“Yes.”
“With a girl like me?”
“Why not you?” I ask, munching on another piece of bacon. “You’re beautiful.”
Her cheeks flush and she cleans up the mess. I surprise her by taking the dishes to the counter. I’m still in my towel, but I go over to my backpack and grab my ball cap. My hair is long and my bangs flop in my face. It’s irritating when I’m doing chores.
Her eyes dart over my body, but she swiftly returns to cleaning. I move to the sink and start washing dishes. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I do. You fed my ass.”
“I can get it,” she argues, finishing drying the counter by the stove. “Really.”
I give her a solid stare before I pick her ass up and set her on the counter. “Don’t move.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Shit. There it is again.
I proceed to wash, dry, and stack every dish by hand. She has a dishwasher, but I’m not that kind of guy. I like the simplicity. It’s good for unwinding my brain.
I know she’s staring at my ass, but she doesn’t make a peep until I start on the pots and pans. “Did you want to fuck me?”
I snarl as I pivot towards her. Her feet are tucked around one another as she swings her legs. “I did.”
“Do you still?”
“Yes.”
“Take your towel off.”
I slowly take the few steps between us and pull the fabric from my waist. I wrap it around her neck and return to washing. I feel like I’m auditioning for a weekend frolic. And honestly, I’m kind of nervous I won’t pass. She’s a nice, polite girl with good taste in food, music, and atmosphere. I’m a damn thug.
“How is it?”
She asks, “What?”
“The view.”
“Very nice.”
“Is anyone going to check in on you between now and Tuesday?”
“Nope. My grandparents are in Vancouver. My aunt is a bitch. And my sister in law will be busy with the kids all weekend. They have no clue you are even here.”
I grin and look out the window at the horses. “You ride?”
“Hmm?” She’s distracted again. “Oh, yeah… I ride the horses.”
“You want to go for a ride later?”
“After I ride you…”
O—kay.
I guess that answers that.
I finish up and lean against the counter. “Where did you come from?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Get me down and we’ll go forget.”
Grazing the back of my fingers over her cheek, I order, “Spread your legs, latch on, and trust me.”
With my rules in place, I spend the next three days riding horses, watching sports, cooking elaborate meals, and sinking my dick into Flouncy Greer. As it turns out, I was her first. She identifies as bi and only had relationships with women up until our weekend of whimsical fun.
I didn’t ask her to stay silent; I just knew she would.
And she knew, I would be back.
5
Thank God I’m Outta There
“God, Lucas!” Emily screams from beneath me three weeks later. “Make me come!”
We’ve been quibbling—not fighting—but little spats and remarks like hairline cracks letting me know not all is well in our relationship. We are beginning our slow descent into fracturing. We will crumble. I can’t say I didn’t know. We are built on the fabrications of another man’s will and we will falter.
But I have to try…because if I don’t…Iris may die.
We’re hollowed out like termite infested pylons holding up a weighty home in a Cat 5 hurricane. The paralyzing fall will render our minds stunned as we question—how the fuck do we clean this mess up?
After returning home from Seattle happily satiated from Flouncy, I didn’t want the battles of Emily, so I dove head first into work. We were furthering our merging with Cristos as my father welcomed his cash. Little did Dad realize, Cristos wasn’t exactly on the up and up. He was infiltrating the Raniero business one piece at a time by my instigation.
A pissed off son can be ruthlessly cruel.
Dom was trying to save his troubled outfit in Chicago. Nico was staying low with his new baby and wife in Florida. I had Lula guarding Sugargrove and Deacon swallowing as much of my come as humanly possible. I didn’t really need or want Emily’s desire to please me. If she had been Iris, then it would’ve been different, but she wasn’t. And I found her constant need for approval grating on my nerves
I’m banging her, not because I want to, but because she needs me. I’ll make her come, she’ll fall asleep, and I’ll go see Cruz. I’ll give it my best heave ho on coming—sometimes I do, sometimes I can’t. Rinse and repeat. This is my life.
