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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “He wasn’t having squat to do with me,” Amber informs. “And I looked good.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t fuck you and then kill you,” Jaid laughs, handing the bottle of champagne to Amber. “Do you need a glass, Lotus?”

  “Puhleese,” I say, waving my hand. “Just give me the damn bottle.” We laugh. It’s good. These girls—they’re mine. “Do we have enough now?”

  “More than we need,” Jaid says as the cork pops, and Amber takes a gulp. “Did you get Chelle onboard?”

  “I think so,” I say with a nod and grin. “Assuming she actually does go through with the divorce.”

  Jaid asks, “Is there some debate?”

  “According to Sal the choices were stay quiet, divorce, or hook up for a round of fun with Vinny and Stella.”

  “Oh, lord,” Jaid says. “Threesomes never work.”

  I don’t know that I agree with her opinions. I still believe they can, but concerted efforts must occur by three…or five or ten. If all parties bog down in emotions at the exact same moment, then safety measures need to be enacted. It’s just that simple. There is no trick to it aside from communication which most people fail miserably at, including me.

  “Here, baby,” Amber hands the bottle to me. “Drink it up.”

  “Deacon is going to ask why I am drunk…”

  “No, he is going to take those two kids and go up to Diablo’s because that is what he has done since Uncle Devil showed up.”

  “He’s kind of sexy creepy,” I admit, snarling.

  “Yeah, that pretty much nails it.” Amber laughs. “He’s a piece of work. He’s fine one minute and the next…”

  “He’s the worst parts of Deacon,” I whisper.

  “Yes!” Amber says. “Exactly.”

  “We need twenty mil unless I am letting Cristos in.”

  “Why wouldn’t you let Cristos in?” Jaid asks. “I know my father is sketchy. Don’t think you’ll offend me.”

  “It’s personal,” I say. “I found out some things concerning Sal and him earlier. I want to bury him now.”

  “Fair enough,” Jaid says, without a blink. Amber bumps my arm and takes the bottle. “Abel is gone for three weeks. Do either of you bitches want to do this girl a favor?”

  “What do you need?” I ask.

  “My pussy licked.”

  I blink at Amber, and she raises a brow. “If you’re in Queenie, I am.”

  “We can accommodate one another.”

  “They’re grilling,” Amber says, standing naked at the window. She waves.

  “You have to stop flirting with Diablo,” Jaid contends as I lay between her legs with my head on her crotch. She’s petting my hair. “He’s dangerous.”

  “So am I,” Amber grins.

  “Do you think your doctor would look over my file if they decide I need blood?”

  Jaid’s caresses don’t stop. “Are you still bleeding?”

  “I’ve been bleeding on and off for over two years.”

  “Since they removed the cyst?”

  I nod. “You know my cycles have always been bad.”

  “I remember,” Jaid says. “Sal showed up one day. We were working on some case. And he was like…Prissy, Prissy, Prissy! You won’t believe how much red was on my dick!”

  “Oh, God!” I mutter, embarrassed, and bury my head in her pussy.

  “While you’re down there hiding,” Jaid quips as I peek up.

  “That thing is massive from this angle,” I comment, staring at the roundness of her belly. I lay my hand on her stomach, and she brings hers to mine, moving it where the baby is. My eyes light up at the feel of a kick.

  “I know,” Jaid says. “Abel said the same thing last week before he left. And I’m only eighteen weeks. He’s convinced we’re having quadruplets. He’s been moving the last two weeks.”

  We laugh. “That is just what you need! Four little Abels!”

  “We didn’t plan on this,” she says. “It was an accidental whoops I forgot my shot. Hello, Abel, Jr.!”

  We giggle again. “It’s funny,” I say, disheartened. “I’ve been fucking two perfectly healthy guys for months and can’t seem to get a whoops.”

  “It’ll happen,” Amber says. “Give it time.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m not having children,” she replies, bending over in front of the window. “I’m well past that urge at thirty-seven. Besides, someone is going to eliminate me one day, and I don’t want to leave a child without a mother.”

  “You aren’t having a child because you think someone is going to kill you?” Jaid quizzes as I lightly touch her clit, and she gasps.

  Amber shrugs. I carefully observe her reactions. “Is it true?”

  “That sex is outstanding when pregnant?”

  “It has been for me,” she says, stroking my hair. “But, it’s always good with Abel.”

  Striding over, Amber says, “Let’s assume I do make it. Are we going to be having our girly threesomes when we’re sixty?”

  In unison, Jaid and I say, “Yes!”

  Amber laughs. “I can tell you. Deacon Cruz is a damn good man.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he has stayed completely out of your hair for over an hour and let you spend time with Jaid,” she says, winking. “Not every man is that easy to let go. Possession starts, and once it does…”

  “He knows I’m safe with Jaid.”

  “And what would he say if he knew I was here?” Amber asks. “Would he be so easy?”

  “No, Stardust,” I reply. “He thinks you should’ve been dead years ago.”

  “Did you have a good day?” Deacon asks as we head back to Quince.

  “I did, but I’m exhausted,” I say. “Can we leave tomorrow?”

  “Of course, sweetheart.”

