“How do you know I’m going to fall asleep?” I question, grinning. “I may stay awake and give you a handjob the whole way.”
“Are you ready to start your life with me?”
“Yes, Salvatore, I am,” I whisper. “Forever.”
We arrive in Ogunquit, and I whisper, “I need to twinkle.”
His lip curls. “You need to twinkle?”
“Yes,” I say, giggling. “Please. And unless you want to get in the backseat of your beastly truck and let me whoosh all over you, I need to stop.”
He offers a full-blown grin. “The idea is appealing,” he flirts, turning into the gas station. “But, I’ll let you go twinkle here.”
“Don’t make fun of me!”
Tossing his shades up in his hair, he leans on the console. “Whizz. Leak. Piss.”
“… Twinkle.” He can’t repeat it without laughing, which, of course, makes me laugh even harder. “Oh, crap! I’m gonna pee!” I grit my teeth, yank the door open, and run inside.
I barely make it to the toilet, after waiting three minutes for some woman with two kids to leave. I sigh, relieved as I finish and grab some paper. I blink at the red stains. “Fuck!”
I try and remind myself that we’ve only been together a couple of weeks, and this is only the beginning. But…damn. This is going to be a hard journey.
No one warns young girls how to deal with disappointment, guilt, and shame when their bodies fail to meet the ideal expectation. No one tells us how much it will hurt every time the red monster rises from between our legs and shows her ugly head.
I tell myself I won’t cry, but I have to endure going to the truck, getting a tampon out of my purse with his eyes on me, and coming back in. Add in some humiliation to the emotional shit pile of menstruation.
Upset and frustrated, I swing open the door and run into Sal. He’s grinning. My beautiful, handsome devil that I have failed. I mean, I know I haven’t failed him, but at the moment, that is what it feels like. He’s looking happier than he’s ever been as I look down and skirt past him.
Grabbing my elbow, he asks, “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I gotta go.”
“Go where?” he whispers, almost panicking that I’m going to leave.
“I need something,” I mutter, finally lifting my eyes. He knows. He sees it—the hurt and shame.
He plants a kiss on my lips. “Get back in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
And my first thought after that—
Oh. Shit.
This is happening.
I sneak back into the bathroom. I’m trembling and shaking, knowing my boyfriend is Sal Raniero, and we’re together. He’s doing every-single-fucking-thing he promised, including but not limited to, tampon retrieval from the truck. I know he’d retrieve it from other places too.
He knocks three times, and I smile. He holds the tampon up between his fingers. I snatch it and him. “Did you just start?”
“Yeah.” I drop my pants and twinkle some more. “I’m sorry.”
He squats down in front of the gas station toilet and looks at me with those penetrating eyes. “Don’t. I just need to perfect my aim.”
He has me laughing again. “I don’t know that your aim is the problem.”
“No, the problem is,” he says, checking his watch. “We’ve been together for eight days.”
“... It’s only been eight days?”
“Ya.” He smirks, but his voice is serious. “I’m gonna hit the fucking target, but your body has been through a lot, and so has mine. We just need some time.”
“Or to bang more,” I quip, and he laughs.
“Give me that damn thing.”
“Sal…”
“Dandy,” he reprimands, ripping it open with his teeth and licking the tube. I scrunch my nose, studying his adept moves with tampons.
“How…”
“I have…had four sisters,” he mutters. “You learn a few things when you share a bathroom.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Cat was always a prankster, and she liked to empty the cotton from the tube. The girls were so oblivious that they never realized it until one day, Stella went to the bathroom, took out a tampon, stuck it in her mouth, and came out whistling the damn thing like a flute.”
“Oh, my fucking God!” I close my eyes, laughing. “She didn’t!”
“She did,” he says, nodding as he pushes the plunger. “Mama about fucking killed Cat. Grounded her ass for a month because the brand-new box was empty.”
“Were Val and Gaby always into themselves?”
