If Mack accepts the contract—this will become his home. There is only one reason to not do it. And he is still asleep at an apartment in town.
In a posh Dallas hotel room, the scantily clad woman slinks across the floor with the adept moves of a lioness. She is on the prowl, hungry for a kill or a mate. The black thong left little to the imagination tucking between her curvaceous ass cheeks. Her hand drifts behind her back, popping her bra and dropping it to the floor as she approaches the man.
With his salt and pepper hair shimmering, he is distinguished, but lacks panache. The wealthy need not always wear labels. He likes his jeans and dress shirts along with a well-worn leather jacket that smells of booze and smoke. If you saw this man on the street, no one would ever imagine his worth.
His wealth from a multi-generational family shipping business resides in Athens, Greece. He remains the sole survivor of the line and delves into lascivious pursuits.
Behind the pimps across the Southeast, he is the one they call—Big Poppa—strange as he is a slight man. He markets a piece of ass better than anyone, and he can spot a fine one from a mile away. But he never, ever sleeps with the skanks, feeling they are beneath him. He bestows that to the three dozen or so pimps he owns.
“Test the product before you send it out. Send any fatty cuts back to the slums.”
No, he doesn’t deal in street walkers, but thousand-dollar an hour call girls where the money is plentiful and the pussy rich. Course, the working girls barely make five percent, if that. The good ones are lucky at fifteen, but that happens so rarely—he can count them on one hand—and he is missing fingers on both.
The curious thing about the man is not the profession for which he indulges, but his personal tastes borderline on skewed, strange, demented, and weird.
He tries to maintain a Juliet membership, but after multiple reports of his odd behavior in the dungeon, he is kept quiet on the back burner. A Dom investor never to be used by students and because of this, he generally yields a good distance from Texas and the fetish world in the Middle-of-Nowhere.
The woman walks closer and kneels down low, flicking her eyes up at the perfect time to instigate her move. With three fingers tucked under his chin and one jetting up to his temple, he rallies behind a vacant expression. Eagerly, she goes through the choreographed mechanics of it all until his dick bulges against the back of her throat.
“Lift up.”
With slobber and pre-spunk covering her face, she parts with her red lips shinning.
“Get up and bend over the bed.”
“Yes, Master,” she replies, rolling up on her toes and walking with an ass–swish to the bed. He waits a long moment, savoring in the sight of the young woman’s flesh. She is decadent, but he knows her history well and she is far from pure. Approaching quick, he rips the thong down and pounds his dry cock into her cunt. She briefly squeals, but a slap to the cheek sequesters her flutterings.
“You like it. Admit it.”
“I do, Sir,” she whispers, “I do.”
“You want me to take you on…”
“Mmhmm,” she assures, arching her hips back.
Another pop to her ass echoes throughout the hotel room as he asks, “You want me to make you Cassidy Cristos?”
“I do, Daddy. I do.”
“I only marry bitches in the winter.”
“That’s alright,” she agrees. “The cold suits me better.”
“That it does,” he says with a groan. “That it does.”
The small house on the outskirts of town portrays a time from long ago. The row house is discreet and out of the way, having been used by the help for the wealthy up in the main hubbub of town. With two bedrooms, one dedicated to sleeping and the other to work, Mitch Daniels spends far more time in one than snoring in the other.
A large L-shaped desk takes up most of the space with the walls covered by bookshelves, white boards, and cork boards. His tenacity to his obsession leads him to using Sugargrove as his home base.
Mitch buys the house back in the fall when he realized he cares more for his target than he probably should. Setting up camp here, he outsources all over the country. He isn’t a killer, but a plotter. A planner. A tactical analyst. His well thought out strategies leave the good guys whole and the bad ones in body bags.
But his living in Sugargrove—that is personal.
After watching his leader and mentor, Chance Ballister, disappear and die—he cannot leave well enough alone. He cannot leave Chances’s wife—Iris Kettles—alone. Not with that snake in the grass—Raniero—easing up around her legs without her even knowing.
