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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  This was different.

  “Cruz?”

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “I NEED you.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Headed to Randy’s cabin. Spider is there.”

  “I’m leaving now. He won’t be creeping you out much longer.”

  I hadn’t heard from her since the night she called from Washington. I was pissed she wanted me to leave Sugargrove, yet within six hours, I handed over temporary sheriff duties to Kristina “Kit” Jolly, packed the Tennessee Twelve, and got the hell out of Dodge.

  Trudy refused to come because Sal’s fucking daego cousin was coming into town. Prick. I’m convinced Ma is trying to kill me with all her recent salacious activities involving Donatien “Dragon” Ravenna. Cocksucker.

  How am I supposed to feel when my sixty-one-year-old mother is banging an eighteen-year-old kid like she’s a bitch in heat?

  It’s fucked up.

  I haven’t hit him…yet.

  I am certain it is just a matter of time.

  I asked Dom if I could crash at The Dollhouse while the boys converted one of our old warehouses. I told Sal about going to New Orleans for a bit. He didn’t care. But I also didn’t bother to mention I did it because Iris asked me to.

  Maybe I was her good little bitch.

  “Where’s Bianchi?”

  “He’s upstairs having some FaceTime fun with a blonde.”

  “… For real?” I ask dumbfounded.

  Grabbing the whiskey bottle from the cabinet, Sal replies, “No shit.”

  “… Is she hot?”

  He shrugs as we stroll out onto the screened porch. We’re just getting settled after a busy day. I pour two glasses of whiskey, flick my pack of smokes open, and realize the bud I’m wanting isn’t there.

  Amid our tranquility, Sal’s phone vibrates on the table. “It’s Dom. I should take this.” He picks it up. “Yes, Poppa Bear?”

  I chuckle and whisper, “Where is your silver case?”

  He tilts the phone away. “It’s in my truck.” Grabbing the keys from his pocket, he tosses them to me. “In the lockbox.”

  I veer around to the side of the house to his beast. I punch in the code to unlock the doors and examine the keys until I find the one for the lockbox. It slides out of the drawer, and I put my thumbprint over the scanner. It’s a ridiculous piece of expensive equipment that likes to get hung up on the rollers, but Sal insists on having certain things.

  Hearing the beep, I lift the lid. “What the fuck?” I run my finger over the gold embossed emblem on the blue satin box as I try and decide if snooping is in my best interest. I know what it is. I want to see the fucking thing. I swipe it up and pull out the ornate wooden box.

  “Holy fucking shit…”

  “You like it?” Sal asks, sneaking up on me.

  “It’s a piece and a half,” I mutter, awestruck and hurt. I wish he would’ve told me.

  “I guess a better question is—do you think she will like it?”

  “She’s gonna love it, man.”

  He grins and grabs the silver box. “Mass helped me get it,” he booms with excitement. “And Dom wants to know when I’m doing it.”

  That’d be nice to have known, any of it.

  I return the wooden box to the gift box before repeating the process to lock the thing up. “Make sure you get pictures.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Not at all.

  “Yeah, I’m just tired.”

  He lights a joint and suggests, “Take a couple hits off this and go lay down.”

  “I need to,” I agree, taking a toke as we walk back to the screened porch.

  Laying his hand on my shoulder, he says, “Thank you for today.”

  “I killed a man, Sal.”

  “It meant a lot that you came,” he assuages with a shrug and hugs me. I try, but the fallout is real—the murder, the ring, and the trouble we’re about to be in. I see it all coming, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. There is no emergency brake on the ride of Sal. Or, for that matter, Sal’s Ride.

  And maybe I’m just tired.

  It’s been a long fucking day.

  I nod and head inside to the sofa. I spend the next three hours, tossing and turning until my back is so out of whack, I give up.

  I peek in on Iris, who is sleeping alone.

  “Fuck,” I softly whisper, rushing towards the porch. “Oh, fucking Christ!”

  The remnants of his party are evident.

