by Frost, E J
“You’ll never hear it from me.” Master Javier holds up his hands. “There’s been, mmm, let’s call it a culture of intolerance. There aren’t any other daddies or mommies in the club. There’s a reason for that, and it’s not because there’s a local shortage.”
“Didn’t there used to be one? A DD-lg couple? I heard they moved out of state. Is that the truth or did Caddy and her inquisition chase them out?”
“I’m sorry to say I don’t know why Gill left. Nor am I aware of any hostility between Catriona and Gill. But I am aware of two prospective members whose applications were not approved because they were age players.” Javier shifts in his chair and crosses his legs elegantly. “If Catriona’s approach to you today represents a change in attitude, that can only be a good thing.”
Logan blows out a breath that ruffles my hair.
“I’m trying to be understanding of her history, but still . . . it’s kink-shaming, J. She sat there and talked about William Blunt creating this club as a haven for his kink—”
Javier holds up his hand. “Allow her the space to change.”
Logan sits back in his chair and hugs me to his chest.
Javier watches us for a minute, then leans forward and holds out his hand to me. After a glance at Daddy, who nods, I put my fingertips in Master Javier’s palm.
“Are you uncomfortable here, Emily?” Master Javier asks, gently rubbing my knuckles with his thumb.
“No, sir.”
Even with Rachel’s antagonism and Pence being a prick and Mistress Caddy maybe not wanting me here because my littleness triggers her, I love Logan’s club. It’s such a great play space, and most of the Doms have been super-super nice and the subbies could be real friends, and it feels like a community, even if I’m not really a part of it yet.
“How can we make you more comfortable?”
I look to Daddy, who kisses me on the temple. “Be candid with Master Javier.”
“I’d love a nursery, or a playroom if a nursery is too baby-ish for anyone,” I offer. “But mostly, I’d like everyone to just ignore me.”
Javier’s dark brows draw together. “Ignore you?”
“My littleness. If everyone just treats me like Master Logan’s subbie, that would be fine.”
“After last night, no one could be in any doubt that you’re mine.” Logan rubs his hands up and down my arms, which gives me good shivers. “But you’re also my little girl, and I’m not okay with everyone ignoring that. I want you recognized as my little.”
He does? Why? Caregiver relationships have always been at the bottom of the kinky totem pole, and this morning wasn’t the first time I’ve heard opinions like Mistress Caddy’s. That’s not to say it doesn’t sting to find that prejudice here in Logan’s club, but it doesn’t hurt. Not like the first time someone mocked my littleness. Maybe this is the first time Logan’s really felt it, though.
“Sorry, Daddy.”
He kisses my temple again. “Don’t be sorry. I understand you wanting to fit in and avoid confrontation, sweetheart, but I’m never going to be okay with hiding your kink. That’s not why I pay my damn dues here.”
It really does matter to him. Oh, my wonderful daddy. “Yes, Daddy.”
Logan grunts. “We need to talk about—" He breaks off as his phone rings in his pocket. “Sorry, baby girl.”
I shift off his lap and back to my chair so he can take the call. Daddy thumbs his phone to accept the call, then holds it to his chest while he points at the floor.
He wants me to kneel? Here? Now? None of the other subbies having breakfast are kneeling. Feeling my cheeks flame and a knot of resentment tighten my chest, I kneel next to his chair and let my head drop forward so I don’t have to meet anyone’s eyes. Logan’s warm hand settles on the top of my head. He slowly strokes my hair.
“Hey, Manny,” Logan says.
Manny’s deep voice is thin and distant, but I can hear him, even without earwigging. “I’m at Rick’s, man. You need to get over here.”
“What happened?”
“Stalker’s escalated. Building security called me. Suspicious package. Rick picked it up from the concierge while I was on my way over and opened it any-fucking-way. He’s freaking out. You need to get over here and hold his hand. And put the fear of God into him about security procedures.”
Logan curses under his breath. “I’ve got that interview at ten.”
“Can you reschedule?” Manny asks.
“Dunnow. It was tough to maneuver them into the interview in the first place.”
