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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “I did with Rowan,” Megan counters, pecking Sal on the lips. “Dom told me to. We’re just waiting on Skeet to get out of the shower. She’s coming to stay with us tonight, so you can…you know…partake of each other.”

  “Where is your truck?”

  “Sir’s getting it customized,” she says as Iris eyes the sexy car and slips into the driver seat. With a deviant grin, she starts it, and he spins. Work him up, girl. Keeps his head on straight. She hits the gas, revving it. “And the shadowy beast hasn’t been driven in weeks.”

  “… Shadowy beast?”

  “Yeah,” Megan says. “Matches your…you know.”

  I die laughing and hop in the passenger seat. I look at Iris. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Nup.”

  Curiously, I ask, “Why not?”

  “Because knowing my luck, Cop Cody will be out, and he’ll want to frisk me again.”

  “… What?”

  “You didn’t get the recording from Jaid?” She flips through her phone. “I had her send it to me too. I’ll forward it to our group chat.”

  Sal glances at his phone and hits the play button. His eyes widen with a hate-filled stare and focus on mine.

  “It’s four in the afternoon. The park is open. Broad daylight. No drug deals. No butt sex. Nothing is going on here.”

  “You want there to be something going on?”

  “Are you asking if I want to hook-up in my fiancé’s truck, Cody?”

  “Yeah, I am. A little afternoon delight with the geisha doll of Juliet.”

  “Get your hand off my tits. Get away from me. Not a word about this to anyone.”

  “Heh. We’ll see—another time and place. I’ll be watching. And waiting.”

  “What are we taking?”

  “The bikes,” I hiss, popping my jaw. “Megan, stay here with Iris. Do not leave!”

  “Iris, get your ass in the house! Nowala!”

  The thundering roar of the engines fills the garage as we take off. We’re careful over the driveway and the dip where it floods, but the second we hit the pavement, we fly. I don’t bother to call the Tenn 12. I don’t need them to threaten this son of a bitch.

  We cruise through Sugargrove to the police station I used to call home, and we spot his patrol car and the jacked-up piece of shit he’s compensating with. I swerve into the lot with Sal hot on my ass. I strategically park in the very back and march into the station.

  “Kit,” Sal says as we run into the new Sheriff. He stops for a minute to explain things as I go directly to his office and close the door.

  “Hey, Cruz.”

  I hit the play button on my phone as his eyes panic.

  “You want to give me one good reason not to kill you?”

  “That’s not what happened!” He hurries back, trying to escape as I lunge towards him and shove his ass against the wall.

  “Stop lying!” I roar, repeatedly banging his body into the cement blocks. Books fall from the case as Sal slips inside.

  His voice quavers. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

  “Move Cruz,” Sal warns as his weapon of a fist repeatedly drives into Cody’s face and torso. Blood slings from his mouth as the tenderization process doesn’t take long at all. Poor bastard. I do know how much that hurts. “You do not touch or harass that which belongs to me! Keep your dirty fucking hands off, Iris! And if you ever so much as say a word to Hannah Cruz again, I will slit your fucking throat!”

  I lay a hand on Sal’s shoulder. “Enough!”

  Cody’s battered body slides to the ground as I crouch down. In my lowest foreboding tone, I calmly say, “If you ever touch my Iris again, I will cut your nut sack off and feed it to you while splitting your sausage in two. Do you understand what I am saying, Cameron?”

  Through heavy breaths, he nods. “Yeah.”

  I smile. “Good boy!”

  We quietly leave his office and spot Kit again. “Thank you again, Ma’am.”

  “If he gives you any more grief, let me know,” she contends. “We’ve had a few complaints of him harassing people he’s pulled over, but it’s been mostly junkies from the trench.”

  “He’s gonna die in the trench if he lays another hand on Iris,” I warn. “I ain’t fucking around on this!”

  “I gotcha boys!”

  We leave the building, and I say, “I need a smoke before we go.”

  “You should marry her,” Sal mutters. “Let me go alone to Europe.”

  “… What? Are you fucking crazy?” I give a confused look. “Fuck, no!”

