Rebecca's Way

by Rynna Cress

  a tale of sex and submission

  by

  Rynna Cress

  copyright 2012 Rynna Cress and APC Publishing

  This is an adult story focused on themes of bondage and sadomasochism between adults above the age of eighteen. Subject matter includes explicit sexual activity and increasingly intense BDSM scenes. If you find such material to be offensive, or if you live in an area where it is illegal or prohibited to own such material, then you should stop reading now.

  Otherwise… enjoy.

  -RC

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Epilogue

  It was 7:00 PM, and Rebecca Carlyle was supposed to be naked. With the rain beating down on the windshield of her Honda, obscuring the endless line of red taillights in the traffic before her, it was all that was on her mind.

  I’m supposed to be naked right now.

  And yet she wasn’t. It was the dreariest night January had seen yet, at least by the standards in LA, the city where it “never rains.” The absolute last thing that Rebecca had wanted was to be stuck in the Studio City gridlock, surrounded by panicky, terrified motorists incapable of handling a light shower without clutching at their steering wheels, sweating profusely, and braking regularly for absolutely no reason. Just one of the many LA quirks that Rebecca, born and raised in the Midwest, found to be absolutely intolerable.

  Where she should have been was in a bathtub - in her bathtub, enjoying the pleasure of her own company, along with a glass or two of dark red wine and some of her favorite music – perhaps a good Sharon van Etten record, or maybe something more classic, like Coltrane, or her all-time favorite, Gene McDaniels. She couldn’t help but smile wistfully at the thought, which in turn, only made her feel even grouchier.

  She should have been off work by 4:00, just in time to beat the traffic back to Silverlake, get a good workout in at the gym, and spend the rest of the evening kicking off her weekend in relaxation and privacy. Ron, the agent whose desk she covered, had promised she’d be off early, reward for an exhausting week filled with high-profile meetings, high-stakes negotiations, and one high-stress calamity after the other. It was the reason Ron paid Rebecca so much better than the average assistant in Hollywood – she was exceptionally talented at putting out fires. And after a week spent fighting the fires of hell itself, or so it had seemed, he had promised her an early night. Well, he’d nearly promised her. There was just one small contingency.

  His name was Mackenzie Bell.

  He was one of Ron’s biggest clients, an annoyingly good writer – annoying because it meant that people like Ron and Rebecca were forced to put up with him. He was a carefree, shameless man-child, a womanizing cad, and a borderline alcoholic. In his seemingly never-ending stupor of boozy hedonism, it was a wonder to Rebecca that he managed to write anything at all.

  And yet his scripts – mostly offbeat, highly unconventional romances – were undeniably brilliant, making him one of the most sought after young screenwriters in all of Hollywood. The success, perhaps along with his stunning good looks, made him feel powerful, entitled, and invincible, all of which fueled an out-of-control ego and a self-destructive narcissism. It was his own remarkable talent twisting him into more and more of a monster each and every day, something which had always struck Rebecca as rather sad. But that was Hollywood for you – everything gets perverted, either through success or through failure.

  After circling the block, Rebecca finally found a tight parking spot, and raced to the front door of the posh, elegant apartment building that Mackenzie called home. Entering the security code from memory, Rebecca pulled the door open, thankful at least to come in from the rain.

  KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

  She pounded on his door, already pre-irritated with him as she brushed a damp clump of red hair off of her forehead. No answer came, though she thought she heard laughter coming from inside the apartment. She knocked again, louder, then again, just as:

  “Well, look who it is.”

  The door swung open, revealing a mostly nude Mackenzie grinning at her, Adonis-like and cocky in every sense of the word, a pair of grey briefs hastily pulled up over his crotch, leaving less than little to the imagination. Rebecca frowned, looking him straight in his green eyes.

  “The studio reps were expecting your latest draft no later than 4:00 PM today. You promised us it would be ready, and now they’re breathing down Ron’s neck. Where is it?”

