Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 4: My Master (Inside Out #1.4)(8)

“Are you going to let me in?”

I thought of saying “no,” but it wasn’t a real consideration. I had to see him. I had to feel him close. I turned the lock and pulled open the door.

He stood there, so damn devastatingly handsome, his hair and clothes rumpled like he’d had a rough night of travel. And the look on his face did me in. His eyes were dark, tormented, his expression stark, worried, expressive. He thought I might turn him away, and it was eating him alive.

At that moment, I didn’t care why he worried or what his motivation might be. I didn’t think about the impact of a Master as powerful as him losing control of his submissive, and how it might make him react. All I knew right then was that he was afraid of losing me. And me him . . .

We moved at the same time. I backed into the apartment and he stepped inside, kicking the door shut. I was in his arms in a flash, him lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist. His mouth came down on mine and he tasted like more of that hot buttered rum I’d heard in his voice, but better, spicier. Sweeter, because I’d feared I’d never taste him again, or feel him, or touch him.

He laid me down on my bed, coming down on top of me, and our lips parted, breaking the drugging kiss. He stared down at me, his eyes intense, stormy.

“How are you here?” I whispered, daring to touch his cheek without permission, reveling in the way he let me.

“I had to see you.” His mouth came down on mine again, his tongue stroking deeply, possessively. And yes, there was a command in the kiss, a command that I submit, but there was more, too. There was passion, so much passion. The kind of passion he holds in check and denies me.

He wasn’t in check then. He wasn’t in control. But neither was I. Not with his big, wonderful body on top of mine, the weight of him arousing me, teasing me with the moment he would be inside me. I wanted that so badly, it hurt.

He tugged my robe loose and his hand slid over my ribs and caressed my breast, fingers teasing my nipple. A moan slid from my lips, and he swallowed it with another long, sultry stroke of his tongue. I was sinking into the oblivion Master Two had promised me in my office but had never have come close to providing. Only “he” could really take me there.

I tugged at his shirt, needing to feel skin against skin. He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside, displaying rippling muscle from the waist up. “Take your shirt off,” he ordered, standing up to finish undressing.

Yes, get it off and get him back on top of me, where he belonged! I’d barely tossed it away when he was back on top of me, his hands on my breasts, mouth on my neck. I arched into him, trembling with my need for him, this man who has called to me in a way no other human being ever has or perhaps ever will again.

He was thick between my slick thighs and my fingers dug into his shoulders, but I couldn’t pull him closer. I wanted him closer. I wanted him inside me. His mouth was traveling down my neck, over my shoulders, back up again. These are the moments that I revel in, when he doesn’t hold back, when he doesn’t restrain me or himself. We are just . . . us. We are just lost and alive and passionate. They are few and far between, and this was one of those times—and more. We kissed each other like we were breathing life into our bodies, like we couldn’t survive without each other. I’d never felt this with him, never felt as if he needed me as much as I needed him.

Finally he parted my legs and slid between them, hovering above me, his eyes connecting with mine, and I felt him everywhere, clear to my soul. I know. I know. That sounds a little crazy and like I’m romanticizing the moment, but I’m not. I felt him everywhere.

He pressed inside me, stretched me, and sank deep, until we were one, joined together, and I had this sudden moment of fear it might be the last time. Something flickered in his eyes and I almost thought he felt it, too, and that it shredded him as much as it did me.

With a low guttural sound, his mouth came down on mine harder, his kiss darker, more commanding, as if he could stop whatever might follow this if he claimed me then. He dragged his cock backward along my sensitive flesh, and then he thrust hard. I gasped as sensations rocked from my sex through my body.

It was a wild frenzy of us trying to get closer, to get him deeper, to get more, more, more, and more. More what? I don’t know. Just more. It’s the only way I can describe how it felt, and I loved how NOT controlled it was, how not in control he was.

LOVED. IT.

When it was over, we collapsed together in a hot, sweaty wonderful moment of satisfaction that became several minutes. Slowly, our breathing became less labored, our muscles relaxing, bodies melting into each other’s. Neither of us spoke. It was as if we both thought words would destroy what our bodies had communicated.

At some point, he grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and gave it to me. When I would have gotten up to go to the bathroom, he pulled me back against him, wrapping his leg over mine and burying his head in my neck. I had the impression he thought that if I left the bed, I wouldn’t come back.

Looking back now, he might have been right. My mind would have started running as wildly as my body had just responded to him, telling me all the reasons why what I’d just done had been a mistake.

“Let’s sleep,” he said softly.

No command. No demand that we go to his place.

“You’re going to stay here?”

“Yes. I’m staying here.”