Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “You fought me on it because you didn’t want to be my sadist!”

  “Keep calling me out, why don’t you?” I egg her on just to keep her throwing a tantrum against my dick. “You want more, lil girl?”

  “Yes!”

  I push her to all fours on the seat. My hands quickly unfasten my belt, and I rip it from the loops. I fold it over several times. “Open your fucking mouth,” I command, placing it between her teeth. “Now bite.”

  Nothing like bite marks in my leather belts.

  And she owns them all.

  My zipper skids down as I thrust hard into her soaked pussy. “Yes!” I growl from deep in my throat. “Tighten that cunt around my hard cock.” My hand crashes into her ass with every thrust. “If I didn’t want to waste it, I’d be in your ass.” I plunge my finger into her puckered hole as my other hand grips her hip and forces her stride upon my shaft. Her pulse is amazing on my dick. “Fuck it!”

  I rapidly pull from her soaked hollow and shove my cock in her tense asshole. I hear the belt drop, and she cries, “Yes! Salvatore! Yes! Fuck me! Make me yours!”

  Leaning back, I close my eyes as all the fears dissipate into nothingness. I can fly with this girl. I always could. But knowing the limits—there were none. She completely trusted in me, and that put our love in a dangerous place.

  My hands grope at her breasts. Her nipples harden in my fingers as I stay buried in her bottom. I roll, and she grinds as the heated intensity becomes so taut, I know it won’t be long. I pull out and flop back to seat. “Get on my fucking dick so I can put my baby inside of you.”

  She doesn’t question, easing on and rolling slow. Her hair is a mess and drool pours from the corner of her mouth in long spindles. “We’ve got to get home.”

  “Ya, we do,” I agree, grasping her hips as she bounces on my dick. “You’re so fucking sexy when you give it you’re all.”

  “So are you,” she gasps, pulling my shirt off my shoulders and sinking her teeth into my flesh.

  “God, fuck…” I’m deep in her shelter as she brings on the pain with nips to my flesh. It’s been so long, and she awakens the cravings for more. “Harder, baby.”

  “Are we doing this?”

  “Yes, trust me.” I thrust up in a swirling hip dance as she savagely bites at my bicep. The pain is so good as I soar high on the endorphins. “More…” Her talons skate over my chest as I find absolution for the sins I’ve committed. “Does my dick feel good, baby girl?”

  “Yes,” she slurs out as fucked up as I am. “Come inside me, Sal. Come now.”

  Her pussy violently shudders on my shaft, gushing around me. “Do the nasty.”

  “In the backseat of the Raniero limousine?”

  “Yes,” I answer with a smirk. “Bring on your flood, and I will come hard.”

  Digging her nails into my pec, she snaps her teeth on the other one just above my nipple. Her eyes close as I rhythmically rock and hold back my orgasm.

  “Oh, God…”

  I feel the warm flood of her stream against my sack and shut my eyes. As soon as she finishes, I let go, exploding deep inside of her warm pussy. “Shit!” I moan as she rides against my bucks. I don’t let go, holding her steady, and keeping her on me. “Holy Mother of God, I needed that!”

  She collapses against my chest. “You’re going to have one hell of a cleaning bill for this one, Mr. Raniero.”

  “Do you think I care?” I boast, grinning. “I needed you to ground me.”

  “I ground something out of you.”

  “Stick baby, stick.”

  “Maybe you’re scaring the nest with your dark prayers.”

  I snicker, “If that’s true, I’ll stop saying it.”

  “Is there a reason we’re so gung ho on knocking me up?” she asks, curled in my arms. “I mean, I am too.”

  “Because unless you want to be continuously pregnant for years, we have to get started soon.”

  “Big Italian family, I know,” she whispers. “But if I wind up with your bun in my oven, will you marry me?”

  “I’m marrying you regardless.”

  “And what if kids aren’t in the cards?” She presses her lips to my rosary tattoo laying just above my heart. “What if this is all in vain?”

  “Then, we figure it out.” Petting her hair, I add, “But we do not stop trying.” I wink.

