The tricky part is now in knowing where other’s misstep. Even Serene—and I love the woman and her whip—imparts a more modern approach to discipline, not to say she hasn’t punished me—she has, but it is different. More of a time-out than the sharp ruler stings I have endured under Dom. He is all encompassing, favoring no implement more than another. They are all extensions of himself used in his didactic fetish.
In the BDSM world, he is a professor and a Master. To me, he is everything I yearn to be. So, when he says to me that I need to put a collar on the girl, I truly consider it.
Working on the Bertrand Jameson case, Dom and I are on the sofa while Iris reads in a rocking chair barefoot and perfection. I know I have her insides fluttering. Iris shoots me a quizzical stare as I ask, “May we spend the next two weeks here, Sir?”
“Of course, will you be training the girl?”
Closing my eyes, I nod. I don’t need to see her reaction to know how the thought of me leading her into the darkest recesses of her sexual promiscuity turns her on.
“Iris, will you give your consent to two weeks?”
“Yes,” she whispers excitedly. “Yes, Sir. I am sorry.”
I tilt my head and smirk at her as Jessica—collared with a harness—brings us more paperwork. Yes, she is working the case like this at Dom’s insistence. He’s a fucking kinky bastard and I am quite possibly the only one who will ever get away with wearing clothes in his house. And it is his house. The title may be in my name, but that son-of-bitch owns it.
Dom doesn’t train many submissives—one or two at a time, at the most. His private house trained slaves are the ones even students at Juliet fear. Because they know Dom Gennaro doesn’t mess around. Jack may have a sadist reputation, but Dom is a strict disciplinarian. And that is the difference. At times, even Jack admits he can be too loose. If I can give Iris another very distinct viewpoint, she will only benefit in the long run.
I know the question—so why didn’t Anna Ford bring him into Juliet?
She asked. He wouldn’t budge. His heart is in the art form—and if it isn’t perfect, the slave does it again. He prefers the term slave over submissive; I am neither here nor there. But he rarely engages in derogatory name calling during disciplinary instruction. He may call Jessica a whore when he is fucking her, but never at punishment. Humiliation is not his thing. His motto sums it up—respect given is respect earned.
This is where I come from—this and Serene’s whip and Jack teaching me the business end—and if Iris really and truly wants to get inside of my head, she needs these lessons.
The psychological benefits of Juliet are ever present in us, but it’s a rich person’s playground. I am not saying Dom isn’t well off because he is, but his attitude is not one based on his bank account. He enjoys the control.
“Iris, come,” Dom requests.
Despite the chill from the rain in the air, Iris strips down before presenting herself to him. In that moment, I know I have done the right thing. Her need to serve is simply stunning which is also what set her apart at Juliet and made her the target of an initiation I didn’t agree with. I am all for group sex, but her initiation was a free-for-all circus romp. One I am still not sure will go unpunished.
With a nice even stride, Iris walks over and lowers to her knees in front of my Master. I am damn proud of her and it is that pride that led us here. He pets her hair as Jessica reappears with brunch—croissants, meats, cheeses, and loads of fruit. My angel is going to love this as I pop a pretty ripe cherry in between her lips. I take the stem and knot it with a lift of my brow. She giggles as Dom continues feeding her berries.
“Do you know what is expected of you Iris?”
Licking her lips, she states, “Yes, Sir. You expect the best, no less.”
“And you understand if you fall out of line, I will punish you?”
“Yes, Master Dom.”
Watching the two of them, I wish Dom would have purchased Zoe, but I can do nothing about her ownership. Delarte Cristos is the absolute opposite of Dom in every possible way imaginable. Depraved and deranged, he borders sociopathic.
“May I ask a question?”
“You may speak at any point as long as you do not interrupt,” Dom informs. “That is rude.”
“Will Master Raniero be punishing me as well?”
“It is my goal to give the pair of you my blessing wrapped up in a bow. I will correct any misgivings by either of you. However—Iris, I assure you this young man is ready. He spent years training with me.”
“You lied to me, Nero,” Iris says, biting her lip with a grin. “That first night I saw you in the barn.”
“Yes, I did. You didn’t need to know I had Dom’s training under my belt. You would have run for the hills then.”
“You assume too much,” Iris declares rather snarky.
“She’s right; you do,” Dom alleges with a snarl. “But it’s more of a personality trait than a behavior. When you return to Sugargrove, will she go back under protection?”
“I will be keeping her at the house with Jack and Serene,” I inform, polishing off the rest of my coffee. “They are both capable of watching over her.”
“That sounds fair,” Dom says, feeding Iris bits of croissant. “If she comes up for auction, should I bid on your behalf?”
“Always.”
IRIS
The two weeks were nothing like training at Juliet. We spent hours working in the dungeon and library on mundane things—pointing toes and rolling up off the floor gracefully. Sal was brilliant at it all and for the first few days, I honestly hated him. He even humored me—and Dom—by dressing in sub gear the first week.
With his chiseled body held tight by his former custom harness and black leather shorts, I finally understand why he had the ink where he did. The tattoos captivate and balance out the leather gear.
