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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  Swooping my hair up into a casual bun, I spike the sticks into my mess and glance in the mirror. I am ready now. I take a deep breath and whisper, “It’s time to go.”

  By the time I reach the door, my hands shake and my heart beat races. I know whatever he has in mind, a serious punishment is guaranteed. I close my eyes and whisper, “Open the door and do not stop walking.”

  The dark hallway offers no suggestions. Nine Inch Nails fills the room as I know my own trip through Sal’s hell beckons. I pace forward and scan the area. The raindrops on the window add to the haunting, surreal feel. Hundreds of candles flicker and multiple incense sticks diffuse into the room, creating a smoky, layered effect.

  Sal stands, facing the cross high on the wall with his hands tucked neatly behind his back. His intimidating body holds nothing back in full leather gear and his imposing confidence demands I lower to my knees. This is no longer about who he is or what he brings to the table as the obvious exclaims in front of me.

  Sal is a fucking Dominant.

  Master Raniero is a sadist.

  Without a sound between us, I crawl on my hands and knees thinking about my behavior. This is going to be bad—really fucking bad. No matter what I want to happen, it no longer matters. I want him. And I am his to do with as he sees fit.

  This is all about him.

  I catch a glimpse of his profile. He has trimmed his mustache and soul patch close and left his devil whiskers. It is incredibly, fucking sexy. His hair slicked back as he cocks an eyebrow with a slight, deviant smirk. He taunts my senses intentionally to send my soul spiraling and seeking his redemption.

  “You fucking bastard…” I sass with a smile. His hands are on my body in mere seconds as I land on the leather platform bed with a thud.

  “Kettles,” he growls, pacing around the bed and searching for the exact angle. I know what is coming. “If you want a safeword, you can go now. Once I begin, there is no end in our infinity.”

  “I understand,” I say, breathing heavily in anticipation. “I know what I did…”

  The sound of the whip whooshing through the air interrupts my sentence as it makes contact with the bed. I cringe and fear the worst. I have never been lashed like this. This is his forte. His game. His way.

  “Take your robe off,” he instructs as I feel my desire awakening. “You look fucking beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Without warning, Sal presses his hard body against mine as he whispers into my ear, “I am so going to enjoy devouring every single last ripple and moan and come drop from your cunt.”

  The bite comes sudden and sharp to my flesh before he abandons the notion. I am left craving more. More of him. More pain. More pain from him.

  The whip swirls around my leg with a disconcerting accuracy. He is going to hurt my flesh for the mistakes I made and I deserve every single one.

  “There will be no counting tonight. Do not attempt to segue the session or more disciplinary action will occur, do you, Kettles?”

  “Yes, Master Nero…I am sorry.”

  As he rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles, I take note of the gloves. And while I comprehend the use of all the instruments he is about to use on me, I cannot get past these wrappings on his hands. The ink on his fingers jets out from under the finger openings and leads my thoughts to what else he has hidden. I wonder if his pierced beast is rocking a semi or if he is full-throttle.

  “I do not want your sorry’s; I need your submission.”

  The draw pops my ass hastily with a succinct stillness. I do not move. Keeping my eyes open, I collect the rapid-fire succession of ten more lashes. My cheeks burn and I know my ass is his appetizer.

  Sal relentlessly licks my bottom with his demonic little snake whip. He cackles and I imagine he is snarling, gloating in his glory at the markings upon my porcelain flesh. It is hot now and I can hear nothing but the beat of the drum and the slice of the whip. We drift—Sal and I—to this space where we are untouchable. We are invincible in this holy sanctuary, where he is a God and I am nothing but his humble subservient, begging for his absolution and praising his name in a chorus built to hold my revelry for his name.

  Biting my lip, I grip the edge of the platform as he comes colliding against me. He yanks my body up and buries his dick into my folds. Thrusting hard and fast, he shows no mercy as we fuck in the apocalypse of our former selves.

  This is our rebirth.

  This is the new us.

