The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  Golden, midday light pours through a sliding glass door that leads out to a balcony overlooking the ocean. The light is as dazzling as the cabin’s décor: all in shades of mauve, white, and gold. I cross the soft carpet to peer out from the balcony. Wow, what a view. I’ll be able to watch the sunset from my cabin every night as we sail down, and the sunrise every morning as we sail back. Well, if I don’t sleep through sunrise. Logan’s very . . . energetic. Not that I’m complaining. I haven’t been so satisfied in, well, ever.

  I turn from the view of whitecaps and passing ships back to the cabin. It’s bigger than in looked in the pictures. There are two separate areas. The area closest to the exit is the bedroom, with a king-sized bed, a built-in dresser, and closet. The bathroom is between the bed and door, also bigger than expected, with a full-sized tub. A half-wall and curtain that can be drawn across the width of the cabin separate the bedroom from the living area, where there’s a seating area with a couch and loveseat. Across from the couch, there’s a large, flat screen TV mounted on the wall, and below it, a desk and padded chair. There’s a glass-block vase with a dozen pink roses on the desk, which is a lovely touch, like a high-end hotel. There’s space next to the vase for my laptop. If my time with Logan doesn’t inspire me sufficiently, the view will.

  A knock startles me. “Yes?”

  “Emmy, it’s me,” Logan’s voice is slightly muffled, but I can hear him clearly, which means there really isn’t a ton of privacy between the cabins. I hope our neighbors don’t complain about the noise we’re very, very likely to make.

  I unlock and open the connecting door. Logan greets me with a smile. “What do you think?”

  “It’s gorgeous. Is your cabin the same?”

  Logan shakes his head. “Come in.”

  He steps back so I can see his cabin. It’s much bigger, and the lounge is a whole separate room, divided from the bedroom by slatted screens. I can see a bar with stools in the lounge, as well as a seating area with three couches. The bedroom boasts a massive California king bed that could sleep a whole platoon. Is it a platoon in the Navy?

  “Emmy,” Logan says, drawing my attention back to him. “I took the bigger cabin because I’m going to need to do interviews in here.”

  He feels bad about taking the bigger cabin? I shake my head. “I don’t need that much space.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder. “Much less this much space.”

  “Okay, but if you need more room for anything, feel free to come in here. And I’d really like it if you slept with me. I only got you your own cabin so you’d have your own space while I work, not because I don’t want you to share my bed.”

  I smile at him. “Does yours have a balcony?”

  “No, just the windows. I guess that’s the trade-off.”

  “Then mine’s cooler anyway. If you’re nice to me, I’ll invite you onto my balcony.”

  “Nice to you!” Logan growls, and then he’s chasing me the few steps to his bed, tossing me onto it and tickling me until I’m squealing and breathless.

  * * *

  We lie on his bed afterwards. The covers are rumpled under me and Logan’s warm skin is sticking to mine, but I can’t even think about moving. I’m sated and fatigued and oh, so relaxed. Traveling with Logan is less of a strain than being on my own. He took care of everything from our luggage all the way down to buying me a bottle of water while we were waiting in the passport line. But it’s still travel with all of its uncertainty and inconvenience. I’m glad to be on the ship finally and even happier to be here with Logan.

  He props himself up on his elbow, looking down at me, while he winds a strand of my hair around his fingers. He’s smiling, which he’s been doing constantly since he got off the phone with his cruise contact and face-fucked me until I was breathless, sore-throated, and blissed.

  No more strain, no more tension, no more thoughts of his sister. I think I’ve made him happy.

  And there are no words for how I feel. After an insane tickling, and then getting fucked hanging over the edge of the bed, until I was sure my head was going to explode, either from the blood-rush or my orgasm, there’s no superlative strong enough for the tingle and ache of my body. I don’t think there’s an inch of me, anywhere, that Logan hasn’t touched. I feel saturated with him.

  “Penny for them, beanie,” Logan says.

  He’s so cute. He says I’m cute, but so is he. When he’s not all domly and fierce. “I can’t remember feeling this good. Maybe ever. Certainly not since my last spa day.”