She is blind, and Mitch is determined to use his vision to keep her secure even though he departs from Juliet at mid-year. The winter break pulses with a clarity, and he decides to stay despite his removal from the school.
The charges brought forth by none other than Dr. Mierne Risen. They read like criminal record. Dubious consent. Abuse of the system. Disrespect for and undermining authority. Malicious alignments with intent to harm… That one almost hurt. Almost.
Mitch snarls disdainfully at the memory as the board unanimously voted to dismiss him from the school. A ploy instigated by Jack to get another unit on the ground and undercover with Jaid Chambers, aka Agent Priscilla Grace.
With her demure face and on spot-on acting ability, she manages to infiltrate the school in record time. Feeding his mind details in the middle of the night, they work together to form a plan of attack.
Whatever head agent Chance Ballister locked away in his wife, she keeps it safe. And that would have been fine except someone or multiple someones discovered Iris has intel, and that alone puts her at risk. Mitch and Jaid, along with the other agents, cannot let that occur.
With his forwarding address to Atlanta, he lets the majority believe he sold the house and left town. His fellow agents at Sibyl all know different, Mitch is a contractor with one main assignment—find out who has it in for Iris Kettles. He takes a variety of other contracts, smaller jobs to pay the bills, but for the last six months—his eyes have been glued on her every move. He doesn’t bother to tell his co-workers what else he has been doing during his investigation.
With numerous files missing—simply evaporated—from the cases surrounding Juliet, he knows who has them and why.
He isn’t the only one hunting.
The heat from the early summer sun streams into the windows as Kate lays naked in the mess of tangled plum colored sheets. It is early, maybe six-thirty as her fingertips reach for the phone off the bedside table.
Her cat, Pumpkin, leaps up onto the bed with a decided thud. Flipping through messages, she glances at the mail and finally ends up on the planner for this day in late June.
With so much to do, her schedule for the day brims full as the blocks overlap one another. She will meet with the caterer at eight, the florist at nine, and deliver the cakes to Juliet by four. Not to mention at some point, she needs to find time to make her way to Ruby’s for her hair and makeup appointment before getting dressed for the grand event of the evening. The cakes—gaudy monstrosities of unity—weigh heavily on her mind. With a seven–tier white cake with lemon and raspberry filling, alternating in each tier, the thing takes over a week to construct.
While built to hold the weight, the nervous fear persists that something could go disastrously wrong. The groom’s cake displays an enormous, decadent dark chocolate cowboy hat enrobed on the edges with cut fruit which will be placed onto the cake right before serving. In addition to the two cakes, twelve dozen cookies sit in trays emblazoned with their names. To top it off, six sugar-free peach cobblers for the bride’s parents who are both diabetic.
Luckily, Kate didn’t agree to do the catering.
Unfortunately, she agreed to take on the role of wedding planner. And Devereux’s Uncle Seymour accepted the offer to handle the barbecue. He can roast a pig better than anyone this side of the Mississippi. If everything goes according to schedule, the whol
e pig, multiple slabs of brisket, and racks of ribs have rested in the pit since midnight.
With a sleepy yawn, Kate gazes at the latest news and weather as her phone chimes with a text from Mierne, “Cas isn’t coming.”
Hastily, she pecks a response, “Why not?”
“Isn’t ready,” Mierne writes.
With a deep sigh, Kate fumbles her phone, dropping it on her forehead. “Ow! Fuck!” After recovering from the dilemma, she rolls her eyes as she types. “She will be upset one of her best friends isn’t there. But Cas needs to do what’s best.”
“Agreed. I will tell her. See you there shortly.”
Rubbing against her leg, Pumpkin meows quite loudly for his morning breakfast. Clearly frustrated, he proceeds to purr, nudge, and paw to get her attention. She attempts to pacify him with her hand, extending the quiet stay in bed.
Two minutes later, he hears nothing of it. Immediately, he jumps on the bedside table almost knocking the glass of water over. She barely catches it before disaster erupts prior to even getting out of bed.
