The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “That’s my little angel. Turn on your side.”

  I roll as instructed. Logan puts a fresh towel down under my butt before spooning in behind me. He slides his arm under me and twists my shoulders, so they’re flat on the bed, while holding my hips flush against his. His erection presses in between my butt-cheeks. I lift my left leg a little to ease the strain on my back and hip. It’s a position I’ve done in yoga class and seen in porn videos, and it’s not really very comfortable.

  Logan must see the discomfort on my face. “Just for a minute, baby doll. I want to see your eyes as I enter you.”

  That makes it okay. I relax against him, sliding my leg over his. He runs his hand up and down between my breasts and my belly before cupping my mons and holding me still while he pushes into me from behind. I meet his eyes, those dark werewolf eyes, glowing a little in the red morning light, as he stretches and fills me. I lose his gaze when my eyes roll back, but not before I see the savage pleasure fill his face.

  “Good girl.” His praise fills something else in me. “Turn so you’re comfortable, sweetheart.”

  I shift my shoulders so I’m no longer twisting and Logan pulls me tight back against him as he starts to thrust, grinding his cock head over my G-spot. He props himself up on his elbow and leans over me, pressing his cheek against mine, and speaks into my ear. “Beautiful baby. You feel so good. Daddy’s going to take this slow. Slow and sweet and deep. Do you like it that way?”

  “Yes, Daddy.” What I don’t like is the lack of connection in this position. Although I love what his cock’s doing inside me. I can’t see him without twisting my neck, or touch him, the way I could when he was on top of me last night. And he’s not mastering me the way he did that made me so crazy. “Daddy, can I please have your weight again? Please-please?”

  He presses his lips against my cheek, breathing warmly against my skin. “Not feeling this, little girl?”

  I shake my head. “I love what your, um, penis is doing, Daddy, but I can’t see you or touch you.”

  “Fair enough, sweetheart. I just don’t want to crush you.”

  “I’m super-tough. Un-crushable me. Promise.”

  “Un-crushable you, huh?” He chuckles into my hair. “Okay.”

  He withdraws from me, rolls me onto my back, kneels between my spread legs and scoops up my hips, drawing my lower body up against his at a right angle, while my shoulders and head are still on the bed. I wrap my legs around his hips, locking my ankles behind him. The iron-hard bar of his forearm slides under my ass, supporting me and reminding me of the soreness of my backside. He’s not giving me his weight, but I have no control in this position. I’m at his mercy, with only one choice: submit or struggle. With a wriggle, I happily choose to submit. He slides his wet length along my slit, then angles his hips back, lines himself up and pushes into me, holding me steady for his entry. I arch at the delicious sensation that runs all the way up my spine. His slow penetration pushes a long moan out of me.

  “Oh, fuck yes,” he groans. “Let me see your eyes, baby.” I twist and lift my head so I can meet his gaze. “Oh, yeah. That’ll never get old.”

  I’ve got no idea what he sees in my eyes when he enters me. I know I’m wide open to him in that moment. Anything he asked of me, I’d do; anything he wanted, I’d give. Maybe it’s that vulnerability he sees. Whatever it is, it darkens his eyes and fills his face with primal satisfaction.

  He spread his knees and begins thrusting, that hard snap of his hips he used the third time last night. In this position, he’s shoving right up into my G-spot with each thrust, surging against my cervix at the end of the stroke, and I keen with the sharp onslaught of pleasure. “Daddy, Daddy!”

  “Mmm,” he growls. “I think someone likes this position.”

  I nod fervently, my hair foaming around my face. I shake it back and reach for him, wanting that connection our last position lacked. I find his thigh with one hand and grip it, feeling the firm muscle flex under my hand as he thrusts, using his back and ass and thighs.

  As I grope at him with my other hand, Logan reaches down and threads his fingers through mine. “I’ve got you, baby.”

  Oh, God, he does. He holds me tight while he fucks me. Last night was Master fucking his subbie. This feels more like Daddy fucking his baby girl. There’s something tender and sweet about it even while it’s hot and strenuous and right on the edge of too much. It undoes me in minutes. I’m shivering all over, my toes curling, legs clasping at him as though I could somehow pull him deeper. I remember to beg before I go over, arching up, my head grinding back into the mattress.

