Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 3: His Submissive (Inside Out #1.3)(4)

During one moment when the two of them appeared rather intimate, my stomach actually churned. I wondered then, again, what was happening to me. How had I gone from being the girl who needed no one to feeling such intense need for one man? I suddenly felt that this new life was controlling me, not the other way around.

Needing air, I rushed for the back door. The instant I stepped outside into the chilly San Francisco night, I inhaled deeply, yet I still felt like I couldn’t breathe. I hugged myself, the little lace vest I’d put on for the evening doing nothing to warm me.

Then the door opened behind me and I whirled around, shocked to see him standing there. And damn him, no matter how inadequate he’d made me feel inside the gallery, his presence still washed over me with a consuming, all-powerful burn. I resented it, not wanting him to have that power over me.

Before I knew his intention, he pulled me around a corner so that we were out of the line of sight of the door. He pressed me against the wall, the warm glow of a lamp fixture casting us in its light, his thighs hugging mine. His fingers framed my face. “You’re upset. I don’t want you to be upset.”

“Funny,” I said bitterly, “I didn’t think what I felt mattered to you.”

His thumb caressed my cheek. “Ah, little one, you’ve become confused. As your Master, my greatest desire and responsibility is your pleasure, happiness, and safety. To upset you is to fail you. In this agreement you will make me your world, but I, too, will make you my world. Now,” he said, stroking the hair from my face, “tell me what’s wrong.”

For the second time today, embarrassment assailed me. I buried my face in his chest but he wasn’t letting me escape. He lifted my face, forcing my gaze back to his. “Tell me what’s wrong, Rebecca.”

My hands went to his hands and he let me touch him. So often, he doesn’t. It calmed me enough to confess my feelings. “Everything. Everything is wrong. You didn’t contact me all morning and I was in knots wondering what you thought. Then you made me take the ring off. Do you know what a big deal it was for me to have signed that contract? Do you know how much it ripped me apart when you rejected what I offered you?”

“No matter how much I want you to be mine, to let you sign when you aren’t ready would be assuring our agreement will fail. I don’t intend to let that happen.”

His voice was raspy, thick with emotion, and I want to believe he feels something for me. Actually, I know he feels something for me. But what does a man like him feel? A need to possess some new toy, and I’m that toy? Perhaps even a passionate need to possess that toy? And while I’m no Cinderella looking for a Prince Charming, nor a damsel looking for a hero, while standing there with him, I had a sense that I will always want more from him than he will give me.

“Why didn’t you just say you wanted me to understand more, rather than taking me in that bathroom today?” I asked, trying to understand him.

“Because while I am willing to give you more time before you sign the agreement, I admit that I am impatient to make our agreement official. Before that happens, you have to understand what’s in the contract, including the rules.”

“And the punishments,” I added.

“Yes. And the punishments.”

“How . . . intense does punishment get?”

He stared down at me, his eyes searching mine, and then he shocked me by leaning in and tenderly brushing his lips over mine. “As I said in the bathroom, I will push you to your limit, Rebecca, but I will always leave you thoroughly pleasured.”

The gentleness in him, contrasting the hardness I so often saw, softened my worries, but there was still one thing I couldn’t let go. “And Georgia. Did you leave her thoroughly pleasured?”

He pulled back to stare at me, genuine shock on his face. “Georgia?”

“She paints roses. Was the ring once hers? And are you still involved with her? Because if you are, I’m done. I won’t be—”

He laughed, a sexy, surprising sound from a man so serious. “No, little one. It was never her ring. I’ve never been intimate with Georgia, nor do I intend to be.” His voice softened and his gaze heated to scorching. “Just you, Rebecca. This relationship will be exclusive as long as we have a written agreement. Understand?”

I nodded, but I wasn’t totally relieved. We would never be exclusive when he was willing to share me.

“And even if it kills me in the process,” he continued, “we’ll take this slowly, as I intended. I’ll teach you what each point in the contract means. Then we will negotiate the final terms. But know this. When you put that ring back on, there will be no holding back for either of us. You will belong to me.”

But will he belong to me? And why was I afraid to ask?

Probably because, deep down, I know the answer . . . and I don’t want to accept it. This powerful man will never belong to anyone.

He stroked my cheek again, tenderness in the touch. “We should get back before we’re missed,” he said, and I agreed.

? ? ?

A

n hour later, I ended up huddled in a chat with Mark and three amazing artists. Could I really be standing with Ricco Alvarez, Chris Merit, and Georgia O’Nay? Chris, Mark, and I chatted a bit about a charity event that I’m handling for Chris, and we set up a meeting for the next day. Remarkably, considering my first reaction to her presence, I bonded with Georgia quickly, much as I had with Ricco, and she turned out to be as nice as she was talented and beautiful. I think I just get artists. I connect with them. Despite all that Mark does for the art world, I’m not sure he always does.