Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  Take the good and the bad.

  My loyalty is with Sal Raniero and providing sustenance for his men, and until that changes, romantic relationships are not on my agenda. I cannot – will not – fall in love because I’m already spoken for. I’m already in love with them.

  “Probably more than you want to know,” I whisper, breaking our kiss as Jas Torrente thrusts inside of my ass. Holy hell, he is good. Gentle. Swift. Consuming. “You have a name for this group of yours?”

  “We are The Unholy.”

  Jas lays his hands on my hips, rocking deeper into me at the exact moment Sal does. It is intensely pleasurable having this much cock inside of me. I daren’t move for fear of causing missed steps. They perform together in perfect time and allow my presence by luck. I’m no fool; there is always someone prettier, younger, and better equipped to serve.

  With every sense in my body on alert, I note Sal moving his hands to grip Jas’ fingers. I’m locked tight between two Masters, stuck in the cage of these men. My life has never been quite so enjoyable.

  Baptize my soul in your unholy waters.

  Christen me as your practice slut until my last breath.

  And I promise to be yours for all eternity.

  2

  5-4-3-2-1

  His Butterfly

  Two Days Before Leaving La Chiesa

  “Move with me,” I say as his hands brace against my ass and I ride his thrusts. He is stunningly gorgeous beneath me. He winks. “God, I hate you. And I love you so much it hurts. Why did you have to be the Kid of the Boston Mafia? I don’t want to do this.”

  “… My cock?”

  “No, silly,” I laugh, laying my hands on his shoulders. “This plan of yours to keep us both breathing.”

  “You don’t think it will work, Iris?”

  “I wish I believed that failure would make everything so much easier. I want to be able to punch a hole through your strat, and I can’t. I’ve been trying for weeks to find the slightest fissure.”

  “You won’t,” he says, his voice rumbling low in his chest. “You gotta trust me. We got this.”

  “Three years is so long,” I whine, striding up to the tip of his cock before he bucks his hips up at the exact moment he pulls me down. “So long…”

  Smirking, Sal lifts one brow high. “Why are we talking about two long things?”

  I blush and toss my head against his shoulder. “Because we are pure magic, Sal. And three years is a long time.”

  “It may not be three,” he confidently assures. “It could be less. It could be more. It all depends on how fast you take in those slave lessons,” he teases with a snarl. “Gotta crawl before we run.”

  “I ought to pop you in the nose.”

  “You won’t,” he replies, easing his hands over my back and clutching my ass in his fingers. “You love me too much to do that. Besides, if we can survive all these weeks in the basement of La Chiesa, we can handle this.”

  “Different,” I argue, stopping my movements and staring him straight in the eye. “We were together. This is utterly absurd to think we can separate for that long and reconnect over lattes and chocolate croissants.”

  “I don’t drink lattes or eat chocolate croissants.”

  I smack his muscled chest hard. “You know what I mean! How exactly is this going to work? Hi, my name is Iris…”

  “I think I’ll remember your name,” he arrogantly interrupts, still gyrating his hips under me. “How could I forget wanting the girl who pisses me off, but at the same time, wanting her heart-shaped lips around my dick all the time?”

  I thwap my open palms against his inked pecs as I try and get up. He stops me. “Fuck you, Nero!”

  “Would you stop worrying about this, Angel?” He offers a simple crooked grin and flexes his brows repeatedly. I’m such a sucker for his animated expressions. I’m fucking sunk, and I know it. I’m bound to love this man for the rest of my life—ravaging hell or high water—for better or worse; I am Sal Raniero’s girlfriend. “Go do your job and the time will be over before you know it, I promise.”

  “But you are talking about being arrested…handcuffed…going to prison…what if…”

  “What if what?”

  “Don’t make me say it,” I warn as tears threaten to spill. “Please.”

  He gives the priceless, white, charming wide grin. Fuck. “… What if I find myself jonesing for you and seek solace in Goodtime Gary?”