  She giggles. “I love you, badass.”

  “I love you more, Darlin’.”

  III

  Circles Back Again

  14

  A Pound of Flesh

  The Master

  “I don’t understand how someone managed to bid on it before it went up for sale,” I bark at Georgia on the speakerphone as I drive to my parents’ house.

  Correction, Cesario and Lucilla’s house. Stella and Vinny don’t have a house together…at least, I don’t think. And if they do, they aren’t sharing it with Michelle.

  “It looks as though the contract was already underway when it went up for sale,” she says. “But that’s weird. Why advertise it if someone’s already buying it?” She pauses. “Oh my God, Sal…”

  “Because someone wants to shove it under our nose that they are coming.”

  “You got it!”

  “Do you have a name yet?”

  “We’re still searching,” she says.

  “Where are you?”

  “In the hotel room with Jas,” she informs. “And not like that. We’ve got a late afternoon flight home to Nebraska. Got it!”

  I pull into an empty parking lot and stop the car in preparation of being very pissed off quite suddenly. “Tell me.”

  “One name.”

  “Huh?”

  “All it says is Etienne.”

  Grabbing a notepad out of the glovebox, I jot the name down. “E-T-I-E-N-N-E?”

  “Yep,” she confirms. “It must be an umbrella. Let me do some more excavation, and I’ll let you know if I find a body.”

  “Double the offer to Etienne.”

  “… To Etienne?”

  “You want to buy it from them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ugh, this shit is just getting weirder, doll face,” she mutters. “They only paid ten percent of the asking price.”

  “350?”

  “Yeah,” she replies. “You want me to offer 700 or 7?”

  I lean my head back in the Lambo. “I have the money, but it’s currently tied up.”

  “Don’t say words like—tied up—to me, Sal,” she quips, letting one of her wind-up toys go. “I get turned on way too much, slide out of my chair, and hit my head on the desk.”

  “Do 7,” I mumble, scratching my head. “If I have to borrow money from Daddy, I will.”

  “Hmm,” she says. “Dare I ask which one of the three, or should I just assume that to be Daddy Dom?”

  “Assume, this time.”

  “Consider it done, Boss.”

  I hang up the phone and sit in the lot for a good five minutes. I’m procrastinating. I don’t want to go to the family breakfast meeting. I had enough family yesterday. I even behaved—sort of—I am sure my stunt with Fran will be in the top three topics along with Father McPhail’s funeral and my beloved Lotus Queen showing up for the day.

  Deacon could be marginally tolerated as my right-hand man if we didn’t do anything “overtly gay”—Mama’s words.

  Iris never would be. She was an “Asian gold digger”—Cesario’s words, which made absolutely no sense considering she had access to much more money than I could ever dream.

  She was born a Queen; I was a street thug.

  Rowan hit the nail on the head. Iris was the royalty of the criminal underworld, and she could do much better than a schmuck like me.

  I make the short drive and park on the street because the driveway is packed. Everyone is here. This will be glorious.

  I get out and light a smoke as Aunt Michelle comes rushing out to greet me. “You do not want to go in there.”

  �
��I have to,” I reply. “It’s expected.”

  “Your father…Cesario…is losing it on Stella.”

  Running for the door, I quiz, “Where is Vinny?”

  “He’s out with Magno running a job.”

  (Read: bullying a non-payment.)

  I take a breath and open the screen door only to hear Cesario shouting, “What happened yesterday with you and Sal will not ever occur again!”

  “He’s my son!” Stella cries. “Not Mama’s!”

  Oh. Fuck.

  Taking a few steps inside, I make my presence known at the end of the dining room table. We have been here before. Let’s pray this time it goes better. With a deep breath, I ask, “What’s the problem?”

  “She cannot publicly be seen as your mother,” Cesario gruffs, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. “It confuses the clients. There has got to be an order to things. The right way to do things. And Stella, being seen as your mother, is not it.”

  I sit down—an improvement from last time—and pour a cup of coffee. Fuck, who am I kidding? Leave the cup and steal the whole pot. “That is exactly it,” I reply after taking a sip of the potent brew. “Stella is my biological mother, and she will henceforth be seen as such.”

