The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) 📕

warning. I wait a moment, but no one leaves. In the silence, I see Niall wander in, fresh from a shower, naked except for a towel draped around his neck, carrying a gym bag. All the nakedness should help put Emily at ease.

“Emily and I are fluid bonded,” I continue, to avoid any objection when I don’t use a condom. “No one touches Emily but me. I won’t tolerate verbal or physical humiliation of Emily at any point, for any reason. Emily’s a little and sometimes presents as a young girl. That’s normal for her. It’s not regression or traumatic stress.” That’s something I looked at closely when I was researching littles, since I’ve had bottoms regress during scenes and there was nothing fun or sexy about it. “Emily’s safe word is airplane or red. I’ll take questions after the scene while I’m doing her aftercare. I think that’s about all.”

I look around, checking the audience. They’re quieter than a crowd at Blunts would be. Thirty pairs of expectant eyes watch me, but no one says anything, so I figure I’ll just get on with it.

I poke my head out into the corridor. Emily’s waiting; she smiles when she sees me.

“Ready, baby doll?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Her eagerness is evident even through the jitters are making her twist one of her ponytails around her fingers.

“That’s my girl. Let me duck into the shower. One minute and you sneak in. Ignore the people watching. Eyes on me.”

She bites her lip. “Are there a lot of people in there?”

“Emily.” I deepen my voice. “It doesn’t matter if there’s one person or a hundred in there. Where are your eyes?”

She could say something like, “in my head.” If she was a brat, she probably would. Instead, she immediately softens, drawing into herself so she seems even smaller, eyes going wide as she looks up at me. Such big, vulnerable, baby eyes.

“On you, Daddy.”

Her voice has gone smaller, softer, higher. Her little calls to something in me. Something that’s always been there, but I’ve suppressed because it was too closely linked to my feelings for my sister. Now that I’ve put that ghost to rest, I’m free to explore this element of my kink. My pulse thuds in my ears, and in my cock. I can’t wait to get my hands on her.

To satisfy the smallest part of my urges, I draw her to me and kiss her forehead.

“Good girl. One minute. Count it out.” That will give her something to think about other than the crowd in the next room.

I slide back through the door, stripping off my clothes, and duck quickly under the shower, rinsing off the sweat from my workout.

Just as I reach sixty in my own internal count, Emily’s big eyes appear around the doorway. She doesn’t take in the crowd, just locks eyes with me as she sneaks around the corner. Such a good girl.

I stride out of the spray, knocking it off as I go.

“Miss Martin, what are you doing in here?” I boom. “This locker room is off limits to you.”

She takes a step back, eyes going even wider, lower lip trembling. She actually looks afraid. I feel a tug in my chest, but I don’t soften at all as I stalk towards her.

“I asked you a question, Miss Martin. What are you doing in here?”

“S-sorry, coach,” she whispers, in that small, high voice.

“That’s not an answer. What are you doing in here?”

She looks around wildly, as if the watchers will provide her with an answer.

“Eyes on me,” I bark and her cheeks pale, but her eyes snap to mine. “What are you doing in here? If I have to ask again, there will be consequences, Miss Martin.”

“I-I just need a towel, coach.” She reaches hesitantly towards the pile in the cubby.

“A towel?” I scowl at her. She starts tugging on her ponytail, digging a hole in the floor with the toe of her sneaker the way she did during our scene in New York. Such cute gestures of uncertainty and nervousness. “I know for a fact there are towels in the girl’s locker room, Miss Martin, because I put them there. So that’s a bald-faced lie. You snuck in here to get a naughty peek at me naked. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Do I tolerate lying on my squad?”

She shakes her head. “No, sir.”

“No, I do not. Do you want me to kick you off the team, Miss Martin?”

Her face dissolves and tears fill her eyes. This was one of the parts we discussed, so I know this isn’t a trigger. She’s just deeply into the role. “No, coach. Please, please don’t strike me from the squad, sir. Please, I’m very sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

A tear spills, and she whimpers. “Please don’t strike me from the squad.”

“Are you sorry?” I ask as I take her arm and draw her over to the bench. “I don’t think you’re sorry at all, except maybe for getting caught.”

She shakes her head but doesn’t answer.

“I expect answers to my questions, Miss Martin. You’re not sorry, are you?”

She nods vehemently. “I am sorry, coach, sir. I am. I shouldn’t have come in here. I know it’s off-limits. I’m very sorry.”

“You know it’s off-limits, but you came in here anyway. You deliberately broke the rules, is that right?”

Another tear spills but she doesn’t answer.

I slap her cheek. It’s not a hard blow, and I catch her in the right spot: the padding of her cheek instead of on her jaw or cheekbone. It’s a shock rather than real pain. But, boy, does it get her attention.

She drops to her knees, babbling apologies.

“You will answer me when I ask you a question, Miss Martin,” I growl at her.

“Yes, sir!”

“You deliberately broke the rules, is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you lied to me about it, is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m very disappointed in you, Miss Martin. Very disappointed. Get up. Take off your clothes. I warned you there would be consequences and now you’re going