her eyes open wide, looking exceptionally animated and Asian. “Ooooh! I love you in cream!”

  I dip down and whisper, “I love being in your cream.” I nuzzle her neck, and she gasps, laying her hands on my shoulders. “Can you love me forever?”

  “Oh, yes!” she eagerly says as I wrap my arms around her and my baby. I smell her hair and refuse to let go. “God, you feel good. Where do you want to go?”

  “I get to pick?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” I say, gazing at her gorgeous face. “Anywhere. I’m yours.”

  “Maybe you should be applying for the job, Mr. Raniero.”

  I snicker, “Will I need to audition?”

  “Uh, huh, at a hotel, naked,” she whispers. “Please.”

  “Houston or Austin?”

  “Houston is fine,” she giggles. “Unless you want to go home.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t care.”

  “Let’s stay here so we can reconnect for a couple of days,” she suggests, holding my hands. “I need to spend some time alone with my husband.”

  I note the baggage carousel is starting up. “How many bags do you have, baby?”

  She emotionally shrugs and shakes her head distraught. “I have my purse and carry-on.”

  “That’s it?” I ask as she nods. “Shit, you left…”

  “Ya, I did…to get to you…I need you to take care of me, Sal.”

  I latch her carry on to my rolling bag, toss my backpack on my shoulder, and grab her purse. “Let’s go. Do we need a car?”

  “I don’t want to leave the hotel,” she mutters as we take our own sweet time strolling through the airport. I am so accustomed to her being in heels; she seems short to me now, which makes me feel huge. I smile, knowing she’s in my care, and nothing will happen on my watch. I won’t let it. “I can take my purse.”

  Chewing my gum, I flirtatiously snarl. “It’s mine. I’m stealing all your money.”

  “Oooh! A robber!” She flicks her eyes at me. “I like your new necklace. Where did you swipe that rock from?”

  “Fuck!” I stop and unhook the clasp. Slipping the ring on her finger, I lean down and tenderly kiss her lips. Her eyes dance up to mine with a hint of suggestion. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Yeah, we do! I’m so happy!” She giddily squeals, but underneath the effervescent moment, I can tell she isn’t the same. She is broken, disheartened, and discouraged—depressed. We exit on a rainy day. “You want to take a cab?”

  “No,” I reply, heading for the limousine. “Follow me, beautiful.”

  “Where are we headed today, Sir?” the driver of the limo asks, loading our bags.

&nb
sp; “Give me a minute, please,” I say, scanning over my phone and calling the hotel as I help Iris get in. She is glowing like she is in love while I talk to the nice, older woman on the phone. “Okay, sorry about that. She’s holding the room long enough for us to get there.”

  “Do you need a credit card?” she sasses.

  “No,” I chuckle. “You’re getting the Presidential Suite for two nights, and there was no way I was giving her my credit card number outside of the airport. No worries, I got this.”

  “You didn’t need to do that. I can stay at a cheap motel and eat greasy diner food.”

  “Shh,” I reply, sliding into the back seat and lifting my arm. She readily snuggles up next to me. “We can stay at the place with the flashing lights and vibrating bed when you aren’t expecting my baby.”

  “Thank God! I’ve been saving all my quarters.” She gets tickled and laughs as we spar in our foreplay snark. It’s right; we’re good; this is our mating ritual. Taking my hand, she places it on her belly. “Yours.”

  “Baby needs a name,” I point out as we take the ride to the hotel. It isn’t long before she’s asleep against my chest. Poor thing is exhausted. Half an hour later, we arrive amid a torrential downpour. “Angel?”

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” she mutters with her eyes barely open. I step out and help her as our luggage goes inside. I pay the limo driver and finish checking us in while Iris glances around the lobby’s artwork.

  “Are all of the pieces for sale?” I ask the lady at the desk.

  “Yes,” she replies as I watch my bride, who is smitten by the enormous painting of a naked woman and her baby on the beach.

  “I want that one.”

  She looks up to see my gorgeous, pregnant bride. “You’re wife is stunning.”

  “Thank you, I’m pretty proud of her,” I brag. “She’s pure gold.”

  “Everyone wants that one,” she says, showing me the price. “It was done by a local woman, Maka Overim.”

  I consider walking away, but Iris is still studying the painting, speaking to her.

  Maka is an artist in many mediums—sculpting is her primary, and she apparently paints. She also designed lingerie for Emily’s business, Ever Hope, which I still own. I’ve been paying Delilah “The Dollmaker” Banks to run it since the church shooting, but Maka no longer works for me.

  Fuck it.

  Let the past go.

  “That’s fine. Can you have it shipped to my address?”

  “342 Del Rio Canyon Road in Little Bee?”

  “Yes, please,” I reply, “And send it to I.A.N. Raniero.”

  “Got it!” she excitedly chirps. “And put it on the card?”

  “That’s fine.”

  She hands back the card and the room key. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Raniero.”

  My heart stops.

  It’s all that.

  I smile at Iris and move to stand next to her. “I’m in love with this painting…”

  “It will look amazing on the wall when you walk in our house.”

  “… You bought it?” she squees. “No!”

  “Ya.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Pretty much,” I say, grinning and pointing at my cheek.

  “Oh, no, you are getting so much more than a peck on the cheek,” she whispers, sliding her hands on my shoulders. She blushes before glancing away. “We should go…nowala…”

  “Yes, we should,” I reply with a look of trouble and hand her the room key. I glance over her body and ask, “… Can I do it?”

  “Yeah, but I am really fat.” With a snort, I swoop her up into my arms, and she giggles again. I love that fucking sound. “I am surprised you asked me.”

