Convincing Leah (Surrender Book 9)

by Becca Jameson

  “How nice to be able to pick anything you want without having to worry about rushing it.”

  He nods. “Yep.” He lifts a hand to my hair and absently plays with the curls. “What about you? Do you enjoy writing? Do you think you’ll do it forever?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure. The writing part is fun. The administrative part sucks. And then there are the fans. I’ve been very careful to make sure no one knows who I am, but I still have to deal with some rabid idiots who like to harass me. Some days I’m not sure it’s worth it.”

  He freezes. “You have fans harassing you? Is that normal?”

  I sigh. “I don’t know. It’s frustrating. It’s really just the one guy. I mean I guess it’s a man. Who could really know?”

  I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. Craig looks like he’s going to personally hunt the guy down and strangle him.

  “Does he email you?”

  “Yep. Nearly every day. Sometimes I don’t open them.”

  “What the hell is he bothering you about?”

  “He doesn’t like how I ended my last series. It was six books long. He wanted more. He has even outlined a better ending to book six so I can keep writing more books in the series. But I’ve moved on. I’m focused on my next series.”

  “Are you serious?” Craig sits up straighter.

  “Yep.” I pat his thigh. “Chill, big guy. It’s no big deal. Just annoying.”

  “It sounds like a big deal. It sounds like a Stephen King novel.”

  I groan. “Yeah. I know it. Misery. I try not to think about it. It’s not like he can find me. He doesn’t know my real name or where I live. Well, he knows I live in Seattle, but that’s vague.”

  Craig is frowning. “If he wants to, he can find you, sweetheart.”

  “Well, he won’t. Why would he? He’s just a crazy fan who’s sad the story ended.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  I pat his leg again. “You don’t have to. I don’t like it either, but that’s life.”

  “When are you going to tell me your pen name?” His face softens, thank God. I don’t care for the overbearing, frowning Craig.

  I shrug. “We’ll see.”

  “Why won’t you tell me?” he teases, tugging my hair and leaning into me. “I bet I could come up with a way to get it out of you.” He kisses my neck.

  I shove at him playfully. “Oh no you don’t. I’m certain you have an arsenal of methods of persuasion. Let’s not go there.”

  He wiggles both brows. “Let’s go there. I could tie you to my bed and torture you with my mouth until you tell me. Also, that would distract you so that you forget about going home entirely.”

  I stiffen at the visual. My nipples do too. The thought of being tied to his bed is enticing. I might like to do it sometime. Not today, but maybe another day.

  What the hell am I thinking? I groan.

  “What’s wrong now?” he asks.

  “What are we doing?”

  He glances around, being silly. “We’re sitting on my couch. I’m kissing your neck and trying to convince you that I enjoy spending time with you.”

  I lick my lips. “I like spending time with you too, but we both know this isn’t going to work. We’re too different. I’m worried you think if you lure me into your web, I’ll come around to your way of thinking and let you feed me with a rubber-coated toddler fork.”

  He laughs. “The visual is enticing. Maybe instead of tying you to my bed, I should tie you to a kitchen chair and show you how nice it can be to let someone take care of you.”

  “I don’t need someone to take care of me, Craig.”

  He winces. “Of course, you don’t need someone to take care of you. It’s not about that. I don’t need a new BBQ pit either, but I’d sure like one that has four burners, so I’m going to get one anyway. You don’t have to need something to enjoy it.”

  I scrunch up my face. “That was so convoluted, I barely followed your line of thinking.”

  He chuckles, his fingers playing with my hair again. It feels good, and I realize some of what he’s saying is true. I’ve denied myself most of life’s pleasures for the simple reason that it’s embedded in me. I don’t know any other way.

  Craig is the first man I’ve let even remotely close to me in a long time. He’s kind and gentle and caring. There’s no reason for me to be so standoffish with him. I can’t help it though. I’m a hot mess, but that’s not his problem.

