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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “He holds mine too,” I admit.

  “Because you and Iris are dangerously similar.”

  “What if Iris decides to go all cruel girl on Cruz…”

  “I will do my best not to kill her,” she mutters with a don’t-fuck-with-me-scowl. “But all things in the interest of my children.”

  “That’s a new one.”

  “I have two sons and a daughter,” she elaborates. “Welcome to my umbrella.”

  Lighting a cigarette, I ask, “Protect me from the rain?”

  “Always, honey.” She pulls the meat from the pan and drops a few more pieces. “That’s the thing, though… you and Deacon are different. Don’t get insulted by what I am about to say, but Iris is a fucking hot pistol. She is difficult and emotional and very high strung,” she pauses, snapping for a drag. “Gimme that damn thing.” She inhales twice. “Thanks.”

  “Finish what you were saying…”

  “Iris is high strung, and so are you. And you may not want to hear that. You may not like that, but that is just how you are. Deacon calms her and someone else,” she says, shifting her gaze to Skeet. “Calms you.”

  “And if Skeet wants someone younger?”

  “Oh, please!” she sasses. “I’ve seen the way she has been looking at you,” she admits. “She’s got one dick on her mind, and it’s packed in those jeans.”

  “So, I’m going to be fucking two of your children?” I rhetorically ask. “I should’ve just married your ass at eighteen.”

  “Probably, but it’s a little late for that,” she chirps. “I’m taken. And in love. Besides, I’m enjoying this mother/son relationship with you. You talk a lot more than Deacon.” She finishes with one pan and moves it to the back of the stove. “And if you’re dipping in Deacon and Hannah, we can say you have a one-stop-shop, and it ends with Cruz.”

  She grins wide, and I laugh. “I’m going to get so harassed about this…”

  “You do not care about that,” she declares as I gaze down. “You aren’t seriously hiccuping on that, are you?” she asks, nodding for another drag. She takes my hand, and I notice her new bracelet. “Because that’s a dumb reason not to be happy. No one knows—except for the immediate family—what goes on between you and Deacon. That’s y’alls thing. Fuck what strangers think. The family is going to support you regardless because I will make sure of it.”

  “X is going to rip on me.”

  “That’s his way of showing you love,” she comforts, checking the time. “You should worry if he doesn’t pick on you.”

  I nod at the bracelet. “What’s with the new ice?”

  “Dragon bought it for me in Georgia,” she boasts with a grin. “Be happy, Salvatore. Stop overthinking this shit. Let yourself fall.”

  Her compelling words bring tears to my eyes as I ask, “What if I’m not ready to fall in love?”

  “I didn’t say the word love,” she rebukes. “I said, let yourself fall. Stop holding onto something that isn’t working and have some damn fun before you’re seventy. I’m not asking you to marry Hannah, but if you want to mess around with her…do it.”

  “You’re giving me your blessing to eat out your daughter.”

  She smirks. “Lucky bitch.”

  53

  Unlocked

  The Master

  We have a lovely dinner with the Tennessee Twelve. Oscar wore leather gear, which thrilled Trudy. He looked terrific, but even more impressive was the young lady by my side.

  She was everything I adored about Trudy and Deacon. And had I known the elder Saint, probably him too. She helped Trudy, Karissa, and Lani—yes, Neil brought Dr. Lani Johnson for their first date to Trudy’s table (tough crowd)—and a few of the other girls with the dishes as the boys chatted it up.

  “What’s up with you two?” Caldwell asks, leaning back.

  “We’re friends.”

  “That’s not friends,” Tank mutters. “That’s the start of a legitimately dangerous power couple.”

  And they cheer as Trudy and Skeet bring three bowls of pudding and a couple of cans of whipped cream to the table. “It’s pudding,” Trudy informs. “But if you want to get excited about that, okay!” The girls return to the kitchen for dishes.

  “Does he know?” X asks.

  “Yes,” I say.

