Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 4: My Master (Inside Out #1.4)(5)

He was on his feet in an instant, pulling me close. “Why?” The waiter came in and my Master gave him a sharp look that sent him into retreat. Once the door shut, he stared down at me. “Why, Rebecca?”

Why didn’t matter. It changed nothing.

“Please take me home, and consider anything you start tonight, or for the next two weeks, to come with the word ‘red’ on repeat.” I’d never used my safe word before but I was using it then. I didn’t want to be under his control. Not then, and maybe not ever again.

“Rebecca.” He leaned in to kiss me.

“Red,” I hissed. He hesitated and I added, “You said you would stop whatever you were doing if I used it.”

His jaw flexed and flexed again, but he pulled back. “I’ll take you home.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

The trip to my apartment was short but felt eternal, the silence unbearably thick. He parked in the lot behind my building and killed the engine. We sat there in the darkness. “Why?” he asked again.

Was that all he could do? Ask me why? I gave him so much of me, and he couldn’t even tell me how he felt about my refusal?

I reached for the door. He caught my arm. I cut him a hard look and said, “Re—”

He cut me off with his mouth, shoving his fingers into my hair and slanting his mouth over mine, kissing me, claiming me in a way he’d never done before.

I tried to resist him, but I tasted more than need in him. I tasted his fear of losing me.

I barely remember how, but suddenly his seatback was down and I was on top of him, forgetting that I was in my apartment parking lot. In seconds he was inside me and I was riding him, grinding my hips against his, reveling in him filling me, touching me. In the way he couldn’t seem to get enough of me.

When I finally collapsed on top of him, I lay there and listened to his heartbeat, fighting a wave of emotion very unlike me.

“Move in with me, Rebecca,” he ordered softly.

“Why?” I asked this time.

“Because I want more than we have now.”

“But not the same kind of ‘more’ that I want,” I whispered. “And I’m not sure how I let that happen.”

He slid his hands to my face and forced my gaze to his. “It’s the only kind of ‘more’ I know how to give.”

“Maybe that isn’t enough for me.”

“How do you know if you don’t try?”

“I just . . . do.”

“You are more to me than any other sub has—”

“Don’t,” I said, rolling off him and struggling into my seat. “Don’t finish that sentence!” By the time I was sitting where I belonged again, he’d raised his seatback.

“You’re upset. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“No.” I managed to awkwardly deal with the mess we’d made of my clothing and my emotions. “I don’t want to talk tomorrow. I want to go to work and love my job and not think about this at all.” I got out of the car and he followed. I knew he would. The Master must protect—right? But who was going to protect me from him?

At my apartment, I turned to him. “Goodnight.” I opened the door to go inside.

He gently shackled my arm. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I’m done. This isn’t me. It never was.”

His eyes glinted hard. “I’m going to change your mind.”

I didn’t answer and he let me go.

I quickly went inside, before I did something stupid like telling him to change it right now. I rested against the other side of the door and I could feel him doing the same on the outside.

He is an addiction, and addictions are never good for you. He’s taking me deeper into his world, deeper into his dark desires, but I’m never able to get behind the physical aspect of our relationship. I just lose more of who I am.

? ? ?

A

nd then came the roses . . .

They arrived at my door the next morning, and I was seduced by the romantic gesture. And later, when we talked, he assured me that these new, darker places I could feel him taking us was just another part of discovering us, and delving into a deeper level of trust.

I was scared. I knew it meant that calling him “Master” would take on a new meaning. But I convinced myself that if I wanted more from him, maybe he still needed more from me first.

And so I gave up what was left of my life outside of being his. I thought I wanted my life to be his life but somehow, by letting him control more of me, he gave me less of him. The things I have done to please him . . . well, let’s just say I’d never do them for anyone else. I’ve gone everywhere he’s asked me to go. I’ve gone places I never thought I could go. Done things that shredded me inside and out. Now, I need more from him.





9:30 a.m.

At my desk . . .

I

have work to do, important details for a big event we are hosting off-site Sunday night. A local artist who paints food is showing at a new bakery owned by the renowned chef Michael Adams. I set up the event after a visit to the bakery, managing to arrange for the chef and the artist to attend. It’s like nothing the gallery has ever hosted, and Mark actually complimented me. Even after all of this time, a compliment from “Bossman,” as Ralph calls him, is hard to get. But then, he put me in charge of the Riptide auctions. I’d say that is a pretty big compliment.