The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  “D-dominoes, Sir. Dominoes,” I sob my safe word.

  There’s a long silence.

  “Okay, Emmy, it’s okay. Turn around.” He releases me and helps me stand, keeping hold of my wrists. I can’t look at his face and even if I could, I can’t see anything through a fresh wash of tears. He turns me around and draws me back down, straddling his legs, holding me to his chest. The koala-baby hug, and something inside me that clenched tightly around a core of unbearable pain while Miranda was tormenting me releases.

  “You’re overwhelmed?” he asks gently.

  I nod against his shoulder as I hiccup around each sob. So, so overwhelmed.

  “Breathe with me.” He loosens one of the hands I have wrapped in a death grip around his neck and draws it down between us so my palm’s over his heart. He closes his hand over mine. “Feel me. In. Hold. One, two. Out. One, two, three, four, five.”

  I breathe with him. It feels like it takes a long time, but our breathing synchronizes. My heartrate slows to match the deep thudding in his chest. He holds me, rubbing his free hand up and down my back. He doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. We just slow down until his center of calmness spreads into me as well.

  “Better now?” he asks.

  “Yes, Sir,” I whisper.

  “No, don’t do that. I know you’re upset. I know you’re overwhelmed. But this is not the end of us. You’re still my little girl; I’m still your daddy. You’ve used your safe word, we’ll start there. Do you want me to let you go? Do you want to be left alone?”

  I shake my head. I don’t need to bolt anymore.

  “Can you communicate with me? Calmly? Or do you need some quiet time first?”

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, but it just chokes me up and I begin to cry again, sniffling into his shirt. I don’t want to feel this way. Everything in me is tearing and drowning and horrible. I’m still filled with all of Miranda’s ugly words. I want to explode with them. I have exploded. At my daddy. What am I doing? What did I say to him? I love Logan. I love him so much. I don’t want to be with anyone else, ever. I’m just not good enough for him.

  I cry harder, bunching his shirt in my hands and holding it to my face.

  “Baby girl,” he says softly, stroking my hair. “This isn’t helping, is it?”

  Nothing’s helping. I shake my head.

  “Right. We’ll try another way. Hold on to me.”

  He picks me up and carries me over to the couch in front of the bookcase. He shouldn’t be carrying me, but I don’t object and I don’t struggle, because the only thing worse than him hurting himself lifting too much weight is him hurting himself trying not to drop me. Besides, it’s not far and he carried me a few steps the other night.

  He sits on the couch and draws me back into the same position, straddling him, koala-baby style. Only this time, he reaches between us, pushes his shorts down, lines up his cock and pushes into me as I’m sinking down onto his thighs.

  I’m not wet, because nothing about the confrontation with Miranda or his profound disappointment in me is a turn-on, and I’m not ready for him. But it’s his right to take me whenever he wants, and I have a feeling that this is just the first part of a big punishment that’s coming my way. I close my eyes and grit my teeth and work my resisting body down onto him.

  “Why am I putting my dick in you right now, Emily?”

  I don’t know. This doesn’t feel fun or sexy or anything like that, and he doesn’t usually discipline me with sex, so I don’t understand what he’s doing. I shake my head as he holds it against his shoulder with his hand gripping my nape.

  “Because you’re mine. Do you stop being mine just because I walk out the door?”

  That, at least, I know the answer to. “No, Daddy.”

  “No. You’re always mine. Show me you want to belong to me.”

  I do. I work my hips, slowly to start until the friction begins to feel good and my body moistens, then faster. I figure he’s not going to let me come—whether because of our earlier bargain or because I’m being punished—so I don’t do anything to stimulate myself. Just ride him at the pace I know he likes and clench my inner muscles to give him as much pleasure as possible.

  But he’s not content with that. “Grind down on me, Emily. All the way,” he growls into my ear.

  I wrap my arm around his neck and grip his shoulder for leverage, then drive myself down onto him until his crown bumps my cervix and my clit mashes against his public bone. The impact makes me shudder against his hard chest and whimper against his neck as a hot tide of pleasure rises through me.

