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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “I will,” I giggle. “But, I tend to sink to a level of pure competition with you.”

  “I can make you better,” he encourages, not letting go of me. “I can help you learn how to blend the elements—more control and show. Did Rowan teach you?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I’ve been working with her for a couple of years.”

  “… Years?”

  “Mhmm.” My fingers course over his shadowy cheeks as I pull the edge of the thick black fabric up. His emeralds blink with clarity as I urge, “I need you inside of me, Sal.”

  Rocking back on his knees, he trails his fingers over the corset. He tugs the shorts from my body and threads my thigh high covered legs through them. “These boots are insanely fucking hot.”

  “Do you like them?”

  “God, yes!”

  “I bought them just for you,” I brag as he undoes his belt and unzips his jeans. He lowers the denim to his thighs before slowly thrusting inside of me. “I want to be your everything. And I want you to feel every inch of what you just did to me.”

  He pulls my ass closer, sliding me on the low grass, as his fingers undo the side buckles of the corset. He runs the thread up and between his knuckles as the bodice falls open, and his mouth hastily savors one nipple. My hands run through his hair and over his back as I accept we must change together.

  It almost seems a more natural concept for him than me.

  I’m older than him, but some days, he is wise beyond my years.

  “You are my everything.” He breathes against my lip as I pull the blindfold off all the way and let his wet raven curls tumble free. His left hand guides my cheek, and his lips find me.

  He finds me.

  And just when I have it, he redefines me. He sets the bar higher and higher as I must ascend to a plateau to meet his challenge.

  He evolves me.

  And I’m scared of heights.

  “I’m in the middle of a love affair with you and your cock.” My fingers sensually trickle over the wounds of our erotic love marked upon his back as they travel to the curve of his buttocks and clench. “Deeper, baby. I want you deeper.”

  “Don’t sleep with him again,” he whispers against my neck. “It hurts…I can handle everything else…but that.”

  “... Hard limit?”

  “Very hard,” he says with impactful, punctuated thrusts. “This is my…” he growls, quickly rolling his hips. “Kitten. Mine. Mine. Salvatore’s pussy…my nest...Mine. Mine. Mine.”

  “Yes, take it,” I encourage as I arch into his dexterous bowing moves. His fingers tuck under the sides of my back as he lifts me slightly. He’s going to rocket my body up into his arms soon like a rag doll. “I want you to put your baby in me.”

  He is the Master of me.

  And he doesn’t stop, choreographing every move with a director’s keen eye. He knows where he wants my body and what he likes. And he found abundant pleasure in the numbing pain I swatted onto his skin.

  “Promise me, Iris,” he asks. “No more.”

  “I can try,” I say. “But I tend to fuck up a lot.”

  “No, lil girl,” he assures, lifting my body and himself in one swift move of aerial ecstasy as I take flight and float in his arms. He braces my body, thundering beneath me. The vibrations of his thrusts send shockwaves through every nerve ending. I don’t want him to stop.

  “Sal…”

  “You don’t fuck up nearly as much as you think you do. You’re pretty close to perfect, and I can’t expect you to be anything more than what I am, but I need to push those boundaries if we’re ever going to be more.”

  “I know, I shouldn’t have let Cruz take a moment,” I confide. “I should’ve stopped him.”

  “… What?” He tilts his head. “… You didn’t encourage him?”

  “No,” I whisper. “One thing just led to another, and before I knew it, he was inside of me, but he didn’t hurt me.”

  “He knows better,” he mutters with a tightening jaw. “He knows better.”

  “And so do I.” My head lazily rolls back as I fall into the pulse of his beat and the ability of his skill. His understanding and aptitude with which he uses his tool is remarkably exceptional. He is a gifted and generous lover. We never just fuck.

  We perform for the heavens.

  We spark with the promise of love.

