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

She shivers all over, her little toes curling. “Will you push me like that?”

“Yes, when I think we’ve established enough trust.”

The big eyes come out like heavy artillery. “I trust you, Daddy.”

“I know you do, angel baby. And I trust you. But we’ll trust each other more in a month. Trust is funny like that. Each experience we have together builds another layer. I’m not saying there’s a magic moment where we’ll have enough trust to do edge-play, but I’ll keep evaluating it.” I tip her face up so I can give her a kiss. “Your trust is very precious to me. I’m not going to damage it by pushing too fast.” A beeping from my bag interrupts me. The alarm on my phone. Time to get back to work. “Let’s get you dressed. The bus will be coming back in fifteen minutes.”

We’re dressed and I’ve got Emily in my lap, brushing out her hair, when the excursion leader stops outside our cabana and shouts, “Knock, knock! Ten minutes until the bus leaves!”

I slide Emily off my lap, fold back the canvas, and nod at the woman. “Thanks. We’ll be ready.”

She checks her clipboard. “Mr. Logan, right? You’re not joining us at The Sleepless Lobster?”

“We already have lunch plans.” Which is a shame because if the food is as good as the name, we’re missing out. But the opportunity to catch up with the Pink Pearl people in the privacy of their Cabo HQ is too good to pass up.

“Absolutely no problem. For those doing their own thing for lunch, we’re meeting back up for sight-seeing at two thirty outside the restaurant. Can I arrange a taxi for you?”

I give her a smile. It’s such a pleasure dealing with submissives, with their genuine desire to please. It makes me think of Blunts. Instead of the wistful sadness I’ve felt the last few months about my club, I feel a warm glow. “We’re already sorted, but thank you. Mikaela, is it?” I check the name stitched in pink on the breast of her pearly bikini top.

She gives me a genuinely warm smile. “Yes, sir, and if there’s anything I can do to help you enjoy your day in Cabo, just let me know. See you on the bus in ten!”

She plows off through the soft sand to the next cabana. Most of the pink cabanas have their curtains drawn.

With her sunhat in place, carrying our beach bags, Emily joins me. She giggles as she follows my eyes down the row of cabanas.

I take the bags off her, loop my arm across her shoulders, and whisper in her ear, “I don’t think we were alone in indulging in a little pre-lunch nookie.”

She grins up at me. “Sea air, Daddy. It’s an aphrodisiac.”

“Is it, now?”

She nods solemnly, but her eyes dance with glee. “Well documented.”

“Hmm. Guess you better make the most of the cruise, then. Not much sea air back at my place. Might be the end of your six-orgasm days.”

She blinks the big eyes. “It’s okay if Wolfy-Daddy only gives me five a day at home, because Wolfy-Daddy orgasms are really intense.”

I can’t hold in a laugh. “They are, huh? You give Wolfy-Daddy some pretty amazing orgasms, too, little girl. And Captain Daddy. I was surprised to find I still had balls this morning. I was pretty sure they’d turned inside out. And exploded.”

“Galaxy Quest,” she says, giggling.

Of course, she recognizes the reference, and I put it on my list of movies to watch with her, since I can already guess it’s a favorite. “C’mon, beach beanie, let’s be the first to the bus and get the best seats.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

She takes my hand and skips beside me through the sand, swinging her sandals, humming something that sounds suspiciously like the original Star Trek theme song.

* * *

Pink Pearl’s offices are only five blocks from the restaurant where the bus drops us, but both Emily and I are sweating by the time we reach the air-conditioned atrium. Despite the pervasive pink on the ship, the cruise line’s HQ is decorated in shades of pearl, so I don’t feel like we’ve fallen into a bottle of Pepto Bismol.

“I’ll never again complain about how cold your cabin is,” Emily murmurs while we wait for the receptionist to announce us.

“I hear you. Even August in the City isn’t this hot.”

“But it’s a dry heat,” Emily sniggers.

Busted. “Pretty sure Aliens is rated R, little girl.”

She shifts from foot to foot. “I think I heard that somewhere else.”

“I might believe that if you hadn’t been mimicking Hudson. That’s five for watching movies you shouldn’t be watching and another five for trying to bullshit Daddy. From Belphegor, who is still sore about his name.”

She giggles, evidently no longer frightened by my whippy paddle. “If I give Belphegor a better name, do I get fewer swats?”

“Not a chance. Wolfy-Daddy doesn’t negotiate.”

More giggles, which she tries unsuccessfully to muffle with her hands.

I’m about to hug her, no matter how unprofessional it might be, when the door beside the receptionist’s window opens and Michael beckons us through. He leads us to a conference room where Teresa waits to great us with cheek kisses.

Michael shakes my hand, gives Emily a hug, and holds her at arm’s length. “You’re looking much better. How are you feeling?”

“Good, sir. Thank you for asking.”

Since we’re among friends, I stop checking my impulses, draw Emily to my side, and nuzzle her temple. “Nice manners, little girl.”

She smiles up at me and slides her arm around my waist.

“We’ve ordered lunch in,” Teresa says, gesturing to a big, oval table in the center of the conference room. It’s piled with plates and silverware, but no food yet. “After lunch, I thought I’d take Emily for an hour’s shopping. There’s a wonderful arts and crafts boutique by the marina. It’s only a short walk.”

“May I go?” Emily asks.

I kiss her forehead and whisper to her, “Will you be all right?”

She nods.