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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She grips my forearm. “He asked if I wanted to have a threesome with them, Sal.”

  “That would put both my moms in the same spot,” I mutter, letting my inside thoughts out. “Shit, I’m sorry...”

  Her expression is a mixed jumble of delight and dread. “You think I should?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, knowing I’m definitely no expert on how to make three hearts work as one. “Honestly, I’d probably cut and run.”

  She takes a long drag. “Is Deacon okay?”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “They think his twin brother killed Val,” she says as the headlights beam on, and the SUV pulls forward to turn in front of our house. I try and get a look at who is watching the Raniero goings-on, but the windows are blacked out. “Do you think he’ll come after the rest of us?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, trying to look at the plates. With all the cars, it is impossible. “They hired extra security.”

  “And you and I both know, if someone has the determination to get past them, they will.”

  “Then, you should be carrying.” I give her a hug and a warning, “Don’t shoot my parents.”

  I step back inside, and Cesario nods. He wants my ass in the library. He disappears as I lay my hand on Vinny’s shoulder. “You got any benzos?”

  “I only got bars,” he says. “Unless we go to the house in which case I got a whole pharmacy of fun shit.”

  “Zannies,” I complain. “… Really?”

  “It’s not as bad as people make it out to be,” he says, patting my arm and handing a cute small wooden box to me. “To each their own.”

  I pocket the case but refuse to walk the plank cause that will only lead to a quick slumber. The thing is…drugs, and the countless cocktails vary from person to person. That bitch Amber can go through a couple of grams of coke in a day and be functioning, but if I give her anything else, she’ll go bat shit crazy or wind up like a space cadet in a vast wasteland.

  It is just the way it is.

  Everyone is different.

  Vinny understands my fascination with sledding. I can behave until the snow-white siren comes to play. But once her ass is in my hands, there is no stopping the blizzard.

  And sometimes, the bloody noses.

  I check on Iris, making sure she is okay. Stella is acting like her damn mother, which is touching. She also knows her son is high as fuck. Though I don’t know this for sure, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she weren’t a little ski bunny herself.

  I go to the library for after-dinner drinks. The only thing that is off about this is we haven’t spoken since the shooting. We’ve done a lot of yelling.

  In his darkened library, I take a seat on the leather sofa as he pours two snifters of cognac. Admittedly, I’m a little too calm for whatever this conversation may bring.

  He sits on the sofa with me. Not in his chair. Something must be very wrong. “We need to talk.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I am not going to like this?”

  “Because you probably won’t,” he says, patting his belly. “Amber Rosen found Diablo Cruz for me a few months back.”

  That is one way to get sober fast.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, easing up to the edge of the sofa and swiveling my body towards him. “Define found.”

  “I paid her a lot of money to find him,” he informs. “She did, and I went to see him.”

  Oh. God.

  I give a side-eyed hateful glare. “What did you do?”

  “I made an offer and got him out of jail.”

  “He lied…” I say, filling in the blanks. “And killed Val.”

  “That is what I think happened.”

  “What was the offer?” I yell, standing up, angrier than I’ve been in a long fucking time. He glances away. “Tell me now!”

  “I wanted Deacon Cruz eliminated.”

  I slam the cognac, smash the glass on the floor, and roar, “You are a dead man!”

  With my heart pounding, I rush to the kitchen. “Get your coat. We’re leaving. Now!”

  Drying the dishes, Stella spins. “Why?”

  “Because I cannot be in the same house with that man any longer.”

  Her steady gaze hits my soul, and she understands how close I am to killing him. She rushes to kiss my lips. “Go. I love you.”

  “I love you.”

  I don’t bother to say anything to anyone else as Iris grabs her things and heads for the door. “Hey,” Vinny says, tapping my shoulder and handing two pre-filled syringes. “Fresh coke. New rigs. Have fun.”

  I’m not sure what the appropriate thing to say to that is, so I opt for simple. “Thanks, Vin.”

  “You’re welcome, son.”

