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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Yes,” she answers with a sweet smile. “Hard fucking limit.”

  “I’m sorry, I missed your birthday.” Feeling uncertain with the pure, I tenderly ask, “May I touch you?”

  “You don’t have to ask, Sal.”

  “Ya, I do,” I say, breathing heavy as I lightly run a fingertip along her inner thigh. “I’m a nice boy.”

  “You’re a dirty man,” she laughs, stretching her hips with a bottom roll. This isn’t my first trip on this ride. I’ve been with her enough to see this particular ass swish more than once.

  On all fours, she gracefully leans as far to one side as she can, and then does the other side. Her preparation to go flying with me. She knows I can be a relentless bastard in a scene. I understand she’s not moving to turn me on; but I won’t deny what this spreading of her wings does to me, either. I offer humility at her gifts; this is not my flight but ours.

  “It’s been ninety-eight days since you last came inside of me, and I don’t recall revoking your access.”

  With a devilish grin, I snicker, “Ninety-eight, huh?”

  “Yep,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and biting her lip. “Ninety-eight.”

  “You aren’t making it to ninety-nine,” I contend, rubbing the dampness of the lace. “Do you have any idea how much I’ll spoil you?”

  “Hopefully as much as I intend on swallowing,” she giggles, and I laugh. “Are Deacon and Amber?”

  “Through,” I state. “You know it’s hard to be disciplined with this no fetish clause the doctor has me on.”

  “Are you not spanking me?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” I honestly say. “I’m considering saying fuck it for an all-night binge. What do you think?”

  “You won’t make it to Boston on time if you stay the night.”

  “I will if I take my truck,” I bait, mischievously grinning. “Did you bring it on purpose?”

  She tosses her hair back. “I brought it because I thought it was lonely in the old barn. I wanted it here in Anna’s garage because it’s yours and you belong to Juliet, Sal.”

  57

  We Could Be Brilliant

  Without hesitating, I wrap the buckle into my palm and let her have it hard. Her body gives way, inching forward, and the old wooden slats on the table protest from weathered decay. She gasps. And I go again.

  Letting the leather impact her skin, I breathe through the fears of my psyche, capsizing under duress, and embracing who I am for one brief moment with the submissive of my dreams. Her flesh readily marks with a pink tinge as she welcomes the pain and moans with pleasure. My heart and mind are on fire with insatiable lust and my cock throbs with an ache.

  It’s just a taste, a final dance with the devil, but a couple of lashes aren’t enough. I cannot stop, and I don’t want to as I submerge into the control and find comfort in my Dominance. She doesn’t buckle, but braces for more, feeding my deviance. I strike her again, this time welting her crimson.

  I stay within the bounds as I carefully curl my fingers under the lace waistband of her panties and pull them down. My mouth drops open, knowing this was the worst thing I could’ve done. I run my fingers along the seam of her ass and nestle them in her darkness. She feels like heaven, soaking my hand as I dip one…two…fingers into her slickness.

  There is no stopping me.

  I pull slowly from her and swipe her scent on my mustache. I’m absolutely, totally, and thoroughly fucked. When just a few aren’t enough, I throw caution to the wind and dive off the edge into the craving of my addictions.

  The belt rips onto her skin again as I start to sweat. My intense breathing labors as I refuse the notions of withdrawal. Fuck that. We’ll foray with the fumble and bask in the glory of our shared execution. I do not think because I’m caught up in the Dom space high of our perfect balance of Master and slave.

  Iris is just so damn willing, and I refuse to deny her of this need. I’ll satiate her soul and bring her more than she ever dreamed because that is the man I am.

  Frying synapses be damned.

  We’re humans, delicate and determined to breakdown, but we’ll deal with it together because that is what we do. That is who we are. We fall, heal, and start again.

  And our intimate, kinky sanctuary is sacred, a tomb of tears, filled with joys and sorrows as I rise like a phoenix from the ash. We swoop and soar, divide and reunite, but this journey isn’t for the weakened or lost. We are more determined and confident together than we ever are apart. Iris and I are a team, and the choices we make for our future, we do together.