  In a bold move, X holds Oscar’s hand on the table. “And what does he say?”

  Rolling my eyes, I glance down at the table with a sigh.

  “Come on, Raniero,” Tank charges, wanting an answer. “What does Cruz think?”

  “He has given his blessing,” I inform.

  Reggie questions, “And you haven’t tapped that yet?”

  “No,” I reply. “I’m handling this my way.”

  “Everything in its own time,” Dragon responds at the head of the table, which is kind of odd because he’s so young. But it’s Trudy’s house, her rules, and that is her man—all eighteen years of him. Bitch always makes a statement about how things should be run. And no one ever questions her because…Oscar and X are now engaged in some hot and heavy kissing, and if anyone says anything, Trudy will bust their ass. And if she didn’t, Cruz would.

  Trudy’s umbrella is mean and fair and diverse.

  And this family table is far nicer than the one I grew up around.

  I’m at the opposite end, where Deacon would usually be. Iris would be on one side of him. I would be on the other. Skeet would be next to me and pregnant—we’re fantasizing here, give me a second…

  And it would all be okay because Deacon wouldn’t have it any other way.

  I alter it a little. Iris is holding their four-year-old. Can I deal with it? Can I love a blonde biker baby with almond blue eyes? Damn, it would be cute. Can we come to a place of forgiveness? What if she bumps my foot? Or worse yet, what if she flirts with me?

  My answer always ends up the same—Deacon Cruz will keep her in line. That’s what he does. He keeps everyone on the rails, never letting them stray from the tracks.

  The text lit up the screen after our first round of making up a week ago. “You’re spending time with Skeet?”

  “Ya. How did you find out?”

  “Because she won’t stop crushing on you, and that is giving me a problem. But it makes sense,” he messaged. “I can see it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah,” he said, still typing. “You have my permission.”

  My heart dropped. “I wasn’t asking for it.”

  “Yes, you were. You might not have thought you were, but indirectly, you were. You want to know if I am okay with you pursuing a relationship with my sister. And my answer is yes, I am okay.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome. But if you hurt her, I will send you to the morgue.”

  “And if Iris hurts you, I will throw her in a river.”

  “Fair enough,” he texted, “LOL.”

  “What will you do to Skeet if she hurts me?”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “Because she is like you?”

  “No, because no one can hurt you any worse than Kaci.”

  Randomly, I get up from the table without saying a word and slip out the front door as I overhear X say, “One of us should go check on him.”

  “I got this,” Skeeter insists as I quietly shut the door.

  Leaning my forearms on the rail, I look down and stare at the ground. With my legs scissored, left in front, I rock between them. Deacon was right. Kaci did it all. She programmed Iris into my head. It didn’t make it the truth. It didn’t make it my feelings. We were a prearranged relationship from the start until love snuck in.

  Unlike with Deacon, who I beat the shit out of, got to know, and fell in love with him—which was a huge difference for the strings of my heart.

  My tethers to Deacon Cruz were my own; Iris’ weren’t.

  And that was the difference.

  The feelings developed over time, but they weren’t natural. They were grown in
a lab…a science experiment in a petri dish…Atticus and his CAE team rebuilt the mind of v1.0 and then built two v2.0’s—one to destroy and one to protect.

  Protect didn’t mean marry.

  Kaci skewed it into matrimonial unbliss.

  Thank God, I realized this before, “I do.”

  “Hey,” Skeet says, coming outside. “The boys are worried about you.”

  “And yet, you’re here…”

  “I volunteered for the position of keeping Sal Raniero in line,” she teases, rubbing my back. Her hand eases up under my shirt, touching my skin, and I breathe. “I got you.”

  I quickly move, and she backs up like she offended me. I take a step closer, and she moves back. “I will catch you,” I warn as she grins.

  “Nah,” she baits, turning fast and running past the dining room windows to the backyard. She laughs as I chase after her. Her long dirty blonde hair brushes against her denim covered ass, sans rhinestones, which may be even better.