  He flicks the tip of my nose with the ends of my hair. “Nice to know I compare favorably with the spa.”

  I giggle. “You’re better.”

  “There’s a spa on board,” he says.

  There’s everything on board, from the look of it. “There are dungeons on board.”

  “You’re more interested in the dungeons than the spa?”

  I nod emphatically.

  “Would you like to do a scene tonight?”

  I’m not sure. I haven’t done many scenes in front of total strangers. I know pretty much everyone in the Syracuse kink crowd; they stopped being strangers years ago. The scene at Logan’s club on our first date was in front of strangers, but he knew them even if I didn’t. The idea of doing scenes on a boat filled with total strangers makes me feel a little shaky.

  But I don’t want to disappoint my Dom. “Would you like to?” I ask.

  “I think we should take a look at the dungeons and get a feel for how things work, then do something lower-key in private tonight. We can talk about a couple of scenes I have in mind and then tomorrow I’ll sign us up on the scene board.”

  The scene board was one of three huge whiteboards hanging in the embarkation lounge when we boarded. The pursers promised we’d hear all about the boards during the cruise director’s orientation, but it was obvious, on brief inspection, they’re for setting up scenes in either the dungeons or other areas. There were already dozens of entries when we boarded.

  “That would be great.” And it would. Not every scene needs to be a big production. Not any scene needs to be a big production, although I have a feeling some scenes with Logan will be. I already know he loves role-playing and costumes, like the schoolgirl uniform he had me wear to his club.

  “Good girl. If we’re going to play tonight, then my baby needs to keep up her strength. How about you go to that ladies’ introductory lunch in an hour? Have a nice lunch and maybe meet some of the other girls?”

  I almost pout. After our time together today, the last thing I want to do is be apart from him. And the second to last thing I want to do is eat with strangers. I hate eating with strangers. But he probably has work to do, which is why he’s getting rid of me. “Yes, Daddy.”

  “That’s my girl. Let’s get you showered. Hopefully the luggage will arrive soon and then Daddy can dress you for the afternoon.”

  He can? Is he going to pick my clothes for me while we’re on the cruise?

  “I would love that.”

  * * *

  By the time I’m showered, lathered with the ship’s complementary, gardenia-scented lotion, and wrapped in a fluffy, white towel, our luggage has arrived. Logan takes the bags from the porters, tipping them even though the cruise brochure said that we should just tip once at the end for convenience. He puts them on the coffee table in his room and checks them over carefully, but I can’t tell what he’s looking for.

  “Is there something wrong with the bags?” I ask.

  “No. I’m just checking to see if the screening they do leaves any traces. Open your big suitcase, baby.”

  I do, popping the locks and opening the suitcase so the two halves lie on the table. I’m glad the case has webbing inside, and I’ve used it for once so my stuff doesn’t explode all over his cabin.

  “Can you tell if they’ve gone through it?”

  I unclasp the webbing on one side and pull it back to show my clothes, still folded, a pair of sandals tucked against the edge of t
he case so the soles don’t dirty my clothes, and the black fabric case I keep my plushy in when we travel. “It doesn’t look like it.”

  If they did, they were really, really neat.

  “Mmm.” Logan picks up the black fabric case. “Sex toys?”

  My heart stutters. “Please, can I have that back? Please?”

  He hands it to me carefully. I tuck the bag back down in the case, then stand next to it awkwardly, with my head down, twisting my hands together. I know I’ve made a mistake. I know Logan noticed. I don’t know how to fix it.

  “How about a game of show and tell?” Logan says. “I’ll show you something I brought for you, and you show me what’s in that bag?”

  He’s not angry? I look up. He’s undoing one of his cases, eyes on the combination lock as he turns the tumblers, but he’s smiling.

  I take Peter Aloha Bunny’s bag back out of my suitcase. Logan’s got his massive, black, hard-sided case open. He must have paid a small fortune in excess baggage charges, because the suitcase looks like it weighs more than I do. His suitcase is filled with flat plastic bags. He vacuum-packed. I want to laugh at his anal retentiveness, but I’m still shaken at the idea of showing him my stuffie. What if he laughs? What if he takes Peter Aloha Bunny away as punishment? I don’t think I could handle that.