  I was wrong to believe I was a soloist because I’m never alone with her by my side. She is my greatest weakness and my biggest strength, and I kiss the belt against her plump, round ass. Drenched in sweat and begging for more, I mumble, “God, I love your fucking ass. You’re like a goddamned cupcake filled with every dream I’ve ever had. And you allow me to savor every delicious drop.”

  “… Allow?” she asks, flipping her hair back. Her cheeks are glistening, and her lips are wet with drool. “It’s consent.”

  “No, it’s not,” I argue, taking a breather to rub her swollen bottom. “They’re both permissive, but allow grants both positive and negative. Consent is the door. Allow is the whole house.”

  “I hate how right you are sometimes.”

  “We’re well beyond consent; we’ve upgraded to allow, and our negotiation of hard limits proves that,” I contend, easing my hand up under her shirt to caress her lower back. “Are you good? Do you need anything?”

  Her cheeks perk up, animated by my concerned notions. We aren’t just in this lifestyle. This is who we are – D/s – it defines us. It molds us. This is a competitive sport we engage in, in our quest to go for gold—that is how dedicated we are together. And as much as she enjoys being taken—claimed—she is not powerless here. She has a voice I always strive to take a backseat to.

  I’m the Dominant, and I hold the belt, but Iris keeps vigil over my fucking heartstrings and demanding cock on the collar around her neck.

  “More,” she purrs as I feel triumphant in my decay.

  If I’m going to be bad, then by God, I want to be the baddest motherfucker ever.

  Her soft skin feels like silk beneath my fingers. I hiccup, not believing the things she is willing to accept and put up with, and panic streaks through to my core like lightning. With barely a whisper, she says, “Do it, Lucas. Let it go. I can take it.”

  Drawing back my arm, I let the my hand fly and skirt my bare palm into her bottom. Again, and again, I impact nothing but my flesh to hers, and the rhythm of us—who we are—becomes a ritual. It’s so different from using any tool—crop, belt, or whip. The vibration runs in my bones from her through circles and me back again as we find eternity in the shanty that almost broke us.

  She is inside of me; I am inside of her.

  We share the bond, blood, and bliss.

  Stepping away, I heave, breathing like I’ve just run a mile in record time. My hair curls with wetness. My chest drips. And my dick is so excruciatingly hard all I can think about is coming inside of her shelter. In the overdose of our love, I find God as I reverently mutter, “Iris…”

  She quickly flips over to me. Pressing her lips to my chest, she blinks up and says between kisses, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

  “More than words, baby…”

  “Don’t give up.”

  With our limited amount of time together, I volunteer to get dinner from Mario’s for the three of us after we showered together. In case, anyone needs an update—we still haven’t made love.

  After she said, “Don’t give up,” the wind picked up and brought a light rain shower. The derelict shack leaked like a sieve, and as we ran back to Scarlet House, I said, “Remind me to fix that fucking thing when I come back.”

  “I hope you do,” she giggled as I had her in one hand and those damn lace panties of my undoing gripped in the other. “Considering I want to marry your as
s there.”

  We busted into the mudroom with Anna awaiting our arrival. Soaked from head to toe, we stripped most of the way down, and I picked Iris up. With a delightful zest in her voice, Anna yelled, “Your room is ready for you, Salvatore!”

  I savored every moment of my hands on her body. I washed her hair, and she spun around to lay one hell of a kiss on my lips. She cautiously lathered me up and inspected the new landscape of me. “Where is your piercing?”

  “I haven’t put it back in yet…”

  “Are you going to?”

  “I assume I will at some point,” I replied as her finger dipped into my navel. She was low, on her knees, and those blooming sapphires danced with excitement. “What?”

  “Rinse,” she said. I did. And she curled her fingers beneath my sack and pulled me closer before swallowing the length of me.

  “Yes!” I cried out with my palm on the back of her head. “Suck me harder, Angel.”