  Logan pulls my hand to my belly and clasps our hands there, flat on my belly, pressing down against his upward thrusts. I gasp out each hard contraction of my body. This orgasm sucks in-in-in instead of splintering me outward, and for a second, I feel connected with everything: Logan, the bed, the ground under his house, the Earth, the eight and a half million sleepy souls of the city. The moment stretches, drawn out by Logan’s slow, deep thrusts.

  I sob dryly, “Daddy, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy. Ta, ta, ta so much.”

  “Good girl. That’s it. Let it out, baby doll.”

  I do, releasing whatever strange energy he’s filled me with. I sink back into the bed and dissolve into delirious tremors. Logan keeps thrusting, not pounding, just a liquid gliding from my opening all the way to my core, over and over. His motion fills me, sates me. It’s mellow and hot and sharp and so very delicious. I roll against the bed, shoulder to shoulder, as much as his grasp on my hips permits, wallowing in the pleasure.

  “Daddy, please don’t stop.”

  Logan groans. “Sorry, baby, but Daddy’s really close. This feels fucking amazing.”

  It does. And I don’t want to delay his release, not when he’s had less than half the orgasms I have. “Yes, Daddy.”

  Logan leans over me, thrusting like he can’t stop. “Do you want to switch positions? That might help me last a little longer.”

  I smile up at him. “No, Daddy.”

  “Good girl, Emmy.” He closes his eyes and throws his head back for a moment, before he looks down at me again. “I’ll make it up to you next time, baby. Oh, fuck, yes—”

  His words trail off into ragged panting as his thrusts take on the urgency of a man right on the edge. He collapses over me, giving me the weight of his chest as he continues to support my hips and ass with his thighs and the bar of his arm. I clutch at him with my free hand, the other trapped between our bodies. He groans out his orgasm into my throat, nipping at me between his deep exhalations, rolling his face over my skin, nuzzling me. My Wolfy-Daddy. He melts deeper and deeper into me, flooding me on the last few thrusts before he gives me his full weight, crushing me down into the bed.

  I dissolve into breathless giggles.

  Logan chuckles into my throat. “Silly baby.”

  “Daddy-daddy-daddy.”

  He shifts, taking some of his weight off me, which I protest hazily. He slides up onto his elbow and kisses me. “Fuck, baby doll. My teeth have all rotted out, that was so sweet. Tiramisu sex.”

  I giggle and rub my hands up and down his back, loving being crushed beneath him. “Wolfy-Daddy sex.”

  “Wolfy-Daddy?”

  “Uh-huh. You were all nuzzle-y and bite-y.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “Wolfy-Daddy.”

  He spreads himself on me, smooshing me deeper into the mattress. “What does that make you, a wolfy-baby?”

  “No, Daddy. Little Red Riding Hood.”

  Logan laughs, his belly bumping against mine. “Little Red, huh? I’m not sure about fucking Little Red Riding Hood.”

  “The Big Bad Wolf always, um, has sex with Red Riding Hood. He hides in her grandmother’s bed waiting for her, and then he says he’s going to eat her up? That’s a euphemism, Daddy. He was totally boning her.”

  He laughs again, shaking his head against my cheek. “Well, that puts bedtime stories in a whole new
light. What do you think about playing that out as a scene? We’ll get you a little red cloak?”

  If my brain hadn’t melted from that orgasm, it would from the idea of a dirty Red Riding Hood scene. “Could the Wolfy-Daddy be mean and hold her down and do things she doesn’t want? He could be sweet at the end.”

  “You love those rape fantasies, don’t you, sweetheart? I can’t wait to act them out with you. I think if Red resists, the Big Bad Wolf could tie her up and choke her while he fucks her. What do you think?”

  I squeeze his neck so hard he chokes. “Yes, Daddy! Yes-yes-yes. And the Wolfy-Daddy could take her the naughty way, if I’m trained enough by then.”

  “The naughty way? Ah, is someone starting to like the idea of anal sex?”

  “No, you, Daddy, but a Wolfy-Daddy would definitely want to take Red the naughty way.”

