Leaving Roman (Surrender Book 3)

by Becca Jameson

  I flush and bite my lower lip, reminding myself about the details of that evening. The milk, the way he told me to use two hands, the fact that he insinuated in front of our friends that I might wet the bed. I had been furious with him earlier when he turned down my request not to change, but I had been more turned on than ever that night also. “Yes, Daddy,” I admit barely above a whisper.

  “While you were in school, it was easy to maintain the age of twelve most of the time. I could pretend you were in middle school and needed to do your homework. But with this shift in our dynamic, I’d rather separate the two new Lucys completely. The adult Lucy who goes to work, and the much younger Lucy who lets me make all other decisions.”

  I nod, squeezing my pussy tight, unable to keep from swaying forward. “I’d like that, Daddy.”

  “You should expect more rules and more discipline at home. Younger girls inadvertently misbehave more.”

  I nod again, unable to speak. He can’t possibly know how wet I am. How badly I need him to reach between my legs and stroke my pussy. I’m shocked by this conversation also. I should have seen the signs though. More and more often lately he has dressed me younger. It wasn’t until the night of my graduation that he treated me so.

  A tight ball forms in my belly. I won’t dare ask him to have sex with me. He’ll decide when and where and how. I’ve learned one thing in the last few years: little girls who whine about needing their pussy filled get the opposite.

  So, I purse my lips.

  “Good. I’m glad we had this chat. Let’s go home.”

  Chapter 28

  Master Roman

  Two months later…

  The sound of Lucy’s voice coming from the kitchen makes me smile as I glance at the clock. Six thirty. Of course. She nearly always walks in the kitchen door at six thirty. There are other voices. One of them is Weston who has picked her up and driven her home. One is Evelyn who is most assuredly greeting Lucy with excitement like she always does, giving her a rundown on what’s for dinner.

  I used to sit in my office down the hall and wait for her to come to me. I did this for three years. I rarely do so anymore. I’m impatient. I want her lips on mine now.

  Shoving from my desk, I make my way at a rapid clip toward the large kitchen. When I reach the doorway, I stop and smile broader. She hasn’t noticed me yet. Her back is to me. She’s telling Evelyn an animated story about the drive, and I tune it out when I realize Weston has let her drive again. Her stories make me nervous.

  Yeah, I let her get her permit a month ago. She begged me until I realized no amount of punishing her was ever going to convince her to stop. She’s ready to get her license any time. Not because I take her out driving very often. I don’t. Weston does. And I’m certain he lets her drive home most nights when he picks her up.

  Weston sees me leaning in the doorway and winks, his attention returning to the woman who captivates my entire household. Even Nancy brushes past me to join the homecoming, the three of them acting as if Lucy has been gone nine months instead of nine hours.

  Lucy’s story involves hand motions and laughter from everyone. I’m mesmerized by her voice, but more so by her sexy clothes. She has on a gray pencil skirt and a white blouse. The jacket that matches the skirt is slung over a bar stool at the island. Her legs are shapely and smoking hot. Her black pumps make me salivate.

  My gaze travels back up her body, stopping at the lacey bra strap that makes me fist my hands at my sides. Not because I don’t like her wearing it. On the contrary, I’ve realized she is damn sexy in adult lingerie. I never buy the clothes she wears to work, but I do select most of her lingerie, and I know she’s been pleased with my choices.

  As my gaze lifts to the professional bun at the back of her head, my fingers twitch. I can’t wait to take that down, let the long locks tumble down her back, run my fingers through it, and then brush it out until it’s a frizzy mess of curls that are just as sexy, especially in ponytails with wide ribbons.

  My cock jumps to attention. I’m in love with two different versions of Lucy now. The professional adult, and the little girl. They both make my heart race and my dick stiffen. I’ve even reached a point where I often fuck the adult woman when she comes in the door before she changes. Or in the morning after she’s gotten ready for work.

