Convincing Leah (Surrender Book 9)

by Becca Jameson

  I push to sitting, my hand coming into contact with something hard. When I glance to my left, I see my computer bag right where Craig set it before I fell asleep.

  He didn’t have to do that, but it was probably the nicest gesture anyone has ever made for me. I smile. He has no idea how far he’s gone toward endearing himself to me.

  I went into a full panic when he saw my second pen name. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that possibility before he opened my computer and starting clicking files.

  Thank God I’ve never published anything under that pen. I’d be mortified. Craig may have gone out of his way to ensure I felt comfortable knowing he would not snoop in my computer, but if that name were available online, he would eventually be too curious not to google it until he found me.

  He won’t. Lizzy Brant doesn’t exist. I doubt she ever will. She’s an alter ego I indulge in but have no plans to share with the world. I’m surely not the only author with a stash of secret books not suitable for public consumption.

  I leave my computer on the bed, slip to the floor, and pad toward the attached bath. After using the toilet, I wash my hands and stare at myself in the mirror.

  My braids are a mess, so I pull out the hair bands from the ends, brush out my long curls, and then decide to do something I’ve never done before. I pull each side up into pigtails. I don’t put them too high on my head like a baby, but lower, behind my ears. I still look young like this. I know Craig will like it.

  When I open the bedroom door, I listen closely first to make sure there aren’t any unfamiliar voices in the house. I’m not sure if everything has been delivered yet, but I don’t want to run into a stranger.

  Finally, I tentatively step into the hallway. The door to the room across the hall is ajar, and an odd scent fills my nose. Paint.

  I’m smiling as I push the door open and then gasp at the sight before me. “Wow.”

  Craig is on a ladder at the far end of the room. He turns his head to look at me. “What do you think? Do you like this shade of pink?”

  I shuffle into the room. “I can’t believe you did all this while I slept.” The furniture he ordered has all arrived and it’s currently in the center of the room covered with a clear plastic tarp. Craig is almost done painting too. He only needs a few more strokes.

  “I love it. It’s so pretty.”

  “Give me two seconds to finish here and then I’ll come down.”

  I watch, mesmerized by his broad shoulders and the muscles in his arms as he pushes the roller up and down the last several spots, covering the yellow paint. He’s wearing a torn older T-shirt and jeans that have seen better days. At some point, he must have snuck quietly into the bedroom to change.

  “There,” he declares as he descends the ladder. “You like it?” He steps toward me.

  I giggle. “You have paint on your cheek and in your hair.”

  He holds out his hands, grinning. “I’m sure I do. Hug?”

  I back up, shaking my head. “No way. You’ll ruin my dress.”

  “You changed your hair.”

  I reach for one of the wild pigtails and smooth my hand down it. It’s poofy and huge from the braid. “Do you like it?” I ask tentatively. It suddenly seems important that he finds it acceptable. I crave his praise.

  “I love it. You’re adorable.” When he reaches me, he leans over and kisses my lips, careful not to touch any other part of me. “You must be starving too. Let me get you some lunch and then I’ll shower while you eat.”

  I follow him down the hallway. Several boxes line the wall, and I’m giddy to see what’s in them.

  “How about chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese?” he asks as we enter the kitchen.

  “Is it from a can?” I ask hopefully.

  He faces me, looking skeptical. “Yes. Is that okay?”

  I grin. “It’s perfect. I love that kind.”

  He points at the table. “Sit on the far end so you can see the TV while you eat. I’ll let you watch cartoons while I shower.”

  I grin wider. I have no idea why I spent so many years insisting I couldn’t be little. So far, I’m loving this treatment. I have no idea if I’ll wake up tomorrow still as excited as I am today, but it feels right to me for now.

  Maybe I’m escaping the real world. I mean, I know I am. I’m ignoring what happened to me. I’m ignoring the fact that I’m too scared to go back to my apartment. I’m also ignoring my work and the fact that I should be well into my next novel by now. All that is on the back burner while I deal.