  “Again, little girl. I want to feel that each time.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed. How am I going to keep from coming? He knows what it does to me when he bangs my cervix. Is this part of the punishment, to force me to come so I’m in trouble for breaking that rule, too?

  “Daddy, please, I’m s-s-sorry. Please don’t make me ride you hard. I don’t think I can keep from c-c-coming and I don’t want to break another rule.”

  “Do as you’re told, Emily.”

  I cringe and fresh tears sting my eyes. “Yes, Daddy.”

  I ride him as hard as I can, forcing my body down on his, still crying, sadness and shame and arousal mixing in a toxic brew inside me. Turning me inside out. He doesn’t let me lift my head, doesn’t let me see his expression, but as he’s getting close, his hips rising to meet mine, his breath coming in harsh, sharp pants, he turns his head and presses his open mouth against my temple. His warm, minty breath blows over my face with each groan, and feeling his pleasure spikes mine even higher. My belly clenches and my thighs clench and each thrust of his hot length within me brings me closer to a very unhappy ending.

  “Daddy, please. Please, Daddy, I can’t stop.”

  He pushes his hand down between us and pinches my clit. “Come on me, baby girl. Come on me. You have permission,” he growls.

  All the conflict bursts out of me in long wail as my body tips over the edge. It doesn’t feel as wonderful as usual. It doesn’t shatter me or send me flying. It’s just a release of tension. I lose my rhythm, but it doesn’t matter because my daddy has me. He releases my clit, wraps his arms around me and slams me down on him a dozen times as he comes with a long growl, his release scouring my insides the way tears are scouring my eyes.

  He holds me through the aftershocks. He’s still firm within me, and I’m careful not to push him out because I know he likes this point of connection during the afterglow, even though I feel really raw inside. My tears have finally tailed off at least, although the shoulder of his T-shirt is wet when I rest my cheek on it.

  “That’s better, isn’t it?” he asks gently as his breathing steadies.

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  It is. I don’t know why it is. But it is.

  “That’s my girl. We’re going to talk for a few minutes, and then you’re going to rest.”

  My eyes are already closed and I feel completely wrung out, so I’d be begging for a nap even if he wasn’t telling me to take one.

  “Yes, Daddy. Ta for taking care of me.”

  “I will always take care of you, my good girl.”

  That chokes me up again. “I’m not your g-g-good girl—”

  He rubs his hand up and down my back. “Sh, sweetheart. You’re still my good girl. You broke rules and we’ll deal with that, but you’re still my good girl. You are always my good girl.”

  I collapse against him, every ounce of tension draining out of me. I didn’t even realize how rigidly I was holding myself, clinging to my shame, until he absolved me.

  “I bear responsibility, too,” he says, pressing his lips to my forehead. “I kept you here for selfish reasons. I’m absolutely bloody disgusted with Miranda, and she went much further than I ever thought she would. I thought she’d listen after I told her to stop poking at you. Clearly, I was wrong. I’m sorry, sweet baby, I wasn’t setting you up, I swear.”

  I rub my face in his nec
k. My daddy’s not like that; he doesn’t set me up to fail just so he can punish me. I’ve been with Doms who did that, but Daddy’s not one of them.

  “It’s muh-my fault,” I admit, feeling my throat thicken again. “I let her g-g-get to me. She was scaring me and saying the most awful things. But that’s not an excuse. It’s my fault. I know the rules and I broke them and my promise not to run away from you. I’m sorry and I’m so ash-sh-amed of myself.”

  “Sh.” He tips my head up and kisses me. “Easy, my little girl. I’m going to punish you. And it will be a punishment this time, one you’ll never forget, so you’re not tempted to break these rules again. But once the punishment’s over, the slate’s wiped clean. No more tears; no more shame. It’s done.”