After having resided on my knees most of the day, I would garner giggles and glances from both Dom and Jessica as Sal preached the lessons of his Master. I held onto my hate/love relationship with protocol. Jessica and Sal were gloriously divine looking when they did the moves. I fumbled about—goofy and unyielding.
“You are going too fast. It has to be fluid.”
“Pucker your ass out.”
“Open your mouth, perfect circle.”
At night, we retire to our own quarters—Dom’s word––and Sal loved me—with his thoughts or his dick, sometimes both.
Setting my Kindle on the nightstand, I pull up the covers and ask, “You love Juliet?”
“I do,” Sal says, concentrating on his laptop and stack of papers. His glasses urge forth his sexy intellectual with no shirt and plaid pajama bottoms.
“Why?” I ask, rolling closer and grazing my fingers against his skin. “It’s nothing like this.”
“Because Juliet is magical. It is a special place,” he says only half paying attention. “I can go there and get up on stage and disappear. Being a House slave has a different feel to it. You get custom fit to a Dominant. Juliet brings up a standard of slave; house training is like finishing school.”
My fingers continue exploring his washboard abs. “What about the other three schools?”
“Thread and Highlandale Hawthorne—H2—are both very much physically based and you have to be able to meet those demands or you won’t last. La Academie is old school French chateau training, more akin to private House training,” he says with a rehearsed composure. “Don’t mistake me, Juliet did something no other school did. Anna brought in hardcore, rigorous psychological training and without that, subs don’t always last at the other three.”
Immediately, I reply, “Is that what my initiation was?”
“Your initiation was flawed on many levels,” he informs, typing away.
“Would you have done it different?”
“Yes, I would have,” Sal assures, gazing my direction and pulling off his glasses. “First of all, I would have never done it outside in December, even in Texas. Sec
ond, I would have handpicked every one and they didn’t. A mass email went out—do you want to be a part of an unforgettable evening?”
“I never knew that…” I mumble.
“Someone paid for that to go down, Iris,” he says angrily, popping his fingers. “Someone wanted you tested to see if you would break.”
“And when I didn’t break… Someone sent Mitch to Galveston,” I say, not realizing this bag of worms would be more like a barrel of snakes. Rhetorically, I ponder out loud only to regret it. “What were they hoping I would do? Flub up and kill the wrong guy?” I blink up at Sal as a simper collides along his lips. “Do you think he is behind the initiation?”
“Doubt it, he doesn’t have the type of money that would take,” he asserts, closing the laptop and stacking the papers on top. He puts it on his nightstand as he says, “Initiations are big ticket items. Mitch is a contractor. He goes where the money is. Chance was good to him and kept him on the payroll until he died, but he was still just a contractor.”
“…You’re not?”
“No,” he says, standing up and dropping his pants before sliding underneath the covers. “I work for Sibyl.”
Clicking off the light on my nightstand, I whisper, “You’re an assassin. You fucking kill people.”
“Not just anyone,” he contends, wrapping his arm under me. “Don’t twist up what I do.”
“How many assassins does Sibyl have?” I ask, cozying up to him.
“Actual assassins—four.”
“And two of them are in Sugargrove…” Concerned, I ask, “Why is that?”
His voice changes as he admonishes, “…You know about Jaid?”
Trusting his adept abilities, I reveal, “I know about Priscilla Grace…”
“She isn’t there because of her skills,” he argues, “She is there because she looks fifteen.”
Rubbing my leg against his, I whisper, “Can I trust her?”
“I do,” he assures, “One of the few people I trust.”
“What about Jack?”
“Jack would never let anything happen to you and neither would Serene or Dale.”
“And Dom?” I toss out quick, acknowledging my past. “My mother and his father…”
“Iris, Dom is so far removed from who his father was,” Sal assures with a confidence.
I don’t know what to say. He doesn’t get the position that Dom’s Daddy Gennaro put me in. Moving away, I spar off, “Are you?”
Sitting up quick, Sal clicks on his light. “I will never have anything to do with my father or his business—it’s too dirty for my blood.”
“Says the boy wonder who kills people…” I rebuke, leaving the bed and tossing on a tank top and panties.
We give each other screamingly angry looks. If we weren’t in a house with others, I know we would be melting down. “Angel, just say it already….”
“I just don’t know how you can justify it,” I say, flying off the handle.
“Says you who was coming to kill me!”
“Right Raniero, but I didn’t actually do it,” I point out directly. “You have…”
Jumping up out of bed, Sal barrels in front of me with his naked—very distracting—hot body. “You know what Iris, you are right. I have killed people and maybe that doesn’t make me any better than my father. But because of the things I have done, I have been able to walk into shanty shacks and carry out little eight-year-old girls who were about to be sold. Maybe the blood of the runner is on my hands, but you know what? I’ll fucking take it because with every single fucking one that goes down I save the captive and prevent any further captures. If it makes me the good guy in wolf’s’s clothing, I’ll fucking take it.”
Tears stream down my cheeks as I cry out, “But why are you so determined?”
