Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  Our fucking evolves into a love fest for the record books, and I anticipate our celebration will leave Kaci sleeping for most of the day. It doesn’t matter.

  Because I can feel her dick next to mine inside of Amber.

  Her constant reminders encourage me to remember this thing between my legs is a Dominant’s best friend, and I’m blessed to have been born with one. She wishes she had one. I can honestly say I’ve never once wanted a pussy. I mean I’ve wanted pussy, but I never needed one of my own. Certainly not enough to have a custom molded teal one, but that is what Kaci did.

  I wish I could say how god awful she is at rolling those hips, but I can’t. Kaci knows how to dance. And God fucking dammit, I’m going to miss this every day for the rest of my life.

  “Let’s do this, Raniero,” she incites with a cheer as we work as a team, thrusting in unison.

  By the dazed look on Amber’s face, I think she may pass out. She muffles out, “Slow down, please.”

  We follow her suggestion, not as a command, but as a caution flag on our ascent to greatness. Amber’s blue eyes meet mine as she quips, “I want to feel Sal come when I do. And he isn’t there yet.”

  “You know too much,” I growl, holding her hips as Kaci laces her fingers with my own. If possible, we are infusing all of Kaci’s enigmatic energy into Amber with every synchronized thrust. We aren’t riding a wave of our love, but becoming the wave. We are fluid and dynamic as Kaci always wanted us to be. Amber and I are reborn, sharing in this particular passage.

  “Talk to me, Sal,” Kaci requests, squeezing my fingers. “You need to stop thinking about the box, the scans, and me...”

  “Babe,” Amber whispers, calming me. “Don’t think. Just fuck.”

  With two women coaxing my dick on, I find it horribly embarrassing that I cannot shoot on command – something I’m typically pretty fucking good at – as the simple things I adore become the challenges I cannot stand.

  Suddenly, I find myself saying the words I swore I never would. “I need a minute.”

  Sitting with her back against the headboard, Amber lights a smoke and says nothing, but her eyes speak volumes about love and friendship and how this is okay. But that’s just it—this isn’t okay. We are at the end of the game with seconds on the clock, and I’m going to be the one to drop the goddamned ball.

  This is not okay.

  Curling up next to Amber’s hip, Kaci has exhausted herself as I predicted. She falls asleep fast with my girl’s soothing touch.

  I’m a fucking sex machine—a damn legend in these circles—and now that my wife is dying, I fucking lose my shit? What kind of double-dipped cruel prank is this? Who came up with this? Because I need to know. I’m going to rip their fucking head off and spew my damn jiz in their nostrils.

  Tossing on my running pants, I grab my keys, jacket, and mumble, “I’m going for a ride.”

  Fluff is asleep on the sofa. His eyes open a tiny slit, and he shuts them quick as I scan over the aftereffects of our whirlwind. With the burden of embarrassment on my shoulders, I stealthily slip out the door.

  Fearing the cantankerous old elevator will disturb Jaid, I take the stairs—four flights down. I light a smoke after the first flight. I'm hurt and pissed and every emotion in between. I want to shout at the heavens and sing to the demons in hopes of saving Kaci. I know nothing will work. I know this place is locked down, we are secured, and there is nothing we can do about the impending blast. We will be the victims of the heinous attack. There will be no survivors.

  Regardless of what I may want, I will change. I will continue to walk and breathe and live, but I will not be the same. Kaci is so deeply woven into my fabric. When she passes, the threads of her stitching inside of me will burn. I will be charred, singed to bits, left to determine how to molt on my own. I can shed the skin of the past – try and erase it from my memory – but her blood, sweat, and tears will remain to infect and manifest. Even if I do reemerge, my flesh will weep with the scars.

  Cancer is eating her, but she is consuming me.

  I slip through the door to the outside. The air is cold. I head to the bike, suffocating underneath the tarp. I undo the bungees and pull her from the tomb. I haven't ridden in months. I haven't had time. I haven't had the desire.