“A’ight,” Manny says. “How about I take the interview? You said you didn’t expect to get anything out of it anyway, and you’ve got the girl’s name, right?”
Logan’s hand stills in my hair. He cups the back of my head and tips my head up until I look up at him.
“Can you come with me or do you need to go home?” he mouths almost silently.
“With you,” I mouth back.
He nods and pats my head. “Okay, Manny. I’ll text you the address. Thanks for this, mate. Just get background on the party. See if they know any of the players. Whether they had any contact with the girls since the party. We can always do a follow-up if we need to. This is about building rapport.”
“Got it. How soon can you get here?”
“Fifteen minutes,” Logan says. He sounds grim. Poor Daddy.
“You at your club? Avoid FDR, there’s an accident. I’ll hand him off to you, do the interview, and come back. This needs to be a twenty-four-seven detail, man. He may not like it, but that’s the way it has to be. Whoever’s doing this, they know where he lives.”
“I hear you. I’ll tell him. Your standard rate? And who do you want at night?”
“Standard rate. I’ll make some calls while I’m waiting for you. Tipper’s in Cali with his girl, but there should be someone available to take nights.”
“Okay, thanks, mate.”
“See you in fifteen. Bring the fucking Xanax.”
Logan chuckles, but it’s not his happy chuckle.
I hear him slide his phone back in his pocket. He continues stroking my hair for a minute, then taps me on the head. “Up you come, little girl.”
“Yes, Daddy.” I push to my feet carefully, so I don’t wobble, and stand with my head down and my hands behind my back. Even though it was embarrassing to be the only subbie in the room kneeling, I’m glad I did it. My submission always calms Logan and I can see that whatever’s happened is piling more stress on top of a day that was already going to be bad. Daddy needs me to be super-submissive today, so that’s what I’ll be for him.
He stands, reaches across the table and shakes Master Javier’s hand. “Sorry, we’ve got to run.”
“I heard,” Master Javier says smoothly. “Dinner tomorrow? I don’t think our conversation’s quite finished.”
“We’ve got . . . a guest coming. She’ll be here until Wednesday.”
“Ah,” Javier begins.
“Actually, fuck it. Dinner tomorrow’s great,” Daddy says. “Our place. Bring Maude and whomever else you want. Text me how many you’re bringing. We’ll make it a High Protocol dinner. Be nice not to be outnumbered by submissives.”
Javier laughs. He has a deep, scratchy laugh. Like his laugh-box has been roughened by cigarettes and alcohol. Top shelf alcohol, of course. Even though I wouldn’t ever want Master Javier for my Dom, his laugh makes me press my thighs together and wiggle a little.
“I’ll bring Maude and Austin and make sure we’re not outnumbered,” Master Javier promises. “I’ll bring the wine. Maude will bring dessert. Emily, I’d like the reddened pork chops. No beans, and for God’s sake, no chia seeds. There’s a good girl.”
I’d never, ever put chia seeds on Master Javier’s favorite pork chops. Although I might put them on a side salad or two.
“Yes, sir.” I dip him a little curtsey.
“C’mon, Emmy. We’ve got to move.” Logan pulls our bags out from under the table and slings
them over his shoulder. He wraps his other arm around my shoulders. I nestle into his side and let him lead me out.
The day security guard at the front desk calls us a taxi from the stand a few blocks away. Usually, Logan and I take the train from his club, since it’s only a short walk to the station, but we’re in a hurry today.
He buckles me into my seat, fastens his own belt, and gives the driver Rick’s address. As the cab pulls into the morning traffic, he puts his arm around me, pulling me as close as the seat belt allows.
“When we get to Rick’s, sweetheart, I’m going to put you in High Protocol. Do you understand?”
Not really. He’s never put me in High Protocol anywhere but at the house or at the club. High Protocol’s usually for scenes. And, evidently, for dinner tomorrow. But Logan has the right to put me in High Protocol whenever he wants. Today’s not the day to question him. I look up and nod. “Yes, Sir.”
“Daddy.”
