“I’ll take you to the cemetery after I shower,” he says, pushing his plate away. He says nothing else as I finish eating. I sense his irritation with my desire to meet this submissive of his dreams. I dump most of my breakfast and the rest of his before following him to the shower.
Sal washes my body with the softest of touch, but he never makes a move for more. Between this and not making love last night, I worry he has lost interest in me. I can accept this friendship between us, but I hate the silent treatment. It feels disconnected and off. Like we finally come back together after all this time and lose it on my stupid request. To me though, it isn’t stupid. I have heard so much about Iris, and I really just want to meet her.
We get dressed—again in silence—and make our way to the memorial gardens. On the way, he stops in town at the florist and picks up a beautiful bunch of flowers—lilies, poppies, snapdragons, roses, and a huge bunch of baby’s breath.
He is comfortable here in this town and I can see why—it reminds me of Grammy’s nearest small town. It’s quaint, cute, and social. I imagine everyone knows everyone else and is all up in their business. After taking a moment, it dawns on me that the entire town is built on a BDSM school and what that must mean for the gossip hounds.
The cemetery looms peaceful without anyone else present. We walk the short distance to the back fence where a mammoth fallen angel sculpture erects over the entire plot. One place for Kaci and the other for Bertrand. I don’t realize until this point how much Sal has truly lost. It hits my emotions like a wave and drives me down to my knees where I sit and sulk and cry. I don’t know her—I will never know her—but the scars from his loss are so evident and real that it pains me to see him.
Surprisingly, Sal understands where I am at and comforts me as we leave the flowers and make our way into town for what I am told is the best burger joint in the state.
At almost 3 PM, Idamae’s sits empty except for a few stray patrons. We order burgers and vanilla malts. Sal finally eats and even steals a few of my fries, dipping each one heavily in ketchup. Despite all of this, he still has not spoken more than a few words to me since this morning. I wonder if this is a tactic commonly used in his world—if so, it sucks and is enough to make me want to behave better.
Before we leave, Sal orders an extra burger—no onions, no mayo, no cheese, mustard instead, with extra lettuce, tomato, and pickle. He orders fries with four extra cups of ketchup, a piece of buttermilk pie, and a sweet peach tea.
Not assuming anything, I coax up a smile as we wait for the food outside. He smokes two cigarettes and stomps about in the gravel in his well-worn boots. He is cute in ripped jeans and baseball cap. He looks just like he did when he was young.
A nice waitress named Louise brings us the bag outside during her smoke break. Sal is kind enough to light her cigarette which touches me unexpectedly. I know he would take care of Grammy. I know he would take care of me. Which begs me to question—why in the hell am I pushing the issue with Iris Kettles so damned hard?
On the beautiful day in March, he helps me up into the Raptor, and we ride back to his farm with the windows down and the roof open as the beat of the music says what we cannot.
I take a deep breath as he passes by the Victorian house’s driveway and heads down the curve to the beautiful home he was supposed to share with his bride. It seems rather cryptic really to keep your new lover in your dead wife’s home, but who am I to judge?
He goes off-road behind the house to a grove of trees where he parks the truck. He turns the ignition off and stares my direction with those emerald pools. “Here are the rules.”
“The negotiation?” I ask, glancing down at my hands.
“Yes,” he snickers. “You do what I say. You do not say a word. You do not speak to her unless you ask me.”
“Gotcha,” I say, giving a mock salute.
His jaw twitches as he grabs the bridge of his nose and warns, “I am serious, Em. Don’t mess. This is sacred for me. Remember religion versus Juliet.”
My eyes meet his as I query, “Are you a religious man, Lucas Salvatore?”
“I am devout.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sweet Wicker
SAL
THE FARMHOUSE POSES OVERLY still which slightly concerns me. With Jack and Serene being gone, Iris is left alone as Georgia has work with Mierne. Emily follows, hot on my tail through the house to the only place I know Iris will be—the sunroom.