  “Sell my fucking shares. Cheap. Get me the fuck out of it.”

  “I’ll take one of the offers we passed over on Monday.”

  “Watch Stella. And Chelle.”

  “We’re going to Atlantic City soon.”

  “… What?”

  “Chelle and I are going on vacation to try and reconcile.”

  “I thought you were divorcing,” I say, no longer caring whose life I fuck up. “Dude, do better.”

  Yes, I said dude to my biological father.

  “Where should I take her?”

  “Anywhere else…fuck, go to the Caribbean or Europe…don’t take her back to the place where you picked her up as a damn hooker.”

  That’s right. I’m taking his intravenous drugs and saving his marriage cause I’m the good son. Cause I let Amber kill my half-brother and his son. It’s a glorious moment of realization where I comprehend how fucked up I get when I’m here. With them.

  “Maybe Hawaii.”

  “Much better,” I say, kissing his cheeks. “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you.”

  Why did I call him, Dad?

  Because I ain’t ever coming back to Boston.

  I walk out the door, shaking my head, and pocketing the shit as I spot Iris standing by the car and the creepy SUV from earlier.

  “Fuck!” I howl, running like a madman with my hand on my piece. I see the limo driver get out to come and open the door. And I hear the gunshots as I dive on top of her, and we fall to the grass. “Fuck! Stay down.”

  “Sal…” she cries. “Shit!”

  “Tell me you didn’t get hit.”

  “No!” she cries as the SUV squeals the tires and takes off towards the cul-de-sac. They’re coming back. “What are we doing?”

  “Getting the fuck out of here!” I yell as Vinny, and my uncles emerge with guns drawn. “I need some keys now, Dad!”

  He tosses the keys for his brand new, candy apple red Vette to me. “Be careful! Go!”

  “Let me drive!” Iris urges as we run. I give her a look of—What? “You shoot better than me!”

  “Thanks,” I huff as we get in.

  “You want to play chicken?”

  “No!” I scream as she hits the gas.

  “I had to ask,” she quips giggling. “I see the lights.”

  “Ya, so do I,” I frantically say, “And they’re flying straight for us.”

  “I love you, Sal.”

  “Hush,” I bark. “Drive! This thing is a midlife crisis pussy getter.”

  “You don’t need a car to get a girl,” she says as we hit the freeway and she opens that bitch up like she was born for a racetrack. “How are we?”

  “They’re back there but far. We’re going out to my farmhouse until your flight.”

  “What about the funeral?”

  “Fuck the funeral! Fuck the family!” I stroke her cheek. “I’m not letting anyone take you from me unless his name is Deacon Cruz.” I spot the headlights of the SUV gaining ground. “Don’t slow down!”

  “I don’t know if you know this,” she mutters on the verge of crying. “I’m not very good at using brakes.”

  Oh, I know.

  “We have a lot in com
mon.”

  “Give it to me!” Iris screams. Gripping her hips, I thrust into her warm pussy. Her feet are held captive in my palms as her legs form a V-shape in the air. “I love it when you are so deep…”

  In the bed I shared with my dead fiancée, I accept our fate. This will be the last time I ever fuck Iris Nakamura.

  I glance around the room at the bottles of champagne, the credit card, and white dust. The shimmering of the metal needles in two empty syringes spurs on my bucks.

  We’re flying…fucking…

  “You like my hard cock, baby?”

  “Yes!” she moans, arching to meet me. “It’s so good.”

  “You’re so gorgeous,” I say, grazing the back of my hand over her cheek. “I wanted to spend my life with you. I wanted all those minutes to be mine. I was so in love with you.”

  Her sapphires glisten up to me. “… Was?”

  “Just pretend I’m Deacon,” I hiss, dropping her legs and pinning her hands above her head. “Close your eyes, pretty Angel.”

  “Sal…what are you doing?” she cries out, trying to maneuver out from beneath me. “Stop!”