  He savagely takes my body and spirit into his own as his hand impacts with my ass. “You have such a perfect booty; my dick is going to cry all over it.”

  He feels so amazing when he doesn’t hold back anything and gives me everything he is. Closer and closer, Sal rends my body to become nothing more than his puppet. His leathered palm smacks repeatedly against the skin as he fucks on a mission to transport us away.

  My fingers anchor on the edge as his flames soar onto my seas. We are volatile—his fire and my water—each threatening to destroy the other. But as he pulls out and drizzles his come over my heart, I accept his winning stance.

  “You had to take me to the edge didn’t you,” I whine, knowing this is only the beginning.

  “You do not deserve to come on my dick,” he reprimands, as his hands hook under my arms and I am lifted back to his chest. The nipple clamps snap on quick as he bites my neck and mumbles, “My little slut.”

  In his arms, I orgasm hard on his words. My body trembles, quaking deep in my core and releasing a flood onto his leather pants. His dick is still hard, pressed to my aching ass. Taking each one of my hands, he buckles the matching wrist cuffs and attaches them to the thigh cuffs. With my arms pinned next to my sides, I am helpless in his honor.

  Scooting off the bed, Sal assesses his devious craft. “You look amazing in the gear.”

  “So, do you,” I whisper, “Very becoming for a gentleman such as yourself. Tell me, are you a religious man, Salvatore?”

  “If the religion is you, I am a fucking devout saint.”

  “I have a confession,” I say, glossing my lips with my tongue anxiously. “I had sex with Cas.”

  “I am well aware of what you did with her these past two days,” he states matter-of-factly. “And I can assure you, if you ever do her or her shit again—I will fucking disappear.”

  “I understand the choice,” I whisper, sitting in the middle of the bed. “And I know who I choose.”

  Holding one of the candles, Sal lifts a brow and strides in my direction. “Flat. Now.”

  The wax drips slow onto my belly, running over the curve and down my side. The further up he goes the faster he pours until my nipples are camouflaged with a steady stream of red wax.

  Blowing out the candle, he tosses it on the floor and red splatters onto the windows. He hauls my body onto my feet where he threw the candle.

  “I suggest you not move at all for this part,” he growls, taking a cane out of the rack. In the boots, I am only slightly shorter than him. I flick my eyes up as he bears his teeth and scolds, “This is for the absolute worst thing you ever could have done to me.”

  “You mean—Cas?”

  His held tilts and I understand I best scurry over the subject as I am about to endure the caning from a furious hellion.

  The crack surges into my ass as he invokes the skills of a Master. The view is so very different when I can see the fluidity and grace within his dance. Even while being caned, I find my pussy crying out for him as his Dominance ignites with a chaotically beautiful presence.

  Attempting to not waver, I remain upright parallel to the window. Rain beads up on the glass, dividing and trickling apart as I see the reflection of him and the cane swatting me.

  Warm tears crash over my cheeks as the time stops and my breath and blood become dependent upon his command. His pants hang open as the nefarious beast saves tucked away. I no longer need to ask—he is hard.

  And I own his breath and blood.

  “I love you
, Lucas,” I suddenly whisper, having no fear of repercussion. My truth is all I have; and he is mine.

  The cane falls from his fingers as his lips brush against mine. We change and evolve every second. And we choose to fight as much as choose to love. Because the fight keeps us in those seconds together instead of separating like the rain drops.

  We are human.

  Together, we merge into one and he is the dark prince of my salvation and I am the angel of his sins. His sensual kiss captures my attention away from the pain as he breathes into me, “I fucking love you so goddamned much.”

  Carefully, Sal cradles my broken body into his arms and I touch his cheek—wet with sweat and tears—and bring my finger to my mouth, I absorb him.

  Sitting on the bed, I watch as he strips away the gloves and pants and leaves the Dominant on the floor with the red wax.

