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

blasting more cold air. I cross my arms over my chest and rub at the goose bumps.

“Oh, sorry, baby doll. It’s too cold in here, isn’t it? I’ve called the front desk. They’re sending someone to fix the thermostat after dinner.”

“I might be a popsicle by then, Daddy,” I say plaintively.

He chuckles. “I’ll get you something.”

He retrieves a fluffy white robe from the bathroom and drapes me in it. Then he sits next to me and opens the black folder.

Inside, there’s a single sheet of paper, covered in words and symbols. There’s a rough square in the center of the page, surrounded by wavy lines. Is that supposed to be water? Inside the square, there are small symbols: cliffs, mountains, an oval lake. The symbols are labeled. The Pillowy Mountains. Shipwreck Cove. Bathtub Lake. Pirate’s Lookout. Rum-un Cliffs.

There are three fancy Xs on the map, drawn with curlicues and shaded in. One in Rum-un Cliffs, one in the Pillowy Mountains, and one in Pirate’s Lookout.

“Is this a treasure map?” I ask, tracing my fingers over it. “Did you draw this? It’s so cool.”

He nods. “X marks the spot, see? You have an hour to find the three treasures and bring them back to me.”

A treasure hunt? He’s made a treasure hunt for me?

A naked treasure hunt?

“Pirate treasure?” I ask, blinking up at him.

“Uh-huh.”

I can play pirates. I have the perfect thing. “Daddy, please, can I have just a second? Well, maybe five seconds? Please? It won’t take long and I think you’ll like it. Please-please?”

It will keep me from freezing to death and is much more enticing than the frumpy robe.

He gives me a quizzical look before he sits back and shrugs. “Sure.”

I give him a peck on the cheek, then run back into my room. Throwing off the bathrobe, I root through my dresser drawers until I find a fairy tale nightie I bought at Macy’s for the cruise. I pull it on over my head, lifting my hair out of the wide, white satin neckline, and settling the ruffle off my shoulders. I draw on the matching thigh-high stockings, smoothing out the little ruffles at the top. The silk is lovely and cool on the sore skin of my thighs. There’s about an inch between the tops of the stockings and the bottom of the nightie. I hope Logan likes ruffles, because there are lots of them. I think he will. Ruffles are pirate-y.

I run back through Logan’s room and skid to a halt in front of him.

His dark eyes sweep over me and ignite. “Fuck me.”

I put my hands behind my back, so he gets the full effect of the ruffles, and the sexy stockings, and what the air conditioning’s doing to my nipples. “Arr, Daddy.”

He chuckles. “Arr, yourself, little pirate. Come here.” He holds his hands out. “Where did you get this outfit?”

I climb into his lap, straddling him and winding my arms around his neck. “Macy’s. It’s one of the nighties I bought that day I went to the mall.”

He runs his hands up and down the outsides of my thighs, plucking at the ruffles, before sliding under my nightie to cup my bare bottom. “You’re the sexiest little pirate I’ve ever seen.”

Looking up into those dark, burning eyes, I feel like the world’s sexiest pirate. Much sexier than Anne Bonny, or even Elizabeth Swann. They didn’t have a daddy to devour them with his eyes, the way Logan is right now, or to press his thick bulge up between their legs. I wiggle on it and thrill to Logan’s groan.

“Go find the treasure before I forget all about it and just take you to the captain’s quarters for a pirate ravishing.”

I’d be up for a ravishing, particularly if he’d nap with me afterwards since I’m kind of sleepy. But I can see how much effort he’s put into this game; I don’t want him to think I’m unappreciative or to be put off playing with me in the future. Wriggling, I reach back to grab the map off the table. I spread it on his chest so I can study it.

“I think I need a GPS, Captain Daddy. What’s a Rum-un?”

He squeezes my ass. “You are a rum-un, wild little girl.”

I giggle and contemplate the map some more. I turn it around. The labels are written sideways, so the map can be read from any angle. There’s no up or down. No point of reference. The X at Rum-un Cliffs keeps catching my eye. Rum-un. Rum-rum-rum. I turn my head and glance at the long, polished wood bar to the left of the couch we’re sitting on.

“Daddy, is there rum in the bar?”

“Go look.”

I give him a huge kiss and jump off his lap. The bar is a six-foot curve of dark wood, set with four stools that are bolted into the floor. No treasure hidden among the stools. I run around the far end. The back of the bar has a little sink, a rack that holds a dozen glasses, and the room’s mini-fridge.

I open the mini-fridge. There, between tiny bottles of rum and cans of Coke, winks a silver ace of spades.

A butt plug.

“Ooo.” I take it out, feeling the weight and coldness of it in my hands. I turn it around to admire the pink crystal in its base. Cradling it between my palms, I trot back to Logan.

He grins. “Clever baby.”

“Look what I found? Pirate booty. So shiny.”

“Pirate booty for your little booty?” Logan laughs. “This is Stanley, Morris’s big brother. I think you’re ready for him.”

The idea of an even bigger butt plug would have terrified me a few days ago. Now it just gives me a warm, shivery feeling. And a giggle that he’s named it Stanley. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Kneel up on the couch.”

He’s going to put Stanley in me now? The glint in his eye says he definitely is, and I get to wear Stanley while I hunt the other two treasures. Oh, boy.

I pass Stanley