  “Mmm.” Logan rocks on me, mooshing me all around so I feel like the filling in a sandwich. “I love your fantasies, baby. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

  I’m already having more fun than I have in years, maybe even since Lew, my first Dom, who played with me the most, and this is just my first date with Logan. I hug him tight and thank him. He rubs himself on me and kisses me, until he finally slips out. He rolls onto his side and pulls me to his chest. This is a good snuggle position and I cuddle into him.

  He strokes my hair as he says, “I want you to get a few more hours of sleep, baby doll.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” I’m totally ready to cuddle to sleep with him. “Can I set an alarm? I don’t want to miss my train.”

  “Mmm.” Logan’s silent for a moment, petting my hair, then he says, “How about we don’t set an alarm?”

  “I’m not good about waking up without an alarm. I might oversleep.”

  “Yeah, about that. You got anything you have to be back for right away?”

  My mother. Of course, she would ruin things. “I’m sorry, I do.”

  He grunts. “I don’t want you sleeping alone tonight. Hell, I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. Any chance you can put your thing off for a day? I’ll pay for your return ticket on Tuesday.”

  I want to. God, how much I want to. But visiting hours at my mother’s care home are limited, and if I don’t go tomorrow morning, I won’t have another chance before I leave. “Sir, I really want to, but I need to visit my mother before we go and visiting hours are Tuesday and Friday from ten to noon. Even if I take the early train tomorrow, I won’t get back in time. I wish— I wish so much I could stay another night with you.”

  He strokes my head. “It’s okay. That’s important.”

  Is it? She doesn’t even know who I am anymore. But I never miss a Tuesday. Ever. Her carers tell me routine is important.

  “I really, really wish I could stay another night. Maybe—”

  Maybe nothing. Francis can’t be bothered to see Maman under normal circumstances. If I told him I was going away and asked him to take my Tuesday visit, he’d just scoff at me and say something hateful. There’s no one I can count on.

  “Don’t sweat it, baby doll. We’ve got two whole weeks. You take care of your mum and that way you’re not worrying about her while we’re on the boat.”

  I rub my cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you, Daddy. Thank you so much for understanding.”

  “You’re welcome, baby doll. I had a mother, too. I wouldn’t have left for two weeks without saying goodbye to her. If I set the alarm for two hours, we can get a little more sleep and still have time for that omelette I promised you before we head to the train station. Shh, now.”

  He strokes my hair again, and he’s still stroking it when I drift off.

  * * *

  Saying goodbye to him is ridiculously painful. I’ll see him again on Wednesday night. Two days.

  That’s just two days too long.

  I should be able to bid him a breezy goodbye, with a heartfelt kiss for such a great first date. Instead, we linger at the gate, as far as Logan can come without a ticket, tangled in each other’s arms, lost in each other’s mouths. At the last minute, he lets me go, and I have to race through the gate and down the platform, clutching my phone and my overnight bag and thanking goodness that I wore flats.

  My phone pings before I even find my seat. I check it, and smile at his message. Forty-seven hours. I’m counting down, and will be counting on your sweet ass when I see you on Wednesday.

  I wriggle down into my seat while I text him back, feeling the delicious soreness of said part. I’ll be counting, too, sir. Can’t wait. Thank you for the best first date ever.

  He sends me back a clapping hand and peach emoji, which have me giggling as I put away my phone and pull out my laptop.

  * * *

  Nothing’s changed at home. The swimsuits I ordered have arrived, and they’re cute, even though they make me wish I had more up top and I’ll have to wear the little matching skirt-thing to cover my scars. Logan didn’t ask about them. Every one of my Doms has asked, and I haven’t told any of them the truth.

  If Logan asks, I will.

  My neighbor, Tammy, who recommended the care home I have my mother in, because her father is there, has put a note through my letterbox the way she does every Monday, asking if she can catch a ride with me. I smile as I scribble, “Sure, 9:35,” on the back of the note, the way I do every week, and pop it back through her door. Not letting her down makes up a little for missing a second night with Logan.