  Her eyes light up as they meet mine. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Sit down, Mom.”

  “Lucas Salvatore, you will not call Stella, your mom in this house.”

  “Then we will no longer be in this house,” I reply, gulping back the coffee and standing up. “Get your things, Mom.”

  “I warned you, boy!” He wobbles up from the table. “Don’t say it! It hurts your mother.”

  “We’ve lived with enough lies,” I say. “And if it hurts Lucilla, then she only has herself to blame. The problem isn’t that you are afraid of me calling Stella—Mom. The problem is you don’t want to have to explain how the product of an incestuous relationship is running Raniero Enterprises.”

  “That’s quite enough from you!” He grumbles past the curio, coming closer to me. I don’t waver. I don’t move. “And you were the son of a bitch that had the nerve to show up with that slant-eyed vixen!”

  I should call her that when I’m spanking her next time. She’d probably love it and call me a filthy fucking paesano.

  I hear the screen door slam as he swings to slap my face. I grab his arm, stopping him. I don’t lose my cool as I merely state, “No more.”

  “If you fucking touch my fucking son again, Cesario,” Vinny yells, pointing the gun. “I will fucking blow your fucking head off, you fat fuck.”

  That was a whole lotta fucks, and I need to up my game.

  “Everyone, calm down,” Valeria urges. “We don’t have to do this every goddamned time! Dad, Sal has a right to have his real parents. Sal, Dad has a right to be upset about the whole thing.”

  “But it is their fault,” I argue.

  “Hush!” she shouts, getting up. “Shut up and listen to me. He has a right to be upset about the whole thing because your whatever-she-is spilled the damn beans. No one had any warning this was coming.”

  “They didn’t need to have a damned warning, Val! They fucking knew! They knew for twenty-eight years and never said a word about it. And if you bring Iris into this again, you better show some fucking respect.”

  “It was her fault!” Val yells. “She caused this shit. Not Dad or Mom. Iris. Your little chinko booty call of the day.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” I lunge, not thinking, more pissed off than I’ve ever been. Vinny lowers the gun and grabs my arms. “If you’re going to be slamming insults, get them the fuck right! She’s no more chinko than you are a white-trash honky! Oh, wait, I forgot, you’re a white trash wannabe!”

  “Fuck you, Sal!” Val bellows, knocking over a chair. “You wanna come at me, big man, baby brother. Shit!” She grimaces. “Sorry, I forgot you weren’t really part of the family anymore.”

  I’m going to hit a woman because that one hurt. I heave and glower up with fire in my eyes.“Let me go!”

  Hell, my old man is strong.

  “Don’t do it!” Vinny warns, “Bitch ain’t worth it, Kid!”

  “I’m going to marry her, Val!” I hiss. “I’m going to marry her and have loads of little half-mutts with slant-eyes and curly mops!”

  “Sinner!” Lucilla runs full speed with a frying pan aimed at my head. “Sinner!”

  “Get out of here now!” Stella rallies, backpedaling to the door as we run outside. “What the hell was that?”

  “A goddamned fucking mess!” Michelle declares. “We gotta stop meeting here.”

  I bend over, breathing and thinking, as I try and figure out what to do. I stand upright, shake my head, and declare, “... I’m leaving.”

  The hurt look on my mom’s face is real. “… You’re what?”

  “I can’t stay in Boston anymore,” I mutter. “It’s toxic. It’s not healthy. And I’ve been here long enough. I’m going home to Texas.”

  Praise Jesus, sing Hallelujah!

  I head towards my car. “Sal, wait…I have your cuff links.”

  She places them in my hand as our eyes meet. I never realized how much I look like her…like Vinny too. It’s eerie. Creepy.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I mumble. “I can’t handle all this shit.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she says. “I just thought…”

  “Give me your phone.”

