Leaving Roman (Surrender Book 3) Read online

  “Come on. You know that’s bullshit. You’re not the sort of man who would hold someone back. She needed the challenge. She deserved it. And, let me remind you, she was a straight A student. Exemplary. I know you hoped she would work for you when she graduated, but consider the fact that maybe she’d like to get a job outside your home. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

  I know Julius is right. The idea of Lucy wanting to work outside the home has been a constant fear of mine for months. It’s incongruent with our lifestyle. Isn’t it? It would mean completely changing our arrangement.

  When Lucy went to school, we argued for weeks about what she would wear, eventually settling on a plan. Nancy took her shopping for clothes. Lucy could pick out anything she wanted, but I had final approval. All I really cared about was that she was covered, and I had no reason to worry she wouldn’t be since I’d dug my heels in when it came to underwear.

  It was the perfect arrangement. None of her peers would ever know she was a little in private because on the outside she appeared completely normal—jeans, sweaters, shirts, tennis shoes, flats. She either had good taste or she simply knew me well enough to realize what I would and wouldn’t approve, because every time she entered a dressing room and sent me pictures of outfits, I approved them.

  Working outside our home is an entirely different challenge. She has a business degree. That means she would need adult skirts and blouses and heels and…bras. No way could she work in an office somewhere and manage to conceal pastel training bras that don’t hide her nipples. And I wouldn’t expect her to.

  I cringe at the idea, this is the line of thinking that has recently freaked me out.

  “Roman?”

  I flinch. I’d nearly forgotten Julius is on the phone. “Yeah.”

  “I know you. We’ve been friends for years. Except for Beck and Levi, I know you better than any other person. You’re scared of losing her.”

  He’s right. I swallow the lump in my throat.

  “I’m not sure your fear is founded. Just because she needs to grow and change doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. It just means she needs you to be flexible and adapt to her new needs.”

  I can’t voice my deep-rooted fear—that she will discover an entire world out there and decide I’m not enough for her anymore.

  “You’re letting your mind race, dude. Stop it. Talk to her, but wait until you can do so without being stubborn. Listen to her. What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

  “Uh, are you kidding?”

  Julius chuckles. “No. Not at all. You have two choices—be obstinate and watch her walk away or renegotiate the terms of your arrangement and give it a chance.”

  I blow out a breath. He’s right. Of course he’s right. This is why I called him. I knew he could shake some sense into me. I’m downright scared that if we alter an arrangement that has worked perfectly for three years, it won’t be enough for either of us. And she’ll leave me.

  “Think about it,” Julius says.

  “I will. Thanks, man.”

  “Anytime.”

  I set the phone down next to me on the loveseat and continue to stare at the ceiling. It doesn’t have answers, but I know I have to do everything in my power to make sure it’s a ceiling that remains over my little girl’s head for the rest of my life, even if I do have to compromise and take risks.

  I just hope I have it in me to loosen the reins and give her some space—assuming that’s what she needs.

  There’s always the possibility she has outgrown me entirely and doesn’t want to remain in a D/s relationship at all. Daddy/little or otherwise. What if her restlessness is so great that she wants to split up?

  I have to believe that’s not the case. I have no other choice. I won’t give up.

  Chapter 14

  Lucy

  I’ve been in this apartment for twenty-four hours, and I’m still wandering around in it like I’m lost. It’s weird because it’s filled with my own belongings, which I haven’t seen for three years in addition to furniture and items I’ve never seen in my life.

  I’ve never been here before. I knew it existed, but I had no idea he’d kept it for three years. It was an elusive place I didn’t really want to see. It’s adjacent to the campus of the university I just graduated from. I could have stayed here and walked to school. I could have come here any time over the years for a reprieve.

  I never did. I never even considered it. Master Roman secured it the day he moved me into his home. He had my belongings moved here from my shitty apartment and furnished this place with everything I didn’t own—which was nearly everything.