  Mackenzie smirked at the damp young woman in front of him. “Is it raining out?”

  “Mackenzie, you’ve ignored every phone call and email we’ve sent you today. Please don’t waste any more of my time.”

  His grin slowly returned. “You even look amazing when you’re all wet and angry, you know that, Becky?”

  “It’s Rebecca. Answer my question.”

  Mackenzie waved a dismissive hand at her and turned back into the apartment, the top half of his ass plainly showing above his scrunched briefs. “You’re never any fun,” he called over his shoulder.

  He was more or less right. In a city where Mackenzie essentially had free reign, and the power to have any woman he wanted, Rebecca Carlyle was an exception, quite possibly the only woman who had ever resisted his incessant charms. It wasn’t for lack of trying, either – Mackenzie had been flirting shamelessly with the deceptively foxy Rebecca ever since the first time she had poured him a cup of coffee as he sat in Ron’s lobby waiting on a meeting. But from the very first cocked eyebrow and twisted innuendo, she had seen straight through him, and ignored or flatly rejected each and every one of his advances. Of course, this only made him want her more.

  “Here’s the draft,” he said, returning with a thick stack of paper. “I finished it last night and thought I’d spend today celebrating with…” he squinted to himself, then turned, shouting into the apartment, “What’s your name again, darling?”

  A shrill, woozy voice shouted back, “It’s Marla! Who are you talking to?”

  “Zip it, sweet cheeks.” Mackenzie returned his focus to Rebecca. “…With Marla.”

  Rebecca ignored all this, snatching the draft out of his hands and stuffing it into her handbag. “Thank you,” she said pointedly, “though this would have been a lot easier if you had just sent it over this morning.”

  Mackenzie shrugged, flexing his finest shit-eating grin. “Then I wouldn’t have gotten to see you.”

  Of course, Rebecca realized. Her early start to the weekend was ruined and Ron was pulling his hair out to assuage the worries of manic, skittish studio reps, all because Mackenzie had wanted to make her jealous.

  “You’re a real…” she started to say. She was going to call him an asshole, but she stopped mid-sentence, her face tightening in focus.

  “A real what?”

  “Shhh…”

  She listened for a few seconds, straining to make something out. It was a turn of music, a small orchestra playing beneath a rich, soulful voice that boomed effortlessly with smoky emotion…

  “…that’s how I knew…my love for you would never die…”

  In over a year of knowing each other, it was the first time Mackenzie had ever seen even the slightest crack in Rebecca’s considerable armor.

  “That’s… Gene McDaniels…” she said, peering in at a record player spinning in Mackenzie’s living room. “You know him?”

  “Know him? I practically worship the guy. Didn’t know anybody else had ever heard of him. I take it you’re a fan?”

  Rebecca nodded. “He’s my favorite. This song…”

  Mackenzie smiled and sang along, “Another tear falls…”

  It took every ounce of discipline Rebecca had
not to give Mackenzie the gift of seeing her smile. Instead, they locked eyes for a few moments.

  “Listen, Becky…”

  “Rebecca,” she snapped, almost grateful that he’d given her a reminder of how much she didn’t like him.

  “Sorry, sorry. Rebecca… why are you always so stiff and serious with me, anyway? There has to be more - why don’t I ever get to see the other side?”

  Rebecca resisted the urge to laugh in his face. “You couldn’t handle the other side,” she said plainly.

  “You think I can’t handle the sexy librarian type?”

  “No. I don’t think you can handle me.”

  Mackenzie took this as a challenge, and took challenges as invitations. “Wanna bet on that?” he murmured, reaching out and grabbing her by the ass in an attempt to pull her in close.

  Even caught off guard, Rebecca was surprisingly quick, and stronger than she looked. In an instant, she was yanking his arm away from her with one hand, and slapping him hard across the face with the other.

  “You do not ever touch me,” she hissed. “I don’t care how drunk you are.”

