Salt Kissed Love (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 1)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

I miss Maria. I want to call and talk to her because I know she will have answers. But even she is blockaded from me. She knows everything—Juliet, Serene, and my feelings so deep for the redheaded siren in my seas. God, she was beautiful.

  Sometimes she does stupid things, but it never changes how I truly feel. Nothing can. I will love her until my last breath.

  The thing with Cas complicates everything—on both counts—with Iris and I. First, the girl is actually sick. Her drug addiction has been a constant struggle since before I arrived. Kaci blamed herself. And insisted on taking care of her until I told Kaci to back down. Cas got worse. Kaci died. And now, I blame myself.

  I wish I could untangle Iris from Cas. It’s a shit bomb waiting to explode in someone’s face. Of course, I feel responsible. Damn booze and weed skewed the logic and I made a grievous error in judgement. So much more than a mere lapse. Now, I am fucking her and Iris is fucking her and neither of us are actually helping the situation at all. Doesn’t change the fact I will still keep doing it—all because I hear Kaci’s voice on repeat as she clenches my hand, begging me to take care of her sister. Well, I am certainly doing something to your sister.

  Trying to not think about any of the women in my life only makes me miss them more. Smiles, laughs, and joys with gentle natured womanly beings—I love them all.

  My thoughts of love turn my attention back to Maria. She is supposed to be planning a wedding. And in an instant, her plans derail. Her fiancé is devastated. They have been together since college. He probably will never recover from the fear. Neither will I.

  Sibyl rules the case an intentional hit from an unknown source. This means nothing to me. I have already started my own research, building a list of plausible—not possible—theories.

  Gaby takes to calling me every afternoon after work, partly I believe to clear the guilt in her own conscience. I am clearly the favorite of mama, and the girls resented and ignored me most of my childhood and adolescence. As much as I appreciate the offer of a sister, Gaby will never be a replacement for Maria. She is an overly high-strung Italian girl compared to Maria’s down-to-earth, no nonsense mentality. They are vastly different.

  Wiping my brow, I glance down at my phone. I remember Emily in bed on our last morning together. I didn’t know it would be at the time, but if I had, what would I have done differently?

  The answer is a resounding, deafening—yes. I would have crawled back into her bed and made love to her again. She is the first person I had actually made love to in all of my adult life without any of the tension strings of the fetish puppetry. And it was wonderful.

  If I ignore the internal repetitious need for her to say, “Sir.”

  From our first night, together through the next seven lucky days, we spent time together every day. We did normal date things, going to see romantic movies, late dinners, dancing at a disco with no cages.

  The last morning, her blonde hair strewn against her naked body and white sheets as she programmed her number into my phone. With a sweet gesture, she hinted, “You don’t have to use this, but if you ever want to, here it is.”

  I love Em. Not in a kind-of-messy-challenge Iris way, but a true, pure love formed from our history together. Maybe she is my vanilla. And maybe with her comes two kids and a white picket fence. And maybe that is not such the hell I once believed it would be.

  For the longest time, the vanilla girl portrays as bland, and eventually I fear my tastes for kink will end up flavoring a vanilla relationship—to the point it is no longer of the orchid. While questioning the validity of my theory, I kick back and prop against the stall wall as I push her contact button.

  The phone rings and rings until finally a very sleepy sounding Emily answers the phone, “… Hello?”

  “Good Morning!” I chirp full of glee. “I just called to tell you that you are the most beautiful girl in the world. And thank you for the time.”

  “Lucas, are you aware it’s like six AM?”

  “Here, it’s five,” I remind.

  “Have you slept?”

  “Not much,” I say honestly. “I miss you too much, Em. It’s really not good.”

  “I miss you, too. And I have a confession to make,” she says in a daze. “You left your jacket here and I’ve been wearing it nonstop since you left.”

  “Em…” My heart pulls and suddenly, the words pour out of my mouth without warning. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she whispers, “Why don’t I get on a plane?”

  I pause. I don’t fucking know what to say. I never considered this option. It isn’t like I don’t have plenty of places of my own here. I could stash her in Houston.

