Raising Lucy Page 5

  Instead it’s long. My shampoo bill is high. My conditioner bill is higher. I have never had the luxury of investing in other hair products that would probably tame the mop, nor have I ever been taught how to manage it. So, now I sigh as I fluff it out, creating a disaster.

  Nope. There is no way I can show up for work with it down. The hairband not only keeps it out of my face, but it also keeps it from poofing out in every direction.

  I shift my gaze to my face and sigh louder. My skin is pale because I rarely go out in the sun, and there’s rarely sun in Seattle anyway. I own cheap mascara that I use sparingly on my already dark eye lashes. My eyebrows are probably too large, but again, I know nothing about plucking them. On the bright side, my cheeks are often rosy from stress or embarrassment, so that cuts down on my blush bills.

  I giggle. Blush. As if.

  I own clear lip gloss, but only because it keeps my lips from being chapped.

  Am I attractive?

  My smile fades as I consider that question. I truly don’t know. I have never even cared. For the last ten years since I hit puberty, I have mostly hidden from society, which was easy enough behind my hair.

  I’m short, and I know I’m underweight. I’m lucky I have any boobs at all, but proportionately I would say I did well. They’re never going to sag by any stretch of the imagination, but I can fill an A-cup.

  I have never dated anyone. The closest I’ve come to a relationship is watching other people at Surrender the past five weeks. How pitiful.

  And that brings up another depressing thought. First of all, my temporary membership was only for one more visit anyway. But, more importantly, there is no way I would continue to frequent a club owned by the man I now work for as his assistant.

  Too bad. I was enjoying myself at Surrender. Not that it mattered from any angle since I was now either out of money or working for the boss. But, I had been learning, and I think in my mind I was making progress.

  I hadn’t managed to reach a point in five visits where I had the guts to try anything, but I had spent hours watching. No one had asked me to do a scene, and there was no way I would have accepted such an offer.

  I know several things about myself now. I get aroused when I watch women submit. I get even more aroused when the Dom is firm and demanding. My panties get wet when a sub is disciplined. And, I would give anything to have a Dom treat me like I’m precious and worth disciplining.

  I’ve read all of this. I’ve studied it. I have no idea how any of this research and information is going to change my life other than to frustrate me in the middle of the night when I’m supposed to be sleeping so that Master Roman doesn’t ever catch me tired.

  I need to put the entire experience at Surrender out of my mind. It’s done. It’s in the past. At least for now.

  Chapter 9

  Lucy

  * * *

  I am right on time for my eight o’clock appointment Tuesday morning with Dr. Pruitt. For some reason, I get the feeling that news of my tardiness would get back to Master Roman before I left the building.

  It wasn’t easy to get to the clinic since it’s several miles from my apartment and required two bus changes. But I left my home at six thirty and am relieved to have made it on time.

  A receptionist takes my name, hands me a clipboard with a stack of papers to fill out, and tells me to have a seat. I’m nervous for no good reason. It’s a physical. Nothing more. I’ve had other physicals in my life. Not many. But some. The doctor is going to look in my ears, take my blood pressure, hit my kneecaps with that triangle thing, and done.

  I know I’m perfectly healthy. This is a formality. I force myself to fill out the forms and return them as quickly as possible to the receptionist. Anything to get this over with.

  I try not to fidget as I look around the room. The other patients waiting catch my attention. There is a woman next to a gruff man who seems like a Dom. She has her hands folded in her lap and her gaze toward the floor. Obviously, my mind is totally warped if I’ve started thinking people around me are in the lifestyle.

  Another woman about my age is sitting across from me with her feet planted firmly on the floor and her gaze also downcast. Her hands are in fists on her thighs. She is chewing on her lower lip.

  I jerk my gaze to two men and then to a woman with a younger man and then to a man by himself. Yep, I’m losing my mind because it seems like everyone in the room came from a fetish club. Irrational, of course. Clearly, I didn’t sleep long enough last night. My brain is so clouded with thoughts of BDSM that they’re infiltrating my waking consciousness.

