I’ve given her an unlimited budget in panties—it’s in the contract. She knows what I like. Ribbons and bows and pretty threads, any shape or style will do if they’re feminine and remind me of the shelter I have yet to claim.
She promised monogamy with her submission because I couldn’t have it any other way. She is mine. All mine.
I have no plans of cheating.
I am not even sure the desire for another exists. I am not looking and don’t plan to start. She asked what I would do if Iris surfaced, and I was brutally honest. I didn’t know. I couldn’t say. She said she understood, but my communication was imperative. I couldn’t lie to Skeet.
I’m working on the age thing, but the more I think about it—the more turned on I become. I desperately want to fuck her before her birthday.
“Touch my pussy. And watch your fingers.”
I swiftly pop her ass with my palm. She jars forward and quickly rebounds back for another. I strike her again, this time harder with more of a reverberating impact.
Her eyes close, and she gasps. “Please…put your dick in me…”
She begs several times a day for my cock to penetrate her wetness. And I will—in time. I unzip my jeans and bring my dick to her mouth, which briefly soothes her ache.
“Take my cock. Suck it, Skeet. Harder, pretty girl.” She tightens around the shaft as the pressure mounts in me. “Give me some teeth.”
The sharpness of her bite sends chills through me. She knows I like it rough…in all ways. Pulling her hair down, I run my hands through her locks and buck like a madman. I’ll come soon, but I no longer bother announcing it. She knows.
Because she is that good.
“Stop,” I command, changing my mind. She blinks with hope to me. “Not yet.” She lightly sighs as I lower to my knees behind her. “Touch your clit.”
I lick her pussy lips and push my tongue inside of her opening. I run sweet kisses up to her asshole, and she arches and moans.
Skeet is an ass girl.
And I take full benefit of this.
My fingers plunge into her opening as she rocks back and I eat all that ass. I lick the red lines, circle the hole, and bite the other side. My left forearm doesn’t stop pumping, demanding her orgasm.
“Give it to me.” I snap my teeth on her ass cheek and push two fingers of my right hand into her ass. “Do it.”
She lifts off her hand to stroke my cock. “I can’t take it.”
“Baby…”
“I can’t,” she says. “It’s too much.”
No safe words. Just real talk.
I carefully pull from her and sit on the sofa. My jeans hang open as I slowly stroke my dick. Her blue eyes yearn for more.
“What changes?”
“Everything,” I answer, studying her expression. “The dynamic shifts, and I won’t be able to let you go.”
“Because you like me.”
“Yes, Skeet, because I like you.” I roll my eyes. “If you are ready to take my offer, then this dick is yours.”
Her lips curl and shift as she thinks about it. “It’s a big deal.”
“Ya,” I say, smirking. “It is. Make a decision.”
“I make the decision every day,” she complains. “This is that big of a deal to you?”
I nod. “I gave you the Master you wanted. I know what I want and when you can give it to me, then we will discuss sex. The question is, are you ready now?”
“I can’t.”
“Then I can’t let you on my dick.”
Tears well in her eyes. “I’m going to go pack.”
And the rejection stings like a thousand lashes from razor-sharp bottle caps shredding my back.
In many ways, I am a chaste Dom, refusing to use the tool without love and commitment. She won’t be my girlfriend, and I won’t have casual sex anymore.
This is going to hurt.
Because I am in love with Hannah and everything about her. I run a finger over my dick because he and I…we’ve seen some shit…and he is my first love…and he is my only love…
…and we’re not going back
…we’re not going gray
…we’re not going under
…we’re not going in
…unless we’re staying for good.
I am the priority.
Fuck bloodletting.
And getting harmed.
“Are you mad at me?” she asks as we lay in bed.
“No,” I admit. “I’m hurting.”
“… Because of me?”
“Because of many things,” I say. “I need a commitment to make love to you. And I am willing to give you that tonight.”
“And what if…” she hesitates. “What if she comes back?”
“You have to trust me when I say the train has left the station.”
“You’re not over her.”
“I’m not ever going to be over her, Skeet. Iris isn’t someone I can just recover from. I spent ten years of my life dreaming of this perfect life with this perfect girl, and my bubble burst.”
“And that is why I cannot commit to being your girlfriend. I want to. I want this. But you aren’t even remotely ready for that. If I agree tonight, I am consenting for you to hurt me.”
“Maybe I will change my mind where sex is okay again, but it isn’t now. And I need you to respect that boundary. The act of sex is a hard limit. And I never thought I would say that.”
“You’re not mad...”
“Not at you, sweetheart. I’m mad for being so damned broken. See, I know you’re right. I’m not ready. Having D/s as we do is nice, fun, good...light even, but the second I put myself inside of you, we morph into something else—possession.”
“You know I love you,” she whispers. “And you know I’ll wait for you. I’m just horny.”
Ruffling my fingers through her hair, I laugh. “I can take care of that.”
I kiss her lips and suckle her breasts for a long time. She brings comfort to my overturned world. “I need you.”
