We watch in awe as Father Quinn blesses them. Deacon thanks him, and they walk together. “What?”
“It’s a handfasting blessing,” Deacon informs.
Rowan says, “A year and a day.”
“Did you two just get engaged?”
“Yeah, but we’re not like in love and shit,” Rowan says as Deacon nods. “It’s more convenience because neither of you is ever going to be without us.”
With concern, Iris asks, “Are you going to get married?”
“Yeah,” Deacon says. “We’re planning a barn burner on June 23rd, 2020, and then we’re gonna fuck and play video games.”
“Or something.”
Sal checks his watch. “That’s a Tuesday. Who the fuck gets hitched on a Tuesday?”
“We will!” Rowan claims as Deacon smiles. “Can we get out of here?”
“Thank you, Quinn!”
“I will see you soon, Salvatore.”
“Yes, Sir!” I wave. “Sanctum!”
“Bianco Nero the Black,” he replies with a gracious nod. “Of Sanctum.”
“… What?”
“The second you land, The Commission is upgrading you for your service in the elimination of Altromessa.”
“Congratulations!” Iris cheers, kissing my cheek. I turn and steal those lips. “I’d like to go to my new house in France, please!”
“Well, um,” I mumble, grinning. “There is a bit of a thang.”
“What kind of a thang?”
Stroking my goatee, I confess, “… A honeymoon kind of a thang in Italy?”
Her eyes widen, and my siren screams.
And it is the most glorious sound I’ve ever heard.
Iris Amarie Nakamura and Lucas Salvatore Raniero
June 22nd, 2019
Our intimate, kinky sanctuary is sacred, a tomb of tears, filled with joys and sorrows as I rise like a phoenix from the ash. We swoop and soar, divide and reunite, but this journey isn’t for the weakened or lost. We are more determined and confident together than we ever are apart. Iris and I are a team, and the choices we make for our future, we do together.
104
ciao, amore
His Butterfly
In the bedroom of the Lotus jet, the battery-powered candles glow, and flowers line the room as I sit in the middle of the bed, eating my wedding cake.
Between my legs, Sal is on his belly, talking to his baby and eating me. I won’t be having an orgasm at this rate because every time he hits the high spot where I might surrender in ecstasy, he comes up with something new to tell his son or daughter.
With his sexhat on, his eyes blink to mine. “What are you thinking about now, hubs?”
“I’m wondering if it’s a girl when I will let her date.”
“Never!” I laugh and feed him a fork full of the delightful sugary goodness. “Fifteen? Sixteen?”
“I was thinking twenty-five.”
“Oh, fuck… We got a long way to go.”
“Tell me!”
“Is your dick hard?”
“Ya,” he says, kissing my belly. “You want it, Mrs. Raniero?”
“God, do I…” I lustfully beg. “Please fuck me, Sir.”
“You realize this is our first time...” He mischievously grins. “To join the mile-high club?”
I laugh. “Yeah, you already tapped your old ball and chain in the backseat of your truck while Cruz was doing ninety on the highway.”
“I will never forget when I came,” he snickers. “Cruz yelled score, and Rowan hooted like we won the game!”
“Because we did, Sal.”
Hours later, as we’re touching down on the tarmac, I study the remote place in the countryside of his ancestral motherland from an aerial perspective. The day holds a brilliant blue sky with Italian stone pines and boxwood hedges sparking my curiosity. The linear structures and crisp, clean lines bring an understanding, and the chaotic mess contained within the shapes entertains my imagination.
Waiting by the door of the bedroom, Sal smirks and offers a kiss. We’re high on love and blissful in the ecstasy from our nocturnal frolic. He’s so good to me.
“You’re so beautiful! I am in love with you, Iris Raniero,” he gushes, laying his hand on my growing belly bump. My hand drifts to his as he passionately devours my mouth. “Are you ready for this new chapter?”