  “There was never any stopping this,” I snap, biting her neck and sucking like the vampire I am. “You wanted this…all of it…you got into bed with a beast, and it’s too late to back out now, beautiful.”

  I don’t react to her tears as I close my eyes. “You can’t do this…”

  “I am doing this.”

  “I love you both!” she bellows, hitting her hands against the sweat on my back. It makes a clapping sound as I continue thrusting and edging closer to the point of no return. “I don’t love Deacon, as you think!”

  “Liar!” I bellow as my eyes flare wide. “You fucking bitch!”

  “I don’t!” Pleading her case, she contends, “You wanted Deacon and me to bond. We did that! But we never crossed the line. We never broke your rules.”

  “You fell in love…”

  “No different than I am with you!” she argues.

  With a menacingly dreadful grin, I warn, “And that is the problem, sweetheart.”

  I sloppily fuck her cunt, with my only concern being my release. Her needs don’t count anymore. She has used me long enough.

  I dip to bite her nipple, and then I suckle the other one as I piston my dick like the tool it was meant to be—for reverence and punishment.

  Just like Kaci always wanted.

  My evolution is complete.

  Her heart and mind aren’t with me, but she cannot control the deluge flourishing around my shaft. “Salvatore!”

  And she cannot control the consumption…the consummation…or the extinction of our love. Only a real God can do that.

  Or a devil like me.

  59

  i like my CRUSTELLA iced

  The Master

  “Oh…fuck…yes…fuck me…” I moan, waking up with an explosion from my dick as I grip one of Skeet’s new decorative pillows. Moving the floral fabric, I look at the mess of dew-covered flowers.

  Fuck.

  I seriously need to get laid and have it not be standing-before-an-emotional-firing-squad-catastrophe.

  I got into Austin late, took a shower, and sat down thinking baseball. Snooze. Skeet wasn’t wrong about one hand on the remote control and one hand on my dick.

  “Goddammit!”

  I wander through the house in a blurry stupor of the past four days. I toss the pillow in the washing machine on a gentle, delicate cycle because that sounds like the thing to do. Though I wasn’t gentle with it, so maybe it can handle a pre-(cum)-wash, oversized, brisk agitation with a double rinse.

  Whatever is good for you, baby.

  After starting coffee, I take a piss and stare at my reflection while I wash my hands. I’m going to go gray soon if this shit doesn’t stop. “You are not fucking shaving today.”

  I have a cup of coffee and smoke as I make a list of things to fix on the house today. The lists help the focus. Unfortunately, I have sixty-two of them on the fridge.

  It’s all very ordinary until I have to take a crap. I turn the shower on to warm up because the pipes are old, and it takes for-fucking-ever to get any hot water. I leave the door open cause I’m alone.

  Who the fuck is coming out here with it resembling Fort Knox?

  So, I’m sitting there on the toilet, tablet in hand, checking mail, and my video games. Nothing is happening. Too much toxic shit means I can’t shit.

  “You come here often?” Cruz grins with a full fucking beard. He looks like a damn lumberjack with a blue plaid shirt, ripped jeans, and canvas colored boots up past his ankles. His long blonde hair and the critter on his face only add to the vision. He smells fantastic, like woodlands with a hint of spice. I imagine it would be even stronger if I hadn’t singed my nasal passages over the last few days.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Bastard wanders right on in cause like I said a few months back—we’re practically fucking married. He presses his hands to my cheeks and lays one hell of a kiss on me. Tongue and nibbles and love…so much love. “You do realize I’m fucking taking a shit?”

  “You realize how often my dick has been in your ass?”

  “Fair enough,” I mutter as he sits on the short, old wooden ladder and sighs. “What happened?”

  “With?”

  “Boston,” he says, staring blankly. “Iris…fuck…I hadn’t heard from her except one time until you went to Boston. And then, it was like you were there,” he animatedly describes, hopping his upper body around like a rabbit. “And she was there. And everything went to shit, so let’s call Deacon!”

  “Shit, man.” I set my tablet on the counter. “I don’t fucking know.”

