The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection Frost, J (good beach reads .TXT) 📖

won’t let me peek into, even though I beg. This one’s even more gorgeous than the last: an A-line shift that floats to midthigh from a halter that circles my neck in a white satin collar. I get teary again when he smooths it down my body, rubbing the silky fabric over my breasts. I thank him the only way I know how since he doesn’t want me to get on my knees: peppering kisses over his jaw until he chuckles.

“Here, sweetheart, let’s take this off.” He unclasps the silver necklace, so it doesn’t interfere with the dress’s neckline.

I shiver without the weight of it. My neck feels bare even though it’s circled by the satin halter. I pat the base of my throat forlornly.

I want my necklace back.

“Daddy, please, could I wear the necklace again after dinner?”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Sure. You like it that much, huh?”

I nod eagerly.

Logan puts it back in its velvet bag and slips the bag into the top drawer of his dresser and locks it. “You can have it back later. It’s sturdy enough to wear all the time, so you can keep it from now on.” He draws his finger in a soft line from my forehead to my nose to my lips to rest at the hollow of my throat. “Are you ready for Morris, sweet baby?”

I nod without hesitation, if a shade less eagerly than over my necklace. The stairs down to the restaurant are going to be a challenge.

“Go into the bathroom, dress up, panties down, brace yourself against the sink and wait for me.” He opens the second drawer of his dresser, which is full of sex toys, neatly lined up on a pink towel.

“Yes, Daddy.”

I pad quickly to the bathroom. Logan’s toiletries are set out on the sink counter, aligned just as neatly as the sex toys. Deodorant, a fancy razor that looks like it should be on the space shuttle, an old-fashioned shaving brush, and sandalwood shaving cream from Taylor of Old Bond Street. No wonder he smells so good. I make a mental note of the brand, which isn’t one I’m familiar with, so I can buy his favorites if I ever get a chance to buy him anything.

“Emmy, while you’re in there, take a look under the sink.”

I open the cabinet door and peer under the sink. There’s a stack of pink towels, which he clearly brought for me since the boat’s towels are white, but I don’t think that’s what he wants me to see. There are dozens of neatly wrapped cakes of soap piled under the sink: stacks and stacks of them. There must be over a hundred. Puzzled, I close the cabinet door and arrange myself as instructed.

Logan enters a moment later and sets a condom-wrapped, bright purple, butt plug and a tube of lube on the sink. He runs his hand over my ass, warming my skin and making me wiggle.

“That’s a lotta soap, huh?” he says.

“Why have they left you a hundred cakes of soap?”

“No idea. I guess they think I’m really dirty. I hate to disappoint them, but I brought my own shower gel. Their soap smells like flowers. Bit girly for me.” He squeezes some lube on his gloved fingers. “Relax your shoulders, baby. I’m going to touch you now.” He rubs a cool path down the cleft of my ass to the pucker, then circles his slick fingers over my sphincter, around and around. The motion’s hypnotic. I relax back into his hand, feeling everything inside me loosen. There’s no discomfort when he presses his finger into me. It just feels full. After a moment, my sphincter relaxes and the pressure inside me starts to feel good, in a very bad way. I shouldn’t be enjoying his finger in my ass, but I am. He works his finger, sliding it in and out, and I get caught up in his rhythm.

He puts his free hand between my shoulder blades and leans over me. “Your pussy’s flaring, sweetheart. I think you like that.”

I don’t try to deny it. Even without Logan’s insistence on honesty, it’s important to be truthful with my Dom about what I like and what I don’t.

“Yes, Daddy.” I lower my shoulders, so my back stretches and my ass tips up further. When I push back into his finger, he rewards me with long, slow thrusts, all the way in, all the way out. God, that feels so bad-good.

“That’s my girl. You ready for your plug?”

“Yes, please.”

He picks up Morris from near my elbow. His finger slides out of me and Morris’s blunt tip presses in a moment later. I take a deep breath, clench and then push back. I don’t need any more than the one breath, because there’s no fear this time. I know Logan’s not going to damage me; he’s too careful for that. I’m still nervous about being plugged, but it’s a good kind of nervous. It’s an anxiety that makes my blood race and my body flush like I have a fever, but not the kind that shuts down my mind. He slides Morris into me, pulls back gently on the base to test the seat, and, when he’s satisfied, takes off the glove and rubs my ass with his hands, skin to skin.

“This is looking much better, baby,” he says. He must be looking at my bruises. “Do you want some more cream on it before we go down to dinner?”

“No, Daddy, it feels fine.” I took painkillers this morning after breakfast but didn’t need them after that and didn’t even notice my ass during lunch, but then, I was distracted by the Ben Wa balls and book talk.

“Sweet little girl. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you look with my marks and my plug in your ass? So beautiful.”

I’m not beautiful. Maman despaired about my plainness for years and I know what the mirror tells me. But under his hand, under his growly words, I melt and