  Craig brings me a sippy cup of milk. “Drink that while you wait. You’ve got to have low blood sugar.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I lift it up and drink it all pretty quickly. I was thirsty. “Can I have more?”

  “Yes, but let me get food in front of you first. I don’t want you so full of milk that you can’t eat your lunch.” He’s already got the soup on the stove and is flipping my grilled cheese.

  “I used to make grilled cheese and chicken noodle soup for me and my mom,” I tell him for some reason as the memory comes to me.

  “I bet you were a fantastic cook and took good care of your mom, sweet girl. And I’m certain she appreciated everything you did for her.”

  “She did. She told me ten times a day, and she often cried because she felt bad about what I had to do for her. I didn’t mind though. She was my mom. I didn’t want anyone to come and take me away from her. I knew I had to be good and strong and brave and grownup, so I was.”

  “You were an angel, sweetheart. The best child ever alive.” He came to the table with steaming soup and a sandwich cut into triangles. After setting them in front of me, he plants his hands on the table and leans close. “It’s time for you to let someone take care of you, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, Sir.” I’m starting to agree, and he’s the best Daddy alive. I haven’t called him Daddy out loud yet, but I know I will soon. Either consciously or it will slip out. I know it will melt him. This is the life he craves. I just hope he isn’t too devastated if I can’t maintain this role forever.

  “Be careful. Wait a few minutes to start eating. It’s too hot. I don’t want you to burn your mouth, okay?” He lifts a brow.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He picks up my empty cup and takes it to the counter to refill it. “I want you to drink all of this, but I also want you to eat every bite, so make sure the food gets in your tummy first.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He turns toward the living room and reaches high up on one of the shelves next to the television to grab the remote. After turning on the television, he selects a channel with cartoons. “Is this one okay?”

  “Yes, Sir.” It’s been so long since I let myself enjoy cartoons that I don’t know any of them. Whatever he picked would be fine.

  He sets the remote back on that shelf way above my reach and turns around. “I put parental settings on the television so you can’t inadvertently watch anything not suitable for your age, but I don’t want you playing with the remote either. Let Daddy do it. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir.” I bite my lip and shuffle my weight on the chair. I’m aware of two things at once. I’m sitting on my panties because my dress isn’t long enough to tuck under my bottom, and I’m wet. Horny. Heart-racingly aroused.

  The way he’s taken control of everything—exactly as he’d warned me—is hot.

  “I’ll be back in ten minutes after I clean up, sweetheart.” He stops next to me to kiss my forehead. “Stay in this seat until your plate is clean and then put your dishes in the dishwasher and you can move to the couch. You may take your milk with you as long as the lid is on.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Now that I’ve committed to this experiment, his every word is driving my arousal higher. I’m starting to understand the benefits of the dynamic. I’m sure it’s not for everyone. Hell, I didn’t think it was for me either. But maybe it is. Eve is going to gloat for ten years.

  Speaking of which,
I should call her. I’m not ready to talk about anything yet though, so I’ll ask Daddy to call her and reassure her I’m safe and happy and will call her when I feel up to it.

  Correction. I’ll have Daddy call Colton and relay the message. Eve is probably at work today. It’s the middle of the day on Friday. She’s permitted to use her phone when she’s at work, obviously. She’s fully adult and a formidable accountant for a huge firm by day. It’s amazing how she transforms into completely little when she returns to the house she shares with Colton.

  Since I won’t be communicating with her as an adult and neither will Craig on my behalf, it seems better to reach her at home after work.

  My soup and sandwich have cooled, so I pick up a wedge of grilled cheese and moan around the first bite. It’s delicious. Daddy really knows how to cook. The soup is good too. Just like I remember it. I buy it from time to time for my apartment, but it’s been a while. I’ve gotten in the habit of eating frozen dinners more often than not.

  I get sucked into the cartoon and manage to finish all of my food before it’s over. I slide down from my chair and take my plate and bowl to the dishwasher during a commercial.

