“I can’t leave for six months!”
“Yes, you can,” he replies, twirling my back to him and grinding his hips against my ass. “There is nothing you cannot do from overseas that you do here. I’ll keep your ass clean and sober and let you play with sharp objects and skin.”
I laugh. “Hell, you know how to turn a slut on.”
“I try,” he coaxes. He’s right. Computers travel. So, do I. “What about Cruz?”
“He’ll come to visit,” he contends. “We’ll have a damn good time. One Master to another…the three of us.” He leans in close, “Two sadists on your sweet ass.” I rock my hips against his and surrender to the craving. “Let me get you up before you fall into an early grave, Raniero.”
“I have to think about it,” I mutter as we crank it up a notch and fall into the tantric rhythm. “I’m going to spend a few weeks in Japan with Masa Nakamura.”
“When do you leave?”
“Early next week,” I say. I haven’t told Skeet because I’m trying to decide if she can fake secretary this shit while sucking my dick twice a day. “I’m flattered by the offer.”
“You have until mid-June to decide,” he eases his warm lips over my neck as my arms lift high and Cruz snarls. “Six months of sex, discipline, and punishment. I’ve never mentored anyone into the black before.”
“I’ll be your first.”
“No, sweetheart, you’ll be the only one.” Dear God, these sweet nothings send chills over my skin. “We’re only allowed to mentor one. I chose you.” I swivel back to shimmy down his frame, and with my lips by his cock, I blink up to his icy hazel eyes. “Take your time. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate.”
“I do,” I say, throwing my arms over his shoulders. His hands work their way from my back to my ass. “How much ink do you have underneath these clothes?”
With his fingers pulling my dick to his, he smirks. “I’m into chivalry and pain. What do you think?”
“You’re trouble,” I whisper, giving my best priceless smile. “And you’re not Cruz.”
61
The Devil’s Grip
The Master
“Harder!” I beg, tethered to the hooks on the floor and the rafters in the game room.
“Demanding little fuck, ain’t ya?”
The flogger hits my backside as his heaving breaths match the pulse in my cock. I tug against the three-inch cuffs suspending my arms. Nearby, I spot the mess of my clothes draped with his mesh shirt like a net. I am caught within the web of Deacon “Saint” Cruz.
“Whip me, you bastard!”
Striking my flesh, he hisses, “You turned Mass down.”
“He isn’t you, Sir,” I mutter as my arousal aches. “I’m in love with you, Cruz.”
He throws again, letting the luscious tassels slowly run over my ass. “Did he tempt you?”
Enduring his twisted game, I honestly confess, “Yes.”
His finger runs over the leather collar on my neck, pulling the ring at the throat, and dictating the rules I uphold. “Do you have any idea how much it turned me on to watch you taunt them and know you were coming home with me?”
“No,” I huff, almost shyly. “I don’t.”
“Your cock is the only one I want, Sal.” His sad blue eyes compel my seeking solace in him. In the darkened room, they’re spectacular with the sconces over the bar, casting the barest bit of illumination. But it is enough to see the stirring disturbance in the windows of his bleak soul. “It’s an incredible offer into Nero.”
“I understand,” I mutter, gasping as his hand runs over my ass. “But I don’t want whatever the other offer is from Mass.”
He traces his finger around my midsection. “Massimiliano Vidal wants to be your lover.”
The bold declaration plucks a climactic note, and one so sparsely played we sometimes forget of its existence. We are two men, committed by blood, honor, and sacrifice. Acts of cheating, philandering, chipping away at the quiescent oath rarely come to play. The one time it did, I instantly regretted the financial decision.
I sold a round with my ass to fund The Unholy.
In time, Cruz forgave and even came to understand, I was putting our needs—his needs—above all else. Ultimately, I wanted to make him happy with a content and abundant life without worry, strife, or stress.
With the diligent work of four, the money bought our ticket onto the game board because at that point—Cruz held a defunct motorcycle club, Cristos had little involvement with his father, and Gennaro refused to stay married. I had denied being the mafia son for Luca Raniero’s outfit, Raniero Fisheries, and we as a whole were going nowhere fast.
