Leaving Roman
Surrender, Book Three
Becca Jameson
Copyright © 2020 by Becca Jameson
Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. And resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Newsletter
Acknowledgments
About the Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Author’s Note
Also by Becca Jameson
About the Author
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Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank all my fans who loved Raising Lucy and couldn’t get enough of Lucy and Roman! I know I couldn’t. Those two characters wouldn’t leave me alone. They weren’t done telling their story. I struggled to move on from them. That’s why Leaving Roman was born. Both books stand alone, but I just had to revisit Lucy and Roman to see where they were three years later.
About the Book
Lucy.
I’m restless.
I can’t put my finger on it.
I have all I’ve ever wanted.
I should not rock the boat of my perfect life.
Daddy takes care of every detail.
But there’s something missing.
I need more.
Even if it means risking everything.
Roman.
I’m worried.
I’ve never been more nervous.
All I want is for my little to be happy.
But I’m no longer sure I’m enough for her.
Especially when she’s so clearly full of doubt.
She wants more.
She deserves the world.
Is it time to let her go?
Chapter 1
Lucy
As I step through the enormous front doors of my home of three years, a heaviness weighs on my heart. This should be one of the most exciting days of my life.
I’m surrounded by people who care about me, all of them smiling and congratulating me on my accomplishments. I’ve not only graduated from college in three years, but I’ve done so with honors. They’re all proud of me. I’m proud of myself.
The ceremony was so uplifting. For two hours, I was surrounded by my peers, hundreds of other graduates all laughing and slapping each other on the backs and talking about job interviews and bright futures.
I felt like I fit in for every moment of the event. Like I was one of them. I even laughed with a group of girls as we stood in line to enter the stadium. I didn’t know them. My graduating class was huge. We were lined up by last names, waiting to go inside and take our seats.
No one around me knew a thing about my private life or my personal preferences in the bedroom. I was just Lucy Neill, honors graduate with a degree in business. My hair might have been longer than some, but that didn’t raise eyebrows. My clothing was always more modest than the other women, but today no one could see what I was wearing. We were all in robes.
I’m even wearing a touch of makeup today. Nothing over the top. Just a little mascara and some lip gloss. It’s all Master Roman has permitted me to wear, and I had to work on him for several days to get permission for this small concession.
I close my eyes for a moment as we step into the entryway. I don’t need to see the dark-wood foyer with high ceilings that echoes as we step on the hardwood. What I need to do is breathe.
I’m suffocating inside. Stressed in a way I can’t fully identify. It’s been growing for months, me worrying about this day and what will happen now that I’ve graduated. I don’t even know what I want or why I’m out of sorts lately, but I am.
No one’s waiting to greet us because the staff went with us to my graduation. Evelyn, our cook, has been preparing for my party this afternoon for days. I know she’s going to bustle off to the kitchen and pull out the parts that needed refrigeration.
Nancy and Weston, who run this house like a finely tuned string instrument, will also resume their duties now that we’re home.
Also entering through the front doors are two of Master Roman’s oldest and closest friends, Claudia and Julius, and Julius’s housemates, Levi and Beck. These people are essentially my family. They’re all I have, and I love them so much.
For three years, they have each taken a role in nurturing me. I’m not a child, of course. I’m a grown woman. I was twenty-two the first time I stepped into this foyer. I’m twenty-five now. But I’m not their equal. Not even close.
For one thing, they are all in their early forties. They have lived almost twice as long as I have and have had life experiences I’ve never dreamed of. They’re all wealthy, sophisticated, hard-working adults with busy lives and jobs.
I’m…not. And if Master Roman has his way, I never will be. I’m his submissive. His little girl.
And he is my Daddy.
Our choices might not be conventional, but they work for us. The roles we play in our relationship have suited us for over three years. I enjoy being a little. It fills a hole I never knew I needed filling until I came here.
These friends and employees of Master Roman know everything about our relationship. Every one of them is also in the lifestyle. The BDSM lifestyle, that is. None of them happen to have a little, but they each have their own kinks. They have a mutual respect, and that extends to me.
No one in this house judges me or Master Roman. They understand perfectly that both Master Roman and I get what we need from our arrangement. They play their parts in our dynamic when they come to the house.
It’s freeing. Liberating. Soothing.
It works.
Or it has worked for three years.
I’ve had concerns about what my future looks like for a while, and I haven’t brought those concerns to Master Roman. That’s my fault. I’m chicken. I don’t want to upset the perfect dynamic.