  Moments later, someone calls my name. “Lucy Neill?”

  I’m relieved to exit the twilight zone and jump to my feet.

  A woman waits for me at the entrance to the offices, and I follow her down a hallway that has about six exam rooms, three on each side. She opens a door and motions me to enter. She smiles at me oddly and then tells me a nurse with be with me shortly.

  I am unrealistically nervous. This is a doctor’s office. Get a grip.

  I’m still standing in the middle of the room when the door opens a minute later, and I jump, a slight squeal escaping my lips.

  The woman who enters has a serious expression, and she lifts a questioning brow. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I assure her, smoothing my hands down my jeans.

  I judge her to be about sixty. Her gray hair is in a severe bun. She glances at a chart and then meets my gaze. “You’re a new patient. Master Roman sent you.”

  “Yes.” I wonder why she knows who sent me and why she calls him by that formal club name.

  She hands me a light blue folded paper gown and says. “Please remove everything and put this on. It opens in the front. You can drape this piece over your lap. Dr. Pruitt will be in shortly.” As she reaches for the door handle, she turns back to meet my gaze. “Miss Neill, you are obviously totally new to the lifestyle. Let me make a suggestion before you get yourself into trouble.”

  I’m stunned. Speechless. Staring at her with my mouth hanging open.

  She continues. “Dr. Pruitt only sees lifestyle patients on Tuesday mornings. Every patient in this clinic right now is either directly or indirectly involved in some form of BDSM.”

  I clear my throat and interrupt her. “I’m starting as Master Roman’s assistant. I’m not really in the lifestyle.”

  She smiles, but her expression is condescending and screams that I am a foolish girl. “Lucy, everyone Master Roman knows is in the lifestyle. Employees and acquaintances alike. Even if they don’t realize it yet.”

  I’m even more shocked now. She has no idea what she’s talking about.

  “Word of advice, Lucy, since you’re new to Master Roman’s employ. You should err on the side of caution at all times and address everyone you come in contact with as sir or ma’am. Including me. It’s what he would expect.”

  With those words hanging in the air, she leaves.

  I stare at the door for several long seconds, repeating everything she has just said in my head. Everyone Master Roman knows is in the lifestyle, even if they don’t realize it yet.

  Is she correct?

  I can’t even process that information. I don’t want to. If I stopped to consider the implication, I wouldn’t even know what answer I want. Part of me is screaming that she’s wrong. I’ve been hired as an assistant. Part of me is trembling at the idea of submitting to Master Roman. Is that what he truly expects?

  I’m stunned. I also hadn’t expected to get naked this morning. For a routine physical?

  Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my racing heart, set the paper gown on the exam table, and turn around to remove my clothes. My hands are shaking. I need to move faster. The worst imaginable thing will be if Dr. Pruitt comes in before I’m situated.

  I rush to remove my shoes and socks and then my jeans, T-shirt, bra, and panties. I’m shivering by the time I arrange the ridiculous paper gown around my shoulders and tug it across my
chest. My butt is exposed, and I grip my legs together as I cover thighs with the larger folded paper napkin.

  I wait for several minutes. The room is too cold. I start shaking. I can’t catch my breath either as my mind wanders wildly to absurd thoughts. I’m twenty-two years old. I’ve never even been to a gynecologist. Why would I? I’ve never needed birth control because I’ve never had a boyfriend and thus never had sex.

  No person in the world has seen me naked since I was a toddler, and I have no memory of that. I force myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

  Finally, a soft knock resounds through the room and then the door opens. A man, who I presume is the doctor, enters followed by the stuffy older nurse.

  The man is cleanly bald with a goatee. I think he’s about fifty. He smiles at me briefly and glances at my chart. “Lucy Neill. Master Roman sent you.”