I beam up at him. I always want to call him “Daddy,” and I love that he tells me when it’s safe for me to do so.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl. If you need to get my attention for any reason, you may tap my hip, knee, or foot. I want you to pay attention. I’m going to ask you afterwards what you saw and thought. But I want you silent in front of Rick.”
That stings a little. But Logan never does anything without a reason, and I trust him. I nod.
“No matter what happens, how freaked out Rick is, or what you see, Daddy holds you in his hands, little girl. You’ll be by my side the whole time. No harm will come to you.”
I feel a prickle of anxiety. That he feels the need to reassure me like this tells me how bad it could be. But looking up into his dark, steady eyes, the prickle smooths away. I whisper my mantra, and Daddy kisses my forehead.
“We might be on the minutes, little love, depending on how long this takes. If I have to leave straight from Rick’s to go to the airport, are you okay to get home on your own?”
“No problem. I’ll take care of the bags and put everything away. Should I make dinner for everyone? I mean, will Miranda come to dinner?”
He squeezes my shoulders. “Do you want her to?”
That’s kind of a trick question. No, I don’t want Miranda to come to dinner. I don’t want to meet her. I don’t want to look at her and think about Logan doing kinky things with her. I don’t want to see her baby bump and wonder if Logan put the bun in that oven. But Logan asked me to stay with him, help keep him calm, and a little takes care of her daddy.
“It might be a relaxed way for us to meet. If you don’t think it’ll give you indigestion?”
“Mmm, have the Pepto Bismol ready, little girl. I’ll invite her and text you, so you know how much to make. Keep it light, please.”
I nod, understanding. “She’ll be off a long flight. Her tummy might be rocky. With the baby and all.”
Logan snorts. “I don’t care about Miranda’s stomach. With the best will in the world, her being here is going to suck giant rotten monkey balls. I’m going to need to take you down to the playroom tonight and work off some tension. Big scenes and full stomachs aren’t a good mix.”
Another big scene? After last night? I figured that would hold him through Miranda’s visit. Wow, he is really needy. “Okay.”
“That means you snack this afternoon, little girl. No later than sixteen hundred. If I’m not back from the airport, you text me when you’ve eaten.”
“Yes, Daddy.” That’s not part of the rules. If we’re apart, I have to text him my total calories at the end of the day. For him to be laying on new rules right now feels a little unfair. Is it because of Miranda arriving that he feels the need for such iron control?
He kisses me on the forehead again. “Thank you for being such a good girl, Emmy. I really couldn’t deal with bratting on top of everything else right now.”
I’m not a brat. Well, not outside of scenes. I brat a little in scenes. Does he think I’d brat now to get attention when I know he’s already stressed? I wouldn’t do that. Maybe his previous subbies have, but I won’t.
As we drive down First Avenue, I give myself a little mental lecture about being super-super good for the next three days while Daddy’s dealing with the stress of the Mir-Beast’s visit.
Chapter Ten
Logan
Rick’s got the penthouse of a low-rise apartment block in Murray Hill. With the glass lobby on the ground floor and the concrete tower above it, the building looks top-heavy. I think the architectural style is called “brutalist,” and if it’s not, it should be because the squat, gray-white building is brutally fucking ugly.
At the moment, the setting fits my mood. Miranda’s impending arrival feels like a count-down to doomsday. And I told Rick that stalkers escalate; he didn’t want to hear it. He knows our security procedures and he broke them. He’ll be lucky if he wasn’t exposed to something. Acids, contact poisons, nerve agents. Plenty of harmful crap can be sent through the post, and even more via courier. Sure, most of what can really hurt you is hard for the average civilian to get their hands on, but fucking pool chlorine can cause serious burns, as I know from experience. Rick makes his living off his face and he stuck it in front of a suspicious package like we’ve never had the “don’t open something that hasn’t been vetted by security” talk.
He’ll be lucky if I don’t lock him in his own damn safe room with just Manny for company until I find this stalker.