  “I’m sorry if you harbored any guilt over Boston,” I whisper. “I should’ve called you. I should’ve told you I wasn’t mad about the drugs or the sex. I should’ve told you I loved you. I should’ve told you how much I appreciated you showing me your darkness, but I didn’t know how. I should’ve been there for you, and I wasn’t.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered, Angel,” he confides. “I accept your apology, but I’m the one who should apologize for my reckless and wrong behavior. I acted out on you. And much like you, all I can do is say…I can try not to let it happen again.”

  “It’s okay,” I whisper as his eyes fill with tears. “Baby…”

  “No, it’s not okay,” he contends, rocking into my shelter. “Because I would never do anything like that to hurt or harm you. I was out of my fucking mind.”

  “I would rather you be out of your fucking mind with me than anyone else in the world, Lucas.” I chant, “I want all of you. I want all of you. I want all of you.”

  “I want you to take all of me. And I need to grow inside of you,” he whispers, spreading his fingers over my back. “I need to drain everything we were before and start over with uncontaminated love. I am not the boy you once loved, but I’m damn sure gonna be the man you fall in love with. I want you to crave me. I want you to need me. I want to be your everything.”

  “And what if I said that meant it had to be Cruz or me?”

  “There is no choice,” he quickly vows with a conviction like never before. “I would say goodbye.”

  “Love doesn’t do that.”

  “Mine will if you draw the line, Iris,” he persists, pumping with long strokes. “If you say him or me…there is no contest anymore. You win.”

  “… What did it?”

  “Tea in Tokyo,” he mutters, ceasing his moves as I rest still, straddling his thighs. “I was so fucking nervous, and you walked in…and I knew—I am in love with this woman. There is not another woman I ever want to be with. You could leave me tomorrow, and I would never touch another pussy.”

  “What if Cruz and I both left?”

  “I would be alone for the rest of my life.”

  “You wouldn’t have needed this release with Rowan?” I question, laying my hands on his shoulders. “Because you were high as a kite when we stopped.”

  “I still am.” He winks with a smirk. “I would’ve gone to soak in a bath and said many prayers for you to come back to me.”

  We lay our foreheads together as I whisper, “… Are you going to pray with me?”

  “Yes,” he murmurs, kissing my lips. “And I’m going to hold your hand and spoil you rotten and kiss your lips when you birth our babies and shop for Christmas presents and put up tiny trains…”

  “Stop!” He hits a nerve on his notions of little people, and tears flood my cheeks because I cannot imagine…never seeing his arms filled with our baby. That picture cannot exist. And I’m so scared it will. “What if that doesn’t happen? What if I’m broken?”

  “You aren’t broken,” he insists. “You just need a husband.” He winks.

  “Are you applying for the job?”

  “Yes!” He playfully but seriously says. He is so much the man I have dreamed of, and I’m worried sick it’s going to tumble down like a house of cards. “Yes, I am!”

  With a huge smile, I laugh. “I would never ask you to decide between Cruz and me.”

  “I know that,” he boasts, sucking on my neck. “Because it turns you on.”

  “I won’t deny it,” I admit, kissing his cheeks as he pushes my whole body up and sweeps his tongue over my nipples. “Things combust with thre
e, but I don’t know if we can get back there.”

  “We’re getting back there,” he fearlessly maintains. “We will fight and struggle and fuck for it if we have to.”

  With one arm braced around my back, he crashes to the ground and thrusts a few times. “I need more.” He pulls out as I gasp—missing him. He stands and pulls up his jeans.

  I bite my lip at the sight of his hard cock pressed against the zipper. “That is incredibly panty-melting!”

  He snarls and hoists me up, cradling my body in his arms and carrying me inside. He pushes the door open with his foot and shuts it the same way. He gently sets me on the bed and skirts out of his jeans when he notices my grin.

  “… What?”

  “You’re going to be my husband.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he respectfully says, kneeling on the ground. His tongue runs along the zippers of my boots, and he plants a teasing kiss on my inner thigh. His dazzling, intense emeralds hone in on me—his prey—as he stalks increasingly closer to the edge where we won’t be able to stop. I bite my finger—wanton and willing to give whatever he demands.