  He checks his phone while I clean up and flush. I wash my hands. “You’re about to get in the shower. You’re double washing.”

  “I am a clean young man.”

  His mouth opens. “You are many things. Clean is debatable. Get your ass in there.” He fucking pops my ass hard, and I know my fleeting sobriety is why. “Are you going to start singing Broadway tunes?”

  “Nah, you’re here.”

  “Thank God.” I open the curtain and flip him off. He bites my finger. “Hurry up. I want to make you breakfast before noon.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “What do you mean? How did I get here? I flew in on an alien spaceship.” He asks, peeking in the shower. His eyes skirt over my bubbly body, and I flick a brow. “Damn…”

  Rinsing off, I run my hands all over myself. “... Wanna probe me?”

  “Yes!” He shoves a towel at me as I turn the water off, dry off a bit, and wrap it around my waist before heading to the living room.

  “Did you seriously bring me flowers?”

  “No, dipshit,” he counters, shaking his head. “Those are for Skeet.” Grabbing my elbow, he leads me to the door. “I brought you this.”

  “That’s a new Raptor,” I mumble in awe at the beautiful black and chrome beast with red accents. “Holy fuck my ass!”

  “I plan to,” he snorts. “But I’m either taking your old one or the F-250 back to Colorado because it’s still snowing.”

  “Take the F-250,” I offer in shock as I walk out on the porch and drool. “Did you get the customization?”

  “Yep, I would’ve been here sooner to greet your ass, but they didn’t get it done until yesterday.” He rubs my back. “Do you like it?”

  “No,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I fucking love it!”

  I hug him and start sobbing. “Whoa! No!” he says, stroking my cheek. “This is going to be a good day!”

  “I don’t know what is happening with her…”

  “I know,” he consoles, kissing my wet head. “Come on. I’ll make you protein pancakes.”

  “No, peaches,” I request.

  “Blueberries?” he softly questions. He’s careful and gentle with me. He nods at the sweet new ride. “Go cruise with me later?”

>   I grin. “Cruisin’ with Cruz?”

  Taking my arm in leading me inside, he smirks, “Yeah.”

  I turn back to look at the new toy. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  The back of his hand strokes my cheek. “I am in love with you. And I fucking missed you.”

  “Are you sure we can’t just go to the mountains and be alone?”

  “Depends if she pulls her head out of her ass,” he says, heading for the kitchen while I go throw some jeans on. I don’t bother with a shirt. Hell, I don’t even have to bother with pants. When I return to the kitchen, he’s shirtless and sporting a sexhat. “Did you behave this week?”

  “You already know the answer to that.”

  “You’re right, I do,” he alleges, doubling the protein. I make a sour face. “Stop it! They’ll be delicious.”

  “They’re tough with double.”

  “Wrong,” he points out, lifting a finger. “Yours are tough with double. Mine are as soft as a sponge.”

  “Fuck you, man.”

  I pour two cups of coffee as he finishes the batter and fires up the burner. I take a generous swallow of the java and wash my hands. He’s watching me. I leave the hot water on and grab the syringe with no needle out of the drawer.

  With a furrow of his brow, he shakes his head. I pull the ice bucket out from the freezer, retrieve the giant frozen blocks that have formed, and douse the iced crank with hot water. “What are you doing?”

  “Fixing this shit.”

  The furrow in his brow deepens as he licks his lips. I finish melting the old ice with my trusty syringe and replace the bucket. “Now what?”

  “We pray it works, so I don’t have to get the man to fix it.”

  His lips tighten as he tries not to burst out laughing. “You’re so fucking cute.”

  “I do other things remarkably well.”

  “Yes, Snookums.” He finally breaks into laughter. “Your methods are just…amazing.”

  “You mean amazingly strange.”

  “Peculiar,” he offers, flipping his pancakes as I check the washing machine.

  “Oh, Fuck,” I grumble, pulling out loads of white stuffing. In my best girly voice, I whine, “… Honey!”