I never planned on it going so off course.
Nor did I ever anticipate trouble shooting my gun.
A half hour later, I’ve safely tucked her in bed when I walk out to the guest house. Deacon is on the sofa, playing a first-person shooter game, and looking hot as sin.
“What the fuck?” He shouts, pointing at the flat screen. “Did you see that bastard?”
“Give me the controller.” I take my time, annihilating the targets one by one, and getting him the level. “There.”
He stops and stares at me. “Sometimes, I hate you.”
Handing back the controller, I laugh. “I know. Now tell me what the fuck to do with Em and this trip she wants to take…”
“She wants to go spend time with her mom,” he says, firing at the attackers. “I wouldn’t think anything of it, Sal.”
“You mean…just let her go…”
He ends up dying and losing a life. Setting the controller down, he twists on the sofa to face me. With apparent frustration at my interruption, he says, “I mean she doesn’t know her mother and maybe that is part of the problem. Let her go spend a couple weeks there. It’s not like she won’t be safe; Nico is there or will be until our meeting. She goes to visit her mom, loves on Kade, and you get time alone. Win win.”
I furrow my brow, not having considered that I would be alone. “We have the meeting in Las Vegas with The Brethren in two weeks.”
“Yeah?” He stretches out on the sofa and tucks his toes beneath my thigh. “What about it?”
“You go home and check on Trudy,” I propose, feeling my wheels spin. They’re caked in rust from nonuse. I’ve become mind numb in normalcy. I cannot stand 9-to-5, the girl waiting at the door, or the mundane routine. In essence, I am suffocating—very slowly. “I’ll meet you in Vegas.”
I get up to go home. “Wait. Are you letting Em go?”
“Yeah, I’m kissing that bitch goodbye.”
Three days later, I ship Em and Deacon off—one to Florida and one to Texas. I pack the Raptor up, lock the house, and set out on a two-week vacation that afternoon. No one asks where I’m going though I discreetly tell Cat the truth.
“… You’re going for a drive?” She crosses her arms in my office as her eyes scour over me. “For two weeks?”
“Yes.”
She questions with concern, “And do you have any idea where you are going?”
“Not really.”
I make the promise to check in, stay relatively sober, and not do anything stupid. It’s mid-April. Our weekend meeting with The Brethren starts on my twenty-sixth birthday. I don’t have to say what I’m wishing for—starts with I and ends with my last name attached to hers.
The roads are relatively clear as I drive to Albany through Syracuse and decide to stop for the night in Buffalo. I check into a random motel with hopes of getting some shut eye and an early start on the road tomorrow. I’m going to Nebraska to look at the farmhouses I’ve had Georgia research.
I grab a burger from the restaurant next door, get my duffel out of the truck, and mosey to my room. I’m not sure if I’m living my best life, but I’m damn sure having a good time with the freedom. No family. No girl. No brothers. Just the wide open space an
d me.
After nibbling on the burger and guzzling back some whiskey, I take a quick shower and find a baseball game until I’m dozing. I’m sound asleep when I smell a familiar scent. Opening my eyes, I spot Jaid sitting on the bed and smiling at me.
“… What are you doing here?” I groggily ask. I don’t have to ask how she got in; she’s Jaid. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“I was in the city when I checked your tracker. About half an hour,” she coyly admits. “Where the hell are you going?”
“Nebraska.”
“Ahh… can’t escape the dreams of a corn field?”
“Nup,” I reply, unfolding my arm and offering her a spot on my shoulder. She lays her head down and I turn off the light. “I got to get out of this, Pris.”
“I know you do.”
My fingers ruffle through her hair. “Do you have any ideas?”
“If I did, I would tell you,” she whispers, peering up at me. “I miss you so fucking much.”
“I know you do,” I honestly mutter. “I miss you, too.”
She eases up and plants a kiss on my lips. “Get some rest.”
