Rebecca and the master seem to be at an impasse with their relationship. See what happens next in the latest entry from Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals.

Read the first, second, third, fourth and fifth entries from Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals to catch up with her romance.

Don’t forget to check back in next week, as Hypable will be running weekly entries from Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals, which are featured in her Inside Out series, until Valentine’s Day.

Wednesday 11 pm

Somehow, I made it through an evening at the gallery that included an open house with a wine tasting. Normally, having artists in the house like the famous, Chris Merit–a local that is famous worldwide–would enthrall me. Tonight, I couldn’t stop thinking about that encounter on the street with my former Master. Former. There is the key word that we defined tonight. I think he really didn’t believe I would stick to my word. I think he really believed I’d become his submissive again. I know he did. From the very instant his heavy stare had landed on the ring where it hung on a chain at my neck, I could feel the dark energy radiating off him. I could feel the iron will of that man, telling me without words, I’d broken the rules. I knew then that sending me that package, with my ring in it again, had been his way of reclaiming me.

In all of sixty seconds, he’d taken my hands and led me to an alcove in front of an antique shop, the concrete wall hiding us from the public eye. I’d ended up against the wall, that big body of his, caging mine, against the stone at my back. But not touching me. See, that is what he does. He makes me feel him, even when he’s not touching me. He makes me want him, when I swear, I’ll never want him again. He smells good and it makes me remember how good he tastes and feels.

“This is how it is?” he’d demanded.

“What does that even mean?” I’d whispered, and God, my throat had been so dry. And my heart had been racing. It’s racing now just typing this.

“You know who and what I am,” he’d said, without directly answering my question.

“What I know,” I’d said, “is who and what I am. And it’s not your submissive. I am, however, the woman who loves you. I’m also the woman who says that to you, and never gets a reply. That’s not enough anymore.”

He gray eyes had sharpened, and he’s stared at me for so many seconds, it had felt like a year. “You know you’re special to me.”

“I know every submissive you’ve ever had was special to you.”

“You aren’t them.”

“I know,” I’d said. “I’m not. And I will never pretend to be again.”

His hand had come down on my hip, a branding that had scorched me from the inside out. “You belong to me.”

When he says those things to me, I get wet, and hot, and want in so many ways. There is just something about that man saying you belong to him, that makes me want to be owned. In bed. That’s the thing. I like how he owns me in bed. I don’t, however, want to be owned the rest of the time. And damn it, I want to own him, too. I want him to belong to me, too.

“I belong to me,” I’d replied, and I’d let the defiance I’d felt lace my words.

“I’ll share.”

“That’s the problem,” I’d said, those words cutting me with bad memories. I’d remembered him inviting another Master to our games. I remember him inviting her to our games. All to push me away. And I hate myself for letting him. For saying yes. “You will share,” I’d added. “And that’s not okay with me.” I’d reached up and removed his hand from my hip. “When and if you ever want to be with me, not a submissive, call me. Until then, this is goodbye.” I’d tried to step around him, but he’d tangled fingers into my hair, and stared down at me, “Rebecca,” he’d breathed out, and even now, I can still taste the kiss that had followed, the power in its depths. The push and command. It had been his body claiming mine, where his words had failed. And my body had responded. Before I’d know it, his hand was under my skirt, under my panties, and I’d been panting and moaning. I’d shattered, in too few seconds. He’d owned me.

And yet, nothing had changed.

I still wanted more.

I still want more.

And I’d told him that. “This changes nothing,” I’d said.

He’d tilted his head upward, torment he never allows me, or anyone, to see etched in his features, the hard lines of his body, telling the same story, as the edginess radiating off him. Seconds tick by, before he lowers his chin, and looks at me. “I’m me. I can’t be anyone but who I am.”

“And I can’t be anyone but who I am.”

Seconds ticked by, before he’d stepped back, giving me space to leave. Oh God. My heart had hurt in that moment. I’d taken a few steps and my back was to him when he’d said, “Rebecca.”

I’d stopped but not turned, as he’d added, “You matter to me more than you will ever know.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore than I am now. I just knew it wasn’t enough and I’d started walking again. I’d left him there in the alcove and despite the orgasm he’d given me, nothing about the experience had been satisfying.

Anyway, back to the open house. There had been a man there. A good looking, rich, charming man. He asked me out. I said no when the truth is, maybe I should have said yes. Did I mention he’s good looking, rich, and charming? He made me laugh, even tonight, after the alcove. He made me feel pretty and wanted. He was what most would call a Dream Man.

And yet… I said no.