  He removes the clips from my nipples and the picks from my hair before lowering down on his knees and unbuckling the cuffs. Tiny kisses flutter from his lips to my thigh and he moves upwards encasing my folds in his rapture. His tongue swaths over my slit like he has never tasted a water so pure.

  When my hands grip his shoulders and I think I cannot take anyone, he nudges his cock to my gate, begging for an invitation. I spread further in a welcoming embrace. Sliding deep inside, he begs my body to succumb to his with every thrust of his hips and kiss to my lips. And I cannot imagine not having all of this with Sal.

  The one my soul seeks safe harbor within. The one my spirit believes as my own. My halcyon devil and my dirty savior. And we are more. More than the hate. More than the love. More than words…

  SAL

  It’s funny how things change.

  How just when you think you know how you want it all to go—something shifts and you get segued, and before you know it you are lost and nowhere near where you set sail from.

  I take Iris back to Sugargrove because it is all I can do. I have a job to do. A personal revenge to relish in.

  By the time I return, craziness erupts in every direction as I start to drown out the muffled voices that surround me. The only one I can hear anymore is my angel and she resonates with her sonorous siren song.

  Serene yells at me, but I only hear bits and pieces— “You have to get out of here! Go! Go! Quick! Stay gone! Don’t come back until I call, Trotter.”

  In the darkest of the night, we escape from our home—the five of us—Dale and Amber on his bike, Iris and I are in the Raptor with their baby, Mae, as we head to a church in the middle of the desert. I won’t bother to explain why we are together as in this case; the details don’t really matter. With his dedicated role as my bodyguard, D refuses to leave my side, knowing how much danger I have put myself in.

  My concentrated efforts led a decisive strike against my father. One that will not go unnoticed by anyone. In Sugargrove, I am no more than a sitting duck, waiting to be picked off by one of the many who have it in for me.

  I am the son of a mafia lord.

  Until I assume my position by his side, I must run or risk being his enemy. If I were alone, I would be okay with going against him, but I am not alone—anymore. I have Iris. And her presence changes my focus.

  La Chiesa—The Church—is a former mission with a thousand-square foot bunker underneath. Sibyl seized the whole thing years ago and Jack handed over the keys to Kaci which in turn meant, I now owned the damn thing. Preparing for the eventual turn of the tides, I redid the whole thing shortly after the Pixie perished.

  I wish I had some idea how long we would be hauled up together, but I don’t. Iris clenches onto my hand in the passenger seat as I pull up to the back door and say, “I love you.”

  “I know you do, but I am scared, Sal.”

  “We will be fine,” I reassure, letting go and unloading the truck bed. We have a dozen plastic bins of food, water, supplies, and ammo. After fifteen minutes, we head to an old dilapidated barn where I stash the truck.

  On the walk back, I grab Iris’ hand. “You know that thing with D…”

  “I know you did it,” she says, gazing up at me. “You put it into I.S. Ventures?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I advise, smiling for the first time since our night in Houston. “I will show you how to access it.”

  “You don’t have to,” she says warmly as we traverse over the damp grass and up the hill to The Church. “I don’t want you to think I am some sort of pig.”

  “Paypig,” I correct with a smirk.

  “Yeah,” she replies with a giggle. “I know Amber thinks I am all about the money.”

  “I never once believed that,” I say, opening the door for her. “Never once.”

  “I just don’t want you to ever doubt my intentions,” she whispers as we walk through the sanctuary on our way to the kitchen. “I am here for you, Lucas Salvatore Raniero. You are the only reason. And I love you more and more with every passing day.”

  “I could say the same thing to you, love,” I growl as we head into The Church. Inside the pantry, the floor panel sits off to the side as we say goodbye to the sun.

  The bunker itself isn’t bad. Two bedrooms and bathrooms, a shared living space, and small kitchen offer up the basics. I give the larger of the two bedrooms to Dale and Amber considering they have baby Mae. Being the middle of the night, we are all exhausted and split off to our rooms. Opening my black case, I check the ammo in the Glocks and click off the safety. I am not fucking around with this. Someone gets in here, I’ll ask questions later.