From the nightstand, I grab the dildo and slide it inside of her body. She moans and bucks. I won’t fuck her with my dick, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make her come on a dick. “Oh…hell…”
“Just pretend it’s me.”
Her hand presses against my cheek. “Is that what you do when it’s up your ass?”
“No, that’s what I do when it’s gagging my throat to silence the demons.”
78
Woo Me
His Ride
We’ve been in New Orleans for almost a week. Iris spends her days sulking and reading romance novels while I piddle between house chores, work, and tuning up the Indian from the altitude change.
Iris is calmer here in New Orleans, but her depression seems to have taken a turn for the worse. She’s pages deep in a love story out by the pool when I decide to change the pace. I swagger out, ignoring her skimpy black bikini with gold trim. Her top is off, and she is face down.
I stare at that ass.
Her ass is like…perfection…squatted…toned…puffed ideally for a palm, paddle, or whip. And to see it displayed in the bikini bottom—I could die a happy man staring at that ass.
I am not alone.
Someone on the other side of the world knows it too.
“Get up, take a shower, and put one of those fabulous dresses on that are hanging in your closet. I am taking you out.”
She lazily looks up. “Where are we going?”
“Someplace nice.”
“Where are all the boys?”
“They’re over at the old clubhouse, cleaning, and painting,” he laughs. “I paid a fucking fortune to get it back, but it’s a disaster. Let’s have some fun. Nothing is going on. Just you and me and a night on the town.”
“Okay,” she says, sitting up and showing off her boobs. I pretend not to notice because we haven’t exactly been banging like horny teenagers. Sex was much better in Colorado. She dives into the pool, and I follow, dropping my
jeans and not thinking anything about it.
She swims a few laps as I rummage through my denim and grab a smoke. I’m turned towards the wall when I feel her hand grab my dick.
With the unlit cigarette dangling from my lip, I ask, “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to fuck you now.”
“Here? In the water?”
“Uh, huh,” she says with unrelenting focus. “Don’t move. Don’t change a thing.”
She eases on slow, holding the wall, and fucks the ever-loving crap out of my dick like a wild woman. “God, Deacon!” she loudly moans. “I’m going to come!”
I’ve not felt so objectified…since the round of pussy eating in Japan. And I love it. There is something about her using my body as nothing more than an instrument for sex that just turns me on. “May I?”
“You better!”
She leans back in my arms as her hands move to my shoulders, and I thrust with her moves. Our bodies are dancing underwater, and the tension is building. “I’m gonna come!”
And we erupt—simultaneously—together.
Her gasps match my heaving breaths as we grin and giggle.
Our spark isn’t dead.
We’ve just been floating in a cesspool of shit.
In the short white dress with a floor-length, billowy train in the back, Iris looks like a bride. She walks down the spiral staircase in a pair of sparkling silver and crystal stilettos I found in Denver. “You look fucking amazing!”
“You shaved your beard!”
“I did,” I grin as she lays her hand on my smooth cheek. “I cleaned up thinking the change might help you.”
“And the suit?”
“You’re a doll,” I gush in the dark blue three-piece. “And maybe I need to up my game.”
“Saint Cruz, your game was never an issue,” she quips as I put my hand on her bareback. “I do like the tie.” She winks, pulling it.
“I’ll remember that later,” I flirt. “This dress frames your mural perfectly. I had hoped it would.”
“Where did you get it?”
I furrow my brow. “I special ordered this one in Houston when I got back from Japan.”
“I am in love with this dress.”
“It’s a dress to get married in,” I comment.
She giggles. “Half of my walk-in closet is dresses I could marry in, Deacon.”
“It’s not my fault that you look brilliant in pure white.”
“Thank you.”
“But you’re missing something,” I point out, pulling the diamond choker from my pocket. “Something you want back, but you’re afraid to use your words.”
“Oh, my God…how did you?”
“I had Dom get them the day after you left.”
“You knew?” she asks. “How?”
Stroking my trimmed goatee, I honestly reply, “Because despite everything, you love Sal, and he loves you. He wanted to give you time to explore your feelings with me. He needed the bond between you and I to be as strong as you and him and him and me. He wants this to work, Iris.”
“Can I please have my collar back, Master Cruz?”
“Yes, Angel,” I reply, fastening it around her neck. “But it would be such a shame for you not to have the matching bracelets.”
“Holy!” she squeals. “These are from me.”
“Does he know?”
“He knows everything, baby girl,” I inform, securing them. “When you are ready…call him.”
I escort her to the door where the Corvette Stingray sits. The custom paint job screams his name—slate gray with red accents. “Where did you get that?”
“A good friend has ways,” I say with a grin. “He said you loved driving a similar one. This is yours. Your chariot awaits.”
“Sal…”
“You should walk around it,” I suggest, snapping pictures.
“Yeah.” I smirk, remembering the night. “It was our last night together in Boston. Oh, my God…” She frantically points, unable to speak at the plates…M4RRYM3.
“I know.”
“He didn’t hurt me, Deacon.”
My eyes fill with tears. “I know that too. But I inflicted the hurt.”
“You were going to kill him.”
