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

“This has not been the easiest week. Being with you has made it bearable. I don’t want to talk about Miranda right now, but if you hadn’t been there this afternoon, I don’t know what I would have done. I felt like I was going to explode.”

I huggle into him until I feel him relax. I nuzzle into his neck, which smells like chlorine, rather than his usual spice and musk.

“Dinner now?” I ask. “I’m ready to eat all the things.”

And I am. My stomach’s growling, and I could eat a hundred peanut-butter-and-marshmallow-fluff sandwiches. My secret little food. I can’t have them on the cruise, but when we get back to New York, I’ll mention them to Logan and maybe he’ll let me have them as a special treat when I’m a super-good girl, the way Lew did.

“You are, huh? All the things. We’ll see about that. Where’s your cover-up?”

I fish it out of my bag and hand it to him. He drops it over my head and helps me find the armholes. I wiggle in it, feeling snuggly and happy and very little. Logan tickles my ribs, grinning. I bat at his hands. “Sir!”

“Daddy,” he corrects me.

“Really?”

I would love to call him Daddy all the time, but I don’t want to embarrass him in public.

He nods. “On the boat and in my club, yes. Other places, we’ll play it by ear.”

I give him a big hug. “Ta, Daddy.”

“I’ve had a great time playing with you today, Emmy. I love seeing you let your little out. I want you to do it as much as possible. I just have to make sure it’s safe for you.”

Being with him makes me feel safe. “Ta, Daddy. Ta so very much.”

He gives me another kiss before taking my hand and leading me into the buffet. He carries my tray as we move through the serving lines, approving my choice of pan-seared grouper with mango salsa and grilled veggies with a nod and a smile. At his direction, I pick up two bowls of white Gazpacho and put them on the trays. I see Logan check the board next to the fish station. What he’s looking at becomes clear when he goes to the dessert station after getting himself Mongolian barbecue. “Crème brûlée or tropical fruit tart?” he asks me.

Either will take me over my fifteen hundred for the day, and he must know that. “Crème brûlée,” I say finally, twisting my hands together and wishing beyond anything he wasn’t asking me to make this choice.

He nods at two plates and I put them on the trays. I trail after him as he heads towards a window booth, feeling my heart sink. He nods me into the booth before sliding in beside me.

“Daddy,” I begin, my voice small. I don’t want to start a fight when he’s already had such a terrible, very bad day, but I don’t want to overeat, either.

“I did some research while you were napping,” he says, as he opens my napkin and places it across my lap. “Between the treadmill and the scenes and the sex, you’ve burned at least an additional hundred and fifty calories today. Probably more. I think that’s why you crashed this afternoon, sweetie. I want you to make up those calories.”

He’s not arguing with me about calorie-counting? He’s just asking me to make up the extra I’ve burned? It has been a big day. Relief rushes through me and my stomach growls at the thought of the creamy-crunchy crème brûlée.

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

He takes my hand and bows his head. Once he’s said grace, I ask for permission to eat.

He kisses my temple. “You may, good girl.”

I pick up my spoon and start on the soup, which tastes all the better in the warm glow of his care and praise.

“Has anyone tried to take advantage of your little?” he asks while we’re eating.

“Taken advantage how?”

“Asking you to do things that you wouldn’t have done if you’d been thinking big?”

I consider his question. “Kind of. Someone tried to renegotiate blood play in the middle of a scene once.”

That was Gavin, DFive, who had a fixation with what he called my v-card. He wanted blood to simulate deflowering me. I wouldn’t have minded role-playing the loss of my virginity. Since the actual event was wholly unmemorable, it would have been nice to have a good scene to remember instead. But smearing blood all over my labia and thighs while we were having sex? Like I don’t see enough of that during a certain time of the month? Hard no.

“What’d you say?”

“Gross. Blood is icky, whether I’m little or big.”

Logan chuckles. “Good girl. I wouldn’t ever leave you alone while you were in littlespace, but I like knowing that you can set limits when you’re little.”

“I can set limits, but—” I swing my feet under the booth while I consider how to explain. Negotiating when I’m little is really hard. “I’m better at setting limits when I’m thinking big and then following them when I’m little.”

“Your little likes having rules to follow,” Logan says, an observation rather than a question.

“Boundaries make me feel safe. It’s a big, scary world, Daddy.”

“Yes, it is. That’s why I asked if anyone had tried to take advantage of you. I don’t like thinking of you out there being little in the big, scary world.”

“I can’t be. Too dangerous. That’s why I’ve always limited it to scenes.”

“Would you like to try to take it beyond scenes? If I can make it safe for you?”

At my enthusiastic nod, he smiles and asks, “When you think about taking it beyond scenes, what do you imagine?”

“I think about Daddy taking me to the park, holding my hand as we cross the street, and pushing me on the swings.”

Logan grins. “We can definitely do that.”

“What do you like to do with your subs outside of scenes?” I ask, still nervous about all the one-way traffic in our conversations.

“The