It was one encounter, one brief lapse in judgement, one night to change everything. Feelings were harmed, and it would take years of recovery to restore our former intimacy. But on the other side of the pain and shame, hope preserved, and love won.
Cruz and I…we were closer than we’d ever been.
Closing in on my lips, he whispers, “He wants to put his cock in your ass.”
“… What, did he ask you?”
Giving the nod, he smirks. “He questioned if I would be willing to let you go to Europe for the Nero. I informed him that you are the Master in our relationship, and I don’t have the ability to make those decisions.”
“Let’s pretend you do have all the power,” I hypothesize. “Would you let me go, Master Cruz?”
He bites his top lip. “I might.”
Blinking through dampening lashes, I frantically panic as he threatens to capsize our peace intentionally. “… Why?”
“It would be a good opportunity for you to get away from the States. Get your head on straight,” he informs, pacing. “Besides, I’ve had a lot of experiences you haven’t. You looked like you were having the time of your life out on that dance floor tonight, Sal. It was undeniable.”
“Because I was trying to turn you on!”
His crooked grin steals my heart. “That, you did.”
“So, you would be willing to let me go, even though he might want to have sex with me?”
“There is no might,” he points out. “He wants you—the whole package—the Dominant, the masochist, and the darker parts only a few have ever seen.”
He drops to his knees, placing his hands on my thick, muscular thighs and peeping up with a steady gaze. “What are you doing?”
“My final act of subservience.”
With puling tears, I snicker with an unease. “You’re sure I’m willing to give up my control?”
“There is no other choice.” His lips swoop over my hard dick, engulfing the entire shaft as my thoughts helix with gray matter. He eases back slow, teasing the tip, and tonguing my piercings. My eyes close and the droplets fall from my eyes. “Tell me what you want. Let me hear you say it.”
“I want you to be…” I breathe, waiting until the strokes of his hand force my original sins from my deep within. “I want you to be my Master, Deacon.”
“You want…Master…Saint Cruz?” he flirts, running his hungry tongue down the edge. “You want me to hurt you, Salvatore? You want me to be your Dominant, Salvatore? You want me to be your…sadist, Salvatore?”
“God, yes!” I shout with conviction as he unhinges any remaining barriers to the past. “I do!”
He bites my cock, and I gasp as his teeth skid over the length. The pre-cum ices the tip as his finger dips back to my ass. “Say it!”
With a quivering desire, I scrounge famishing. “Please suck me, Master.”
His eyes plow through my barricades, collapsing the fortress walls and rushing through the rubble to my rescue. “Would you like that, Pretty Boy?”
“Yes,” I beg, wavering in the chains. “Please, do it.”
Two fingers abruptly violate my asshole, and I moan in ecstasy. “You are such an ass, slut.”
“I always will be for you.”
His raspy tone rattles off words almost inaudibly, which sounds very similar to—“Damn, I�
��m going to miss you.”
But I think nothing of it as his hand and mouth work in perfect synchrony, baiting my darkness to his sanctuary. He is holy, this man on his knees. I hear his prayer and grant his redemption as he guides me closer to the place of paradise.
His golden mouth is a bottomless well as he chokes, gagging on my cock. Tears spill from the corners of his eyes as drool puddles, and I know—I just know—it is dripping to the floor, leaving a wet spot. Our mark stains of a love so deep…unwilling to conform and unable to stop. We are driven to contradict the established doctrine as we crave the crime.
We are ruthless outlaws in this volatile love.
I don’t want him to be kind or gentle. We aren’t making love. It isn’t sweet or nice—it’s pure narcotic—it is rough and brutal. We are primitively fucking. I need his ungentlemanly hooligan.
He storms the castle of my soul, rifling and raiding with a heartless, brute force. His mouth serves as the shield while his fingers defend his presence. He launches the final attack, urging my obedience.