  Stash. Emily.

  Rogue-op much, Raniero?

  I have been staying with a variety of women—Serene, Mierne, and Anna since Kaci’s death. Maybe I need to buck up. Maybe it is time to grow up.

  “I’ll come see you soon, I promise,” I segue, afraid.

  “You should just say—Yes, come Em,” she suggests with a giggle.

  I can tell by her voice she is smiling—she is happy—really happy. “I have a couple places here.”

  “Are they civilized?”

  “Ya,” I reply, stunned she would consider anything other.

  “Then is there a seedy motel?” she jokes as I overcomplicate things. With Em, she unravels everything.

  “You can stay with me.”

  Fuck.

  What am I doing?

  I can’t believe I said it. If my heart isn’t listening already, it spasms into a mass tantrum pushing further. “I’ll get you a plane ticket. Give me ten minutes. I’ll text you. Can you leave today?”

  “I can leave anytime.”

  What the fuck am I doing?

  I sign into Serene’s airline account and quickly purchase Emily a flight arriving at five o’clock that afternoon. Strange as it is to my head, I want Serene to meet this girl.

  I think of Iris.

  She will never be any the wiser, stuck in Jack’s house until June. Certainly, between February and then, Emily will be sick and tired of me. She is a fling to rejuvenate and nothing more. Or at least that is what my head told my heart.

  Though I am fairly certain it is lying.

  SAL

  Spending the day in preparation for Em’s evening arrival, I clean my truck, get a haircut, and manage to have a long chat with Serene about Emily. I tell her everything—the issues with Iris and Cas, the fracturing in my soul torn between here and Boston, and finally a run-down over the girl I have loved since the day she was born.

  Her only reaction is that Emily sounds, “Wonderful, beautiful, and perfect,” and that takes me completely by surprise. She borrows Jack’s new truck and heads off to her house in Taos for the weekend, leaving the house for us. Her only request being if Emily decides to stay longer, please communicate. I know whose name is on the title of the house—mine, but I have tried to honor as many of Kaci’s wishes as possible, including letting Serene continue to stay here.

  It is not the reaction I anticipate. For weeks, Serene has been acting off. Maybe she regrets letting Zoe go to a man like Delarte Cristos. Maybe all the quiescent speculation that her and Jack have rekindled their long-time romance has sent her running.

  The moment she leaves. I head to the store to stock up the refrigerator for the weekend. When I get back home, I unpack the groceries, tidy up the house a bit, and bring more firewood by the back door.

  Serene left me the key to her bedroom, encouraging us to stay there. I change the linens, put candles out, and leave music playing.

  I shower in her bathroom, letting the water calm my mind. Serene seems genuinely happy for me. “Maybe some normalcy would do you well.”

  Having already made her opinion known about Iris, she thought she was trouble. The night after I have Cas escorted away from Juliet and disciplined—and fucked—Iris, Serene found me drowning in a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen.

  “I know she gets under your ski
n, but I really don’t think she is a healthy option for you. I know Iris is your best friend, but you are also always fighting. And that isn’t going to get better with time. She has issues, Sal.”

  Maybe Iris did, but in that constant tug-of war I find so appealing—Iris always challenges my Dom. Serene and Jack have both warned me to back down since the Great Escape to New Orleans. Unless I want to go see her next door, she is essentially out of my life the next four months. I told them to do this. I begged in an email—a whole slew of people—someone please give Iris a private contract. Jack and Serene both responded.

  The only contingency—I agreed to hand over the lead to put the stops on me. I know I am fucking addicted to that girl. I will go off the rails with her because she does something to me. I get crazy with Iris in every imaginable way a man can lose it.

  That is why Serene is acting like a damn cheerleader with the Emily thing.

  Any girl but Iris will get her blessing.

  The morning after the scene with Iris, Serene comes to me with word from Jack. After I took it upon myself to repeatedly call Iris his, Jack decided he would no longer permit us to see one another. Jack said, “It simply caused too much strife within his submissive.”