  I curl up in the seat and fall asleep on the way home. He gently wakes me when we arrive and carries me inside. The bright flickering of candles draws my attention.

  “Who is here?” I wearily ask as I blink wide-eyed at Dale and Cat in the hot tub. “What the…”

  “I guess we need to talk…”

  “I’d say so,” I reply as he swiftly carries me to the bedroom. “Don’t stop here. I want my bathtub.”

  A little bit later, we curl up in the tub like we often do. “How long?”

  “They sort of evolved from enemies to friends in Boston,” he says. “By the time we brought them here, they were lovers.”

  “Holy fucking shit…”

  “They sparked a connection,” he says, running his wet fingers over my shoulder. “They both almost died. She loves riding his johnson. And he loves giving her the rod.”

  “Dear God!”

  “And they were supposed to leave two days ago, but I said to delay until today. I figured we would swing by, I would grab our things, load up the Indian, and head home to Nola. I never planned on you seeing them in your house.”

  “It’s not my house!” I argue.

  “No, baby girl, it is your house.”

  “What is the second house for?”

  With a cackle, he smiles. “Whoever is in trouble.”

  “I want to ride your rod.”

  “Iris Amarie, you can ride my dick anytime you want,” he informs. “But if you call it that ever again, I will take a hard rod after your ass.”

  74

  Prodigal Son

  The Master

  We’re in the lounge on the top floor of the hotel. “How much do you need?”

  “Enough to get Houston.”

  “You can’t hold it,” he says with those penetrating blue eyes. “You don’t have Cinco and RR at your back anymore.”

  “Get me someone willing to fight a war.”

  He sighs as a slight curl of his lips, tempers the distinct fret. “Who is looking to start a war who is ready to fight…Cristos will do it, but your ass—literally,” he exaggerates with a dance of his brows, “will be his for a long fuckin
g time.”

  “If I can do it without Cristos, all the better.”

  “You could get in bed with Muerte before Durante Costa does,” he informs as I shake my head. “You don’t know Durante is Muerte’s grandson, and he is aiming to go home.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Iris is working a deal with Cristos,” he bluntly states.

  “For what?”

  “A hundred mil war in Europe.”

  “That’s not much money,” I say.

  “No,” he says. “She’s going to lose, and Cristos is going to take a huge ass chunk of her shark. It’ll feed him for days.”

  “How is she getting in?”

  “I would assume they are setting up camp at Les Pétales, but don’t quote my ass on that.”

  “Does The Chairman have any idea she is investing Lotus funds to start a fucking war over there?”

  “I would guess not,” he says, lifting his brows high like an anime character. “But you could tell him,” he whispers with a wink. “And cause all kinds of dirty shit.” He smirks. “What is your goal?”

  “Stopping the belief that I am five and a half feet in the grave.”

  “Then stop that powerhouse, baby,” he contends. “Do it completely as a professional move. Do not show any personal emotion.”

  “Cold and calculated?”

  “Frigid.”

  I snicker, knowing I’m not far from the frigid zone. Delayed ejaculation. Anejaculation. Serious. Fucking. Problem.

  “What if I do tell him how bad she is being?”

  “He takes the whole thing and hands it to Masa Nakamura, and the Goro gang wins, and then Cristos sucks your dick forevermore as opposed to you being on your knees.” Proud of himself, he snarls. “I’m loyal to you. I always have been. I always will be. I won’t lose my place with Cristos, but I will defend your ass against anyone, and I will use his and my money to do it.”

  I smile. “… Selling the ships did you well?”

  “Cris treats me better than his own damn son,” he brags. “And he has for a long time.”

  “Because you take it up the ass,” I quip, grabbing a smoke.

  He flicks his lighter. “And I’d be more than happy to bend for a daego.”

  “You’re one of few who can say that to me.”

  “I’m well aware, but I’ve sucked you,” he reminds with a grin. “And I drink that Italian milk like a good little bitch.”

  “You want me to succeed.”

  With his elbows on the table, he wraps his slender fingers around his sexy mug. His nails are painted black, and his light makeup is on point. “Because my time is limited with Cristos.”

  “Why come?”

  “He’s getting older,” he says. “And he wants to marry Trudy Diaz.”

  “Why?”

  “To give her everything,” he confides. “He’s had a crush on that old broad since the days of the original Saint. Rumor has it they were all at a party, and she chose Saint instead of him. He hasn’t forgotten. That’s why he is still keeping the old dick running.”

  “… In hopes of banging Trudy Diaz?” I try not to choke on my chrysanthemum tea.

  “Yeah,” he says, smiling with his lips sealed around his beautiful teeth. “I want a job, Sal.”

  “You help me get back on top, and I’ll bring you on.”

  Sticking out his pinky, he asks, “Is that a promise, loverboy?”

  I lock my finger with his. “Yes, it is, my hopeful sissy boi.”

  “Let me spank you.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes and shrugging. “Just a couple of quick strokes to get you back on track. A hint of a sting—a hit.”

  “… Do I look that bad?”

  “As someone who has known you for…gee, ever…you haven’t looked this bad in a long fucking time. Maybe when Kaci was dying.”