“Ugh, this day is determined to be sour.”
Another text message buzzes her phone. “Security went fine last night, Ms. Capri,” Dal Archer writes. “For the wedding, we will have extra eyes as well as some undercover officers posed as guests.”
Archer Agency is contracted with the astounding task of security detail by headmistress Anna Ford. She isn’t messing around on an important day like today. Though Kate doesn’t know that means student Jaid Chambers will be strapped and ready to thwart off any issues, Dale most assuredly does.
In the middle of her response, another text pops up on her phone. “We will meet you at Juliet in an hour with breakfast. Sebastian is in the shower now.”
“Ok, honey. Be careful,” Kate replies hastily and sends Dale an acknowledgment as well. She tosses her phone on the pillow beside her and sighs.
It isn’t that Kate doesn’t love her job or even weddings, but this particular wedding has caused too much extravagance and uproar. It has been foul since the beginning.
After doing a tasting of 15 cakes and as many icings, the bride changed her mind less than two weeks ago. Her southern twang rang across the line, “May I come in for one more taste?”
If the bride tastes anymore cake, she won’t fit in her dress, but thankfully that is Wanda’s problem—not Kate’s. The women behind the scenes of the insane wedding—Kate, Ruby, Wanda, and a few others—routinely gather to gossip over the bride’s latest antics. Everyone will be glad when June 20 comes and goes.
Gazing at the cat with a look of contempt, she plops her head against the pillow as Pumpkin moves on to the next toy—a small, square, foil wrapper. Grabbing it in his teeth, he scampers off to the floor for some heavy trash action.
“Condom wrappers, really Pumpkin?” Kate whispers, slapping her forehead as Pumpkin steals the second one, standing on his back feet and batting it off the table to the ground.
While typically the couple doesn’t use them, she has been fighting a horrible yeast infection with a bad case of horny. With the stress of the event, she finally admitted late last night, “Dev, I need you—wrap the package, coat it in the itch medicine, and fuck me senseless!”
Kate has only slept with four men her whole life and could go for years without an orgasm. Her sexual needs remain low until the charming Devereux entered her life. The condoms left her feeling somewhat like a tramp, spreading readily—which is so far from the truth it is ridiculous. The latest lover proves more demanding of her body, wanting Kate experiencing as much pleasure and pain as possible.
As Pumpkin fights with the two pieces of foil, much akin to how a child plays with little plastic men, battling them against each other, Kate doesn’t realize Dev rolls over and takes to staring.
“Shall we give him another toy?”
His decadent white smile beams against his ebony skin. His dark eyes permeate through her very soul every time he glances her direction and because of this—she allows his access to her shelter. Kate claims to be broken for months, but his persistence pushes to glue her back together, through dedication and patience.
Kate sits up, smiling and rolling atop him. “I would, but…”
“But nothing,” he argues as his hands coax over her sides. “I am by your side today, lady, all day long. You say do it and I will. Tonight, after I have danced with you for hours, sipped champagne all evening, and fed you your wedding cake from my fingers, I am bringing you home to tie you to this bed.”
Her eyes quickly dart to the wrist restraints, dangling from the heavy metal bed frame. Kissing those perfect pink lips, she welcomes Dev with soft, teasing nibbles. He pulls her body down, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame. With his massive erection pressing to her heat, nothing but a sheet keeps them apart.
“No, no. Don’t you do it. You will regret it.”
“Only after the fact,” he says with a sexy, flirtatious smirk. “Right now, it’d feel damned good to have my sexy lady ride me.”
“You never stop, do you, Dev?”
“No,” he simmers, pushing her down and rolling atop her skin. “The least you can do would be to humor me with your bubbly naked body in the shower.”
Kate smirks and says, “Oh, I’ll humor you, alright.”
Her phone flickers to life again. She grumbles, answering the ring and shouting, “Hello?”