  Yesterday, Iris tried to warn Randy and Sal of the inevitable after-effects, and she wasn’t wrong. I rapidly decide to do what I all too often do and clean up his mess. He’ll sleep it off on the porch swing, citing exhaustion, and they’ll believe him.

  Because his secret is safe with me.

  Because I had nothing to do with shoveling snow in his winter blizzard.

  Because I am as innocent as a Saint.

  I cover him up with my blanket from the sofa, take the silver case back to the lockbox, and refuse to cry over a ring. He is in love with her, but…

  He went too far last night.

  This is an isolated incident. I lie to myself because the truth hurts. My lover is getting married, failed to include me in his plans, and he’s snorting vials of coke up his nose.

  I don’t think about any of it as I go to take a piss and check on Iris. I stare at her until the sun starts to come up. She’s tangled naked in the sheets, no doubt waiting for her Dark Prince who never came.

  She tosses over onto her side, and the sheet lifts, exposing her bottom. Examining closer, I furrow my brow at the blue bruises on her ass, surrounded by all the creamy porcelain skin. I understand the dynamic better than most. I get this shit happens.

  But I need to go—now.

  Closing the door, I walk to the side of the bed and kiss her head. “I’m going beautiful. Be careful.”

  She rolls over, waking up, and sleepily asking, “Why are you going?”

  “I need to get back,” I excuse, furthering the lies as the collar on her neck splits my soul in two. “I got a shipment coming in later today.”

  She reaches to hug me as her fingers clench the fabric of the hoodie. “Don’t go. Come lay with me.”

  Oh. Jesus. Fuck. No.

  And then she baits, “Please, Cruz.”

  “One hour.”

  I am not her good little bitch.

  I keep a good distance.

  She’s our bottom but his girl. I know the limits. My job is to provide for her and him.

  Suck it. Swallow. Cradle her. Spoon.

  But there is a line that exists which should not be crossed. Her head is on my forearm, and her fingers are holding mine. It’s all innocent and good until it’s not.

  I’m a foot away as she happily dozes and rams her derriere into my dick. I’m not hard, and I’m not trying to be.

  This is Sal’s future wife.

  I repeat the phrase like a record stuck on repeat. I try to close my nostrils by burying my face in my arm. I try not to feel her smooth skin holding my hand. I try not to react to the wiggle in her buttocks, brushing against the cotton fabric of the gray sweatpants.

  I should get up.

  I should get up right fucking now before I am up.

  He should’ve been in here last night. He should be in her every night. He should’ve been present. But he’s so fucked up…and I know it’s not on him. He’s got issues that are not who he is, and we forgive those. We overlook them because we love him.

  But for once, I want to not be the responsible adult in our trinity. I want to be the real bad boy, getting away with anything I want, and I want to love his girl like she should be loved.

  If it were my girlfriend and he fucked her…

  Oh, wait…he did.

  And I forgave his stupid ass.

  Her right arm lifts and drops to my cheek. Her sweet, slender fingers run over my scruff as she backs up even more. I don’t move. I should. “I know you’re awake,” I wh
isper, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her closer. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “… What?” she questions, stretching out and rubbing her ass against me. “You showed up.”

  “And this is how you thank me?”

  A light giggle flutters from her lips. “No, this is not how I want to thank you.”

  Fuck.

  I should stop and tell her the whole truth—the ring, the coke, and the slippage in the man she loves—but I have no fucking clue what she would do. I cannot be the reason she walks away. I cannot be the reason to break their hearts.

  I’ll lose both.

  Her hand drops to my hip. “Just move a little, Deacon.”

  “Babe, if I do that.”

  “… What?”

  “There won’t be any turning back from the lies.”

  “You assume we could now,” she contends. “But are they really lies? What is real here?” I think she’s just rolling over, and she does, to straddle me. “You think I don’t know. You think I’m innocent. You think you’re protecting me. I know what he did last night.”

  “… How?”