  She’s come to realize that if I see her before she leaves, I will undoubtedly bend her over my desk and fuck her quickly. I love sending her out the door flushed and disoriented. I won’t be able to do that anymore after she gets her own car. She’d get in an accident.

  I can’t wait to touch her another second, so I shove off the door frame and saunter across the room. She either senses my presence or catches someone else glancing at me, because she turns around, and I’m graced with every bit of the excitement she’s used to tell her driving story. Her eyes are dancing. Her smile is huge. Her face is flushed.

  She doesn’t move, but her gaze roams up and down my body appreciatively. I love that she does that every night. It makes the fact that she goes to an office worth the hours apart.

  Evelyn turns around quickly and stirs something on the stove. Nancy backs out of the room. And Weston goes back out the back door. Scattering. They know how possessive I am when I get my turn.

  Lucy bites her bottom lip, her smile telling me she’s on to me, but that she also doesn’t mind my nightly stalking tendencies. She even takes a step back, but I lunge forward, wrap an arm around her waist, and haul her against my chest. My other hand splays on the middle of her back.

  I let my gaze shift down to her cleavage, enjoying the exquisite lace of her bra. It took me a few weeks to get a grip on my emotions when she left for work every day dressed to kill, knowing that men all over her office would be looking at her longingly.

  One hard glare from Lucy the first day she exited the bathroom dressed in a thin blouse and sexy bra put me in my place. I never said a word. To do so would be suicide.

  I’m over it. So what if men stared at her at work? They don’t get to strip her of these clothes at the end of the day and drive their cocks into her. I do.

  My gaze wanders back up to her face, silently admiring her makeup. After a heartbeat, I descend on her, my lips claiming hers as if I’m a man dying of starvation, and she’s the last morsel of food on earth.

  She moans into my mouth, her hands coming to my waist and fisting in my shirt.

  I press her back so that we’re glued together. God, I love her. When I finally draw back, I’m panting, and I need to be inside her. I speak to Evelyn without removing my gaze from Lucy. “What time are you serving dinner?” I ask in a husky voice.

  Evelyn, bless her, doesn’t turn around. “Eight. Don’t forget Julius is coming. He’ll be here at about seven forty-five.”

  “Right. Thank you for reminding me.” I have one hour and fifteen minutes. I’m not wasting a second. I grab Lucy’s hand and nearly drag her from the kitchen and down the hallway to the back stairs. I consider stepping into her little girl room and fucking her there because it’s closer, but I’m in the mood to take her from behind in front of the wall of mirrors in the master bath.

  We pass her special room and keep going. She’s giggling when we step into the master bedroom and I kick the door closed. “Sir…”

  God. The sound of that one word from her lips unmans me. I can’t wait until we get to the bathroom. Instead I spin around, flatten her to the bedroom door, and resume kissing the life out of her while my fingers work on her buttons. I don’t dare get overzealous and yank the blouse open, ruining it. Apparently, my little girl has an aversion to wasting anything. She read me the riot act the one and only time I ruined a blouse of hers.

  My fingers are shaking, but I manage to slide each button through its hole and then ease the blouse down her shoulders. I drop the silk on the floor, not caring about preserving it further than I already have. My hands come to her breasts, molding to the small globes, squeezing them and pressing them together.

&
nbsp; She moans as her eyes slide shut and her mouth falls open.

  I finally release her tits and find the strength to finish the short distance to the bathroom. With her hand in mine, I tug her the last few yards.

  “Sir?” She’s confused. I like her that way. I like to keep things fresh between us. Keep her on her toes. Shake things up. In other words, I like to fuck her on every surface of the house and in every position.

  When we step into the bathroom, I flip on the lights and guide her to the vanity. “Hands on the counter,” I command.

  She flattens her palms on the cool marble. I meet her gaze in the mirror for a moment and then shift my attention to her skirt. I unzip it quickly and tug it over her hips, crouching behind her to help her step out of it. I leave the heels.

  My hands trail back up her legs and over her hips, admiring the way she looks in the white lace thong that matches her bra. Her bottom is creamy white and begging for attention. I squeeze her cheeks, spreading them open as I mold my hands to her exquisite rear end.