  With big eyes, Iris stares in awe at the side of me she rarely witnesses. I am the hunter, the predator, the hitman. “Are you worried?”

  Putting the rifle together, I say, “Nah, but I am not stupid either.”

  “You think your father would send someone here to kill us?”

  “Nope,” I reply, stashing the case and gun under the bed. “I think he would send the fucking militia to kill us.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I blew up a motorcycle compound he was about to invest in,” I mumble callously, per fact.

  “…Blew up?” she asks naively.

  “Ya, with a couple of explosives,” I reply, chewing my gum and loading the knives, syringes, and extra clips into the nightstand.

  Blinking in shock, she berates, “You’re a fucking madman.”

  I stop long enough to give a decided glare and state the obvious, “I am a trained assassin, babe.”

  She breathes—huffing—and asks, “How many people have you killed?”

  “Do you really want to get into this right now?”

  “I don’t know, Sal, maybe,” she argues, standing up and crossing her arms. “Maybe I do want to get into it because I love you and this,” she elaborates, waving her arms about wildly, “This isn’t safe.”

  “Welcome to my life, sweetheart.”

  “Your life isn’t normal,” she points out.

  “And yours was?” I bark back. “Tell me how Gennaro paying your sweet ass off and grooming you is any different from mine.”

  “I just… I think there has to be a better way,” she contests, turning away. “I mean hell, Sal—you put Emily somewhere safe. Why can’t we just go off somewhere else?”

  “To an unknown town in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Yeah,” she pleads as the tears flow over her cheeks.

  “It sounds well and good, but the problem is my father will find us.”

  “So, we run?” Her voice shifts to a belligerence, a declaration of impending war. “How long do you plan on running?”

  “I have been running from my father since the day I was born,” I say, moving closer and wrapping my arms around her body. She is good and kind—or nothing like me. Stroking her cheek, I graze the back of my hand over the bruises on her face, but I say nothing about it. “I cannot stop or he will catch me or those I care about and nothing will ever be the same again.”

  “…How do you know?”

  “Because I am his only son,” I grumble, wi
shing this conversation would take another turn, anywhere but here. “If you really think he would ever choose my sisters to lead the business over me, you don’t understand the concept of how my family works.”

  “Mr. Raniero, are you saying because you have a penis, it gives you entitlement?”

  “In my father’s world—absolutely—do I personally subscribe to his theories—no fucking way.” Pulling her closer, I kiss the top of her head. “I know far too many powerhouses in panties.”

  She laughs. “Well, at least I know where you stand.”

  “I know you are scared, but you shouldn’t be because you have me,” I inform as I fall prey to those blue eyes. “And I am not going to let anything happen to you or us—ever.”

  “Do you promise whatever happens that in the end…”

  I silence her fears with a passionate kiss, soft and slow. “I swear on a thousand more kisses there is no man—dead or alive—to stop me from ever being with you.”

  IRIS

  Two weeks into our hideaway, a boredom begs the four of us for something more. We have cooked and cleaned and played polite niceties. Fake happiness drips as we all acknowledge the grave reality—we are fucking stuck in a bunker together.

  Late one night, I consider leaving, grabbing my shit and just going away as far as I can from the insanity. The thing is it’s not only Sal’s father bearing down upon us, but my own ties back to his opposing front—Gennaro and his allies and enemies. Departure guarantees one thing—putting Sal in danger—and I cannot do that.

  The boys, Sal and Dale, banter on playfully, having so much in common it is ridiculous. At the other end of the spectrum, Amber and I gaze intimidatingly at each other with a purposeful disdain.

  How many women really like other women?

  Bonds of sisterhood and kindred spirits are hard to find amongst the feminine lure as the competition reeks thick with angst and disgust and judgment. Despite how I try to find a common ground with the woman, I get stuck at—she is, was, and forever will be Sal’s submissive.