I beam a grin. “I have never been more ready for anything in my life. You have everything I need. And I am so in love with you, Lucas.”
“You have to stop looking at me like that, or we’re not going to get off the plane,” he snickers as I catch a glimpse of Deacon grinning. He’s holding Rowan’s hand. “We’re going to have so much fun.”
I never planned on expanding our love quite like this, but I am not opposed to it either. I welcome real love and stay open to possibility.
Deacon swaggers over to the doorway and embraces me. He whispers, “I just wanted to report for duty and tell you that I am here for you. Anything you need. Anything you want. I love you more, baby girl.”
Our cheeks brush, and I rub his platinum threads through my fingers. “Just don’t stop.”
Sal grabs his ass and snags a kiss from his lips. “You ready for this?”
“I am,” Deacon confirms. “Big job taking care of the Capo’s wife.”
“You got this, Cruz.”
“So do you, Nero the Black,” Deacon encourages, preparing to exit by dangling the smoke from his lips. “Nothing is happening to our girl.”
I extend my hand to Rowan, inviting her into our circle. “Yes, Ma’am?”
“Thank you,” I whisper, smiling. “For being perfect.”
“That is you, my Lotus,” she replies. “I am happy to be yours. Never doubt that.”
I swiftly collide my tongue against hers. She’s soft and sweet and delicious. I feel Sal’s grip tighten on my hand as he growls, “If you don’t stop doing that, we’re not getting off the plane.”
With a blush on my cheeks, I giggle as Sal leans forward and kisses Rowan. “You’re a good girl and an incredible lover for my subs. Thank you, Tuls.” He winks.
The balanced dynamic of our quad may never make sense to anyone else, but it works for us. We’re discovering happiness, contentment, and trust in one another as we fall prey to the lures of corruption and crime. Our unholy acts will path to a dark place with forbidden sins, but we are fearless in our journey to find absolution and make peace with our choices.
We do it—together—as one.
Moving through the cabin, I blink at Hannah Cruz, not even having realized she was on board my plane. She is in a bizarre outfit—a BDSM prom dress type thing.
I glance at Rowan, who shrugs and to Deacon, who vacantly blinks. I pivot to my husband, who has some explaining to do.
“Why is she here?”
“Trust me,” he contends, putting on his sunglasses and straightening his sport coat as he heads for the exit.
In my elegant silk vanilla suit, I chase his ass down the steps in my four-inch red heels. “I swear I’m going to start cursing at you in Japanese!”
He spins back. “Bring it, mia moglie.” I fume and stomp about. “You’re acting so…Asian.”
With a snarl, I swat at his bicep, and he ducks laughing. “I am not spending my honeymoon with your tartlet!”
He grins. “Damn straight ya ain’t! But I made a promise and I intend to fulfill it.”
We walk as five, almost in formation like birds, towards the two limousines. Sal leads as I stay on his right with Rowan off to my side and behind. On the opposite side, Deacon maintains an equal stride with me, and his sister evens up our arrow.
The door opens, and Massimiliano Vidal steps out. “Welcome to Italy!”
They embrace and do their daego smooches. “Thank you for inviting us!”
With a smile, I extend my hand, and he kisses it. “You’re looking ravishingly beautiful doll!”
“Thank you, Mass.” He leans closer and kisses my cheek
as he places his hand on my belly. I don’t care. Sal pays this man a fortune to keep me safe.
He greets Rowan and Deacon with grandiose hugs and kisses. “You’re looking fabulous, Miss Tully.”
“Thank you, Sir Mass.”
I glare at Sal, who rolls his eyes and looks guilty as fuck. He knew.
Sal puts his hand on Mass’ shoulder, “This is Slave Hannah, otherwise known as Skeeter.”
“It is a pleasure.”
In her bizarre outfit, she kneels as drool practically pours out of her mouth. Rowan and I exchange looks. “Thank you for your purchase, Master Vidal.”