  “I’m going to tackle you.”

  “Do it gently!” she yells. “I have tits, and my nipples are hard!”

  I start laughing so hard that I have to stop running. I buckle over, hands on my knees as she bounces ten feet away, quite proud of herself. Coming closer, she bites her lip as I cannot help but look at her tits. “You are such a liar!”

  I barrel for her, and we roll into the grass with me on top of her, between her legs. “Oh, God…”

  “Ya,” I confide, knowing I’m caught with the hard object pressed between our bodies. I brush my hand over her hair and passionately kiss her lips as her hands grab my ass. “What are we doing?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispers against my lip. “But don’t stop…”

  “Can we take this elsewhere?” I ask, kissing her again. “Pick it up later?”

  “We should go inside.” I hear Trudy defend. “Now, boys! He isn’t performing for you tonight!” A few of the boys hoot and holler.

  “You know where my room is,” she offers, biting at my bottom lip. “And the door will be unlocked.”

  We return to the dining room with Skeet holding onto my arm. “You’re more than friends,” X mumbles, shoveling chocolate pudding in his mouth. “You just haven’t admitted it.”

  Letting my arm go, she grabs the can of whipped cream and squirts it all over his mouth. He is laughing. I am laughing. The table is in hysterics. “What is happening between Sal Raniero and me is none of your damn business.”

  Sitting directly across from X, Trudy leans closer and whispers, “She’s my daughter.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” X replies as Skeet ambles back with her teeth pinched tightly on her lip.

  “No…” I shake my head, knowing she is about to let her evil can of whipped cream have its way with me. “Hannah…”

  “Come here, sexy!” She grins like the devil. “Let me squirt all over you!”

  The worst thing she could’ve said in a room of bikers.

  I take off, running into the kitchen as she flies out the back door. She stops on the other side of the pool and fills her mouth with whipped cream. Unfortunately, this is Skeeter, and she overfills the foam, so it trickles down the sides of her mouth. “C’ mere,” she mumbles as her blue eyes tempt. “Puhleese…”

  I am dead.

  Laughing and forgetting and healing…

  Just because Cruz and I are sexting doesn’t mean he is allowing my release. I haven’t gotten off except for that one accident. It’s bad…I mean bad.

  And what started in the grass hasn’t gotten any better.

  The teenage tartlet is dancing around the edge of the pool with white shit dripping down her chin and aiming her can of whipped cream at me. I dash around the pool and catch her by the bushes before spinning her around and wrapping my arm around her waist. I hold her back to me and manage to wrangle the can from her fingers.

  I feel her ass against me.

  And I get instantly drunk on Skeet.

  She swallows and starts cleaning up her face with her fingers, licking and rubbing…licking and rubbing. “You’ve got to stop!”

  Not ever the thing to tell Skeeter.

  Because she starts grinding her ass on my dick in some wide booty rolls that make me think I might need to install a pole. She urges, “Loosen up.”

  She swishes down to the ground and twirls at my feet as she rolls her body back in mine. Her hips don’t stop as she tosses my arm around her, and I hold her close. “Hannah…”

  Her blue eyes beam as I turn the tables to a serious connection. She makes the mistake of giving me the can, and I fucking unload the whipped cream on the dip of her cleavage.

  “Oh, fuck!” She puffs out her cheeks and closes her eyes as she tries to restrain her laughter. “Now what are you going to do?”

  I glance between her sweet rack and her eyes that don’t stop. I run my finger through it and lick. “Mhmm.” Without thinking, I lower to clean her up with my tongue. She plops my hat on her head, and her hand ruffles through my hair. I drop my hands to her hips and swoop my arms around her to pick her up. Her legs latch around my waist as I cover my goatee in whipped cream from her boobs.

  “We’re gonna fuck.”

  “I know,” I mutter, enjoying the sugared flesh.

  “And I am going to come with your dick in me.”

  I glance up. “Is that a promise?”