  “Ya,” he seriously says. “You should.”

  “I am not marrying your girl.”

  “And what if the baby is yours?”

  “It doesn’t fucking matter if it’s yours or mine,” I argue, having spent a lot of the last six weeks thinking about this. “I love you. And I will love your kids like my own.”

  “How do we know this isn’t going to be another Merritt or Raine, though?”

  “Okay, I understand the problem now,” I say, deciphering his dread and making a giant T with my arms. “Timeout, brother. First, we didn’t know about either of those children so no one can say shit to us. We did not raise them, and we didn’t know them—they were strangers—because of shit Kace did. And second, I don’t want to marry Iris. I just want to love her and you—I am an equal opportunist.” I grin.

  With his ass propped against the bike, he smirks. “I am in love with you.”

  “I know that.”

  “If something happens to her…”

  “Then, yes, I will be Deacon Raniero.” I wink. “But we’re going to do everything in our power to prevent that from occurring, which means—you marrying her ass.”

  “What if I want to be Salvatore Cruz?” he charms with a twinkle in his eye. “It has a certain sexy ring to it.”

  “It does…”

  His hands lift to the sky. “Deacon and Salvatore Cruz.”

  “Goddamn, I love you so fucking much.”

  He grins. “Thanks for letting me get loaded.”

  “Sometimes, we all need a controlled burn.”

  Grabbing my fingertips, he asks, “… A controlled meltdown?”

  “If I had let you go off on your own devices, you would’ve hit everything in the silver box.”

  “I just needed to numb it out for a bit.”

  I move closer, wedging between his thighs and running my hand through his hair. “I know, baby. He did things—unforgivable, forbidden sins.”

  “I don’t want to traipse down this road.”

  “We’re not,” I maintain, stroking his cheek. “But if you need cake, let me know because I can’t always read you, and I’ll be happy to serve.”

  I lower down and kiss his lips as he whispers, “I love you so fucking much, Cruz.”

  I wink. “Befuckinghave, Boston. Don’t make me call Daddy.”

  He grins. “I will.”

  The Master

  The Shack is dark when we pull in. “Where the fuck are they?”

  “Shit!” I panic. We sprint inside and spot Rowan, sitting on the sofa and playing Cruz’s video games. “Where are they?”

  “Trust me. You do not want to go play pool…”

  I flick a brow, as Cruz suggests, “You want to go rack’em up?”

  “Yes! Because I’m going to go beat her fucking ass!”

  “No,” Rowan says, not looking away from the screen. “Because she’s pregnant, and you love her.” Her eyes finally drift to mine. “Trust me. This is a girl who needs to have her side pieces.”

  “… Side pieces?”

  “If you want to keep her content, let her flitter in the delta garden.”

  Cruz shrugs. “It could be much worse….her cake of choice could be Durante Costa.”

  “He’s a prick,” Rowan volunteers, back on her video game.

  “Wait,” I reply. “What did you say?”

  “… He’s a real asshole?” she quips, biting her lip
as she beats the round.

  Cruz grins and says, “Nice!” She smiles.

  Sitting on the coffee table, I ask, “What do you know about him?

  “You shouldn’t trust a damn word he says.”

  “How do you know this?” I pull out a smoke, and she swipes one. “Sources, Tully.”

  I flick the lighter for her, and she inhales. “Because I was pregnant with his baby when I was sixteen, and he was making the rounds in Europe,” she informs, exhaling. “He’s been trying to find an investor to get back into Immortal for years because his grandfather cannot stand him.”

  “Wait…” Cruz says. “You had a baby?”

  “I said, I was pregnant,” she says. “Judge me if you want, but I fucking got rid of that fast.”

  “No judgement,” he mutters. “We should go upstairs.”

  With a real concern, I quiz, “Can we talk about this some more some time?”

  “I’ll be in France for six months serving your majesty,” she snarks with a bow. “And you don’t get to be mad at her for that either.”

  She glances at Cruz as I say, “Is there something going on here that I need to know about?”