“You are most welcome. You’re very young,” he says with a sexy, sinister tone. I lift a brow. He offers his hand as they depart. “We’ll meet for dinner soon!”
“Have fun, Mass!”
“I plan on it.” He waves.
I wait until they get in the car before cornering Sal. I’m snapping just like he expects—hands waving, hair falling, and putting on a grand show. “Did you seriously just sell off Hannah to Mass?”
“I did,” Sal boasts with a devious smirk. “Jealous much?”
With a full-body wiggle, I proudly announce, “I have my Masters.”
“Good girl, Iris. Diva it up,” he praises. “If you thought I would keep her, after winning you back, you were wrong. There is only one submissive, and her name is Iris Raniero.”
“Have you finally accepted that Master Cruz rules you?”
“Let’s not go that far, lil girl,” he mutters. “Sometimes, you just have to accept things the way they are and avoid the labels.”
“You are my husband.”
“And you are always forever, my Angel.”
“What if I want to be called your wife?”
“That goes without saying, Mrs. Sally.”
“But what if I want more?”
His finger runs along the strand of diamonds. “Do you need to suck my dick on the way to the villa, Darlin’?”
“That’s better!”
Spinning on my heel, I snap my fingers and walk a few steps as Rowan flanks my right, and Deacon stays on my left. I suddenly halt at the smell of mint gum. “… Nero?”
“I am watching all that ass, baby.”
“Good,” I compliment. “Don’t stop.”
With a sexy grin, he flirts, “Nevah!”
Ms. Samuels Notes #28
THANK YOU FOR STANDING BY ME
through five years of my practicing publishing
I have a small circle of people I would like to thank because, without them, these books would not happen. They are my words and the cover displays my name, but there is an entire machine behind the scenes.
They strive to make me better, and I love them all dearly. They have become not only my dirty cohorts with Sal-Deacon-Iris (SDI), but the foundation of my dearly beloved tribe.
Words cannot express what you all mean to me.
My Red Pen Queen Doll, (aka, Keeper of the Smackdown) who reads all out of order sometimes to keep my ass on the rails, debates the placement of scenes, and the character arcs. You find all my missing articles, which I still doubt the legitimacy of—and catch my stokes. How many times has—Sal stoked his dick? Grins. Your absolute drive for this series is beyond what I ever dreamed.
My Tennessee Gulpin’ Doll, who picks the emotions apart and does not hesitate to tell me if I turned the corner too sharp with the words. Your ability to read between the lines and make sure the boys stay real is remarkably on point. You are my rock in the churning seas. Don’t ever forget that.
My You’re Mine “Stank-Eye” Doll, who endlessly pushes my boundaries and reminds me to use two middle fingers frequently. Your notes always end up planting the seeds for the next book. I cannot wait to see where you’re taking TAT5 because the ending of TAT4 was all you baby.
My Boston Bitch Doll, who makes me laugh when I need it the most and sends me so many inspirational, panty-melting, and drool-worthy visuals. Your long messages are amazingly real and incredible at pulling my mood up. I love our chatter.
My Sweet Swamp Doll, who routinely checks in on me with her own enigmatic, eccentric displays to inspire my muses and delight my fancy. I will drop everything for an entire day to talk to your ass because you nurture my finding happiness. Drink your water, sweet girl.
My French Doll, who researches tirelessly in the library of my mayhem to make sure I get it right. Sal is 29 in 2019, not 30, Dear Author. You blot my cuts, douse my mind with wisdom, and stabilize my insanity. You remind me who I am on the daily and make me so much cooler than reality. Date for The Compendium? Where shall we go next?
My Bleu Doll, who has kicked my ass repeatedly for the last three years and fought endlessly that we would be here. Very few people can break my ass the way you do. Super Pita Bitch Grizzly can make me cry like a damn newborn. Ya, you know me way too well. Show me them eyes, Darlin’.
Drive the words you love finding in the library, Darlin’.