“I would’ve married you in a heartbeat,” I confess a few minutes later. I feel her moving, tugging off her pants. She pushes the sheet down and takes my dick into her mouth. “Jesus fuck… Prissy… don’t do this…”
Her mouth is a heaven sent blessing. She brings up my erection—full and hard—before straddling over me and sliding on. After a passionate kiss, she whispers against my lip, “We could’ve been so good together.”
“I know, babe.”
Thing is I do know. If anyone was ever going to give Iris a run for my attention, it would be Jaid. Unfortunately, my family understands her abilities far too well. Jaid was a no go before we ever had a chance.
She moves slow and easy, taking her time, as we make love. My hands caress over her hips as she rocks her body like singing a lullaby to soothe my tortured soul. I can’t stop how I feel about her, Iris, or Emily. We are trapped into the web, cocooned tight, just waiting to be consumed by the venomous spider.
The real issue is who is the spider?
Logic is my father, but he is a small bug stuck in the web as well. He didn’t create the mess we are in. He only figured out how to survive in it better than most. Therein, sparks a brief but intense hope. I need to find a way to run the marathon, live within their confines, and detach myself from the beast’s fine spun silk at the appropriate time.
We ventured our hypothesis at three years to overturn our fathers, but it is just that—a guess. And we could be so far off base in either direction that I won’t go placing any bets. The one trick pony is all about getting Lotus within our reach. If we can do that, I can bring Iris home. Anything else is an absolute no. She isn’t stupid enough to go against The Chairman’s wishes because she understands the overlap of protection that occurs in merging our forces.
With my dick buried deep in Jaid, I find what I need to pull another rabbit out of my hat despite my sheer exhaustion. I’m tired of meetings, moving people around, and aimlessly shooting. The Brethren are a step in the right direction leading to Lotus. I want us all home in Sugargrove where we belong, but getting there is going to take some work.
“Do you want to switch positions?” She kisses my chest as our fingers interlock. “You seem distracted.”
God, I want to bust her ass.
But I hold back—tugging my own collar away from the edge.
“No, don’t stop.”
Vanilla sex is boring, even Flouncy was snore-worthy. It wasn’t bad for what it was, but the oompah is lost without my Dominance. Giving in represents a loss I won’t take. Too many marks are already against me. Too many unattainable victories I should be celebrating. I’m tethered—personally and professionally—perhaps exactly where my father longed for me to be. The singular shining light is in a Saint.
And in him—I fly.
Closing my eyes, I flip through my memories of a time when life seemed so complicated, but it really was easy. I want to go back there to The Dollhouse after my wife passed when I was strapped to the cross and whipped by Dom while Deacon jacked off on me. The lesson in escalating the tension proved worth holding onto. The strikes fell harder as his fist pumped his engorged cock—harder and faster—more pain, more pleasure, until the whip broke the skin and his hot cum dripped over my belly.
On Dom’s command, Deacon dropped to his knees and sucked me. His mouth engulfed me. I was so green, the action etched into my being, having his lips serve my dick made me unstoppable.
The lessons in Dominance from the Master himself were not idle events for which we twiddled our thumbs. They were thought provoking, questioning everything we were raised to believe between right and wrong, and giving and receiving the transparency of our feelings. The tutelage changed our very core as we became closer to our spirits than ever before.
It wasn’t about the tools but drawing up the emotions with a razor-sharp precision.
Dom provided the means to an end and yet, I deny myself the thing I need most to breathe. I have conformed myself into someone I’m not, shoved myself into a costume of Luca Raniero’s shadow, and I’m failing miserably in every single aspect of my life. There is no contrition to alleviate the suffering, no penance to give, or absolution to attain. The only thing I can do is continue to attempt to survive.
Try. Try. And try again.
Work the problem, submit the answers, fail the test, and do it again. Practice. Practice. Practice. Over and over until one—just one—is right. Do it again. Do it faster. Do it harder. Practice more.
