Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 3: His Submissive by Lisa Renée Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

velvet box came into focus on the blanket in front of me, open to display the ring. My throat tightened at the sight and I sat up, the blanket falling to my waist, displaying my naked body.
    My Master raised up on one arm and leaned in to lick my nipple, the intimate act sending ripples of pleasure through my aching, satisfied body. “Now or never,” he challenged me with a hot, intense stare. “Isn’t that what you said yesterday?”
    I had, and there was no hesitation in my reply. Not after the way he’d made love to me the night before and known exactly what I needed, what I craved. “Now” I reached for the ring, sliding it onto my finger.
    He leaned down and kissed it. “And now,” he said, possessiveness in his tone, “you belong to me.”
    I belong to him. Despite his saying this to me before, the ring, the finality of our agreement, hit me with a bit of a shock. I belonged to someone else?
    “Say it, Rebecca.”
    I blinked at the order and realized that this was the real test—not last night. This was the moment I would give him my ultimate trust. It was terrifying. I’d only given that kind of complete trust to my mother, and she’d betrayed me in the end.
    But I’d taken a leap of faith when I’d taken the job at the gallery, and it had paid off.
    I was in too deep with him now not to take a leap with him. But I prayed then—and I pray now—that he deserves it.
    I drew in a breath and breathed out the words that gave him all that power over me. “I belong to you.”

Click through for an exclusive sneak peek at Lisa Renee Jones’s sizzling next installment to the Inside Out trilogy
    Being Me
    Available June 2013 from Gallery Books

The idea that I’ve convinced myself he is less controlling than he is has my heels colliding heavily on the driveway. I charge toward his car, the same car I’ve let myself drive instead of holding on to my own identity. I don’t look his direction but damn him, I can feel him all over, everywhere, inside and out, and in intimate places I can’t convince my body he isn’t welcome. It’s beyond frustrating to know that anger this potent isn’t enough to stop the thrum of awareness that just being near him creates.
    Not for the first time, I feel Rebecca’s words from that first journal entry I’d read deep in my soul. He was lethal, a drug I feared. I relate to her, and I understand the inescapable passion she felt and lost herself inside. I don’t want to be her. I’m not her. And for the first time since my initial first few encounters with this man, I wonder if I am drawn to him because I’m self-destructive, and he to me for the same reason.
    Suddenly he is there, at eye level, as he had been the first night we’d met, when I’d spilled my purse. My gaze lifts and meets his, and a blast of awareness shakes me to the core. My breasts are heavy, my thighs achy. My skin tingles. A fine line between love and hate, Alvarez had said, and I understand the words in this moment. I stare into his eyes and I wonder if he too is thinking about the night we met and the many ways we’ve made love. The many we have not and I want us to, when I should not. I should be seeking space, independence, and my own identity, which he is threatening by taking over my life. It makes no sense how I feel in these eternal moments. How can I be this furious with him and still powerfully, completely lost in him?
    “We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?” he asks, breaking the spell. His tone is low, and the rasp of anger in his voice is impossible to miss. It jolts me back to reality. He showed up at my client’s house and he’s angry with me ?
    My temper overpowers all other emotions in me and I reach for the key. His hand closes over mine and heat races up my arm and over my chest. “Don’t do what you did tonight ever again, Sara.”
    The sharp command in his voice hits a bull’s-eye on every physiological male dominance issue I own, of which there are many. I try to