Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 3: His Submissive Read Free

stood next to Mark, the contrast in the two men was extreme but the power and sex radiating off them both was overwhelming.
    It bothered me that “he” spent a lot of time by Georgia’s side. I tried not to let it. I really did. In my defense, I was feeling insecure after the entire ring situation. But what really set me off was the concrete block of realization that hit me as I admired her work. Georgia paints flowers. Roses mostly. Yes. Roses. How could I not connect his attention to her to the design of the ring? How could anyone not in a similar situation? Had she been his sub at some point? Did he help her launch her career? And if so, what happened between them? Why did they part ways? Or had they parted ways? Am I just a side dish?
    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