But something has to change, and I’ve never been more aware of that than I am right now with my heart heavy, my chest tight, my breathing shallow.
This party is for my graduation, and I’m about to rock the boat.
I silently follow everyone through the enormous foyer and down the hallway to the library. As soon as I reach the threshold to the room, I lift my gaze and smile for the first time since we left the ceremony.
Nancy has outdone herself turning this room into a party. She’s managed to make it tasteful enough that no one would readily question the age of the guest, while also adding little touches that fit my role—a much younger girl.
Streamers and ballo
ons announce the year and the event. A sheet cake that Evelyn has made has my school colors and “Congratulations Graduate” written on it. Normal stuff. Fun. Exciting. It’s everything I never would’ve dreamed I’d have on a day I never imagined would’ve come either.
Some of the decorations are a soft pink, the color Master Roman often dresses me in. The gifts on the table have a combination of wrapping that could go either way. College graduate. Twelve-year-old birthday party.
What I want to do is enter this room with everyone else and spend one afternoon as nearly their equal. I can’t erase the age gap, but I can pretend to be an adult for a few hours. I almost look like anyone else my age on the outside. Almost.
My hair is hanging loose down my back, the curls tamed as well as I could manage. I’m wearing an off-white pleated skirt that reaches just above my knees. I also have on a pale pink blouse with a V-neck that exposes a few inches of skin.
Over the blouse is an off-white jacket that matches the skirt. And finally, I have on off-white pumps I know cost a fortune. I look professional. Perhaps most of my peers were wearing more revealing clothing, but I didn’t stand out any more than usual in my modest outfit.
What my classmates didn’t know was that I wore full-cut panties like those of a young girl every day. On top of that, I’m wearing a training bra that matches my panties. If anyone ever saw these articles of clothing, they’d gasp.
I’ve rarely cared about this concession. In fact, most days I enjoy it.
Master Roman and I went around and around for weeks discussing what I would be permitted to wear when I began to venture outside his home to attend classes. Though I loved then, and still love now, dressing in whatever he chooses when I’m home, I want to blend in as well as possible when I’m in society.
Bras have forever been a point of contention between us. I was never permitted to wear one at any time when I first accepted this role. Young girls my age in our role play don’t wear bras. I had a very difficult time ignoring the fact that my breasts were hanging free, my nipples rubbing against my dresses. I felt exposed. It was embarrassing, but it was also arousing.
Master Roman knew that. That’s why he enforced the strict rule.
When I started taking classes on campus, we battled. Eventually, he consented to the training bras, which provided me with a modicum of protection while at the same time prevented me from choosing clothing that would be in any way revealing.
Win for Master Roman because he relaxed in the knowledge that no one would be overtly ogling me, while also being assured I would never let a single person, male or female, see my undergarments.
I got something out of this arrangement too. Sometimes I was grateful, and other times it was inconvenient. Because the truth was that wearing what Master Roman selected for me under my clothing kept me constantly aware of whose little girl I was when I wasn’t with him.
It gave me comfort. It excited me when I thought of the naughty training bra and babyish panties. I usually came home squirming and aroused, a low-level stimulation that I carried with me all the time.
Yes, we had an agreement. He chose my panties and bras. I chose my jeans and shirts and sweaters. His selections forced mine to be demure.
It’s not as if I have large boobs. I don’t. They barely fill an A cup. They are high and pert. Nevertheless, after three years, I still feel exposed—and admittedly titillated—by having them loose under my clothes.
I don’t have close friends at school. I don’t even want them. When I’m not at school, I’d always rather be with Master Roman.
As I glance around the room set for my party, I know I’m at a crossroads. I’m wondering, as I have for months, where I fit in now. What will I do next?
I suspect Master Roman wants me to return to spending my days at home as his little. He’s made it clear that I can work for him. That it would be a tremendous help if I joined his business and occupied the office attached to his where we could be together most of the time.
I love Master Roman with all my heart. I’ve never doubted this for a moment. But I’m afraid I need more. I don’t think I can live as his little twenty-four seven forever. That scares me. Rocking the boat scares me. Hurting Master Roman’s feeling scares me.
He has given me everything. I had nothing when I came to him. He has put a roof over my head, fed me, clothed me, nurtured me, and put me through college. I know he doesn’t feel like I owe him. Not at all. But it’s still hard to push boundaries I know he’s comfortable with anyway.