  “Yes.” Again, this is odd information. And why does the doctor refer to my boss as Master? The nurse did too.

  The nurse shoots me a look, her eyes wide with suggestion.

  I clear my throat. “Yes, Sir. I’m starting a new job with him tomorrow.”

  He inclines his head to one side as he meets my gaze again. “Relax. It’s just a routine physical.”

  I swallow and say nothing.

  He looks back at his file. “It says here you’re twenty-two. Single. No allergies. Do I have that correct?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You’ve met my nurse, AnnMarie,” he states as he picks up my wrist and checks my pulse.

  I glance at the surly woman. “Yes, Sir.”

  Dr. Pruitt says nothing while he peers into my eyes, my ears, my throat. He hooks his stethoscope on his ears and sets the incredibly cold flat metal on my chest between my breasts. He listens, moves the cold disk, and listens again. He switches to my back. “Sit up straight, please, Lucy.”

  I jerk my spine taller.

  “Deep breath in.”

  I inhale.

  He listens.

  We repeat this several times.

  Finally, he rounds to my front. “When was your last physical?”

  “I’m not sure. A few years ago maybe. I don’t get sick often.”

  He frowns. “You should always have regular checkups.”

  I nod. It’s not like I can do anything about the past now.

  He pats my thigh. “If you’re working for Master Roman, it won’t be an issue. He’s a stickler about health.”

  I’m not surprised.

  “What form of birth control do you use?”

  “None. I haven’t…needed it,” I murmur.

  “So you use condoms for protection?”

  I’m going to die of mortification. “I haven’t had sex,” I murmur.

  He doesn’t flinch. “Good. I’d sure like to hear that more often these days. At your age, I recommend using something. Just to be safe. You never know when you might meet the right person.” He smiles.

  I nod. I’ve never considered birth control before. Why would I? And as ridiculous as it sounded to think that I might meet someone, I find I like the idea of pretending I’m a regular woman who might have sex. So I respond, “Okay.”

  “I recommend the Depo-Provera shots. A lot of women your age are using it nowadays. Your periods will probably stop entirely, which also has the added benefit of reducing cramps and PMS.”

  “Okay. That sounds good. Sir.”

  “Have you ever had a pap smear?”

  “No.” My face heats up. Is that necessary? Today?

  “Are your periods regular?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “’Kay, I’m going to check your breasts and do a vaginal exam today. A woman your age needs to start regular well-woman checkups.”

  I can’t breathe.

  He sets a hand on my back, the other on my shoulder. “Please lie back, Lucy. I’ll be quick. Trust me. This is painless. It’ll be over in moments. Then you’ll be on your way.”

  I’m trying not to hyperventilate as I recline. I stare at the ceiling while Dr. Pruitt pulls the napkin robe to one side, exposing my breast, and uses the pads of his fingers to press around my nipples. “Do you regularly perform self-breast exams?” he asks.

  “No, Sir,” I mumble.

  “You should start.” As he marginally covers the first breast and exposes the second one, he continues rambling about how I should check myself for lumps. I can hardly pay attention. I don’t breathe until he covers my second breast.

  Nurse AnnMarie has a hand on my shoulder. I don’t look at her face because I don’t want to know if she’s smirking condescendingly at me or providing a soothing motherly expression.

  I close my eyes and focus on the backs of my eyelids as Dr. Pruitt lifts my feet onto stirrups and gently opens my legs. He is quick. I’ll give him that.

  I flinch when the cold speculum hits my most private body part and grit my teeth while it slides inside me. I feel nothing else, and then it disappears as quickly as it was inserted.

  In moments, the doctor has a hold of my arm and he’s helping me to resume sitting. “Everything looks great,” he declares as he makes several notes in my file. He smiles at me when he meets my gaze. “AnnMarie will be back to give you the first shot. You’ll be good for three months with that. Do you have any questions?”