  With my sippy cup in hand, I curl up in the corner of the sectional and let myself indulge in the laziest activity known to mankind. Cartoons.

  Daddy comes in a bit later and leans over the back of the couch to kiss my forehead. His hair is damp and he smells like the scent of his soap and shampoo and deodorant combined. I love the way he smells.

  He points to the sippy cup in my hands. “Finish your milk, sweet girl. I mean it.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “If I let you watch cartoons for a while longer, will you stay right here so I can unpack some of these boxes and surprise you with your room all finished?”

  I nod, grinning. “I can’t wait to see it. Is the paint dry enough?”

  “I did the lower half of the walls first to be sure you wouldn’t get paint on your little fingers if you touched it.” He lifts my hand and kisses my fingertips. “I’ll have to leave the furniture a few inches from the walls for now, but you’ll be able to get the full effect. It will need at least another day to dry before you sleep in there. I wouldn’t want you to inhale those fumes.”

  I reach up with one hand and pull him down to me by the neck, kissing him in gratitude. “Thank you, Sir.”

  He pats my head and then leaves me to watch cartoons.

  It’s hard to concentrate on the TV, partially because I don’t know the storyline for this new one that just started, and partly because I’m listening closely to the noises behind me coming from the hallway and the new room. I’m eager to see the finished product.

  Am I in over my head? Rushing this? Is Craig rushing me? Or Master Quinten? It was his suggestion that I go all-in for a week. I know he has my best interests in mind. If Master Quinten thinks I should give twenty-four-seven age play a try in order to help me survive the stress of being kidnapped, I have no reason to doubt his decision. I can do this. It’s enticing and exciting. It’s taking my mind off my abduction. Plus, I haven’t had a single thought about T since I woke up from my nap.

  If I could, I would turn off the television and force myself to concentrate on coming up with a plot for my next Suzanne Richards book. But I can’t focus anyway. I’m starting to worry the muse is not with me on that new series. It’s scary. I’ve never once had this much trouble getting a plot together.

  On top of that, Lizzy Brant keeps peeking around the corner at me, one brow lifted. Tempting me mercilessly.

  I started writing Lizzy books a few years ago. I have quite a few stories in my folder already. She’s my side indulgence. My reward. I let myself work on her stories for one hour a day and only if I’ve accomplished my goals for my Suzanne persona. After all, Suzanne makes the money.

  It’s been weeks since I opened my latest Lizzy novel. I miss being in her skin but I haven’t earned the privilege of stepping into her world for a while. I’m behind. Suzanne is behind.

  I set my empty sippy cup on the end table, curl my feet up under me, and lean my head on the arm of the sofa, becoming so small that I feel like no one would even see me here.

  I don’t know what’s been wrong with me lately. Even before this week, I haven’t been myself. I’ve never suffered writer’s block like this. Something has been keeping me from getting into Suzanne’s headspace and writing the books I’ve loved for many years.

  I first started slipping when I met Craig. I assumed it was because I became a bit obsessed with him and lost focus. I only saw him twice a week because that’s all I permitted myself, but I’ve looked forward to his phone calls since the first day we did a scene together.

  I knew right off the bat Craig was a firm Dom, and I loved it. The next morning when I spoke to Eve, she told me he was a Daddy. She actually gloated about it, teasing me that he might bring out my inner little.

  In my mind, she was full of it. How could I have an inner little if I never was little in the first place? I don’t even have a point of reference. I don’t honestly know what little girls do all day if they aren’t cooking and cleaning and looking after their mom. It’s all I know.

  Looking back, I would say that from the moment I met Craig, a seed was planted in my head. I still outwardly and internally protested the possibility that I could experiment with age play, but in retrospect, I’ve been daydreaming about what it might be like for weeks.

  I can’t wrap my head around giving myself permission to indulge in something so frivolous. I don’t know how to relax and be little. It’s ingrained in me that being naughty, playing idly, and letting someone take care of me are irresponsible and selfish concepts.