  “I am a gentleman, Mrs. Raniero.”

  “Hopefully, not all night.” She winks.

  The lady at the desk laughs. “Have fun, kids!”

  “Thank you, Susan! See you in two days!”

  “How did you know…never mind… you’re Salvatore.”

  “And you’re the first pregnant girl I’ve ever carried.”

  “I want to be the only.”

  “First, only, and last?”

  “Yes!” she grins. “Forever.”

  His Butterfly

  Sitting in the bathtub overlooking the Houston skyline, I watch my husband running to answer the door. He carried me over the threshold and deposited me in the bathroom. Immediately, he made me a bubble bath and slowly removed my clothes, kissing each nipple and my belly. He twisted up my hair and helped me into the water before ordering dinner.

  “I’m not letting my pregnant wife get hungry, or she’ll eat my face off,” he said. I laughed and said, “Just your dick.”

  I am lost, not knowing what we’re doing or where we’ll end up. But the one thing I do know is the guy in the ball cap and dark gray joggers with no shirt on…he is mine.

  Lucas Salvatore Raniero is my husband.

  And God, I love him.

  I bite my lip as I watch him sprint past the double doors. We haven’t spent any length of time together, and it’s high time we do.

  Bringing in a short decorative table from the living room, he sets it by the tub and smirks at me. “Do you need anything?”

  “You and champagne.”

  He hastily kisses my lips and runs off again before returning with a bottle of sparkling non-alcoholic wine. “Where did you get that?”

  “Shhh!” He winks, uncorking it. It pops, and I giggle, splashing my legs as he hands the bottle to me. “I told you I would take care of you. Drink up, baby. I have three.”

  I squeal, and he brings in two trays of food. “Oh, my gosh!” My lips are wrapped around the bottle when I notice the drop of his pants and his taut ass that leaves me breathless. “You best leave that hat on.”

  He eases into the water across from me, and I ask, “What are we eating?”

  “Shrimp!” he says, and I smile wide. “Just lemon?”

  “Yes, please,” I whisper, watching his hands—inked but without his rings on—squeezing the lemon. I touch the bands circling his wrists. “You inked your wedding ring.”

  “I did it in Italy. Open,” he mutters, feeding me. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  “More!”

  “Should I order another?” he laughs as I take the next one from his fingers.

  “Depends,” I reply, covering my mouth. “What else did you get?”

  He lifts the lids on Oysters Rockefeller, crab legs, and seafood pasta with more shrimp, clams, mussels, and scallops. “I have a burger and cake in the other room.”

  “What kind of cake?”

  “Coconut with a mango filling and white with a raspberry.”

  I smile. “You know I’m not fond of chocolate.”

  “I know many things about you baby. You are the love of my life,” he confesses, staring into my soul. “I’m just terrified of losing you and getting so hurt that I won’t be able to get back up ever again. You have the ability to knock me out for good.”

  Touching his arm, I whisper, “You have the capacity to hinder and harm me too because I am looking at everything I ever wanted and if I lose you, I will never forgive myself. ”

  He places another shrimp against my lip, and I suck the lemon from it as my eyes beg for more. “Dear God,” he groans, finding me in the dark crevices where no light ever shines. “Where are we going, sugar?”

  “Save the crab for later,” I reply, curling my lips with my guilty seduction. I so have him. “Oysters.”

  “Strange choice for the girl who wouldn’t touch them.” He grins, taking the tiny forkful and placing it in my mouth. He eats one. We can’t stop smiling. I hand my beloved bottle to him, and he swigs back a long drink.

  I bravely reach out, touching his neck. “I am not used to seeing you without a necklace.”

  “I have about a dozen in my bags.”

  “I have no clothes,” I whisper.

  He swallows the drink. “I can put a necklace
on you.”

  I grin wide and shake my head. “I do believe I have a diamond choker somewhere.”

  “Better have it with you since you have no clothes.”

  “I left everything behind,” I admit. “I took your notes and my jewelry and vanished.”

  “Wait,” he says with concern. “Your grandfather doesn’t know where you are?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Fuck, baby,” he mumbles, kissing my lips and standing up. His skin drips, and I cannot look away from his dick because it’s right there in front of my face. I lift my fingers and touch him. “Jesus…Iris.”

  Admiring the shimmering hoop, I press my pouty lips to the supple tip, offering but a peck, and hastily pulling away, my mouth mere inches from his shaft. The back of his hand grazes over my cheek, and he removes the clip from my hair. My breath sweeps over the head, and my tendrils fall dampening in the water.

  The temptation of his touch heightens the tension, elastic and thick, as I watch his erection bloom. He slowly eases his fingertips against my scalp, rubbing, kneading, and running the comb of his fingers through the length.

  Surrendering my heart, I raise the white flag, aware of the reward, and risking it all as I submit my profanity to his vice. His fingers twist into my locks, and I succumb to the quaking desire.

  Barely making a sound, I breathe, “Salvatore.”

  The rhythmic drip cascades from the spout, but I do not move. His mossy emerald eyes poach my soul with an intense and unrelenting grasp that I cannot escape even if I want to.

  His fires lasso around my puddles, enshrouding them with warmth, and he sanctions my capricious deviations. His toughened fingers claim the threads as his, and he baits, “Are you hungry, baby?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to suck my cock, Iris?”

  “Yes, Master Nero.”

  99

  dark labyrinths

  The Master

  Strange things happen in the darkness; conversation becomes more meaningful, soulfully enriched, the visage obscuring the occultation. The interpretation rests in the formulation of language when we are blind to the expression, relying on the hoist of words to fill the gap from sight loss.