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

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I untangle the flogger, shuffle to him, and sink to my knees.

“Logan,” Miranda says from behind me. She sounds as shocked as I am. “I didn’t realize—”

“Obviously,” he replies. His dark and very serious tone sends a scary-bad shudder straight through me. “Get out. I’ll deal with you later.”

“Bu-but, Logan—”

“Get out of my office, Miranda. Right. Now.”

The door shuts quietly. I keep my eyes on the patch of carpet between my knees and try really, really hard not to shake.

Logan’s warm hand settles on the top of my head. “Hand me what you’re carrying,” he says quietly.

Keeping my head bowed, I offer up the flogger and first aid kit.

“What happened to your arm?”

“I was clipping Sable’s claws when he scratched me. But it’s not his fault,” I say quickly. I don’t want Daddy to be angry at my kitty. “He was fine with the front ones. I think I just surprised him when I clipped the back ones. Or maybe they’re more sensitive. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Hold out your arm.”

I do, offering it up without lifting my head. Please, please, please let my submission placate him. I don’t know when he came back. How much he heard. But if he heard me tell Miranda she’s full of shit, I’m utterly fucked.

He inspects my arm, opens the kit, and takes out several things. He swabs the scratches with an antiseptic wipe, waits until my skin dries, then smooths a gauze pad over the scratches and tapes down the edges. A plain white gauze pad. Not a Winnie the Poo or Little Mermaid Band-Aid. He doesn’t kiss it and my insides curl up a little tighter.

“We’ll check that again tonight. Animal claws are notoriously germy, so you may get an infection. If it starts to feel hot, I want to know right away.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Why are you carrying my flogger around?”

Figures that he wouldn’t hear Miranda insult me. Please, dear Lord, do not let him have heard me swear at her.

“Miranda brought it up from the playroom.” And then threw it on the floor, but as much as I want to score points off the Mir-Witch, I don’t think telling Daddy that is going to help my case right now. “I was going to put it upstairs in your toy bag.”

“Why was Miranda in the playroom?”

“She followed me down when I went to get the first aid kit.”

“I see.”

He’s silent for a long minute and I wait, not nearly as patiently as I waited out Miranda.

“Hendry sent me a text before I even got to her office, canceling our appointment. Her son’s been injured playing basketball, maybe a broken ankle, so she’s taken him to the ER. I gather neither of you heard me come in.”

I didn’t. I’m sure Miranda didn’t, either, or she wouldn’t have said some of the things she said.

“No, Daddy.”

“Anything you’d like to confess?”

I take a deep breath, trying to get a grip on the emotions slamming around inside me like a ping-pong ball. He’s not calling me his little girl or baby doll or any of his usual endearments. I have to assume he heard me curse at her. I’m fucked for that. This is my second strike on swearing. My second strike on disrespecting one of his exes. I’m seriously, seriously fucked. But she confronted me. It’s not fair that I can’t stand up for myself when Daddy’s not around and she started it.

Aaand just thinking that makes me sound like a five-year-old in my own head. I’m supposed to be the bigger person. Fuck-fuck-fuckety-fuck.

“I swore. I broke the rules.”

“Yes, you did. Anything else?”

The shame of it crashes down on my shoulders. He’s not shouting at me. He’s speaking calmly, evenly, and with such profound disappointment that I feel like I’m going to drown in a tsunami of disapproval.

“I disrespected your guest.”

“Yes, you did. That’s two rules, right?”

“Yes.” I struggle to stay upright against the deluge of shame.

“Is telling our guest that she’s full of shit being the bigger person?”

“No, Daddy,” I whisper, barely able to force a sound around the thickness of my throat.

“Does it break our contract? The one you signed? The one that says you won’t swear, you won’t be disrespectful toward Daddy’s guests? Do you remember those rules? The ones you agreed to live by while Daddy does his damndest to create a safe place for you to be little all the time. Do you remember?”

I swallow against the tears that are building and nod.

“Words, Emily.”

“I remember.” My voice breaks. I bend over and put my forehead on the carpet while the small voice inside me screams again that it’s not fair. I shouldn’t get in trouble for something she started. “I’m s-s-sorry, Daddy. I t-t-tried really hard not to be as mean to her as she was being to m-m-me.”

“Her terrible behavior is not an excuse for yours. Why do we have the rules, Emily?”

I take several broken breaths to fight back the tears so I can answer him. “To establish the boundaries of our power exchange.”

“And?”

“To make a safe space for me to be little all the time.”

“Does Daddy’s little girl swear?”

“No, Daddy.” I can’t stop the tears. They spill, dripping onto the carpet.

“Does Daddy’s little girl speak rudely to guests and embarrass Daddy?”

“No, Daddy. I’m s-suh-sorry!”

“This is the second time, Emily. On both these rules.” His voice is low and soft, but that just makes it worse. I huddle on the floor and wish I could sink through it. “You’ve already had your mouth washed out with soap for swearing and an hour in the playpen for breaking the rule about insulting Daddy’s friends. I’m disappointed.”

I cringe and cry silently into the carpet.

“I’m also disappointed that I can’t leave you in the house for half-a-bloody-hour with Miranda without the two of you getting in a cat-fight,” he continues, and I cringe again. “Knowing Miranda, she started it. But that’s no excuse. You had all the time in the world to walk away. Instead,