  Apparently, the strong fists of both Jack and Serene are cracking down on the whole thing as she implored, “You put her with us to keep her safe; you cannot jeopardize that just because you cannot keep your shit in check.”

  According to Serene, Jack will no longer be allowing her continued associations with Cas as well. She is allowed to chat with Cas via email, text, and video only. There will be no personal visits after her deplorable behavior at Juliet. All of Iris’ friends seem volatile, which will only prove his sessions with her unable of the growth he hopes for his star submissive. So basically, Jack has put her on lockdown.

  After Jack found out about what transpired in the dungeon with Iris and I, he merely laughs, feeling Iris deserved every bit of a lashing. As for me, I am limited to two sessions per week with no overnight stays and a maximum of four hours. I think it sucks, but I agreed to this shit—all to keep her safe. And maybe that is why I am so gung-ho about the Emily thing.

  I purposefully fail to mention the affair I have going on with Cas. Maybe that makes me a bastard. Iris knows. Emily knows. I just don’t see the importance in Serene or Jack knowing who I am banging and why. Or maybe I am acutely aware of how much hot water I will be in if they discover I am fucking the addict from hell. Why am I doing it?

  In one word—Kaci.

  Although we keep secrets—Iris and I—believing no one needs to know our relationship has quietly progressed from a fighting war to a loving sensual romance. Likewise, no one knows of our constant connections through social media as we share back and forth. The open dynamic is all either of us can give to the other at this point. She is a submissive under contract with Jack. I am a Dominant in one of the four preeminent BDSM schools. The non-monogamy is a given, but it cannot dictate the intimacy despite the jealousy.

  I briefly think about telling her Emily is coming, but after all the running around, I am out of time. An easy mistake, but a fatal error in my communication—it is on me. But that is how things are with us, missing details and forgetting those little things that always end up being the most important to the other. Inevitably, those are the things that cause the most issue and as I head to the airport, I am walking into a mess of a fiery blaze, caught between the water and the wind.

  While I may just see it as a dear friend coming—seemingly forgetting how at one point I have been buried balls deep in the girl—Iris will see Em as a personal affront. An attack for which she undoubtedly will lead a counterstrike against my heart. We are already strained from the Cas issues, and the last thing I need is her going off the wall, misbehaving to harm. Her being kept her on a tight leash, reasonably safe within the confines of Jack’s is a good thing.

  Continuing to live my life on all-sides—a double-edged sword—I juggle, acknowledging at some point I will drop it and someone will feel the sharp sting of my love-poisoned blade.

  I only pray it won’t be me.

  Bastard, maybe.

  Self-preservation, absolutely.

  EMILY

  Arriving at the airport exactly on time, Sal steps out of the midnight blue Ford Raptor, looking every bit the spoiled brat. Wearing black cargos and a plaid blue, green, and black button down left out, he looks sexy and dangerous. With wet raven curls, his freshly trimmed goatee and soul patch incite a bite to my lip as his shadow frames his jaw line in a strong, perfect angle.

  He pushes the lock button on his key fob and I yell and bounce, “Lucas!”

  In my white coat, jeans, cream sweater, and knee-high brown boots, I appear normal, average. I don’t stand out model beautiful or even odd misfit. The most common complement I receive is cute. I have only one bag—an extra-large duffel as well as a small brown purse, hanging from my shoulder.

  With a huge grin slathering over his face, Sal runs across the street and takes my luggage. He seems uncertain how to greet me and I am okay with that. I have told him before I wasn’t expecting anything to come from our reunion. My surprise when he asked me to come down for the weekend is sincere.

  Clearly, Sal is happy to see me, but I feel a sudden urge to make an impactful statement. I close in our intimate space, putting two fingers on his chin and pulling his lips closer for a kiss. At first, I press my lips to his in a gentle peck which quickly turns into a mind-altering deliciousness of a kiss. His hands press to my cheeks as I confess, “I missed you.”