  “I can’t,” I say.

  “Can politely I ask why?”

  “Because I’m having issues.”

  Not going under.

  “Fuck! Yes!” I force my shaft down her throat. “Suck my dick, baby!”

  Thrusting, I watch her eyes fill with love and lust as I run my hand over the black lace and red satin of her bra. I smirk at the shimmering belly button piercing.

  Her extra-long, sparkling pink nails cup my sack, and she grips just tight enough to pinch. I gaze at the pretty matching panties with red bows, and I fall between her legs. I shred them like they are the enemy. “Don’t stop.”

  I am her last resort.

  “What the fuck am I doing?” I asked in the mirror on my second to last night in Tokyo. Masa and I were going to Kyoto for a five-day vacation, and then I would allow his medieval mayhem to inflict primitive torture to this temple.

  Sounded like fun, right?

  From the shopping bag, I removed the rope, clothespins, and sweet knife I bought. I unbundled the rope and sat it in a chair by the window. I methodically laid out the clothespins on the window sill along with the blade.

  I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the suite and presented myself to Tokyo as a bare-assed naked soul.

  “Come and get it, bitch.”

  Winding the rope around my dick and between my thighs, I cried because the truth was never seen. The love stayed hidden in the shadows, kept behind closed doors, and locked away in trunks.

  “When was the first time you did this?” I asked Cruz one weekend in New Orleans right after Kaci died. It was humid and hot as we stood out on the deck of the pool.

  The scent of citronella and lavender burned in a fragrant cloud as the frankincense and myrrh incense wafted in the marble holder on the table. They fused to a heady intoxicant.

  I was naked; he was not.

  Round and round and round, I threw the rope with practiced ease. The threads held the sacred bond when nothing else could. I was far from a Master of shibari, but I happened to know a dedicated spider really well, and the pictures in my head were not always used for beneficial means. It was a quirk in the balance, taking the good with the bad.

  Breathing was easier when bound.

  “I started playing with rope before prison,” he confides, wearing my ball cap. “I had a guy who thought I gave really good head when I was tied up.”

  I looked at his serious expression. “You aren’t kidding.”

  “No,” he replied, glancing up with the eyes that could see into my soul. He lit a smoke and left it between his lips. My arousal hungered, and my pronounced erection strengthened to endure his will. “It became my thing.”

  I was Cruz’s willing participant because I cared little about anything. I volunteered to feed his need. “Your thing?”

  “My addiction…the craving…incapacitating another…forcing the trust.”

  “Sounds, heavenly.”

  He smirked and blinked up. “It is.”

  One at a time, I attached the clothespins to my dick and balls. It wasn’t much, but I was a soloist. They would have to do because blood only brought questions. And I had zero fucking answers to explain my behavior.

  “How long do I stay bound like a scarecrow?”

  “Until I say you’re done,” he quipped, licking his lips. He had spent hours playing arachnid on my limbs. My arms were behind my back, and my legs were cinched tightly. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Shit…”

  With a smoke dangling from his lips, Cruz pulled out his very erect cock, spit in his hand, and started stroking. “You’re reacting.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” he said. “Just stand there and be beautiful for me.”

  My mouth watered with every pass of his palm. “I’m falling in love with you.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “You aren’t alone.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I wish I fucking knew,” he said. “But whatever it is, I fucking hope we do it together because more than anything, I want
to love you better.”

  I grinned. “More than…”

  “More than.” He winked.

  The belt buckle dug into my hand as I thrashed it onto my back. “It’s not enough…” I sped up, I flipped it, and I tried… God knows I tried.

  I fell to my knees, crying. “I need some fucking pain.” I glanced around the room, desperate to find something…anything.

  And the light gifted illumination.

  “You’re enjoying this,” he commented with one leg tossed over the arm of the chair. His ripped jeans were still on as he pumped his gorgeous cock. He had the most divine fucking dick. “How long have you been into pain?”

  “Forever.”

  “… Self?”

  He hit pay dirt, and I cried silent tears. “Most people don’t ever understand. They think it’s freakish and weird.”

  “I get it,” he said. “I have demons too.”

  “Saints don’t get to have evil.”

  “Bullshit,” he quipped. “You, scholar, know better.”

  “Don’t even.”

  “Does anyone know how smart you are, or do they get wrapped up in…” He waved his hand at my physique.

  “I tend to get ignored a lot,” I said. “Maybe ignored isn’t the right word.”

  “Attention misplaced?”

  I nodded. “Exactly.”

  “You’re fucking amazing.”

  “Hardly,” I replied. “I got those demons chomping at my heels.”

  He pulled off his shirt. “You see this ink…”

  “Ya,” I replied. “I’ve seen you naked.”

  “Underneath all my guru shit, I’ve got marks.”

  “… Track?”

  He closed his eyes. “I got demons, man. Three years hustling johns on the street was rough. I lied to everyone. My ma. Myself. No one knows except for you and Dom.”

  “Jesus,” I muttered. “How the hell are you still here?”

  “Pure fucking luck.”

  With the blade sitting open and the lamp laying on its side, I welted my back with the electrical cord and welcomed the relief like a needle in my vein.