  “I snuck out the front door when I woke up in bed alone. I couldn’t find him,” she informs as my hands fall to her thighs. “I expected him to be banging you on the screen porch. I was prepared for that, but not what I saw.”

  The Master’s submissive is naked, on top of his other submissive, and somehow, I’m supposed to take the lead.

  And I could—so fucking easily.

  But I don’t want to.

  Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she rolls her hips against mine. “What are we going to do?”

  I’m getting hard and can’t deter it. “I don’t know.” My fingers touch the diamonds surrounding her neck. I could give her those and so much more. I could give her love. “We have to stop,” I mumble through gritted teeth as I carefully toss her to the bed and stand up. “I can’t do this to him.”

  “Deacon,” she says, kneeling on the bed and lacing her arms around me. “It’s going to hurt no matter what happens.”

  I spin around and brush my rough hands over her cheeks. “You don’t think I know that. I see you with him, and all I can think is how much better I could do. And I am in love with the guy. I would do anything for him. Anything. He is in every cell of my being, but when he is with you… All I can think about is how much in love with you, I am. And how much I am going to lose.”

  Her teary eyes see straight through my soul. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with both of you.”

  “You didn’t drive to Texas looking for Sal…”

  “No,” she admits, crying hard. “But you must never repeat those words.”

  “You should’ve kept going South,” I quip as tears run down my cheeks. “Just a little bit further to the South and East.”

  “Just a little bit further,” she repeats as our lips crash against one another. I crave her kisses. “You should go, Saint. Stop letting mafia boys hold a biker boy down.”

  I smirk and run my tongue over my lips. “I’ll try.”

  “You could’ve made me an old lady.”

  What the fuck?

  “No.” I shake my head. “We’d have babies by now, sweetheart. And you wouldn’t be my old lady because I would’ve left the club long ago.” Her expression shifts as the trickle of tears erupt into a waterfall. Her words send a realization through me. If I would give it all up so effortlessly, then I haven’t been living up to my potential. “I’ve got my priorities straight.”

  “Deacon…”

  I walk to the door and glance back one final time. “I’ll see you in New Orleans, beautiful.” I pause a little too long. “Thank you for the memory of the morning. It’ll have to be enough to sustain me.”

  “You’re starving, Deacon. Don’t you see?” she begs, gripping the sheet. Her sobs hurt my heart. “Don’t leave, please.”

  “If I stay, I’m going to do things he will never forgive me for. And I can’t do that. I’m a better man than that, and as much as I hate it, I’m a gentleman. And I’m a goddamned shining knight on a white horse.”

  “You will always be my Dark Saint.”

  24

  The Inequity of Bliss

  His Butterfly

  The sound of the bike rumbles as he leaves. I dry my tears enough to toss on Sal’s jersey and a pair of scanty panties before sneaking across the hall to the bathroom. I close the door and lock it as I spot the gray sweats he was wearing on the counter. My fingers caress over the fabric as I look in the mirror.

  Things are not okay.

  The way I see it, Sal fucked up. He should’ve trusted Deacon to take care of Atticus. He didn’t, and we’re free diving with great speed on the downward spiral to his personal hell now. That is why I called Deacon, not to undermine Sal. But he will say, “I can handle this, blah blah blah…”

  Yeah, buddy, that’s why your hands are packed in ice packs, and you have coke on the table. He’s fucked up.

  That isn’t an excuse for this thing going on between Deacon and me, but Sal hasn’t discouraged our closeness either. I can be responsible and pick up the pieces like Deacon. Or I can be wild and crazy like Sal and fly like a butterfly.

  I decide to do a little bit of both.

  I just need to get to New Orleans because there is no way Sal will allow Deacon to stay there if we’re in Texas.

  I’m going to take a shower, put my best mask on, and play the Queen card with a poker face in Atlanta. But first…I pick up the cum-soaked pants and snort the hell out of them.

  We all have our drug of choice.

  Mine is Deacon Cruz.

