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

without imagining Miranda lying back in it as Logan fucks her? Arg. That’s an image I do not need in my head.

Instead of following me to the shelves in the wet play area where the first aid kit is, she moves over to the armoire and opens it. Her fingers trail over the suede floggers hanging on the back of the doors. She strokes her throat with her free hand and smiles to herself as bile fills my mouth. I can almost see what she’s remembering. I’m going to need to gouge out my mind’s eye in a second.

She takes out the metal-tipped flogger and gives it a flick so the studs at the end of the oiled leather falls sing. She turns with the flogger still in her hand and looks at me.

I don’t like that look.

“Logan always reserved this one for punishment. Does he punish you with this, Emily?”

I really hate the way she says my name.

“Um, no.”

Logan doesn’t use impact to punish me. He puts me in the playpen and turns my brain inside out.

She lifts her eyebrow. “No? Too fragile, I suppose.” She swings it again and it sings its jangly song. “Have you ever been hit with it?”

I’m kind of concerned I’m about to be hit with it now. And I’m fairly sure she won’t respect my safe word.

“I have,” I say, trying to hold my voice steady.

“Then you know how bad a flogging with this monster can be. He likes to do that with his new subs. Push their pain limits. He has a heavier one, you know. With rings at the end of the falls. I don’t see it in there anymore. It’s unbearable. Maybe he hid it so it wouldn’t scare you.”

He didn’t. It’s not in the armoire at the moment because it’s in Logan’s toy bag upstairs. He used it on me during a scene last week at his club. It was the heaviest flogging I’ve ever taken and it was fucking amazing. Daddy promised me another flogging with it the next time we go to the club.

“Um, Logan doesn’t like anyone else touching his tools.”

Miranda cackles. That’s the only word for how evil her laugh is. “Oh, Emily, I’ve touched his tools many times. I took care of them for years. Doesn’t he have you care for them?” She runs the falls through her hands, then snaps the flogger musically again. “Or are you too infantile to be trusted with them?”

More bile spurts into my throat and I swallow hard against the taste of blueberries and acid. “I have different responsibilities.”

Another cackle. “Cooking and doing the dishes? You’re more of a maid than a submissive. You do understand he’s only letting you stay here because he needs you while he recovers, right?”

Ignore her. Ignore her. Daddy told me to ignore her. I snatch up the first aid kit, turn on my heel and walk out of the playroom. Behind me, she snaps the flogger again and my back tenses in anticipation of a hit. Now I feel the goddamn butt plug.

When no blow lands, I continue walking. I hope she doesn’t follow me. Locking her into the playrooms has a huge amount of appeal right now. Logan can let her out when he gets back. I’ll take whatever punishment he dishes out for locking her down here, but I can’t deal with her any more on my own. And the idea of her walking up the stairs behind me and seeing the shiny pink jewel between my bare ass-cheeks makes my stomach clench so hard I’m sure I’m going to puke.

“Running away, Emily?” she says nastily from behind me.

Of course, of course, she follows me up the stairs. Fuck it all.

At the top of the stairs, I wait. Logan doesn’t like the playroom door left open, even when it’s just us in the house, so I need to lock it behind her. I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep the tears at bay. I hate her. I hate every image she just planted in my brain. I hate that she saw my bare, plugged butt waggling up the stairs. I hate what a bitch she is.

Daddy’s exes suck.

As I close the door behind her and press my thumb and fingers against the lock, she drops the flogger at my feet with a musical jingle.

“Pick that up,” she purrs. “There’s a good maid.”

I pick up the flogger. Not because she’s told me to, but because Logan’s so careful with his tools and he’d spit nails if he saw the flogger on the floor with the falls bent every which-way.

“How much longer do you think he’ll need a maid for?” Miranda continues in that fake throaty voice, stroking her hands over her belly. “He’s nearly recovered.”

I am not a maid, but if that’s what Logan needed, I’d be proud to be his little maid. I swallow hard and move away from her.

She curls her talons around my upper arm.

“You seem to genuinely care for him,” she says. “But you’re nothing like what he needs. He needs someone who challenges him. He needs a partner. Not a maid, not a doormat. I was embarrassed for you at dinner last night. Don’t you have any pride?”

Bitch, bitch, bitch. I tug against her grasp, but she doesn’t release me, and, damn, she’s kind of strong.

“Logan’s easy to fall for.” She gives a small laugh, which is probably intended to be self-deprecating but comes off as vicious. “I’ve watched a lot of women do it over the years. And I’ve seen him fall for them, too. He falls fast. He just doesn’t stay there very long. A month, or two, and then he’s restless and looking for the next new thing. No one holds his attention for long. Certainly not someone who doesn’t even fight him for her submission.”

I shiver and tug harder. I hate every word that’s coming out of her mouth. Logan is easy to fall for, and I’ve been terrified