  “I’m a writer,” he said, smiling up at her as he rubbed at his jaw, “I enjoy my whiskey. It’s romantic.”

  “It’s a cliché,” she said. “And you’re a joke.”

  If the words stung, he wasn’t showing it. Instead, he simply stared at her with eyes that betrayed curiosity, but no shame.

  “Anyway,” she finally said, “thank you. I’ll let you get back to… Marla.”

  She turned and left, furious at herself for dropping her guard with him and giving him what he saw as an opening.

  As she disappeared down the hallway, Mackenzie lingered in the doorway, watching her go, the smile on his face quickly dropping into a frown. Finally, he shut the door.

  ~*~

  It was nearly eleven by the time Rebecca finally arrived back at her apartment in the hills of Silverlake. After returning to the office script in hand and having copies of it couriered to the studio, she made just one, small mistake.

  She sat down and started reading the damn thing.

  She hadn’t intended to, not tonight anyway. But for some reason, maybe because she had heard that song playing in his apartment, her curiosity simply got the better of her. With most of the lights in the office out and the evening janitorial crew starting their rounds, she had taken a seat at her lamp-lit desk to glance over the first few pages. Before she knew it, an hour and a half had passed, and Rebecca had read it from cover to cover.

  So she flipped it over and read it again.

  It was that good. Some had gone as far as to call his previous scripts Oscar-worthy, but this blew each one of them out of the water. The writing was insightful, witty, and even soulful beyond belief – and all Rebecca could think about as she read it was Mackenzie himself, standing smiling in the doorway with his underwear half off. How could that person have written this masterpiece? She felt like she’d never understand it.

  Now, home at last, an exhausted Rebecca was just happy to finally have a chance at that long overdue soak she had been dreaming about all day. She didn’t want to be up too late, so she’d have to cut it a bit short, but still…

  KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK…

  She turned in confusion, staring at the door as if she expected an explanation from it. Three more knocks came, and she cautiously stepped forward, wondering who in the hell could be pounding on her door at this time of night, although something inside of her had an inclination. She glanced into the peephole, her worst fears confirmed.

  “You have got to be kidding me…”

  Locking the chain, she pulled the door open a crack. There was that same sloshed Cheshire Cat grin, those same deep green eyes, that same stink of whiskey…

  “What are you doing here, Mackenzie?”

  “I wanted to apologize if I upset you earlier. Can I come in?”

  “No, you can’t. How did you even know where I live?” She eyed him for a beat, quickly answering her own question. “You followed me home, didn’t you?”

  Mackenzie threw up his hands. “What can I say? I’ll go to great lengths to be a gentleman.”

  ‘Gentleman’ – Rebecca had to fight the urge to laugh in his face. Mackenzie was a lot of things, but a gentleman was certainly not one of them. “You’re an insane creep. Apology not accepted. Goodnight.”

  “Wait,” he insisted, throwing his arm against the door before she could shut it. “Will you just hear me out?”

  “You reek of booze,” she grumbled. “Please don’t tell me that you drove here…”

  Mackenzie chuckled. “I didn’t drink and drive, don’t worry. I drank while I was parked outside your office waiting for you, then I drove.” Rebecca rolled her eyes, disgusted with him. Mackenzie ignored it, unfazed, and asked her, “Did you read the new draft?” Rebecca glanced up at him, an almost guilty look appearing on her face. Mackenzie nodded, accepting this small victory. “You did, didn’t you?”

  Rebecca sighed. “It’s excellent,” she admitted. “The studio should be thrilled.”

  Mackenzie pursed his lips, as if buttoning up a self-satisfied grin. “Well, I’m glad you liked it. That means more to me than you realize. Now please, may I come in? I really want to speak to you.”

  Exasperated, Rebecca shook her head, angry with herself for even entertaining him. “Look, you apologized, and fine, if it makes you happy, I accept it. No harm done. Now, let me call you a cab…”

  “Please, Rebecca, just five minutes. Five minutes?”