  Slowly, he extends my leg in his palm, takes the slider in between his teeth, and unzips one boot. He wiggles it from my foot and tosses it aside.

  He pulls my finger from between my lips as I pant, “Holy fuck me!”

  His brows dance a jig. “I plan on it!”

  My finger caresses over the silver chain on his neck, holding the crucifix. “How important is the church wedding, Catholic boy?”

  “I should say very,” he offers, raising a single brow. “But at this point, all I want is to make you Iris Raniero. Name the time, date, and place, and I will be there early. You want a big gala or a small shindig in a barn, or maybe we elope in Vegas or even a justice of the peace…I don’t care. I am easy for you. Shinto. Christian. Buddhist. It doesn’t matter to me. Hell, we can get hitched at Quinn’s parish or Morpheus’ Antioch Grace Baptist with the full spirited choir.”

  “You’ve thought about this,” I mutter, stunned. When he reaches my inner thigh, I spread my legs further, welcoming his praise to my slit.

  “I need to take care of you.” He grazes his tongue over my fluttering clit. “I need to treasure you.” His hands spread my thighs wider. “I need to unshackle your sexual deviance.” His words become more than just syllables strung together as sentences but an endearing gospel of his manifesto. “I need your submission.”

  Leaning back, I welcome his worship to my sacred spot. The tip of his tongue drops down as I warn, “No, Sal.”

  “Yes, Iris,” he praises. “Yes!”

  His arms swing over my thighs, and his hands pull me closer to his mouth. I’m trapped within his hands as he forces the issue and claims all of me—blood, sweat, and tears. We’ve fought long and hard for this moment.

  His tongue plunges inside of me. I peer down, grasping, and pulling at his hair. He props my leg on his shoulder, undoing the zipper of the boot and removing it, but his tongue never stops driving into me. “God, fuck me…Sal…fuck me, please!” I cry out, bucking and begging as his thumb casts a magic spell against my clit. “Oh…God! Baby!”

  I can’t fight his benediction any longer as I moan, digging my nails into his shoulders. I bless his name repeatedly and fall back onto the bed. I rapidly scoot towards the headboard because I know he is yearning to serve me more.

  Crawling between my thighs, I gasp at his fist, guiding his cock to my soaked passage. He dips to kiss my lips, and I taste myself on his tongue. “I’m so in love with you.”

  “You must be to do what you just did.”

  “Eating your raw, rare flower is only the cusp of my talent,” he confidently assures, pushing in painstakingly slowly. I gasp at how big he feels after coming on his tongue. Everything is white-hot, unfiltered, and magnified. “I am yours for the taking. You have all of my attention.”

  “For how long?”

  “Forever,” he whispers as I tether my legs around his. “If you want me.”

  “You sound uncertain.”

  “Only because there is a resistance in you,” he confides. “Since we stumbled.”

  “I feel guilty,” I confess in the shadowing frame of his taut biceps surrounding my head. “I feel like I made choices, and those choices hurt us.”

  “Drain the pain,” he repeats. “And we rebuild. Don’t let this consume us.”

  “I’m trying,” I say. “But it’s so hard.”

  “I did things with Hannah.”

  “I know,” I sniffle. “You didn’t fuck her!”

  “Finally!” he booms. “How can you be so sure?”

  In a shower of lamentation, I cry, “Because you’ve never loved me quite like this! You’ve never tried like this! You are fighting for this love, and I can see it and…I’m not sure I deserve it. I’m not sure I’m worth it.”

  “… Lil girl?”

  “What?”

  “Stop fighting a Capo.” He nips my lip and rolls his entire body into mine. Everything moves from his toes to his fingers as he brings even more fight to the table. “Give yourself to me, Angel.”

  His making love to my soul collapses any remaining defiance I have. I surrender to him, not conforming to his will, but letting his love reshape me.

  I am mush—a ball of clay with infinite flexibility.

  He scrapes the exhausting emotions, smoothly caressing them into one, and etching love with every sultry thrust of his hard dick. We’ve never made love like this. We’ve never fucked like this.

  Because we’ve never been in love like this.