In a wicker chair by the window, my angel sits in loose, comfortable gray cotton pants and shirt. Her autumnal, spiral curls peek out from the side of the chair promising more splendor than I could ever imagine. She doesn’t appear like the kind of girl who would do the kinds of things she does.
She is reading, but the pretty quilted cover I bought her in Austin obscures the title. My piercing hoop encircles her finger and brings a smirk to my lips. Her phone lays on the arm of the chair and I see the pink headphone cord—I swear I am going to cut that mofo.
I hand Em the bag and press my finger to her lips to be quiet as I sneak up behind Iris. I wrap my hand over her mouth. She doesn’t fight or move, but merely sets her book down and blinks around the room.
I lean over and whisper, “Are you hungry, angel?”
I feel her smiling underneath my hand as I take it away, and she stands up quick. She sees Emily, who offers up her own kind smile just as Iris’ fades.
“She’s beautiful, Sal,” Emily mutters, awestruck. I give her a harsh look.
“Sal, who is your friend?”
“This is Emily,” I say, taking the bag from her hand. “Emily, this is Iris.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Emily holds out her fingers as Iris sets the bag on the table and strides up close. It is always interesting to see submissive sparring with perceived threats. And that is the only reason I agree to bring Em here—I want to see what Iris will do.
Maybe that makes me an asshole.
Or maybe I am just a creepy, sick fuck.
Iris stalks closer, sensing her prey and sniffing her out. Her eyes never leave the big blue sky I soar in. I expect Emily to take off with the wind; she’ll rise above this and go aerial before Iris ever has a chance to lash out.
Ya, I put my bitches up against each other just to see what they would do. I am a bad motherfucker.
Emily’s unsullied expression bursts free and finds a clarity in Iris’ position. That sub of mine glances down at Emily’s hand, picks it up, and fucking kisses it. I am not talking chivalrous pecks of ladies here, I am talking full blown I am going to clean you like a fucking lioness licking it’s young. Long swaths of her tongue run up her fingers as Iris soothes her face into Emily’s palm and then she fucking kneels.
My Angel…kneels.
Holy fuck.
Respect in our world is a weird thing, and you never know how it will fare. There is a standard in public forums that are not always held in private protocol. But it is clear my girl took Dom’s lessons to heart.
Emily gazes down and bites her lip, unsure of what to say. I think of interceding so she doesn’t get too wrapped up in the formality of what Iris is doing. Those fucking saucers drop to meet Iris’ little sapphire gemstones sparkling back. Without a word, Em takes a deep breath and lifts the front of her skirt, revealing her barren landscape.
Holy Jesus.
I want to stop her, but fuck if I am going to do that. My own rules as a Dom would suggest that—ya, I should probably stop this little soiree before it gets started. But the man in me, well hell—I slide into the chair and take a bird’s eye view of the whole damn scene.
Fuck the rules.
Play like Kace—break them all.
I am not sure who is leading or following and frankly, my cock is so hard I do not give a damn. I thought war might break out between the two. I know for a fact it would have if it would have been Cassidy, but Emily doesn’t impose herself with that high-strung quality of a Hope girl.
Iris runs the back o
f her fingers up Emily’s inner thigh and without hesitation, she tilts open, welcoming. Iris flicks her tongue and Em’s hands go into that mop of Iris’ that I adore. Licking her lips, Emily tilts her head back and closes her eyes under Iris’ hungry tongue.
The sounds of licking and slurping fill the room as the delicious smell of sex permeates my nose. I cannot handle this, it is too much watching these two gorgeous women I love. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and damn I ain’t missing it. With a low growl, I command Emily, “Sit on the sofa across from me.”
Moving away from Iris, she unzips her skirt in the back as it falls to the floor around her feet. She flips her pretty blonde hair back as she says, “Are you coming, Iris?”
Sitting on the sofa, Emily spreads her thighs wide, offering me up the perfect view of her damp mound. On all fours, Iris quickly abandons her clothes and crawls over as her shelf ass takes the focus. Emily’s eyes never leave mine as Iris devours her pussy. It is a glorious nest of girls and by far the most seductive and sexy thing I have ever witnessed.