  “Oh, my God!” I squeal, laughing and beating my forearms on him. “No! Jesus! No! Fuck! No! SALVATORE!”

  He latches his fingers around my wrists. “Don’t make me put you on your back. You’ll regret that.”

  His threat causes a brief submissive quandary of—to behave or not to behave—and I know this moment well. “Jail, Sal. Jail.”

  “State prison,” he thoughtfully corrects. “Quite different from the local jail with a staff of two.”

  “But…”

  “Dandelion… Do it,” he growls, triggering my instant reaction. “I’m always with you. Listen to your Master, his fire, and chase the red. Cut the love off. And be the badass bitch I know you are.”

  I sniffle as the memories flood my mind…

  “I am Salvatore Raniero. Twenty-four, five-foot-ten, about a hundred ninety, Italian-American male.”

  “That explains it…”

  “Do you often come in your pants?” she prodded.

  “I come often,” he winked, drinking some more whiskey.

  Iris held a finger to his lips. “You want to fuck me. I want you to spank me.”

  “Are you saying if I spank you that you will let me fuck you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is this our negotiation?” Sal chuckled.

  “Yes. But you have to promise me that whatever happens afterward, you will still be mine. I need to know that even if I am the worst lay you ever have or that if I cry the first time you smack me, you won’t leave me. You have to swear.”

  “I,” Sal professed, smiling mischievously naughty. “I, Lucas Salvatore Raniero, promise to spank you, Iris Amarie Nakamura Kettles, until you cry and fuck you until you scream my name.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Oh God, I’m so fucking sorry, Sal. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Lucas, please. I just… I just wanted to know if I could do it. I didn’t know how bad it was going to get. I’m so very sorry. I love you, please… please… come back to me.”

  “Don’t you dare call me by my first name,” he spat. “YOU… haven’t earned it.”

  “And a turn at that? Why would I want—that—when everyone else has already friggin’ had it, Miss Pussy-Go-Round?”

  “Stay, Iris.”

  She giggles. “You are telling me to stay, but not the horse?”

  “The horse always listens…”

  “Iris, do you know who issued the order?”

  She bites her lip and blinks away, unable to control her emotions any longer. “Cesario Raniero requested your hit.”

  In the middle of the thunderstorm, threatening to drop hail on his precious Raptor, I asked, “Why do you need money?”

  With the flume of cigarette smoke swirling around, he admitted, “To win a war…”

  “You’re going after your father.”

  “Yes.”

  The look in his eyes is all I need to know he is going to fuck me right here against the window on the top floor of the hotel.

  I want to ask if this is safe, but that is my inner anxious nature speaking. I have no doubt, I am, and we are. If some freak accident were to occur and I fall, he will follow. “You’re going to fuck me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” he growls low, unzipping his jeans. “I want you on my cock all night long, Iris…”

  My hand curls around his magnificent pierced beast, and I am startled by how hard I make him as he backs away briefly. I am voluptuous, and I cannot deny these curves that inhabit my body, but still, Sal chooses me. I am humbled and honored and slick
with lust.

  “Get your hands up,” he snarls as his jeans land on my pile of clothes. “Higher baby girl cause you are going for a ride.”

  Without hesitation, I say, “I’ll do it, Sir.”

  Resuming his devilish claiming of my body, he smiles. “Good girl. Now, come to me.”

  Her Master

  Her body shivers against mine as her pussy convulses in an orgasm on my dick. Her head flops forward, her lush hair forming a curtain. I don’t come. I can’t. Not yet.

  “I need you not to give up.”

  Her breathing slows as she recovers and stares at me. “Am I often the type to easily surrender and raise the white flag?” She flirts, her blue sapphires teasing me. “I mean, I’d like to know if I am.”

  “That’s it,” I warn, lifting her and putting her face down. “We’re doing this my way.”

  “Every way is your way, Sal.”

  She has a point.