  “No,” they simultaneously say.

  “There is.”

  “If there is,” Deacon growls. “It is pure sex.”

  “Exactly!” She grins. “Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill. You wanna stir the pot with princess pussy whipped?”

  “Yes,” I eagerly say. “I do.”

  “Get your shirts off and follow me.” We tiptoe up the staircase, and she tosses her shirt, revealing a sexy purple lace bra. In front of me, Cruz catches it and inhales. My eyes open wide. He shrugs and grins.

  The sensual moans fill the air as a heavy bass rhythm plays in the background. She barely cracks open the door, and I spot my bride, sitting in the middle of the pool table and getting serviced by Megan and Skeeter.

  “Ignore the fact it’s your sister,” Rowan whispers as Cruz lays one helluva kiss on her. “Trust me.”

  Since when did this shit happen?

  “Always,” he replies as I furrow my brow. Her fingers make quick work of undoing our belts and jeans.

  “Don’t lose your pants, boys.” She winks. “It’s go time. Follow me. One step behind. Cruz stays on my right. Nero stays on my left.”

  I glance at Cruz, who shrugs. “She’s the choreographer.”

  She busts the doors open, and we sashay inside to three shocked faces—which is priceless. Extending her arms back, she rips the belts from our jeans and lashes the leather against the sides of the pool table.

  Holy fuck that is hot as hell.

  Hello, hard on.

  She does it a few more times, each with more vibration than the last. The crack is enough to dew the tip of my pounding cock.

  “What are you doing?” Iris asks.

  “Playing,” Rowan replies, kneeling and putting our dicks in her mouth.

  “O—kay,” Skeet says. “I am having a grand time, but I am not watching my brother get a blow job.”

  “I’m with you!” Megan quickly kisses Iris. “Dom is going to whip my ass if I watch this. There are rules, and no other cock is number one.”

  The girls leave. Alone and spread on the felt, Iris bats her lashes. Rowan spits our dicks from her mouth and gives a couple of firm strokes. “She’s all yours boys!”

  I just fell in love with the Irish girl.

  With an innocent demeanor, Iris questions, “What the hell?”

  “Exactly, Miss, I am going to take advantage of two innocent girls!” I crawl onto the pool table between her legs with my very erect cock.

  “I needed cake,” she sasses. “Multiple slices.”

  “Cruz, fill her mouth with some carb-free Cajun.”

  “Yes, Sir,” he snarls with a wink. “Happily!”

  “Wait,” I say, changing my mind. “She’s eating Italian. You go fishing in the pond.”

  “… Is she that wet?”

  “You have no idea,” I brag, teasing my dick on her pouting lips. She hungrily flicks her tongue out, begging for more. “It’s like fucking a tight ocean.”

  Iris giggles as I bend down to tangle her tongue with mine. “You’re so bad!”

  “Says the girl who tastes like Megan’s pussy.”

  Her sapphires blink. “… How do you know what Megan’s pussy tastes like?”

  “He’s a slut,” Cruz comments, thrusting in slowly as Iris moans. “Just like we love him.”

  103

  off the rails

  His Butterfly

  We arrive in New Orleans late Wednesday night. I expect it to be a mess from our attack still, but nothing remains of the memory when Deacon opens the door to thousands of twinkling lights.

  “Oh, my fucking God!” Tears fill my eyes. “What the hell did you do?”

  Deacon bumps my shoulder. “We make magic.”

  “I thought we were going to the Justice of the Peace?”

  He lowers his head and gives a duck face. “Did you honestly think that we would let you get married in some office?”

  “I didn’t know!”

  “Holy crap!” Sal boasts, carrying in bags. He’s got a mouthful of ice—it’s a new tic. I heard crunch-crunch-crunch all the way here. God, I love this man. “What the fuck?”

  “You should go upstairs to my bedroom,” Deacon suggests as I kick my shoes off by the door and sprint. “Don’t scream too loud.”

  In his room, I spot the white dress I wore from the night of our date, only he’s had it embellished with thousands of tiny crystals forming an Oriental mosaic piece of lotus, dragonflies, and a magnificent phoenix on the train. “Deacon!”