Try. Try. And try again.
My mind and body ache—hurting so bad—but I continue on, refusing to give in. Ignore the naysayers. Ignore the voice in my head screaming to give up. Ignore the craving to quit. Mount the assault. Strategically combat every foe. Do not let the beast win. Do not sell my soul to the devil himself. Do not let up. Build the pressure. Shout my name. Submit the right answers. Again, and again and again. Fight for the voiceless, broken, and lost. Fight for what is right. Fight for what I believe in. Claim the Dominance. Save the girl.
And come.
6
Journey to the Kernal
At five in the morning, I wake up with Jaid dressed up like a damn snow bunny in pastel yellow, including the white fur-lined hat. Her hair is curled in a side pony tail and her makeup is model worthy. “You do realize it is April and we’re traveling?”
“There are white out conditions ahead,” she says, sipping her coffee. Bitch. “Besides, if we get stuck, the pictures will look awesome.”
Like I would get stuck in the damn snow.
At least, we’ll be blinded by light instead of surrounded by pitch black.
It is a stupid thought, one for which I know, is incorrect.
I take another shower while she packs my bags up. I decide to be a conscientious objector to the white and wear a tank top with gray sweatpants and flip flops. I pop my ball cap on backwards and we leave the motel. We return her car to the rental place and run through a drive-thru for an early breakfast. I order her plain English muffin with extra butter and another coffee. I may kill her and dump the body in the snow before we reach Cleveland.
Thank God she isn’t a bubbly and bright human. She is as dark as me but nicer. And hotter. I’m kind of a grumpy, good looking, asshole most days.
I hand her the bag of food and she dives in. Carefully, she unwraps my biscuit, bacon, and egg thing and hands it to me. She’s dumping four small cups of butter on her muffin and smearing it in with her finger when I get on the highway. She’s quietly eating as the rush hour traffic is stop and go.
“Take this,” I bark, shoving my sandwich in her face. “Hold on.”
I veer off the highway, crossing the grass to the frontage road. “Are we in a hurry?”
“I can’t sit still right now. I’d rather take backroads all the way to Nebraska than sit in traffic.”
/> “Says the man who works in downtown Boston…”
“Exactly my point,” I say, glancing over and retrieving my sandwich from her hand. “I need away from who I’m becoming.”
She rubs her lips together and takes a sip of her coffee. She’s one of those weird chics who drinks hot coffee with a straw. It’s kind of cute in a way and reminds me of Iris. She liked to burn her tongue though. “You need to remember who you are…”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
Giving her the finger, I mutter, “Fuck you.”
“That’s a start,” she boasts, taking a mammoth bite of the English muffin, which I’m pretty sure is only a vehicle to consume butter. “You need Iris back in your life. You’re kind of dull without her.”
I offer up a confused look. “Do you think I want this?”
“No, I think you’ve become passive or maybe you’re becoming passive is more of an apt statement.”
“Was I aggressive before? Did I growl? And bite?”
“Yes, yes, and yes.” She chews and curls her legs up under her. I don’t particularly like the way she is sitting, but I let it slide. “You’ve matured, but the edge you once had is not as sharp. Maybe it’s all the Cruz loving.”
“That’s not fair!” I hiss, balling up my trash and tossing it at her lap. “Just because I like getting it up the ass doesn’t make me weak.”
“No, but not showing your teeth is.”
“You’re mean.” I open up the console and pack a box of smokes on the steering wheel. We’re flying down the frontage alongside backed up cars on the highway. I unwrap the cellophane with my teeth and spit it out. “You can’t just go making judgements.”
“I can when it’s you,” she mumbles, collecting all of my trash. “Because I am about the only female you will listen to now. You really want backroads?”
“Yes.” I flick my lighter and crack the moonroof, but I stay silent, thinking about her observations of me.
“Okay,” she replies, setting up her phone. “You’re getting off at 62.”
Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3) Page 5