The chains jingle as I fight until I can no longer hinder his molestation. With massive tears and a watering mouth, I surrender my flag and declare his victory. “Claim me, Cruz.”
He speeds his assault, ravishing my spirit, and guiding my soul to his haven. His blue eyes seize with a torrential furor as I cascade into his strong hands like feathers descending from the heavens. I am falling from grace, damned to eternal hell as an exhilarating mewl erupts from my lips.
I wildly buck against the restraints, ricocheting, and pummeling to his willing orifice. He is open to me; I am open to him. But there is no vacancy here—no room for the triptych display. We are a duo, balanced with precision and sealed as a solitary unit.
Under pools of unfathomable tears, he breathes my cinders to a glowing fire. He is the inspiration, the muse, and the one. If there is a choice to be made, there isn’t one. I accept the fate and take the blame.
I am guilty as charged.
Punish me, Master.
Punish me so good.
His free hand wraps around the base of my shaft, sliding in the dewy mess and curling around my balls. We’re close to my end and his uprising. I hold out, praying for one more minute…one more second…but the guttural moan from his lungs warns of the aching lust bound within his cock. I come hard, spewing into his throat as he sucks and swallows my load.
Without a word, he skyrockets up, patrolling around my weakened mission and clawing over my flesh. His zipper ticks down, and I hold my breath. His penetrating hard thrust invades my ass as he triumphantly grunts.
His violent seizure rocks into me. His right hand firmly grips my hip and his left fingertips glide from the dip in my lower back, running over the ripples of the brand, blessing her first name, and landing on my cuff. His fingers lace with mine as his erection charges to proclaim.
“You are mine,” he states as his gravelly intonation commands every move of my submission. “You will never belong to anyone else.”
“Yes, Master Saint.”
“I’m gonna come in your ass, boy.”
“Please, do it…use me!”
I idolize his savagery and consent to my rightful place beneath his reign. His thrashing hip action blows into my flesh…repeatedly…unrelenting…as his winds scorch against my skin, proving his blistering draft worthy of my subservience.
The tremors of his impending eruption quake against my bones. His sweat combines with mine as we slick against one another in our forbidden act.
“I’m gonna come, bitch!” he roars, unleashing his full ammunition as he desecrates the gloomy vessel and anoints with the holy waters creeping from the quagmire. “Fuck! Yes! Take my dick, Raniero! Take it, you dirty fucker!”
Our ragged, heaving breaths unite. “Thank you,” I whisper. He tilts my head to the side to meet his trembling lips. His tongue defines the moment, baptizing the treaty. “I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you too,” he whispers, as tears flood over his cheeks. “I would die countless deaths at the hands of a monster if I believed it would make you whole.”
My mouth gapes open. “That feeling is mutual, Deacon.”
“I know,” he says, fastening his jeans and lighting a smoke. His heavy footsteps echo with an impending doom. “I would have given you the whole fucking world.”
“… Would have?”
“I’m going to fire Mass on Monday!”
“No, you are not,” he argues, slapping my ass with his palm. “We are going to accept Sato’s deal.”
“As partners?”
“Yes,” he assures. “We could use the space.”
“Sixteen warehouses is a lot of space,” I mutter, shivering with perspiration and praying for aftercare. I will monumentally crash from this battle. “What are you going to do with them?”
“Go global.”
I snicker, “You have a deal with God?”
“I plan to have a deal with a Goddess,” he candidly states.
“Have you talked to her?”
“Oh, yeah! Lots since Boston,” he warns with haggard breaths as I experience his transformation from patient lover to vulgar fiend. “And I got more than an earful.”
I close my eyes, acknowledging I may not make it out alive from the Swamp Shack. My lip trembles as I fight against the chains. “I am so sorry.”
“How many times did you fuck her this week?”
“Seven.”
“How many times were you sober?”
“None.”