  I wish I were the sort of person who could relax and enjoy the little things in life. Let someone open doors for me and make me breakfast. Let someone hold me in the night and play with my hair.

  Instead, I’ve allowed myself human contact like that for two hours a few nights a week. It’s like a treat. It’s contrived and not real, and I’m sure a psychiatrist would have a field day with my dating habits. Not that I’ve ever seen a counselor. I shudder inwardly at the thought.

  Craig meets my gaze. “I don’t have all the answers, sweetheart. I don’t even have most of the answers. But I like being with you. When I’m not with you, I think about the next time I will see you. I don’t know why you hold me at arm’s length, but I don’t believe it’s personal. I think you have baggage I’m not aware of yet.

  “I didn’t really see myself as ready to move on, nor was I looking for someone the night I first saw you, but you crawled right under my skin without even knowing it, and now every time we talk or see each other, it grows. I know you’re scared and you panic at the thought of dating. I know you’d rather keep things safe in your tidy little box, only interacting on the phone and at the club. But life isn’t always about boxes and safety. Sometimes we have to take risks.”

  My chest is rising and falling with every breath as I listen to him. He has valid points. “I get that, Craig, but aren’t we just postponing the inevitable? We could play house together for a while and ignore the elephant in the room, but in the end, you’re going to grow frustrated that I won’t submit to you the way you wish I would, and I’m going to back off every time you try to Daddy me.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you protest a bit too much?”

  I sigh and roll my eyes. “You sound like Eve.”

  His face lights up. “See? I knew I liked Eve.”

  I groan.

  “I’m just saying, you sometimes have deeper submissive tendencies you don’t even notice.”

  “I think you’re reading into things that aren’t there because you’re filled with unfounded hope that I’ll come around.” In this particular moment, with Craig leaning so close to me, his lips a breath away from mine, his gorgeous beard making me want to stroke his face, his giant body making me feel dainty and small… Yeah, I wish I had the will to be exactly what he craves. Little. Submissive in and out of the club. It would be so much easier.

  But I’ve never done easy. I don’t know how. It’s too late to change now. Easy flew the coop twenty-five years ago. She’s gone. I became a grownup when I was five, and I’ve been in control of everything in my world ever since then. It’s too late for me to entertain the idea of easy. The only easy I’ve permitted myself for many years is a few hours a week getting my ass spanked hard enough to chase my demons into the dark corners and rejuvenate me.

  Maybe if someone qualified dissected me, they would point out that I need the release a spanking gives me to make up for all the times I didn’t have the option of being the kind of kid who got into trouble and needed to be punished.

  It doesn’t matter. What would analyzing my plight really do for me? It wouldn’t change anything. I’d still be me. Leah Sherwin. The little girl who became an adult at five and never looked back.

  “Have you ever considered the idea that maybe I like you enough to change my ways?” he points out. “Maybe I don’t have to be your Daddy. If all you need is an occasional Dom, maybe I could be that for you.”

  “Who are you trying to convince?” I set my hands on his biceps and rub them up and down.

 
; He leans his forehead against mine. “Just consider it. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I lie. “But I really should get home now. I need to get some words written today. I’m falling behind. Can you take me back to Surrender so I can get my car?”

  “Of course.” He cups my face. “As long as I don’t have to like it.”

  I smile. “You don’t.”

  Chapter 6

  Leah

  My evening with Craig haunts me a bit for the next few days. Whatever happened to send me into such a weird headspace is disconcerting. Was it because we have a deeper connection than any other Dom I’ve been with? Maybe I was hungry or dehydrated or couldn’t handle two intense orgasms.

  It bothers me because what if it happens again? I don’t even know what contributing factor to watch out for.

  I spend a lot of time pacing my office. I’m annoyed that my rabid fan won’t stop emailing me. I’ve even sent him several messages, telling him to stop contacting me. He won’t listen.