  She sighed a regretful sigh. Then she shut the door in his face.

  A few seconds later, he heard the chain sliding, followed by the door swinging open. Rebecca stood before him, phone to her ear.

  “I’m calling that cab,” she told him. “When it gets here, I want you gone. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  “Fine. Then come in and tell me whatever the hell it is that’s on your mind.”

  Mackenzie smiled and nodded in deference, then stepped in behind her.

  “This is a nice place,” he said, scoping out the modern-looking home with its minimalist designs and crimson accents. “Gotta love Silverlake…”

  “Please,” Rebecca said, amazed that Mackenzie Bell had now delayed her from enjoying a bath twice in one day. “Just get on with it.”

  “OK, fine. Like I said, I’m sorry about earlier.”

  “Yeah, I got that much already.”

  Mackenzie gave a low, breathy chuckle, holding his head low. “That guy… that guy is a jerk. That’s not who I want to be. But I can’t help myself sometimes. Maybe all of the time. I guess that’s why I feel so strongly about you – you’re the one person in this city who won’t put up with that guy’s bullshit.”

  “You do realize ‘that guy’ is you, don’t you?”

  Mackenzie snorted. “Doesn’t always feel like it.”

  Rebecca stared at him, unsure if she was seeing a rare, genuine moment of vulnerability from a complicated man, or, more likely, a drunken attempt at emotional manipulation from a devious bastard.

  “Well,” she finally began, “I believe you are who you are. If that really wasn’t who you wanted to be, you’d be someone else.”

  “I do want to be someone else. I want to be someone good enough for you.”

  Rebecca rarely found herself at a loss for words, but this was one of those times.

  “I think you’re amazing,” he continued, his eyes piercing straight into hers. “I think you’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re strong, and like I said, you don’t put up with my bullshit. In a city full of… Marlas, you’re… Rebecca.”

  Rebecca didn’t know what to say. She had never seen Mackenzie like this, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to trust it.

  “Please,” he said, reading her doubts. “Give me a chance. Let me convince you. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Rebecca finally had to laugh. “How stupid do you think I am? Did you really
think this would work?”

  “Did I think what would work?”

  “This! Coming over like a drunken idiot and begging me to fuck you?”

  “What? No, Rebecca, that isn’t what this is…”

  “Jesus Christ…” she muttered, turning away.

  “Okay, fine, fine, look – I want you, okay? I’m not going to deny that. But I want more than just your body. I think I’m crazy about you, and I want you to tell me what I have to do in order to deserve a chance with you.”

  Rebecca turned back around, shooting him a stare.

  “I’m not your therapist. It isn’t my job to fix you, Mackenzie.”

  “I know…”

  “And even if I could, why the hell would I want to?”

  “Because just like I think I could handle your other side, I think you could handle mine. And I think that somewhere beneath that bulletproof exoskeleton of yours, I think you want it just as badly as I do.” He reached out, taking her hand in his. “Am I wrong?”

  She’d jerked away, as if he were red-hot. “You’re drunk, Mackenzie.”

  “I don’t care – I’m laying my fucking heart out here. Everyone thinks I’m this playboy asshole…”

  “And whose fault is that?!”

  “Okay, fair enough. But that’s not who I really am!”

  Outside, a car honked its horn. Rebecca moved to the window and glanced out through the blinds.

  “That’s your cab. I think it’s time for you to go.”

  Mackenzie sighed and shook his head. “I just wish someone believed in me. The real me. I thought maybe it could be you.”

  And with that, he turned and started for the door. Rebecca bit her lip, watching him go. Then, as he pulled it open:

  “Mackenzie…”

  He turned around, a cautious look on his face.

  “I’ll get you some blankets and a pillow. You can stay the night – on the couch. In the morning, when you’ve sobered up, we’ll talk about this some more. Can you do that?”