  He takes one of the flattened bags and opens it with a whoosh. Inside the opaque bag, there are neatly folded clothes. My mind’s just registering that they’re all pink and white when Logan takes out the bundle on the top of the pile and shakes it out.

  It’s a cap-sleeved, baby doll dress in soft, white cotton, with ribbons threaded through the lace at the sleeves and hem. My heart catches again, for a completely different reason.

  “It’s beautiful, Daddy.”

  “I would very much like to see you in it.”

  I tip my head to the side. Isn’t that what the creepy, French Egyptologist said to Marion Ravenwood in Raiders of the Lost Ark?

  “Raiders, Daddy?”

  He grins and beckons with two fingers. I shuffle forward, feeling small and mean for my reluctance to show him my bunny, and stunned that he’d buy me clothes. When he said he was bringing things for me for the cruise, I assumed he meant sex toys.

  Logan loosens the white towel. Holding my eyes, he runs his fingertips from my shoulders to my waist, tracing the shallow rise of my breasts until I shiver.

  “Daddy.”

  “Sweet baby. Your skin’s so soft. I love how pink you are after a shower. Let’s get the dress on and then I’ll show you what I brought for you.”

  It’s not the dress? There’s more? My throat tightens. This is beginning to feel like too much. I didn’t get a single thing for him. I just selfishly bought bathing suits and jammies for myself.

  He tugs the towel free, so it drops to my feet, following the path of the fabric with his fingers. Heat tingles through me, tugging and tightening my nipples and belly. I should be sated, but his touch brings my body alert again, and I want more. How can I want him all the time like this?

  “Daddy,” I whisper, and it’s a plea.

  “Mmm?” He looks at me as he cups my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples. I stand naked and trembling in front of him, and not because of the overly enthusiastic air conditioning. “Are you needy again, sweetheart?”

  I nod.

  “You just had an orgasm twenty minutes ago. I think another before lunch is a little greedy, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” I admit.

  “Then you’ll have to wait. But I adore how needy you are. Can you stay needy for Daddy for a few hours? Wear some Ben Wa balls for me?”

  I nod eagerly.

  “Good girl.” A shiver runs through me at his praise. “Arms up.”

  I follow his instruction and he slips the dress over my head. It floats down over my skin, a feathery brush like his fingertips, and I shiver, my toes digging into the plush carpet.

  Logan smooths the dress down, his fingers finding and lingering on my nipples, tracing them through the soft cloth. “Now that we’re aboard, no underwear unless I tell you otherwise. You’ll be ready for Daddy’s touch whenever I want to give it to you. Today, you can have panties, but no bra.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” I catch one of the ribbons trailing from the sleeve between my fingertips. It’s embroidered with tiny roses. Super girly. I wouldn’t have picked it for myself, but I love that he did.

  “Good girl. Now, something to go with this pretty dress.” He turns back to his case, pulls out another vacuum-packed bag and opens it. This time, he doesn’t let me see what’s inside. He takes out a velvet bag. My breath catches when I see the jeweler’s name and logo embroidered on it.

  He takes out a silver chain. Short and delicate. The chain hangs loose from his hand, without a clasp or charms.

  I stop breathing.

  He bought me a collar.

  He reaches back into the bag and takes out a clasp with a pink pearl dangling from it.

  “This is not a collar,” he says as he holds out the ends.

  My breath rushes out on a disappointed sigh. I shake myself as I lift my hair so he can fasten it around my neck. Of course he’s not offering me a collar. We’ve only known each other for a week.

  “This is a memory chain.” He clips the pink pearl clasp to the ends of the chain, closing it around my throat and centering the jewel between my collarbones. “The pearl’s for the cruise, our first adventure together.”

  I put my hand over his. “Daddy, ta so much. This is beautiful. I’m really—I’m overwhelmed.”