Focusing on Emily keeps me calm through the taxi ride and on the way up to Rick’s apartment. She doesn’t need either the concentrated attention or the rules I’m heaping on her. Despite Pence’s bullying last night, Caddy’s kink-shaming this morning, and Miranda arriving in a few hours, she seems relaxed. She’s dealing with everything far better than I am.
While we’re waiting for the elevator, I put her in High Protocol. She’ll stay on her feet until we’re inside Rick’s apartment. Once we’re inside, she’ll be on her knees. Neither Manny nor Rick have seen her in High Protocol before. Manny won’t twitch. I’ve never once seen the guy seriously lose his cool, not even during the unplanned home birth of his second kid, which is why I trust him so much. But I’ll have to keep a close eye on Rick to make sure he doesn’t say or do anything to humiliate Emily.
Ironic that of the two of them, the one I have to watch is the damn Dom.
Manny buzzes us in, and after clasping hands with me, he goes to give Emily a hug, but I wave him off. “Emily’s in High Protocol today. Please don’t touch her or try to talk to her.”
Manny shrugs. “Sure. Rick’s in the kitchen.”
“Right, thanks.”
We shake and he heads out. He’ll have to hustle to make it to the Castillos’ by ten.
Once the door closes behind him, I hold my hand out to Emily and when she puts her soft fingers in mine, help her kneel. “Crawl a step behind me into the kitchen and then kneel at my feet.”
She turns those big, baby eyes up to me. Her pupils are so wide, there’s just a thin rim of hazel around the black. Her soft cheeks are stained adorably pink. She breathes in shallow little puffs. Everything about her settles me, makes me feel like my center of gravity has dropped a comfortable inch.
Once she’s down, I rest my hand on her head for a moment, then walk slowly down the carpeted corridor to the kitchen.
Rick’s apartment has all the warmth you’d expect in this soulless concrete cube. His designer was probably married to the architect. Everything’s white and chrome, with splashes of “accent” teal and gray. No warmth. Rick’s apartment makes me feel cold in the middle of August, even before he turns on the A/C.
But it’s upstairs where things really get creepy. Rick’s got three huge things up there. One on the stairwell, just to freak you out as you go up in search of the bathroom. One in the hallway, so you feel the bloody thing’s empty eye-sockets following you. And one hanging over his fucking bed. There’s no possible way I could sleep with a framed, c
hrome skeleton staring down at me. Rick says it reminds him to live in each moment.
It would remind me to sleep in a hotel. And fire the decorator.
Happily, there’s none of this post-modern, ironic, weird-ass art on the lower floor. The kitchen’s just a kitchen, although the spotless white and chrome everywhere makes it clear that Rick never uses it. The man himself is standing at the central island, braced on his elbows, with another of his probiotic smoothies in front of him. There’s a teal ceramic bowl in the middle of the island, no fruit or anything that organic in it. A tall cardboard box sits next to the bowl. The box is closed, but a peel of tape down one seam shows that it’s been opened.
I stop a foot away, wait until Emily crawls up beside me and settles on her knees, then drop my hand on the top of her head and stroke her until that sense of calm returns and I don’t want to leap across the counter and throttle Rick for his stupidity.
“You okay, mate?” I ask.
Rick glances up. He looks like shit. Cheeks drawn. Eyes red. I’m hoping that’s just upset and not that he’s been exposed to something.
“Yeah, sure, all good,” he says.
I don’t believe him.
“When you opened the box, did anything come out? Mist? Powder? Did you feel anything? A puff of air? A sting?”
“No.” Rick shakes his head, his uncombed hair flopping around his forehead and ears. “What are you talking about?”
“Do me a favor and take off your shirt. I want to take a look at you.”
“Fuck you, man.” Rick pushes back from the island. “What shit is this?” He waves at Emily. “What’s she going to do, give me a consolation blow job?”
I want to punch him for even suggesting it. I’d never, ever share Emily with him.
“Emily’s in High Protocol, to keep her safe.” I pause to let the connection between following my rules and safety sink in. “I want you to take off your shirt so I can make sure nothing came out of that box that could hurt you.”