  I turn, and the flicker of a flame grabs my attention. Jaid is sitting in her car. I tilt my head curiously, and I wonder why she's out in the middle of the night. I don't want to talk to her, but I feel compelled, drawn like a madman to a willing victim. I'm unstoppable as I take those first steps.

  I knock on the window, and she raises her head up. The mascara stains provide the clues. But the answer, I have none. She opens the door and twists her body to face me.

  “Hi,” she sniffles, rubbing her nose. “Are you leaving?”

  “I don't have much choice,” I mutter, cracking my knuckles. “I need to get out here for a while.”

  Her mouth opens as if to say something, but she only sighs with a deep exhale. Her eyes look up to me, full of adoration and pain. “Take me with you.”

  Knowing it's not my best choice, I nod and agree to make bad decisions.

  She follows me around to the bike, and I plop the helmet on her head. She straddles onto the beautiful piece of machinery as her long, dirty blonde hair floats against her back. She is strikingly gorgeous.

  The Ducati is my baby. Flat black with chrome finishes and sparkling deep purple fades to black; she makes a statement—one not to be fucked with. It was a wedding gift from my beautiful bride.

  “The dark ride for the dark prince,” Kaci said.

  I would've bathed the girl in diamonds if she was a sparkly queen. But I opted to go for something more personal, more intimate. I had a serpent, traversing through a skull and covered with vines and roses tattooed on my left leg. I put Bertie’s date of death – November 1, 2009 – in Roman numerals.

  XI-I-MMIX

  When Kaci departs, hers will be added. Kaci cried when she first saw it because she knew how serious I was. I don’t take my ink lightly. Every piece has a meaning, symbolic of my history.

  I flip the visor down over her eyes and say, “Hold on tight.”

  We take the long ride up to Austin and by Lake Travis. I love the swooping hills. They gently cascade as they roam and meander. The streets are dark and quiet, offering little resistance to my foreboding thoughts. I accept that I won't win, but I must find a way not to drown in capsizing seas. We are so small.

  We are so fragile.

  We are insignificant until we bond with one another.

  One good thing about me, I have plenty of bonds. The question is what to do with them. Who do I trust? Who do I want on my team? Who honestly has my back?

  I know the one on my backside does, and when I pull down the gravel driveway at 69611 High Drupe Road to the house under construction, I do it with the knowledge—we are solid. Sometimes you just know, the keen sense of awareness and intuition gives way for intimacy and not necessarily a sexual one. That doesn't mean tension doesn't exist, but there is a greater need than getting off.

  I can use Amber all day long for whatever whim I desire. She won't complain. She won't hesitate. She’ll welcome my bad boy. But Jaid is different, and for reasons I cannot explain, I need this girl on my team.

  “What is this place?”

  Running my hands through my hair, I glance up with a broken stare. “This is our house.”

  “… Yours and Kaci’s?”

  I nod, taking the helmet from her hands and putting my hand in hers. “Come on. I'll show you around.”

  When Serene and Jack gave us the property, neither one of us anticipated Kaci’s health would deteriorate so rapidly. We planned to live here, have a life here. We never talked about children because I think we both knew, it was too far out, but it didn’t deter the thoughts of little Hope-Raniero sadist children running about screaming wildly.

  We kept our dreams little, understanding the viper pit in which we were stand
ing. I can't say I didn't know as I remember running my hands over the ripple in her hummingbird tattoo and thinking—she's hiding something. She has secrets. I never expected those same secrets to be the ones that would take her away from me.

  The structure is basically wooden supports, tin roof, and exterior walls without brick. The interior is a dusty mess filled with empty soda cups and stacks of recovered shiplap. I wanted the house to have a feeling about it—old and new—and I worked tirelessly with the architect in designing the place. I was here when the foundation poured. I helped assemble the first wall. My heart is in this house.

  We positioned it in the valley next to the creek. Up the hill beside us, Serene’s old Victorian farmhouse sits majestically. No one will ever know we’re here in the dip. Kaci loves the trees lining the back edge, but we left enough room for a pool with waterfall and hot tub as well as an outdoor kitchen. They are well underway.

  “Why are we here, Sal?”

  “Because you deserve to see this,” I mumble, lighting a smoke. “This house is a crypt of the future.”