I am one lucky bastard.
Slowly, Emily unbuttons her blouse as those blue eyes cannot escape me. Her nipples are perfectly pink on her white skin. Everything about these two is opposite. Emily has small breasts and a slim stature as Iris’ are easily a handful if not more and embellished by a whole lotta curves.
One hand runs up and over her stiff peaks as one teases Iris’ tassels. She eases down closer and bites her lip hard. I know that look, she is going to fucking come under Iris’ wet tongue.
Standing up, I pull off my jersey and kick off my boots before I drop the jeans. My dick is fucking stone as I lower behind Iris and tease her drenched opening with the head of my cock. I slip in slow and she backs up fast, taking the full length of me deep.
Staring at me, Emily blinks and her mouth gapes open as she licks her lips. I am rocking into Iris, pounding her good as we all get closer to the edge. I am going to fucking blow my load soon. I am not going to be able to hold this one, not with Iris’ waters wrapped tight around me and Emily blowing fucking kisses at me like I am a damn immortal God.
It feels so amazing.
“I am going to come now,” Emily purrs.
“Do it, baby…let it go…she can handle it.”
Emily takes off and that is all it takes for Iris to clench around my dick and milk the come from my body. It is decadent and sensual and fuck I want to ride this ride again and again.
Immediately, my hands go to assist Iris up and I kiss her deep, tasting Emily.
“Iris, come here please,” Em requests, patting on the sofa. Iris spreads eager and willing as Emily dives in between her legs, cleaning her up.
Fuck.
I need to reload the gun fast. I stroke myself back up to full throttle to take Emily from behind. Her ass is so incredibly small, and the thought sends me spiraling down a road of all the damn moves the three of us could do with her contortionist like capabilities.
I ease into her slow as to not startle the poor girl. I have no idea how in the hell she is actually handling all this. For all I know, she is gonna crash and burn. The next round is more sensual, dedicated, and loving—slower paced. I have a good idea how long it takes Iris to come getting eaten out and I am in no rush as I press my chest to Emily’s back and cradle her in my arms.
I kiss Em’s shoulders and hold Iris’ hand as we roll into the land past the first blow. It’s so very sweet the second time around. My hands drift to her hips as I maintain a steady thrust into her dew-filled hole. She’s like a goddamned cupcake stuffed with cream, and I am savoring every delicious drop.
I try and imagine who we would be outside of this world. I doubt if any of this would have ever occurred, but maybe I am wrong. Juliet has granted me certain permissions to do things I might not ever get a chance to experience and as my dick is buried in Emily and my fingers and eyes are locked tight with Iris, I am forever thankful for the opportunity.
Lifting up from between Iris’ thighs, Emily whispers with a hush. “Spank me, Lucas…”
Simultaneously, both Iris and my eyes bug out at her request. Nothing can prepare me for the words to come out of Emily’s lips. My hand smooths over her creamy, vanilla skin, and I cannot say as though the thought doesn’t appeal to me. I know if I do this, I have to keep my shit in check. This isn’t a girl accustomed to this. I have to approach this like a boyfriend popping his girl’s bottom in sex. In other words, not like Iris.
I cannot just do this without confirmation, that is not how I roll. “Are you sure, Emily?”
“Sal…” Iris warns with a worried look.
“Don’t worry, Angel, I got this,” I assure with a nod.
“Yes…um…”
“Sir,” Iris prods, filling my heart with joy.
Emily leans forward and kisses Iris slow and thoughtfully—I don’t know that she has ever even kissed a girl before much less done what all she has experienced today.
“Yes, Sir,” Emily smiles as Iris reflects with the same.
These two may be the fucking death of me.
“Your safeword is butterfly,” Iris says, petting her hair as Emily lowers between my Angel’s wings.
Taking a deep breath, I lick my lips and get back into the momentum, feeling how good her wetness lubes my cock. I hold onto her right hip to keep her steady and come down nice with a sweet sting from my left.