  “Yes, Salvatore. It is.” She glances over my shoulder. “But we should go because the spectators are here.”

  “… Can I be bad?” I smirk.

  Without any hesitation or question, she flicks her brow and encourages, “Yes.”

  “Hold on.”

  “Like fuck, I would ever let you go.”

  She locks on tight as I run for the pool and leap into the water. We splash as the guys scatter. Under the water, she keeps her legs taut around me, but her hands are all over my chest and arms. She opens her eyes, and I kiss her as we break through the surface.

  I feel her breathing in my arms.

  And I like it a whole fucking lot more than I should.

  “I like you, Skeet.”

  “I like you too, Nero.”

  My clothes are strewn over the bathroom floor as I take a shower later that night. The hot water welcomes my reflections about the day. I had fun. Good memories were made. And I’m sad to say those are far and few between for me.

  After we got out of the pool, we changed, and she sat on my lap in the dining room. She kept feeding me her pudding.

  It was amazing. Pistachio.

  And Skeeter was even better.

  This is our first night in six days, seven if you count the sofa, where we haven’t slept together. I don’t know how I feel about this. I don’t like it. Not that we’ve been screwing, but missing the comfort of her body is going to bother me.

  But we’re at her mother’s house.

  I know that’s Ma, but there is a shift in the switch, where Trudy is no longer Ma but Hannah’s mother. And I must be a polite young man, or I may not get full, unbridled access to her daughter.

  This is my thinking. I also know its probably ludicrous paranoia on my part. But to say I don’t want to fuck this up is the understatement of a lifetime.

  I get out of the shower, wrap in a towel, and stare at the empty bed.

  Where is she?

  Where is the midnight moon-kissed, seductive, and alluring baby powder scent?

  Where is her fucking mess of hair that I end up with strewn all over me the next day?

  Where are her lace panties I stare at with lust and longing while I feel I may never be good enough?

  I grab my phone and send a text. “Are you awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Touching my clit.”

  “SRS?”

  “Yes.”

  “BRT.”

  I toss on a pair of plaid pajama pants and slip out the door. Tiptoeing past Trudy’s room, I pretend I don’t hear the bed squeak
ing and duck into Skeet’s room. She flips the covers back, and I get a peek of the side of her naked body. She wasn’t kidding.

  Oh. Fuck.

  I haven’t seen her nude, and my mind is blown.

  Me…manwhore of the millennium, and I’m speechless…I don’t know what to do with that.

  The panic attack comes on suddenly as I look away and say, “I have to…”

  “Get in this bed with me,” she commands, ruffling under the blankets. “I’m dressed.”

  “But you…”

  “I can do that anytime.” I lay down, and she curls around me. “It’s okay.” She pets my hair. “We’re evolving naturally…”

  I lay, staring at the ceiling for the next half an hour. I listen to her breathe. She is awake. I know. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, and Jaid’s text message hits like a ball-peen hammer to my head.

  “Lotus left fifteen minutes ago on the jet. We have no idea where she is heading. Will update as needed.”

  Turning off my phone, I toss it to the chair as Skeet asks, “Who was that?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I mumble, lifting on my forearm and hovering over her. “It was just work.”

  Laying her hand on my chest, she whispers, “She is up to something.”

  I furrow my brow. “How do you know?”

  “Because every fucking time Jaid sends you an update concerning Lotus,” she subtly points out. “You throw your phone.”

  Are you some sort of expert in my behavior?

  Don’t answer that.

  I ask, “What does that say to you?”

  She glances at her hand pressed on my heart as the truth breezes from her lips. “Either you are in mad love with her, or you cannot fucking stand her anymore.”

  I tilt my head and question, “What if it’s both?”

  “If you are in honest and passionate love with her,” she says as tears puddled in her eyes. “You shouldn’t be on top of me. But she is your addiction.”

  “What if I am in love with her because Deacon is? And what if what she is doing is ripping him apart? And it is pissing me the fuck off.”