  Her eyes beckoned with an enticement to release as I uncontrollably fucked her mouth. I was going to come in her throat. Her hands braced against my thighs and sloped upwards and back to my ass. She wanted me. She needed me.

  And then, I said, “Stop.” I fell from her mouth in an instant as she dropped her hands. “Wow—good girl!”

  “Are you testing me?”

  “No, Ma’am,” I replied, calming myself. I latched my arms beneath her and held her against the wall as I kissed her like it was our last time. Breathing against her lip, I mumbled, “But when I finally come, I want you to be coming on my cock.”

  “I hate how well disciplined you can be,” she teased, brushing her fingers over my arms. “Are you buying me dinner first?”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Come on.”

  And now, we’re in the kitchen, getting ready to go. I grab the keys for the truck when she says, “Take me on the bike.”

  “It’s been raining,” I say, ignoring her request.

  “And we’re about to be apart for God only knows how long,” she baits as Anna shrugs and smiles. Grabbing my arm, she begs, “Let me ride bitch one time on your baby, please. It’s not like I can steal the Ducati.”

  “Unlike my fucking Raptor!”

  “Right!” She grins wide.

  “Fine,” I agree. “To Mario’s and back.”

  She happily bounces. “You aren’t going to let anything happen to me.”

  “You trust me that much?”

  “I trust you with everything,” she says, holding my hand.

  I kiss Anna on the cheek. “We’ll be back.”

  “Take your time,” she encourages, planting one on me. “Enjoy one another. Say yes, Salvatore. Don’t lose your time.”

  In the distance, the dark purple clouds loom as I stride out to the bike. Propping against the seat, she stares at me as I twist my hat on backward. “You ran off on me.” As I get closer, I spot the tears in her eyes. “Baby…”

  Beneath the shower of anguish, she says, “By the way, you wearing gray sweatpants should be a crime.”

  “Come on, let me fix those tears.”

  She steps away as I straddle over, and when I sit, I spot her dipping her fingers under the stream of the fountain. “None of it is fair.”

  “We’re going to make it fair,” I assure, popping a piece of gum in my mouth and firing up the bike. “Get on.”

  “… You’re letting me go without a helmet?”

  Chewing my gum, I say, “Only one time, so enjoy it.” She eases in behind me. “Are you on?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” she says, uncertain. We’ve never done this, and I can hear the nerves in her voice.

  “Hold onto me.”

  She peers over my shoulder and asks, “Are you going to go fast?”

  “I’m not driving like papaw.”

  I open her up, and we fly around the grounds of Juliet – to let her get used to the feeling – before I pull out onto the road. “Faster!” she yells as her hair whips in the wind. “Faster!”

  Not one to tell the lady no, I do as she requests and we zip through the miles of curves. Her arms are wrapped tight around me when I come to a stop at the first light on the outskirts of town. I spot the car from the cemetery. “Fuck…”

  “What?”

  “That SUV over there has been following me all day,” I mumble, wishing I had my damn piece. She’s right. I’m a goddamn mob boss’ son, and the threat is constant. Now, I’ve endangered her and put us both at risk.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Get fucking dinner,” I snap, staring at the vehicle. There is no one inside. “But you are coming in with me.”

  We pull up to Mario’s, grab our bags, and do the normal—Oh, Sal, it’s good to see you back in town chatter—before heading back out to the bike. I stash the two bags of food in the saddlebags. “I need you to hold on and not let go.”

  “Sal,” Iris whispers, stepping closer and hugging me. “We do not have time for PDA, baby.” Taking my hand, she discreetly places it on her side. I would know the shape of a bang anywhere. I blink up intrigued as my eyes spark with hers. “… You do that often?”

  “All the time since the attack. Everywhere, Agent.” She winks. “I have a ticking time bomb lodged in my cerebral cortex.”

  Grinning, I snicker, “Your cerebral cortex, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Baby, my intermittent organ has a hard-on for your cerebrum.”

  She doesn’t miss a beat. “We should introduce them, takes mind fucking to a whole new level.”

  “Aren’t we already doing that?”

