At the end of the last entry, Rebecca was set free. Now you can read the 10th installment of Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals by Lisa Renee Jones.
Read the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth entries from Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals to catch up with her romance.
Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals: Dream Man
Part 10
Sunday midnight
I don’t even know where to begin. I’m just home from my weekend with Alex and he treated me like a princess. And the thing about being treated like a princess that none of us wants to admit, is that it only matters if you’re being treated like a princess by someone you want to treat you like a princess. If it’s the wrong guy we try to convince ourselves he should be the right guy, but the outcome is the same. No matter how well intended, the princess treatment fails.
Alex did not fail.
From the moment I arrived in the Aspen, he seduced me and not just my body. He listened to me. He made me laugh. I’d landed at the small airport to a private car waiting on me the moment I got out of the plane. A driver had held the door for me. At that moment, I thought I wasn’t going to enjoy myself. It had just felt like all the times my master sent a car to pick me up. But then I’d climbed in the back for the car and found Alex was there waiting. I remember being struck by his dark good looks, a polar opposite of the man I’ve called Master.
His dark good looks were accentuated by his gray suit with a blue pinstripe and a matching navy blue tie. And those brown eyes of his burned with amber heat, the way he looked at me with such piercing intensity had stirred a physical reaction in me. My skin had warmed and my nipples pebbled, an ache forming in my sex. He hadn’t even spoken and I wanted him. At that point, I hadn’t wanted to have that reaction. I didn’t want to crave him or want him. I absolutely didn’t want to feel desire so intense that it became a need. I rejected that possibility despite my body telling me it was possible. Some part of me still felt it betrayed my master. But then I’d flashed back to another limo and another night.
My master had sent me sexy, black heels, and a skimpy black dress with a note that had read: No bra and no panties. It was not a dress I’d wear without a bra and panties. The bodice was fitted, my breast barely concealed. The bottom half sheer in the light. But I would be wearing it for him, not me, or anyone else. I’d dressed, and walked outside to the limo waiting on me, and after the emotional connection we’d shared during sex the night before I’d hoped we were going to his house. I’d feared we’d go to his sex club where he’d put distance between us. It was worse.
Master Two, as I’ve come to call him, was there. This man who my master trusts enough to share me. Who he always calls to join us when he feels we’re getting too close.
I’d slipped into the car and they sat side by side in front of me. My master’s eyes had met mine, and I’d seen hardness in them. He’d shut me out and this was all about him showing me that fact. Proving it to him and me. “Show us how to please you,” he’d ordered.
“Show me,” Master Two had commanded. “Move her in front of me.”
My master had given me a slight incline of his head. My lips had firmed and I’d considered saying “no” but this is apart of being submissive. He commands. I obey. I’d scooted in front of Master Two and at his command slid my dress up my legs.
“Show me,” he’d ordered, and I’d then touched myself. And he’d touched me. I didn’t want to like it. I didn’t want to feel pleasure. But I had. And that was the wall my master wanted between us.
Some might think that I am crazy for allowing Master Two to be a part of our play but it’s in the contract. And that contact protects you physically by setting boundaries but it also protects you emotionally by setting boundaries. As it did with my master that night.
I’d blinked back to the present, to Alex sitting in front of me in that limo, and before either of us had even spoken, I’d had that memory create a realization. No matter what my master’s intentions, no matter what his reasons for his actions, he’d created a wall that night and on many other occasions, but each time, he’d cut me just a little deeper. And I’m not sure you ever heal from that many wounds.
That’s why when Alex had finally spoken and said, “I’m glad you’re here, beautiful,” it had hit me, that we are fresh and new, without any walls, without any pain. And this was a premise I found as alluring as the man.
Alex had offered me a glass of champagne then and I’d nervously gulped it down when I have learned never to gulp alcohol. I don’t handle well, so I’ve learned at wine tastings at the gallery, to make a glass last. But I didn’t. I’d been nervous for the first time in a long time. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Alex had refilled my glass then and when our hands had touched the charge that sparked would have made me weak-kneed had I been standing. He knew. I’d seen it in his eyes. They’d darkened, sharpened. He wanted me and I wanted him.
I’d been certain we’d go to the hotel then and I’d probably do something I might, or might not, regret. And we did go to the fancy five-star property. Only, when we exited the car and he’d turned to me and offered me his arm it was clear he had no intention of taking me to bed.
“It’s a warm summer night,” he said. “How about we walk the town?”