  Unable to go another moment without driving into her, I tug the lace over her hips and down her legs, tapping her ankles one at a time so she can step out of this garment also. Not a chance in hell would I yank one of her thongs from her body. The penalty for that might be worse than ruining a blouse.

  Left in nothing but her push up bra and heels, she melts my heart. She is my world. I can’t help but stare at her for a long time in the mirror. Perfection. By day and by night. Thank God my friends talked me into compromising with this woman. I’d be lost if I’d let her go over something as stupid as permitting her to be a grown-up half the time.

  I step back and quickly remove my own clothes—dress shirt, slacks, shoes, socks, underwear. The moment I’m naked, I grasp my length and stroke it from base to tip. I’m going to come quickly when my cock enters her. I don’t care. I’ll take her again later tonight. When she’s no longer an adult.

  I grab her hips. “Lean forward, blossom. Hold on. I’m so horny, I’m not going to last.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Her voice is breathy, the way I like it.

  I nudge her legs apart. “Watch me fuck you in the mirror.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she repeats, her eyes lowering to her pussy.

  I slide one hand around to flatten it on her belly. The other I bring behind, reaching for her folds.

  She moans the second I part her lower lips and find her wet heat. She’s soaked, as usual. I thrust two fingers into her, making her gasp as she lifts onto her toes. Her head falls back.

  “Watch us, blossom. Watch or I’ll stop.”

  She rights herself quickly, meeting my gaze before glancing down at her pussy.

  I thrust into her again several times and then press those fingers against her clit. “Give it to me, blossom. Let me hear you scream, and then I’ll enter you.” I pinch her clit between two fingers.

  She cries out, her voice echoing in the bathroom.

  I smile. I don’t give a single shit who hears her. I love the sound of her voice when she screams out her release.

  The pulsing of her clit against the pressure of my fingers is my undoing. Before she’s fully finished, I grab her hip, line my cock up with her entrance, and drive home.

  She groans loudly, her head falling forward this time.

  “Eyes on the mirror,” I grit out as I hold myself steady deep inside her.

  She whimpers as she obeys.

  “That’s my good girl.” I hold her hip with one hand and reach for her hair with the other, single-handedly unclasping the clip in her hair and dropping it on the counter. The long locks fall in a tangle down her back, making me even hotter.

  She cut it a few months ago when I gave her permission. She also got layers that lighten the heaviness. But she surprised me by only letting them take off a few inches. Compromise.

  I bury my hand in the thick, luscious tangle of curls and pull her head back a few inches, forcing her gaze to meet mine in the mirror. “Ready?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispers.

  I hold her like this, not releasing her hair or her hip as I fuck her hard. It doesn’t take long. I’ve been horny for hours, waiting for her to come home, anticipating this damn bra she left the house wearing and the thin silk blouse that didn’t fully conceal the sexy lace.

  After less than a dozen strokes, I suck in a breath and bottom out inside her, my cock pulsing hard to empty itself. I lean against her back, catching my breath. A minute passes before I straighten to my full height and ease out of her.

  She moans. I haven’t given her a second orgasm. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. I know it leaves her unfulfilled. I do it on purpose so she’ll look at me the way she’s looking at me now for hours. Like she’s right on the edge and would give anything for me to let her fall over the precipice.

  Her eyes are glazed, and she licks her lips, shuddering. She doesn’t lift her hands from the counter nor does she close her thighs. She knows better than to do that. I may have moved into new territory, giving my girl something she needs, part-time adulthood, but I’m still in charge. Always.

  She watches me as I step away from her, grab a washcloth, wet it, and clean myself off. I drop it in the hamper, conscious of her soft sigh.

  I leave her standing in the bathroom and head for our bedroom closet. I pull on fresh underwear and a pair of black slacks, and then I grab the various garments I’ve previously selected for her and return to the bathroom. I drop the clothes on the counter several feet from her.

