Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 3: His Submissive (Inside Out #1.3)(2)

“Look at me,” he demanded softly, but there was no softness to the command.

I forced my gaze back to his and those hard eyes were still hard. Still angry. Some part of me had hoped that I’d read him wrong moments before.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t speak. I simply had no idea what to say; I didn’t even fully understand what I felt.

“You don’t sign the agreement or put on the ring until I say you’re ready,” he said in a low, commanding reprimand.

I was stunned. This wasn’t a rejection. It was a . . . I didn’t know what. “But you tried to convince me to sign—”

“To be open to signing,” he corrected. “And then, only when I say you’re ready—not a moment before.”

“I am ready,” I declared.

He leaned down, hands pressed to the table in front of me, his erotic scent teasing my nostrils. He leveled me in a stare, and that cruel, amazing mouth of his was so near I could feel his hot breath on my lips. “No,” he said tightly. “You are not ready and clearly you still don’t understand the rules. But you will. Take off the ring until I say otherwise.”

My chest had tightened to the point of misery. I remember thinking, “Do I really want to be with someone who can make me feel pain so easily?” But as much as I knew what my answer should be, I heard myself ask him, “Are you serious?”

“Do I ever say anything I don’t mean?”

I stared at him for several seconds and decided that no, he did not. I took off the ring. When I tried to hand it to him he said, “Keep it, but you don’t wear it until I say you can.” His lips thinned. “Now. Let’s go to the bathroom and finish this conversation.”

My mind immediately raced. Who was in the coffee shop? Who would see us go to the bathroom as a pair? “What if someone sees us?”

He just stared at me, the look on his face as steely as any I’d ever seen. He fully intended for me to do as he wished. I knew that if I didn’t, this thing between us would end there and then.

With my fingers curled around the ring, the sharp corners digging into my tender flesh, I stood up. He straightened with me and somehow I resisted the urge to scan for who might be watching us. He stepped backward, giving me just enough space to pass him, and I was thankful we were so close to the back of the shop and the bathroom that perhaps we wouldn’t be seen together. It was the facade I needed to be able to move forward.

Once I managed to walk, I quickly cut to my left and down a small hall before rushing into the bathroom. My awareness of his joining me in the small space was instant; the tiny box of a room suddenly made me feel like a caged animal, wild and uncertain. My emotions were a jumble of uncontrollable knots that he was pulling tighter.

I heard the lock seal us inside, and I started to turn when he grabbed me and pressed me against the sink. My fingers curled around the white ceramic as he yanked my snug-fitted dress up my hips. Then he was at my side, his thick erection resting on my hip, his fingers sliding between my thighs, under the black silk of my thong. But what stilled my heart and then set it racing was the way the palm of his other hand began to caress my bare backside.

“Do you know why you aren’t ready?” he asked, his head resting against mine, his fingers doing a delicious slide over my clit.

“I am ready,” I declared—and while I tried to sound firm, my voice was a raspy whisper.

“No,” he insisted. “You aren’t ready because you don’t understand the rules.” He slipped two fingers inside me and I panted at the intimate invasion, ripples of pleasure pulsing through me, as he added, “You don’t do anything unless I say you do it. That especially applies to signing the contract.”

“I thought—”

“Did you?” he challenged, flicking my clit with his thumb. “I’m not sure you did.”

I opened my mouth to reply but one of his hands still caressed my backside, and the strokes became rougher, his fingers kneading into my flesh. Sudden realization overcame me. He was going to spank me. I knew it and it terrified and aroused me. I didn’t know how that was possible then, any more than I do now as I write this.

“Did you read every line of the document, Rebecca?”

“Yes.” I barely whispered the reply due to the sensations ravishing my body. His hand was still stroking my backside, his fingers stroking inside me.

“Then you must understand that acting without my permission comes with punishment.”

“I-I didn’t think . . . I—”

“Exactly. You have to learn to think. You cannot be a sub, my sub, and not understand the rules and the consequences of misbehaving. I intend to give you a lesson on those things, Rebecca. Do you want that lesson?”

No. Yes. What lesson? “You mean now, or . . . ?”

“Now,” he said firmly.

Looking back now, I should have said “no” or asked questions. I didn’t. I felt pressured to do as he wished, and his fingers were doing delicious things to my body. Actually, I’m lying to myself. I don’t think I felt pressured at all. I think I wanted to know what he would do to me. The truth is that all I was really thinking was to say “yes” so his fingers would keep doing exactly what they were doing in the exact spot they were in.

“Yes,” I gasped, and his fingers sent wicked, wonderful sensations spiraling through me. “I want the lesson.”