  The luxuries that most children have weren’t in the cards for me. I didn’t even watch TV. Whenever I had downtime as a child, my mother was usually sleeping, often on the couch. I didn’t want to turn on the television and disturb her, so I quietly slid into my own world in my head and wrote stories in my notebooks.

  Sometimes I would read them to my mother. At the time, I thought they were amazing, and my mom always smiled wide and clapped as if I were the best writer in the world. I knew it was silly. She was just indulging me.

  It wasn’t until I was in high school that a teacher took me aside and told me I was extraordinarily talented and should try to make a living as an author.

  I don’t have a college degree or any formal training. I couldn’t have afforded to go to a university, and it never entered my mind. But I can tell a story. No one had to educate me on that subject. My teachers gave me hundreds of tips that helped me get started, and the rest is history.

  I’ve been writing fantasy and sci-fi for over ten years. I make a good living. People like my books. The reviews are mostly positive. I love fantasy. It lets me escape into a make-believe world where I make all the rules and control the environment my characters live in.

  Something changed in me though when I met Craig. I’m not certain why. I don’t blame him by any stretch of the imagination. He’s not at fault here. I think I was already wobbling on the edge of an odd precipice, teetering back and forth.

  Craig caught my attention and sucked me out of my normal routine. Even though it makes no sense because it’s not like I’ve spent every waking moment with him since we met, he has still consumed a lot of my thoughts since that day. Naughty thoughts of hard spankings and amazing orgasms.

  I think I’ve been scared to give him more of me. Afraid of the path he might lead me down. The path to being his little. I’d spent so many years denying I could ever sample age play that I’d convinced myself it wasn’t in the cards.

  I’ve watched others, especially Eve, from the sidelines, secretly a bit jealous of them for being able to loosen up and relax. I even know some amazing Daddies. Colton is perfect for Eve. Master Kellen with Sabine. Master Hudson with Cindy. And of course, Master Roman, the owner of Surrender, is perfect for his little, Lucy.

  I’ve spent so many years denying
any interest that it’s become part of me. People at the club know I’m a sub. They also know I have no desire to entertain the possibility of age play.

  What if this sticks and I start spending time as Craig’s little? How will I explain this to all the people I know who have listened to me deny the possibility all this time? Eyebrows will lift through the ceiling. What will people say?

  I squeeze my eyes closed, ignoring the cartoon entirely as I curl up tighter and become even smaller in the corner of the couch. My mind is running in ten different directions. I’m trying to piece everything together.

  I think I’ve been wound up like a top, waiting to unravel for a while now. Unable to get my work done because of the pressure that’s been building. Maybe it would have exploded on its own and I would have ended up in nearly this same position soon, but having a crazy fan kidnap me sent me right over the edge. I snapped.

  Am I hiding? Yes. Maybe that’s okay though. Maybe it’s what I need. Obviously, this is something I need to try. It makes sense that I might like to go back and recreate some of my childhood, the parts I missed out on.

  I have to give myself permission to let go of the control I’ve held on to so tightly for so long. Craig is beyond willing to catch me and nurture me and take care of me. It’s not altruistic on his part. He wants this. He craves it more than I can fully grasp.

  I want it too. I just pray one or both of us don’t get hurt. I can’t visualize doing this forever. A week. Maybe two. After that? I don’t know. What if I get past this and decide I don’t like it? It puts a lot of pressure on me that Craig is quickly rearranging his house to suit my needs.

  What if I fail to be the perfect little girl he deserves?

  Chapter 17

  Craig

  My heart is so full as I stare down at Leah. She’s asleep again, curled up in the corner of the sectional. I’m sure she’s emotionally drained and going to need more sleep and lots of naps for a while.

  She has the front of her dress pulled over her knees. The back has ridden high enough for me to see her panties and her sweet bottom. Her knees are tucked up tight to her chest. Her pigtails are all over the place.