  I don’t close my eyes because he doesn’t. “I don’t want to wait.”

  “For…”

  “To marry you,” I say, trusting him. “As soon as we’re both back in the States…meet me somewhere…anywhere…”

  “Name it.”

  “Anywhere?”

  “Yes, baby,” he says. “Anywhere. Hell, I’ll marry you here if you want.”

  “No,” I dissuade. “It’ll be a nightmare in paperwork with two deceased spouses and neither of us having citizenship.”

  “I would still do it if that was what you wanted.”

  “There will be a formal ceremony at some point,” I whisper, thinking of my responsibilities. “Shinto for baba. Buddhist for sofu. Private tea ceremony for me. It’s going to be a logistical nightmare.”

  He shakes his head and laughs, “No, it’s going to be incredible. What if we elope, and we just don’t tell anyone?”

  “You’re serious?”

  “… Ya. We elope, go to Europe for six months, and come back for a big barn burner in Sugargrove. Then exactly a year from the date we flee, we do the vows in Japan with your family.”

  Touching his cheek, I ask, “Flee? Three weddings? Have you lost your mind?”

  “Why not?” he charms with a grin. “I’ll have grace on you tomorrow as my fiancée. You’ll be my wife as soon as I get done training with Masa.”

  “Do we tell Cruz?”

  “That’s your choice,” he says, closing his eyes as he tries to hold the ecstasy a little longer. The real joy is in the journey because the end is nothing more than a soaked sheet. “We can be super private. Meet in Colorado.”

  “What if we went to New Orleans?” He blinks as I say, “I have a lot of amazing memories there with you. One bad trip isn’t going to ruin it for me.”

  “We’ll need witnesses.”

  “Zach and Zeke,” I readily suggest.

  “You want the whole world to know?”

  “No,” I reply. “You’re right.”

  His demanding hips beckon mine, and I arch. “You know we have a lot of bizarre conversations mid-sex.”

  “We always have,” I quip, smiling and riding the waves of his thrusts. “But this may be the best one we’ve ever had.”

  “I love you, Iris,” he whispers with a breath against my lip. Dipping down, he kisses along the length of the collar on my neck and chases with a brush of his
knuckles as his pulse fills me. He clamps his calloused fingers, a throttling reminder of a promise, and he spews his love deep into my tomb. The fluids puddle, muddying inside of the hollow, and I pray for one to puncture. “And nothing can stop this love.”

  87

  baptize me

  His Ride

  Trinity malfunctions were bound to happen.

  Okay. Let’s go back. First of all—

  I didn’t plan on ending up in her bed and between Iris’ thighs.

  I listened for about half an hour as Rowan tried to get me to open up.

  But I’m Deacon Cruz.

  I don’t usually engage in intimate conversations with strangers. I was kind enough to the girl in pink and gray plaid pajamas, but when she passed out, I went to shower.

  I stripped off my clothes in the bathroom before realizing all my clothing was in the other bedroom. I had Iris’ luggage, and she had my clothes. Unless I wanted to wear a small lace thong, I was stuck…. don’t get any wise ideas.

  I gathered the clothes on the bathroom floor, put them in the chair, and started a load of laundry, including the towel I had on. The machine was full and wouldn’t hold all our clothes. I figured I would stay up, clean the kitchen, and do the laundry.

  That is not what happened.

  One platter of untouched oysters sat on the nightstand as I tripped and fell into some emotional paralysis with Iris. We picked up where we left off in New Orleans.

  Her body in my hands…

  My hard cock sheltered by her warmth…

  I heard the door open, but what was I going to say?—I’m sorry, bro…I’m suffocating without your girl’s pussy on my dick?—he’d fucking kill me.

  I made love to her.

  I make no excuses.

  But did I plan on it?

  Fuck no.

  I would never do that.

  I’ve done everything he asked me to do—I have taken care of his flower. I watered and cared for her, and when she was wilting, I put her in the sunshine. I brought the light back to Iris because too much darkness would kill her at the roots.

  Iris is tender and precious and rare.