  She slowly steps through the house, examining the rooms and the structure surrounding us. She can see it; the same things I saw—Christmas trees, blazing fires, and a house full of noise. Her hand grips the railing to go up the front staircase, and I watch her from below. She's taking it all in and assessing my losses. She understands. She gets it. I won't get birthdays out on the patio with my friends as Kaci brings a cake with glowing candles. I won't step in the front door holding our new bundle. I won't be out in the garage working on the bike, and she won’t be in the kitchen making killer guacamole.

  Because she won't be here.

  My life is in half. The things I planned are not things I will receive.

  And someone needs to know. I choose Jaid.

  I know, you probably want to know why I didn’t bring Amber. My reasons are simple—sex gets in the way. In this one regard of my life, I can't think about sex. I need to talk without the fuck and Jaid can give me that. If I brought Amber here, we would commit all kinds of sins.

  Jaid is fucking holy like the damn Virgin Mary. And while that may piss me off sometimes, right now I need her love and forgiveness. I don't need Jaid to spread her thighs; I need her to tell me how to get through this. I need her expertise to chart my course and tell me how to survive.

  She skirts like a ghost through the house and wafts down the staircase. “The house is beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” Shuffling my feet, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me Delarte Cristos was your father?”

  “Kaci requested I not say anything; she wanted you to figure it out.”

  I snicker and shake my head as my wife’s deceit proves boundless. I’m not angry with Jaid, but Kaci is a whole other ballgame. My growing irritation with her betrayal is making it difficult to care for her. “And his involvement with Sibyl?”

  Whipping her hair, she spins to face me as her brow edges with the distinct line of confusion. “… To my knowledge, Delarte Cristos isn't involved in Sibyl. If he is, I guess that makes this a family affair.”

  To process all the damage Kaci has inflicted, I stare aimlessly out the windows.

  Her voice fills the void, “What's the plan?”

  I take a drag off the smoke and look up solemn. “I’m going to have the crew finish it. Lock the doors and call it done.”

  Her head shakes back-and-forth. “Not with the house, with you.”

  “I don't know,” I admit in a groggy, hazed state of loathing. “I'm counting on you.”

  “I can only help if you want help,” she says, inching closer to me. Her hands slip into my own, and she steals the cigarette. She moves to sit cross-legged on the floor, and I follow.

  After taking another drag, she taps the butt out and lays back looking up at open beam cathedral ceilings. I fall back beside her as we sit in silence and cry. “I don't know how to get out of this one.”

  “You aren't going to,” she replies, tucking her fingers into mine. “This one is going to hurt.”

  “I wish I could turn off how much I love her,” I confess in the dark. “I wish I could forget.”

  She rolls towards me and props her head upon her hand. “You don't want that. You think you do, but as big of an asshole as you think you are—you are nothing of the sort. You don't have it in you not to care. Your wife is dying, Sal. It doesn't matter what she has done, or how she's hurt you. This is still going to cut you open. The only question is—how long are you going to bleed?”

  “I can't even fuck my wife,” I reluctantly admit. “Every time I try, I realize this girl is going to go away.”

  “So, stop trying to fuck her and just love her.”

  I roll my eyes. “Have you met Kaci Hope?”

  “I know she can be a real pill, but sometimes, you need to say no to preserve yourself.”

  “I'm not an expert at self-preservation,” I snap back, giving her the missing pieces of me. “I kind of like to fall apart. Nothing sounds better than a whiskey bottle and a good fuck.”

  A smile gloats across her face. “Isn't that why Kaci brought Amber?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Because I was there when she called,” she whispers, clutching my hand. “Kaci isn't expecting you to be that guy that sits there mourning her death. She wants you out and living. And fucking.”

  “She doesn't understand that is part of the reason this is so hard?” I sit up and look at Jaid. Her sky blue eyes are like beacons, shining through the fog. “I’m not looking for all the answers, just a crack, a clue nestled amongst the sludge pit.”

