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

of me while he looks at me with those hot, dark eyes. His care, and his words, and the heat of his stare fill me up so full I’m floating before he even straddles my shoulders, leans over me to grip the headboard, and drives his cock down my throat.

Breathlessly, I float through the most glorious face-fucking. How can a face-fucking be glorious? It can be glorious when my daddy cradles my cheek and jaw with one big hand while he owns my throat. When he holds my eyes with his wolfy gaze and burns his bliss right down into my soul as he uses me for his pleasure. He anchors me and lifts me and transports me; by the time he spurts down my throat, I’m drowning in love.

I swallow his slightly bitter taste dazedly. “Ta, Daddy.”

“Why are you thanking me, baby girl?” He chuckles as he slides down beside me and pulls me into his arms. “I think it should be the other way around.”

“I’m thanking you for the wolfy loving.”

“You’re very welcome for the wolfy loving.” He kisses the tip of my nose and my mouth, where he must be able to taste himself, but he never seems to mind. “I adore you, little girl.”

His wolfy, but glorious, face-fucking leaves me with a sore throat to match my very sore bottom. When the sore throat persists after breakfast, even after two cups of herbal tea, and I develop an accompanying sniffle and headache, it occurs to me that my sore throat might not all be down to Daddy.

While he does the breakfast dishes, I blow my nose and rummage through the cabinet where I have all the herbal remedies stored.

“What are you looking for, little girl?” he asks, over the running water.

“Echinacea, Daddy. I think I might be getting a cold.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “I’ll be done with this in five minutes. Take two echinacea now. Get the big glass thermometer from the bathroom, put it on my night table, and lie face-down on the bed. Since you’ve been such a good girl this morning, Daddy will use lube.”

My sphincter tries to crawl up my spine. I really, really, really do not want the rectal thermometer up my butt this morning. But Daddy’s already inspected me; I’m not split, just bruised. I trust my daddy. He won’t give me bad hurts. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl, Emmy.” He rinses off his hands, dries them on his shirt, and cups my face. “I saw you struggle for a moment there. I know submission’s hard sometimes, particularly when you’re in pain. I’m proud of you, my girl.”

The glow from his words relieves my owies better than codeine. “Ta, Daddy.”

I find the echinacea, and the rectal thermometer. Daddy squeezes me a glass of orange juice to take the pills with and uses the lube when he takes my temperature. That makes me grateful he’s not the kind of Dom who insists on using all his subbie’s holes after a punishment, because, even with the lube, ow-ow-ow. He sits next to me on the bed and strokes my back while we wait for the reading. My temperature’s a little over a hundred, so Daddy gets me Advil and another glass of orange juice before tucking me back in bed.

He brings up our laptops and props a lot of pillows against the headboard. I love writing when I’m cuddled up with Daddy and that’s exactly what we do. I tuck up against Daddy’s warm side and we work together in companionable silence.

After an hour, Daddy closes his laptop and kisses the top of my head. “Time for a break.” He reaches around and cups the back of my neck. “Feels like the Advil’s working. How’s your head?”

“Better, Daddy. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“It really is my pleasure, little love.” He leans onto his elbow in the pillows. “What have you been working on? The werewolf book?”

“Uh-huh.” While we were on the cruise, my Wolfy-Daddy inspired me to start a new series, about a pack of desert werewolves. I decided to set it in Egypt in the 1920s, when Howard Carter and Lord Carnarvon were excavating the Valley of Kings. The research has been extensive, but I’ve loved every minute of it and since I’ve had a lot of time to write while Daddy’s been recovering, I’m already working on the second book. I haven’t told Daddy much about it, in part because he’s my muse and I don’t want to mess up my muse, and in part because most people aren’t actually interested in the details of my writing. Daddy’s super supportive, but romance novels are definitely not his thing and I don’t want to bore him talking about my work. “What have you been doing? Solving Rick’s case?”

He chuckles and kisses the tip of my nose. “I wish. I’ve been putting my notes together for Theo. He wanted everything by noon. I don’t want to keep the nice detective waiting.”

I screw my face up, still not at all impressed at how Master Theo treated my daddy. “Except he’s not very nice.”

“He took his frustration at Rick out on me, that’s true. But he was helpful during the interview with Dovie Donegan. I’m not sure I’d have gotten as much as I got from her without him being there.”

I know Daddy’s really pleased about getting a name, even if the name’s not on Rick’s list of conquests. After seeing the awful box, I was so sure the person who made it was someone Rick had been intimate with. But I guess I was wrong. “He’s still a meanie, Daddy.”

“According to you, little girl, I’m a meanie, particularly in the morning.”

He does get a serious morning mean on him some days. I’m glad today hasn’t been one of them.

“Your mean is sexy and playful. Master Theo wasn’t playing.”

“No, he wasn’t.” Daddy sighs. “Anyway, I’ve sent him everything and now it’s time for us to have fun. We didn’t get to work on the