  Last night I sat in the middle of the living room floor and went through three boxes of my belongings. Pictures from my childhood and mementos I kept that have little meaning to me now. I have no interest in even opening the boxes of clothes and dishes and toiletries from my old apartment. I have no need for them at all. Everything else in this apartment is state of the art. Of course.

  I still can’t believe Master Roman has been paying for this apartment all this time so that I would always have an escape. The keys have been in the kitchen of his mansion in a drawer next to the back door. I could have taken them and come here at any time. I didn’t.

  I feel like I’m in a foreign place. It’s really just a furnished apartment. It’s mine even. Except it isn’t. My place is with Master Roman. The bed I slept in last night felt wrong. It wasn’t the king-sized bed I usually share with Daddy, nor was it the twin bed I use when I sleep in my little girl room.

  The suitcase Master Roman sent over to me the first night I stayed at Julius’s home is sitting open on the floor next to the queen-sized bed. I wander over to it and kneel down to rustle through the contents again. I’ve done this several times. I know exactly what’s in this suitcase.

  I have to get dressed. It’s ten in the morning. I’m still wearing nothing but a pastel green babydoll nightie. I slept naked, but when I woke up three hours ago, I pulled this on over my head. I don’t even know why. I could have gotten dressed early this morning like I normally do.

  My internal alarm has gone off like clockwork at precisely six every day since I left. Master Roman has set an alarm for me every morning since I moved in with him. I don’t need it. Even though I have slept poorly for the last three nights—two at Julius’s and one here—I still woke up at six.

  The contents of this suitcase are intimidating. Master Roman included a variety of things ranging in ages, but I’ve chosen to wear jeans and a long-sleeved shirt every day. That’s all. Like the night I left him, I don’t want to put on panties or a training bra. I don’t want to be his little right now, not even under my clothing.

  My bottom only hurt for the first day. I know it’s still bruised, but I stopped wincing every time I sat down two days ago. It feels weird and risqué going without panties—especially since I’ve worn full-cut cotton ones for so long—but it also feels defiant. Naughty.

  Sometimes when I sleep with Master Roman, I sleep naked, so it hasn’t been strange to leave his nighties in the suitcase, but this morning… I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m lost. I think I put this thin silky nightie on to remind me of him. I’ve been pacing the floor in bare feet for three hours, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’ve enjoyed the feel of the material brushing over my nipples.

  I shake my head of that thought and moan, dropping onto my bare bottom on the edge of the mattress and then flinging myself backward and tossing my arm over my eyes. The bracelet Master Roman gave me three months ago for graduation dangles against my temple, reminding me that I’m loved. Reminding me who I belong to.

  My nightie rises up, exposing my pussy to the cool air of the room. I squeeze my legs together and draw my knees up, planting my heels on the edge of the mattress.

  I’m a wreck.

  I haven’t had an orgasm in three days. That’s a record in my world. Daddy takes good care of me. Added to the fact that I’ve been wearing j
eans without panties, it’s a wonder I haven’t come from the denim contact alone.

  I bite my lip as I try to rein in my arousal. The nightie has caused this. Wearing little girl clothes always makes me horny.

  I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I’m living on the edge of a precipice. Part of me thinks I could leave Master Roman and become an adult.

  Part of me thinks it’s what I should do.

  After fidgeting for two days, however, shunning my little girl clothes, I’ve succumbed to their call. What would I become if I moved out on my own? Would I get a reputable job somewhere and then lock myself in my apartment at night, strip down, and put on my little girl clothes?

  And then what? Without Master Roman’s guidance, nurturing, and rules, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I’m lost without him. I thrive on the structure he provides.

  I miss him like crazy. We’ve never been apart this long or even half this long. The most time he’s ever been away from me was one night a few times when he had to leave town for business. I hated those nights. Even though I spend some of my nights alone in my little girl room, I do so knowing Master Roman is just down the hall if I need him.

