The Contract Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 2(8)

            Suddenly I had the hope I wanted, the confirmation that I wasn’t just a contract. I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

            I felt his instant approval, saw it in the darkening of his eyes. “Good girl.”

            He undressed me then, and I let him. Then, he undressed himself. I wasn’t shy about watching every delicious inch of skin appear, nor was I shy about my appreciation of his jutting erection as he put on a condom.

            When he came back to me, pulling me beneath him again, I was already lost in desire and ready for him. Of course, nothing is fast and simple with this man. I should have known that. “There’s a few more rules,” he said, and his breath was warm on my neck, his lips by my ear.

            “Rules?” I asked, feeling nervous all over again, some of the haze of desire slipping away.

            “You call me ‘Master,’ so you can get used to it.”

            This I could do. It was the one thing in the contract I found the least intimidating. “Yes. Okay.”

            “Say it.” He caressed my breast and teased my nipple, as if encouraging me.

            Like I would deny him his title while he was doing that to me? I’d been easy prey. “Master,” I whispered with surprising comfort.

            He slid down and licked my nipple. “Again,” he commanded.

            “Master,” I panted. I’ve never been a panting person, but this man makes me pant. He makes me do a lot of things that I’d never do for another man.

            And since he’d rewarded me for my compliance by suckling and licking my nipples, I was pretty sold on the “Master” title. If it makes him happy, apparently he’ll make me happy.

            Well, mostly happy. I do keep finding little things that worry me. Like how his mouth had moved to linger above mine but he hadn’t kissed me. And I realized that he hasn’t kissed me many times at all.

            “You will call me ‘Master’ when we’re alone,” he instructed next. (Still no kiss.) “In public, we remain as we are. What we are beyond that is between us.”

            My heart sank. My conclusion then, and now, is that he wants to basically own me without claiming me. And how am I to separate the times we meet for work with this?

            I’d been back to feeling like there was a contract, but he’d distracted me. His mouth had gone back to my nipple, his tongue swirling and teasing. His cock slid against my slick, swollen body, and I forgot what we were talking about for a few minutes.

            Only the talk wasn’t over. “Final rule,” he said, teasing me with the promise he was going to enter me to the point I couldn’t think. “Until we sign our contract, your safe word is everything. Use it liberally. Use it, and I’ll stop whatever I’m doing. Say it now.”

            “But I don’t want you to stop.”

            He laughed, soft and wicked, the first time I’ve ever heard him laugh. “I just want to know that you know what it is.”

            “I do.”

            “Use it and no matter what we are doing, no matter how intense it is, no matter where we are, I’ll end whatever we are doing. You have my word. But you won’t need it tonight. I’ll guarantee it.”

            And oh, how true that guarantee had been. My “Master” proceeded to show me a side of himself I wouldn’t have believed existed. I hesitate to say that he made love to me, because “love” is a word that scares the hell out of me. And he’s not a man to fall in love with. I’ve been reminding myself of that fact ever since I met him.

            So maybe he didn’t make love to me, but it didn’t feel like fucking, either. There were no floggers. There were no ropes or ties. Just his mouth, his hands, and my pleasure. He didn’t ask anything of me, but . . . he didn’t let me touch him, either. It was all about him touching me—not that I can complain. I’ve never felt like I did last night. Every lick, from my nipples to my clit, was a soft, delicious, seductive stroke that turned me inside out.