  “My pleasure, sweetheart.” He kisses me on the forehead. “Now it’s your turn for show and tell.”

  I pick up the bag, tug on the drawstring and slowly draw out my teddy bear. Peter Aloha Bunny is a floppy, brown and white bunny dressed in a miniature Hawaiian shirt. His fur is a little matted in spots, a little thin in others, and one of his ears has a line of white stiches along the seam where I had to patch a tear, very inexpertly.

  He’s the only thing I have from my father.

  “Who is this?” Logan asks.

  “Peter Aloha Bunny,” I tell him, feeling the prick of tears behind my eyes. I don’t want to cry. Logan’s being wonderful again. Gentle and generous. That shouldn’t make me cry.

  “Did he come from Hawaii?”

  I nod. “My dad brought him back for me.”

  For my sixth birthday, I think, although my memories of it are vague and my mother refused to talk about my father after he left us, so she wouldn’t ever confirm my misty recollection.

  Logan strokes Peter Aloha Bunny’s head, then hands him back to me. “It’s nice to meet Peter Aloha Bunny. Would you like to keep him on your bed or mine?”

  I shake my head, unable to answer.

  “Why don’t you put him away for now, and when you decide, you can unpack him. If you want him in here, he goes on the right pillow. Left side’s mine.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” I blink hard and swallow my tears, then hold out my arms.

  He sweeps me up and cuddles me against his chest. “Easy, baby. Too much?”

  I shake my head and whisper into his warm throat. “Just emotional.”

  “You know it’s okay to be emotional with me. We’ve talked about that before. I’m proud of you, baby, for the trust you just showed me. I wouldn’t ever hurt your bunny or take him away from you. He’s yours. Little girls need their lovies.”

  I nod. I’m going to cry. I can’t help it.

  “Oops.” He catches the first tear on his fingers as it spills, wipes it away and kisses my forehead. “You’re safe with me, Emmy. This is a safe place, right here, in Daddy’s arms. You can show me anything. Tell me anything. I’ll keep it safe, right here.”

  That does it. I grab two handfuls of his T-shirt, bury my face in them and bawl.

  He holds me, rubbing my back, as I blubber into his shirt.

  My tears don’t last long, thank goodness, maybe because they’re from letting go of
little fears, rather than the deep catharsis of yesterday. Or maybe I’m just dehydrated. I take a few shaky breaths and wipe my face, then realize what a mess I’ve made of his shirt.

  “Daddy, I’m sorry.” I hold his tear–and oh, God, is that snot?–stained shirt between my hands.

  He chuckles. “No problem. I was going to change after I showered anyway. Let’s get these balls in you if you still want to wear them to lunch. If it’s too much today, just say so.”

  I shake my head. “I’d like to wear them for you.”

  His warm “good girl” makes me shiver all the way to my toes.

  * * *

  Logan holds my hand as we walk up the wide staircase from our cabins to the Lido deck. The weighted, silver balls he’s put inside me shift slightly with each step but are so much nicer on stairs than Morris-the-purple-butt plug, which he’s told me I’m wearing to dinner. I’m not sure I’m looking forward to that.

  I’m definitely not looking forward to lunch. I really dislike groups of strangers. I’m okay one-on-one, but in groups I just want the floor to open up and swallow me.

  We stop at the sliding doors leading to the Rose Murex Lounge to use the dispenser of hand sanitizer that’s at the door of every public area on the ship. While we were boarding, the pursers asked us to use the hand sanitizers liberally. Since I don’t want whatever the other couple hundred people on the ship are carrying, I do.

  When I finish rubbing the gel into my hands, Logan holds his arm out. I tuck myself into his side and let him lead me through the sliding doors.

  The lounge is already full of women, even though we’re ten minutes early. There are two lines of booths along the windows of the lounge, and platforms on each end where there are larger tables. Some of the tables are already occupied. Waiters in the ship’s uniform—a pink thong for men and an iridescent cream bikini for women—circulate among the tables, offering champagne, mimosas, and sodas. One of the waitstaff bounces over to us: literally bounces on her cream-and-gold Nikes.