  I fling my arms to my sides and draw in a breath. The silk of my nightie brushes against my nipples again, making me hornier. Slowly I inch my fingers up my belly, unable to stop myself. The light touch soothes me. I close my eyes and pretend my fingers are Master Roman’s and that he’s leaning over me like he does most nights.

  He gently eases my nightie up over my breasts, exposing them. I can feel his gaze on me as my nipples stiffen. His hands travel higher, circling my breasts, avoiding the needy tips. Over and over his pointers tease me, making me wet, causing me to drop my knees open.

  Finally, he flicks his thumbs over my aching buds, and I gasp. My pussy clenches. My clit pulses with need. I want his mouth on me. One suckle would set me off. I’m wound so tight with the need to come that I can’t think straight. I will him to push me over the edge.

  When I pinch my nipples hard, my eyes shoot open at the shock of what I’ve done. I can’t breathe. I instantly release my breasts and tug my nightie over them.

  I can’t believe I just did that. Touched myself. I’m not permitted to touch myself. Ever. I never break this rule. It’s not worth finding out what the punishment would be. Besides the fact that Master Roman has a camera in the corner of my little girl room and could easily watch me breaking that rule, he indulges me in all the orgasms I need nearly every day. Why would I risk his wrath on that issue?

  The only times I’ve been denied orgasms have been when I was overly bratty or argumentative. And those times were rough because he often drove his point home further by teasing me mercilessly and leaving me on the edge gasping for air. Those are not pleasant memories. Daddy is strict. It’s for my own good. I’ve learned a lot of lessons under his roof.

  Disobedience is not tolerated, and I’ve rarely challenged him. I’m not a brat. I don’t like to disappoint him. I don’t like to stand in a corner and be ignored. I don’t like to go to bed with a sore bottom. And I especially don’t like to go to sleep alone in my little girl room with a swollen pussy that pulses under the irritating cream he uses on me when he means business.

  I’m shaking as I rise up on my elbows and stare down at my naked pussy. I’ve shaved every day just like I have for three years, keeping my pussy bare like Daddy prefers. Like the little girl I am. Like his little blossom.

  My pussy is wet and swollen. Greedy. It would be so easy to reach between my legs and stroke my little nub until I come. It would take seconds. Master Roman would never know. He’s not here.

  I jerk my gaze around the room, suddenly flushing as I wonder if he has cameras on me in this apartment. It’s possible. It’s unlikely though. And besides, I’m the one who left him. I’m on a break. I can do whatever I want.

  Then why haven’t I?

  I pull my legs together and roll onto my side, curling into a ball on the defiantly unmade bed and tucking my hands under my cheek. My bottom is totally exposed. I don’t care.

  The truth is until losing myself in that daydream and pretending my hands were Master Roman’s, I’ve mostly followed all his rules since I left him. I can’t seem to break the habits. I haven’t wanted to. They’re natural and soothing. I’m like a child who’s been left home alone while her Daddy went out of town—a bit too young to be left alone, but not so young that it isn’t legal.

  I’m twelve. A very young twelve, but still.

  When I arrived here yesterday, I found the kitchen stocked with food. I wasn’t surprised. I don’t cook, however. Not much anyway. Before moving in with Master Roman, I didn’t have the money to afford anything that required much cooking. I mostly ate sandwiches and canned soup. Oatmeal and toast. Since living with Daddy, his cook, Evelyn, has prepared all my meals. I’ve never needed to lift a finger. Plus, I’ve been extremely busy going to school and trying my best to help out in Master Roman’s office.

  So, I’ve kept it simple here. I even drank a glass of milk this morning because that’s mandatory in Daddy’s house. I’ll make a peanut butter sandwich at noon and eat it with baby carrots and a glass of water.

  No, I haven’t specifically broken any rules, but I’ve skirted them. I have money. My purse was here when I arrived. It contained twenty dollars and credit cards in my name. I could go shopping. I could go totally crazy and buy adult clothing. I haven’t left the apartment though.