He’d wanted to walk the town and spend time with me. I’d been charmed. And so we had walked and I’d been enamored by the quaint little town. Surprised that Aspen isn’t glitz and glam like you’d think when you hear about Hollywood types visiting. It’s just a cute town with stores, craft booths, and of course, food. And during off season, it’s a ghost town at night. So we just walked and talked. He’d asked me about my mother, and I’d dared to share her death by cigarettes, which is how I think of her lung cancer. He’d listened and offered insightful thoughts. He’d then ask about my father. I’d laughed, bitterly.
“I have never met him but I hear he’s a mobster in Vegas. That’s why we moved away.”
He shared with me that his father was not much better and we’d talked for hours. He’d told me he’d learned from his father to be cautious who you trust. It’s why he doesn’t do serious relationships. Maybe that was my warning, his way of telling me this was just an escape for us both. But I was hit by the difference between him and the man I’ve come to know as my ex-master. Alex leaves himself open to be surprised, to fall in love. My ex-master uses a contract to ensure he can never make that mistake. And to him, it is a mistake. I was a mistake. It’s another thought that gives me freedom to just enjoy this time with Alex.
At some point we’d stopped to sit on bench where we’d talked art and I’d become animated when I’d realized how intensely he was once again staring at me. The next he’d been brushing his lips over mine, his hand sliding to my neck, under my hair. His tongue this gentle, seductive caress, before he’d murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I met you.”
I couldn’t say the same to him. I’d certainly had found him overwhelmingly male and good looking when I’d first met him at a gallery event. I’d even thought of him as someone most women would want to kiss. Just not me at the the time, because I had yet to open myself up to the possibility of life after my attempt at being submissive. But it didn’t matter that I couldn’t say the same to him. He’d then asked a question that had taken me off guard.
“Who is he?”
I’d pulled back to look at him. “What?”
“Who’s the man I’m competing with?”
I didn’t ask how he knows there’s someone else. I imagine I still taste like him. “The past. He’s the past.”
“Is he?”
“Yes. He is.”
“And I’m what?”
“Possibility,” I say.
“I can live with that.”
He’d brushed his lips across mine again and stood, offering me his hand. And once again he’d surprised me. We hadn’t rushed back to the hotel. We’d walked and talked more only now each word and step, each touch of our hands and even brush of our hips, seemed to seduce us, or at least me, with those possibilities.
When we’d finally gone to the hotel, I’d discovered we were in a suite that had two bedrooms as promised. “I can get you your own room, if you’d prefer.”
“No,” I’d said quickly. “I want to be close to you.”
Approval had lit his eyes, and he’d opened the door. My eyes met his, and there was a silent understanding between us. My choice in this moment opens the doors to those possibilities. I’d walk into the room, decisively making my choice to find out what this is between us. Again though, he hadn’t rushed things. We’d ordered room service and ate in the living room, more champagne-filled glasses with our meal. The room had been warm or maybe it had been just me. And somehow a brush of a hand, a touch of legs, and I’d ended up on his lap, straddling him. He’d stroked hair from my face. “This doesn’t have to happen now,” he’d declared. “We don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” I’d whispered, and amazingly, I had known. And knowing I had a choice had been the absolute most erotic part of that moment. There was no contract. There was no command. There had just been the chemistry I felt with an amazing man and the way he and I had lingered there, mouths close, just breathing together. As if we were both savoring the possibilities of all that might happen that night, and even beyond, expanding between us. It reminded me that daring to open myself to possibilities is how I found the art world again. It’s how I started to live again.
I remember the very instant our lips had touched. I remember the freedom in our kiss that had started slow and sultry and I didn’t hold back, the freedom of contract, or obligation between myself and Alex empowering. There were no expectations. No rules. I could go on and write details but I will leave it at this. He was tender at moments and wild at others. I am no longer someone with inhibitions and yet at times I felt shy in a really sex way, that I can’t explain. I’d melted for him.
Where does that leave us? He wants to see me again. I want to see him again. That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my ex-master. That doesn’t mean I don’t love him. It just means that it’s time to love me, too. As for Alex. We’ll I’m not going to call him my dream man. I’m not sure either man get that title. I just know that whatever choice I make will be about the possibilities that I allow myself to discover. And the rules, that only I make.
THE END… For now.
From the author…
This will be the last entry on Hypable. Thank you so much for visiting every week for more of Rebecca! You can read more about her and her journals, which set off a whirlwind journey in the Inside Out and Careless Whispers series, and I will be expanding and making things a little sexier in the for-purchase version of Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals. Sign up to be notified when the expanded and sexier version is available for purchase!
And don’t miss my new Dirty Money series with sexy, alpha SHANE BRANDON! Dirty in boardroom, dirtier in the bedroom. Book one, Hard Rules, is only $1.99 (reg. $7.99) for a limited time, and book two, Damage Control released on Feb. 21!