“Pretty much.” He washes his hands and splashes some water on his face. “Stella was always working the problems, and Cat would cause a stir because she was the youngest of the girls and fighting for attention.”
Washing my hands, I admit, “I wish I had a sibling like that.”
We leave the bathroom, and an old biddy gives us the evil eye like we’ve been up to no good. I don’t care, my hand is in his, and I am Sal’s girlfriend.
“Here try this,” he encourages, holding up the Brussel sprout. “They’re delicious.” I turn my nose up, but he won’t hear of my rejection. I must try everything twice. It’s a rule with him. And by everything, I do mean everything. “Open.”
“It feels like one of your balls but with leaves,” I garble with the gross thing lying dead on my tongue.
He gives that priceless grin and splashes bathwater at me. “Chew that damn thing up. I swear, wolves raised you. Actually, no… Wolves eat better than you do.”
I chew, making faces, and reluctantly, I swallow. “I was raised by my nanny either cooking soups and stews or picking up fast food.”
“You don’t know how to eat,” he grumbles, cracking the crab claws. “We gotta change this.”
“I like cake.”
“You cannot exist on cake.” He rolls his eyes and brings the fork, holding crab meat slathered in butter to my tongue. I moan. “I’m teaching you how to fucking eat.”
“Now, this is good,” I mumble, enjoying the bits of crab. “More, please.”
“What did you eat at Gennaro’s?”
“Pasta. Pasta. And more pasta.”
He holds the champagne glass to my lips, and I guzzle it down like a good little lush. “Just pasta and sauces?”
“Usually,” I answer, staring at his shimmering olive skin. I remember this man before all the ink. His silver chain and crucifix gleam under the bright lights. “Sometimes, I’d feed it to the dog, go to bed hungry, and get up in the middle of the night to eat half the Italian cream cake.”
“You just like eating Italian cream in the middle of the night,” he deadpans, teasing my lips with an enormous piece of crab leg between his fingers. I open my mouth and suck the meat suggestively. He bites his lip, watching me. He finally lets me have it and rubs his thumb over my mouth. “I’m getting so fucking hard.”
Closing my eyes, I finish chewing and run my tongue over my butter covered lips. “Mhmm.”
He moves swiftly, splashing water onto the tile floor—which is one of the most heavenly sounds ever—as I spread my legs up onto the sides and slide beneath him.
And he lets me have it.
All of it.
17
Dangerously Fucking Cute
His Butterfly
“Where are we going?” I ask, bopping my head along to his rap music. I’m feeling rather thug in his baggy jeans (his suggestion because of my cramps), tank top, ball cap, and hoodie two days later. I’ve got my foot on the dash as I scroll through my email. “This is ridiculous. I got in the truck with you two hours ago and didn’t even ask where we were headed. You could abduct me.”
“Maybe I already have,” he flirts with a snarl. “The City. New York.”
We spent two days seeing the touristy sites of beautiful Maine. We walked on the beach and attended the theater and visited countless gift shops or…it was two incredible days with his dick buried in every orifice I possess.
I can’t walk. I mean I can, but well, you know. His dick is an excellent prescription for these atrocious cramps I’m having.
I told him he’s trying to earn his picture in the dictionary next to the word: SAVAGE.
With his cock covered in my blood, he lifted his also red gloved hands and joked, “No, just FERAL.”
“Why are we going to New York City?”
“I’m going to make sure my mom is okay,” he confides as we drive. “I can’t go back to Texas and not check in on her. I need to know she is stable, back where she belongs, and not trying to pick up the mess I left behind in Boston.”
Whoa. Stop.
Everything they say about guys and how they treat their mothers is totally true. My heart melted at okay, and I fell in love with him even more at stable. I’d never seen his ability to care for a parent like this.
I know he cares about Cat, but his words are taking my breath away. “That is the kindest thing you’ve ever said.”
“You’re not mad?”