“Nah,” I maintain, staying strong. “Just put the fear of a Saint in him. No one messes with my girl, even the man I love.”
With a wink, she cockily gloats, “I’ll show you how to drive it after dinner.”
Opening her door, I smirk. “I’m counting on it.”
We have a lovely dinner at an exclusive club. We’re wrapped in love with one another and the possibility of rekindling our trinity.
“I sent Hannah to him,” I confess in the middle of the dessert.
“You what?” She panics. “Why?”
“To keep him on the ready…”
She shakes her head. “I don’t believe everything I’m hearing, and I’m still not sure I do. This isn’t happening.”
Spooning bites of chocolate soufflé into her lush lips, I say, “And he is playing.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s practicing his Dominance,” I inform. “On a well-disciplined sub. Just like I have kept his submissive entertained.”
“Did he collar her?”
“They have an arrangement,” I reply.
“They’ve slept together,” she says. “I know they have.”
I feed her another bite. “You are assuming way too much.”
“But he’ll say—well, you slept with Deacon as an excuse for his behavior,” she says with frustration. “And all of this stuff will be pointless.”
“No,” I argue, defending Sal when he has no voice. “Hardly. He believes you don’t want him.”
“I want you both, but I didn’t sign up for Hannah,” she says, glancing at me. “He doesn’t know about any of this, does he?”
My blue eyes beam. “Would I do something like that? I’m just a biker…”
“No, you are Saint fucking Cruz, and you manipulated the whole thing.”
“He wants you back,” I persist, shoveling another bite in her mouth. “You may just need to give him a little push.”
With a resting bitch face, she asks, “Who sent the Stingray?”
“Sal did.”
“And the plates?”
“Sal did.”
“But he doesn’t know I have the collar back on.” Still fuming, she quizzes, “And what about Hannah?”
“You may not have a choice,” I stipulate, dipping my tongue seductively in the decadence. “Salvatore is the Master. We are his puppets. And we must respect the game.”
We live as three.
Adjust your thinking, girl.
Not everything fits into a box.
And Colorado was more than snow.
It was the fucking lesson you needed.
Iris drives like she fucks—cautious at first, feeling out her surroundings, and when safety is obtained, she opens the cage to an untamed beast.
She zips across the freeway as the rap music blasts. If they have nothing else in common, they can share music. I don’t mind it, but these two know music—all kinds of music.
She is beautiful in the freeing moment, laughing and loving every minute. I cannot imagine my life without her…or him. I did everything I did for a reason—they were both misbehaving horribly. And I took some privilege with Master Cruz to sway the situation.
I turn the volume down, and she gives a look of concern. I know she is agitated with me.
“I want to tell you something.”
“Okay,” she says, slowing down. “Should I stop?”
“No,” I say. “But, it’s important.”
“I’m listening,” she replies, brushing her hand over mine. “Always.”
“I don’t ever want you to feel like I am missing out on anything. I don’t want you to be with Sal, in your bed at night, and thinking about me.”
“You want me to silence the guilt,” she a
stutely remarks, completely understanding what I am saying.
“There shouldn’t be any guilt, just silence the fear,” I say. “Just getting to be with you both is more than enough. I said it before and I’ll repeat it—I don’t want a wife. I don’t want a husband.”
“What do you want?”
“To take care of both of you,” I insist, rubbing her fingers. “In whatever capacity that means. I don’t want to come between you, and I don’t want you ever to feel like I’m some third wheel. I have a name, and it’s Deacon Cruz. Neither of you have ever made me feel like there were positions we were challenging one another for. I know, even if I married you, the great love of your life isn’t me.”
She pulls off into an empty business lot. “And that doesn’t bother you?”
“No!” I maintain. “I loved how we were before. Back up for a second…” She glances around the parking lot. “Not literally, babe.”
“Oh!” She smiles.
“I had a very rough childhood, a lot of abuse and violence every fucking day, even if it wasn’t directed at me. My stepdad was a complete fucker, and I praise Amber’s name for eliminating him. It was the one good thing she has done in her life.”
“You should tell her that…”
“Before or after I kill her?” I glance out the window. “I was gang-raped by a group of guys in high school, not long after, I ran off to Chicago. I hustled the streets trying to figure out who the fuck I was, and I did a lot of shit I am not proud of, but I survived it.”
Holding my hand, she says, “I know.”
“I don’t want to survive without you and Sal,” I confide. “And I will take whatever you want to give me. I fell in love with you when I met you. You got me through eighteen months behind bars. I fell in love with Sal because we beat the fuck out of each other. And do you know what?”
“Hmm?”
“We’re going to hit each other again,” I insist, not letting this go. “He’s going to knock me around, and I’m going to swing back, and then we’re going to go shower and fuck like savages, and it won’t be sweet.”
“Sometimes, it’s sweet…”
Her sentiment puts an unmistakable grin on my face. “Yeah, sometimes it is. But sometimes, we’re rough and tumble with one another, and you, my precious, beautiful girl, need to stay the fuck out of it.”
Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4) Page 65