  Pulling her hair over her shoulder, I whisper in her neck, “Do you think that is a problem?”

  “Your absolute need to control everything?” Iris asks as I moan, pinning her hands down with one hand and teasing her pussy with the piercing from behind. She arches her hips back, inviting my impending thrust. “I don’t mind it, but I’m trained to seek it.”

  Continuing to taunt her clit, I consider her words. “If you’re a seeker, what am I?”

  “… A bastard?”

  My palm comes down against her flesh. “Say it again.”

  “Bastard,” she whispers, glancing back at me. “You are an asshole and a bastard. A devil and my Master.”

  Hovering over her, I cannot take it anymore. I want her to surrender. I need her dew on my dick. I brace my grip around her tiny wrists and thrust in hard, balls deep. She is so good, so sweet, so submitting to my every whim.

  “Jesus, Angel!”

  “Fuck me, baby,” she gasps, taking a finger and brushing it over my hand. She cannot even move, but yet, she tries to touch me. Something shifts in my mind at that exact moment. She is always coming for me—full-throttle, pedal to the floor, steaming ahead without a care as to what the future holds. She is all about me, and for the life of me, I don’t understand why. “Fuck me harder, Sal…”

  I pause on her request because I am not only the four titles she pointed out so clearly, but I’m also indescribably lost. Everything is a mess of mush in my mind. With my dick hard and buried to the hilt inside of her shallow, I ask, “Why me?”

  “Do we need to get philosophical right now?”

  “Yes.”

  She sighs and glances back to me. “What is it with you and having these epiphanies during sex?”

  “I wish I knew,” I say, releasing her wrists and rubbing my hands over her back mural. She is the water; I am the fire. We should not be doing this—any of this. “Actually, I do know, the rush of endorphins is like an overdose of fuel, sending my brain into a flurry of frying synapses.”

  “… Seriously?”

  “In a roundabout way.”

  “You’re such a fucking nerd,” she replies, blowing a kiss to me. “What do you want to know?”

  I let myself fall out of her as I back away and roll her over. I toss her leg around my torso and spread her thighs. My hands ease over her cheeks as I cannot stop staring at her angelic face. The eyes I want to drown in and the lips I need to savor. I dip down and kiss her steadily as her limbs cling to me.

  I am her salvation. I am her rescue. If I fail, we are fucked. This is what is on the line. This is the truth of where we are. The bullets and blood and vengeance are real. And I could lose Iris. I could lose everything.

  Tears slip from my eyes and wash over her skin. “Baby, why are you crying? I’m sorry I called you a nerd.”

  Amidst my hysteria, I laugh. “That’s not why I’m crying, silly girl. I’m crying because I love you so damn much and I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be without you.”

  “Your father is coming guns-ablazin’ after you as soon as he finds out what you’re doing.”

  “You don’t think I know that?” I shake my head in an attempt to detour the pain, but nothing helps. Her hand eases over my abs and gently wraps around my cock. She strokes me slow and places me just barely inside of her. “I’m so fucking scared, Angel.”

  “Babe,” she whispers, laying her hand on my chest and staring at the promise ring I gave her. It’s an eternity band of channeled diamonds, like the kind given for anniversaries, but to me, it holds the promise. “You are going to be all mine one day.”

  Her words do nothing but provoke an onslaught of heavy sobbing. My crucifix dangles between us brushing against her heart. Her hands lace around my neck as I force myself to look at her eyes. I don’t want her to ever see me like this. I don’t want her ever to see me broken.

  “I already am…”

  “You are my future husband, my lover, and my escort to the heavens. And when you are feeling lost and alone in that cage…”

  “Prison,” I correct with a smirk.

  “You’ll remember this,” she relays, edging her body to meet mine and taking all of me. Her precise moves punish my body as she makes exquisite love to me. “You’ll remember every second of this. You’re trusting me. You’re trusting yourself. You’re trusting us.”