  Maybe I should call the police, but what would I tell them? I don’t even know the guy’s name. He signs everything T. I doubt the cops can do anything about a cyberstalker who doesn’t like the ending of my book. How stupid.

  I can’t focus on my new series. In truth, I’ve done little more than compile research. At least when I’m googling, I feel like I’m working.

  Every time I’ve started the first book in this series, I’ve made it about two paragraphs, walked away, and dropped the beginning in the trash the next time I sit down. I’m not into it.

  What I am into is my other project. My secret side project that not a soul knows about. Not even Eve. Some people have stories in notebooks under their beds from years of writing before they had the guts to publish.

  I have those. Mine are buried in my computer instead of under the bed, but I have a lot of them. It’s silly really. I guard my pen name close, not letting anyone know who I am. Years ago, when I sent my first book to a publisher, they convinced me to choose a pen name just in case I ever reached a day like I have now. A crazed fan who thinks I’ve ruined their life and wants to tell me how to do my job.

  It’s annoying, but it’s not like whoever T is can find me. Although it does bother me that Craig suggested I was naïve to believe no one can locate me. Maybe they can. I’m not a computer genius. I have no idea.

  The point is I could start a second pen if I wanted. Not a soul would need to know. I’m too chicken to do it, so I haven’t. Instead, I indulge my other passion and then bury the accumulating novels in my computer and in my cloud.

  I usually allow myself to write in my other world no more than an hour a day. Sometimes I let several days go by to build up my treat and permit myself to spend an entire day writing in my other persona.

  I’ve done a lot of writing in that world this week and none in the new series I’m supposed to be deeply engrossed in by now. Thank God my deadlines are self-inflicted and nothing is up for preorder.

  I haven’t even shared my series title with my fans yet. I prefer to wait until I have a substantial amount of work done before I put out a teaser.

  By Tuesday night, I’ve spent the majority of four days doing anything to avoid my sci-fi. I’m starting to think maybe the plot is all wrong or something. I’ve never experienced this kind of writer’s block. There has to be a reason.

  I spoke to Craig only briefly Sunday night. He wanted to make sure I was okay. I made it seem like I was in the middle of writing and couldn’t spare him any time.

  I hate how I’ve put him off. It’s rude. I’m hiding from him. So, I call him Tuesday night as I flop down onto my bed.

  “Hey, sweetheart. How’s the writing coming along?”

  I sigh. “Not great. I’m struggling to get into the new series.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess that happens sometimes?”

  “Not usually,” I admit. “Writer’s block isn’t something I often suffer from.”

  “What about that crazy fan? Has he emailed you again?”

  “Yeah. I’m ignoring him now.”

  Craig winces. “I hate that. Please tell me you’re going to meet me at Surrender tomorrow night.”

  “Yep.” I try to sound more upbeat than I feel. I’m mad at myself for not getting more work done this week, but I don’t want to take it out on Craig. No matter what, he’s a great guy who adores me and treats me like a princess. I may be out of my mind for continuing to see him, but the thought of not seeing him makes me want to vomit. “Looking forward to it. Do you have something planned for us?”

  “I do.”

  “Are you going to tell me what it is?” I taunt.

  “Do I usually tell you what I’m planning?”

  I sigh. “No.” He never does.

  “Which one of us is the Dom?” he jokes. He points this out to me often.

  “You, Sir.” I throw in the title because I know it pleases him.

  “Then let me worry about our scene. You get some work done between now and then so you won’t be stressed.”

  “Yes, Sir.” My voice is sassy this time.

  “Hey… Watch your tone, sweetheart, or your bottom will end up redder than I was already intending.”

  “Mmm. That’s not necessarily a deterrent,” I point out.

  He chuckles. “Get your work done. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” I end the call and roll onto my stomach. As I hug my pillow and close my eyes, I think about his threat, about him spanking me again. I’m addicted to his touch. The man knows me better than anyone I’ve ever scened with.

  Granted, since we started playing together over two months ago, we’ve been exclusive, so he’s also spanked me more than any previous Dom. But even the first few times, he proved his worth.