“No,” I reply, strumming my fingers on my thighs to the beat. “Why would I be?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Because I’m driving us into traffic hell.”
“Nah,” I say. “Tokyo is very congested. Do we have someplace to stay, or should I find us a dive?”
“Oh, I’ve got a dive all figured out,” he informs, keeping a straight face. “Times Square suite dumpy enough for you?”
“No!” I squeal, giddily. “I’ve never been there!”
“And I got tickets to a Broadway show too!” He sticks his tongue out. “I want you to have fun.”
“Kill Rat because of Mack,” I confess, leaning back in the seat and playing with his curls. “He kept Mitch from raping me again. I got him on the playing field with some mid-level Japanese guys that were on their way up. He made a ton of money and asked where he should put it. I suggested Kill Rat because I knew of their growth potential.”
He doesn’t react—in any way. “I’m glad you feel Mack helped you, but he will always be a cream cheeser…he’s a pansy-ass man. And if I were you,” he mutters, blinking at me. “I wouldn’t put too much faith in him.”
“There are different levels of faith.”
Grabbing the bottle, he gulps the water. “How much faith do you have in me?”
“I got into a vehicle with you, having no clue where we were going, not bothering to ask and let you drive. I would say I have a lot of fucking faith in you, my future husband.”
He didn’t expect those last two words as a wide smile bursts onto his face. I stroke his scruffy cheeks, unshaven, and growing wild. “Are you going to clean up for the show?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Not too much.” I admire him. He is stunning. “I like the thug in you.”
“That’s what every princess says when she meets her match.”
“You are that, Mr. Raniero.”
“Look at all the lights in the rain,” I moan, rhythmically breathing, as he presses my naked body to the window of the hotel room. Room service sits untouched on carts, but the open champagne bottle rests on the window ledge. We stopped caring about flutes about the same time we stopped caring about condoms and safety and emotionally hurting one another.
He spreads my arms out wide on the glass as he thrusts up into me. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“I’m standing on an empty dresser drawer.”
“I know,” he groans into the nape of my neck, running trails with his tongue along my spine. “It makes you the perfect height, shorty.”
I giggle. “I’ve never been called shorty before.”
“Because you’re usually in heels that could kill a man.”
“Why does your dick feel so amazing?”
“Because we’ve never done this,” he whispers, nuzzling my neck.
“Honey, you’ve fucked me against windows since we met.”
“We’ve never had this much intimate time together. I’ve spent more time with you since Christmas than I have in the last five years.”
“Oh, God,” I ponder, rolling my ass against his hips. “You’re right.”
“Ya,” he says. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
“Makes me think we should have done this so much sooner,” I mutter, feeling all his love inside of my body and soul. “I want to watch your ass fucking me.”
He stops moving and laughs. “… What?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, blushing. “Inside thoughts. Never mind.”
“Tell me those…inside thoughts…all of them.”
His knuckles brush over the side of my breast. “Why?”
“I want to keep your hopes and dreams in the cage of my heart and make them all come true.”
“Because you have this fucking fantastic backside, and I want to see what you look like while fucking me.”
“So, not fucking another girl?”
“Nero,” I warn as he sniggers. “Not if you want to keep your dick happy.”
“Dick happy,” he repeats. “I like that.”
“No, and I mean, I’ve seen you and Deacon together, but not like that. And that isn’t even what I want, I mean, I do, and I would, but I want to see you making me have an orgasm.”
“You’re a nasty lil girl.”
“I am,” I coyly say. “If you want to do stuff with Deacon, I won’t complain. I could wear some sort of suit and look all-powerful while you went at one another. I’d get hot and bothered and be forced to touch myself.”
“Jesus fucking Christ…” He thrusts hard into my pussy. “You want to watch me fuck. I must find a room with mirrors.”
“Yassss!” I moan, biting my lip as he sends wave after wave of pleasure through my entire body. “Fuck me, Sal.”
