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

garden, and Dad built the walls to keep her safe in it. Neither of my parents had any illusions about the reality of living in the City. Mum came from Hattersley, after all.

Maybe whoever buys the house will appreciate both the garden and the walls.

I wash the dill and set it by the cutting board for Emily to chop. I can cook. Mum didn’t believe in gender roles when it came to the kitchen, or any household chores, actually. I can iron and degrease an oven, too. But I’m a firm believer in letting the most skilled person handle the job. That means I take my shirts down the street to the old Italian cleaner who launders them a blinding white and presses them perfectly, and I let Emily work her magic in the kitchen, while I do the jobs that don’t require any skill, like taking out the trash and setting the table.

But my little girl is sneaky as well as skilled, and when I go to set the table, I discover Emily’s already done it. I shoot her a glance over the island, where she’s now chopping the dill, and see her mouth quirk before she becomes very intent on her task.

I move to the far edge of the island and lean my hip against it. “There’s going to come a time, little girl, when Daddy’s all better and you’re going to have to let him pull his weight around the house again.”

“Or?” she asks, not raising her eyes.

She’s challenging me? After her discipline yesterday, spanking last night, and getting fucked practically unconscious this morning?

“Brave, or reckless, Emmy, which is it?”

She softens immediately and gives me meltingly big eyes. “Neither, Daddy.”

“Mmm. Do you need a reminder of the rules and who makes them?”

“No, Daddy.”

“I think maybe you do, cheeky monkey. I’d planned to go to Blunts Sunday night anyway. Might be time to show everyone how well you’re doing with breath training.”

Emily shivers, which I could take for fear if she wasn’t grinning like a little maniac. “Yes, Daddy.”

While she cooks the omelets, I pour us each a glass of juice. It’s already too hot for tea or coffee, which I almost never say. As I’m putting the juice bottle back in the fridge, I notice a jug of black liquid next to the milk. Iced coffee. My little girl, who thinks of everything. I pour a mug, since it’s just wrong to drink coffee out of a glass, no matter what Starbucks says, and meet Emily at the table.

I lift the mug to her. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“You’re welcome.” She grins. “Am I forgiven for doing Daddy’s jobs?”

“No.”

Her grin gets wider and I know my stone face has failed.

Over the savory omelet and focaccia toast, I resurrect a subject I know will lose me Emily’s smile, but I want to have an answer for Lucy before she arrives tomorrow for the party.

“You’ve had a night to think it over, little love. Tell me what you think of me topping Lucy outside of the club.”

She takes a bite of the dry, whole-wheat toast she’s having instead of the buttery focaccia I’m enjoying and chews ten times before she answers me. She’s following the rules, but she’s also stalling for time. “Can I ask some questions?”

“Mm-hmm.” That she’s cautious makes me cautious. I recognize that topping someone else could hurt my little girl in ways it would be hard for me to heal. That’s why we negotiated it carefully in our contract. But our power exchange aside, I just don’t want to do anything that would shake Emily’s faith in me.

She chews her lip for a moment before she says, “I know you wouldn’t have sex with her again—”

I lift my hand. I don’t usually interrupt Emily but I want to kill that particular weed before it takes root. “I’ve never had sex with Lucy.”

She tips her head and peers at me out of one eye. It makes her look like an inquisitive owl and I have to work hard on my stone face. When I feel it slipping, I hide my grin in my coffee cup.

“I thought you topped all the Blunts house subs.”

It’s not really a question, but I give her a very complete answer, so there’s no room for doubt. “I’ve topped all the current Blunts house subs except Anabelle, Zuki, Mackie, and Briar. Anabelle and Zuki joined after I stepped back from the club. I’m not a fan of gang bangs, which is Mackie’s kink. And my bank balance isn’t big enough for Briar. I’ve had sex with all the house subs except for those four, plus Lucy, Justine, Pence, and DirtyGurl. I like Lucy and Justine, but I’m not attracted to either of them. Pence annoys me, and DirtyGurl scares the fuck out of me.”

Emily giggles, even as her eyes get wider and wider as she processes what I’ve said.

“You’ve had sex with the other male subs? Austin and Cappa, and, um, what about Hunter?”

“Yes,” I say simply. I haven’t made any secret about having male sex partners. I had sex with Hunter both before and after his transition. I’ll admit that part of the reason was curiosity. But I also just like the man. In his own way, he’s as sweet and eager-to-please as Emily.

“Lucy and Justine are beautiful,” Emily says.

I lift one shoulder. I’m not going to argue aesthetics. Lucy’s a bouncy, blue-eyed blonde, and except for the bouncy part, because Miranda was never that, I already had one of those in my bed when Lucy joined Blunts. Justine’s as exotic as an orchid with her liquid black eyes, café au lait skin, and gray-white hair. Objectively, I can appreciate her looks. There just wasn’t any spark with either of them.

“Getting back to the subject, what do you think of me topping Lucy?”

“Oh.” Emily shrugs. “I’m good with it.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. That was a quicker about-face than Napoleon’s retreat from Russia. “You’re good with it now that you know I’ve