  I shake my head. I don’t even have any nouns or verbs. There is no way I could respond if I wanted to. Whatever. In a hundred years when I have a free night off work, maybe I’ll meet a knight in shining armor, he’ll sweep me off my feet, and I’ll be glad I’ve been taking birth control.

  “Okay. It was nice to meet you, Lucy. We’ll let you get dressed now. AnnMarie will get your sorted out.”

  In less than a minute the nurse returns with a syringe in hand. She gives me the shot and then leaves me to get dressed.

  I cannot get out of this office fast enough. Two strangers have just stared at my vagina. I wasn’t prepared for that. I’m still trembling. I probably will be for the rest of the day.

  Chapter 10

  Master Roman

  * * *

  I am in my office early Wednesday morning. Too early. The truth is I have not slept much since Monday. I hope the arrival of Lucy will help me relax, though that is probably wishful thinking. The next weeks will be trying. Difficult.

  Waiting for her to understand.

  Waiting for her to know.

  Waiting for her to be mine.

  I adjust my tie as I stare out the window, my gaze seeing nothing of the impeccably groomed backyard I know to be there. Instead I’m in my head.

  Am I doing the right thing in hijacking Lucy’s life and making it my own? I can’t be sure, but I have to trust my gut. I’m not usually wrong.

  I’m a Dom in every way. Always have been.

  My club, Surrender, is aptly named. The Dominants who frequent my club are seasoned and knowledgeable. My members are well-vetted. They must abide by strict rules, or they can find another club. I don’t mess around when it comes to safety, and I don’t give second chances to anyone.

  I’ve owned Surrender for fifteen years, and in that time, I have watched over the club as it grew into the premier coveted location in Seattle that it is today. I’m well aware of my reputation as a Dom, however, most of the lore is just that, lore.

  It is true that I am a demanding Dom with high expectations for my submissives. It is true that I’m difficult to get along with and go through personal assistants about as often as it rains in Seattle. It is also true that I don’t play with anyone in my club.

  I decided years ago when I first bought the place that it would be in my best interest to remain aloof and keep gossip about myself to a minimum. For this reason, although I keep a close eye on everyone else who comes through my front doors, my personal liaisons happen inside my club before it opens, after closing, or on nights when it is not open.

  Surrender is open Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. I try to make a point to pop in at least for a while every nigh
t we are open. I don’t always stay long. Julius has had things well under control at the club for years, and we have acquired the most efficient staff over the years that we are confident everything will run smoothly even if neither of us is there.

  Surrender is not my main source of income. It’s not even a primary source. I inherited my money, and I work hard for the wealth I’ve added to it. I come from a long legacy of money going back to my great grandfather. I also come from a long line of Dominants. It’s in my blood. My father was a Dom and my grandfather before him. Unfortunately, both of them are gone now, but I have inherited the family estate and maintain it to the same standards as they did.

  I’m a perfectionist. Perhaps that’s what makes me a Dominant. I expect everyone who works for me in my home, in my professional life, and at my club to do the highest quality work possible. And in return, I pay them well, far better than they could be making anywhere else.

  Not to imply that I haven’t earned every cent I make. I have a master’s degree in business, and I know how to manage not only my money but the finances of over a hundred clients as well.

  They say I’m a financial god. I never dispute the facts.

  I have worked hard. I have earned my place in society and inside my club. I have everything a man could possibly want.

  Except one thing.

  Her.

  Chapter 11

  Lucy

  * * *

  I have not slept enough. I know this, but there is nothing I can do about it. I was so nervous about this morning that I couldn’t sleep for more than a few restless minutes at a time. I tossed and turned all night. Every time I drifted off, I had ridiculous dreams.

  Master Roman starred in all of them. He was dominating me. I was usually on my knees in a position I’d learned from watching at his club. He didn’t even have to touch me for me to wake up over and over in a sweat, my panties wet from arousal.

  Each time I fell asleep, the dream picked up where it left off, slowly progressing. He was so intense, circling me, staring at me, judging me…