“You want to see the arch in my back, the tightness of my ass when I buck into you like this,” he rumbles low, breathing hot words over my skin. “You want to see the muscles flex in my thighs and arms. You want to watch my Iris Amarie dance on my shoulder blades.”
“Yes, please,” I beg as he relentlessly claims my body. “I’m going to come!”
“Come to my monster, baby.”
I let go, high on our addictive sweet love, but he doesn’t shoot. “Are you okay?”
“Do not move your hands,” he warns with a commanding tone. “Open your eyes. Look at the snow,” he suggests as I gasp. “Keep them open.”
His hand sloughs from my wrists, railing rough fingers over my arms, and coiling his knuckles around my fragile neck. I am so small compared to him. He’s pushing the limits, and we’re growing. But I panic, scared of his supremacy over my body and his influence on my mind.
His love is a drug I cannot say no to.
I crave more of the nirvana he guides me to, even if my last gasp of air is beneath his palm. I’m too far gone to save; I just pray he lets me go slow so that I can savor every last possible second of my life in his torturous wrath.
“Sal…”
“Calm,” he eases, moving his cock—deep and slow. “Trust.”
I’m going to die tonight when he chokes and fucks me to death.
“Lucas Salvatore,” I stutter out as tears form in my eyes.
“Look at the snow, Iris.” He boldly rides the waves of my ocean with his cock, surfing through my choppy capsizing waters, and staking his claim amidst the threatening pulse as his grip tightens just enough to warm me…just enough to command me…just enough to express his Dominance over my spirit. Just enough. “I’m going to put a collar on you. Would you like that?”
Staying entirely still, I feel my love for him detonate in my soul. This is the moment every submissive dreams of…the moment I practiced for…the moment I set my heart on…the moment he decides I belong to him.
His collaring proposal frees my surrendering slave.
I want to dance in a field of wild red poppies and run through waist-high blue irises and sway in his arms against the backdrop of a million sunsets. And when the moon rises as the su
n falls, he’ll rise like a dark, intimidating shadow, and I will whisper his name.
His voice brings me back. “Answer the question. Will you accept my collar?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“After I make you come again…”
“Wait!” With my eyes open wide, I flinch, unprepared. “... Tonight?”
His hand quickly drops between my breasts, grazing over my belly, until his finger dips into my slit and spreads my lips wide, exposing my clit. He rubs circles—fast, slow, rhythmic, spastic—as we sweat and fuck against the cold, hard glass.
Thrusting. Harder. Faster.
… Until I spread my fingers, flat and wide, against the water-etched hazy blur of the glass, and he comes with a deep guttural roar of ecstasy. I feel his heartbeat pounding against my back as we slick against one another.
“Look at all the glistening ice, Iris,” he whispers, dangling the diamond choker collar before my eyes. “Look at the pretty snow.”
“Shit,” I mutter, intently gasping. “Where did you have that?”
“I kept it wrapped on my right wrist with all my bands.”
Tears fill my eyes as I spin around on top of the drawer. With his hand holding mine, I step to the floor and kneel before my Master.
“You are mine, Iris Amarie,” he strictly emphasizes, fastening the collar around my neck. “And you will always be mine.”
“Yes, Master Raniero, I am yours, eternally.”
“Where are you going?” Sitting up, I awake in a daze, tangled in white hotel sheets and naked except for a strand of diamonds clasped around my neck. My eyes blink to focus on the fine specimen of a man in a navy suit. “God, you’re hot in a suit.”
“You’re hot in sheets…”
I toss myself back to bed and cover up my head. He tugs at the fabric. “No, no… It’s too much, I can’t handle that much sexy this early in the morning, especially when I’ve felt your cum dripping out of me all night.”
He snickers, “Fine, don’t kiss me. Goodbye.”
I furiously flip down the sheet, thinking he is serious, and his mouth engulfs my nipple, gently sucking and snickering. “Mmm, titties for breakfast.”
Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4) Page 13