His gaze comes to me, and I know it’s time. “Lucy, why are you still standing there? Go change. I set out clothes for you. Everyone’s hungry. We’ll be waiting on the guest of honor to start this party.”
I swallow. There’s no doubt about his intentions. When I step foot in this home, I’m expected to go straight to my room and change into age-appropriate clothing that he has selected. Every single person in this room is fully aware of our dynamic. In fact, they have very infrequently seen me like this with my hair down, makeup on, and adult clothing.
The only incidences when they have witnessed this outside role I play were when they happened to be here meeting with Master Roman when I came home from class. I always stop by his office first to properly greet him and his guests before I change.
“Sir…” I swallow.
He stiffens, his gaze narrowing in that way he has of making me think twice about defying him. It’s a look I rarely see because I’m a very well-behaved young girl. I prefer not to be punished because it usually involves standing in a corner for long periods of time being ignored. It also often includes a very pink, sore bottom that chafes under my panties. And worst of all, the part I hate most, is orgasm denial.
For reasons I don’t question any longer, all of those things also arouse me, but I’d still rather remain in his good graces and have him smile at me approvingly any day of the week.
“Lucy?” He slowly approaches me as the others move farther into the room. They’ve hushed their conversations, but they give us a bit of space as if knowing like I do that I’m about to face the unknown. It’s just as unknown to them. Defying Master Roman is not my usual modus operandi.
Master Roman sets a hand on my shoulder and tips my chin back with his other hand. “What’s the problem?”
I meet his gaze. “Could I please enjoy this party wearing what I have on?” It’s the hardest question I’ve ever asked for reasons that I can’t fathom. I should be able to talk to him. Come to him with any concern. Renegotiate.
But I never do, so we’re not accustomed to this sort of thing. Neither of us. I’m the accommodating good girl who does as she’s told and is rewarded frequently with amazing sex and mind-altering orgasms.
His brow lifts higher. “Of course not. You know the rules.”
I swallow. I want to continue arguing, but for some reason I can’t. Not right now. Not in front of our guests. I never expected him to concede. It’s not as if it will kill me to do the status quo. But I had to try. I talked myself up to this. It opens a discourse for later. One I intend to continue. After I’ve spent half the evening in timeout with a burning ass that will sting every time my dress brushes against it.
I’ve even wondered if I didn’t dream up this plot in order to anger the beast. Push his buttons. Shake up our relationship a bit.
That might be partly true, but there’s no denying the fact that I also need to confront him and negotiate some changes.
For now, I’ve done all I can do. He turned me down, just as I suspected. “Yes, Sir.” I lower my gaze, already falling into my role. If I could remain in this outfit, even with the undergarments that are incongruent with my business attire, I could at least get a feel for what it would be like to be accepted as an adult in this crowd of his friends.
The moment he denied my request, however, I slid into the place I normally occupy. My heart rate slows at the same time. It’s a comfortable role, me being his little girl. I might have panicked the first seve
ral times he introduced me to his friends, but they have never flinched in their acceptance. Over the years, I have ceased to be concerned either. I play the part of a younger girl, and everyone goes along with it, even the staff.
It gives me something I never really had the opportunity to experience when I was a little girl. A carefree childhood with coloring books and dolls and free time. I missed out on that stage of life, and Master Roman offered it to me on a silver platter.
He still does every day. And I still relax in the knowledge that I don’t have to worry about anything beyond my age. He takes care of me. He sees to all my needs, including the carnal ones. I’m the luckiest little girl alive.
Why am I pushing this issue? Maybe I’ve been wrong to attempt to defy him. I’m not sure at all right now. But it niggles in my mind even while he stares down at me, his expression filled with silent reprimand.
His voice lowers so that only I can hear him, but his tone is stern. “Go to your room. Take off these inappropriate clothes, and put them down the laundry shoot. Remove the makeup. Fix your hair. Leave on nothing but your panties. You may stand in the corner of your bedroom until I come up.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment as my current outfit disappears from my imagination, leaving me in little girl panties and a training bra I’m not old enough to wear. His words affect me in the same way they always do. I’m irrationally aroused. My panties are wet. My nipples are tight and puckered against the thin cotton of my ridiculous adult-sized child’s pretend bra. The sort of thing little girls wear when they don’t need one yet. The sort of thing preteens wear to impress their friends and show their boobs are coming in. My breasts sway and dimple and abrade against my dresses. They heighten my arousal at all times. And that’s the goal.
Leaving Roman (Surrender Book 3) Page 1