  This is one of the things I value most about our dynamic. Ash would throw big mistakes at me for months afterward. Logan never does. He disciplines me—or in this case, punishes me, and the thought makes me so shaky that if Logan wasn’t holding me, I’d fall off the couch—but then it’s over. He doesn’t remind me of it, or criticize me for it again and again. It’s done. Forgiven and forgotten.

  “Ta, Daddy.”

  “You’re welcome. I want you to nap now, even if it’s just a few minutes. I’m going to get rid of Miranda. Then you and I are going to Blunts so we can get this over with.”

  He’s going to punish me at Blunts? None of my discipline has been public before.

  “Blunts?”

  “Yes. Do you understand why?”

  To humiliate me in front of everyone? Humiliation is a hard limit for me. He knows that, but I’m not about to remind him. Not right now.

  “N-no, Daddy.”

  “This is going to be a punishment, Emily. I’ve never punished you before. I want the safety net of Blunts, with a monitor and the doctor there, in case it goes wrong.”

  What’s he going to do to me that could be so awful he needs the backup of a monitor and doctor?

  No, I can’t think that way. When I doubt my Dom, that’s when bad thoughts creep in. I’m not letting Miranda’s awfulness send me on that downward spiral.

  I need to focus on my daddy. I love and trust him. I won’t let Miranda destroy that. I need to submit to my punishment, so I can be forgiven. So I can forgive myself. His words have wiped away the worst of the shame, but what I’ve done is still a burning hole in my heart. I want to be healed. I want us to be whole.

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

  “I’ll always take care of you, sweetheart. At no point today are you allowed to doubt that. When the punishment’s over, I will take care of you. No running away. Understood?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “That’s my girl.” He lifts me off him, his cock slipping wet and sticky out of me. I wince, but Daddy’s right there, pressing a baby wipe against me to lessen the sting. He cleans me up, then helps me lie down on the couch. He pulls a Ravenclaw fuzzy off the back of the couch and spreads it over me. He turns me so I’m facing the back of the couch and rubs my back through the blanket. “Rest now, little love.”

  My eyelids grow heavy as soon as he says those words. How does he do that? “Okay, Daddy.”

  “Tell me what you’re going to dream about while you nap.”

  “A dragon,” I whisper. In the darkness behind my eyelids, I see gleaming white wings stretching out and catching the night air. I’ve always liked The White Dragon best out of the Pern series. Ruth loves her dragon-rider with utterly selfless devotion. That’s the kind of love I want to show my daddy, particularly in the wake of my malfeasance today.

  “Are you the dragon-rider or the dragon-slayer?”

  “Neither. I’m Ruth. I’m the dragon.”

  “You’re the dragon?” He kisses the back of my head. “I like that. My baby dragon.”

  “I’m a white dragon. Pure white, like a snowflake. And I go in the water as well as in the air.” I don’t think Anne McCaffrey’s dragons did go in the water, but I do.

  Logan chuckles. “You’ll need to grow some gills, little girl.”

  “In my dreams, I can breathe underwater.”

  He sweeps my hair aside with his hand and kisses the side of my neck. “In my dreams, you have gills, right here.” More warm kisses and I cuddle back against him happily, content to live in the moment. “And can give me blow jobs underwater.”

  I giggle. That thought will add a little spice to my dreams. “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Sweet dreams, little girl. I want to hear all about this white dragon when you wake up. Do you still want to go to Konk for lunch?”

  Without Miranda? It would be a treat instead of an ordeal. “Yes, please, Daddy.”

  “Good girl. Sleep now.”

  I do as my daddy says.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Logan

  I leave Emily asleep on the couch, cuddled sweetly under one of her blue binkies, my Ravenclaw baby. The late morning sunlight filtering through the bay window curtains glimmers on the wetness on her cheeks. Listening to her crying while we were having sex, while I was reclaiming her, broke my fucking heart. I want Miranda to suffer for that. For every word she said that tore up my little girl and made her doubt me. I still have to address those doubts, but that’s for after Emily’s punishment. When the slate’s wiped clean and we can reconnect the way we should.

