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

wasn’t any kind of magic wand with Ash. I don’t want the same thing to happen with Logan.

“You seem very close,” she observes.

She can tell that from two minutes of watching us?

“I watched your cheerleader scene,” she continues. “He’s a conscientious top and you respond beautifully to him.”

Something ticks over in my mind and I check her wrist. She’s wearing blue and white wristbands. She’s a Domme? No wonder she’s not worried about her dress.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She smiles, the skin around her deep brown eyes crinkling. “I’m looking forward to watching your flogging, Emily.”

I could get lost in her eyes. Her power is really quiet. Nothing like Logan’s or Niall’s. They wear theirs like winter coats, big and woolly and staticky when you brush up against them. Hers is like quicksand. It sucks you down and swamps you and there’s no way out.

“Th-thank you, ma’am.”

She smiles again before glancing at the knights, breaking the spell. Wow. Just that long moment of eye contact and I’m quivering and covered in goose bumps. I’m not even attracted to women, but if she told me to kneel, I totally would. Yikes. I feel sorry for her sub if he ever dares step out of line.

Thinking about kneeling makes me search out Logan in the crowd. He’s still standing near the barrels of swords, deep in a pow-wow with his knights. There’s only a dozen of them by my quick count and I glance around to see where the others went.

Two men are sitting at the table, well away from Vashi and I’m sure Niall engineered it that way because he’s a good Dom, even though no one will ever be as wonderfully protective as my daddy. One of the men has a collared woman kneeling by his chair, so that means we’re down to ten women, although maybe Shaan counts as one? As I look around, I realize another man has joined the wenches. He’s not wearing a dress. He’s barely wearing anything at all: just a pair of teeny, tiny gold shorts that dip all the way down to the root of his dick. His cock’s outlined by the shorts and it’s obvious he has a really big piercing. Double yikes. He’s talking a million miles an hour to Mikaela and another woman wearing a Pink Pearl bikini. They all have the same yellow, pink, and white wristbands. Maybe that evens the numbers up? I hope so. I really don’t want to see anyone triple-teamed.

All thoughts of numbers, kneeling, and Gabriela’s quicksand power fly straight out of my head when Logan sets his helmet over his head, grabs a sword out of the barrel, and stalks towards the archway with his sword held high.

“Princess Amber,” he booms. “I’ve slain your father. Everything he owned belongs to me. Yield your castle and I’ll spare you and your ladies.”

Not a chance.

I jump out of the chair and race to block the archway. I stick my hand out as though that’s somehow going to stop him, which is kind of ridiculous because he could bulldoze me in a single step. But it’s totally something Princess Buttercup would do.

“Hold, sodden-witted knave! Where is your proof?” I draw myself up on my toes, as tall as I can go. Logan’s still looking down about six inches at me, and his glower through the cross-shaped opening of the helmet is really impressive. It makes me quake in my non-existent boots, but Princess Amber would show no fear. She’s a cast-iron, nuclear-winter iceberg. “My father is vassal to King Henry and I hold Castle Amber in his name. Sack this place at your peril, addle-pated fool!”

“Yeah, what she said!” Spunky Mikaela has jogged up next to me, and the male sub with the outrageous shorts is a step behind her, his arms crossed over his skinny chest.

Logan roars at me. He raises his sword and charges. Behind him, his phalanx of knights follow suit. All of a sudden, there are a dozen men with plastic swords running at me.

With an undignified exclamation, my inner Buttercup totally abandons me, the bitch. “Eep!”

“Omigawd, this is Sparta!” Gold-shorts shrieks beside me.

“Flee!” I grab my skirts in one hand and Mikaela’s in the other and run for it.

Screaming, some with laughter, the wenches bolt in a dozen different directions, penned in by the half-wall. Princess Amber’s castle becomes a sheering pen full of milling, baaing subbies. Neither Gabriela nor Shaan flee. Gabriela crosses her legs and smooths her skirts over her knee while covering what I think is laughter with a finger across her lips. Shaan stays put for a different reason and I wonder as I dart behind my “throne” whether Niall knew what was coming and left him tied up for easy retrieval.

Mikaela lands on her knees next to me, laughing so hard she has trouble grabbing the back of the chair in a convincing cower. I’d be laughing with her except that seeing Logan ignore the archway in favour of vaulting what has to be a four-foot-high wall, still brandishing his sword, is actually kind of terrifying. Gerard Butler has nothing on my daddy. My blood’s pounding in my ears, louder even than my shrieks, which have risen into the ultrasonic range.

With another roar, Logan scatters the milling subbies between him and me and thunders across the dais.

My inner Buttercup gets a second wind. I bounce to my feet, pointing a finger at my advancing Dom. “Foul villain! Murderous rogue! Scapegrace! Quit my father’s castle and leave my ladies in peace!”

“Come here, Princess!” Logan roars, lifting his sword and flexing his biceps.

Shit! There goes Buttercup again, fleeing into the hills. I knew I’d have been better off channeling Tamar.

I grab my skirts and Mikaela’s hand again and drag her with me as I scamper away from Logan, hurtling Shaan’s outstretched legs, ending up in front of my throne. Behind me, chaos reigns as knights pour through the archway and grab wenches.

Logan skids to a stop behind my throne and glowers