“And did you ever stop to think that just maybe,” he says in an overly friendly, condescending tone. “You shouldn’t get your girl doped up by sticking a damn needle in her arm?” The sudden slap to my cheek stings like a motherfucker, but the insult humiliates like nothing else. “Unlike you, someone else is in love with her…”
“Oh, fuck…”
“Oh, fuck because you got caught? Or oh, fuck, I’m tethered down with Saint Cruz circling my ass like a damned piranha?” He snarls, full of vindictive rage. “Better answer carefully because I’m a fucking lunatic!” he thunderously bellows as I cry, knowing everything I believed tonight was nothing more than a lie.
“I let go of my inhibitions and soared because of you.” The whole day was all a massive deception by an insidious Master. “Congratulations, asshole! You finally did it! You’re fucking breaking me.”
“You broke you!”
I am nothing more than prey for a devious stalker.
“I trusted you,” I sob, feeling my eyes swell from the mascara. “I fucking trusted you!”
“And I trusted you!” he roars, jabbing his fist into my face. I can do nothing but endure his physical torture as with every word his fists pound to my flesh. “I trusted you to take care of our girl! And you fucking put that goddamned shit in her veins!” His footsteps shake the floor as his eyes speak of death. “You fucking raped her!”
The cruelty of his knuckles shears my skin with every strike. He is unrelenting, pounding the meat to a rare tender bite. Blood pours from my cheek, nose, and lip as he batters my gut. My head lulls from the brutality as my eyes blur into a haze of blue. Relinquishing our friendship, he combats the demonic foe within me—all to honor his girl.
Mournful tears are no longer of consequence as the detonation of his savage obliterates my entire existence. “God, I am so fucking sorry, please forgive me,” I plead for a hint of his righteousness and pray he doesn’t sacrifice me. “Please don’t kill me!”
“It’s too late for forgiveness!” he condemns with shrewd bravado. There was a time…a time before I was so busted…where I was him. I protected the keep. He is so much more than a soldier in this war of mine; he is the fucking commander. It ends with him. Everything in my miserable life begins and ends with Deacon’s name on my lips. “It is time to repent!”
“No,” I sob.
Deacon Cruz will kill me tonight.
“You put a fucking needle in her, Sal!” His
eyes lurch with mania as his Stygian demon awakens between the Earth and the umbra. He is escorting me to the underworld. This is his Hades. “Who do you think you are? God?”
With snot running into my mouth, I sniffle, “I’m no Saint.”
“Even the Saint isn’t a Saint,” he contends. “I am the motherfucking devil. This is my hell. And she is my Angel. Mine!”
“She’s not yours,” I lie. “Why are you taking her from me?”
“Because you have a serious fucking problem!”
“I’m sorry…”
“I don’t even understand why you felt the need to walk into that,” he says, pulling up a barstool and sitting directly before me. His unrelenting focus holds the ferocity of a monster. “Even Dom has tried to put the trigger in your hands by calling you fucking Boston.”
“I know!”
“Still, you don’t take the hint. You don’t get the lesson,” he carelessly scolds. “You know Boston, specifically your family, is a trigger, and yet, you repeatedly walk right on into it. Like sticking your head in the mouth of the shark just to see if it will bite or if you can escape quick enough. You tempt fate every fucking time you go to Boston. And every time it wins.”
“Because I’m a fucking messed up idiot…”
“You are going to kill yourself!” Cruz screams at the top of his lungs. “Or Iris…what would you have done if you OD’d her?”
“It would have made checking out really fucking easy.”
“Gee,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Thanks, a whole fucking lot, asshole!” His fist swiftly impacts my jaw. With a quick recovery, he uppercuts my chin and counter punches with loops to my gut. “Let me take care of you! Give it up! And stop fucking fighting me before I have to bury you!”
“I didn’t mean it like that!”
“You fucking said it!” Dripping with sweat, he heaves. “You damn junkie!”
Every word hurts as I struggle to regain control of my bastion. “You can’t take her from me,” I meagerly command through a hysterical lament of agony. “You can’t!”
“I already did.”
Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4) Page 51