  I’ve rebelliously not worn anything from my little girl personality until this nightie. The panties and training bras are all folded in the suitcase. At least he sent a bit of everything. I’m not permitted to wear jeans or adult shirts in the house, but I’m not technically in the house, so I don’t figure I’m breaking any rules by wearing the more adult clothes. Staying nude under them has made me feel defiant, shunning that side of me for three days without going overboard and putting on a real bra or bikini-cut panties.

  I’d bet money I have both in that unopened box of my clothing from before I came to Master Roman. It’s half the reason why I haven’t touched it. The contents of that box represent a life I left behind. One I’m not ready to reclaim.

  The AC comes on, and I shiver but do nothing to cover myself. My hair is a tangled mess of thick curls around my shoulders and down my back. I’ve not braided it or put ponytails in. I’ve worn it down like I did every day I went to class.

  My mind wanders to all the things I don’t have here even if I wanted to break all the rules. I don’t have makeup because I couldn’t afford it to begin with. The same goes for jewelry or sexy heels or fancy dresses or a curling iron. Money was very tight when I met Master Roman. I couldn’t afford luxuries. I dressed modestly and wore flats. The cheap bikini-cut panties and plain cotton bras that are surely in that box would make most people cringe. They were all I had.

  My ears have never been pierced. My hair has never been styled in my life. I could barely afford decent conditioner, let alone styling products. I got my hair cut infrequently. When it got too long, I trimmed it myself. It’s longer than it has been in a while right now too because Master Roman likes it that way and convincing him to let me get a few inches cut off each year is always a battle.

  I’m exhausted from doing nothing except thinking and worrying. I don’t have any more of a clue what I want to do with my life now than I did when I left Master Roman. All I know is that I miss him terribly and that I need to be strong and stay away so I can think.

  I close my eyes and curl up tighter, not reaching for the covers to make myself more comfortable. I don’t deserve to be comfortable right now. I’ve been naughty.

  Exhaustion tugs at me, and I feel sleep pulling me under. In the middle of the morning. Daddy has occasionally insisted I nap after lunch when I’ve been bratty, but when was the last time I slept at ten in the morning?

  Screw it. I don’t care.

  At least that’s what I tell myself.

  Chapter
15

  Lucy

  I’m officially lost.

  Not physically. Emotionally.

  I’ve been wandering around the green spaces of my alma mater for hours. I’m ridiculously overdressed too. I have on jeans, tennis shoes, and a T-shirt, but over all of that I’m wearing a black cardigan. It’s the thinnest one I own, but still it’s too hot out for a sweater.

  I don’t have a choice. It was either this or a thicker shirt or a combination of things that would have included one of Master Roman’s training bras. I couldn’t bring myself to wear them, still, so I’ve gone without. This is day five without panties too.

  This defiance is all I have. I think I’m losing my mind. Why would I adhere to most of Daddy’s strict rules when I’m not even with him? I’ve sort of left him. I realize it’s not permanent yet, but even this test of my independence is extreme for me.

  I sit on a park bench and pull out my cell phone. It’s been buzzing against my hip for a while, and I—again in a state of rebellion—have ignored it. My skin tingles as I see another text from Master Roman. He’s sent several every day since I left. Not specifically pressuring me. Just reminding me that he loves me. Which I know.

  I hope you’re having a nice day, blossom. The weather is perfect. I love you.

  I shudder and glance around as I realize he can pinpoint my location with this phone. He undoubtedly can see that I’m on campus. Maybe I should have left it in the apartment so he wouldn’t know where I was. But even I know that would be stupid. No one should be out wandering around without a phone. What if I fell or someone tried to kidnap me?

  Irrational thoughts, I know. Those are the kinds of things Master Roman would say every time I left the house to attend class. He worried incessantly about my safety, reminding me often to keep my phone in my hand when walking, to stay on well-traveled paths, to ensure I was never alone, to keep my bookbag strapped across my chest, to keep an eye on my surroundings. The list goes on. Daddy worries.