  My hand slips into the lace as I touch myself, leaning against the wall and staring at myself in the mirror. I don’t see what they see. I’m a mutt, and I’ve been enhancing certain qualities at The Chairman’s request. I need to find myself again before I’m so lost I can never return.

  I remember Deacon standing by the door and how his soft hoodie emblazoned with the brutality of the Reckless Rebellion logo contrasted against the innocence in those blue eyes. And reflect on Sal sitting broken on the curb at the funeral.

  Little lost boy.

  “Oh my God…the funeral…Emily…his mother…his family…his father…the stress of the shooting…yesterday…oh my God, what did I almost do?”

  Wretched guilt poisons my veins.

  “You didn’t do anything,” I repeat, sliding down the wall and dropping the pants. “Nothing happened,” I excuse, getting up and washing my mouth out. I spit. “Shit…Sal!”

  Opening the bathroom door, I rush through the cabin and bolt outside. I violently stop at the empty porch swing before running barefoot through the damp grass.

  The man I am in love with is in the truck and drowning his thoughts in music. I say nothing as I pull the lever, slide his chair back, and crawl on top of him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I need you,” I stress, staring into his eyes. “I can’t do any of this without you. I need what happened last night not to happen again. Not like that.”

  His lips pucker as he lifts a brow and nods. “Then you can join me.”

  “What?” I question, borderline freaking. “Are you talking about?”

  “You want to do it in a room of mirrors, try drugs other than weed, and see Deacon and me fucking.”

  “Are you the genie?”

  “For you?” He grins. “Yes. But you have more than three wishes. You can have as many wishes as you want.”

  I feel so horrible.

  “Why do you love me so much?”

  “Because you are my everything,” he mutters, gliding his hands up my sides as we make out, hot and heavy. He hastily tugs my shirt off as I untuck his cock from his pants. I pull my panties to the side and slide his dick deep inside of me.

  “We’ve never been this intense,” I whisper as he thrusts up into me. He is so amazing after a bad night or a good scene because both spike his endorphins. And I ha
te admitting that, but his walls are down, and he takes everything and anything he wants without any hesitation.

  He is a merciless Master.

  Rubbing my nipple between his finger and thumb, he moans, “You’re so fucking incredible. We’re going to need to wrestle some more.”

  “I’ll kick your ass,” I challenge as his fingers dig into my ass. It stings so kindly, bringing back the scene of the brush blistering. I wanted to go all night, switching from discipline to ecstasy, but he forbade it.

  “I’m going to come soon, Angel.”

  “I know,” I mutter, leaning back in his arms as the tautness of his erection matches the straining pulse of my pussy. “So am I.”

  “Don’t stop.”

  I blink up, surprised. “Are we going for two, Nero?”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Oh gosh,” I moan, letting my first one go. He follows with a brutal eruption, but his digging in my hollow doesn’t cease. We’re soaring in love, past all the bullshit and burdens, and the only thing that matters is one another.

  “Iris…I love you so fucking much,” he mumbles, deep inside of me. “And I cannot do any of this without you.”

  I start crying as the surge of emotion demolishes my earlier dance along the edge. I almost fell. I didn’t. And that counts. “I love you too, baby boy.”

  We don’t stop, rocking to find intimacy in the sins we’re tallying up. He isn’t pure. And neither am I.

  In one another, we reveal the freedom in the darkness and find the light in enslavement. We are bound to one another—Sal. Deacon. And Me.

  And we don’t stop.

  Because we can’t.

  Drunk on the drug of love.

  His second orgasm is more impactful than the first, and so is mine. I pirouette around stars and dip on satellites as the moon witnesses my crimes on the devil’s dick.

  “You’re going to bruise your lip,” he cautions.

  I collapse against his chest as we breathe together and find tranquility as the insanity lashes like a whirling dervish. He opens the door as I mutter, “I know, we need to get on the road.”

  I hop out and smile as his cum streams between my thighs. He pops his ball cap on backward and grabs his glasses. His eyes are too dry from crying. He can’t play in the snow for free.