  Without question, she unlocks the screen and hands it to me. I program in my personal and private numbers as well as Deacon. I don’t give her Iris’ number, not yet. But I do include Kali Ose’s number and list her as Iris’ contact. I finish, and she takes it from my hand. “Call. Text. Anytime. Day or night.”

  “We aren’t done?”

  “We haven’t even gotten started,” I point out. “But I want you to get to know me—the real me—outside and away from them. If I stay here, that won’t ever happen.”

  “If you get a chance, swing by the city.”

  “I might,” I chirp. “I’m not sure where we’re going. I mean, I’m headed to Texas, but I need some time to drive and clear the rattles.”

  “I got you,” she consoles with a smile. “Can I have a hug?”

  “Of course!” I step closer, and I know this is going to sound weird, but I take a good whiff of my mom. I want to remember what she smells like and how good comfort feels.

  I don’t blame my mom.

  I can’t. And I can’t call her anything but Mom, not now. Not after sitting on the ground with me for hours. Did it make up for twenty-eight lost years? No. Nothing could. But holding back wasn’t the right option for me either.

  I did blame her at first, but she was fifteen. Fifteen. This isn’t her fault. I blame Vinny, but I haven’t even started processing how to handle my feelings towards him.

  He was twenty-nine, almost my age, and sleeping with a teenage girl. It goes against everything I fight for, every girl I’ve saved, every minute I spent over more than a decade working towards.

  How do I save the girl?

  If I’m honest, I’m not past the point of wanting to kill him, and I may never be. And that sucks because I adored my Uncle Vinny before I knew he was some sort of child predator.

  Before he was my father...

  I could excuse a little gap—if he had been eighteen, hell even, nineteen. Or maybe I’m all off-base. Maybe she fell in love. Maybe she seduced him. Maybe he isn’t some creeper. Maybe it says something that their affair—uncle to niece—is still going on, thirty years later. Maybe it is true love. Or maybe sometimes shit just happens and we can’t explain it.

  But that goes against my grain...

  I analyze people. It’s what I do.

  Every action and their reaction.

  I must get to a place of acceptance, and the only way to do that is by leaving Boston and the bad memories behind. I’ll come back one day when I’m stronger, when I’m braver, when I’m more equipped to handle the demons of my past.


  And that has to be enough.

  Because that is all I can give.

  It’s okay for me to be fucking confused as fuck. I’ve had a bit of trauma.

  I let go of my mom and stride back up the grass, past Vinny and Michelle, to the house. I open the door to my childhood home with the understanding this may be my last time—like this—here. I will change. They will change.

  “Sal?” Mama says. “Is that you?”

  I don’t answer as I sprint up the stairs, taking two at a time, and open the door to my room.

  In the closet, I find an old box of toys and dump it on the floor. I grab all my journals, sketchbooks, photo albums, and a couple of my favorite books. I pack the wooden box holding my class ring and the rosaries I’ve collected over the years from Old Poppa and Nonna. I grab my favorite teddy bear, a few of my favorite shirts from high school, and my letter jacket.

  I take a good look around and walk out.

  In the dining room, I notice the family has resumed breakfast like nothing happened. Because it didn’t. Because they don’t care.

  “I’m leaving. I just wanted to say goodbye.” I turn around, despite Mama’s pleas, and leave. I dash past Vinny and kiss Aunt Michelle on the cheek. “Call me, Chelle.”

  “I will,” she says, wiping away a tear. “Be careful out there.”

  Standing by my car, Mom opens the passenger door. “This is a wicked ride.”

  “Thanks,” I proudly snarl, setting the box down. “I’m going.”

  “I know.” She contains her emotion. “I love you, Lucas.”

  “If you need someplace to stay, or getaway, I have the farmhouse about forty-five minutes from here. You’re welcome to use it until I’m ready to sell it.”

  “You’re not coming back,” she mentions as the shock hits.

  “No, I’m not coming back, but you can call or text or hop on a plane anytime. My issues are not with you.”

  “That means the world to me.”

  I give her another hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”

  Her tears finally fall. “We aren’t done.”

  “No, Ma’am,” I confirm, not wanting to let go of her hand. “Not by a long shot.”