  “We are,” she says, kissing me. Slipping my hands around her, I find her skin and pull her into me. It’s hot and amazing to be out with her, but I know the risk, and so does she. She breaks the intoxicating spell of her lips and whispers, “We should go before you bend me over the bike in the town square, and we show everyone how much in love we are.”

  “Ya,” I say, catching sight of the two men getting into the SUV and pulling out onto Main Street. I adjust myself and command, “Nowala.”

  On the way back to Juliet, I take the longer route despite the setting sun. I’m not to a red alert stage, but I’m keenly aware those two are up to no good. The lightning zigzags across the horizon, and the thunder rumbles the earth as I drive hard and fast back home. I glance down and realize why my hands are hurting so much. I’m white-knuckling under stress.

  I decide to take the back entrance to the gate despite it being gravel. I slow down with the precious cargo locked on my back and dodge the flooded mud divots in the road. We arrive at the gate when I spot the SUV.

  “Hold the fuck on!” I roar, propelling us to the stopped vehicle. They start to turn around as I stop the bike and pull Iris’ gun from my pants. I’m popping my gum as I fire one shot into the back tire. I throw the kickstand and get off the bike. “Who the fuck are you working for?”

  With their windows rolled down, I spot two kids—they’re younger than me—half scared to death. “We’re sorry, Raniero.”

  “Who the hell are you?” I ask, bulking my stance and pointing the gun at them. “Answer me! Or I swear to God, I’ll not think twice about offing your asses!”

  “We’re Dominic Gennaro’s nephews,” the one in the passenger seat replies.

  “… Enzo?”

  “No, he’s our older brother,” the driver says. “I’m Franco, and he’s Silvano.”

  “Why the fuck are you twerps following me?”

  “Because we told Dom we would like to try and prove ourselves worthy. He’s worried about you.”

  Shaking my head, I huff. “Get your fucking tire changed and get the hell out of here. And if I ever see you two here again, I will shoot you. Don’t fuck with what’s mine.”

  “Yes, Sir!” Silvano says. “We’re so sorry.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” I roll my shoulders, easing some of the tension.

  When I return to the bike, Iris asks, “Who are they?”

  “Franco and
Silvano Gennaro.”

  “… Vito’s kids?” she asks, hopping off the bike and striding towards them. “Oh, my God! Boys!”

  Lighting a smoke, I watch the whole transgression with utter befuddlement. Before I know it, they’re out of the SUV and hugging my girl.

  My girl. Mine.

  Touch her ass, punk…just do it…so I can do the world a favor.

  A few minutes later, Iris walks back with the two daego ducklings behind her. She’s smiling with a you-are-going-to-be-sweet-and-I-will-suck-your-dick look.

  Oh, good lord.

  I’m so damn pussy whipped.

  “What?”

  “They need a tire iron.”

  Assessing them, I snarl, “Do they need a tire, too?”

  “No, we have that,” Franco says, studying me. “Sir!”

  My nostrils flare, and I lower my head. “Come on. We’ll go have dinner, and I’ll change your fucking tire.”

  Just call me a sucker.

  She best swallow.

  “So which one is older?” I ask, brushing my teeth after showering the filth off from changing the dipshits’ tire. I’m dripping wet with a white towel wrapped around my waist, and Iris is moaning over cannoli.

  How is this possible?

  “Franco is nineteen, and Silvano is only like ten months younger,” she says, licking her fingers.

  “Sounds like something we should try and do.”

  She drops the cannoli in the metal dish. “Are you trying to kill me?” I laugh. “I knew them when they were young. They’re good kids and nothing like Enzo. He was always getting in trouble.”

  “How well do you know them?” I ask, flopping on the bed beside her. I dip my finger in the filling. She swats at me, but I put it to her lips. She sucks and moans again.

  Licking her lips, she says, “They’re Italian, and I was Angelo Gennaro’s girl—you figure out the rest.”

  “So fairly well.”

  “Yeah,” she replies, breaking off a piece of the shell. “You know what I don’t understand is how in the hell you swiped my gun?”