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

grab the bedpost as my knees give out. Yesterday, I thought he was fumbling with the daddy-thing. Either I got it wrong, or heck, he learns fast.

He reaches out and takes my dress, folds it neatly and lays it across my bag. Then he takes my hand off the bedpost and leads me around the end of the bed.

“Bend over.”

I do, laying my cheek on the dark blue bedspread and placing my arms by my sides. His bed is high and I have to scoot back a little to get my feet flat on the floor. Once I’m balanced, I wait. I’ve been in this position many times. I know what’s coming. I can’t remember ever wanting it quite as much as I do right now, though.

“Panties down.”

I find the band with my fingertips and ease it over my butt.

His warm palm cups the skin I’ve just bared. “Mmm, just as soft as I thought it would be. You have such a sweet ass.” He rubs. The pressure’s gentle, but the friction on the stripes he left on me yesterday makes me whimper. “So tender. Did you take a bath last night like I told you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did these hurt last night when you were trying to sleep? Is that why you look tired, baby doll?”

Do I look tired? Oh, no. I couldn’t sleep last night, but I did nap on the train. “No, sir. I was just . . . I was so excited I had trouble sleeping.”

“Excited about tonight?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mmm.” He scratches one of the stripes and even though his fingernails are trimmed short, the pain is sharp. Each scratch draws a little moan out of me. “I’m going to mark you again, baby doll. Ten stripes. I want you to feel it every time you move, but you need to be able to sit down. Will you be able to sit with ten more stripes?”

Depends on how hard he hits me, and if it’s anything like the expo bathroom, he hits pretty hard, but I’ll sit on a bed of nails if it gets him to belt me again. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He keeps one hand on me, smoothing and scratching, while he unbuckles and removes his belt with the other. He draws the leather across my ass and chuckles when I shiver.

“Please, sir,” I whisper.

“Please what?” He takes the belt between both hands and rubs it back and forth across my butt-cheeks, igniting the old abrasions. His belt has a raw edge, which my ass remembers really well. I wonder if he bought it like that, or if he’s filed it to make it sting more.

“Please, I’m so sorry I lied to you. I want to sleep in your bed tonight.”

“You do, huh?” He chuckles. “You have to earn forgiveness, Emily.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Absolutely no coming while I’m strapping you, baby.”

“No, sir.” I couldn’t anyway. Yesterday was a fluke.

His hand slides to the small of my back, and then the leather cracks across my ass. I yelp and clutch at the bedspread. The rough edge leaves the same blistering kiss across my skin as yesterday. I have a moment’s grace, in which I begin to relax into the mattress, and then the leather whips across my skin again.

“Two,” Logan says. “Eight more, little girl.”

“Yes, sir,” I whimper. My eyes are already beading with tears and my ass is striped with fire, but I wouldn’t ever ask him to stop. Not while I’m earning his forgiveness. Not while the voice in my head is mercifully silent.

He counts down the strokes. He hits a different spot each time, until my backside is a solid, burning globe. I writhe, clutch at the bedspread, unable to keep still, even though I know I have to work with the pain, accept it. It’s not taking me into subspace; I’m fully alert, completely focused on him, just the way I was yesterday. I’m not sure why I’m not glazing, sinking into that sweet, silent, peaceful place, but I’m not. The voice is still silent, but I’m feeling the pain—the full, burning pain—of being punished for lying to him. And the pain does what it always does. It hits that weird, crossed wire in my brain and turns into something other than hurt. It doesn’t transmute into pleasure. What he’s doing still hurts a-fucking-lot. But it also becomes something insanely hot and wanting. Something that makes my belly tight and my thighs wet.

His hand in the small of my back holds me in place for each fresh stroke and I thank him tearfully.

“Ten,” he says. “Such a good girl.”

I sob with the relief of it being over, although my ass is hurting so much, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand, much less sit. He wasn’t holding back and his belt has a serious bite with that rough edge.

“Stay there, baby doll.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hear him move away; his boots a whisper across the carpet. I turn my head so I can watch him. Oh, Lordy, I haven’t seen his ass. Wow. Wowwowwow. I thought the view was good from the front, but it’s even better from the rear. No man’s ass should be that firm. He turns the corner and I sniffle with loss. I release the crumpled bedspread and wipe my face with my palms.

Logan’s back a moment later, carrying a silver tube. He stops beside me, squeezes a blob of clear gel onto his fingers and then rubs it into my skin where my thigh meets my ass.

“I’m only going to put it here, sweetheart, so you can sit down. The rest, you need to bear for me.”

“Yes, sir.” I take deep, slow breaths, the way I’ve been taught, to calm myself down and work through the pain. Whatever he’s rubbed on my ass—I assume it’s an analgesic—has created a nice, cool patch on the bottom of my right cheek. He creates a second patch on my left side and I sigh with relief. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, little