  I squirm against my mattress, remembering how perfect my butt felt Saturday morning when I woke up in his bed. The exact right amount of morning-after burn. The type of sting that reminds me over and over for a few days that my ass was swatted, without being so uncomfortable that I can’t sit.

  I love the constant reminder every time I pull my panties up and down the days following a spanking. The rasp of the elastic over my tender skin. The memory keeps me horny afterward too.

  Saturday was the first time I was with Craig—or any Dom for that matter—the morning after. I draw in a breath as I recall the way he led me back to his bedroom after our chat in the living room. Ignoring my protests, he’d guided me to his bed, told me to lie on my stomach, and then pushed his T-shirt up high on my waist.

  I’d held my breath as he lowered my panties, not just down to my thighs but off my body. My heart raced as he examined me, satisfying himself that he hadn’t struck me too hard.

  There’d been some bruising, but it was the good kind.

  God, the feel of his fingers grazing over my butt and the backs of my thighs… So caring. Considerate. Cautious. Endearing. Very Daddy-like. I hadn’t minded. I’d liked it. A lot. My pussy had been wet the entire time while his fingers prodded around on my thighs. I’m sure he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

  I’ll never admit how much I enjoyed it out loud. Just because there are some aspects of age play that make me squirm doesn’t mean I want to be a little. Those same aspects could be applied to any submissive. Just because I don’t mind aftercare and intimate inspections doesn’t mean I want to be little.

  The truth is there’s a fine line between simple dominance and the kind that crosses into age play. Sometimes that line is blurry, and that’s fine. After all, Craig is a Dom. Doms are bossy. Bossy is inherent in the scene. When does bossy cross over from regular dominance to a Daddy fetish?

  It’s Tuesday. It’s been four days since Craig last spanked me. We often go to the club on Fridays and Wednesdays. By Tuesday, I’m usually jonesing. Like a drug addict needing my next fix. My next impact play.

  I’m fidgety and needy. Sexually frustrated too.

  It doesn’t have to be this way. All I’d have to do is say the wo
rd and Craig would see me any night of the week. He’d see me all of the nights if I asked him to. I don’t have to torture myself like this.

  Part of me thinks there’s something wrong with me. I’ve known it for years. I think I’m slightly addicted to being spanked. I practically start shaking after a few days, after the sting wears off from the last time my butt got swatted.

  In my head, I bargain with myself. Two nights a week is all I permit myself. Any more than that would be borderline obsessive. Wouldn’t it? I feel like I need to control my urge. I don’t know anyone who craves impact play as often as me, so I never mention it. I keep my weird fetish to myself.

  I’ve also resisted the urge to hurt myself. I’ve considered it, but I’ve never done it. After all, I could find a way to reach back and use a crop or a switch or something on my own ass. Or who says it has to be my butt?

  I just want to feel the pain. Not so much pain that I’m hurting badly. Just enough to remind myself I’m alive and cleanse myself of my imaginary transgressions.

  And then there are the sexual aspects. I haven’t always needed to reach orgasm just because I got spanked. Or maybe it’s more that I haven’t always had a partner who I wanted to touch me that way. Just because I ask a Dom to spank me doesn’t mean I’m interested in that same Dom getting me off.

  With Craig though, I always want to come. And most often he indulges me. Lately always. The combination is delicious. I love how well he reads me. He knows exactly how hard to swat me and for how long before I’ve reached that pinnacle when I need him to thrust his fingers into me and let me come.

  I groan and reach over to my bedside table to yank the drawer open and select a vibrator. I may not have anyone to spank me tonight. That will have to wait until tomorrow. But I can masturbate.

  It’s getting late. There’s no way I’m going to accomplish any writing tonight, so I quickly strip off my clothes and settle on my back, legs spread wide. I set my favorite vibrator next to me and smooth my fingers over my breasts, circling my nipples for a while, teasing myself.