  “Then take what you can. Baby steps, slow and easy. I know it's not in your dictionary, but you need to try because that's what she wants. She doesn't want you to be a caretaker. She wants to watch you be Sal. The same Sal Raniero she fell in love with. He's a great guy,” she teases with a smile. “Even if you can't be him, play the role. I know you can do that. Stop getting hung up on the obstacles of breaths and beats and how many of each of those she has left. Stop counting and waiting and start doing and being.”

  Shooting up from the floor, I growl, “Come on, let's go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I got whiskey and pussy waiting on me.”

  In the middle of the night, I hear Sal’s key slide in the lock. I'm up reading Isaac Asimov. I quickly turn out the light and feign sleep. The muffled voices and the clanking of glass introduce the act which is about to take center stage. I’m praying he does as I desire.

  “Please, show up,” I whisper beneath the sheet. “Show up so I can watch.”

  I know it sounds strange, but I've always enjoyed being a voyeur and soaking in the scene from a distance. I imagine the male is me. She would writhe and entangle me in her charms as my defining moment would be in wielding the magnificent power of that—tool. She would cast the look, and I would seem to fall prey. But I would make my declaration clear with every thrust—you are mine.

  From the living room, the sounds of giggling – hers and his – echo through the loft. Amber will seduce my husband. She will fuck him. His come will be inside of her swollen cunt. I understand I should be jealous and outraged, perhaps throwing him out, but that isn’t how I feel at all. I want Sal cared for, loved and adored. I want him and his beautiful tool to explore as many tight, wet spaces as need be. I raised him, and this is my dying wish.

  I want to see my husband fuck until I’m on the last page.

  I can’t give him what he needs right now, so I embrace the next best thing—a stripper he happens to love. But as I peep through the door crack at his naked chest, gleaming with ink and sweating muscles–chiseled guns and ripped abs – I have a moment where I become him.

  And somehow, I fall in love with her, too.

  The heels of her feet rest in his hands as his thrusts intensify, pushing deeper and harder until she is nothing but melted butter in his hands. Delicate moans escape her mouth as his grunts turn primal, savage
in his unapologetic taking. His relentless stamina makes my torturous training worth it.

  “Don’t come yet. Hold your fucking jiz, boy.”

  He is constructed to serve as a tool, not just his shaft, but his entire being from his hands to his toes. I erected the man I would be from the ashes of my disaster—the Phoenix to my Pixie. Upon his rebirth, his wings would spread wide, and he would soar high, choosing his targets – good and bad – for his pleasure or pain. While I flutter about and wait for his show to begin, Sal is just getting started.

  Take this world and make it your bitch, dominate the fuck out of it, baby.

  10. Strangle What You Fear

  Friday, December 17

  15 days before…

  The blasted phone wakes me up at 7:17 in the morning. I peel my body from Amber. I’m drooling all over her chest and belly as I’ve made her flesh my pillow. I grab the wickedly evil dream stealer and grump, “Raniero.”

  “How is she?” Dom asks with a serious tone. He doesn’t wait long enough for an answer before following his first question with a second. “Can she make it here for the holidays?”

  “Probably,” I stutter out, not understanding the importance of this question at seven in the morning. “I know Kace doesn’t want to go see her parents. She’s made that clear, but we have a guest.”

  “I know Amber is with you,” he boasts with the insider knowledge. “Bring her, too. And Jaid if she’ll come.”

  Sitting up in bed, I notice Amber sleepily staring at me as I inquire, “Who all is coming?”

  “Just the four of you and me,” he replies as I hear the beeps of email in the background. “I can’t leave town right now. We have too much at stake on the Pharm case. We are expecting a delivery on Christmas Eve, and I’d like to at least have eyes on it.”

  Pharm is a chump dealer. That is the easy part. His connections have led us to believe he may be working for one or both of our fathers – Cesario Raniero and Angelo Gennaro – and everyone is on a high red alert. Thoughts pose that they are using the river to bring cargo up the Mississippi, but neither Dom nor I prescribe to that theory. With the vast amount disappearing, I think boats are stopping in New Orleans, and they are intersecting those unmarked shipping containers and taking them up north via truck. It’s much more feasible.