  Without second guessing again, Sal grasps my hand and we walk across the street. He opens my door and tosses the duffel in the backseat before helping me up as I mutter, “I like your truck.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asks, shutting the door.

  Shrugging and smiling, I reply, “Meh, you know. I could take it or leave it.”

  “How about I stop and get us a pizza to take home so if you get hungry later?”

  Clasping my hands in my lap, I nod quietly.

  After we back out, he clutches my hand in his. “You okay? We good?”

  “I’m nervous. I’ve never been to Texas. Hell, I’ve never been away from the East coast. Are you ok?”

  “I am awesome, babe. Just so glad you came.”

  “I’m glad you asked,” I say with a grin, raising my eyebrows up excitedly. “Drive! Drive!”

  He grabs his phone, calling the little pizza shop in downtown Austin and ordering a couple of salads, a pizza Margherita, and a tiramisu. He keeps glancing at me.

  “Hey, do they have cannoli?” I whisper.

  He nods and orders two.

  In twenty minutes, Sal is in the shop picking up our order and when he returns to the truck, I am in the driver seat. “You wanna drive it, Em?”

  I blush and smile. Pulling off my sweater, I toss it in the back and make myself at home in his presence. He puts the directions for the farmhouse into his GPS and sets it on the dash. “Lead on, M’lady.”

  Amidst my oohs and ahhs, we drive through Austin to the desolate back roads, heading into Sugargrove. “Sure is dark back in through here,” I mutter as he smirks and breaks into a giggle. “W—hat?”

  “Your roots are showing, my southern belle,” Sal quips, grabbing my hand.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. It isn’t my fault Grammy was Georgia cotillion queen.”

  Having been raised in Georgia, my accent is natural cue to my upbringing. I was actually born a month early—on the Fourth of July—at my grandparent’s horse farm in South Carolina. I guess I was their firecracker.

  “You sound like you have never been north of the Mason-Dixon line,” Sal quips.

  I laugh. “You love it and you know it!”

  “You’re a tough girl. And you’re driving my truck like you fucking own it.”

  “It’s not Grammy’s three-on-the-tree, but she fires just fine,” I counter for his amusement. “Is this it?”

 
; “Yeah, just pull in and stop. I’ll shut the gate behind us.”

  “They have solar gates now you know. We could put one in,” I offer with a smile. “I helped my Grandpa.”

  “Kaci never wanted it to feel modern,” he reveals with a distraught look. “She wanted to remember the way it was when she was little.”

  With a soothing, empathetic smile, I gently ask, “And a gate would make it feel modern?”

  “Well, probably not, no…” he assesses in a conflicted expression. “Okay, let’s roll. Just follow the gravel to the house. Park behind the garage.”

  “I bet it’s beautiful in the morning on the porch with a cup of coffee,” I say, reflecting up at the huge Victorian farmhouse.

  “Does it look like your Grammy’s?”

  “No, hers is an antebellum.” Sal lifts his brow knowing he could show her one of those if she really wanted to see one. “I remember you coming down with us that week in the summer to the horse farm in South Carolina.”

  “How the hell do you remember that? You were like four.”

  I stop and peer over at him. “Really, Sal, I remember everything.”

  He grabs my bag and the food as I patiently wait in the truck for him to come open the door. He pushes in the code for the garage door and as it opens, I make a focused stride straight for it and say, “What’s under the canvas?”

  “That’s Serene’s 69 Camaro.” Squatting down, I pull up the edge of the thick fabric and run my hand along its back fender.

  “Red…” I whisper as my eyes light up like Christmas morning. “Does she run?”

  “Don’t know. I’ve never seen her.”

  I furrow my brow and ask, “Oh my gosh, why?”

  “She’s not allowed out from under the coffin,” he says with a wink. Although confused, I accept the answer without question as he clicks on the lights and puts my bag on the table. “Come in, make yourself at home.”

  Slowly, I walk through the house at almost a tiptoe, taking it all in—the lush furnishings and the antiques. He follows me into the great room where I stand in front of the giant floor-to-ceiling windows. “How much land?”