  “I told you,” he says from behind me. I jump, thinking he was still downstairs.

  “Who did this?”

  “Kim has many unusual talents.”

  “It’s not going to fit!” I cry.

  He blinks several times. “Who the hell do you think I am?” Stepping closer, he takes my hand. “I had it sized up to a seven.”

  I hug him and giggle in his arms. “It’s so perfect!”

  “And you are going to be stunning in it, Iris.”

  His blue eyes speak to mine, and there is no stopping the kiss that follows. He picks me up, and I latch my legs around him. “Promise me you won’t leave.”

  “I am not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

  “Cruz,” Sal seriously says as I feel guilt come on. He doesn’t set me down but carries me outside the door.

  “Yeah?”

  “We got a problem,” he says, holding the letter. “Enzo Gennaro is threatening to kill our Lotus.”

  “Shit…” Deacon says, wrapping his arms tighter under my ass. “I will call Dom, and we will get increased security while you’re here. The Tenn 12 will be here tomorrow.”

  “I’m going to have to call in some of The Commission members too.”

  “I thought you were upset,” I say.

  “No, baby,” Sal replies, kissing my lips. “But I’m not letting anything ruin your day.”

  The next two days are a flurry of activity at the house—caterers, florists, and construction crews are transforming the backyard into a dreamy, fantastical wonderland.

  We have a busy house full of blue blocks as well. Megan and Dom, Serene and Nico, Rowan, Hannah, and Trudy—Cristos is coming in for the wedding on Saturday morning.

  Thankfully, they’re not staying at the house but a hotel. Trudy is engaging in some extramarital activities with Sal’s cousin, Dragon. Oki and Rosalina are babysitting all the kids: Kade, Mae, Raine, and Romeo. Mae is serving as my flower girl, and Romeo is the ring bearer.

  Part of me regrets killing Kali, but when I found out she was funneling all my private intel off to the highest bidder, I lost it. I had an idea that I couldn’t trust either one of my assistants and my suspicions were confirmed by Sal. The vandalism on his truck in Colorado was Enzo and his men. I wasn’t surprised. He is determined to hunt
me down.

  I learned everything from watching Nero and Cruz.

  How they would’ve handled it and what they would’ve done…I needed to prove it to myself I could be as ruthless as they were.

  I have two new personal assistants, Georgia Wills and Jas Torrente. The beauty of this is the fact that Georgia is currently rubbing my feet in my bedroom while we go over a few things. Oh, and they are going to France too.

  “Are you nervous about the bachelor party?” she asks. “I know it can be a bit stressful.”

  “Not at all,” I honestly reply. “They’re having it at Gina’s. Any word from Amber?”

  “None, Ma’am.”

  “She’ll call eventually,” I sigh, looking at my pretty pink glittering nail polish with my engagement ring. “Same with Cas. And Diablo. They’ll all show their faces eventually or turn up dead.”

  “Yes,” she agrees. “This isn’t near over. You are the Lotus.” Her eyes veer away. “And there is that hunk of a man you are marrying.”

  I grin wide as he stands in the doorway, smiling at me. “My Dark Prince…”

  “He is,” she says. “Do you need anything else?”

  “Just make sure you stop funding, D.C.”

  “I am going to go double-check that now while I stare at Deacon’s ass.”

  I giggle. “Alright.”

  Sal swaggers over and kisses me. “How are you?”

  “I’m good,” I reply. “It’s quiet in here.”

  “I know,” he says, flopping on the bed between my legs. He isn’t after my pussy—no, no—I have something far cooler than that. Lifting my shirt, he lays his head against my belly.

  “One day, your baby is going to slug you.”

  He chuckles. “I hope he knocks the fuck out of me.”

  My fingers run through his hair. “Tonight is the bachelor party.”

  Tucking his head between my legs, he complains, “Oh, God…”

  “And I know it’s your last night of freedom,” I whisper, realizing this is the end of the manwhore era. “If you want to fuck Skeeter, you can.”