Holy hell.
She marks up fast. Iris’ response is amazing. Her glossy, pout breathes heavily as both hands drop to Emily—her hair, her back, and the sides of her breasts. I pop her again and get the same reaction.
Fuck, I could get lost in the equation of this.
We are making love—the three of us—whole and complete and unified. Every wallop comes as a moan across Iris’ face, and I can only imagine what Emily must be doing to her nectar covered blossom.
I find my rhythm in deep, short thrusts as my hand alternates between rubs and blows to Em’s tight ass. God, what I wouldn’t give to be in that ass.
My eyes roll back in my head as the thought is too much, and I start the wave of orgasms through us. I bolt into her hard, sending a shockwave of spunk deep into unyielding body. She comes on impact and sends Iris spinning us off. It is beautiful as we all lay naked and draped over one another on the sofa.
“We brought you food,” Emily giggles, sitting between us.
I grab the bag and hand it to Iris. She immediately goes for the pie and tosses everything to us. We are eating cold fries and having a grand time when I hear my work phone buzz in my jeans.
“That’s weird…” I mumble, getting up to grab it. “Holy fuck. I gotta go.”
“Stay with her, Em,” I say, not even thinking as I grab my clothes and run through the house. I reach the door and come to a screeching halt. “Fuck.”
I sprint through the house back to the sunroom only to hear them chattering like little birds. I grab Emily’s cheeks and kiss her and then swoop my arms around Iris and kiss her.
“I love you both,” I say, pointing to each of them. “I will be back soon.”
“Where are you going, Sal?” Iris asks, concerned.
“Amber needs me. She is having a breakdown and locked herself in the damn closet in Taos. Dale doesn’t know what to do.”
Touching Iris’ hand, Emily whispers, “Who is Amber?”
“His other submissive. Well, sort-of. It’s a long story,” Iris mentions as I grin like a fool on my way out. I make it just past the sunroom door and Iris yells, “I love you, Trotter!!!”
Everything will be just fine.
SAL
I would never have left for anyone else but Amber. Okay, maybe Cas. Or Anna. Or hell, maybe even Mierne. That’s not the point though, the point is my loyalty is fierce and when someone I love needs me—I go running.
As it turns out, nothing was fine. I got fucking shot trying to save my partner’s—Dale Archer—baby girl, Mae-Mae. It is just a graze, nothing big or concer
ning, but enough to make a ripple of panic run my phone battery down in no time at all.
I finally end up back home almost a week later. I have heard from my contact in the Rocky Mountain region and Emily is comfortable but concerned, which seems fair. Last time we were together, I was balls deep in two girls—the two juxtapositions of my life.
I want to call Maria, but it’s late and I know she is still recovering. Her bullet wounds were much worse than mine, so I end up calling both the girls. I spend about an hour talking to Emily who cannot seem to get enough of the snowy mountains in Colorado and another two hours in a face chat, turned wildly hot session with Iris. The truth is I don’t know what the fuck I am going to do about anything.
I hate getting shot. This isn’t the first and it certainly won’t be the last. It is the most insignificant bullet I have ever challenged though, but the parables still exist, causing me to question my life and purpose in it.
Serene is coming home tonight. She has spent the past couple days in Houston with Uncle Joe, modifying and amending the structures at Juliet with Anna. From what I can tell, there is still no resolution on her estate or the outcome of that.
She went out of her way to intentionally leave me at the house, so that the glimmer of hope— Emily Lee Granger—gave could possibly continue to reignite my spark. By this point, I think she is willing to do anything to shake me out of my head, including giving me the young girl for the weekend.
I understand she loves me, but she also doesn’t get to play mother hen and control who I ultimately end up with. Although, it may be my doing—this clinging to her that I do—as I called her the night before out of desperation and asked her to come home.
Between returning from Boston and running off to Taos, the days between Serene and I have been scarce especially since finding out about our down and dirty scene we had in the playroom. She doesn’t agree at all with my decision to push Iris and thinks it may be the worst thing possible for us both.
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