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

I slide back into my super-happy place. Logan brings me up again so that I can clear the table after everyone’s finished eating. Mistress Maude’s brought apple crumble for dessert, which smells heavenly. I hope Daddy will feed me a bite, even though I’m already over my seventeen-hundred calories for the day. I’d still like a taste of that wonderful smell.

While the coffee’s brewing, Austin and I serve dessert. I set out cream and, ugh, custard, because Logan somehow likes that curdled goo. Must be a British thing, although I note that not even Miranda ruins her crumble with it. Once everyone has coffee or tea, or in Master Javier’s case, dessert wine, I sink back onto my knees next to Logan’s chair with only a little pinch from the stupid plug.

I hear Logan’s fork scrape on his plate and despair of having any crumble—why didn’t I stash away a piece for myself?—when he strokes my head and says, “Emmy, I’ve saved you a bite. Can I tempt you? It’s awfully good.”

Yes-yes-yes, he can tempt me.

“Please, Daddy.”

“Mmm, good girl. Open up for the crumble choo-choo.”

He’s so silly. And he’s playing with me right in front of Miranda, who is frowning like asphalt that’s buckled on a hot day. My mother used to tell me if I frowned too hard my face would freeze like that.

One can hope.

The idea of a permanently frowning Mir-beast makes me grin to myself while I chew the buttery, gooey, cinnamon-y deliciousness Mistress Maude has created.

Logan ends the meal once everyone’s finished their tea and coffee. It’s nice in one sense, because my knees are getting as sore as my butt. I’ve been kneeling for over an hour and Logan rarely makes me kneel for so long. But I’m sorry in another sense; other than the plugging, I’ve enjoyed my first High Protocol dinner so much. I hope we have a lot more.

Austin helps me clean up the kitchen. I notice Miranda disappears out into the yard without even offering to help; I silently wish bug bites on her, since the mosquitos do tend to nip at this time of night, but they probably don’t suck blood from one of their own. Austin’s back in a ball gag, so we can’t gossip as we wash up, which is a shame because I really want to know what’s going on with him and Mistress Dana. But I’m not supposed to talk to anyone but Logan when I’m in High Protocol anyway, so I guess it’s good I’m not tempted.

By the time the kitchen’s clean, everyone’s back inside. Maybe the bugs are biting. My sneaky, but awesome, Daddy calls an Uber for Miranda without her noticing, and the surprise on her face, when he bundles her out the door into the waiting car, is priceless. Pretty sure that expression in Brit-speak is “gobsmacked.” A gobsmacked Mir-beast. Ha.

Master Javier’s car isn’t far behind the Mir-monster’s Uber, and we wave everyone goodbye from the front door. There’s a snapping, electric connection between Mistress Dana and Austin that I can feel even as they leave; whatever scene they’re about to go do will be a doozy. I’d envy Austin if I didn’t have my own wonderful Dom.

Once our guests are gone, Logan sends me up to get ready for bed while he locks up the house. It’s early, just a little past nine, so we have time to scene, too. But it doesn’t feel like that kind of evening.

Logan joins me in the bathroom, takes out Stanley, to my great relief, and starts running a bath. As he adds bubbles and some of my bath toys, I can see he’s in Daddy-mode. I love Daddy-mode. It makes me feel super little and adored. Tonight, I’ll do my best to adore him right back so he knows that despite everything the Mir-beast has said and done today, he’s loved and appreciated.

Once we’re cuddled up in the bath, he releases me from High Protocol. We play with my bath crayons, while I tell him pirate stories that I half-remember, half-invent. He draws stick figures on my back; from the feel of it, they’re humping. When I get a turn with the crayons, I make him into a pirate, with a black eye patch, droopy red mustache and purple beard down to his navel. When we’re both prunier than prunes, and the water’s gone cool, we rub the crayons into suds and wash off. It’s probably not the cleanest either of us have ever been, and I haven’t washed my hair, but it’s so fun to play together I don’t think Daddy minds. I certainly don’t.

While he shaves and brushes his teeth, I trot off to pick a bedtime story. I hope he doesn’t mind In the Night Kitchen again. That Logan’s shaving before bed tells me there are orgasms to go before I sleep. I get orgasms almost every night, but tonight it feels particularly important, because I want to feel as close to Daddy as possible, after being bitten so hard by the jealousy bug this afternoon. I didn’t want to be so terribly jealous. I wanted to be cool and dispassionate about him spending time with Miranda. And it’s not that I don’t trust him. I know nothing happened and that she was just being a bitch with her lip-licking business, but it made me so mad she got to spend time with him when I didn’t. I hated feeling that way. I want to love-up Daddy so much that it wipes that hatefulness right out of my heart.

When Logan comes into the bedroom, he puts on his “Music to Fuck Emily Even Harder to” playlist and turns on the air-conditioner.

Hurray! Sweaty bumping of uglies, here we come.

Before we get started, Logan sits me in his lap and brushes out my hair. He strokes the horsehair bristles over the damp tips and works upward. This is usually part of our Bedtime ritual, but I’m not at all sorry Daddy’s doing it