“Because you clearly do not understand what is was like to be groomed by my father…” Sal tosses out, throwing verbal punches that spare nothing. “Either way, doing this or being with him, I am destined to be the same. The only difference is which side I am working. I am either the good guy killing evil people. Or the bad guy killing the kind. So, you tell me, which one do you choose?”
I speak after the manner of men because of the infirmity of your flesh: for as ye have yielded your members servants to uncleanness and to iniquity unto iniquity; even so now yield your members servants to righteousness unto holiness.
Romans 6:19
III: Bittersalt
Red Cherries and Blue Tears
The cherries are ripe out on the trees
Let’s go pickin’ you and me
We’ll play hide and seek
Now, don’t you peek
Warm red sugar falls from your lips
Makin’ me wanna take a sip
These lashes I give can’t replace
The hole in my heart a vast empty space
Cherries fall over your ass
Little drizzles and pinch of splash
You come to me when your blue
Baby, don’t you worry, this whip lights my fuse.
K.M. Hope
Chapter Ten
Sweet Decadence
IRIS
THOUGH WE ENJOYED THE getaway to Nola, the need to be present for Anna pulls us home to Sugargrove. It doesn’t help that his partner – Dale Archer – calls with a spur of the moment, important job in Houston. Unfortunately, Sal has to go. I don’t like it, but I understand as he assures me he will be back before Valentine’s—exactly one week away.
The time with Dom serves us well as Sal finally starts trusting me with pieces of his past and opening the parts of himself that remained closed for so long. He reluctantly agrees to start digging into his own past with my help. I embrace his hesitations as I have my own reservations about what that might bring.
After spending those weeks with Dom, a small part of me wishes we could just stay gone. Sal takes his role and me with an unexpected ease. After witnessing Jessica walking around collared and naked and serving Dom, I am jealous. She has the dream I crave—the loving Dominant, the quiet existence, and the security of stability.
I relish my own submission as the big boys collar my neck and keep me close by. I listen in as they work, researching the history of Bertrand Miles Jameson and her connections to the drug dealer named Pharm.
Old man Gennaro may have requested the target, but now I am on my own relentless pursuit to discover exactly who Lucas Salvatore Raniero is and why so many people want him dead.
While Sal and I became a thing, what that thing is—is undefinable. We enjoy one another’s company like best friends and promise to continue working on the relationship like lover’s who cannot get enough of one another. And the truth is—we can’t.
Our sum total of the relationship for over a year surmounts into those weeks of passion, driving and diving us to places unknown. And there is love. Limitless, boundless love like I have never known, coupled with the energetic high of control and surrender.
Despite neither Sal or I wanting to separate, we do. He holds out until the absolute last minute before looking down and kissing me gently. With a soft and loving embrace, he whispers—“More than words, Kettles…”—into my soul as he tries to radiate his love into every pore of my being.
The quaint room I stay in at Jack’s house—calling it that is far easier than causing unnecessary harm by saying Sal and his dead bride’s house—is on the second floor. With floor to ceiling windows, the light gauzy fabric blows in the breeze as I sleep the day away.
Now, I lay in a bed alone, tossing between the sheets. My red hair scatters across the pillow. I feel a tickle against my foot, running up my calf. A hand brushes in my hair, beckoning my eyes open.
“Precious? I need to talk to you.”
Arching up like a disturbed kitten from a blissful nap in the sun, I flop onto my bottom, covering my body—what has been Sal’s body—with the white flat sheet.
“I know you’re tired but Cas is asking to see you.”
&n
bsp; “What time is it?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.
“Five-thirty,” he says with a remarkable, displeasing sigh. “I would have let you sleep until you woke on your own, but Mierne called and asked if you could come to the rehab center. I am willing to allow you to visit with your friend as much as you would like, if you want. I discussed it with Sal, and he agrees.”
Without the strings of the game, his tone is sincere and genuine. The gesture surprising as somehow, I always imagine a contract having a more ominous meaning. I conjure being locked away in a dungeon for six months, never to see the light of day. “If you both think it is safe, I’ll go see her.”
“To the rehab and back,” he instructs authoritatively. “Do not leave. Do not go anywhere else. There and back.”
“Yes, Sir,” I respond, still in my half sleepy daydream. “Of course.”
Touching my cheek like I am the trophy prize he won, Jack lifts my chin to meet his intent gaze. “But do not plan on ever having another getaway adventure with Sal again. For two weeks he didn’t communicate at all.”
Sal went off the map to be with me.
And Dom helped him do it.
Quickly, Jack gets up as if ejected from the bed. He reaches the door and glances back with a harsh reprimand. His words slice through the thick tension rising between us. “And Iris, Serene knows this, too. Don’t cross us or there will be disciplinary action.”
Jack departs and I sink into the bed with a heavy wallow. I want to cry, but instead my feet pound the floor with a heavy resolve as I march to the bathroom. My senses spark the moment I step into the water and cast a gaze in the mirror—my ass still bruised from him.
Sal spanked me, whipped me, and fucked me, and then he made love to me—day after day and night after night. My body has never ached this bad.
Salt Kissed Love (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 1) Page 16