Without seemingly a care concerning the early hour, Mitch Daniels calls. “Hello, Kate,” he sounds stressed. “I apologize for calling so early, but do you happen to know if Iris is going to be there?”
“I really have no clue,” Kate consoles, irritated with how the day was starting. “I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks. Are you coming for the wedding?”
“Yes, ma’am. I will be there.”
The truth exists for Kate and so many others—Iris has been locked up tight, presumably in Jack’s dungeon for six long months. Only by luck did Kate notice on the RSVP cards from the wedding invitations, Dr. Jack Kerris marked a +1.
Despite her best intentions to protect her favorite bakery assistant, word quickly spreads when the guest list is printed. It has been six months, and no one knows if Iris will show.
“I hate to ask this of you,” Mitch says anxiously, “What about Sal? Is he coming?”
“There was no RSVP card from the Stanton or Raniero residence.” He says nothing, hanging up the phone. He clearly wants to see Iris and avoid Sal, which is probably wise considering he proposed and she ran off, taking a six-month total-power-exchange contract.
Sitting up in bed, she glances at the postcard the couple sent a few days ago, reminding everyone of their upcoming nuptials. The big, beautiful wedding planned on a June evening under a clear Texas sky with Juliet serving as a splendid backdrop—a day to remember, a night never to forget.
Shelby Marie Pearle
&
Theodore “Terry” Michael Longwood
June 20
A Sugargrove Wedding
Reception to follow at The Juliet Academy
The plane takes off from the small, private airfield near the Sibyl Headquarters in upstate New York. A clear, beautiful day offers up a splendid view from the window. Serene leans back and closes her eyes, wishing the following hours would prove as enjoyable.
She knows better.
The chaos will start as soon as she lands. It isn’t Terry or Shelby or a wedding held at her beloved Juliet, but the young man missing from her life. He should have been with her in New York. He could have helped her pack and move boxes.
At night, she could have showed off his decadent body and panty-melting charm off to any number of ladies at her old haunt, D-Club. On the limo ride, she could have requested service between her thighs, and he would have escorted her into the wedding. Being on his arm was a genuine treat and never one to be taken lightly.
But none of that would happen.
Because a month ago, she invoked the role of guardian angel and protec
ted fiercely by sending him away.
In a fight that went into the record books, they had it out. She expected it eventually. Outgrowing his tethers, she smirks at the thought—they grow up so fast. She hates the idea of losing him and the tighter she holds on, the more he rebels.
At first, his eagerness to learn the ropes is a splendid treat. His submission unparalleled, and even the pro-Dom such as herself has never encountered such a willing and malleable sub.
She says; he does.
And that worked perfectly—through his wife’s death, years of study, his need to play the field, and finally test his waters—until one Iris Kettles shows up in Sugargrove.
Serene hates the girl. Even more so when she finds out about the six-month exclusive TPE contract she signs with Jack. But over the months, she acknowledges what Sal sees. Because she witnesses it, too.
Iris has a genuine kindness. A willingness to not just go the extra mile, but insuring everyone is happy along the distance. Not to mention the girl has some serious stamina. If there is ever a sub to give Sal’s Dom for a run, Serene knows it will be Iris.
But Iris isn’t really the problem.
Sal is.
With his burgeoning Dominance coming forth at every corner, he is increasingly difficult to control and that scares Serene because Iris has proven at her initiation in the woods she can and will go the distance. A slight cackle comes over her lips as she shakes her head.
How many young subs could have taken twenty-three?
She knows of only one—the issue at hand.
What to do with a hardcore masochist with a Dominant streak a mile wide?
With no collar, Sal will ricochet. He will quickly make his way out into the world only to bounce right back to her doorstep or for that matter, Mierne’s backdoor.
Serene is acutely aware of why he agrees to the deal in the first place—Mierne. The little sex kitten therapist holds a hidden submissive deep inside that very few know about. Serene knows. Sal has an idea. So, Serene uses her to lure Sal.
Steak + Dog = Gone.
Salt Kissed Love (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 1) Page 2