  I meet her gaze in the mirror as I unclasp her bra and let it fall down her arms. She lifts first one hand and then the other to let me remove it entirely. Next, I lower to her feet and pull off her heels, setting them aside.

  I reach up with one hand and grab the panties I’ve selected from the counter. “Legs closer, blossom.”

  She steps her feet together.

  “Good girl.” I tap one ankle, and she lifts her foot to step into the panties. I do the same to the other foot and then pull the cotton material up her legs. She shudders as I reach her thighs, whimpering.

  I’m fully aware of what I’ve done. So is she. It’s not the first time I’ve forced her to keep my come in her. It’s running down her inner thighs already, soaking the elastic of her panties as I pull them over her hips. I tug them high and then smooth one hand down over her bottom and reach between her legs from behind to press the cotton against her pussy, ensuring the panties become completely soaked with my come.

  I bring my other hand down over the high front and press two fingers against her clit.

  She moans.

  “That’s my good girl. Let Daddy get you ready for dinner, blossom.”

  I watch her in the mirror as her gaze slowly travels down her body to her panties. Her lip comes between her teeth, and she shivers at the sight. She shuffles her feet a bit.

  I knew she would hesitate, so I’m watching her reaction closely. “Do you like them, blossom? I know they probably feel different, but you’ll get used to them. They’re thicker for younger girls, just in case you have an accident.” The cotton panties are pink with white hearts on them. There’s a ruffle across her bottom, and I fluff it so that she twists sideways to see it.

  She won’t quite be able to close her legs wearing them. They will hold my come against her pussy easily, soaking the dense cotton at the same time, making them even heavier and thicker.

  I don’t wait for a verbal reaction. I don’t need words. The goose bumps on her skin and the flush on her cheeks tells me she’s aroused. That’s all that matters.

  I grab the new dress next. “Arms up.”

  She lifts her arms above her head, her breasts rising, her stiff nipples rosy.

  I slide the cotton dress over her head. It’s also a toddler cut. Plain pink cotton. The neck is rounded. The sleeves are only two inches wide at her shoulders with a ruffle that stands up. The front is flat and not cut for a woman, like all her dresses. It’s tight against her chest, making her nipple
s obvious. The seam that separates the bodice from the skirt lands about halfway down her belly so that the slightly fuller skirt flows out above her panties.

  It’s the shortest dress I’ve ever put her in. I knew this when I ordered it. It is about an inch too short, leaving her panties visible below the hem. “Perfect,” I declare as I run my hands up and down her middle, palming her tits and pinching her nipples before releasing her.

  She squirms, tugging at the front of the dress before she can stop herself. This doesn’t happen often anymore. She knows how much trouble she’ll be in if she fiddles with her titties.

  She catches herself too late, sucking in a breath and lifting her gaze to meet mine.

  I anticipated this might happen, the overwhelming sensation of the thicker potty-training panties throwing her off her game. I lift a brow.

  She licks her lips. She doesn’t bother to apologize.

  “Is something wrong with the front of your dress?” I ask, forcing her to verbalize her infraction.

  “No, Sir.” Her voice is soft. “I’m sorry, Sir. It’s perfect.” She reaches behind her back and clasps her hands, thrusting her shoulders back.

  I lower my gaze to the incredibly sexy view of her small breasts flattened under the cut of the toddler dress, her nipples hard points. I open the drawer next to the sink and remove the bane of her existence.

  She takes a step back, but I spin her around so that her bottom is against the counter. I pull her dress back over her head and set it on the marble. Without hesitation, I pinch one of her nipples hard over and over, pulling it outward until she cringes at the burn. When I’m satisfied, I clamp the offended flesh with her least favorite, most painful nipple clamp.

  I repeat the action on the other side, listening to her heavy breathing and whimpers as I torment her nipples. Next, I pull out the chair from under the makeup counter and sit, angling her to the side and lowering her over my thighs. I grab her hands and clasp them at her lower back with one of mine, ensuring her breasts are hanging between my thighs.