To Michelle (#RanieroBitchForLife), Kim (I miss you dearly), Gina (our almond milk dialogue was pure hilarity for my boys and expect it to surface in TAT5/6; it was priceless as are you), Scott (for bringing so much balance to my crazy world with your pearls of wisdom), all of the Pink Posse, and Street Squad, who have stuck it out with me for so many books. I cannot THANK YOU all enough. I can’t list you all individually because I would forget someone, but know that your words of encouragement, support, and love are never lost. I will carry your words to the end.
And finally, J, who gave me the ultimate gift. You never let me quit and call me out when I misbehave because heaven knows I am a fucking brat. I am not easy. I am neurotic, complicated, and stubborn as fuck. And I don’t speak well at all, so you have to translate everything that comes out of my mouth.
You challenge me. You compete with me. And your passion for these words keeps me keeping on, and your love for me is more than…
You are one of the kindest souls I know. And I understand, I will be punished for calling you kind. Bring it, Kid. Shall we take my brush strokes to dance at the disco? It’s almost time. Practice, girl! Do it again!
I am in love with you, Sir.
And your brilliant mastermind that unlocks my cage.
“I’m sorry you only see the darkest parts of me.”
“I just wish you would let me see the light in you too.”
The truth is, these books are my scrapbooks for the day when my hard drive shuts down, and I cannot remember if I’ve ever had vegetarian pizza. Yeah, my head junk is that miserable—the darkest parts of me.
The pages are coded with bits and pieces of my heart for you to devour. Since Juliet, I have woven words like chords to one another, dug through my past, and provoked my future as I attempted to work shit out. I try to make sense of the bullshit, negativity, and emotional conundrums. With words, I splatter paint like a crazy girl and find fluidity in the chaotic mess of life.
My scribe makes peace with my existence.
I started out wanting to tell a story so immersive that Dear Readers—et toi fille française—would experience it first hand. I put you front and center on that stage right alongside SDI. You are a headliner—the star of my show—and you are simply fabulous, darling! If you react to my words—cry, laugh, or come—then my dream breathlessly awakens. It is that simple. It is that pure.
It’s taken a few years for me to find my groove, and if you stuck with me, GOD BLESS YA!
Thank you for being my little masochists.
You make your #sadistauthor elated.
I aim to write each book like it’s my last.
That is not some cryptic message either, but a philosophy that stimulates the desire to give it 100% of my heart every fucking time. Because the truth is…we never know.
Stay in the moment. Ride through the storm.
Do it with passion.
The older I get, the more aware I become of the clock. It’s damn cruel. I can hear it ticking, and it makes me twitchy.
I’ve only got one life, so I best make that time count.
Play in the mud. Fuck in the truck bed.
Gaze at the moon.
And that is why I am so grateful to you for spending your time in my words.
Writing is an addictive high;
readers are the ultimate nirvana.
I was told this would be the hardest book I ever wrote.
You were so fucking right—props and +1 to ya.
Use time wisely. Find happy. Claim spots.
Call them home. Own that shit.
Be you. Be kind. Be brave.
Stay true.
And stop unnecessarily apologizing for being.
I’m out.
…thank you…again for everything.
k xx
chasing snow cherries and dreaming of dark knights
February 22, 2020
Peace. Love. & Sal.
Join Kailee for water, wine, or whiskey at
KaileeReeseSamuels.com
A DARK PLACE
a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 5
OCTOBER 13, 2020
GoodReads
He doesn’t need training.
He doesn’t need practice.
The offer came at the drop of a coin in his hand. “But understand, joining Nero will be your marriage vows.”
“They don’t marry?”
“Rarely ever.”
“Sounds like a dark place I would love,” I snicker, grinding my jaw. “There will be no shame amongst the famiglia.”
No shame. No boundaries. No rules.
Unleashed and unchained for six months, a dark place awaits for one rebellious mofo.
Full blurb to be revealed soon.
Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4) Page 91