  “And we’ll meet again one day over lattes and chocolate croissants?”

  “Exactly.”

  The agony swoops over, all-encompassing like a massive gale, and wrapping every heartache into a cocoon of her absolute love. “Hi, my name is Sal…”

  3

  White Icing

  His Butterfly

  12 AM June 20

  Counting the minutes, it takes each man to cum, and I’ve been staring at the clock on the wall for hours. This particular guy is taking the longest, and I wonder if maturity plays into his stamina. Perhaps he’s just the ruthless son-of-a-bitch determined to break me.

  Motherfucker.

  His dick feels like an ice pick in my swollen cunt. I’ve been used up by the men and gotten little intel out of it. The nipple clamps tighten as I struggle to pull away. It’s useless. I’m out of fight. Exhaustion rolls through me. I want to sleep. I need to wake in a dream of being nestled in the sand with something cold and blue in my hand as the prince of darkness smirks with the remnants of my morning’s orgasm on his lips. We’re holding hands and laughing — so much laughter.

  And in love.

  Closing my eyes for a moment, I reawaken with a harsh, stinging slap to my cheek. “We’re not done, you lying bitch!”

  I open my mouth repeatedly, the hint of metallic hitting my taste buds. I flick my tongue over the cut and wish I hadn’t been the bachelor party. “I’m sorry.”

  “… Who is running La Morte?” he asks with a dedicated deep thrust and stops.

  “I don’t know!”

  Never fuck with a woman who gave up caring, she’s dangerous.

  If the truth be told, I care little about the service I have performed tonight. I do not love these men or give one iota what they do to my body. Spank me. Slap me. Rape me. Cut me. I’m better trained than them, and that pisses them the fuck off.

  Thanks, Hope.

  Thanks, Raniero.

  He yanks his dick from my hurt folds by shoving my body back into the rack. It’s slightly uncomfortable. Picking up the stiff bamboo cane, he paces around me. I cannot cry any more tears; I’m out, depleted by Sal. I’m dry in more ways than one, but I haven’t shed a single tear for these men.

  No.

  The meticulous plan ahead brought my tears. The loss of the man I love and the torture he would endure to love me. I’m trained to be an assassin, a spy, a dirty little secret, but letting go of my Sal-vation…well, I missed that day in class.

  “May I have a drink?”

  The cane swipes against the front of my thighs. The pain sears through me like a knife. I want to turn the tables and beat the holy hell out of this Master on principle alone. He is a di
sgrace to the fetish world I love, and frankly, his advanced interrogation techniques suck.

  Approaching slow, he rips the crucifix from my neck and drops it in the mess of used condoms and equipment. Fucking traitor. This just got personal. I will slit his fucking throat. That is my collar from the man I love. I spot Sal’s necklace—one of many he has—on the floor. I’m offended on such a deep level, I can think of nothing but ending his life.

  “Who is behind La Morte, Precious?”

  My eyes feel like tiny slits as I blink to Jack. He knows this little “bachelor party” skewed every rule in the book. The disciplinary repercussions of the actions of nine men could be catastrophic if I talk. Nine men. But not everyone went to the lengths of Jack. He is one of us; he is exceptional—in an intensely fucked up way.

  No one is saving me.

  There are no heroes here.

  Mierne left hours ago, and Louise hasn’t checked in on me since Jack took over. I seriously doubt either one would’ve helped me. Louise knows nothing about our deceptive game, and Mierne is a crapshoot. Her roots are muddier than a twenty-dollar hooker. How many johns can she cram in a night? A lot with money shots and a mouth permanently secured into an O.

  Despite ongoing snark that I’m nothing more than a cheap pay pig, I disagree. This little piggy went to the fish market and guzzled cum all the way back home—I’m Sal-fucking-Raniero’s prized possession. I agreed to the deal with Cesario Raniero to take out his son for a total worth eight digits.

  I was coming for him; he had been stalking me.

  Two rogues—targeting one another.