  I’m revising that opinion by midnight. The house is ringingly empty. It’s dark, no matter how many lights I turn on, and cold, despite the warm day. My eight hundred and twenty calorie meal for one tasted like cardboard against the memory of tortellini in brodo. None of my manuscripts are calling to me. There’s nothing on TV, despite having five thousand channels. I’ve started three different books and put them down because they failed to hold my attention. I’m beginning to contemplate watching funny cat videos on YouTube—the last stop on my “my life sucks rotten eggs” train—when my phone pings.

  It’s a Skype request from “Big Daddy Dom NYC.”

  I snigger and flick over to text messages. Some weird guy calling himself Big Daddy Dom NYC is trying to Skype me. What should I do, Daddy?

  Logan’s response is instant: Send him a picture of you peeing. That will scare him off.

  I giggle and accept the Skype request, then open a video call. “Hi, Daddy.”

  There’s a scraping noise before the video opens on his end. Logan’s face appears, framed by white pillows. He’s in bed already. “Hey, baby doll. You busy?”

  I shake my head. Profoundly unbusy.

  “Thanks for texting me when you got home,” he says. “I always want to know you’re safe.”

  Boy, I’m glad I remembered to do that. “I’m safe. Safe and bored and wishing so badly I could have stayed another night.”

  Logan sighs and slides an arm behind his head. His arm muscles bunch under his skin. I remember how that log felt around me, so warm and solid and comforting, and have to swallow a whimper.

  “I’m missing you, too, baby doll,” he says. “How about I talk you to sleep?”

  Even though I wouldn’t normally even go to bed for a couple of hours, I nod eagerly. I race upstairs, turning off lights as I go.

  “Have you locked your doors, sweetheart?” Logan asks as I’m dashing upstairs.

  Shit. I dash back down, lock the front door, check the back door, and rush back upstairs. I leave the phone on my bed while I pee and brush my teeth in record time; retrieve it as soon as I return to the bedroom. “Should I undress for you, Daddy?”

  “Uh-huh. Let Daddy see his beautiful girl.”

  I take my time wiggling out of my yoga pants, bending all the way over and displaying myself the way I know he likes. His groan of appreciation makes heat flush the parts I’m pointing at the phone.

  “Baby, you got any body lotion?”

  “Yes, Daddy.” I show him the top of my dresser, where I keep perfumes and l
otions and deodorant. “What would you like me to smell like?”

  “Pink bottle.”

  Him and his thing for pink.

  “Pear and magnolia,” I tell him, picking up the Crabtree and Evelyn bottle and waving it at the phone. I hear him take a deep breath, as though he can smell it.

  “Smooth it on, all over your skin, start at your feet.”

  I set the bottle on the floor, prop the phone against the bottom dresser drawer, bend over until I can touch my toes, squeeze a dollop on my hands and rub it in, smoothing it up the backs of my calves, my thighs, over my bottom, in slow, circular strokes.

  Logan groans. “You’re killing me.”

  “Am I, Daddy?” I turn around, feigning innocence, while I smooth the lotion up and down my arms, stretching my hands to him.

  “Tease me and your ass will regret it. Forever.”

  I giggle and rub lotion over my breasts, pinching my nipples as I rub. When my nipples are hard and slick, I slide my hands down over my belly and rub lotion into my mound, thinking of Logan’s hands on me and biting my lip as I look into the phone.

  “For ever and ever,” Logan promises with a growl.

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Put your pajamas on before my balls implode.”

  I took my best pajamas to his house, but didn’t wear them. They’re still in my overnight bag, waiting to be transferred to my larger case. Why don’t I have more? Because, at most, I spend one night per weekend with my Doms. I should have ordered more when I bought the swimsuits.

  I fish them out of my overnight bag. White satin with pink hearts. He should love them. I pull the cami on first, so I can wave my bare ass at the phone as long as possible. Logan’s appreciative groans make me draw out the reverse strip-tease, but finally, I finish sliding the shorts up my legs and there’s nothing left to do but carry the phone to my bed and prop it on a pillow as I climb in and snuggle down in my pillows and covers. Logan’s bed was wonderfully cozy—particularly for a man’s bed—but nothing beats my bed with its memory foam mattress and mountains of pillows.