  Miranda’s sitting at the dining table when I emerge from my office. She looks up when I close the door, and the skin around her eyes pinches a little, but otherwise she doesn’t show any reaction. Certainly, no remorse. Not like the heart-broken little girl napping on my office couch.

  This is the woman who thinks I want her back? That my relationship with Emily is just a ploy to make her jealous?

  She really doesn’t know me at all.

  “I’ve called you a taxi. It’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  Her nostrils flare a little before she gets her face under control. “My flight’s not for ten hours. What are you trying to do, bore me into submission?”

  “Miranda, I told you, I’m not your Master anymore. I don’t punish you and I don’t forgive you. I just want you out of my house.”

  “Why, for telling that insipid twit the truth?” She taps her polished fingernails on the dining table. “You must be having a laugh, Lo.”

  “Do I look like I’m laughing?”

  Her eyes flick over my face and then away.

  “That hit on the head damaged your sense of humor,” she mutters, flipping her hair back off her shoulders.

  “Actually, I’ve never found anything funny about you attacking my other subs. You did it to Rachel, Brooke, and Luisa, too. Did you think I didn’t notice? I’d tell you to stay away from Emily, but neither of us is going to have contact with you after today, so it’s a moot point.”

  Her face draws in. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Exactly what I said. All future contact will be through the solicitors.”

  “Darling—”

  “I’m not your darling, Miranda, and you’re not mine. If the paternity test shows the baby’s mine, I’ll file for custody. Otherwise, there’s no reason for us to have any further contact.”

  “Lo, you don’t mean that.”

  “I’ve meant every word I’ve ever said to you, Miranda. And I particularly mean what I’m saying to you right now. In a few minutes, you will walk out that door and get in the cab. I don’t care what you do from there, but there will be no further contact between you and me, or you and Emily.”

  Miranda rises unsteadily, rubbing her hand over her belly.

  “You’re the father. This is our baby. You can’t shut me out.”

  “I’m not going to get drawn into an argument with you. I’ve told you what’s going to happen. I’m going to say goodbye now. Have a safe flight.”

  The pout. The lower lip tremble. They might have affected me before. But they don’t tug on my emotions now, except to annoy me.

  “It worked, okay? Your little game with Em
ily? I’m appropriately chastised. My knees are too swollen to kneel, Lo. What do you want me to do to show my submission?”

  Her knees look perfectly normal to me. But I don’t want to see her on them. I just want to see the back of her.

  “I don’t want you to do anything but leave. I’m not running any game with Emily. She’s my future. What you said to her was fucking despicable and you know it. I don’t want you to have any further contact with her and I want you out of my house.” I check my phone. “Do you need to use the bathroom before the cab gets here? There might be traffic on the way to the airport.”

  Miranda looks conflicted, but baby bladder wins out and she spends her last few minutes in my house in the bathroom.

  She tries to engage me again once she emerges from the bathroom, but I’m ready for her: waiting at the open front door with her luggage. I’ve checked on Emily while Mir’s been in the bathroom; she’s rolled over onto her back. She doesn’t sleep long on her back; my little girl’s a side-sleeper, which makes her perfect for spooning. She’ll probably be awake soon, and I want Miranda gone so I can focus on fixing things with my little girl.

  The cab rolls up right on time and I drag Miranda’s luggage out to the curb and pop it in the boot before handing her into the back seat. She tries to lean in for a kiss, but I put my hand on her shoulder and press her down into the seat. Then I push the door shut and wave the cab off.

  Goodbye, Miranda.

  Emily’s awake when I check on her again. She’s folded up the blanket and draped it over the back of the couch, but she hasn’t gotten up. She’s waiting for permission, my good girl. I could say she’s doing it because she knows she has a punishment coming and is on her best behavior, but it’s not; this is just how Emily is.

  Which makes her rule-breaking all the more egregious.

  I sit on the edge of the couch, resting my hip against hers, and flatten my palm on her soft tummy.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  “Give me a color for your bottom. Green? Yellow? Red?”

  “Greenish-yellow.”